“The two adventurers plod into the foggy graveyard, when suddenly they are ambushed by zombies!”
“Ah, no,” Ebert adjusted his helmet, to better see the GM. “My initiative is WAY higher than a zombie’s, even a horde.”
“No way man, your initiative is level 8 suckage.”
“I have Abu’s gauntlets of peeking, I-”
“Aw, com Ebert, they have homefield-”
“I hate that name! Go by my character sheet!”
“I’m not calling you ‘Le Beau, because I’m of superior level and don’t have to listen to you. Also, I challenge the numbers.”
Buford groaned as the GM retrieved their character sheets and opened a red notebook. “Let’s see… the zombies have: Dead of Night, Familiar Ground, and Presence of the Lich Lord-“
“Wait, a Lich Lord? That’ll crush Buford and” the other two at the table rolled their eyes “and I, uh, can’t take on the horde and the lord solo, ya know?”
“Ebert, you’re the whitest guy at the table, don’t rhyme.” Remarked Le Beau as he turned in a direction that was not facing his pary member.
“Pft,” scoffed Eber, “My rhymes are so dope, they’d make you drop the soap.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
“-and in your immediate field of vision, which isn’t much because of the ground fog, there are 34 gravestones, each wih a zombie you could wake.”
“What about my Hermes’ heels of haste?” pestered Ebert. Le Beau snickered. “What? They’re great equips and my feet are small!” Still staring at the street, Le Beau covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
Buford’s humor threshold broke as he watched a man fall over the waist level fence around the house. “Hey, Ebert, check-“
“My weapon from the last dungeon, it has loads of enchantments!”
The GM held up a finger as he skimmed his notes. “Yes, including Essence of Cowbell. That means the entire horde knows of your presence.”
“What? You can’t be serious. We retreat.”
“Sensing your fear, the-“
“Woah, it’s not fear, it’s a tactical withdrawal! Can’t you-“
Midsentence, Buford smacked Ebert upside the head. “Strange men. Backyard. Coming towards us.”
Suddenly aware of the crowd advancing behind his chair, Ebert reached down, first to his bag of cookies, then correctly to his broadsword. “Le Beau! To arms and pass me a celerity potion!” he barked as he stood up.
“Woah-woah-woah! First off this is real life. Which means me shooting at real people with a nerf longbow. Second, what do you mean about celery soda or whatever you just said?”
“I need a can of Blue Stallion! Stat!” Ebert accentuated his urgency with chocolate chip crumbs flying from his mouth. Once the energy drink was in his possession, he proceeded to one-handedly open the can and down it’s contents. “Now, to deal with these invaders.”
Le Beau stared at his clan mate, fearing him slightly more than the shambling men. “Dude, we don’t even know what they want, have you swallowed your brains?”
“BRAInsz! Articulated one of the drooling drones.
“You,” Ebert pointed his blade at the talkative one, “get off my lawn.”
The throng of men began to moan as they circled the armed adolescent. The closest one reached for the child. “You wanna touch me, creep?” Shouted Ebert, “The only touch there will be is my bad touch!”
Le Beau had a comment on the tip of his tongue, but all that came out of his mouth was vomit, as he watched Ebert swing his weapon and sever the man’s forearm. The drooling man howled, mostly in confusion as to how his hand detached.
Ebert rested his broadsword on his shoulder as he started sweating bullets. “Dude I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- I mean I warned you but I didn’t want you to make me- you know what I mean?” It was at that moment that the ad-libbed amputee tripped over his own useless brick of an appendage, ironically onto Ebert, who shrieked not unlike the GMs baby sister, to whom he’d never admitted having a crush on. On an unrelated side note, he lost control of his sword and it bounced exactly one time, in the direction of the table.
At that momenet, the GM stood up and grabbed Buford by the sleeve. “We’ve gotta make a rn for the house while they are distracted.”
“Oh gawd! He’s biting my neck! You dirty pervert!”
Buford stood his ground. “No, we can’t leave him! He’s our friend, even if he’s a jerk. All the time.”
More of the macabre men lurched towards the slow forming dog pile. “You freak! You bit off my middle finger! I hope you choke on it!” There was a short gagging noise, followed by another screech. The GM was dumb enough to look back, straight into his fallen friend’s pleading face, complimented by a finger sticking through his eye. “If I don’t make it through this, tell your sister I love her!”
“Buford, I’m going inside and locking the door.”
“Noooo!” Pleaded Le Beau, “We have to save him!”
“There’s too much of him all over the lawn and not much time. You coming or not?”
Buford stood firm, half frozen in fear, half trying to think of something heroically cool.
“Why isn’t anyone stopping this?” wailed Ebert while the zombies momentarily fought over his freshly detached thigh.
“’Tears it.” This door stays closed with me on the safe side until the zombies are gone from the town. Good luck, Buford.” The GM slammed the door, the noise notifying Buford that the time to say something awesome had passed. It was now time to do something awesome. Le Beau darted towards his dying friend, snatching the sword from the ground. Quickly coming to the back of the closest zombie, Le Beau swiped the blade into one of the corpse’s rotting kidneys and out the other, causing the dead man’s top half to slip off. “Essense of Cowbell? Not today.” Sneered Buford as he swung to cleave the legs from another, which resulted in his weapon unwillingly lodging itself in the zombie’s pelvis. The next brief moments were spent with flashing steel and flailing legs clobbering the lawn’s zombie invaders. In the end, Buford was bent over panting, albeit still standing, victorious. “They’re…so…stupid…but…that…sword*wheeze*is so…dang heavy.” He noted for his own record, during this glorious moment of lack-of-movement.
“Buuufoooord…” moaned a clump on the ground.
Buford readied his weapon, then he recognized the pathetic mass. “Ebert? How are you still alive? I can see half your intestines and I can only assume the other half was already ingested.”
“You fought like Strider, William Wallace, Neo, and Norris; all packed in as one. I am proud to have witnessed your massive leveling.”
“I can, uh, only assume this blood all over the lawn is yours.”
“Continue to wield my blade, Buford, no, Le Beau. I ask only one favor: have many children with the one I loved. “
“You must honor a dying man’s wish!”
“Errr, how about… I say you fought valiantly in her name to the end-?”
“-and that you’ll continue to fight in my stead and to avenge me.”
“Deal it is. Do you want me to stand here for a while to honor your passing?”
“That is not-“
“Good, I’m gonna go vomit somewhere.”
“Wait, you must finish me off, lest I turn into one of them!” However Buford had already ran to the other side of the house to liberate his lunch of lemonade and cookies. “Buford? Buford, get back here you coward! I’ll have your succulent hard shell of a head for this! You hear me? BRAIIIINS!