I heard earlier this week about the untimely death of a friend and long term fellow D&D player. He always bought a laugh to our table, and I wanted to share a story from our gaming table. This particular tale comes waaaay back from our D&D campaign at the Bun Shop club.
I hope you enjoy the post and excuse the cliches (I'm not a fiction writer!)
There are so many tales we could share; of the flame-obsessed halfling thief, or the warrior who fell asleep up a tree and fell to his death. Perhaps the story of the fighter who drowned from a potion or the ranger so ashamed of his behaviour in a tavern he renounced the world and took monastic orders.
These are all good stories (and all true, I swear!) but this evening I want to share my recollections of the Dwarf who was and was not Cursed.