Supping from the Chalice of Fantasy

James Ruskin - In The Shadows

Keith's nerves were playing up and it wasn't the time. True, no-one really could have expected a first-timer to be cold as ice, as cruel and unforgiving as the blade of his +1 scimitar, but he might at least say something thought Geoff. Geoff was eager for this to work as there was no way they could defeat the ogres on their own. Despite what you may have heard, one of the party did have an undead army - but, animated with magic, these troops could only be used defensively as they would crumble if they walked into the ogre base, protected as it was by an anti-magic field of some sort, the nature of which Keith could only dimly comprehend. This was all new to him and he got the impression that his trepidation was starting to infuriate certain other players. Enrico, a half-celestial assassin, and Clive, a Gnome fighter revered throughout the lands as both a diplomat and a drinker, were beginning to talk in raised voices about some 'suicide mission' involving the Satyr Druid and his indolent Leopard companion.

"Poison!" blurted Keith. The GM made a sound in the back of his larynx that gave the impression of either intrigue or asthma. Once this sound met the sealed lips of an unrevealing mouth, itself trapped beneath knowing brown eyes and impudent, provocative nostrils, the overall impression was so convincing that everyone in the room looked at Keith as if he was the most interesting thing in the world. George, the undead warrior prince who had commanded a hundred armies of a thousand or more zombie irregulars over a period of more than a million years, made an intimidating prospect as, clad in full plate armour, with the fires of hell burning pinpricks through souls of cheer from his carrion eye sockets, he excused himself for a minute as he went to the toilet.

"What about poison?" ventured Keith further. "There must be something poisonous in these woods."
"Well, you would know," said the GM. "This is your homeland".
Once more, thought Keith, I've fucked this up. Even when his ideas had legs, his inexperience would trip them up and kick them in the privates. What was so galling was that Keith's inexperience even had the cheek to make it look like an accident. Still, it seemed to be going slightly better. People were no longer laughing at him (though the odd chuckle survived), and there was none of that stony silence about anymore - how it had dogged him for the first fifteen minutes, appearing almost exactly at the same time as he stopped talking, his point made. "Why not do a Profession (Herbalism) check?" said the GM helpfully. Thank God for the GM, thought Keith. He's on my side. He doesn't want me to crash and burn, he wants me to contribute to a good game. Keith was almost entirely certain of this point. Enrico's mobile rang.