After months of hardened battles, arguments, relationships being broken and mended, the group of friends finally managed to agree on a date they could all meet and play Dungeons and Dragons. But their joy soon turned to sorrow as, instead of just starting the damn game, the DM spent 40 minutes giving them a detailed history of their custom game world. As the bard character kept listening, trying to figure out which of the new monsters he’ll be able to seduce, the rest started to suspect the worst: Shit, is Sean secretly workshopping his awful fantasy novel?
They quickly tried to reassure themselves that, no, he wouldn’t be so selfish… although why the fuck are his dragons called “sky wyrms” here? The big monsters they are supposed to be fighting? Yeah, he literally just described dragons with a stupid, useless name, and there is no reason to do that unless you’re trying to avoid copyright lawsuits from George R. R. Martin. But, OK, maybe it was just this one thing, they think.
And so their quest begins in a tavern. The group approaches the bartender that… OK, Sean just fucking described the guy as himself, minus the “cold eyes that have seen a hundred battles… and seduced even more fair ladies.” Bloody hell, this is the protagonist in his stupid book, isn’t it? The rogue character says “Screw it” and says he stabs the bartender in the dick. The DM says he missed, though you’re pretty sure you didn’t hear any goddamn dice rolling. You are then informed that a failed stabbing is “Considered a… a… an invitation! To… join an adventuring party! Y-yeah, that’s it! And so, he goes with you now, telling you his extensive, mythology-rich backstory in the process.”
You’ve had it. By now, even the paladin is attacking the bartender, swinging his mighty sword at his neck and… “Oh BULLSHIT a swallow JUST SWOOPED IN AT THE RIGHT MOMENT AND BLOCKED THE SWORD WITH ITS BODY, SEAN!” Just for that, the ranger is going to seduce the sexy princess that Sean obviously set up as the key element for the third act because his prose is as predictable as the goddamn calendar. “But go on, tell us how she looks first and we will all eat our socks if she doesn’t bear a striking resemblance to Daenerys or Kelly who dumped you last week. Christ, man, you need a better way of dealing with your sh… She looks like what? Come again?”
“Sean… did you just freaking describe your stepmother?” The DM tries to protest but there is no denying it. The sexy princess who obviously can control the dragons… Sorry, “sky wyrms” *god damn* is totally described as Sean’s stepmom. You take him aside. He’s sweating. Says you all are crazy. But you know what you just heard. “Look,” you tell him, “it’s fine to write what you know but this has obviously uncovered some feelings that you haven’t been dealing with properly.” You decide to call it a night and leave, taking a long shower once you get home. Sean decides to take a short break from writing A Contest Of Royal Chairs.