The Dark Lord Bert 2 by Chris Fox (bookstand for reading .TXT) 📕

sank back into his chair, and set the d20 on the table behind the screen. Its glow faded the moment it left contact with his skin.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, man.” Todd looked Robert squarely in the eye, and shrugged. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked ominously. “I have no idea how the goblin did that, and it terrifies me. I didn’t create Bert, and I certainly didn’t give a critter the ability to become the dark lord. But I also don’t know all of how the die works. My dad didn’t exactly leave a manual, and if I ask him that means admitting we have it. He’d take it back, I’d get grounded, you’d get mindwiped, and when that was over we’d have to go back to regular 5E. I mean, it isn’t bad, but does anyone think using your imagination is cooler than being transported to a real magical world?”

Everyone shook their heads, Jess included. She looked down at Kit’s character sheet. They couldn’t lose this. Kit had become too important to her. When she played Kit she mattered. She had power and respect, from some people at least. It was so different than her everyday life, where no one noticed she was alive.

Robert adopted the exact kind of devious expression she’d have expected his character to wear. Weaselly, to the core. “Have you considered turning the die over? I mean, it’s clearly a lot of work to structure the world, and you know I love that stuff. I could clean up all the bad puns. Just let me hit the reset button.” His covetous eye shifted to the d20, and he leaned a bit closer.

“No.”

Todd reached for the die, but Robert was faster. His greasy fist snatched up the jade die, and he leaned back into the chair. “Why don’t we have the group vote? That seems like a—”

Todd leapt from his chair, and came down on Robert like a sparrow attacking an eagle. Todd darted in, his much scrawnier arms vainly attempting to push Robert’s bulk aside so he could pry the die from his palm.

“Guys!” Jess called, rising to her feet. “We’re here to play, not fight. Robert, stop being a jerk. Give Todd the die.”

Todd finally got a finger around the glowing d20, and with a titanic grunt pried it from Robert’s greasy fingers, which were too slippery to prevent it.

That same grease made the die difficult to grasp, and Todd accidentally flung it into the air. The golden numbers shimmered as the die tumbled end over end, its spinning sides growing ever closer to the mat.

“Noooooooooooo!” Todd roared, as time seemed to slow.

Jess’s eyes widened as she realized the implications. The die was falling toward the game mat on the table. Todd had been very, very clear that must never, ever happen, though he’d never said why.

The die touched the surface of the mat, and an explosion of emerald light blinded her. She blinked away spots, and when her vision cleared the die was gone.

A low wail emanated from Todd, like air escaping from a balloon. “We are so screwed.”

1

Magic Lesson

Bert awoke on a bright, sunny morning, amidst a sea of blankets and pillows, on a four-poster bed that had been designed for a very large human and six of his closest friends.

Or one Boberton.

The demo dog had continued to grow for months now, and was so massive that he could pass for a pony. A fat pony…with two heads, red skin…and a flatulence problem.

Flatulence was a new word. Bert had been picking up quite a lot of those now that he possessed the Dark Lord trope. So long as he stayed away from Paradise, Bert was very smart indeed.

He hopped to his feet, and patted Boberton’s warm bulk. “Wake up, boy. Time for breakfast.”

Lefty’s eyes blinked blearily open, though Righty remained stubbornly asleep. Bert shimmied down off his bed down to the thick carpet below. He’d had that brought in to cover the dank stone floors, which were quite cold on his little feet.

Boberton plopped down beside him, then followed as Bert left his chambers and headed for the tomb’s pantry. It had been empty when he arrived, unless you counted spiders, but was now full of all sorts of wondrous food. More than any person could ever eat.

Well, maybe not quite that much. His increased intellect let him very quickly calculate that he could survive for nine hundred and seventy-eight days with the larder’s current contents. Most of his servants were dead, so they didn’t eat much.

“Boberton, want beef or chicken?” Bert prompted, smiling up at his best friend.

The massive dog gingerly stepped over Bert, his stubby tail wagging furiously as he approached the big red bowl with Boberton’s Bowl emblazoned on the side. Another great word, emblazoned. He still loved it.

Bert waddled over to a pair of open bags of monster chow, and stopped in front of the one with a cow emblem. The tail wagging slowed. Bert moved to the bag with chicken. The wagging increased.

Bert dragged the bag over, and dumped a generous helping in Boberton’s bowl. Lefty nudged Righty, who blinked awake, and immediately joined him in devouring the brown pasty monster chow.

Now that his dog was taken care of, Bert headed back into the pantry. He retrieved a loaf of bread, and a small bottle of jelly, then moved to sit down next to Boberton.

Bert unscrewed the jelly, then shoved his fist inside to scoop out as much as he could. He plopped the ball of jelly into his mouth, and held it there, then ripped a hunk of bread loose, which was difficult with slippery hands.

He jammed the bread into his mouth, and began to chew happily. It was grape jelly. His favorite.

They ate in silence until both had finished, then Bert mounted a tall stool so he could wash his hands in the basin. He dried them on the towel, and then made a leap towards Boberton.

He caught the dog’s