"I tell you we simply can't let this opportunity pass us by!" ranted Storm (known in her everyday life as Wil-hemia). An imposing, hefty young woman, she was the group's main rule-citer and enforcer, and wasn't used to being argued with. "A chance like this only happens once in a lifetime, and men only if you're lucky."

"Frankly, I'm not wild about our chances," said Egor, also known as Melvin. A pale, fey, math major, he rarely strayed from his books other than to take part in these gaming sessions. Surprisingly, he had proven to be the only one who could vaguely hold his own in disputes with Storm.

"Are you kidding? An evil sorcerer holding the kingdom in thrall?" Storm shot back. "It's the exact type of situation that we've been practicing how to handle for months."

"Reality check!" said Egor, holding up a hand. "What we've been doing is playing around with make-believe characters in pretend situations. You're talking about going up against a real sorcerer with real guards. Guards, I might add, who carry real weapons that inflict real wounds. Not the kind that you can heal up with a die roll, the kind mat can make you real dead. What's more, from all reports, the opposition has been doing this professionally for years, not months. Like I said before, I don't like our chances."

"I'm not talking about us trying to attack him head on, you dufus," said Storm.

"Oh?"

"Of course not I'm not stupid."

"I stand corrected on both misconceptions," Egor smiled, bowing slightly from his seat.

Storm stuck her tongue out at him.

"So what exactly is it that you're proposing?" said Red Blade, a bespectacled, skinny drink of water known more commonly as Herbie, who tended to think of himself as a warrior trapped in an academic's body.

"I think we should do what it says in the book," Storm said grandly. "I think we should form a Fellowship."

"Book? What book?" frowned Red Blade.