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“You turn the zombie to ash,” the beleaguered DM’s response is measured and surprisingly only mildly irritated. It’s the voice of someone who has dealt with this kind of thing many times.
“Nice.”
“You also set your fellow party members on fire in the resulting blast.”
BM crosses his arms and looks around at his “party members”: the red-headed idiot he’d known since childhood who had roped him into this campaign largely against his will (the “Fighter”), the weirdo who took all of this entirely too seriously (the “Bard”), and the shady-ass foreigner who’d wormed his way into all their lives and wallets (the “Rogue”).
They stare back at him with bated breath. The Rogue gives BM (the “Wizard”) a covert middle finger just out of the Warrior’s line of sight.
“I can live with that,” BM announces finally.
The Bard lunges across the game table at him, arms outstretched with intent to throttle.