The wind whistles through the trees

And passing branches claw at your sides
As you sprint through the underbrush
The familiar rush of blood through your ears
Running from ogres
Has been whittled down to an art.
Except when you roll a 4
The GM gives a Cheshire cat grin,
As you trip on a conveniently placed stump.
Looks like we’re ogre lunch.
You're level one.

You walk into a tavern
Your companions by your side,
The lights barely illuminating
The post rush hour bar.
The group cheers--
Causing heads to turn
A few tables down--
When you roll a 19
In persuading the freckled bartender
And he tells you
About any trouble that might be
Lurking around the corner
And you land a lucky gig
In goblin trapping.
The players moan,
For yet another quest
About those pesky creatures.
You're level five.

The cold clings and gnaws at your elbows
You're not sure you have toes anymore
The frozen walls pulse with an electric blue
Blanketing the cavern in light.
You can almost taste the frost in the air.
And on the ceiling
A dragon of ancients lies deep in slumber
Its body embedded in ice
Its chest heaving slowly
As tendrils of mist
Seep out of its nostrils
Settling like dust of the floor,
The stalagmites breaking through
Like islands on
An empty sea
The silence in the cave
Is screaming to be broken
The glass bells that hang from the ceiling
Laughing softly as they swing
Ever so slightly
In the gently blowing
Cavern air
You can almost see them
The miniature creatures
That clasp onto the bells
With piercing dark blue eyes
The little wings flickering in the shadows
And the snickers bounding off the walls
They smell like a winter storm
Right before the first
Flake falls
You're level eleven.

You would have never thought
That things would go this far
You giggle lightly,
At the friends and family around you
Around you
As you devise a battle strategy
To protect the NPCS
You have befriended
And the persons within
Your nomadic city
For yet another final battle
You're level seventeen.

And at the end of the night
With flickering table lamps
And dice strewn across the table
The floor cluttered with books
Of monsters and other-worlds
The clock chimes 10:00
And everyone packs up
Talking ecstatically about
The next Sunday night
At the old blue house
By the river
With the long rope swing
And what adventure might
Ensue next.