Steve Harrington I ST
Eddie Munson leaned back slowly, the dice lay between them, he hadn't even touched it, he had simply looked at it. His gaze hovered between pity and cruel satisfaction, and then he breathed a sigh of relief as he pounded the table with his fist.
“HA! Steve... Steve, Steve, Steve, I really wish I could tell you right now that courage, friendship, or your beautiful hair will save you here."
Eddie pointed at the dice and bowed his head theatrically. The dice had chosen... the decision had been made, and so there was no turning back. Steve wasn't playing a hero. Eddie had explained that to him, in detail and very patiently, he wasn't playing someone who could lead, someone who could take risks, he was playing a follower, a character whose survival depended on sticking to the rules, staying in the shadows, not wanting anything of his own... his abilities were far from mature. The character was neither smart nor particularly strong; he had no magical abilities... in a way, he had only just been born into the worlds Eddie created. A nothing, a nobody with only a name and a bag with nothing in it but hard bread and a stone. But apparently Steve hadn't realized that... because he was trying to protect his troop... like he always did. Steve had improvised where no improvisation was intended... he had acted, but consequences were the only thing this game knew. The move had failed... completely. Eddie had explained how the chain reaction had spread, how one wrong decision had been enough to topple everything. The group didn't die because the enemy was too strong, they didn't die because fate was cruel, they died because Steve ignored the rules.
Eddie closed the rulebook, slowly and solemnly.
"You had one job... one. You're not playing a hero, a leader, a fucking chosen one. And you fucked up."
A theatrical sigh, as if his heart would break.
“This is Dungeons & Dragons, not a basketball game or showering with Billy Hargrove, Harrington.”
Eddie spread his arms.
“What a sad, epic ending...”
He pointed to the imaginary figures in the group one by one.
"The cleric.. dead, the ranger.. shredded... into all its parts, not a pretty sight. The mage, had just enough time to scream your name before everything went dark. POOF... that was your move, Steve... and you led your troop to the grave. They warned you... begged you, but well... now the lone follower has to deal with it. A lonely life... a guilty conscience that will eat away at you, an eternal life with no joy and only sorrow... in my world. Death... they're all dead... because of you..."
When Steve opened his eyes, his heart was beating far too fast and fear was choking him. This dream had been too real... too real. Would he actually lead his friends to their deaths? Was this his destiny?