Something for the committee to put on their radar, insurance.
What about it? School needs some.
I can ask around on the street.
What the hell? Oh, too cool for street insurance?
Must be nice.
My sister wants to know what I'm bringing to my grandson's birthday party.
I'm sensing an emergency collage situation.
No, I wasn't invited. My son had a kid three years ago.
I barely get to see him on major holidays.
I mean, who in the hell does he think he is?
You saw your son at his wedding.
No, that's Furio. That's my gay son.
Him I get. Hank's a knob.
He doesn't have any hobbies or interests. All he does is play that…
What do you call that crap with the dungeons and the dragons?
Dungeons & Dragons?
That's the crap.
Ooh.
I know that game. We play Dungeons & Dragons. Mmm-hmm.
Guys, let's play D&D to help Hickey reconnect with his son!
Huh?
Was everyone's takeaway from last time
that we can use D&D to reprogram brains?
Nobody feels that we almost caused a suicide?
We prevented one.
Fa…bulous Neil felt like a nobody,
and thanks to us, he's still out there,
doing this and that in the background.
A satisfying sequel is difficult to pull off.
Many geniuses have defeated themselves through hubris,
making this a chance to prove that I'm better than all of them, I'm in.
All in favor of a game of Dungeons & Dragons
to reunite Hickey and his son tomorrow night?
Aye!
Well, okay.
It's short notice, but, uh, I think it'll be good for me.
So, Dad, I'm just curious.
Um, what is it about Dungeons & Dragons
that suddenly leapt out at you at age 60?
Um…dungeons. It'd be the dungeons.
Let's begin.
A blood-orange sunrise crests the peaks
of rage mountain,
as the eight of you arrive at the troubled realm of Galindor.
Ahead to the north, a bridged ravine.
Beyond that, a mysterious black tower
where, rumor has it, an evil necromancer dwells.
Your goal, reach to the top of the tower
and destroy the necromancer,
freeing the realm from his evil magic.
Oh, that's just what I love about role-playing games,
is being told exactly what to do.
Me too.
You should introduce yourselves.
I am…
Oh, boy! Joseph Gordon Diehard.
Really.
Son of Sir Riggs Diehard.
Well, I'm Sir Riggs Diehard,
so I guess I'm your dad in the game too.
Oh, my God, so cool. Oh, it's nice.
Isn't that weird?
Oh, boy.
Guys, I don't suppose that this is some sort
of contrived paint-by-numbers adventure that's designed
to force an emotional bond between me
and my emotionally stunted father, is it?
No way, Jose.
I got an idea. Why don't we just sort of reshuffle these…
And just redistribute them…
No, I don't… And just mix 'em up a bit.
Is this right, Abed? Should we…
And here we go. Hello, everyone.
I am Tristram Steelheart.
I'm a holy cleric with a mace and a dumb name.
Ouch.
I'm Tiny Nuggins, a, uh, a thief,
and the rest is gibberish.
Greetings, I am Fibrosis the ranger.
I'm crouton, the half-orc druid.
Druid? Oh, crouton.
Hector the well-endowed?
Again?
You think that's a weird coincidence?
I'm a troll named Dingleberry.
That's my mom's nickname for me.
Well, I'm who hickey was, Sir Riggs Diehard.
I am Joseph Gordon,
son of Riggs.
I protect the blade of diehard,
a family sword whose power knows no equal.
In our clan, the leader carries the hilt,
his eldest heir, the blade,
for we believe man's greatest weapon against evil
is the bond between…
Is the bond between a father and son.
Aw.
What would you guys like to do?
We should cross the bridge
and head for the black tower.
Huzzah? Huzzah? Huzzah.
Yeah, I don't know if I'm gonna head across the bridge, actually.
I mean, what else is out there?
What's south or east or west?
How about it, Aziz?
If I walk too far south, do I fall off your graph paper there?
You can head south.
I've generated some details about the surrounding area.
You know, for God's sakes, Hank,
it's been five seconds.
Can you not do this?
Hey, you tell me.
Are we losing?
No. It's not a competition.
The only winner is fun. Mmm-hmm.
We're having fun!
I go to Tristram, and I'm laughing,
and I pick him up,
and I carry him to the bridge.
It's fun!
Hector the well-endowed is trying to lift you.
I cast Torvin's flesh of fire.
Tristram murmurs an incantation.
His body becomes wreathed in white-hot flame,
burning Hector for…
Six damage.
Hey!
Well, Hector, that's called self-defense.
Tristram's flesh of fire spell
has caught the bridge on fire.
The rope supports in the middle snap,
causing the bridge to twist.
I'm rolling dexterity checks to see if you all hold on.
Abed, considering the bigger picture,
you think it might be possible you miscalculated
the strength of the bridge?
Good point. It would've been constructed
in the third age by goblins,
and they used primitive iron anchors.
The ropes are yanked from the rocky slopes
on both sides, and you all plummet
into the ravine below.
Abed!
Oh! Abed!
You plunge into the icy, raging waters of Skull river.
Ow!
You know, what's your problem? What's your problem?
You didn't invite me to Sebastian's birthday.
I knew it!
Who hoards a man's grandson?
He's not your grandson. He's my son.
And I didn't invite you to the birthday party
'cause I wanted to enjoy it.
You know, fathers and sons,
there is a lot of power between them.
Yeah. Stop it.
And I spent a long time
letting that power push me away from my dad,
and I regret it.
So what's ever between you guys
will only get fixed when you're together.
They're not together.
Abed, you're not helping.
I'd be a pretty bad dungeon master if I was.
Jeff, Hickey, Annie, and Shirley,
you've been washed down the left fork of the Skull river,
the others to the right.
Father!
If you're going to continue,
I need Hank, Britta, Chang, and Dean Pelton to go into a different room.
Yeah, we're not going to continue.
Thank you very much, guys.
This was just awesome.
Yeah, wait, wait, wait. I'll play your dragon game with you.
But let's make it interesting.
If I kill the necrophile before you do,
I come to my grandson's birthday.
We'll settle it like men.
Or whatever you call the guys that play this.
Okay.
But if I kill the necromancer
before you do,
then you don't go to Christmas or Thanksgiving
at Aunt Rachel's.
You don't even go to that.
Yeah, but I will if you don't.
Okay, fine. Okay.
Let the real game begin.
I will find you!
Well, I'm assuming you guys can help me beat him,
because if we lose, I'm gonna punch each of you in the heart.
You awaken on a muddy riverbank,
surrounded by treacherous, god-forsaken,
non-zipline vacation jungle.
I build a fire and construct a crude wooden rack
to dry my boots and oversized codpiece.
All right, and I can make some s'mores
out of horse meat and s'more horse meat.
Build a fire? Horse s'mores? Screw this.
The river runs east. I head west.
Tiny Nuggins scampers into the jungle.
Hey, pal, I didn't scamper
in the jungles of Nicaragua,
and I'm not gonna do it now.
Wait, come back! I follow him. Me too.
Tiny Nuggins, if we rest, we'll regain our strength.
And lose my family.
I'll imaginary sleep when I'm imaginary dead.
Through the brush in the distance,
you notice a patrol of half a dozen hobgoblins.
Hobgoblins?
Larger, stronger, and worth more in scrabble than regular goblins.
Everybody, get down. I punch him in the heart.
What? Well, I punch him in the heart,
and I keep running.
There are no women with them, are there?
I got class.
You charge toward them, alerting them to your presence,
and you attack the nearest one in the chest.
You miss and fall down. What?
Oh.
The hobgoblins are heading toward Nuggins with spears.
Oh, no!
Uh, I cast entangle on them.
Crouton the druid waves her arms,
causing grass, vines, and branches
to entangle the limbs of…
Four hobgoblins.
The two free hobgoblins fire arrows at Crouton. One pierces her shoulder.
The other her chest. Ow!
I fire an arrow at them.
Hit.
Ah, these hobgoblins don't like their odds.
They bolt into the jungle.
Yes. Yeah, you better run.
Go find a name
that's not just another creature's name plus "hob."
Uh-oh.
Crouton? I'm here.
She was badly wounded from her fall in the Skull river,
and the arrows were just too much. I'm sorry.
That's it? Is she dead?
Yes, that's it, hickey.
I'm dead. But it's okay.
I'm on your side.
Which is why I'm dead.
And I may be gone, but just remember
whenever the wind whispers through the woods,
you got me killed.
Now, you listen to me, young man.
I've punched about a thousand hearts in my life.
I never, never missed.
Have you ever been a three-foot-tall halfling
running through two-foot-high vines,
trying to punch a seven-foot monster?
I'm gonna go check on the others.
You might want to check your character.
Or just kind of generally take this game seriously.
Your son does.
I take a moment of silence
to mourn my fallen comrade, Crouton…
Before rifling through her belongings.
What news of my father?
You have no way of knowing where the others are.
Damn it.
You're still traveling north
along the narrow cliff edges of the Hawthorne mountains.
Okay, I'll roll for any encounters.
I'd like to cast a healing spell on Fibrosis.
Oh. Thank you.
But I… I'm not gonna help you kick your dad out of your life.
I don't think this competition is healthy,
and I don't think what you did back there was cool.
Look, you think I'm the bad guy
because I didn't invite him to my son's birthday.
But you know where he was for most of my birthdays?
Little place that rhymes with "not there."
Times Square?
The four of you hear an ominous screeching.
Moving upward into view,
three huge, white arachnids with eagle wings.
Sky spiders.
I draw my sword and I cry out…
"Back, eight-legged demons!
"I will not scoop you up with a catalog
"and let you outside on this day!"
Stay your blade, Joseph Gordon.
Sky spiders are as frightened of us as we are of them.
Plus they eat all the sky mosquitoes.
Mmm.
I cast speak with monsters, and I say,
"Hello. You're looking well."
The lead spider bends four knees
and twitches its hairy ovipositor,
rhythmically secreting and retracting
a giant droplet or drop of silk.
Oh.
Fibrosis, as a ranger, you recognize this
as the arachnid's signal of submission.
Oh. Nice work, Tristram.
Damn, you made that sky spider your bitch, yo!
You've tracked the hobgoblins to this shack.
One guard hob-guards the door.
That's what they call guarding. Go.
Sniper arrow on the guard.
It strikes true. The guard drops.
I move to the doorway. Detect traps.
None detected. I enter.
Left flank. Right!
One hobgoblin, facing east.
Backstab. Double damage.
Critical hit. He's dead.
Footsteps behind the door to the north.
I notch two arrows.
I climb the walls to get above the door.
Five goblins enter from the north.
I fire. Both arrows hit.
Cleave! You kill one and wound another.
I drop on the last one and grapple.
You got ahold of him.
This one is for crouton.
With his dying breath, he utters…
"The dark lord will kill you all."
Wait, these things can talk?
I want two taken alive. I want to try something.
Hi. I'm Tiny Nuggins.
I'm gonna put my dagger down right here,
so we can just talk.
Human trash.
Yeah, look, I'm gonna give it to you straight.
We're looking for a necromancer.
We don't need two goblins to find him.
So between you and your friend,
who do you think's the most useful?
Man, your friend sure can talk.
Liar. He'll never turn.
Oh, yeah, because of that famous goblin loyalty.
I could never drive a wedge between you and some guy from work.
Uh, I was best man at that guy's wedding.
Oh?
Your friend says you just got married.
Congratulations. Too bad about the food.
I hope your flesh rots in… Wait.
What about the food?
Oh, I guess he didn't like your wedding toast.
Golbak said that?
Klang doesn't approve of you and Lisa, Golbak,
and I don't get the sense it's because of his feelings for you.
You know, I think about Lisa,
sitting in that hole in darktooth canyon
with little Framrok and Griknog
rolling about on the wolf pelts.
Come on, between you and me,
which one do you think is yours?
No!
I know where the tower is.
The sky spiders have flown you
as far as their complex religion allows.
They set you down and express through intricate prancing directions to the tower.
Yes.
Father, forgive me.
I have traveled so far from you.
How many game days since the skull river ripped us apart?
How many real hours since I've gone pee?
We seek this necromancer. Why?
Our reasons are dreams, our dreams, dust.
I send word on wings of sparrows,
in hopes they might find you.
Abed says the odds are near impossible.
That's enough for me.
Should you receive this message,
I know of a way to reunite.
According to my character sheet,
if I rub the blade of our magic family sword
while you rub the hilt,
twin beacons of light will reveal our locations to each other.
Each night, I will think of you and rub,
praying for the night fate will find us rubbing together.
Your son, Joseph Gordon Diehard.
Something strange has happened.
A sparrow lands on Riggs Diehard's shoulder.
It carries a note.
Abed, I… Rub my sword's hilt?
A beam of light shoots out from your location,
as the hilt of diehard seeks its blade.
The beam arcs and meets an equal beam in the woods to the north.
Is that where the others are?
Yes, 10 miles away, same as you.
So we'll be arriving at the tower…
At the same time tomorrow morning.
This began as a race.
But it may end in war.
Does anybody have a toothpick?
I got a piece of popcorn stuck in my tooth.
You know, it's, like, right under the gum,
and, you know, I've been trying, like, for 15 minutes
with, you know, my tooth and, like, with my tongue and with my finger,
and I'm always one tooth off, and I just can't seem to…
Oh, hello, there we go. Anyway.
But it may end in war.
Maybe after all we've been through,
we should just call this thing off.
What, you think that's up to us?
You've seen the way he talks to me.
He doesn't want his own father in his life.
He'll do anything to win, and that includes attacking you.
And you best believe that your little friends
in there are drinking up his kool-aid.
This is a man who thinks of grandchildren like trophies.
Which is why he'll play to win.
And why I can't let him.
Rise, brave, sweet dingleberry.
Rise.
Both parties have arrived at the black tower.
Hi, guys.
Father. Joseph Gordon.
Mmm-mmm.
We are here, so Tristram Steelheart,
lord of the sky spiders, can slay the necromancer.
You guys cool, or are we gonna have to get red?
Tiny Nuggins, waterboarder of goblins,
will do the slaying, because every man has the right
to hang out with his grandson.
Too bad you're outnumbered.
No, they're not.
I'm not part of this.
I'm Joseph Gordon Diehard, and I am only here
to hug my father, which I now do.
It's a trick.
I'm not letting him hug me.
I hug my father. He has gunpowder in his pants.
I draw my sword. Stay back!
I draw an arrow. So do I.
Troll sound!
Jeff, do you lower your sword? No!
Dean, are you… I hug my father!
You're impaled.
Worth it.
Ugh. Good lord.
Son slayer!
I attack Jeff! Arrow at Chang!
Arrow at Annie! I head for the door of the tower.
So do I!
Taste the blade of Diehard!
I run for cover. I turn a snake into a rope.
Fire two arrows at Annie. Spear, spear.
I take the kid. I pop him. Three damage.
Lightning bolt, lightning bolt, lightning bolt.
Cure moderate wounds!
I spray all over them.
I hold Britta's face in a puddle.
Seven damage. Cleave, cleave, cleave!
I fire two arrows.
Dingleberry smash!
Plus three, demonic eye look.
And shove it up them!
After that, I put one right behind the ear.
Sir Riggs, hand in your character sheet.
Top floor of the tower, one door. I open it.
I cast flame strike on him.
You cast that already. Mace.
Okay. Missed. Ah.
I hit him with a throwing dagger.
You used all your knives. Ah, what… Will one of you guys take care…
What? You're all dead? I keep going.
I follow. You've reached the necromancer's workshop.
You see his bed, some bottles of goop,
some other necromancing crap, but no necromancer.
I search. I search.
Can I search, or are you gonna stab me in the back?
Hey, I am a thief, not a wuss.
I search, too.
Mmm-hmm. You find a secret door.
It's easy because it's already open.
It leads to a ladder, which goes straight down
to another open door on the back of the tower.
Ah, man.
Way to go. That's great. He just got away.
Hey, you can't just say he's gone.
You owe us an ending.
I owe you nothing.
I am a dungeon master.
I create a boundless world, and I bind it by rules.
Too heavy for a bridge? It breaks.
Get hit? Take damage.
Spend an hour outside someone's front door,
fighting over who gets to kill him?
He leaves through the back.
He's out there somewhere.
You might find him, if you get your crap together.
Hey, guys. Take it from a bunch of ghosts.
This is no kind of life.
You need fresh air and frozen yogurt.
It's on me.
Hug it out.
Oh, see… Hug it out?
Gag me. Who even uses that phrase?
All right, I'm climbing down the ladder. I'm gonna find this guy.
I stay and search the workshop.
Does he have any stuff there that can heal me?
You do find some potions.
Okay, well, I get half of that.
Excuse me, you just went down the ladder.
Well, I can hear you…
Can I hear him looting upstairs?
Not if I move about silently.
Fine. Fine. If I heal you, can we divide the potions?
Okay. But I decide who gets what.
All right, fine, but we've gotta be wary of traps.
I don't have to do a damn thing that you tell me to do.
What's going on? Shh.
You outta your mind? Do you wanna get… Oh, you give me a break.
The necromancer or not?
Do you want…
Do they like each other now? Are you kidding me?
They can't stand being in the same room.
I also don't think they can handle being apart.
And I think they just found a way to avoid doing either.
And that's the best most fathers and sons can do.
You've made me so proud today.
Ugh.
Does anyone know where we can buy a real sword?
Oh, Jeffrey.
You're still at the entrance to the chamber of grief.
Your move, Mr. Tickles.
You successfully pour more tea into Count Frogula's cup.
That puts it at Hillary Rodham kitten.
Okay, you attempt to pass crumpets.
You fail.
Okay, guys, I'm getting a little frustrated.
If you'd just take a look at your inventories, you'll see that…
Abed, are you almost done?
I can't sleep without my stuffies.
Fine. Hold on.
Oh, a goblin notices you and murders you all.
You're dead. They're all yours.