Storm was confused for a minute, saddened by the lack of intoxicants and disenfranchised by the lack of engagement his ideas were getting. Then, as he processed the offering the Breaker had produced, a smile spread from ear to ear as he abandoned his other ideas.

"Stats!" he began, blurting out to all that would listen. "I remember these, don't you?! When a game gets beat into your head enough, stats are all that matter!"

Visions of old conversations from his entitled childhood popped to the front brain. There was a time where he carved delightful tales about wearing his Vespine Cloak of Engorgement +6 against hordes of oncoming Higher Werewolves, but he learned over time that in this game, your storytelling was a waste of time.

"Don't you get it? It's the best game of all time! You can bullshit your way through any half-assed story, because all anyone gives half a hairy f*ck about is the STATS!"

The guards sat down immediately. They were morons, of course, but loved the opportunity to be special for an hour. For all of the wasted intruders' meanderings, everyone loved the opportunity to play the hero, be it deserved or not. The cards were dealt out and one of the musclebound idiots began bouncing in his seat. Joshua walked them through the rules briefly before the big fool got to act first.

"I, uh, I am playing a +8 Shield of Prolific Invicibility! A boost to all stats by so much that I can't lose, no matter what! My character wields the shield, kicks Storm in the face with a Boot of +11 Strength and Doom, and then has sex with every suitable mate on Althanas! Checkmate for Borg!!"

Gleeful, the simpleton rose again, dropping errant cards as he danced about with abandon. He had been able to manipulate the scoring to make himself unstoppable, in spite of his own incompetence.

"Well, this game f*cking sucks now. Let's go get high."

And with that, Storm turned into a cloud of dust.