We stare in wonder as the dice of chance tumble through the air, thrown by the hands of the Dungeon Master. He leads by his own set of rules, eve in our objection, and we must play along. It is this that makes us forget he is often no more certain than we are of what to do, or what lies around the next dim dungeon corner. The dice continue to fall as we silently wait in anticipation. Even his eyes gleam with curiosity, half-hidden behind tangles of dark hair and a facade of omniscience, seen through not by the wielders of simply weapons, but of knowledge. To the rest, he knows them all well, he has been blessed with the gift of intelligence, perhaps similar to that of gods. But, as far as the Dungeon Master is concerned, the only "god" is the dice, cold and random, but almost effortless to manipulate. With a dull thud they hit the bored and roll once more: fate has been cast and, with a slight grin, the Dungeon Master states the terms.