Is life just a roll of the 20-sided die?

The Weapons of Fate. How fare thee, ye latte-swilling travelers? Have ye done well since last we met? I wish I could say my fortunes were high, but of late I fear that the thoughts of sovereignty are weighing upon my crowned head, as lately I’ve been more gigantic melancholy than mirth. What is the meaning of it all? Are we just dust in the wind? Are we just dragon dung to be trodden beneath some scaly feet? King Mike-Noh the Ambivalent Allow me to explain my somber mood. Some weeks ago, my nephew, Prince Vivanious, was in a battle with, at best, an acolyte wizard. The bearded freak knew maybe three or four spells off the top of his head, the rest he had to pull from scrolls. Vivanious should have been able to clobber him with a single swipe of the trusty Mace of Maganar in one hand while he munched on some banged grains with the other. But a seeming fluke occurred. Vivanious swung that mace and missed in spectacular fashion. He not only missed the hobbyist magician, he mis