15th Official Meet n Greet (Officially a Temporary Unofficial Event Name)

⚔️🐍 BOARD GAME NIGHT XV – LEGENDS OF THE EMPTY TABLE 🐍⚔️
“Two heroes entered. Fate considered that sufficient.”

The table was set for twelve.
Name cards in place. Chairs evenly spaced in perfect social symmetry.
A glowing “Reserved” sign stood proudly at the center, as if announcing:

---“Something monumental will happen here tonight!”

The café was still. The kind of stillness that makes sound feel intrusive — where even the hum of neon seems to apologize for existing. Steam rising from a single coffee machine and disappearing, as if unsure whether to participate. Outside, snow fell in a hush so absolute it might as well have been scripted. The faint sound of two chairs being pulled from a field of twelve.

And then—without warning—the silence shattered.

The air snapped like a pulled chord, and the cosmos decided the waiting was over. (Apparently unimpressed by low attendance, Fate already had plans for this evening…)

The silence ruptured as the café window exploded inward — a rain of glass and serpents spilling across the floor. From the chaos, a shape emerged, rising slowly… Its gaze cut through the light, cold and ancient, while the mass above it writhed like something caught between shadow and storm. Then came the sound — a thousand tiny movements layered together — the dry rustle of scales against air, the syncopated hiss of something alive and multiplying. The mass lifted, twisting and coiling in rhythm — serpents awakened, answering some invisible call. And in that impossible symphony of hisses, realization struck.

Medusa had arrived!!!

The room froze. Every patron in the café sat suspended — mid-sip, mid-sentence, mid-life choice. Jeff and I didn’t breathe. We didn’t move. We just stared — two mortal caffeine enthusiasts hopelessly outclassed by myth. We were doomed. Utterly, gloriously doomed. And then—the ceiling shook.

A shadow swept across the wall, and the café lights flared as if in recognition. From above came the sound of boots striking wood, the creak of a railing, and a voice — steady, weathered, unmistakably heroic:

“The winds warned me of your return, serpent queen — they neglected to mention the cover charge!”

Every head turned upward. Steam rose from forgotten mugs. And then — destiny quite literally fell from the sky. The railing above splintered as a figure stepped into the light, framed by the café’s purple neon glow like a herald of storms. He wore travel-worn leathers, the color of distant deserts, and a cloak that moved as though it remembered the wind. Salt glimmered on his sleeves. The smell of rain and open sea cut through the roasted air of espresso and panic. His eyes — sharp, weathered, unyielding — scanned the wreckage below, and for a moment, the café itself seemed to bow in awe…Then he leapt.

He dropped from the upper floor, cloak billowing, landing in a thunder of scattered meeples and overturned mugs. Coins spilled, dice rolled, and even fate seemed to take a half-step back to give him space. The figure straightened slowly, brushing dust and destiny from his shoulders. And as he lifted his head into the café’s fractured light — the recognition struck us all at once, as if whispered by the cosmos itself.

Sinbad!!!
----

☕🪞 LEGEND OF THE EMPTY TABLE: ROUND TWO (NOW WITH PROPERTY DAMAGE) 🪞☕

We should’ve run. Any reasonable person would’ve run. We absolutely intended to run but polite Canadians don’t interrupt mythic duels.

A pair of golden eyes turned toward me. Snakes hissed in unison. One coiled around my wrist, another pointed toward the battlefield, and a voice — ancient and terrifyingly persuasive — echoed in my head:

“You. Mortal. You will do.”

And just like that, I was recruited. Unwillingly. Irrevocably.
Team Medusa.

Across the café, Jeff’s eyes widened. There was a moment — a single, tragic second — where I thought he might help me. Our eyes met — mine pleading, his calculating — and I realized heroism wasn’t on the menu tonight. He didn’t even flinch. If anything, he looked relieved to know who not to save. Before I could process the betrayal, Jeff steeled his gaze, looked at Sinbad, and growled,

“Let’s slay the snake-spawn!”

No hesitation. No moral debate. Just grabbed a fork like he’d been training his whole life for a brunch fight. Sinbad froze mid-heroic pose, glanced at Jeff, then actually smiled.

“A bold spirit!” he said, raising his sword in salute. “You’ll make a fine first mate.”

Jeff grinned, clearly thrilled. I, on the other hand, was still half-wrapped in snakes, wondering how long it takes to file for betrayal insurance.
And just like that, Jeff joined the cause — uninvited, unqualified, and unmistakably enthusiastic. He looked back at me, shrugged, and mouthed, “Sorry bro — health plan’s better on this side.”
Team Sinbad.

The first strike came from everywhere at once. Serpents lashed out, coiling around café chairs and knocking over the “Support Local Beans” sign. Sinbad swung his blade through a curtain of steam, cleaving a latte mid-pour; the milk frother screamed one last time before ascending to appliance heaven. Jeff charged beside him, fork gleaming under the purple neon. “For glory!" he cried — which, in hindsight, was bold for someone wielding cutlery.

From my corner, Medusa hissed a thousand commands. Her snakes launched like caffeinated projectiles, sending meeples, dice, and one unlucky croissant across the room. I ducked behind the counter, shouting something about turn order and damage modifiers that no one heard. The café became a mythology blender. A camel skeleton crashed through the window — still wearing its union badge. A sushi bandit darted out from behind the pastry case, yelled “Tempura Town forever!” and was immediately turned to stone. Somewhere in the chaos, a familiar whisper echoed from the vents: “–2.” The Jeffening had woken.

Sinbad bellowed a challenge, his cloak whipping like a sail caught in divine wind. Medusa answered with a stare so powerful the Wi-Fi dropped. The entire building shuddered. The espresso machine burst into flames, briefly forming the shape of the Love Hut before collapsing into foam and regret.

Jon P finally stumbled in through the door, froze mid-step, and shouted over the destruction:

“Are we still playing Ticket to Ride Germany or what?!”

A snake hissed at him. He closed the door again. Jeff and I exchanged one last look across the ruined table — hero and villain, sidekick and snake-handler — and simultaneously yelled,

“DICK MOVE!!!”

The shout reverberated through the café like a sacred chant, summoning echoes from every past meetup. Camels stampeded across the ceiling tiles. Sushi rolls rolled themselves to safety. Even the neon sign flickered one last time before shorting out completely. When the dust settled, half the café was marble, the other half espresso foam.

Sinbad stood victorious — barely.

Medusa vanished in a swirl of shattered glass and loyalty issues. Jeff’s fork was bent. My dignity was gone. And the “Reserved” sign? Still glowing proudly beneath the rubble, as if to say,

“Told you something monumental would happen.”
----

🍴⚰️ OF FORKS AND FALLEN HEROES ⚰️🍴

Silence returned to Wizard’s Loft, but not the peaceful kind — the kind that hums with smoke, guilt, and mild electrical fire. The air smelled like espresso, ozone, and grilled reptile — which, for the record, does not pair well with mocha. We stood amid the wreckage: half marble, half foam, entirely unplayable. Jeff’s fork was bent at a ninety-degree angle, which he insisted made it “legendary.” I was still shaking coffee grounds out of my hair. Jon P cracked the door, saw the carnage, and muttered something about “needing the Germany map anyway.” The barista emerged from behind the counter, surveyed the ruins, and quietly flipped the “Open” sign to “Whatever.” In the corner, Jeff triumphantly planted the bent fork into a pile of napkins like a flag of conquest. “Victory,” he declared. I nodded. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

And thus ended The Legends of the Empty Table. A night of myth, madness, and measurable property damage. May future Tuesdays be quieter… but probably won’t be.
----

🎲 WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

🎉 New Players Welcome – If you missed the Great Loft Incident, congratulations —you still have a security deposit. First-timers always welcome (waivers optional).
🎯 Game Selection – Chosen by surviving heroes, divine coin toss, or whichever mythic figure isn’t currently banned from the café.
🎮 Got a Favorite Game? – Present your game as tribute — may the gods of cardboard deem it worthy.
🎭 Dress Code – Sinbad swagger meets Medusa glam: bold prints, flowing scarves, and zero eye contact.
🍇 Etiquette – Keep your dice on the table and your snakes to yourself.
⚠️ Warning – The Wizard’s Loft remains structurally questionable. Avoid eye contact with snakes, Sinbad, or electrical outlets.
📜 Fun Fact – The “Reserved” sign miraculously survived the battle and is now a minor religious artifact among local baristas.
🧂 Table Talk – Boast, banter, and beware: the snakes may be gone, but the puns linger forever.

— Your Snake-Adjacent Narrator with Unpaid Damages

📜 Since Our Last Meetup …

🐫 Camel Union lawyers arrived at Wizard’s Loft to serve follow-up papers, but were accidentally recruited by Sinbad as deckhands.
⚓ Following the battle, Jeff began referring to his commute as “voyages” and his Civic as “The Sea Foam.”
🚂 Ticket to Ride Europe officials released a new map update: Red Deer now correctly connects to Chaos via Regret Junction.
⚙️ Jon P was last seen measuring snake-coil frequency to convert it into renewable energy. He claims it’s “98% efficient and mildly traumatizing.”
🎨 Casey announced a new fashion line: “Petrified but Make It Cute.” Sales already stone-solid.
🪞 Jason was briefly turned to stone mid-sentence — experts agree it was an improvement to meeting pacing.