3 weeks (and 2 sessions) later

"Jorah draws a Tic Tac Toe game in the snow," Jorah sighed.

"Jon refuses Jorah's invitation to play Tic Tac Toe," Jon gave back and continued to brood.

Jorah's gaze wandered to Tormund. "Tormund doesn't know this game," he answered the unspoken question.

"Beric threatens to hold a speech about his deity if disturbed in any way." Beric glared at Jorah and only continued to read a random rule book when Jorah turned to Thoros.

"Thoros is way too drunk to offer a honorable warrior like you a real challenge," he said.

"Sandor draws nine fucking Xs on Jorah's game and he'll draw two more where Jorah's eyes are if he is asked one more fucking time to play a stupid game," Sandor answered the inevitable challenge, then turned to the DM: "We've been sitting on this fucking rock for ages now. How about giving us something to do, you lazy cunt?"

The DM answered with a sad attempt at a smug smile. "If Tormund hadn't invented the rock, you wouldn't be sitting on it." Then he went back to scribble on his campaign notes and Sandor tried to stare a hole in his head.

"I can't thank you enough for your premonition." Gendry grinned and leaned back. "I'm chilling here at Eastwatch, crafting hammers left and right and I would be just as bored as you if you hadn't told me to get help." He petted the raven sitting on the table in front of him, then took a sip from his ale.

"You look bored enough to me," Thoros gave back, looking at the raven. "I don't see you crafting anything. You've been texting for hours."

Beric huffed and shot Gendry and the bird a snide glance. "Bet he's texting his girlfriend and abandons the party as soon as she asks him to come over to Dragonstone. Again."

Gendry smiled and shook his head. "Actually, I texted Jon's girlfriend. She has a level 13 wizard. Best I could think of to save your asses."

Jon reluctantly paused in his brooding. "She's not my girlfriend, okay? I just know her through some mutual friends."

Now the DM looked up from his notes and turned to Gendry. "Did she reply?"

Gendry shrugged, picked up the raven and checked if it held a scroll. "Not yet," he gave back. "Maybe still at work." The DM frowned, looking disappointed, and returned to his notes.

"Jorah challenges Jon to an arm wrestling match," Jorah said. Jon pretended to not hear him, the rest of the group sighed. Thoros fished a peanut from the almost empty snack bowl and flipped it at the DM's head. No reaction.

Jorah was about to redirect his challenge, but Thoros had enough and just got up. "Well, if you're not giving us anything to do, I'm out of here. I'll be over by the pool table if you change your mind."

That got the DM's attention. "If you leave, I let your character die, you know that, right?" he asked, trying to sound threatening, with questionable success.

Thoros shrugged. "At least I don't have to roleplay sitting on a fucking rock with nothing to do anymore if I'm dead," he said and went to the pool table.

Beric closed his book and glared at the DM. "If you do this, I let your healer die. If you do that, I let your healer die," he mocked. "What are you going to threaten us with now, genius?"

The DM huffed and covered his notes with both hands, so Jon and Tormund would stop peeking at them. "I'm almost done rewriting the campaign, okay?"

Sandor grabbed the now empty snack bowl and threw it at the DM. "Sandor throws a rock at the slow cunt across the lake," he said and rolled the dice.

"You hit the 'cunt', but only do minor damage," the DM gave back through gritted teeth. "Very minor damage."

Beric picked up the dice. "Beric uses Flame Blade to burn Thoros' body," he said and Sandor sighed and rolled against Panic.

"I can hear you," Thoros commented from the pool table. "And I'm very touched you take the time to mourn me."

Now Jon woke up from his intense brooding trance. "You want to come back as a zombie?" he asked. When Thoros shook his head and turned his attention back to the pool game, Jon shot a brief glare to the DM, who still scribbled on his notes. Jon turned to Beric. "How about darts?"

"No, no, you can't leave!" the DM quickly dropped his pencil. "Just give me five minutes, okay?" Then a dice hit his head, hard, and Sandor shook his head.

"No. Either you make something happen now or you won't be around anymore in five minutes, you fucking cunt."

The DM defensively covered his head with his arm. "Okay, okay, your rock hits the enemy and drops to the ice. The undead realize the lake is frozen and the ice is thick enough to march now. And they ALL come at you!"

"Sandor attacks the ice with his War Hammer +1," Sandor calmly replied.

"No!" the rest of the group shouted at him.

"You really want to sit on this damn island for another two sessions?!" Jorah asked.

Sandor dropped the dice he had picked up and shook his head. "Seven Hells, no. I meant... Sandor swings the War Hammer at the undead!"