Dreadspire Keep: Demi-Plane of Blood

I don't feel that a "story line" takes more creativity than inventing the creatures, the location, the names, their political ranking (levels), ect. and then create the artwork for what they look like, what they wear, what they carry, size, making it all mobile and then doing it all again for every room, door, window, chair, brick, grass blade, ect. for everything.

Tall Bob stomped in and slammed the door to the darkend room, by the pale light leaking through the dusty shades he launched a rickety chair at the shuddering door and swore. "That B*tch!" he said, "expecting me to bang out three thousand words, when it'd be much easier to write four hundred thousand lines of code!"
Tall Bob swung his massive war hammer in quick smooth well skilled arc like a woodsman trying to commit furious murder rather than just split a chunk of wood. The glowing box from the Other World shattered sending sparks showering around the room. The hammer penetratingly connected unknowingly to an important bit inside the brutalized alien construct. Lightning flared up the hammer and turned Tall Bob into an arc of burgeoning knotted muscles, bursting into his
brain.
As Tall Bob fell to the floor his ghostly voice screamed, "Couldn't they have at least put one fuse in that damn thing?"
A voice as anciently hollow as a deep dusty sepulchral tomb spoke.
"Tall Bob," the voice intoned, "that unit was made on a friday, by people wearing 'casual clothes' no less."
"So I was dead the moment it was delivered," Tall Bob said.
The hooded cowl nodded, "you should have bought a Dell."
"C*ap," said Tall Bob.
The hooded cowl nodded again.
With a sweep the ghost of Tall Bob and the cowled figure faded from our mortal coil.


boy that was tough, i'm going to go take a nap.