A Meta-Gaming Murder

DM:  After the longest, most dangerous quest of your lives, you have made it to the Center of the All.  Before you stands a dark tower of impossibly ancient age.  A slight humming escapes its very stones.  The air seethes with magic.

Hank: I open the door to the tower.

DM:  As you touch the door, it seems to swing in of its own volition.  A searing white light streams out of the opening and engulfs your party... everything is light and interconnection: your bodies seems to dissolve, your consciousnesses merge and then expand beyond any concept of space or time.  You dissolve into nothingness... and everythingness.

Slowly, your eyes refocus and a sense of self returns.  Your bodies feel strange... somehow more solid than they were before... and yet not nearly as strong or quick as they should be. Your armor and weapons are gone, replaced by soft cotton garments.  The air is warm, tinged with the scent of chemicals.

You are seated around a small wooden table.  Spread out before you are an array of tomes depicting heroes and monsters, dozens of brightly-colored gems engraved with strange markings, and many loose leaves of paper.  A collection of tiny statuettes sits in the center of the table.

Sheila:  I pick up one of the statuettes and examine it.

DM:  It's light and delicate and it appears to be... you.

Sheila:  That is so lame.

DM:  Hank, save versus poison.

Hank:  But my character didn't drink anything!

DM:  Not your character, Hank.  You.

Hank:  What?  You've totally gone.... bwwwwahhhh..... gurgle....

Sheila:  Is he... gone?

DM:  Yes.  It's just you and me now, my love.  We can finally... wait a second.  Where'd you get a crossbow?

Sheila:  NOW who's the Dungeon Master?

*twang*

*thwunk*