Results tagged “D&D”

For a quarter of a century, the DRAGONLANCE setting has been engaging millions of readers in a world of magic and adventure. If you’re one of those special readers, now’s your chance to show the world that you’re the Ultimate DRAGONLANCE Fan!

One grand-prize winner will receive two (2) round-trip tickets to Gen Con Indy in August 2009, lodging for 3 nights, and two (2) four-day badges, as well as an autographed copy of the forthcoming Dragons of the Hourglass Mage by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. What’s more, the winning essay will be posted on the Wizards of the Coast website.

Read all about it here!

This whole Dungeon Mastering thing has gone to my head. I’m on a quest to get everyone I know to play D&D. I’m like a jazzed up, hyper-competitive Mary Kay saleswoman bound and determined to sell enough lip gloss and firming eye cream to get behind the wheel of my very own pink Cadillac. I threaten to run games for everyone—my dental hygienist who politely asked how work was. My new neighbor who responded with “Wizards of the what?” when I told her where I worked. Even the poor woman and her husband who came by to look at the dining room chairs I was selling on Craig’s List.

“My husband has sciatica,” she told me. “The chairs have to be really comfortable.” “These chairs are so comfortable we could play D&D for hours,” I told her sounding eerily close to Ron Popeil pushing his food dehydrator. “Go on. Sit down! You be the fighter and you be the cleric!”

I even went so far as to tell James Wyatt that the next version of the Dungeon Master’s Guide would have my name along side his under the word “by.”

“Oh ha, ha,” he said. “That’s cute! It’s like you’re running a game right now!”

Fine. Maybe not the next Dungeon Master’s Guide.

What can I say? I’m giddy with promise. Dungeon Mastering has taught me there’s nothing I can’t do. Why not climb Mt. Rainier this weekend? Perhaps I’ll sign on to be a volunteer firefighter. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll friend Stacy Kendrick on Facebook.

Or maybe I’m not that evolved.

Running a successful game has given me newfound sense of security, kind of like being certified in CPR. My D&D playing friends should feel safe in my presence for they will never be far from a game with me around. If we were trapped in a bomb shelter and all we had were our character sheets and a set of dice (because really, do you go anywhere without those two things?) and New DM wasn’t with us because he’s the one who trapped us in the bomb shelter, fear not friends! I’ll run us through a game! Just don’t swallow your dice because I don’t know CPR.

I woke up the day after DM’ing and D&D was all I thought about. It was odd, this new sensation, like someone unearthed a portal in the section of my brain responsible for the manic enjoyment of roleplaying games.

I thought about it on my way to work, magic missiling single car occupants riding in the carpool lane (I’m lawful good, okay? I cannot tolerate such blatant disregard for the law.) I thought about it in our 9:00 AM team meeting, pretending our boss was a concerned magistrate of a haunted town about to give the party marching orders. I thought about it in kickboxing class, reminiscing about the time a young Astrid actually had to use her fist to take out a bad guy. My right hook was on fire that day.

Clearly my Dungeon Mastering experiment had a surprise side effect. While my skills as a DM may need developing, I had become a much better player. My newly revved up self couldn’t wait until the following week for our regular game.

To continue reading, please visit Dragon Magazine.

I would love to tell you how my first stint as a Dungeon Master went, but I can’t. You see, I was so good, all my skillz will be revealed in the next Dungeon Master’s Guide—in a section called “What Not To Do.”

Oh all right, I’ll give you a preview. Just don’t tell R&D.

It started normally enough.

“Let’s go kill stuff,” Sara said.

“But wait—there’s more to the story!”

“I think we got enough to go on,” she said.

I also remember my nerves getting in the way of how to read monster’s stats and what color each Post-It note referred to. I left out important elements to the story, couldn’t answer simple questions. Even I was frustrated. Why the pressure? It’s not like you can get fired for being a bad DM. Not even at Wizards of the Coast.

For a game that encourages using the imagination, I found it odd my group couldn’t pretend they hadn’t run this adventure before. Not even my woeful, inventive tale of mistreated dogs could mask it.

“The door on the right is open,” Marty said.

“I didn’t say that,” I countered.

“No,” he said. “But it is.”

“Maybe in your adventure,” I said. “But in mine…” I tear through my notes—“Okay it is unlocked. But it’s the left side that’s open.”

“And we see four sets of footprints,” he told the group.

“Uh …. no Marty Smarty-Pants. Three sets of footprints and four sets of paw prints.”

And all that work I put into my story? Wasted. Even my heartbreaking tale of Shadow Dog—the sweet, gentle pit bull who was banished from its home. With its spirit crushed and its will beaten, it was sent to the Howl Haven to live in peace. Even after the fall, Shadow Dog’s loyalty kept it here to live out a life imprisoned for sins it never committed.

“Are you crying?” Scott asks.

“No!” I say. “I’m… in character. There’s a lot of history in this room. Perhaps you should pay your respects.”

“We’re not here for conversation,” Scott says. “PilaafDokkurFljot is a red-hot killing machine.”

“Have you no regard for what the people of Charlesburg have gone through?”

“Brrr…” Marty overdramatically states. “A draft. Perhaps there’s a secret door by this large pillar.”

I didn’t care that he found the door by metagaming instead of a Perception check. I shoved the party right through the secret door into the lower tomb, where I pointed out two spots on the map.

There are two kennels, each blocking the entrance to a corridor. The room smells like… burnt fur.

We were about to have our first encounter. This should be exciting and empowering, but instead the way I say, “Roll for initiative,” sounds like Shaggy commanding Scooby Doo.

To continue reading, please visit Dragon Magazine

Most conversations between 60-something year-old mothers and their 30-something year-old daughters don’t generally go like this:

“Mom, I need your recipe for pistachio cake. I’m DMing a game on Wednesday!”

“Oh Sweetie, you’re going to be a Dungeon Master! I’m so proud of you!”

This conversation took place via cell phone while my mom was shopping at Target. She is proud of me being a Dungeon Master, likening it to directing a blockbuster summer movie or that time I ran for Vice President in 10th grade (and lost to Stacy Hendrick’s boyfriend, of all people!).

Mom did get some weird looks that day, which pissed her off. She’s become very protective of D&D and the people who play.

To the woman on her right pretending to study picture frames, my mom said, “I hope she doesn’t kill her friends. Imagine the guilt.”

My mom would make a fantastic Dungeon Master.

Guilt aside, my opportunity was coming with alarming frequency. But there was so much to do! Like finding willing and able participants.

Learning a thing or two from my ambush D&D game with the girls, I knew it would be best to:

A. Play with people who already know how to play and

B. Be honest about your intentions.

Even more importantly, they should possess the following traits:

Charisma (15+): Must have the ability do something entertaining to divert the focus off me while I try to figure out which page of the adventure I’m on. (Scott.)

Intelligence (14+): Must have enough knowledge of the game to not need me to explain the little details. (Marty.)

Wisdom (6): IQ aside, this person must be easily won over with food and drinks. (Adam.)

Strength (13+): Must be strong and focused enough to help get the game back on track should I completely lose control. Or drink too much and pass out. Or lock myself in the bathroom out of shame. (Sara.)

Dexterity (15+): Must be nimble, fast-thinking, and able to focus on many tasks at once, such as playing a PC and answering the DM’s questions, such as “Can they look in that window? They can? What do they see?” (New DM.)

While most of them knew of my experiment, they didn’t all know they’d be part of it. Not sure if this would be considered an honor, I thought I’d employ some reverse psychology tactics.

Hi everyone,

After months of careful scrutiny, pretend focus groups, and miles of secret footage, you have been selected to take part in a once a lifetime opportunity. I have nominated you to be on TLC’s What Not to Wear! Stacy and Clinton will be here tomorrow so look your worst!
Ha, ha, ha, just kidding …

Within seconds Adam was at my desk.

“You’re not funny,” he said.

I hate it when people open conversations with that.

“But yeah, I’ll play D&D with you.”

Let it be known this was the same day Adam showed up to work in sandals and socks. I’m just saying . .

To read more of this article, please visit Dragon Magazine.

Let me begin by saying, this was New DM’s idea.

“Why don’t you try DM’ing a game sometime,” he suggested.

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “You’re doing a great job.”

“Umm… not in place of me,” he smiled. “I meant for fun.”

For fun? Ha! Dungeon Mastering is fun? Come on, New DM. I didn’t fall off the longship yesterday.

I like to think New DM suggested this believing I might actually have what it takes to run a successful game, but I suspected it was more like penance for all the hell I put him through. Of course he’d be in my “for fun” game, contradicting me, inventing spells, trying to pass as 3rd level when I know he’s only 2nd (I read ahead in the PH, okay? Tabitha has some cool spells coming her way.) He’ll master that same heartbreaking look as his Boston Terrier, Tulla, when I tell him his character takes damage. That same look I try to give him when my character gets in the way of some arrows.

“Tabitha takes 5 points of acid damage.”

“She does?”

“Yes, she does.”

“Really? She does?”

“Yes, really.”

“She had her shield of acid protection up. Is it still five points?”

“Oh. Right. Make that 10 points.”

I’d also like to believe we’re all created equal, but I can’t. I think certain people are better suited for certain things. Some people are lousy athletes but exceptional spectators. Some have a good eye for art but couldn’t draw a blank if their life depended on it. Some people can master a dungeon, but simply aren’t cut out to Dungeon Master. Sadly, I think I’m the latter in all of these examples.

I also know I’m not alone. I’ve heard from countless people the reason they won’t take a turn at Dungeon Mastering is because of the belief it’s just too hard. You have to know every rule. It takes weeks, even years to prepare for a campaign! You have to invest a lot in the tools a DM needs to run a really good game. A lot of games don’t ever get off the ground because no one wants to be the Dungeon Master. It’s more like D&D Show & Tell or D&D therapy where they just sit around a table and talk about what you would do if someone were running a game.

I, too, was under the impression that Dungeon Masters are players who have graduated through some elaborate, decades long, physical and mental rules-heavy competition like a jujitsu master climbing the ranks to black belt. Misconception? Maybe. But there must be some truth to the difficulties of DMing to inspire R&D to make some changes. 4th Edition is supposed to make Dungeon Mastering easier. Digital tools, restructured rules, more of what the players want, so you—the DM—look even better. (The virtual dungeon does look cool, even if it will call us all out on who really is packing a light source.)

I would be remiss to play 4th Edition for this long and not try out all of it’s features, and like it or not, that includes being a DM. I admit I was curious. I had one Dungeon Mastering experience that turned into a fiasco where I tried running my five unsuspecting, D&D-phobic, somewhat belligerent, and mostly tipsy girlfriends through the basic game. It… didn’t quite go as planned, as they couldn’t seem to get past the notion that they had to roll a die to find a door (it was a secret door!). This time I would play with people who already play D&D, which should make things easier, right? And let the record show I have absolutely no motive for wanting to kill any of my friends.

To continue reading, please visit Dragon Magazine.

Let’s be honest. Adolescence can be a crappy time for any kid, but I feel like it could have been easier if I had played D&D.

I just left my weekly D&D game, and the only backstabbing going on involved a bastard sword and a strategically placed minion. With no rest and only a handful of healing surges between the six of us, we took on an endless stream of orcs, a body-pierced shadar-kai warlock, and a weeble-like Captain Bad-Ass who had the maddening ability to keep popping up every time we knocked him down. Multiple times in the two hours, everyone made choices that put their PCs in danger all so they could save someone else — including the NPC who got us into this mess!

D&D isn’t about sabotage or sacrificing your friends to make yourself look good. This sure isn’t middle school! Who do I contact to make D&D as much a requirement as PE and Health?

I would have had real friendships — not the on-again-off-again, tumultuous, celebrity-like relationships 10-year-old girls are prone to. Maybe I would have been focused on things like the best defense against a bugbear or figuring out how to defuse a trap rather than cigarettes, dressing like Madonna, and Brenden Wendle’s hair. And after facing villains like hellcats, frostworms, and chimeras, maybe I wouldn’t have been so terrified of that mysterious camp in the Poconos my parents used to threaten my brother and I with.

I’ve met D&D-playing kids at conventions or around the office, where they show up with their books and pockets full of minis and regale us with their tales of Dungeon Mastering. (They often take turns because everyone wants to DM!) I marvel at their ability to rattle off stats straight from the Monster Manual and argue with R&D over the virtues of a beholder versus a zombie. I listen enraptured to the epic backstories they give their characters and how they wax poetically about them like one of my friends does when she meets the latest man of her dreams. He’s big and he’s strong and he can swing a masterwork greatsword with only two fingers. They were crawling in dungeons before they crawled in living rooms.

And it’s cool to be smart! Not true in my day. In an effort to be accepted by the dumb, shoplifting, ripped-jeans-not-because-it-was-cool-but-because-their-jeans-were-really-ripped crowd, I failed a vocabulary test on purpose because it wasn’t cool to have an A in English. The next day, Mom’s green Cordoba was in the parking lot, and she and I were in the principal’s office where it was determined that I did in fact know what conceited meant, and clearly I was trying to act out. Did I need attention? Were things OK at home? Was I eating?

I also knew what mortified meant and not because I was quizzed on it. My mom used the word at least twelve times on our way home from school. She made a deal. “Every week you don’t fail a test, stay away from those girls, and quit pretending you’re riddled with this pre-teen angst crap, I’ll take you to K-Mart and buy you two new books.”

Wow! Two new books every week? Can Judy Blume and Francine Pascal even write that fast?

So why the stroll down memory lane? Because I stumbled across my childhood diary the other day. My 3”x4”, green, vinyl-covered book with the words, “One Year Diary” etched in gold across the cover. Here I wrote down all my innermost thoughts. I was barely a decade old and apparently had multiple-personality disorder, because most of my entries are scribbled out with the words “No I didn’t!” or “Gross! Not true!” scrawled across the pages.

I love Brenden Wendle!

I hate Brenden Wendle!

I hope my parents don’t make me go to the Poconos!

The inside front cover has the words “Property Of,” which I filled out in my nine-year-old script, SHELLY! If that weren’t clear enough I wrote “Not you Mike!!!! Or Mike’s friends!!!! And then, as if foreshadowing my future life as a part-time sorceress, I added, “Read it and be cursed with bad luck!”

I do not look back on this time with any sense of nostalgia. If I look back at all, it’s more with a sense that I’m about to break out in hives and need to throw my face in a paper bag to regulate my breathing. Flipping through some of my diary entries, I realize much of what I anguished over could have been avoided if I had had the benefit of a D&D group twenty years ago.

Yeah, I’ve heard the tales of woe from the kids who did grow up playing D&D — getting beat up in gym class and called names like freak and nerd and Orc Face. But guess what? I was called names, too. Like “Brenden Wendle Lover” (TLA!) and “Smelly Shelly” (OMG!) and “Turtle Head” (WTH?). At least if I was part of a D&D group, I’d have had the benefit of returning to a group of friends I knew would have had my back. And my turtle head.

So, in the spirit of the season, I’d like to give thanks to D&D for imparting these important life lessons. For some of you, it may not be too late. Go on without me! Save yourselves! Back to middle school we go!

To read the rest, please visit Dragon Magazine.

I have this friend we’ll call Nate.

Nate is a successful attorney who owns a home with a view of Puget Sound, has a cute girlfriend, two dogs, and volunteers for the organization Big Brothers Big Sisters. But Nate keeps a dark, ugly secret. He’s been playing D&D for years.

He’s the Dungeon Master for a group of six. He’s got more dice than all the storage rooms on the Vegas strip. His books go back to 1st edition. He still finds himself humming the theme song from the old D&D cartoon series. Yet no one, outside his group of six, knows he plays Dungeons & Dragons.

I know this about Nate only because he knows where I work and apparently feels safe divulging his secret to me. But Nate will not talk about D&D in public. If you call to ask him something about D&D and he is not alone, he will pretend you are a telemarketer and hang up on you. He keeps his D&D paraphernalia in a locked, fireproof filing cabinet. He keeps the key to said cabinet locked in another cabinet.

You might assume Nate’s non-D&D friends are reminiscent of the meathead jocks portrayed in a John Hughes movies from the ’80s. Will they give him a wedgie and scalpful of noogies if they find out his secret? Unlikely. His friends skip work to wait in line for The Dark Knight tickets. They debate (in the most gentlemanly and nonsexist way possible) the hotness factors of the women on Battlestar Galactica. They have been known to spend entire weekends “on tour” with their Rock Band. Yet, at the risk of being “exposed,” Nate once flipped an entire table over during his D&D game, sending minis, pencils and dungeon tiles soaring across his dining room and commanded everyone to “destroy the evidence!” because he thought he heard a car in the driveway.

“I don’t want anyone to know, okay?” he tells me.

Okay, I guess. But I have to ask. Which group looks weirder — the ones sitting around the dining room table talking or the ones standing on their sofas, playing plastic mini instruments, and pretending to be in Motorhead?

I know my view is skewed as I spend the bulk of my day with people who talk about, think about, and play D&D on a regular basis. At my office, people think you’re weird if don’t play D&D.

Didn’t Harry Potter make fantasy palatable to everyone? Are we not evolved enough as a society to concede Dungeons & Dragons is a perfectly acceptable hobby?

“Absolutely not!” Nate answers. “And if you’re writing about this, don’t forget I can and will sue you.”

If Nate is right, then more “Nates” are exactly what this hobby needs. Plenty of good people like Nate play D&D everyday. Tax paying, smart, socially conscious, well-mannered people! Why should what they do in their well-deserved spare time cause them embarrassment?

“What do you think will happen if someone found out you play D&D?” I asked Nate.

First he tells me to lower my voice. Then he admits, “They’ll treat me different. D&D is not a socially acceptable hobby.”

“Cannibalism, shooting cats with BB guns, and public urination are not socially acceptable,” I argued. “D&D is a game.”

But it was no use. Nate has actually broken out in hives over someone asking what he liked to do for fun. This saddens me, as Nate can’t be the only one out there experiencing game shame. But if he’s not willing to represent D&D players, someone else has to. Someone like me. That’s right. Me!

What would happen if I did all my normal activities and frequented my usual haunts while bringing my not-so-secret pastime to the people? Unlock your character sheets and dice, Nates of the world! Quit hiding in your bunkers of self-imposed shame! I will make the world a safer place for you!

I gathered up all the D&D gear I could find around the office and prepared to spend the next month literally wearing my hobby on my sleeve.

We had tons of shirts around the office, so I even sent a couple home to my parents.

“Oh honey,” Mom said, calling to thank me. “Do you really wear this? Outside?”

“I’m wearing it right now!” I told her. “I’m bringing D&D to the masses!”

This disturbs Judy a great deal, since she likes to believe I tromp around Seattle in Chanel suits and loafers.

“Couldn’t you just hand out those cute little pink dice?”

“Dragons aren’t supposed to be cute, Mom,” I tell her.

“Puff was cute,” she counters, and I concede. Puff was pretty adorable.

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