Results tagged “dungeons & dragons”

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.

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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 . .

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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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