Of Dice and Men: The Story of Dungeons & Dragons and The People Who by David M. Ewalt Page B
Authors: David M. Ewalt
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skill points are allocated to genetics, engineering, and parazoology. Then Columbo, a detective; his list of gear includes a microrecorder and “stogies.” Lurch, a bodyguard, belongs to one of Shadowrun’s unique races; he’s a sasquatch, eight feet tall and strong enough to rip a man’s arm off. King Sun, a soldier of fortune, was named after an obscure rapper affiliated with Afrika Bambaataa’s Universal Zulu Nation; I’d deserve street cred for that reference if I hadn’t dropped it in the most uncool context possible. Then a computer hacker named Keystroke, and another named Technomancer. David Walters, a cop who fights with two pistols, John Woo–style. A soldier called Blackjack. A mercenary named Elvis.
My blade barrier protected me from getting bitten by the invisible attackers, but my companions were still easy targets. I watched Graeme scramble up a tree to get above the danger; Jhaden, swords at the ready, was still looking for something to fight.
The problem, of course, is that while Alex knew the enemy was out there, he couldn’t see them. He had to attack at random and hope he connected with something solid. “Jhaden’s going to swing his longsword here,” he said, pointing at an empty square on the battle mat, next to the mini that represented Jhaden. “This is plus-twelve to hit,” he said, rolling a die, “for a total of twenty.”
“Okay, that’s enough to hit,” Morgan said. “Now roll percentile dice.”
Alex picked up two ten-sided dice. “The red one is tens,” he said, tossing the dice on the table. They came up 7 and 5. “Seventy-five!”
“You hit nothing.”
“What?”
“You would have hit something if there was anything there.”
“Goddamn it!”
Brandon waves his hand. “Hey, guys? I can’t hear.” His voice had an unusual echo. He was smaller than usual, too. “Can you move the microphone closer?” Brandon moved to Los Angeles two weeks ago, but we wanted to keep him in the game, so he dialed into Alex’s computer using videoconferencing software. We saw him in a tiny window on the monitor and heard him through speakers; he watched us through a webcam pointed at the game table.
Alex moved over to the computer, grabbed the mouse, and adjusted a few controls. “Can you hear better now?”
Brandon’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.
Alex clicked at the controls. “Oops, sorry, man. I turned off your audio.”
Morgan laughed. “You can mute Brandon! Now, if only we could mute Phil . . .”
----
It was novel having Brandon virtually present at the table, but not a long-term solution. He couldn’t follow the action or participate fully, so it’s wasn’t a satisfying experience. Since wizards are such a critical part of any D&D party, we really needed one at the table, and that meant finding a new player to join our weekly game.
We’d had mixed luck with this sort of thing before. R. C. Robbins, who plays our group’s rogue, Graeme, joined the campaign well after it was under way, and he turned out to be a great addition. R. C. is thirty-six years old, married for four of those, and works as a business technology consultant for a big corporation based in Manhattan. He’s the kind of guy who always has some crazy story at hand, whether it’s about a confrontation he just had on the subway or a wild party he went to a decade ago. We tease him about it, but he’s a good guy and well liked.
Other additions didn’t go as well. Before R. C. came on board we recruited Jonathan, a local grad student, through a post on a website where interested players hook up with regular weekly games. Jonathan was welcomed into the group but immediately started ruffling feathers. He was obsessed with the rules of the game and seemed to view each session as an opportunity to demonstrate his mastery of obscure details rather than, as Brandon described it, “a chance to get together with friends and have fun . . . a break from the ‘real world’ where things
My blade barrier protected me from getting bitten by the invisible attackers, but my companions were still easy targets. I watched Graeme scramble up a tree to get above the danger; Jhaden, swords at the ready, was still looking for something to fight.
The problem, of course, is that while Alex knew the enemy was out there, he couldn’t see them. He had to attack at random and hope he connected with something solid. “Jhaden’s going to swing his longsword here,” he said, pointing at an empty square on the battle mat, next to the mini that represented Jhaden. “This is plus-twelve to hit,” he said, rolling a die, “for a total of twenty.”
“Okay, that’s enough to hit,” Morgan said. “Now roll percentile dice.”
Alex picked up two ten-sided dice. “The red one is tens,” he said, tossing the dice on the table. They came up 7 and 5. “Seventy-five!”
“You hit nothing.”
“What?”
“You would have hit something if there was anything there.”
“Goddamn it!”
Brandon waves his hand. “Hey, guys? I can’t hear.” His voice had an unusual echo. He was smaller than usual, too. “Can you move the microphone closer?” Brandon moved to Los Angeles two weeks ago, but we wanted to keep him in the game, so he dialed into Alex’s computer using videoconferencing software. We saw him in a tiny window on the monitor and heard him through speakers; he watched us through a webcam pointed at the game table.
Alex moved over to the computer, grabbed the mouse, and adjusted a few controls. “Can you hear better now?”
Brandon’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.
Alex clicked at the controls. “Oops, sorry, man. I turned off your audio.”
Morgan laughed. “You can mute Brandon! Now, if only we could mute Phil . . .”
----
It was novel having Brandon virtually present at the table, but not a long-term solution. He couldn’t follow the action or participate fully, so it’s wasn’t a satisfying experience. Since wizards are such a critical part of any D&D party, we really needed one at the table, and that meant finding a new player to join our weekly game.
We’d had mixed luck with this sort of thing before. R. C. Robbins, who plays our group’s rogue, Graeme, joined the campaign well after it was under way, and he turned out to be a great addition. R. C. is thirty-six years old, married for four of those, and works as a business technology consultant for a big corporation based in Manhattan. He’s the kind of guy who always has some crazy story at hand, whether it’s about a confrontation he just had on the subway or a wild party he went to a decade ago. We tease him about it, but he’s a good guy and well liked.
Other additions didn’t go as well. Before R. C. came on board we recruited Jonathan, a local grad student, through a post on a website where interested players hook up with regular weekly games. Jonathan was welcomed into the group but immediately started ruffling feathers. He was obsessed with the rules of the game and seemed to view each session as an opportunity to demonstrate his mastery of obscure details rather than, as Brandon described it, “a chance to get together with friends and have fun . . . a break from the ‘real world’ where things
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