You would not know it by looking at
this old bastard, but during the 80's and early 90's, I used to do a
lot of role-playing. Of all the facets of the gaming hobby,
role-players, like Larpers, are often looked upon dismissively if not
with outright disdain by folks who regard miniature gaming as the
only legitimate form of gaming. I am proud to not be a member
of that snobbish camp. Frankly, those folks do not know what they are
missing out on.
The beauty of role-playing is in
watching your characters grow from farmers, peasants, herbalists, and
pickpockets into seasoned warriors, healers, spell casters, and
rogues. If you are the DM (Dungeon Master), you get to enjoy building
the world your group plays in. You as the DM can choose how much to
reveal about your world and when to reveal it. You can make a
character who seems friendly to the party, but has nothing but ill
intentions in his heart. You can make a character that is more than a
little rough around the edges towards your players, but he's secretly
the hero they need to complete their quest. In short, a DM has total
creative control over the game. The only limit is his imagination, or
at least, that is what I used to believe.
This story starts, not last Saturday,
the day of the actual game, but the Saturday before that. That night
I went to dinner with two of my oldest friends, Robert and Dave. Dave
and I have been gaming together since the early 80's, starting with
Dungeons & Dragons. Dave has been in both the passenger and the
driver seat when it comes to role-playing. He is, in fact, the best
DM I know. His games were all-day affairs ending with a rousing
dinner among friends. Those were the days! His adventures were
multi-layered, unpredictable, and challenging but winnable.
Robert, on the other hand, has only
played in other people's role-playing campaigns. I met him in the
early 90's during the fun days of Ravenloft. Though he has never been
a DM, he more than appreciates the amount of time and energy a DM
puts into preparing scenarios and running games. He is the best kind
of player you could ever hope for as a DM. He is willing to play
pre-generated characters that fit your scenario. He fully inhabits
the character he is given. For example, if he is playing a lawful
character, his choices are aligned with the character's moral code,
and he will always do what is “right” even when doing what is
wrong is easier. Robert is also willing to play the scenario that you
have constructed for that session. This used to be a given among
role-players. The DM writes the scenario for that session; you, as
the player, show up to play in it. Sadly, that is not the case
anymore.
So Dave, Robert, and I were discussing
our glory days of role-playing. We talked about some of the greatest
moments of our combined role-playing histories, and I could feel my
excitement for the hobby building up again. Before I knew it, I was
blurting out, “I will run an adventure.” After the initial shock
of my declaration, Robert asked, “What rules?” I thought about it
for awhile and agreed to try Pathfinder. My local gaming store has
all the rule books and supplements, so I could buy everything I
needed, learn the basic rules, and write the scenario before the
weekend.
I have always felt that four was
the magic number in role-playing, so I asked Dave and Robert if they
knew any good players to add to the group. Dave quickly recommended
Joel, a former Marine and combat veteran who played his first D&D
adventure during a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Though Joel was only
in his late 20's, Dave assured me that he was a mature and highly
intelligent young man. That took me up to three players. I should
have stopped there, content that I had a really good group of men.0,
but I had to have a fourth. Robert and Dave could not think of anyone
else to join us, so Dave called Joel and asked him if any of his
friends would like to join in an upcoming Pathfinder game. Joel said
he would ask around and call Dave back. Twenty minutes later, we have
our fourth, a young guy (early 20's) named Sam. Joel says that Sam is
a “little flighty”, but he assures Dave that he can make Sam
“behave.” This should have been a huge red flag, but yours truly
had already been infected by the role-playing bug.
I picked up the materials that night,
learned the rules, and broke out a dusty ammo case at the back of my
bedroom closet, which had been converted into a carry case for my D&D
miniatures (some of the first miniatures I had ever painted ). My
nephew Tyler made me a Pathfinder music playlist on YouTube, mostly
composed of ambient music from video games that my nephew had played,
but that I had never heard of. The music was perfect, nothing too
jarring.
The scenario was basic for this first
game: an order of monks were expecting to receive a holy relic for
study, but the relic never arrived. Found on the road in the
neighboring village was a toppled caravan containing three dead
bodies: brethren of the holy order disguised as farmers. The relic
was missing. The adventurers were to find out what the neighboring
village knew about the incident and look for clues. Then they were
supposed to bring what information they could back to the monks. Of
course, the investigation would not be without its perils.
The day of the game, my group and I
have a corner of the game store all to ourselves. Robert and Dave
were early, and Joel arrived a few minutes later with his friend Sam.
These two could not have been more night and day. Joel looked every
bit the soldier and carried himself with pride. He was polite and
respectful, but he was also clearly enthusiastic about the game. Sam,
on the other hand, was the picture of everything I disdain about his
generation. His long hair and pimply skin were greasy from not
bathing, and he was wearing a well-worn Iron Maiden shirt paired with
pajama bottoms and, I cant make these things up, mushroom bedroom
slippers. He had a habit of interrupting people when they spoke. He
carried one of those fidget spinners in his left hand, and he was
very fidgety.
To make a long story short, we start to
play the scenario. Robert, Dave, and Joel quickly settle into the
adventure. They ask all the right questions as they proceed with
caution throughout the game. They also stay in character. Sam,
surprise, surprise, would interrupt the game to ask random, and
frankly, stupid questions. “Is she hot? Would I want to pork her?”,
in regards to a village wise woman. “Can I stab him and take his
money?”, in regards to heavily-armed town guardsman. “Can my
character have a flying pig as his pet?”, as he was rolling up his
stats. Luckily, everyone in the group was silently en cue with me and
responded to Sam's antics by ignoring him.
Then two hours into play, his antics
take a sudden and final turn for the worst. The group of adventurers
meet up with the only surviving member of the caravan attack. He
tells the group he will join them, and take them in the direction of
his friends' attackers. The group has two choices. One, trust the
survivor and follow him into what may very well be an ambush, or,
refuse and take what knowledge they have gained back to the monks
that employed them. The group had a few minutes to talk over their
decision, while I grabbed some refreshments for the next leg of the
journey.
When I came back, Joel, Robert, and
Dave had decided that they were going to proceed with caution and
politely decline the survivor's offer. A wise choice, because the
“survivor”, as you may have guessed, was actually one of the bad
guys. Reluctantly, I turned to Sam and asked if he would be joining
the group in their decision. He quickly told me he was bored with
this adventure, and that he wanted more action. His character wanted
to go to a brothel (there was not one in this scenario), disguise
himself as a woman, and pickpocket from the wealthy clients. The
table went silent. Was this kid trying to be funny, and we just
missed the punchline? I asked him, in my sternest voice, “Are you
serious?”
He said “Yeah. This scenario is
pretty boring. Not enough action. We have only got into two fights,
and one of them was with wild dogs.” I replied, “Yes, because you
are level one characters. I am trying to take it a little easy on
you, so you can have a fair chance to build up your stats.” Then, I
said in my nicest voice, “There's more action to come, once you get
back to your town.” “I don't want to go back to my town,” he
whined. “We have already seen it, and there's nothing to do there.
I want to go on my own adventure.” “But you are part of a group,”
I reminded him. “This is a scenario where you move along with your
group.” This should not have to be explained, I thought to
myself. “That's not the way my last Pathfinder game went,” he
replied. “Everyone could decide if they wanted to move along with
the group or have their own side adventures.” Side adventures? What
was this crap? I asked Joel if he had been in any games that we were
run like that, and he confirmed that that was pretty common for his
Pathfinder group. Then that little twerp dared to interject, “My
last DM does not have a problem coming up with side quests on the
spot.”
I am boiling with rage at this point,
then a little light comes on. I will show you who can improvise, you
little jerk. I smile. Roger and Dave are wide-eyed at this point.
They know what's coming. I roll a die. I barely make my roll, but
it's enough to accomplish my goal. The villain in disguise quickly
plucks a dagger from under his robes and stabs the little bastard's
pickpocket character in the kidney. Sam starts to hyperventilate and
rolls a die. 'I got it. I got it. My character is saved,” he
sneers. “No he is not, kid. You were stabbed in the kidney. No
magic potion or prayer in the world is going to save your character
now”, I answer. The kid shoots up out of his chair, throws his
pencil across the table and yells, “You can't do that. Everyone
gets a saving roll.” The crowd in the store are all looking at our
table now. I reply, with admitted smugness, “I can do any damn
thing that I want to, kid. I am the DM. That makes me God at this
table.”
The kid starts throwing all his dice in
his dice bag, as he is mumbling under his breath. I cross my arms in
front on me victoriously and sit back in my seat as the little twerp
takes his dice bag and his fidget spinner and stomps away to the
opposite end of the store. He can't leave because he does not drive,
so Joel is ride back home. I looked at Joel and asked him if he
wanted to call it a game. Joel looked over at his friend who was
slumped over in a chair, pouting, still mumbling under his breath.
“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “Sam can cool off. So what happens
next, are we all dead?” he asked, enthusiasm still in his voice. I
think for a second, then proceed, “Before the assassin can stab
you, an arrow flies out of the the forest and lands in your
would-be-killer's neck. An archer appears from the forest donning the
cloak of the holy order. He hands you a written decree that proves
that he has been sent by your employer to aid you in your quest.”
Everyone left at the table opens their soda cans and water bottles
and tears into their second bag of chips, fuel for the next leg of
their journey. You see, Sam, I can improvise too, if given a chance.