Perils of a DM

     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.