Gaming: D&D Pt. 01

This story was originally going to be called "Role-Playing Games", or "Gamers 2", but I was afraid that people might misunderstand. It's about a different type of gamer...

Once again, this tale begins in the distant past, before the internet and smartphones, and when arthroscopic knee surgery was in its infancy. If you're familiar with my stories, then you know that character development comes first - hot stuff a bit later.

Again, I didn't know how to label this one. There are erotic couplings, and fantasy, and romance. Hope you enjoy it anyway.

As always, your comments and feedback are much appreciated.

Note: There is no depiction of sexual activity involving anyone under the age of 18.

*****

If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no kind-a luck
If it wasn't for real bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all
Albert King, Born Under a Bad Sign

I played hockey and soccer in high school - until my knee was torn to shreds. Bad field, vicious sliding tackle ... I ended up in the hospital. The first doctor on my case botched the operation. After that, I walked with a slight, but noticeable limp.

I could still run, but I couldn't plant and cut. That ruled out pretty much all of the team sports. The second doctor told me that another knee injury might make it impossible for me walk unaided.

Yeah - cheery stuff, for a 16-year old.

There were side-effects: my former teammates began to distance themselves, or to avoid me altogether, as if my injury might be contagious. And my girlfriend dumped me.

- "You've changed." she said.

It had never occurred me that she was so shallow. I thought we had a real connection. In fact, I was hoping that she would be my first ... that we might give each other our virginities. But that wasn't going to happen. Maybe I should have been thankful.

I learned just how few true friends I really had.

Burnsie was one of the minority who stuck by me. There were four guys in our class named Mike, so Mike Burns became Burnsie.

- "Coulda been worse." he said. "My last name coulda been Peckerhead."

Burnsie was a long-haired stoner, and hung out with a very different crowd than I was used to. But he was smart, and funny, and had been a friend ever since our parents lived in the same old apartment complex when we were 4 years old.

Burnsie could also see the jocks gradually beginning to ostracize me. He didn't criticize them - not to my face, at any rate. Instead, he invited me over to his house on a Friday night.

- "Gotta game you need to play." was all he would tell me. We both liked all kinds of board games.

- "What's it called?" I asked.

- "All in good time, Ian - all in good time."

It came as a bit of surprise when Burnsie sat me down at a table in his parents' basement, and produced paper, pencils, and a handful of six-sided dice.

- "Ever played Dungeons and Dragons?" he asked.

- "No. What is it?" I had never even heard of this game. It was also a bit disappointing that there was no board, and no playing pieces.

- "It's an RPG." said Burnsie. "Role-playing game."

Up until then, I had thought an RPG was a rocket-propelled grenade. But the idea of role-playing was not entirely new. As kids, we had run up and down the streets of our suburban neighbourhood, screaming our heads off. We played War, or Cowboys and Indigenous Persons.

There were also games where we all chose superheroes, with endless arguments over who got to be Spiderman, or Thor, or Daredevil.

- "So ... we pretend?"

- "We're heroes." said Burnsie. "Warriors, or wizards. You've read Lord of the Rings?"

- "No. I have the Narnia books, though." I said.

- "That's a start."

We rolled dice, and created imaginary characteristics for our imaginary heroes. Strength, Intelligence, Wisdom ... (I wasn't too clear on the difference between those last two). Then Dexterity, Constitution, and Charisma. Each one had a purpose, although Burnsie's explanations didn't make much sense to me at the time.

Burnsie rolled high for strength, and created a fighter character.

- "Like Ivanhoe." he said. "Or Conan. I'm gonna call him Thunk - for the sound his sword makes when it splits a skull."

- "What should I make?" I asked. Most of my rolls were pathetic. My highest stat was dexterity.

- "An archer - a bowman." he said.

- "Like Robin Hood?" I asked.

- "Yeah - like Robin Hood's younger, uglier, and less talented brother."

- "Thanks."

- "You could call him Naybor." he said.

Our characters entered a cave, which sloped downhill and became a tunnel, deep underground. I didn't ask why we were doing this. Burnsie's fighter carried a sword and shield, and a torch; my guy had a bow and a quiver of arrows.

- "We turn the corner," said Burnsie, "and we see three orks."

- "Three what?"

- "Orks." he repeated. It would be months before I discovered that they were spelled orcs. "Like goblins, only bigger, and meaner. Evil creatures. What are you gonna do?"

- "Umm - shoot my bow?"

That involved rolling three dice, to see what happened.

- "Nice." said Burnsie. "A hit. How much damage did you do?"

- "A lot?" I guessed.

- "Roll another die and find out."

I rolled a one.

"You nicked him." said Burnsie. "A paper cut. The three orcs scream and rush toward us."

We fought the three evil creatures, by rolling dice, recording our injuries on the papers - our 'character sheets'. Burnsie described the action, like a play-by-play commentator. Eventually, after a furious combat, we emerged victorious, and looted the bodies of our fallen foes.

We were too badly wounded ourselves, though. There was no way to proceed until we acquired some healing potions - whatever those were.

Burnsie told me more about the game that night, and before I left, he insisted that I read Lord of the Rings.

- "Better yet - start with The Hobbit." he said. "And here - try this." He passed me a worn-out paperback entitled Swords and Deviltry, by Fritz Leiber. "It's the adventures of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser."

- "Ohh-kay."

To be quite honest, I was beginning to suspect that Burnsie had been smoking too much ganja. But he had planted a very small seed. From tiny acorns ...

***

I read the Fritz Leiber story, and found it surprisingly good. During our lunch hour, I went to the school library to look for more of his books. They didn't have any. So I tried to find a copy of The Hobbit.

In the end, I had to ask the librarian.

- "We have two copies." she said. "But they're very popular. Both are signed out. Would you like to put a hold on one?"

- "Sure." I was sixth on the list.

I can't really remember why I stopped, on my way out of the library, and looked to my left. But I did - and it was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

There were four upholstered chairs there, around a low table. Only one was occupied, by a girl with glasses. But I spotted the cover of the book she was reading. It showed a dragon sleeping on a huge pile of gold. The title was there, too - The Hobbit. Underneath was the author's name: J.R.R. Tolkien.

I noticed that the girl was very near the end of the book. It seemed that she only had three or four pages left.

On impulse, I went over and sat down across from her.

I was right; she was literally only a couple of pages from the end. If I waited for her to finish, I might be able to persuade her to pass me the book, instead of returning it to the librarian - and to the five people ahead of me on the waiting list.

It was actually fun, in a weird way, to watch this girl read. I didn't know her at all. She had jet-black hair, tied in a bun behind her head, and a horrific pair of huge, black-rimmed glasses. No girl should ever have been forced to wear them.

She was brown-skinned, with big brown eyes. She had this cute mannerism where she licked her lips at the end of each page, and then licked her finger before turning the page.

Her teeth were an orthodontist's dream - crooked and uneven. And she would have to shed a few pounds before anyone described her as even remotely attractive.

But there was intelligence in her eyes. Kindness, too, if I was not mistaken.

This might sound like far too much detail for the description of a person I was seeing for the first time. But remember - she was reading. I watched her for five full minutes - maybe even ten - before she noticed me.

She looked up, and saw me sitting there, just looking at her. I didn't have a book in my hands, either.

- "I'm sorry." I said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

- "That's alright." she said, a bit flustered. She adjusted her big glasses, and then made sure her skirt was still covering her knees.

- "I saw that you were reading The Hobbit." I continued. "I was hoping to read it after you're finished."

- "Umm ..." Now she was even more flustered.

- "The waiting list is really long." I said. "If you don't mind ... I wanted to ask you to pass me the book, instead of turning it in right away. I promise I'll return it - and I'll pay any late fee."

- "Ummm ..."

- "My name's Ian." I said.

- "I know." she said. "I'm in your English class. I sit near the back."

Now I felt like a complete idiot. How could I have failed to recognize her? Was I no better than my former jock friends, or my ex-girlfriend?

- "I'm so sorry." I said. "I feel like a fool."

- "It's ok." she said. "My name is Parvani."

- "Parvani." I said. "It's not ok, though. I should have known. Parvani - would you be willing to pass me The Hobbit when you're done with it?"

- "Umm ..." she said. "It's ... actually, it's not a library book. It's mine." She showed me inside the back cover. There was no slot for a library card.

I felt twice as foolish.

"But ... umm ... I could lend it to you - when I'm done." she said.

- "You don't even know me." I said.

- "Of course I do." she said. "You're Ian." And she smiled, crooked teeth and all.

***

I said hello to Parvani the next day, in English class - and felt like an idiot all over again for my failure to recognize her in the library.

Two days later, I got another surprise when I saw her on the way to school. It would have been rude to ignore her, so I walked the rest of the way with her.

- "How are you liking The Hobbit?" she asked.

- "It's wonderful. I'm really enjoying it." I said. "Thank you so much for lending it to me."

- "It's no trouble." she said.

We talked about Bilbo, and our favourite dwarf-names. Parvani was quite intelligent, and easy to get along with.

It turned out that she lived four blocks away from me. Her house was south of Colchester Road; mine was north. We had to cross the same bridge over the river, on our way to school. It was a two mile walk, but I never took the bus unless it was bitterly cold, or raining heavily.

So I ended up running into Parvani once or twice a week, and walking with her. I don't know if it was subconscious on my part, or deliberate on her part, but it seemed like we both altered our schedules - our morning rituals - ever so slightly.

I stopped lingering over breakfast, and got out the door a couple of minutes earlier. Parvani must have done something similar, because our encounters on the way to school became more frequent.

This didn't happen immediately. It also didn't seem to be on purpose - at least, not for me. I liked Parvani, but I wasn't attracted to her. She was short, and a bit chubby, with bad teeth and horrible glasses.

Still, a few months after our first meeting in the library, Parvani and I were walking to school together almost every day. We would wait five minutes for the other person to show up before going on alone. But it was uncanny how often we arrived on the main road almost simultaneously.

By that point, I knew why I walked to school with her. Parvani cheered me up.

We talked about The Hobbit. She never gave away any of the plot, and didn't spoil it for me. She could also discuss other books, or our English class. This shy, nerdy girl's perception of our school was a revelation to me; it was worlds apart from the way I had seen things as a jock.

One morning, I returned her book.

- "Thanks so much for lending it to me." I said. "That was awesome."

- "You're very welcome." she said. "What will you read next?"

- "I don't know. What are you reading now?"

I was only joking, but Parvani stopped and drew a book from her backpack. It was The Fellowship of the Ring.

- "Would you like to borrow it when I'm finished?" she asked.

***

It was amazing how much free time I had in the fall, and through the winter, since I was no longer playing hockey. I got a part-time job, and dated a girl named Janine who dumped me after two months.

When Burnsie invited me over for a group session of D&D - Dungeons and Dragons - I accepted. I was curious to know how the game went with more than two players.

Burnsie's friends included a few cellar dwellers - guys so flabby, and so pasty white that it looked like they had never seen direct sunlight. There were also the stoners, many of whom smoked up every day, skipping class to get wasted.

It was a very weird experience. For one thing, I didn't really know anybody in the room except Burnsie. For another, his parents weren't home, and the room quickly filled with the acrid smoke of cheap grass.

I had several beers, and a shot of something like Southern Comfort, but I wondered how we were going to play, with everybody drunk or high. It was noisy and chaotic, with nine social misfits (I include myself) trying to create characters.

After reading The Hobbit, and the first two chapters of Lord of the Rings, I was not prepared for what I experienced that night. Burnsie's friends were rowdy, and stupid.

One guy created a fighter, and named him Bumpus Fuckwad. Burnsie was no better; he made a wizard, and called himself Jacques Augh.

- "I'm a French sorcerer." he explained.

The next guy up created another warrior, and chose the name Titanus. Try pronouncing that word in different ways - like Titanium - and you may understand why half of the crew fell on the floor laughing.

One guy named his character Faramir, which meant nothing to me at the time - but at least it didn't sound stupid. I named my fighter Myles Falworth, but nobody caught the reference.

The last stoner created a hobbit character - which I thought was cool - until he told everybody his name.

- "Dildo Bugger." he said.

I didn't get the joke until two years later, when I read the Harvard Lampoon's parody of Lord of the Rings. At the time, though, I just rolled my eyes.

After reading The Hobbit, I was expecting some kind of heroic quest. Instead, what we had was a bunch of stoners laughing hysterically at their own moronic jokes.

Burnsie was the DM - dungeon master. Master of ceremonies might be a better term. He was the main story-teller, and the arbitrator of the rules - whatever those were. But it didn't work. For one thing, Burnsie was high as a kite. He just laughed as his friends did the stupidest things.

We all met in a tavern, where a wizard gave us a quest. But most of the players weren't even remotely interested. Instead, they tried to pick each other's pockets. Burnsie let them roll dice to see if they succeeded.

Others started a bar brawl, by attacking the non-player characters (known as NPCs) in the tavern. Then they started fighting each other.

It was chaos. I could only shake my head, and get another beer to drown my sorrows. It was too bad, really; I had been looking forward to a high fantasy adventure, slaying a dragon, or something like that.

There was one other guy who seemed equally disappointed. Our eyes met, once, and we shared a slow head shake.

Everybody else got progressively more wasted, and the game quickly devolved into smoking and joking. I could see the writing on the wall; it was only going to get worse. I said goodbye, and headed for the nearest bus stop.

- "Mind if I go with you?"

I turned around, to see the only other guy who was unhappy about the way things had turned out.

- "Faramir?" I said.

- "Yeah. My name's Nathan - but I prefer Nate."

- "Ian." I said. "Pleased to meet you."

We walked to the bust stop together. Nate didn't go to our school; he knew Burnsie from church.

- "That was a bit of a let-down." he said.

- "Pretty silly." I said. "It's too bad, really."

We compared notes, as we waited for the bus. Like me, Nate had been expecting a heroic adventure. As he shared his impressions of Burnsie's game with me, I quickly realized that we were on the same page - except that he had read Lord of the Rings.

Nate went to a different school, a private school downtown. He didn't strike me as a stuck-up rich kid, though. He was no athlete, but a pretty decent guy. As we rode the bus, we talked about books, movies, and music. We had a lot of common ground when it came to the first two, but I drew a blank when he started naming bands that he liked.

We were both surprised to discover that we lived about three streets apart.

- "Nice to meet you, Nate." I said, as we parted ways.

- "You too, Ian." he said.

Tiny acorns.

***

Parvani lent me The Fellowship of the Ring the moment she finished it.

- "You're going to love it!" she promised.

After 70 pages, I wasn't so sure. It started very slowly, and the style was quite different from The Hobbit. I was thinking of putting it down. But Parvani encouraged me to stick with it. She was right. By the time the hobbits got to Bree, I was hooked.

- "Strider is pretty cool." I observed. "Is he a good guy or a bad guy?"

- "Umm ... yeah, he's interesting." she said. Parvani was well into The Two Towers by that point, but she was super careful not to spoil the story for me.

School ended. I got a summer job, but the best I could find was part-time. I tried some sports, like softball, and tennis, to see if my knee could handle the strain. Mostly, though, I just worked and read.

Near the end of July, I was finished The Two Towers. I phoned Parvani. I was desperately keen to start the third book (if she was done with it), but I didn't want her to think that our friendship was limited to book-lending.

So I invited her to go book-shopping with me.

Parvani agreed to go, though she had to get her mother's permission, first - a bit odd for a 17-year old, I thought ... but what the heck: over-protective parents are everywhere.

We took the bus. Our destination was a street downtown which had three separate used bookstores. One of them specialized in textbooks, but it was still pretty cool. We struck gold.

I found a well-worn copy of The Return of the King.

- "Now you won't have to wait for me to finish!" said Parvani.

She was happy, too, when she came across a stack of books by Anne McCaffrey and Marion Zimmer Bradley. Meanwhile, I also discovered a pile of Fritz Leiber stories, including two I hadn't read.

The last store had some oddities. One of them was a second-hand copy of the official Dungeon and Dragons Player's Guide. I bought it on impulse, even though it was a bit pricey for my budget.

- "What's that?" asked Parvani.

I had to explain the game to her. It was difficult, because I didn't understand it very well myself. I also told her about my experiences with Burnsie.

- "Michael Burns?" she asked. "Isn't he ... a bit strange?"

- "Because he's a stoner?" I said. "Listen, Parvani: Burnsie - Mike - is one of the few people I know that I can count on." I hadn't intended to, but I ended up telling her the whole story of my injury, my girlfriend dumping me, my jock friends avoiding me ...