Accessory - Dragon Magazine #236, MAGAZINES, Dragon Magazine
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The dying game
y first PC was a fighter named Random. I had just read
Roger Zelazny’s
Nine Princes in Amber
and thought that
“Let’s go!” we cried as one.
Mike held up the map for us to see, though Jeff and I weren’t
allowed to touch it. The first room had maybe ten doors in it.
One portal looked especially inviting, with multi-colored veils
drawn before an archway. I pointed, and the others agreed.
“Are you sure you want to go there?” asked Mike.
“Yeah. I want a vorpal sword,” I said greedily.
“It’s the most dangerous place in the dungeon,” he warned.
“I’ll wait and see what happens to him,” said Jeff. The coward.
“C’mon, guys! If we work together, we can make it.” I really
wanted a vorpal sword. One by one they demurred, until I
declared I’d go by myself and keep all the treasure I found.
“You go in?” asked Mike.
“You bet.”
Random was a hipper name than Corwin, even though the lat-
ter was clearly
the man.
He lasted exactly one encounter. Orcs.
My second PC was a thief named Roulette, which I thought
was a clever name. Roulette enjoyed a longer career: roughly
one session. Near the end, after suffering through Roulette’s
determined efforts to search every 10’-square of floor, wall, and
ceiling in the dungeon, Jeff the DM decided on a whim that the
wall my thief had just searched was, in fact, coated with contact
poison. I rolled a three to save.
Thus ensued my first player-DM argument. There wasn’t
supposed to be contact poison on that wall, and I knew it. But
there was no going back; Roulette was dead, and I’d just have
to roll up another PC. After just a few scenes, I was back into
the game and loving it, arguing with another player over the
mule his PC insisted on bringing into the dungeon.
“OK. You’re dead. Roll up a new character.”
“What! What killed me?”
“I can’t tell you. You might want to go in again, and your
new character wouldn’t know what’s in there.”
The jerk! I rolled up another fighter, since that was easier
than picking spells or working out thief percentages. I named
him Uther II in wary defiance. We chose a less threatening pas-
sage and entered as a group. Thirty feet in, the floors opened
up, and giant gears ground my PC to hamburger. Uther III.
That one blew up while opening a treasure chest. Uther IV
sank into the swamp. Uther V. That one burned to the ground
and sank into the swamp. Uther VI, Uther VII, Uther VIII . . .
Mind flayers, pools of acid, a beholder, scythe traps, a trio
of gorgons, crushing walls . . . you name it, it killed my Uthers.
That weekend did wonders for me, now that I think it over.
Never since have I had a tantrum after a character — even a
favorite one — died during a game. I’d just pick up my trusty
sixers and roll a new one. In a way, Mike did me a big favor.
Either that, or he was still really hacked about that wet map.
Jeff’s older brother Mike was also a DM. He had created his
own world, complete with detailed maps he’d carefully drawn
and colored. He even slipped them into plastic folders to guard
against our teenaged rowdiness. We thwarted him, though.
Within a week, Jeff and I tumbled across the gaming table,
struggling over a plastic sword, and spoiled the gorgeous cam-
paign map with spilled lemonade.
Despite the ill omen, we started Mike’s campaign that Friday
afternoon, traveling from blurred city to smeared dungeon with
the usual plan: to kill the monsters and take their stuff. Soon we
realized that this campaign was deadly. After the first hour,
three of us were rolling new PCs to replace our casualties.
Before the end of the night, we’d lost almost a dozen characters
among us. I’d named my latest fighter Uther, since I’d been
reading Mary Stewart.
“I told you this was tough,” said Mike. We took it as a chal-
lenge, so back we went the next day.
“Here,” I said, pointing at a place labeled, cleverly enough,
‘The Dungeon of Death.’ “There’s got to be some great magic
in here.” The other players needed a little persuading, but Mike
had been stingy (we thought) on magical items.
“There is some great stuff in there,” said
Mike. “But it’s far too dangerous for you.
You can go there if you want, though.”
Dave Gross
Publisher
TSR, Inc.
Associate Publisher
Brian Thomsen
Editor-in Chief
Pierce Watters
Editor
Dave Gross
Art Director
Larry Smith
Associate Editor
Michelle Vuckovich
Editorial Assistant
Lizz Baldwin
Subscriptions
Janet Winters
U.S. Advertising
Cindy Rick
U.K. Correspondent/Advertising
Carolyn Wildman
Printed in the USA
DRAGON #236
3
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