5e Generation: What Lies Ahead

   In the last post I’ve written before the pandemic, I mentioned how Sly Flourish had said that 51% or more of all D&D players had now only been playing for three years. And it got me thinking. Because, you know, we all had lots and lots of time to think during corona, didn’t we?

   The 5e crowd may look like a solid, monolithic bloc right now, but it won’t remain that way. The AD&D crowd of the early eighties sure looked like a monolithic bloc. Forty-odd years later, it has exploded in hundreds of scattered pieces. The exact same thing will naturally happen to 5e. Some players will try dozens, if not hundreds of other RPGs; some will become hardware buffs; some will become collectors; some will become wargamers only; at least a few of them will open up their own role-playing games companies, like Monte Cook and Shanna Germain; at least one of them will become a talk show host, like Colbert.

   Yes, there might be a Sixth Edition. Maybe a full-on crossover with Magic: The Gathering. Your D&D Beyond character made available as a custom, print-on-demand card. Literally anything can happen within the next ten years. If you had walked into the TSR offices in 1980 to proclaim in a clear voice that ten years down the road, Dungeons & Dragons would be dead and buried, everyone would have laughed their heads off, including Gary himself.

   Much, much more people are playing D&D now than four years ago. This is great. But not all those people will stay with the hobby of tabletop role-playing games for the next thirty-seven years. A lot of them will eventually move on – and never come back to it again. It’s like the Harry Potter craze. Some fans went on to read numerous SF/F authors, and some never read any more fantasy after they’d finished J. K. Rowling’s books. Some became lifelong fans of the genre, and for others, it was just a phase, like inline skating in 1990 or Tamagotchis in 1997.

   I have two cousins that played First Edition AD&D back in the eighties, like maniacs, and then quit playing around 86-87, never to touch a tabletop role-playing game again. I’m pretty sure they can’t even name another TTRPG besides D&D. Today, if I share an AD&D memory with either one of them, they hardly remember it at all. One of them even seems to be annoyed when I touch on that subject.

   This phenomenon will reoccur. Part of the 5e players will quit after 4-5 years – but some will become lifelong RPG aficionados, and that’s the awesome part. Some of them are going to experiment with other systems, other styles, more rules, less rules, weird rules, diceless, et cetera. They’ll come up with their own stuff. The shift towards “more realistic” role-playing will happen for them, too: it’s inevitable. They shall have their own HârnMaster, sooner or later. They shall play those late-nights games in unfamiliar apartments with that one stoned guy who keeps repeating, “I wanna CAST A SPELL!!!” and that other, slightly less stoned guy who answers, “You’re supposed to be wise like GANDALF – he doesn’t cast spells willy-nilly!” and the first guy who replies, “Go fuck you.” The 5e generation shall witness those absurd game sessions with the two jocks who keep killing each other’s characters, immediately rolling up new ones, and again fighting to the death as soon as the new character walks into the blood-soaked inn, with no consideration whatsoever for the adventure at hand.

   Yes, the 5e generation shall have to endure through that also. All the steps. That is – if they keep at it for thirty years. You have to write two or three bad books before you can write a good one. You have to cook several disgusting meals before you’re able to whip up a tasty feast.

   Under what assumption do we believe that the Fifth Edition crowd somehow become mature, multi-tooled, level-headed players in a matter of weeks? Like it or not, it’s a process. A journey. You can’t click the Matt Mercer button or the Jerry Holkins button, and be there already. Same with everything else. If you’re a budding writer, you won’t be able to go directly to “Stephen King.” If you take up cooking, you can’t go directly to “Gordon Ramsay.” Of course, some people would like you to think that you can – but it’s impossible. You gotta put in the hours, that’s all. The infamous “10,000-hour rule” has been disproven, aye. Some gifted folks become excellent at something in less than 5K hours. Some require even more than 10K to hit that excellence plateau. There is no fixed, universal number. But one thing’s for sure: you need some time. Meaning: more than a hundred hours – at the very least.

   Ten thousand? Jesus. I’m not even sure I have that.

   Well, maybe.

   Luke spent time training on Dagobah, but Rey doesn’t need that – she decides to order a stormtrooper out of the room, and succeeds on the second try. This illustrates the “You Have It In You” doctrine. It’s Disney. Screenwriters must love that doctrine, because you save so much screen time when you don’t have to waste 40 minutes on Dagobah. After all, if one doesn’t need any kind of experience to become President of the United States, what good is experience in anything anyway?

   But, please, don’t be like that. You need to put in the hours – lots of hours. And you really need to go to Dagobah. Trust me, you won’t regret it. Read the blogs. Read all of Grognardia. Read as much of Chirine’s Workbench as you can. Read Greyhawk Grognard and The Mule Abides and Havard’s Blackmoor Blog. Read David Hartlage and Sly Flourish. The Force is strong with them.

   I don’t want to afflict and discourage anyone – it’s definitely not my goal here. A woman recently tweeted: “Going to three rallies won’t make you an activist.” And you know what? She is absolutely right. I went to one Black Lives Matter rally. I am not an activist. Someone who played one game of D&D last January is not a tabletop role-player – not yet.

   It ain’t gatekeeping. Just plain old logic.

   You need that investment of time and effort. Well, “effort” is such a big, scary word these days. It won’t feel like an effort. You know what they say. If you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life.

   If D&D for you is just a phase, congratulations are in order, because you’ve picked something truly amazing. You’re gonna have a LOT of fun, and actually learn more about yourself and other people than with any Tamagotchi.

   If you’re in it for the long haul, I cannot wait to hear about the crazy homebrewed sci-fi barbarian mummy crossover you’ll come up with 10 years from now. And I’ll make sure to read your blog, your quantum-indeterminate holofeed, or whatever these things are called in the year 2040.

   And if you host a late-night talk show – you can count on me, I’ll watch it!

Tabletop Role-Playing In Your Dreams

   Once in a while I’m lucky enough to dream about things related to role-playing games. Some of those dreams are overly vague, and easily forgettable. But a lot of them are actually quite wonderful. So much so that, for more than six years now, I have devoted a section of my gaming journals to the recording of such dream-episodes.

   Documenting dreams, describing them, putting them down on paper, is notoriously fastidious. Dreams don’t follow any of the rules of storytelling or dialog.

   Bear with me, folks.

   Plus, this is my first article since the pandemic and months of staying at home. Let’s begin with something light and funny, shall we?

*

   In one memorable 2016 dream, I found myself in a garage with Chirine and Tim Kask, and we were busy converting miniatures. Especially, I remember a series of Efreet and Efreeta with diamond-shaped turbans. The turbans were little acrylic diamonds: I don’t recall exactly how we got them to fit on the figures’ heads, but the end result was amazing – and I was gonna get to keep one of the finished minis for myself.

   But what I remember the most vividly about that garage is how I felt. Did we have neon lighting on the ceiling, or individual lamps? I don’t know. Was it day or night? I don’t know. What I know is that it was the best damn feeling ever. A totally awesome sense of camaraderie and creativity and boundless gaming possibilities. I wanted to remain in that place forever. Really. Assembling and converting and painting miniatures – and maybe crafting terrain – with other tabletop enthusiasts for all eternity: isn’t that one of the planes of Elysium, or one of the Seven Heavens?

*

   My funniest RPG-related dream from last year was the Lich Convention. In this dream, I was an unidentified character attending a huge convention full of liches – and at the same time I seemed to be the DM running it... You know how dreams can be convoluted and illogical.

   The event took place in some enormous underground temple. As a character, I was shocked and amazed at the number of liches, demiliches and dracoliches I passed in the halls and corridors; and as the Dungeon Master, I kept thinking: “Even if I get my hands on all the lich miniatures ever produced in metal and plastic, I don’t have nearly enough different liches to run this!”

   Waking up from that dream, I immediately picked up a pencil and drew this little booth with the sign: Lichdom: How To Get Started. Note that I didn’t actually see any such booth in my dream; the sketch was just a quick, silly way for me to remember the Lich Convention, a fascinating con where I seemed to be the only non-lich wandering the halls – and yet no one ever accosted or bothered me. I didn’t have the balls to talk to anyone, either!

   For months afterwards, I kept thinking about turning this into a real adventure. What would the player characters’ goal be? What would they want to achieve and / or prevent? As of now, I still have no idea whether I’ll actually use it or not. It’s on the back burner. But what an awesome D&D dream it was!

*

   Dated November 14, 2015, one full page of my “Dream Log” is about a very atmospheric Empire of the Petal Throne / RuneQuest crossover. It took place within a sheltered valley shaped like the number 8, with a lake shaped like the number 6. Someone in the dream said that verbatim, and I jotted it down the next morning. “The valley is shaped like an 8 but the lake is shaped like a 6.”

   Oddly enough, that 8/6 valley was a hidden enclave of Tekumel within the world of Glorantha, led by a little 5-year-old seer who spoke of Pavar and the wizard Subadim. This young seer also possessed the only technological device in the valley: some sort of advanced spyglass with a blinking yellow light on it. I don’t know if the valley’s denizens were Tsolyani or Yan Koryani, but they lived mysterious, superstitious lives within the confines of the “enclave,” while Gloranthan heroes and travelers passed them by without ever noticing the place.

   This is a scan of my original sketch. It’s not much, but it was made right after I woke up from that dream.

   The lake was lined with dwellings and shrines, and I remember a big temple of Sarku under construction on the island, near the base of the southern volcano. There were two (inactive) volcanoes in there. In my notes there’s also this line that was part of a song:

Far from the last city and the ultimate oasis...

   In the dream, somebody sang that song at dusk, after the sun had set; it had much more lines, of course, but I couldn’t remember them. It was a sad melody, but utterly beautiful. That dream was amazing, and I still think about it from time to time. I really wish I could return to that wonderful, secluded place, if only for a few minutes – see if Sarku’s temple is finished and if that little seer is now 9 or 10 years of age.

*

   Last but not least, I’ve had numerous “Game Store dreams” over the years. It’s never the same FLGS, but it’s always packed with breathtaking, unfindable sourcebooks, maps, accessories, miniatures, and pieces of terrain. There was this one time when I walked into an unidentified “dream” store, and lo and behold: they had the entire line of miniature trees and flora for Expedition to the Barrier Peaks, each weird plant and thorn-bush in its separate box with never-before-seen Erol Otus art! I was ecstatic. It was like I had just discovered the Ark of the Covenant with the Holy Grail inside of it.

   Game Store dreams are the most common of all RPG-related dreams, but I still love them. I have them perhaps once a month or so. It’s always a bummer to wake up and realize you didn’t actually buy this or that rare item – but I’m still very happy when it happens. It makes me smile from ear to ear.

*

   There’s no “practical” point to this post, except to say that sometimes it appears that I continue in this hobby just to keep my brain immersed in it – and dream about it every once in a while. Indeed, those dreams are more frequent than the actual games I get to run in any given year.

   I also wanted to write this post because I never came across any article broaching this particular topic, and I’m genuinely interested by it. Really. I’d love to read about some of James Maliszewski’s RPG-flavored dreams, and David Hartlage’s – and Jeremy Crawford’s, for that matter.

   Tell me yours in the comments section.

The "Left" and "Right" of D&D

   If you type the words “Svenny” or “Wurú the Unnameable” into Twitter, you won’t get anything besides crickets – even with the popular DnD or RPG hashtags.

   If you type the words “Jim Darkmagic” or “Sly Flourish” in a Dragonsfoot thread, you will get no reaction either – a big fat zilch.

   These are two separate, self-contained ecosystems. Sly Flourish is never mentioned on either Dragonsfoot or ODD74, and the good old Jakállan Underworld is never, ever discussed or evoked on Twitter.

   Why is that?

   It’s all the same game, isn’t it? It is all part of the same hobby. How in the world did Dungeons & Dragons grow into two mutually exclusive, parallel multiverses? When did this unholy schism happen?

   Well, it “happened” slowly and gradually, like any other fundamental change. A good chunk of the first generation of OD&D / AD&D players didn’t really get into Vampire: The Masquerade and other such games: they became what we now call grognards – they stick to one system and play with the same old books they bought in the seventies. I’m a bit of a grognard myself, to be honest. I still run a First Edition AD&D campaign, simply because it’s awesome – flaws and all – and why the hell not?

   The nineties saw a significant influx of new, younger players. White Wolf and its line of storytelling games brought in more women players than ever before. The old dungeon crawl lost most if not all of its appeal. The focus was now on character interactions: protagonists and allies, rivals and archfoes. In one word: backgrounds.

   Yes, White Wolf did publish an awful lot of material; in the end, the whole affair felt more like a writers collective than a gaming company. Those innumerable clanbooks and supplements added much “fluff” to the hobby of role-playing games. In retrospect, it may have been a necessary reaction to the overly technical and realist mechanics of the late eighties – when three distinct tables and one location chart were needed for every single backswing of your fighter’s broadsword.

   Rich storyline, or complex game mechanics? That is the question.

   The folks over at Dragonsfoot favor the game mechanics. “This is how the game is supposed to be played, and if you do otherwise, you’re doing it wrong.”

   The crowd on Twitter seem to favor the storyline. “We are all telling this story together, and every character brings his or her own uniqueness to the proceedings.”

   One could go as far as call it opposite political views.

   Everyone must follow the same rules and gaming etiquette, and do it exactly as it is supposed to be done. Is this the Left, or the Right?

   Everyone is welcome to do as they see fit, thus bringing more texture and flavor to the shared experience of tabletop role-playing. Is this the Right, or the Left?

   What is the mysterious Left, anyway? Is it freedom? The sharing economy? The absence of social hierarchy? No rules? But also, wealth redistribution? Everyone being equal? – And what is the mysterious Right? Tradition? Rules? Some people being better than others? But also, entrepreneurship? Freedom to do business?

   Both sides demand “rules” for some things and “freedom” for other things. The only real societal split is around where to put up fences, and where to free range.

   Is there overlapping somewhere?

   I want to see a table of crunch gurus sitting back and laughing as one of their fellow players chants, “Cheese! Cheese! Cheese!”

   In Gloomhaven, the rules are the whole point of the game, and the story – because there is one – barely amounts to 1% of what happens at the table. Sometimes my friends and I will finish a scenario, slay the last monster on the board, and then one of us will ask, “What was it that we needed to retrieve from this ‘Vibrant Grotto’ again?”

   And if the very last monster is slain before we had the chance to correctly loot all treasure tiles, nobody can say, “Let’s assume we heal ourselves and grab any remaining treasure, shall we?” Such reckless conduct amounts to “breaking the game,” according to any and all of the Gloomhaven forums. You cannot do that. No free range.

   In D&D, the whole point is the story. Any ruleset is just a frame to drive the story forward. D&D Dungeon Masters can say, “Okay, you finish off the last two goblins and grab their treasure chest. Next, you find yourselves in front of a raging, icy underground river. What do you do?”

   You cannot – ever – do that in Gloomhaven. There is no editing. No cutaways. Each scenario is one long, uninterrupted take. No Dungeon Master means your movie has no director, and all cameras just roll permanently. This is yet another difference between “story” and “rules.” The Wolf of Wall Street versus the thousands of CCTV cameras in and around Wall Street buildings.

   It is completely possible to run D&D like it was a game of Gloomhaven – but it is impossible to play Gloomhaven and indulge in what Cecilia D’Anastasio calls “the role-playing caprice.” I already touched on this subject last year in a post titled Rules Light, after one GURPS aficionado had said on Twitter, “Fuck narrativist and rules light.”

   The current “XP or no XP” debate is another shining example of this ideological split. Adding up XP is pure crunch. Awarding levels for milestone achievements is pure fluff. Is there really more freedom to be found on one side or the other? I’m not convinced, either way. Sure, math is an unforgiving, rigid frame – but so is a DM that can damn well decide when and where the characters level up. It’s like putting money in your bank account without ever knowing that account’s balance – until one day the bank says, “You’ve got enough now! Buy house?”

   Role-playing games started off very much to the “left.” Arneson used to hide the rules behind a screen so that he could change them on the fly. He probably awarded XP on the fly, too. The rigid math came later. Mind you, rigid math can be fun. Last January, my Gloomhaven character finished a scenario just 1 XP short of level 4. If I had played one more of those 1 XP attack cards, I’d be level 4 now. But no. Yours truly will have to play one more scenario at level 3, tagging along with a level 4 Mindthief and a level 4 Tinkerer. Well, it’s fine: the grinding and suffering are part of the fun. In a way, it’s hilarious.

   In my AD&D campaign, since we only get to play 2 or 3 sessions a year, I would have enthusiastically granted the missing XP to any player character. “You’re 1 XP short of leveling up? I give you 10 more XP right now, my friend – and you level up!” Maximize the fun factor, always; a level 5 cleric is more fun than a level 4 cleric; a level 6 thief is more fun than a level 5 thief.

   “Story” versus “game mechanics” again. Perhaps the whole thing isn’t about Left and Right after all, but simply about “Easy” and “Hard.” Many hardcore gamers are eager to adapt RuneQuest’s magic and skills to Tri-Stat, and run that in the Malazan world instead of Glorantha. That’s the epitome of custom-made. It is the equivalent of delving into the intricacies of Linux: some like it, and others prefer the seamless, readymade easiness of Mac. Linux is “hard” and Mac is “easy” – or is it the other way around? You can do what you want with Linux, and set it up whichever way you like: isn’t that “easy?” With Mac, you’re pretty much held hostage: they’ve got a firm grip on your throat. Isn’t that “hard?”

   Linux is “Left” and Mac is “Right” – or is it the other way around? That is for someone else to ponder.

   Sly Flourish recently said that the majority of D&D players have now only been playing for the last three years. The majority? That is huge. A paradigm shift is absolutely inevitable. And perhaps five or ten years down the road, a segment of this mass of new players will get into other role-playing games, perhaps adapting American Gods for Nobilis or The Expanse for Shadowrun or The Witcher for Numenera – or something even weirder. New blood is always a good thing.

   One commenter over on Chirine’s Workbench summed up this paradigm shift quite nicely. “Back then,” he wrote, “we were playing worlds; nowadays, we play character backstories.” This is interesting. Indeed, during the seventies and eighties, the real world was very much the story, and everyone living in it felt like an extra – just a brick in the wall. With the advent of social networks today, everybody can be “the story,” and the world around appears to be merely a decor. But it is a lie, of course: you’re still just a brick in the wall – only this brick has way more friends / followers / boosters than the next brick…

   The world was the thing, like in Avatar. Characters just happened in it. Was this the “let the Free Market decide” Right, or was it the “no elites / everyone’s the same” Left?

   Back in 1983, if someone had told me that Dungeons & Dragons would one day see a sort of left-right axis, I would have replied, first, what the fuck, and second, anything else besides D&D, sure, but not D&D! Not the one precious thing in today’s cultural landscape that isn’t a god damned competitive dick-measuring contest!

   There shouldn’t be any kind of schism: we’re better than that.

   I just wish the two sides would talk more – Dragonsfoot and Twitter – the old-school “game mechanics” side, and that new majority of story-focused role-players.

The Lich and the Elephant

   Huthak the barbarian is having brunch with Rausche the druid and Grimbald the thief at a lovely establishment called The Priestess and the Sorcerer. They are busy discussing the crazy things that some of their comrades have done as of late, detailed in my previous post: Descent Into Malbolge. The three are trying to decide if these guys are uncanny mavericks, or just, y’know, insane.

   Suddenly, whoosh, a djinn appears right next to their table.

   The other patrons are flabbergasted, and some even fall down to their knees. “Three wishes! Three wishes!” they plead. To which the djinn replies, “It’s never been three wishes – I’ve been saying this for hundreds of years – it is three dishes. I am a chef, you see. My name is Prospero Sharma. They call me the Cook of the Gods. I cook for Queen Titania, for Corellon Larethian, and sometimes for Bahamut, the platinum dragon.”

   The djinn orders everybody out, except for Huthak, Rausche, and Grimbald. He tells the three that he desperately needs their help. He says, “My elephant, Spark, has been taken by a malevolent jerk who calls himself Zarr. This guy is a world-class nutcase. His real name is Bardish Dong. He’s a puny magic-user, like, not that powerful. He’s been cursed with a skull head, and decided to use that to his advantage by creating a whole new persona for himself, and pretending to be a lich. He found an old crown, wears bone white gloves, and dresses in ancient, tattered robes. And he changed his name to Zarr the lich. But he is not a lich. He is an ordinary magic-user, and really not that strong. His major assets are two magic items: a Wand of Teleportation, and a Censer of Controlling Fire Elementals. He made his lair inside mount Igrá, a volcano, and attracted a few elementals to do his bidding. The rest is just gullible Humans and credulous Drows and Troglodytes who really believe to be in the service of an actual lich.”

   “Why us?” asks the barbarian.

   “I am, alas, allergic to magic items,” says Prospero, “and since the three of you don’t carry any such items, you are the perfect candidates: I’ll be able to carry you through the air, to mount Igrá, and then inside the wormholes of living fire that crisscross the core of that volcano, all the way to Zarr’s Sanctum. But once we get to where this faux lich keeps my poor old Spark, you’re gonna be on your own. Zarr knows my weakness – and scatters magic items around his lair. I will be powerless in there; you shall have to defeat Zarr’s followers and free my elephant all by yourselves. I am told that whenever a battle seems lost, Zarr uses this damn Wand of Teleportation and flees the scene.”

   “But what’s in it for us?” enquires the druid.

   The djinn answers, “As I said before, I can grant you three dishes. The Dish of Strength, the Dish of Agility, and the Dish of Fortitude. Each dish will improve your physical abilities differently, and the effects on mortals can remain for up to a year and a half. I can only prepare one Dish of Strength per year, and only one Dish of Agility, and only one Dish of Fortitude. You decide between yourselves who gets to consume which meal. Bring your own wine!”

   Prospero conjures up a life-sized image of Spark. “This is who you’re looking for. He is very dear to my heart. Please, bring him back to me.”

   Children looking in through the window. “There’s an elephant in the room!” they whisper.

   The three adventurers accept the mission. The djinn can transport up to three Human-sized beings with him through air and through fire; since Grimbald is a Gnome, and rather small, Prospero is also able to bring along Rausche’s dog.

   After a twenty-minute flight, they get to the volcano. The steep, jagged slopes of mount Igrá are dotted with dozens of cave-mouths. Raging fire comes out of every single one of those caves...

   Prospero chooses one entrance and flies right into the flames, still carrying the awed Huthak, Grimbald, and Rausche. The dog, obviously, is freaking out. And yet, none of them even feel the fire’s heat – and nobody takes any damage.

   They emerge from the fiery wormhole in some sort of central, bottleneck room. A welcoming committee is already there: a fire elemental, and 6 Troglodytes. The djinn releases the PCs from his magical embrace, and proceeds to take care of the elemental. The PCs are left to fight the Trogs: 5 of them charge directly towards Huthak, but the sixth is just a very old Troglodyte elder who stays behind and bellows orders to his valiant “sons.”

   As soon as the battle appears to be lost, that old Trog flees through the next fire-gate.

   Five minutes later, the PCs and the djinn once again zip through those complicated wormholes of fire. Suddenly, Prospero is jumped by two more elementals! He has no choice but to throw the two Humans, the Gnome and the dog out of a random gate. The PCs end up in a funny place where “candidates” have to subject themselves to various “tests” in order to become “Agents of Zarr.” This is a scene I stole from Patrick Rothfuss. Love you, Viari!

   The receiving clerk in the test room was a coffer corpse named Bitar. He had nothing but positive things to say about Zarr. The “lich” apparently treats all of his employees and agents very decently: they even have an after-death pension plan!

   Having vanquished the elementals who attacked him inside the wormhole, an exhausted Prospero comes back after ten minutes. “I’ve located the Sanctum,” he says. “Spark is there: I can feel his presence!”

   The druid takes a few more minutes to meditate, regaining his spells, and then they say farewell to Bitar the coffer corpse, and barrel down one last winding, blazing wormhole. As soon as they emerge within Zarr’s Sanctum, they see the elephant standing in front of a noxious fountain of reddish liquid. Right behind the unresponsive animal is a mammoth pile of dung.

   As I prepped this set piece, I honestly wondered if the players would see right through my bluff; because, of course, that is not a pile of elephant dung – it’s a black pudding!

   None of the players suspected anything. There IS a god for Dungeon Masters!

   The Sanctum’s floor is covered with magic items: daggers, swords, spears, hammers, shields, helmets, talismans, amulets, rings, bracers, gauntlets et al. Two hooded cultists lurk in the shadows, and Zarr himself stands further away on a tribune, flanked by a Drow bodyguard. Huthak the barbarian immediately spots an assassin hidden near the top of one of the Sanctum’s pillars. Everyone rolls initiative.

   The party targets the assassin first: Rausche casts entangle on her, and both Huthak and Grimbald loose their arrows. Prospero stays by the fire-gate, and vomits purple smoke with gold speckles inside of it. Way too many magic items…

   Zarr laughs hysterically. “Look at the great Prospero – the Cook of the Gods – puking his magical guts like there is no tomorrow!”

   The “lich” casts mirror image on himself. One cultist casts magic missile on Grimbald. Rausche casts obscuration on himself. The other cultist moves forward, curved dagger in hand.

   When the assassin falls from her perch, the PCs advance towards the cultists – but then they are surprised from behind by the black pudding. Nobody saw it coming. It was awesome.

   Rausche heard a telepathic voice that seemed to be coming from one beautiful hammer lying amongst the innumerable other items. “Pick me! Pick me!” says the whispering voice. Hesitantly, the druid picks up the hammer. “Now, use me to strike an enemy: you’ll see what happens!” Rausche starts clobbering the black pudding. The hammer is +3 and indeed inflicts decent damage. Still, the druid has to take a break and cast cure light wounds on himself after being lashed at by the ’pudding for 14 damage.

   One cultist jumps across the room in an attempt to stab the prone, helpless djinn, but Huthak finishes the sneaky bastard with an arrow. Grimbald kills the second cultist in good old-fashioned melee. After that, a Trog emerges from around the corner, and Zarr’s Drow bodyguard steps down from the tribune in order to join the fight. Huthak and Grimbald face off against Trog and Drow while Rausche and his dog continue to hit that virulent black pudding. Zarr blasts the barbarian with two magic missiles, and then casts stinking cloud on Grimbald. Huthak takes 8 damage: he’s unimpressed. The Gnome aces his Save, tumbling out of the stinking cloud unharmed and in great style.

   When Huthak cuts down the Trog, Zarr uses his Wand to teleport the hell out of there – but his three mirror images remain on that tribune, silently laughing in unison.

   Bodyguard and black pudding are both finished by the end of the following round. The party is victorious!

   For the next half an hour, they carry all those magic items in the far corner of the Sanctum, and eventually the djinn can feel a little bit better. He gets everybody out of the volcano: one trip for the PCs, and then another trip for the elephant. Since Rausche had picked up a cursed weapon and could no longer let go of it, Prospero was unable to carry him out of mount Igrá himself. I had to do some last-minute DMing aerobatics there. Prospero summoned his sous-chef – another djinn. It was much easier than to keep Rausche a prisoner within mount Igrá for several weeks and force him to become a reluctant Agent of Zarr.

   Everyone got back to the inn. Prospero said, “I am a djinn of my word. Get yourselves the best table here, and gimme two hours. I’ll be back with your three dishes. In the meanwhile, here’s the menu!”

The Dish of Agility

Zesty Sphinx stew with Twin Paradises carrots, turnips, and cabbage, served with Arvandor bread made from Corellon Larethian’s own crops.

The Dish of Fortitude

Slow-cooked Blue Dragon short ribs with Elysian garlic and molasses, served with assorted char-grilled Seven Heavens greens and Feywild croutons.

The Dish of Strength

Ki-rin tartare à la Baklunish with Arcadian royal jelly and roasted Gladsheim spinach and beet salad.

*

   The barbarian chose to eat the Dish of Strength. His 16 STR is going up to 17 for the next year and a half.

   The druid chose the Dish of Fortitude. His 16 CON goes up one point – and it’s gonna boost his Hit Points.

   The thief chose the Dish of Agility. His 18 DEX is temporarily going up to 19. This is awesome. What D&D character wouldn’t seize the opportunity to get one of his stats over 18, even if it’s only for a few games?

   Zarr will be back. Liches always want their revenge!

Descent into Malbolge

   In May of 2017, Heir Malezia, a level 4 magic-user, signed an infernal pact that granted him two additional levels of experience; that character suddenly went from a puny caster of magic missiles to a multiple-fireball-throwing badass.

   In August of 2017, the entire party went to Hell, on a very specific mission. For those of you who have been readers of this blog for a while, you’ll probably remember that particular post. When the party reached Avernus, each character appeared on a large rune belonging to one of the nine Planes of Hell. Each player drew a card, and each of the cards had a short text printed on it. “If you ever return to Avernus after today, you will become a Lemur, and serve Tiamat for all eternity...” “If you ever set foot in Dis, the Second Plane of the Nine Hells, you will be transformed into a pillar of salt...” Et cetera. Each character has one specific Plane of Hell where they could never, ever return or go.

   Fast-forward to October of 2019. The level 6 Heir Malezia is visited by a contract devil who basically tells him, “Dear Sir, your time is almost up – but you can sign this contract right here, and resell your Mortal Soul to my master, Duke Hutijin. Alas, any new contract will only take effect if you break into the Infernal Vault and destroy the original contract you have signed over two Years of Man ago. A teleport circle is included herein, and you can bring up to eight comrades along with you on that heist. You won’t be able to remain inside the Infernal Vault for long, though. Every intruder will be teleported out after a brief moment. Make each second count.”

   Easy enough, right?

   But wait – the Infernal Vault is actually a meteorite that constantly moves through six of the Nine Hells, between Avernus and Malbolge. Which layer is the Vault currently into? Which character is going to become a Lemur – or a pillar of salt – because he was forever banned from that particular Plane of Hell?

   Is it worth risking the ranger’s life, or the bard’s life, or Brother Tom’s life, to save an evil-adjacent magic-user? That’s for the group to decide. I expected a huge debate, but in fact it proved to be rather quick and straightforward. When one member of the party faces Imminent Death, the others usually step up. And so they did.

   Landa the cleric, Huthak the barbarian and Dalmas the monk did not take part in that 2017 expedition to Avernus, so their lives are not at risk. They could still perish, mind you, but not of a “sudden death” right at the beginning of the game. As for Heir Malezia himself, his 2017 rune had been the Nessus rune, so he can never set foot in the ninth Plane of Hell. Anyhow, the Infernal Vault does not travel that far.

   They drew one of six cards – and that card told us that the Infernal Vault was currently passing through the Sixth Plane of Hell. A big sigh of relief. The bard cannot go to the Second; the ranger can’t ever set foot in the Fourth; and Brother Tom can’t go to the Fifth. In Malbolge, the PCs were all safe. Sudden death averted!

   Each of the six PCs and three NPCs appeared on a different bluish star carved in the Vault’s floor. They immediately observed that seven out of nine vaults had guardians: 3 Death Knights, and 4 four-armed gargoyles.

   Brother Tom and NPC Klovis charged one of the Death Knights. The ranger and Landa attacked one of the gargoyles. Dalmas the monk deployed his Diabolical Flying Carpet.

   Nobody ever got within 5 squares of the vault on the far left or the one on the far right, even though the one on the right didn’t have any gargoyle or Death Knight standing in front of it.

   A Rage Drake emerged from the ominous cave-mouth underneath the tower.

   The second Death Knight created a wall of ice right in front of “his” vault, and then left his post to go after Heir and Klynch, the magic-users. The party wouldn’t be able to get to that frozen vault for the rest of the scene, of course.

   One stellar moment occurred when Klynch, the level 5 magic-user (the one who didn’t sell his soul), decided to take on the Death Knight who had left his post. Just to give you some perspective here: Klynch has 14 Hit Points, wears a pair of cursed Bracers of Defenselessness, and has a +3 dagger of Petrification with only 3 charges left in it, while the Death Knight has 75 Hit Points, a 50% magic resistance, and wields a two-handed maul +1.

   First, Klynch casts spider climb to haul his ass up on the lower ledge of the tower. The following round, he casts monster summoning, and a dire wolf appears right next to the advancing Death Knight. On the third round, Klynch performs a “Kirk’s Flying Tackle” from above, and jumps back down on the fully armored Knight, attempting to stab him with his +3 dagger. I allow him another +2 To Hit bonus for the jump. Still, he misses, and takes 5 points of damage from that 25-foot fall. Everyone hears a loud crunch. Klynch lies on the ground as if unconscious or dead; he’s right beside the Death Knight’s left leg, but the Knight is busy fighting the dire wolf. On round four, Klynch attempts to stab the Knight in the foot – and misses yet again. The Knight pays no attention to him, and tries to finish off that pesky wolf.

   Round five: Klynch attempts to stab his opponent in the nuts, since he’s lying on the ground, and quite perfectly positioned to do so. He needs 16. With the +3 dagger, he needs 13. He rolls a solid 15. This time, it’s a hit! I roll 2d10 for the Death Knight’s magic resistance, and get 80. The Knight doesn’t resist to the magic. Then I make a Saving Throw vs Petrification, and roll a 2.

   The Death Knight is turned to stone!

   Epic and hilarious.

   Remember, kids: killing huge monsters is possible, even if you only have 14 Hit Points!

   Elsewhere in the Infernal Vault, Landa, the bard and the ranger whacked two of those 4-armed gargoyles, and quickly emptied two vaults full of infernal contracts. Rot grub rained down on the ranger and the bard as they poured acid onto the contracts to destroy as many of them as possible.

   Dalmas the monk brought his flying carpet around: Landa, the bard and the ranger hitched a ride on it. Down by the pool of lava, the first Death Knight cast power word: kill on Brother Tom. Save or die!

   Brother Tom made a successful Saving Throw. There was another big sigh of relief.

   Meanwhile, Ashtag the Drider, an allied NPC, fought against the Rage Drake. Heir cast one of his jump spells to close in on one of the remaining gargoyles. He then cast fireball, and rolled 30 points of damage – his best damage ever on 6d6, beating a previous record of 28.

   A pair of shrieking harpies then showed up. The Rage Drake disengaged, skirted the base of the tower, and leapt 20 feet onto the flying carpet. Ashtag took it upon himself to tackle both harpies. Dalmas had no other choice but to fight hand-to-hand with the Rage Drake. Monks – what can I say?

   In the end, the party had enough time to empty 5 out of 9 vaults, destroying 1742 infernal contracts. Then, everyone was teleported out. It’s a safety feature of the Infernal Vault. But the devils really need to improve their security, right? Eighty-one Dukes and Duchesses of Hell just lost 1742 souls – their most precious holdings and valuables.

   Duke Hutijin, the one who “bought back” Heir Malezia’s soul by facilitating the party’s access to the Infernal Vault, couldn’t care less for the mighty mess he’s created. Hutijin serves Mephistopheles, and Mephistopheles is Asmodeus’ main rival. The Infernal Vault contains infernal contracts belonging to Duchesses and Dukes aligned with Asmodeus. Vassals of Baalzebul and Mephistopheles keep their paperwork on their own Planes of Hell: the Seventh and the Eight. They didn’t lose a single soul during that most brazen heist.

   Yes: the party has unwittingly entered the tortuous field of Hell’s politics. Powerful devils will certainly seek swift revenge!

   Even the final reveal was great. I put 9 cards on the table, face down – one for each of the 9 vaults. Heir had to pick 5 cards, since he and his comrades had managed to open 5 vaults and destroy all infernal contracts stored inside.

   Of the 5 cards that had been drawn, the “Heir’s Contract!” card turned up fourth. We had awesome suspense up until the very end. The other players yelled, “Nope… Nope… Nope!…” and then, when the right card was flipped, there was a loud cheer around the table. What a perfect ending to a D&D game session. Imagine if “Heir’s Contract!” had turned up first; talk about jumping the gun!

   A time constraint, killer odds, and epic Saves to make.

   After such a game, players can truly say, “We played D&D!”

   One friend told me, “My social life ain’t much these days, and your gaming events are a welcome break from monotony!” I couldn’t have asked for a better thank you.

   Several gods smiled down on us. Arneson. Gygax. Istus. Mephistopheles…