Crag
considered the older man at the head of the huge table. He appeared at least 20 years the senior of
Andre and his friends, yet unlike the youth Crag saw at Louie’s, they respected
their elder.
The Elder
sat in a black leather spinning chair.
He was overweight and moved stiffly.
He seemed frustrated at his lack of mobility and exhausted from handling
something heavier than his girth. The
Elder’s face lit up when he saw Crag’s face.
It was almost in recognition of who Crag really was, but the Elder
played along. The Elder introduced
himself as Mike, but Crag thought the Elder was a more fitting name for him.
Crag was
the newest player so he would have to create a new character. He thought making an orc would be a little
too on the snout so instead he chose a dwarf.
Dwarves like rocks, his name fit.
He would portray a Dwarf warrior, there were no further classes which
interested him.
A board was
set out before them with squares plotted out and scenery added. Each of the character figures stood on the
board next to one another. Kermit’s wood
elf bard was painted green with brown clothing.
Crag reached out and grabbed the tiny elf. The material felt flimsy, but at the same
time strong.
“What is
this?” the orc asked.
Kermit
responded. “It’s my character. He’s a wood elf bard, remember?”
Crag
nodded. “I do remember, I mean, what is
the character made of? Is it magic?”
Kermit
inhaled in thought and exhaled. “Well, I
mean, I suppose he could cast magic, music is magical in and of itself isn’t
it?”
Crag
crinkled his brow. “I suppose.” He set the figure back down, unsatisfied with
his answer. He felt like what the figure
was made of was probably a question he should know undercover.
“Plastic,”
Mike the Elder said. “As opposed to
lacquered wood. That’s what Crag was
asking.”
Kermit
bopped himself in the forehead with his palm.
“Duh! Sorry C. I misunderstood.”
C, Crag
thought. Strange.
Wrench
placed his gnome inventor and behind the gnome he put a larger figure. Wrench said, “Crag, look. My character just created a suit of armor for
another character to use in battle. The
problem is, it might break if luck is bad or it takes too much damage. Isn’t that so cool?!”
Crag
nodded. “Yes, it is… cool.”
Near a blue
spot on the board, Fish placed his figure.
“This one is my rogue. Since he
is a merfolk he has to stay near water unless he brings a bunch with him on an
adventure.”
Crag
sighed, “… cool.”
Andre
placed his halfling character with a slingshot on the board. He didn’t offer an explanation.
Rant placed
her paladin the furthest to the right on the board, but not far from the rest
of the group.
Crag bared
his teeth in his whimsical thought. He
asked, “Rant, does your character mate with Andre’s character?”
Rant and
Andre exchanged intense stares. Eyes all
over the room looked at one another.
Everyone except Andre burst into laughter. The laughter initiated a coughing fit in
Mike. Andre gained back a bit of enmity
toward Crag in his embarrassment. Rant
stroked his leg and kissed him on the cheek.
Andre blushed harder.
Minion’s
half-orc healer stood on the far left of the group. Minion said, “My character stays to the rear
of the battle to make sure no one dies.
He keeps everyone in sight so he can heal them as they fight.”
“An orc
relishes battle,” Crag said.
“Mine does,
but he realizes that his place is supporting his family from behind to ensure
their safety.”
Crag
grunted and placed his unpainted dwarf warrior in the middle of the group,
careful not to knock over the other figures with his giant fingers.
The Elder
said, “I play the role of Dungeon Master.
Basically, I’m telling the story the players are engaging in. I have thought of the enemies the group will
face this time around and I’ll be acting on behalf of your adversaries.” The Elder pointed to the other pieces on the
board.
Crag
crinkled his significant nose and nodded.
“Let us begin.”
An hour
later Crag was not interested at all.
His dwarf warrior kept running into battle and slaying whatever
necessary enemies were in his way with perfunctory healing by Minion, support
buffs from Kermit and ranged support from Andre. Rant’s paladin stood back and allowed Crag to
do most of the fighting in what the group called “leveling up.” She only stepped in to help battle more
powerful creatures such as the Beholder, which was a floating eyeball that
fired psionic blasts.
Crag’s
dwarf almost died a few times attacking the Beholder, but luckily Minion kept
him alive long enough to finally destroy the Beholder with help from Rant.
The problem
for Crag, there was no stakes. Crag
didn’t care if his board dwarf lived. To
be fair, he wouldn’t have cared if he had been playing an orc character. He could easily imagine fighting a Beholder
because Torxania had something similar called a Mind’s Eye which only differed
in that it created fire from its eyes.
Crag was able to slay the Mind’s Eye creature more easily than this
Beholder, but that didn’t make the board Beholder any more interesting.
The players
finished the campaign and hoped that Crag was satisfied. He grunted.
“This pastime does not appeal to me.
I have engaged in battle, pretending to battle does not excite my
imagination the way the real thing does.”
The other
players looked at him incredulously.
Crag remembered he was supposed to follow his back story. “What I mean to say is, the uh, Legend, of
Torxania was a much more physical game.
We played our storyline, but we actually fought one another.”
Wrench
patted Crag on the shoulder. “We have
just the game for you.”
Kermit
smiled. “You ever hear of
‘dagorhir’? It is kind of like this,
except you wield a sword, or axe or shield and you attack other people to win.”
Crag’s
orcish grin was almost scary. Crag
stood. “That sounds like a game, much
more my interest. Let us play.”
The humans
looked out the darkened window. “It’s
getting late man, we should get going,” Andre said. “I should probably take you home before mama
has a fit. I have school in the
morning.”
Crag
nodded. “I understand.” He thought about whether Andre would want to
mate with Rant before they left, but he felt that best left unasked from the
last time he brought it up unannounced.
Mike, the
Elder, stood shakily and took a few steps toward Crag. “Thank you… so much… for coming. It has been a pleasure knowing you….” Crag thought Mike was going to add something,
but he didn’t.
“Just
knowing you,” Mike said. Mike offered a
handshake.
Crag
wrapped his giant hand around Mike’s and shook it once, possibly harder than
Mike should have shaken. Crag sniffed at
the air. He said, “Elder, you are sick.”
The left
side of Mike’s lips quirked. “Yeah, I
don’t like to talk about it. I’m only
35, but I’m in pretty bad shape. I had
liver cancer. Something in my genetics. I don’t have long to live.” Mike straightened his shoulders. “But believe it or not, Crag, you have made
my life worth it, at least in one way.”
Crag asked,
“I am honored. In what way do you mean?”
Mike
shrugged. “Maybe we can talk about that at
a later time.”
“Certainly.”
They turned
from one another. Kermit put a hand on
Crag’s arm. “Buddy, you are going to
have such fun. We have a group of folks,
dudes and chicks who play dag with us.
We’re preparing to go to Ragnarok.
It’ll be amazing.”
“Ragnarok? That sounds orcish,” Crag said.
Minion
said, “It’s Norse. It’s the name of
their final apocalyptic battle.”
Crag’s
orcish grin was even scarier this time.
“That sounds wonderful. I can
hardly wait.”