How to Play D and D part 1
Seeing as Jim has postponed the game, all I can do now is write about how the game is played, which might actually afford a few interesting details.
Exposition: the expotition.
Imagine a table covered with books, papers, pencils.
Recall the graph paper you used in math class, with a quarter-inch grid.
The Dungeon Master has a sheet, concealed, usually behind a screen. This is the Key: he’s created the dungeon by hand, following the general guidelines of the game. He knows what’s behind each door, where the traps and secret doors are, where treasure is splayed out, shining, across the flag, or hidden by cunning collectors.
You are a player, and what you have is a character. He or she is a reality in the Dungeon Master’s world, a reality to the other characters and players.
What your character is in Reality is a set of scores within the guidelines of sex, race, class, and alignment: He, she; human, elf, dwarf; fighter, magic user, thief; good, evil, or neutral.
Your character has a certain die of hit points: ten-sided for a fighter, four-sided for a magic user. Roll the die and hit points are set.
If you’re a fighter with eight hit points (hp), and a dagger can cause one to six points of damage, your character can survive one hit at least.
If you’re a magic user, however, one hit from a dagger could ruin your day.
(So It Goes says Kurt.)
As a player, your graph paper is empty.
You have to fill it out by navigating the dungeon, and mapping successfully as you go.
So, what you are doing, in essence, is creating the story as you go. The only physical actions you perform in reality are rolling various polyhedral dice, jotting maps and notes, perhaps moving finely-crafted lead miniatures of ogres or dwarves, opening rule books, snacking on the piece of pizza you’ve pulled out of your jacket pocket - that has been there since before the game started -- while your Felix-fastidious friend goes into shock over the sight.
(When we first started to play, certain Christians condemned the game as straight-up Devil Worship, and claimed we were casting spells. Well, yes: a magic user can cast a spell, say, Fireball. If the character has the components, the time, and is not fouled by, say, being slashed first, he casts a fireball; he rolls a certain amount of six-sided dice for damage, the opponents get a saving throw to avoid half that amount, and usually the opponents get slaughtered - all in the imagination. There’s no mumbling of AbraCaDabras whilst holding chicken-blood-stained hands, no fire except for the matchhead and cigar end of the bloody smokers.
This was an early lesson for us young folk regarding the depth of doltery of adults; at that point we wished we could, indeed, throw actual fireballs…)
Exposition: the expotition.
Imagine a table covered with books, papers, pencils.
Recall the graph paper you used in math class, with a quarter-inch grid.
The Dungeon Master has a sheet, concealed, usually behind a screen. This is the Key: he’s created the dungeon by hand, following the general guidelines of the game. He knows what’s behind each door, where the traps and secret doors are, where treasure is splayed out, shining, across the flag, or hidden by cunning collectors.
You are a player, and what you have is a character. He or she is a reality in the Dungeon Master’s world, a reality to the other characters and players.
What your character is in Reality is a set of scores within the guidelines of sex, race, class, and alignment: He, she; human, elf, dwarf; fighter, magic user, thief; good, evil, or neutral.
Your character has a certain die of hit points: ten-sided for a fighter, four-sided for a magic user. Roll the die and hit points are set.
If you’re a fighter with eight hit points (hp), and a dagger can cause one to six points of damage, your character can survive one hit at least.
If you’re a magic user, however, one hit from a dagger could ruin your day.
(So It Goes says Kurt.)
As a player, your graph paper is empty.
You have to fill it out by navigating the dungeon, and mapping successfully as you go.
So, what you are doing, in essence, is creating the story as you go. The only physical actions you perform in reality are rolling various polyhedral dice, jotting maps and notes, perhaps moving finely-crafted lead miniatures of ogres or dwarves, opening rule books, snacking on the piece of pizza you’ve pulled out of your jacket pocket - that has been there since before the game started -- while your Felix-fastidious friend goes into shock over the sight.
(When we first started to play, certain Christians condemned the game as straight-up Devil Worship, and claimed we were casting spells. Well, yes: a magic user can cast a spell, say, Fireball. If the character has the components, the time, and is not fouled by, say, being slashed first, he casts a fireball; he rolls a certain amount of six-sided dice for damage, the opponents get a saving throw to avoid half that amount, and usually the opponents get slaughtered - all in the imagination. There’s no mumbling of AbraCaDabras whilst holding chicken-blood-stained hands, no fire except for the matchhead and cigar end of the bloody smokers.
This was an early lesson for us young folk regarding the depth of doltery of adults; at that point we wished we could, indeed, throw actual fireballs…)