Get Thee Behind Me, Vile D&D
But he turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, D&D: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of men, but those that be of nerds.
And so it was that some twisted string of coincidences has led to my thinking that starting a pen and paper D&D campaign would be a really great idea. Playing The Temple of Elemental Evil, which I'm told is a classic module, I can't help but wonder how I would run it at a table with a few friends to join me. It doesn't seem like much a leap to go from a basic understanding of the D&D rules to buying a Dungeon Master Guide and fighting with other nerds over what color their half-orc warrior's eyes are. It may not seem like much of a leap but the end result may be more ridicule from friends and family than I could bare.The scariest part of all? Hoochie is totally game.
Save the high fives and dirty looks please, I know I'm a lucky man when it comes to luring my significant other into questionable nerdy activities. The problem is that when I tip toed around the idea of running a D&D module with her she didn't say no. It's akin to jokingly suggesting you spice up your relationship with a saddle and a pair of jumper cables and seeing her nod thoughtfully. You were mostly joking but now you have no choice do you? Now you just have to try it at least once.
This means once we move into the house we'll be picking up the D&D 3.5 DM guide and probably the player's handbook too. From there I imagine that we will lock ourselves in the bedroom and read them cover to cover so no one knows what we're up to. Maybe we'll knock some furniture around, scream and grunt a lot like we're having wild monkey sex to cover our true activities. It's gotta be easier to explain away than the truth. Once that's done and over with you might find us skulking into a local geek shop to acquire some figurines and many sided dice. Do they require you wear a cloak and take on a name that ends with "edil" to get in? I really don't know. Certisedil doesn't exactly roll off the tongue.
I guess from there we go to the library and photocopy some player sheets which will eventually become depressingly important in the weeks and months ahead. We'll set everything up at the table and stare at each other in an uncomfortable silence until she whispers quietly, suppressing a sob;
"You walk into a dusty crypt, there is a room to the north and a long hallway to the east"
So will begin our steady spiral into madness and more nerdiness than we might be able to handle alone. My true fear is that in the end, I think I'll like it.