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| A STUPID DWARF AND A SNOTTY ELF By David Insley |
| THIS EDITORIAL DOES NOT REFLECT THE OPINIONS OF THE OWNERS, MANAGEMENT OR PATRONS OF WIZARDS OF THE COAST, THE RPGA, THE "NOW COWS," UNWED LESBIAN INDIANS AGAINST NUCLEAR ENERGY, THE DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL COMMITTEE, OR ANY OTHER ORGANIZATION, INCLUDING THE NOW-DEFUNCT WoGFC. BUT IT DARNED WELL OUGHT TO. FEEL LIKE COMMENTING? GO RIGHT AHEAD - DROP ME A LINE. |
| I don't know about the rest of you, but I love a good laugh, especially during AD&D sessions. The most memorable laugh I had was more than 15 years ago, when the "Bookstore Gang," as we called ourselves, met at a local paperback reseller/ comic book store/ game shop one dreary Sunday afternoon. The first character I ran through more than one DM's campaigns was a multi-classed elf, name of Elnish Arundel. His first at least nearly "legal" incarnation [in which we actually paid attention to the rules] came in 1986, after four years of both basic and advanced D&D, and he was a fighter/mage/thief. I love multi-classed elves, and play them 75 percent of the time. The fighter aspect was a true "born a hero" type. He was strong (we rolled far too many dice to have nearly average characters, and as I now recall, he was created using the really messed-up, as-many-as-nine-dice-per-stat character generation tables in the back of Unearthed Arcana from first edition AD&D), and excellent with a bow. He was the one called on by the party to put orc sentries out of both their and our misery when we went on raids into the Horned Society or the Pomarj. The thief aspect was a typical dirty rotten scoundrel. With a Charisma of 15 (and a Comeliness of 16 using, again, UA) he could sell Barry Manilow albums... to Barry White. And start fights between Rao priests, given the time and motivation. The mage aspect, though, was most useful in towns. It seemed that, no matter what the situation, he always seemed to have a forget or charm person spell available to clear things up if they got messy. Or a bit more if they got REALLY messy. Like his favorite crowd-pleaser - stinking cloud. The fines he paid for casting this spell, we later figured, would have probably built us a 16,000-square-foot keep. But the trouble it saved us was more than worth it. He wasn't the party leader. Oh, no - we would have gotten into way too much trouble with a chaotic neutral elf in charge. Especially one with a potty mouth like mine had. The elf's foil, such as can be said for a PC who always had an answer for everything, was a STUPID dwarf, whose name eludes me right now. He was played by my friend Chris. Chris loooooved to play Dwarves. Stupid ones. The dumber, the better, I honestly believe now. The kind that, had they been eskimoes, would have bought ice - and probably paid too much for it. Let's call this dwarf Halfwit, as I called him that enough anyway in this particular campaign. Well, one day, in a campaign run by our mutual friend Glenn, we found ourselves in the Shield Lands town of Uno. Original name, huh? Well, as we were in this one-card town (I had to say that), Halfwit and Elnish decided to go for a walk. He was always looking for the weaponsmith. He had lucked upon a short sword +2 during our very first adventure, so it's not like he really needed a new blade for a while. I guess he was a window shopper. So, we walk through town, and I notice the weaponsmith, but decide not to tell Halfwit, with his Wisdom of 6, that we had just passed it. Rather, I wait a few minutes and decide to berate him for "getting us lost" and tell him he should stop someone and ask for directions. (As a side note, Glenn always rolled a blanket Charisma score for every town we entered. He admitted later that he rolled a 5 for this particular place. I'll wager it was with 2d6 rather than 3d6; Glenn was a bit maso as a DM sometimes...) So, anyway, Halfwit lumbered up to the nearest townie and demanded, "Hey, mister. Can you tell us where the weapon shop is in this burg?" "Why should I tell you, stunty?" the lanky, snarly local replies. Chris was easily peeved in reality, and Glenn loved to push his buttons. "Stay lost, shorty. I'm not telling you anything. Go crawl back into your little hole." "Go to the hells, you rude redneck!" Halfwit retorted. This intellectual exchange was followed by the sounds of ringing steel. Well, a little bit. More like "ring-ring-thunk-swish-thunk-swish-plop-thud." Halfwit lost the initiative as he and the townie drew weapons. And then the front part of his left foot. Glenn's NPC rolled a 20- and Glenn had a d30- based critical hit chart that he was very fond of. Come to think of it, Glenn rolled an amazing amount of critical hits. Hmmm. I think I need to pick a bone with him... Anyway, Halfwit swung his axe, and missed. By a mile. The townie won initiative in the second round (remember, we're playing first edition here, with initiative rolls each round). And the townie's blade swept up - and Halfwit was a soprano, as one of, uh, the Twins, we'll call them, was cut free of the nest. Halfwit's swing was an afterthought, as Glenn imposed some rather hefty modifiers for such occurrences. Well, Halfwit curled up into a ball and, after moaning loudly for a moment, lost consciousness. Elnish was not going to allow this to happen - past a point, anyway. So, as soon as Halfwit's little piggies went away for good, Elnish rushed up behind the townie, rendering him unconscious with a well-placed blow by his sword hilt. And a kick. And another kick. And a bit of spitting. And a few more kicks. And an insult... well, you get the picture. My intervention was a bit too late to save Halfwit's progenital future (I was just behind the townie in initiative for some reason... thanks yet again, Glenn!), but, hey, he survived, thanks to me. We were all three slapped in irons, and Halfwit, Elnish and the Townie with No Social Skills all got our day in court the next morning. Which was supposed to be Godsday. And as we learned that the judge was a worshipper of Pholtus, we knew beforehand that it was not going to be pretty. "Mr. Dwarf," the judge began, as we were not allowed legal representation (Thanks again, Glenn!!), "I understand you verbally abused, and then physically assaulted, my neph - er, uh, (pretending to look at paperwork before him) Plato Cagliari, who then defended himself." "Oh, great," was the collective response from the party. The judge was the townie's UNCLE. So much for a fair trial. "Your honor," Halfwit replies, "I didn't draw until the other guy--" "I don't care what the 'other guy' did, midget," Hizzoner responds with disdain. "I was asking you if you used your weapon." "Well, uh, yes, and no." "Yes and no? What are you saying, you diminutive little troublemaker? Mr. Cagliari was knocked out as a result of your skill with a weapon, hmmm?" I stand up. "No, your honor. I kicked the crap out of the plaintiff. This guy-" I point at Halfwit- "is too incompetent with a weapon." A laugh from the party, and a sidelong glance from the judge. As well as a look from Chris that would've curdled new milk. Well, I was justified. Chris hit so rarely in combat that the joke in the party was that he only used those weird d20s with single digits on them. "Sit down, Sir Elf. You'll get your turn." So, I sit, and wait, as things get worse. "Now, Mr. Dwarf, I understand you must have been acting with violent intentions, because you were SEEN drawing a weapon on Mr. Cagliari." "He drew first!" Halfwit shouts. "He was defending himself!" the judge shouts back. "I have a sworn statement from him right here!" he picks up a paper and waves it in the air. As we were role-playing, we ignored that it was actually page 4 of that morning's Baltimore Sun. "He's a liar, judge," my elf interrupts again. "I saw the whole thing." "Sit down, elf, or I'll consider you in contempt of my court." I sit again, more reluctantly. It's not like I had never seen a jail cell before. "Now, Mr. Dwarf, your weapon WAS unsheathed, was it not? It was found next to your unconscious body--" "So was his FOOT, your honor!" Elnish is up again, and having his say. "But not because he started things. Because, your neph - uh, er, uh, Mr. Plate of Calimari, or whatever, verbally abused him and then tried to kill him!!!" "That's it! That is IT! Elf, you're in contempt. A 50-crown fine and 15 days in gaol." I put on my best British, Elven "How Dare You?" look and asked the judge calmly, "Your honor, don't you know who I am? Do you have any clue who I AM? The slightest idea who you're dealing with?" "No, you pointy-eared little troublemaker, and I don't care!" "GOOD!!" I jumped the nearest bailiff, and the party managed to make its escape from the town. Regrettably, the posse followed us for five days. Until I used my trademark stinking cloud to drive them off. The whole matter made us retch anyway, so why not them, too? For years, I have heard other viewpoints on this story. Rich, the cleric, had his say, and I was lauded for my help in getting the party out of trouble. As agreed Ralph, the "main" thief. And Carl, the not-so-bold fighter, and Steve, the de facto party leader. To a man (or a dwarf, as was Carl's case), they managed to forget somehow that I had, by proxy, started the whole thing. Amazing the multitude of sins one "good" deed can cover up, isn't it? Glenn never forgot, though. I got a real load of XP for the whole thing, but underwent an alignment change - to chaotic good. Not that I minded. I just couldn't start the volume of trouble I had before. I just got to start higher-caliber trouble when I did. We discussed this recently, and Glenn reminded me of the name of the town and the judge's religion. These facts helped jog my memory a lot, too. I still see Chris from time to time. He manages a department store near my home, and occasionally, he'll say, "Dave, I miss our games. But I don't miss that Elf. He was a punk. I should have beaten him to a pulp that day in Uno." "Shut up, Chris," I invariably respond. "And pick up your foot." David Insley |
| This column originally published 1 March 1998 |