All posts by Wil

Author, actor, producer. On a good day, I am charming as fuck.

and so the campaign begins… (Part I)

and so it begins ...

Over the weekend, I started a 4E campaign for Nolan and his friends. The plan is to take them through the entire Keep on the Shadowfell module, and then probably into Thunderspire Labyrinth, with possible detours into various level-appropriate Delves, or something from Monte Cook's awesome new project, Dungeon-a-Day, if it makes sense to incorporate it into the campaign. If my memories of running campaigns are any indication, they'll find some way to go storming into some tower or sewer or whatever that isn't in the actual module, and I figured I should have at least one Delve prepared, just in case.  

I haven't DMed anything in ages, and I haven't DMed 4E ever, so rather than start them out in Winterhaven with the events of H1, I started them out in Fallcrest, and planned to run them through a slightly-modified version of the first level Dungeon Delve. I thought this would be a good way for me to remember how to ride the bike, and a good way to introduce them to the new combat mechanics in 4E. And I'll be honest, here: I love a good dungeon crawl as much as anyone. Because I'm running this campaign for teenagers, I didn't think it was wise to dump them into serious roleplaying right away, and I'd use a play session that was primarily combat-based to get them comfortable with each other as players, and with me as a DM.

We had a lot of fun, and played for just under five hours. I had
planned for about four hours, but I had to spend more time than I
thought I would refreshing my memory in the DMG.

We sat around the table, and I began…

"You've known each other for some time, and train together at a small adventuring school founded by your friend and mentor, Douven Staul.

"For weeks, Spring has struggled to pull the Nentir Vale out of Winter's icy grip, and on this day, it just may have succeeded. The sky is cloudless and the Sun spreads warmth wherever there is not shadow.

"Douven Staul gathers you in his small office, and says, 'One month ago, my good friend Bekar Copperknight learned that a small nearby tower, abandoned for an age, had actually been built by his ancestors. Bekar, like all Dwarves, is proud, and he took a small party of prospectors with him to examine the ruins, before he reclaimed it for his family.'

"Douven pauses, and gives you all a very grave look. 'I have heard nothing from him or his party, and I fear that foul work is afoot. I am needed…' He looks uncomfortable for a moment '… elsewhere, so I have selected you, my brightest and best students, to discover his fate."

I looked up at the three of them while I spoke. One of Nolan's friends made notes as I talked, another grinned back at me. Nolan spun a d20 on the table as he listened. I kept a straight face, but inside I was bursting with joy.

"He gives you a map. On the banks of the Winter River, about a day's journey from Fallcrest, he's drawn a small building. 'The tower is here,' he says, 'you must leave immediately, for I am beginning to fear the worst.'"

"This is what you've been waiting for," I said. "You return to your rooms and gather your gear."

Continued in Part 2…

From the Vault: the safety dance

Last night, Nolan went through my iTunes library so he could put some of my awesome music on his iPod. He’s been after me for months to give him Radiohead, The Beatles, Tool, Decemberists, and a lot of my 80s stuff.

While he looked, the following exchange occurred:

Nolan: Why do you have The Safety Dance in your iTunes library? Me: So I can dance, if I want to. Duh. Nolan: You are so weird.

He ended up taking a little over 5 GB of my music, and I enacted a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about Men Without Hats. Shortly after he went to bed, I was washing dishes, and remembered this old blog post from 2003:

Anne and I were listening to Fred while we were driving home from Burbank the other day. That stupid “Safety Dance” song came on, and I said to her, “This is the weirdest song, ever.”

“Yeah, who thought this was a good idea?” she said.

“I mean, think about all the steps that went into this: someone wrote down all these words, then composed music, then produced the whole thing . . . and at every step of the way, they believed that this was a song worth releasing.” I said.

“Hey, Neil,” she said, in a really bad British accent, “Let’s make a song about the Safety Dance!”

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” I said, in my own bad accent, “We’ll have them all hoppin’ and dancin’ and –“

I started to giggle, and was unable to continue.

“You can dance! You can dance! Everybody look at your hands!” I sang, involuntarily.

CLAP! CLAP! went Anne’s hands.

“You can dance! You can dance! Everybody’s taking the chaaaaa-HAAAAA-nnnncccceeeeee . . . ” I continued.

“With the SAFETY DANCE!” We shouted out in unison.

“We are such dorks,” Anne said.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

We sang the remainder of the song with extreme gusto.

I should also point out that when we got home, Ryan told us that he wants to buy “Thriller.”

I think there’s something in the water here.

2003 seems like an eternity ago. I guess in some ways, it was, wasn’t it?

stupid murphy’s law can bite me.

My plans to spend last night with the Basic D&D Dungeon Master's Booklet were derailed when I got a late-afternoon phone call from my manager.

"You have a pilot audition tomorrow," he said. "I'm sending you all the material right now."

He described the show to me; it sounds very cool. He described the character to me; it became apparent that this is a guy I could easily bring to life.

"This is awesome," I said. "I'll let you know how it goes."

I spent the evening preparing the audition, and finally went to sleep when I felt like I had a good handle on the material. I woke up this morning feeling excited, and ready to go nail this.

I went over the material* again, put on a tie (the character's a doctor) and grabbed my wallet, keys, iPod and phone. As I jammed all that stuff into my pocket, I heard my phone make the "hey, guess what? My battery is about to die" noise.

"Crap," I said to Anne, "my phone is going to die."

"Why don't you just take it with you and leave it off? You can turn it on in case there's an emergency."

"Nah," I said, "I'll just leave it here and charge it while I'm gone. I hardly ever need it, anyway."

You know what comes next, right?

This is the part where, if this were a movie, we would cut to me, sitting in traffic on the freeway. I'm not moving. There is a shot through my windshield of a bunch of emergency vehicles about a mile ahead of me, and a matching shot of me looking concerned. The next several shots would cut between me and the clock in my car, as it gets closer and closer to my audition time, and then passes it. Repeated over this, my voice says, "I hardly ever need it, anyway … anyway … anyway … now batting … Manny Mota … Mota … Mota …" Finally, about 30 minutes after I'm supposed to be in Hollywood, and still at least 45 minutes away, I creep past the crash, hope that nobody was hurt, and wonder what the hell I'm going to do now. You can't just show up for an audition 90 minutes late without calling.

"Well, fuck." I said. I got off the freeway, turned around, and went home.

It totally sucks that this is the first pilot audition I've had in over a year, and everything that could have gone wrong on the way did.

This show looks great, and the character is absolutely one I can see myself playing for five years or more. I'm hopeful that they're seeing people late into the afternoon or early
evening today, or that there's another session I can go to. This time, I'll bring my cell phone with me, just in case.

Edited to add: Well, this worked out okay after all. I'm going back at noon tomorrow. Yay!

*The material was wonderful, and showed many different sides of this character. This seems like a no-brainer, but you'd be shocked to learn how many auditions feature scenes that tell us nothing about the character, and are little more than that horrible exposition all actors hate to say.

this isn’t a book; it’s a time machine

This is how I go to my happy place.

This is where it all began for me: the D&D Basic Rules Set. When I opened this book in 1983, I had no idea that it would change my life. Back then, if you told 11 year-old me that I’d be 36 and wiping tears from my face because reading it brought back so many joyful memories, he would have called you one of the names the cool kids called him for playing it. (Don’t judge him too harshly; he’s only 11.)

My original D&D Basic set was a garage sale casualty, but the book in this picture is a first printing that I bought at a game store about ten years ago. It’s perfect in every way, except for a missing character sheet in the middle, which I printed from the PDF copy I bought from Paizo last year.

The Keep on the Borderlands module beneath it belonged to someone named Randy Richards, who wrote his name and phone number (as we so often did in those days) on the cover. I don’t know who Randy Richards is, if he cares, or if he’ll even read this, but if he does, I want him to know: your book is in very good hands, Randy, and its current owner loves it as much as anyone could.

I’ve been on a real D&D kick lately (blame the Penny Arcade podcast, and how much I love 4e) but I hadn’t actually gone back to the beginning and read the Basic Rules for a very, very long time. So late last night, after my family went to sleep, instead of watching TV or reading blogs, I went to my bookshelf and grabbed the Player’s Manual you see in this picture. I read it cover-to-cover for the first time in over 20 years, and played the solo adventure, which was the very first dungeon I ever visited. I named my fighter Thorin, just like I did when I was a kid. I made a map on graph paper, rolled dice on the floor, and felt pure joy wash over me. I scared off a Giant Rat and killed the remaining two before I failed – like I did when I was 11 – to solve the riddle of O-T-T-F-F-S-S, losing all my treasure. I tried to talk to the Goblins … before I killed them and took their treasure: 100 sp and 50 gp. I battled the Rust Monster, who was just as tough and unreasonable an opponent for a first level fighter as I remember. Thorin eventually managed to defeat it with some … creative … trips back to town to replace his armor and weapons, just like he did a quarter century ago. Luckily for him, the Rust Monster didn’t heal between battles … just like the last time he faced it. I decided to leave the skeletons for another time, and walked back to town with my 650 gp and 100 sp. When I calculated my XP, I had earned 1084 … not too shabby. I closed up my book, and went to sleep happy.

When I was a kid, the D&D Basic Rules Set was never just a game to me; it was my portal into a magical, wonderful world that I still love. Now that I’m an adult, it isn’t just a couple of books to me; it’s a time machine.

The world I live in is filled with uncertainty and occasionally-overwhelming responsibility, but for an hour or so last night, I was 11 years-old again, and I went back to a world where the biggest problem I faced was trying to save up for a Millennium Falcon. When I read “You decide to attack the goblins before they can get help…” I could hear my Aunt Val tell me “That’s a game that I hear lots of kids like to play, Willow. It’s dragons and wizards and those things you liked from The Hobbit. The back says you use your imagination, and I know what a great imagination you have.” I could feel the weight of my Red Box, which I carried with me pretty much everywhere I went, and how huge the thing felt in my tiny arms. I could feel it get heavier as I added modules and characters, and my own dungeons, drawn on graph paper. I could hear the snap of the thick green rubber band I eventually had to wrap around it, and I could see the yellowing scotch tape I added to the corners.

I enjoyed it so much, I’m going to reread the Dungeon Master’s Rulebook next, and run the Group Game adventure it contains, “for use by a beginning Dungeon Master.” Then, it’s time to go back to the Keep on the Borderlands, using just the Basic Rules, where Magic-users can’t wear armor, Fighters have 8 HP, Dwarf and Elf are classes, and everyone dies at least once before finally taking a character to second level, because that’s where it all started for me, and sometimes you just have to go back to your roots.

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