I wanted to share one of my favorite terrible-game anecdotes here, but it would have been a ridiculously gigantic wall of text.
So here's a little taste of it. If you want to read the rest, there's a link down below this excerpt.
The Dungeon of Shame, or How I Learned To Stop Trusting My Players To Take Over As DM.
OK, so, many moons ago my good friend AJ decides that he wants a turn at DM'ing for our D&D 3.5 group. Now, let me preface the rant that follows by saying that AJ is a great guy, and I've got nothing bad to say about him. But, letting this good friend of ours behind the DM's screen turned out to be a lot like letting a lovable 6-year old behind the wheel of a semi truck, barreling through a crowded shopping mall at 70 miles an hour. Bad shit happening was the only possible outcome, and it was bound to end in tears.
So, the set-up for the game: AJ says he wants to run in the Forgotten Realms setting, and he wants us all to play something we've always had our eye on, but other DMs wouldn't let us play. He tells us to cut loose. Anything officially published by WOTC is fair game. This is the first sign of trouble. Savage Species books get pulled off shelves. Players start dusting off Books of Vile Darkness and Races of Faerun.
As a long-time DM, I can see the stormclouds on the horizon already, and there's not a tornado shelter in sight. I decide to try and do something to mitigate the madness. I play a human paladin. I figure if the inevitable freakshow party has a very vanilla moral center, maybe we'll survive long enough to follow the plot, right? I can help steer the party away from decisions that will totally derail the game, right?
Wrong. We end with the following gems:
-A wemic barbarian who was some kind of unstoppable ride-by-attacking combat juggernaut.
-A human paladin with a longsword and a shield. (me)
-Some sort of half-devil, platemail-wearing, tumble-skill-specializing greatsword-wielding fighter chick (this player quit after like two sessions, thus ironically proving she was the wisest of all of us).
-A half water-elemental pacifist cleric who fought with a great-club and who’s combat role was simply to go full defense and provide flanking opportunities, heal us and cast Bless every once in a while.
-A wizard from some race that I’ve never even heard of, that the player found in a poorly-translated D&D errata on a Belgian website or something. This character was kind of human, but also kind of made of shadows or darkness, or something…. I don’t fucking know. All I remember is that he tried to screw us out of any treasure we found, every single time we found any.
-And of course, it goes without saying, the timeless D&D classic; a monkey-man bard from some oriental setting book, who played a lute with his tail and feet and danced around on his hands, singing lyrics from bad 70s and 80s heavy-metal songs. Yes, he was Man-O-War Monkey Man….
So, you know, the classic party template. Tolkien would have been proud.
The Hook…. a Broadway classic, as it turns out.Apparently we’re all in this desert together, thousands of miles from anywhere. And we’ve never met before. Wait, what? And we have no supplies of any kind. And no reason for being there. It’s just, you know, fate or coincidence or something…. or maybe it’s…. what’s the word? Oh yeah. “Lazy, incompetent fucking DMing”. That was it.
Then a city appears. Yup. Just sort of materializes around us, right in front of our eyes. Poof! A giant city, stretching for hundreds of miles. And we’re standing in the middle of a big market. The PCs are all like “Hey, what the fuck? First I run into this bizarre menagerie of freakshow characters, and now a city appears out of nowhere?” But never fear, because an absolutely awesome rationale is coming for this series of events!
No there isn’t.
So, long story short, the very first thing that happens is that the party is summarily overpowered and imprisoned (for what crime is never made clear, but my paladin’s Detect Evil ability shows that no one here, not a single person, is evil, so clearly we must have been guilty, right? Guess we shouldn’t have been randomly walking around the interior of a vast fucking world-spanning desert without supplies, huh? We should have known the cops would show up….). This all happens completely off-camera, and we have no chance of avoiding or escaping this fate. And then we’re thrown into an arena, where the DM informs us that we’re expected to fight for our freedom.
Then he lets us know that the city only appears once every 500 years, and stays there for 24 hours, after which it vanishes into the mists of time once more. If we can win our freedom in that time, we can leave. To which my response is something like “You mean we’ve been captured by the cast of Brigadoon? Really? I sneak out during intermission!”.
Next comes the part where our DM introduces us to a dude he describes as “an NPC party member to help you guys out if you need it. You’ll love him. I worked really hard writing him up, and he’s a totally original character.”
Enter the NPC…. I shit you not, it was a dual scimitar-wielding drow with a heart of gold, with levels in sorceror and ranger, accompanied by a shadowy dog-cat-monster-thing that could turn into a little statue. His name was Rz’zitt’n. And oh yeah, he also wielded Spellfire, and was the chosen of Mielikki or some shit like that. He was also like 15th level, where the rest of us were level 4.
Continued in Part 2: The Dungeon…. or, Oh My Fucking God This Is Making My Brain Hurt.Here's the link to the entire thing, posted on my blog, Dice-Speak:
The Dungeon of Shame