By Susannah Murphine
Dice are tiny crystal balls.
(Well, not balls, I guess…)
Tiny crystals of chaos
that hold innumerable futures.
When you’re at a table full of people
rolling dice,
Hell seems like a balmy vacation spot.
Squishy Wizards and Smart-as-dirt Barbarians
join like uneven logs. Potential
friends sprout like worms from rot,
and all lies in the hands of the
omnipotent Dungeon Master.
After all, they’re the ones who know
how the story is supposed to go.
Anything that happens has to be
all part of the plan.
(Yeah, right!) The die rolls over
from 20 to 2, mocking the Druid
who let it fly. “Oh,” it says, “you
wanted to hit the troll? Too bad!”
It’s enough to make the most
level-headed half-elf player
call their dice dhaerow (betrayer).
It’s enough to let the Gnome Monk
stand toe-to-toe with said troll,
knocking it prone in one punch
because her 2 turned into a 20
when all hope seemed lost.
“The troll roars, pounding on your
eardrums as your nearly six-foot
jump landed a punch right on his
nose. Something cracks, and
you’re not sure if it’s the bridge of
its nose or the bones in your hand,
but both of you are in quite a bit of pain.
Black blood oozes from the troll’s
nostrils, slithering over your tiny gnome hands.
Its muddy, steely smell is like a sword
to your own nostrils, and you can’t tell
if the salty sweetness on your tongue is
sweat, blood, or victory.”
The troll will fall. They always do,
in the end. But how it falls is the fun part.
The moment between announcing the roll
and the Dungeon Master’s reaction
will always feel like hours, speeding up
at last at the sound of
“How do you wanna do this?”
The beginning of a battle comes
with a call for the players to
roll for initiative, the order of
Fighters, Warlocks, and Bards (oh my!)
(Hang on, don’t get ahead of yourself!
A poem isn’t the best place for someone
to learn how to play D&D…)
You lean back from the table,
popping your knuckles as you wait
for your next turn in combat.
