Cauldron Day 1: First Salvos & Enemy Contact

Some people use the first day of Cauldron to start slow, to rest (from travel pains) before easing into the maelstrom of gaming. Remaking the acquaintance of old friends, catching up, relaxing with a beer or tea, etc…these are all valid ways to approach a convention that can test one’s endurance over the normal three-day span, let alone the four days that was this year’s Cauldron.

But I’m an idiot who loves trouble. I go hard from the get-go.

Thursday Block One: Blood on Blizzard Pass

One of these days, I’ll get my shit together and have my own sign-up list so that I can make note of all the players names, perhaps take a picture of their faces so that I can remember everyone by the end of this con. As it is, my memory is a tad hazy when it comes to Day 1. Please forgive.

Module M1: Blizzard Pass is an old TSR solo module that I’ve owned since I was a kid of age 9 or 10. Long ago, I lost the “special pen” that allowed me to decode the 'invisible text' boxes, designed to allow solo play, having never actually “solved” or “won” the adventure, despite (probably) cheating when it came to dice rolls. However, I’ve kept it all these years because A) I’m a nostalgic packrat that tends to keep everything, AND (more importantly) B) it includes a standard “group dungeon” in the back based on the solo dungeon that is the bulk of the module. The group adventure is a single level of eleven encounters and it’s just about perfect for an introductory, low-level (suggested 2nd-3rd level PCs) adventure. I’ve run it four or five times over the years, always with good success.

But I’ve never run it for AD&D.

Now, I realize there are some who’ll say B/X and AD&D are similar enough that adventures for one are (largely) interchangeable with the other. I do not share that opinion. Despite their similarities, they function differently and have their own cadence and rhythm to them, because of the specifics of their systems. You can play an AD&D adventure using the B/X system, but you will end up cutting out a lot of the “AD&D-isms” that make the game what it is. I find the experience flat (to say the least); meanwhile, running a B/X adventure in AD&D is nearly always a cakewalk, because AD&D PCs are so much more robust than their B/X counterparts. What seems like an “appropriate challenge” for PCs of a certain level simply isn’t…and you will end up modifying on-the-fly (or letting players walk all over your dungeon) if you play the thing straight. Not really a good time.

So, I needed to modify the adventure for AD&D. Removed were the hypnotic-eye “rock toads” of the frozen cavern…in their place were man-eating ice toads from the Monster Manual. Likewise the half-starved “white apes” held in the Master’s cage were replaced with a half-starved brown bear…far more appropriate considering the adventure is set in the Blue Mountains of southeastern Washington. Finally, in addition to updating the human NPCs (evil clerics and fighters) to AD&D versions of equivalent level, the Master’s pet and “escape guard” (a giant shrew) had to be removed, for multiple reasons: it doesn’t appear in AD&D, it’s a little over-powered, it doesn’t really “make sense” in terms of the scenario/environment. In its place, I put a pair of ghouls, whom the Master could easily control by dint of his evil ambiance. Treasure was already about right, fortunately.

Good starter adventure.

Originally, this was to be the “opening salvo” of my mini-campaign…something to start the 3rd levels off with in hopes of getting them up to 4th. Later, when I shortened my program to just the five sessions, I kept this one in because my son is well familiar with it (he played it in his younger years, and has run it for his friends, in the B/X version), and running it in the first slot would give him an opportunity to sleep and recover from flight, while I got into my groove. Now, however…well, at least I picked something easy to run.

The premise of the scenario is simple as simple can be. Players are your typical mercenaries heading east out of Walla Walla into the sketchier towns that border the Idaho Deathlands, looking for work and profit in the midst of the Dragon Queen War (my re-tooled, sandbox version of Dragon Lance). Crossing the Blue Mountain range, they are separated from their caravan during a sudden snow storm, only to find them again (after the storm has passed) completely wiped out by bandits. Players track the bandits back to their lair; hilarity ensues.

Very good play from the players…at first. In each session, the DM was supposed to nominate one player as the person who had “done the most to help the group succeed." I cannot remember who I nominated for this first one. Maybe Butch? Or, more probably, the dude playing the party cleric (and I honestly can’t remember who that was). Ah, well…it was a long convention.

Anyway. They were able to completely surprise the ogre who guards the entrance to the bandits’ cave lair. Ogre can be tricked (I’ve also seen him charmed to good effect in B/X…that doesn’t work in AD&D). In this case, they simply cast silence 15’ radius on him and that murdered the hell out of the guy. Into the cave they went, where they encountered a handful of armed men and a cage full of trained wolves.

Combat ensued. The wolf cage was opened, but the cleric held it at bay using speak with animal (one of the more useful spells in the low-level cleric repertoire). That kept the wolves at bay until they finished off the men (keeping one as a hostage), and negotiated with the wolves to leave them in peace. Easy-peasy.

The captive spilled his guts but was in mortal fear of “the Master” who (to be clear) is a pretty dastardly fellow, feeding people to his pet ghouls and whatnot. The prisoner did not reveal this (or anything else) about the Master, but did give up the numbers of the bandits and where they might be located and what was beyond (goblins and such). However, before the party could get on with the murdering, the party’s elf managed to locate a secret door “just in passing” (oh, AD&D!), and the players decided better murdering might lurk beyond.

Although the killing would be on the other foot.

The module indicates that the Master, upon hearing battle out in the main room, will prepare an ambush for the players, along with his ogre bodyguard. Uh-oh. So it was the players sneaked into an area (well, the thief was sneaking) that had already been rigged with its own silence 15’ radius spell.

The thief was partially surprised and immediately bludgeoned to death by a clubbing from the ogre. As I said, hilarity ensued. PCs rushed through the door and engaged the ogre. Spell-casters attempted spells only to find they had no line of sight and/or they were in the silenced area. Meanwhile, the Master used hold person to good effect. More PCs downed, including the ranger if I remember aright.

However, the party was large (I maxed my tables at eight and we indeed had a full table), and they were able to push through. His bodyguard felled and himself wounded, the Master pulled two levers: one opening an “escape (trap) door,” the other opening the cage to the half-starved bear who will attack good guy and bad guy alike. Pretty sure it mauled the cleric dead, but again this was many days ago. However, we had a second cleric with speak animal, who stepped up and convinced the bear into not killing them and only eating the corpses. The bear had no interest in the dead ogre meat (“Smells bad”) but they sweetened the pot by adding the captive bandit to the mix and Mr. Bear agreed. Who says you have to fight everything to the death?

They then investigated the escape tunnel. “Better send the (other) thief down first.” Good idea. Thief was surprised, hit about six times by the ghouls lurking in the escape tunnel and torn to shreds. “Oh crap…he’s the PC who’s been carrying all the treasure we’ve found so far!” A hair-brained plan to retrieve the thief’s body was concocted, with the cleric and fighter being lowered via ropes. Initiative was won, the ghouls were turned, and the money retrieved.

Dinner at this point being ready (the first session was a short, three-hour session) we called the game there. Good warm up. Dinner was good, and also two hours long. I ate well, then went and had a nap. I could only sleep about 15-20 minutes. Damn jet lag.

Thursday Block II: Chainmail European Championship

Sixteen players in eight teams had pre-registered for what was being billed as the first Chainmail World Cup. As the USA in soccer's first World Cup (in Uruguay) I was proud to represent my country…also (like the USA) I doubted I would ever again see a top 8 finish once the WC expanded to more than eight teams.

Pairings, assigned scenarios, and sides/forces were all assigned randomly. We would be playing by “Swiss” tournament rules (double elimination, basically). I, of course, drew the most brutal draw possible (hello, Argentina!).

Eria is Settembrini’s wife. During the convention, she appears to spend the majority of time running and organizing the volunteers that make Cauldron function. Despite the stress of making such a complicated thing happen behind the scenes, I never see her terribly flustered, upset, or agitated. Maybe she is just German and registers the stress differently from us melodramatic Americans? I don’t know…I find her exceptionally kind, warm, and generous. She it is who brought me my decaf coffee the first day (she delegated this duty to others the rest of Cauldron). Her children are exceptionally helpful and well-behaved and she and Setti seem to have their shit down as far as being a family/team.

She would be my first opponent, along with her elder son Johannes ("Valez"). The kid, about 18 years of age, is a chip off the old block. He runs con games (in German), probably the youngest of the Dungeon Masters. Last year, he was awarded the Most Valuable Player trophy by the other convention-goers. He has obviously inherited his father’s passion for wargaming, and took everything very seriously. Eria, on the other hand, is credited with having play-tested every single scenario. My understanding is that each was run many times before the convention, ironing out the kinks.

Did I mention that Setti kind of spear-heads the whole “Chainmail revival” thing? And that he has re-written and codified the rules (in two volume form) along wih LKH, Ghoul (Willy), and Dreadlord (Mitch)? Uh-huh.

Plus, I’m staring across the gaming table at one of the sweetest, kindest people at the con…the organizer’s wife! Was I supposed to throw this thing?

Of course not: they were demons on the battlefield. Also, the scenario would not be helpful.

Omphalos of the Frog God 

Background: After the victory over adventurers trying to disturb the cloister of the frog-god, Frogmen are on the rise in the area between Badwall and Elredd. An ancient sacred site in the swamps near Silvash is within reach of the growing croaker influence. Elves of the forest and High Elves have answered the call by the local druid responsible for guarding the omphalos on the hill in the moor.

I was selected to play the elves…who had neither magic arrows, nor magic armor/weapons to their name, and who would not be allowed to charge in the swamp; also, the elves would be unable to use invisibility in the scenario due to the presence of frogman “witch doctors.” I did have a druidic shambling mound on my side and an elven hero (“Lady Aurelia”). Against me was arrayed four packs of frogmen and bullywugs, who were allowed to travel within the multiple crossing rivers at 15” movement and who could operate in loose formation (no facing/formation penalties) and who could not be shot with arrows while in the water. In addition, they had the aforementioned witch docs, and a six-figure “Marsh Medusa” archer squad who could out-range all my archers, had no problem charging (like the frogmen), AND petrified creatures that got into melee with them. Also, a hybrid frog-human champion armed with both a magic weapon AND magic armor. All within a 90 minute time limit.

Uh-huh. No problems here.

It was a near thing, but I got my ass handed to me. In the end, my only play was to attempt the secondary victory conditions of destroying the frog shamans (this would enable the elves to gain their invisibility back and secure them an automatic win). And I might have done it, too, but time ran out before I could get into melee combat with them (had to lure them in first and then had to change my formation to get off a damn cliff face). It did not help that while my worthy opponents were exceptionally knowledgeable about the game play (and immensely helped novice me), they dithered terribly when it came to taking their turn, using up valuable clock time that I would have liked to have had. As it was, we finished near 11pm, it was a good game, and I was ready to call it a night, proud that I had managed to stay on my feet (and conscious) throughout the entire game despite drinking six or seven beers during the game.

No such doing. We had to go to Round 2 and the “loser’s bracket.”

This next bit is hazy as I can’t even recall who the hell I played [EDIT: it was Sean and Ollie). But I’ve got the scenario right here; it was a similar “capture the object” objective and this time I’d be playing...the virtuous defenders. Why did they keep making me play the good guys?

Queen Scorpion and the Obelisks of Mana

Near the Oasis of the 8th Medusa, Anubis jackal-men guard the ancient Obelisks of Mana near one of the world’s omphaloi. The evil sorcerer Saublin has crossed the desert with his army of Hobgoblins to conquer this place of eldritch power.

Right. Your basic “hold the line” scenario, except I’d be playing two-fisted jackal men with axes and Khopesh swords in a semi-Egyptian looking desert setting against hobgoblins.

So. Many. Hobgoblins.

I’ll cut to the chase: I lost. To a man. “Queen Scorpion” (an actual giant scorpion, something akin to a demigod) was the last, um, “man” standing. But I just couldn’t kill enough of my enemy. Sean (yes, I now remember my opponent…the “Fight On” team out of Detroit, led by none other than Ignatius Umlaut, himelf) poured his heaps of hobbos onto my champion-caliber guys and, in the end, I was overwhelmed. Eh. I set up poorly. My small unit of archers (nearly as puissant as the Medusae in the first scenario) did a ton of damage, but ended up blocked by mountains. I was later told most jackal players set the archers on a mountain top, whereas I’d attempted to snipe out wargs forced (by the scenario rules) to slake their thirst at the single desert oasis. Live and learn.

So…2:30am? Yeah. About that when we ended. Beers consumed over the course of the Chainmail tournament? I averaged about one per turn taken (mine AND my opponents'). There had been a LOT of turns. I dusted off the bitter taste of back-to-back defeats and hied my beaten ass to bed, one last beer in hand. Next day looked to be another marathon.

[side note: the following rounds of the Chainmail World Cup would be played over the next two days, with the Championship game Saturday afternoon. It came down to Dreadlord/Mitch and Ghoul/Willy versus Eria and Valez over the same Queen Scorpion scenario, with Team DreadGhoul taking the "good guy" jackal-men...and getting soundly beaten. Long live the champs, and all that, but man that was a rough outing right out of the gate!]

Cauldron Day 0: Logistics & Intel

Alright…are we done with the sentimentality? Let’s get down to brass tacks. 

Cauldron 2026 was the largest, most ambitious Cauldron yet outside (perhaps) the first one. 2023 featured two-and-a-half days of gaming (five game blocks/sessions) with roughly 50 participants. 2024 had a handful more players, and three+ days planned, of which the final day was abruptly cancelled (seven game blocks total). Last year, the new venue accommodated 80+ participants over another 2.5 days and six game blocks. This year? Around 90 participants (including con organizers, many of whom had the chance to sit in on games) over nearly four full days and nine gaming blocks.

I was quite afraid I might incinerate by the end of the thing.

My original idea was to use the extended format to run a mini-campaign: nine linked adventures set in my home campaign, using the same pre-generated PCs, with scenarios designed to take them from levels 3rd up to 14th. To accomplish this, I would take advantage of the (untimed) night blocks to run extra-long (i.e. more than 4+ hour time blocks) and get characters extra levels. The capper would be a high level extravaganza that’s been in the back of my mind for roughly 45 years.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum…I decided I’d register my boy (nearly 16 at the moment) for the convention and bring him along. It was, I deemed, time to bring him into the fold. Besides I was quite inspired by all the young people I’d seen in 2025…he was as old as many of these kids (and older than some). And Germany, being one of my favorite countries in the world…well, it was time to share the experience with him. Before he had a chance to grow too old for such “silly games.”

; )

And Diego wanted to play with me…as in play as player with me by his side. Of course, we were also BOTH interested in Chainmail (my boy’s love of wargaming is at least equal to mine, even if he’s less inclined to the painting part of the hobby). As I started to see the gaming blocks fill, and as I realized that six months was a tad ambitious to write and prep nine adventures (including, of course, yet another installment of the annual “Blackrazor Tournament Cup”), I started modifying my planned agenda.

I would run five adventures: four original adventures plus the tourney scenario. Everything would be in the four-hour range; no linked campaign scenarios (although I would use the same pre-gens for the non-tourney adventures, just set at different experience levels. Call it ‘for the sake of expedience’).

AH…still: easier said than done. Between my normal busy-ness and the regular interruptions that are simply a part of daily life, it was a near thing to even complete the five adventures I’d planned/slated for the con. The tournament adventure itself (which I will discuss in a future blog post) was a bear to write (no pun intended!). After months of dicking around with it, I got it finished sometime in late July/early August…soon enough that I could playtest it on Orcas and get the final draft mailed out to the DMs by September. Only at THAT point was able to get to my other new, (mostly) original adventures.

Four-to-five-ish weeks, in other words. If people were wondering “what happened to that B/X blogger guy” when he all-but-disappeared in the month of September…well, that’s what.

But I got it done, not least of which helped was helped by my coming down with a sickness (passed to me by my daughter and/or all her sniffling teammates on the soccer team). Last weekend, the weekend before Cauldron…it feels like two years ago…I was flat on my back and isolated in the guest room for nearly 48 hours. Fortunately, I had already finished my maps, so I used the time to write, write, write. As I said, I got it done, ahead of my Wednesday plane reservation.

And then, on Monday, my son got sick.

And I mean, he was REALLY sick. Bad fever, the whole nine yards. He came home from school Monday and went straight to bed. Didn’t go to school Tuesday or Wednesday. We took it right up till thirty minutes before we had to leave for the airport. Fever of 102.8. Standing him up, walking him around, getting him a hot shower, tea, soup, fresh air, sunshine…nothing. He had the dead eyes and miserable catatonic look of a person who couldn’t even stand without help. I made the call: he was staying home. The look of disappointment in his face was nearly as heart-breaking as his general state of health: “This is Papa’s last time going back to Germany and I’m going to miss it!”

I promised him that I WOULD return for a future Cauldron and I that I would make certain he DID accompany me.

The last thing I did before grabbing my Uber to SeaTac was to send a DM to Settembrini (Cauldron’s head honcho/organizer) informing him of the situation. I had no concern for a refund, but I wanted to make sure that, if possible, the next person on the waiting list was allowed access. Cauldron, after all, deserves to be shared.

The plane travel itself was largely uneventful. The available movies were all terrible or things I’d already seen (or, in some cases, both). Mostly, I used the time to try to catnap (attempting to get ahead of the jet lag), organize treasure lists on my laptop (for ease of calculating experience points post-game) or reading the many possible Chainmail scenarios that I might be taking part in.

This last deserves elaboration: Chainmail, the precursor and inspiration for the original D&D ruleset has been a mostly dead game since the 1970s, outside of (possibly) Midwest wargaming clubs (assuming such things still exist). I own a PDF copy and have studied it as a matter of historical interest; I’ve even written some supplemental rules for it (as part of my NAP III adventure, Dragon Wrack). But while I’m aware of retroclones and “updates” to the original Chainmail rules (LWAS’s “Platemail,” anyone?) I am unaware of anyone regularly playing this particular “medieval wargame.” After all, Warhammer is still a thing right (what edition are we on? 12th?).

OUTSIDE OF GERMANY, that is. Oh, those crazy Germans! Of course it’s the Germans who, over the last few years, have revived Chainmail in their own gaming club(s), bonding their love of wargaming with their love of the (older) D&D hobby tradition and making it a regular part of their campaign play. Nexus…the German gaming club behind Cauldron…has taken to this old gaming set with gusto…playing it, practicing it, clarifying and editing it to make it a living breathing integral part of their gaming culture. In four years of Cauldron, there has been Chainmail at every single one. Last year, I participated in my first Chainmail battle. This year, I had been required to pre-register (along with my son) as a two-person team in what was being billed as the First World Cup Chainmail Championship. Heady stuff indeed!

But I hadn’t even had the opportunity to read the Sarisa rules (their two-volume rules compilation/adaptation) nor any of the tournament scenarios that would be part of this 'World Cup.' My 14 hours of plane travel provided me the time I needed to study all of it, although “study” is not the same thing as “practical experience.” I assumed I would be at a disadvantage even without the (very good) possibility I would be asleep on me feet…again.

The last thing I did was make sure I had character sheets for myself. Since I had decided (and intended) to PLAY in other people’s games this year, I wanted to make sure I have appropriate ADDKON-worthy characters for use. Tuesday afternoon, I had dug through the bowels of my gaming closet, seeking out old character sheets from my earliest days of gaming. I already had a suitable 3rd level character, care of my boy’s A&D campaign, but I felt I would need something mid-level and definitely something high level for Settembrini’s “Army of Madness” adventure that he would be running Friday night. The mid-level would be for Ignatius Umlaut’s Friday night jam (if I couldn’t get into Setti’s game) or, perhaps, Keith Sloan’s Forgotten Grottoes of the Sea Lords on Sunday. Regardless, I wanted to be prepared and the last couple hours of the second leg was spent re-copying decades’ old character sheets from my middle school years onto fresh, lined notebook paper.

Alex and Grutzi (“Porthos” and “Aramis”) picked me up from the airport, finding me about 30 seconds after I’d grabbed my checked bag (being “Athos” I, of course, had packed a high quality bottle of booze) and hit the ATM for the Monopoly money that passes for cash on this side of the world. A great car ride, great conversation, great tunes (Alex and I have similar musical tastes)…and then voila, we were once again in the Promised Land, walking in (a little late) to Setti’s introductory speech, already in progress.

Fortunately, we didn’t miss much, and we still had time to grab a bite and some coffee…as well as find our rooms and bedding…before the first game block. The Magyar horde was all of one minute behind us, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate for us to upstage their standard, dramatic entrance. All was right in the world.

I need to pause for a moment.

I give all this overview, in part, because I want to give some context before I get to the games proper which are (possibly) of more interest to my readers. Roughly six months of planning and preparation had been going on for me (when possible) in the run-up to this four-day convention. Even when not writing adventures, I was thinking and planning just how and what I would write…I am of the “if-you-have-eight-hours-to-chop-down-a-tree-spend-seven-hours-sharpening-the-axe” mindset when it comes to these kind of things. And part of my planning and sharpening was figuring out how to make an experience that was not only enjoyable for myself and the other con-goers (something important to me), but for my son. And my son wasn’t present.

And people had known he was coming. And they had wanted to meet him. And throughout the convention I was asked time and again by the con-goers what had happened and where he was and how he was. All loving, nothing but concern…and every incident a reminder, a knife in my heart, that he wasn’t there.

I went to my room with my bedding. #16 (the mark of the Tower in the Major Arcana, I noted grimly…how appropriate!). They had given us a private room, with two beds and its own bathroom. Simple and rustic and yet perfect for a young man in a foreign country, an exciting, foreign country for the first time…a sanctuary in which he could nap or do his schoolwork (he was going to have to bring some) in privacy without the interruption of other con-goers. It was so thoughtful, it made me want to cry. And does now, just thinking about it.

But the Cauldron people are full of these “considerate touches.” A French press of decaf coffee…I am 99% sure I was the only person at the con drinking decaf…was given to me as I sat down to run my first game. And every morning, Friday through Sunday (hoo-boy, we’ll talk about Sunday!) someone would find me with a giant plastic carafe of the stuff, knowing that I would polish it off before lunch. I had not asked for this, or put this down as one of my “food requirements.” They simply remembered from last year and had prepared for my coming. The kindness is…overwhelming at times.

Okay, okay…we already did the sentimental post. People want to know about games.

However, before that, I want to say something about “celebrity” in this environment. The on-line gaming community is full of “names” of people known for…well, for all sorts of stuff. Blogging and reviewing. Podcasting and publishing. Getting in internet scrapes and dust-ups. Whatever. I am aware and acknowledge that I am one of these “names,” not least of which because I’ve run a handful of good games at Cauldron, and started this little tournament thing. More than once this year, I had a person refer to me directly (or indirectly) as a “celebrity gamemaster.” Which is both flattering and bewildering. It’s not that I’m self-conscious…I am too arrogant and egotistical for that (and to be clear, I’ve always been somewhat arrogant and egotistical, long before I was “known” for anything). But much as I take pride in running a good game (I HOPE I run a good game…), I just recognize myself as A GUY RUNNING GAMES. Nothing more. No different from ANY of the other Dungeon Masters that show up to a convention and run a game, certainly nothing more “special” than that. If I exhibit a high level of proficiency (I hope I exhibit a high level of proficiency), it is only because I've been doing this a long time. And I’m sure the other old, “celebrity” DM geezers will tell you the same: when you get to be our age and you’ve been running games for thirty or forty years, well, you’d BETTER be able to make a good showing for yourself. Otherwise, what the hell have you been doing with your gaming time over the decades? Just running five room dungeons with a handful of goblins and a slime monster?

Cauldron attracts many big “names” in terms of game masters, some of whom are hardly known outside their home country but who are “big deals” in their own locale. Hell, most everyone who plays at Cauldron IS a Dungeon Master in their hometown…those putting in the time and money and effort to make it out to Hofraithe Rosenthal aren’t just “tourists” looking for a quick pick-up game. These are (mostly) people who’ve put in the work…universally, I hear how “the quality of player is so high” at Cauldron, and damn straight it is because back home these cats are RUNNING games, they are the Big Bosses in their home clubs. Just because they’ve chosen to relax and enjoy the ride in Germany doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing…they absolutely do.

I am no different, other than the fact that I am an incorrigible control freak who would rather be in the driver’s seat than be driven by someone else. Flattering as it is to receive praise from people, I’m just someone who’s been doing this for a long time, and who enjoys doing it, and who hopes to share what he knows with others. Or at least run them a good game and keep them on-the-edge of their seat…and keep them cursing me under their breath.

And sometimes cursing me to my face…that’s a form of flattery, too, from my perspective.

; )

All right, that’s enough preamble. Next post we’ll get to the games proper.

Not Tired...Exhausted

It's 4:30am, German time. I've been up roughly two hours.

Cauldron wrapped up yesterday afternoon around 2pm. As per usual procedure, I spent the evening in a Frankfurt hotel, with a plan to board my return flight Monday afternoon. Unlike prior years, I'll be stopping off in Iceland, spending a couple days sightseeing before returning to Seattle on Wednesday night. My family, is already there, no doubt enjoying thermal springs and the beautiful Aurora Borealis, so difficult to see from our normal neck-o-the-woods.

In Seattle, it is 7:35pm and...biologically...that feels about right. 

It is possible that these little "Cauldron adventures" are taking a year or so off my life expectancy every time I attend one. The whirlwind that this trip is, delightful as it is (and it is delightful) takes an incredible toll, both physically and mentally.

Not emotionally, though. If anything, seeing these people I've come to love...my "European family"...is simply bolstering. There was no sadness, no melancholy, this time in the several rounds of good-byes said. My heart has simply come to accept that, yes, I will continue to come back, as often as I can, and that these people will be here (as often as they can), and our mutual respect, affection, and admiration does not wane or change. 

It is heartening; it is reinforcing. If I wasn't so drained (both mentally and physically), I'd imagine it would be revitalizing and reinvigorating. But I barely feel human at the moment (and that only after two long naps punctuated by an indulgently long hot shower and a rather huge meal featuring schnitzel, potatoes, and a large salad of mixed greens. Lots and lots of fresh water.

No alcohol. I think I'm going to lay off the hootch a bit and let my liver recuperate.

Back to what I was saying: depending on how far one "zooms out" there perspective, we are living in/through troubling times at the moment. There's really no way to sugar coat it. The things going on in the world, things you can read about on-line or that dominate the headlines of every news outlet every day, are not the stuff of a calm, peaceful, productive planet. It is more than sadness or disappointment or resentment...things are going very, very badly in a lot of ways and for a lot of people. There is a heightened feeling of tension running throughout most every person one encounters...an extra stress caused by worry for both the present and the future. 

Living in my normal blue bubble of Seattle, I can generally ignore most of it by focusing on the things I can control (coaching soccer, writing adventures, getting the kids fed and to school on time, etc.). Most of the time I ignore the price on meter when I put gas in the car. When shopping for groceries, I am far more particular with what I buy, trying to waste as little as possible, stretching my own resources as much as possible. I focus on being kind to others...when I can, and when the opportunities present themselves. I attend church when I can, and I pray for sanity and justice and for the safety of those struggling with real peril in the world, peril far removed from my own life of privilege.

All these things help...that is to say, they help me. But I'm not blind to what is going on and how people are feeling. This year at Cauldron, the subjects of politics and world events came up multiple times...I ended up having at least four or five conversations on the subject (which is highly unusual at this cozy, intimate, gaming convention). It comes up. People can't help themselves. And there is a desire, I think, to share those feelings, that stress, that anger, that uncertainty, with others. Not because we all need therapists or something. But because Cauldron is a safe space. The people there, largely strangers (other than the gaming clubs and groups that come together), they look at each other as friends...as family. 

And, generally speaking, not the kind of family you "have to put up with" (because they are relations and you have to extend them a certain amount of courtesy), but family whose company you enjoy. A shared tribe of gamers interested in gaming. A tribe of people who aren't there to make money, or pose for status, or exhibit their ability to lifestyle brand with panache. It's not your average nerd convention, in other words. It's Cauldron.

And so, as I left my family today (except for Alex, Grutzi, and Prince, with whom I shared the drive back to Frankfurt) I felt none of wistfulness of the last two times I've had to say goodbye. I felt only gratitude that these people exist, and that they are a part of my life, and that I am a part of theirs. And in my bones I know I will be back again, no matter what the future might hold. 

This. This community, this communal gathering of people, is SO IMPORTANT for our world right now. These safe spaces with people who quite honestly know so little about each other but who still hang together, eat together, drink together, laugh together, play together...I cannot emphasize how VALUABLE it is to have such an opportunity for this kind of gathering AT THIS EXACT TIME IN OUR WORLD. To be able to get along and find patience and tolerance and true enjoyment in each other's company, regardless of discrepancies in age or gender or nationality or religion or political alignment or WHATEVER it is that we have that might be a reason for division or separation. 

Our world needs more unity now, more love. Far more than I ever remember it needing in my 53 years of life. 

It is amusing...and fascinating...that something so humble as a game of fighting dragons and searching for imaginary treasure with the use of funny-shaped dice can be so profoundly meaningful. But, of course, it's not: D&D is simply the pretense for bringing people together. And there are many things that can do that. D&D has an advantage in that it can be enjoyed so universally, by so many people, regardless of ability. 

Ah...but now I'm meandering (or, perhaps, wandering into territory I've already discussed ad nauseam). The convention, Cauldron, is a blessing to this poor, troubled world of ours. It inspires me with real hope...one of the few things in this world that I can say that about. 

And things that inspire hope need to be loved and nurtured and appreciated. Protected. But also shared. I think most of the participants (especially those who, like me, have participated multiple times) would say the same: it wouldn't do to keep it to ourselves, to grow staid and insular. Fresh blood needs to be rotated into the mix, in order that more people can experience the con and take its light back out into the world with them. So far, there has been new folks at every Cauldron...by my count, there was some 30 new attendees, despite NOT increasing the convention's size. That's wonderful, and I fervently hope it continues to be the case. I fully intend to take next year off myself, and welcome my seat being filled by someone looking to experience the warmth and camaraderie of Cauldron for the first time.

[of course, I said LAST year that I would take this year off...and here I am again. Next year, though, will be a very busy October for both my children, and I intend to stay home and support them to the best of my ability]

Anyway, if you haven't yet had the chance to take the plunge on Cauldron, it has my strongest recommendation. And please, do not have any fears or worries about "beef" or bad blood you might have with people on the internet. I cannot stress enough just how little such internet disputes matter once you are actually meeting person-to-person. You will find nothing but gentlemanly (and ladylike) conduct at Cauldron and, more, you will find comfort and lasting friendship. 

Lastly, as I sign off here (and do not worry, gentle reader, I shall be posting full "action reports" over the next few days...it is a loooong plane ride back to Seattle)...allow me to shout out my friends, my brothers, my comrades-in-arms who took the time (once again) to drive me to-and-from Frankfurt to the middle of nowhere (or the Center of the Universe, depending on how you view Hofraithe Rosenthal): to Grutz, to Alex, and yes to the so-called "Prince of Nothing:" you my friends I will cherish your generosity as much, if not more so than anyone save, of course, the Settembrini clan (and one or two others...you know who you are). As I turned away to stumble into my hotel yesterday afternoon, even more exhausted than I am at the moment, I could not help but consider us in the context of Alexandre Dumas's famous Musketeers...for who are we, if not stout warriors of the trenches, discussing strategy and results and philosophy of gaming, even as we were too busy (running games) to sit in on each others' tables. Of the four, I am most obviously Athos, the brooding drunk with the painful past (and trust me when I say I am prone to brooding), the old man of the group.  Alex is Porthos, whose styled hair and carefully chosen metal t-shirts is a match for his humor, fast driving, and willingness to haul luggage with endless strength. Grutzi is Aramis: poetic, discreet, and soft-spoken, yet secretly ambitious (how many games you running next year, Grutz?). And, of course, our d'Artagnan, Prince, because of course he is: young, witty, energetic, and all-too-often a bit "wet behind the ears." What a foursome. Riding back to Frankfurt with you, listening to everyone's cheerful banter while I drifted in-and-out of consciousness, was the perfect cap off to the entire experience. 

Thank you to everyone for the lasting memories. Thank you to everyone for lighting a beacon, a torch, in darkness...and for allowing all of us who made the journey to light our own torches from your light, as we head back into our own dark corners of the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

[posted circa 11:13am as I did, in fact, fall asleep while writing. I guess I'm not entirely on "Seattle time" after all]

Game Day

Nope. Not football. Futbol.

The school soccer season kicks off today...this will be my 4th season coaching my daughter's team, my tenth year coaching my kids, and my second-to-last year (probably) coaching youth soccer. As usual, I'm all keyed up, the adrenaline starting to pump as soon as I hade even a modicum of wakefulness at 6:30am (the wife holding a rather loud conversation in her sleep)...despite being up past midnight working on the game plan.

This season got off to a rough start, it's still a little rough, but I've done my best to iron things out. It hasn't been particularly easy.

Started a few weeks ago when I discovered that my team had been put in the 8th grade division this year (our team of 21 kids are 7th graders). I thought this was just a simple mistake, easily corrected. Nope. Turns out the school only had five 8th grade girls registered for soccer and so, rather than find them homes with other schools (the usual practice), or figure out what happened to all the players who they played with last year (another option), the Athletic Director decided to combine our grades and make us play up a year....basically selling our season. Without any communication or prior discussion with me (the coach) or anyone else on the team.

[at this age, an extra year of size, strength, speed, experience, and training makes a BIG difference in soccer]

I won't bother detailing all the rigamarole that ensued. Suffice is to say, a little legwork on my part turned up another 4-5 kids that had been left off the roster (mostly 8th graders) and we ended up NOT being able to get our old division back nor even split our (now monstrously-sized team) into two. At least the league gave us a dispensation that allows us to remain "playoff eligible" despite exceeding the player limits for normal roster construction (we had 31 players till a couple dropped out).

I'm just required to document all their minutes played to ensure equitable playtime. Reports due before 8am, Monday morning after every game.  (*sigh*)

Then there's my assistant coach. Well, one of them. Diego's also assisting and he, of course, is a great boon. But we've got a dad volunteer who...let's just say his coaching style is different from mine. And tends to center on his daughter a bit. And tends to make her a bit insufferable and insubordinate. It's rubbing Diego the wrong way...but that's how a lot of parent-coaches are (I've explained to him). The whole reason I ended up with the gig four years ago was because half the girls were going to quit playing (including my daughter) because of a similar coach. 

Anyway, I'm coach now (the Big Cheese), and I pride myself in my retention rate. That's part of why our enrollment's gone up every year (we only had 18 last season)...kids keep coming back to play.

In considering it, I'm not sure if my Dungeon Mastering has informed my coaching, or if my coaching has informed my Dungeon Mastering over the years. I have a remarkably similar approach to both, so there's probably some correlation between the two. But I wasn't DMing for kids (as an adult) 9 or 10 years ago...really that's only been about seven years. And when I was DMing 15 years ago, I had no idea I'd ever be coaching kids sports in any way, shape, or form.

Maybe it's just my nature to be a compassionate hard-ass?

Because that's pretty much my style. There's not a lot of goofing at practices. It's drills. It's me critiquing what they do wrong (and praising what they do right). It's me barking at them a lot. It's me taking the time to explain our strategy and tactics and WHY we are doing things in a particular way. 

Because they're smart kids. They get it...if you explain it. For the most part. But even the ones who can't grasp the overall picture can understand their ROLE in that picture, if you spare a couple minutes and give them some attention. I say I'm compassionate...and I am...but perhaps it's more about patience? 

Eh. Maybe not (see the bit about barking at them on the field).

Well, whatever it is. They seem to be having fun...well, what passes for MY version of "fun." There's a new kid (new for me...she's an 8th grader) who has an "ankle issue" and has a hard time doing laps or running sprints (she's overweight and slow, even without the ankles) and whose mom told me is "not very competitive" and just wants to be here with her BFF (who is also "not very competitive"). And, yet, she takes a bus across town to get to practice and she DOES run the laps and DOES run the sprints, and darned if she hasn't shown some tenacity in tackling and winning balls in our scrimmages, even against the faster "club" players on our team. It's just about not ignoring the kid...I treat her the same as the others: encouraging her when she does good, critiquing her (telling her to "hustle up," mostly) when she needs critique, and letting her know she's a contributor, just like everyone else. Not just turning a blind eye and focusing on the "good players." I coach up ALL the kids. 

Anyway, the club players aren't always available anyway (because a lot of families prioritize their expensive soccer clubs over their school teams when there's a schedule conflict), so it's just plain survival to get the best out of every player who shows up. 

I'm a competitive guy. I like soccer; I want to play more soccer. And that means, once again, shooting to reach the playoffs, so that we get extra games. Knock on wood, but I've never missed getting to the playoffs with any team I've coached...I'm 5-for-5.

This season, though, is going to be a bitch. Or...just maybe...it will be our greatest triumph?

Hahaha...no it's far more likely to be the former. But damn it, we're going to pull together, and we're going to suffer together, and we're going to have a damn good time suffering together! Just like a party of D&D adventurers getting their asses handed to them in some dungeon where they're in over their skis. 

Yeah, there's a lot of "bleed through" with my hobbies.

Our first game (today) is against a school that is, traditionally, the Big Bad Bully of the league...they won't be Tomb of Horrors tough, more like Steading of the Hill Giants tough. We'll see how well I can DM us through this mess. We're down six of our best (club) players for the first half, and we'll only be getting two back in the second (and losing another). Imagine if an adventuring party had to play the game without their best magic-user and one cleric down...and then you got the cleric back (with half her spells and hit points depleted) midway through the adventure only to see your other cleric disintegrated. Yeah, like that.

*sigh*

I'm silly; I know. The goal here is to have healthy, happy, active kids running around in the fresh air, getting their heart rates up, and not getting injured. Just like [my] goal with D&D is getting kids away from their screens for a few hours and getting them to use their imaginations and reasoning skills and (safely) getting their heart rates up. Oh yeah...and helping them learn cooperation and teambuilding and sportsmanship, yadda-yadda-yadda...in both activities.

Mm. Yeah. Just keep the vision.

All right, that's enough for this morning...a bit of insight into where my head's at. Yeah, the rest of the world's in flames at the moment, I'm well aware, but right now my attention is a little more local, focusing on the things I can control, the 30ish kids I can impact. Hopefully in a positive fashion. 

Have a good weekend, folks. Peace!

Opening Day

As the Seattle Mariners continue burning down what was once a promising season, some of us have side-stepped caring with the passing of the season to a better, kinder, more delightful spectator sport: American football.

Eh. Who am I kidding...the writing was on the wall with the M's months ago. 

Meanwhile, football has been in the air for a while. The fam broke out the Blood Bowl sometime in July. Ten teams...wood elves, goblins, dwarves, halflings, Amazon, skaven, and a pair each of human and ork...took the field for the 2026 Blood Bowl World Cup, yet despite many games being played we never made it farther than the quarter-finals. Ours i a busy household and it was time to finally pack things up with the advent of actual fall sports. Besides, everyone was a little tired of getting spanked by Diego's wood elves...

Tonight, however, we move onto ACTUAL Blood Bowl. While the wife left town this morning on a jet plane (work), the kids and I shall be attending the Seahawks home opener, a rematch of last year's Super Bowl in which the orks throttled the dark elves. Glorious for the greenskin fans, not so much for the proud (if eternally underhanded) dark elves. Note their coach's later attempt at self-immolation! Dark magic is naught to be trifled with!

ANYway...tonight will be the actual test of how the off-season went for both teams, and we will prove, once and for all, if an ork blitzer is just an ork is just an ork, when the 'Hawks take the field withOUT Super Bowl MVP, Kenneth Walker III. To be honest, I actually preferred ol' Zach Charbs (flashy moves are great, but don't you want someone who can punch in the TDs), but he'll be unavailable till Week 5 (*sigh*...stupid injuries) and we'll be left to see how Jadarian Price can just 'plug-n-play.' At 5'11", 209#, Price isn't quite as big as Charbonnet (and positively TINY compared to fullback Robbie Ouzts), but we're looking for gumption in our running backs. A certain orkish tenacity. Because, much as we love our red-bearded slinger-of-stone, we don't want to put EVERYthing on Sam Darnold's arm.

They're going to come out throwing, aren't they?  (*sigh*)

Never mind, it will all be good fun, and a nice break before the rest of the week (I'm coaching soccer practice Thursday, soccer practice Friday, and then our first soccer match Saturday...and I've just been informed than my star Beckenbauer-like sweeper will be out this weekend. Ugh!). And I'm feeling rather chipper. Because I finished penning my tournament adventure for the '26 Cauldron convention and got it out in the (e-)mail to the prospective DMs yestereve. Now THAT's a load off my plate!

Now I just have to finish the other two (or three) adventures I plan on running at the con.

Later gators...I'm about to cook up some liver and onions. Orks have to eat!

**** EDIT: Apologies to NFL fans who tuned in last night hoping to see a high scoring, fireworks affair. There are probably a few more touchdowns if we don't lose our starting quarterback on the fifth play of the game. However, I can test it was VERY thrilling for 'Hawks fans...especially if you were at the game. It's going to be a couple days before my voice recovers; not sure how I'll be able to yell at my (soccer) players at practice today... ****

Back Into The Woods

I'm starting this Saturday morning; we'll see how long it takes to write.

Currently in Vancouver, Washington for yet another youth soccer tournament. The boy and I had things going on yesterday (including coaching middle school girls) so we hopped the Amtrak last night to meet the wife and daughter down here. It was a late night (though I do love a train ride); everyone but me is still sleeping. Both kids are "guest playing" this weekend.

With regard to the Heroes Unlimited game I was writing about previously, the madness has passed. Well, mostly. I am still doing world building: working out hero demographics, using HU rules to build/model classic (NPC) comic characters, researching storylines from the 70s and 80s (and...rarely...later) for ideas on how various concepts and plots can interact with each other. Yesterday was looking at the history of Alpha Flight (and Omega Flight and Gamma Flight and Weapon X) and its ties to Roxxon Oil and how that was linked to Iron Man, for example. But this is all fodder for the mind factory, grease for the gears. Inspiration, not canon, which is welcome for the "lonely fun" that is world building.

Sadly most of the storylines post-1992 or so are pretty much crap. I shake my head and realize I got out of the comic books at the right time.

Still (and as I already wrote), that all's been back-burnered for the nonce (oo...reminds me I had a dream last night where I was interviewing for a sales job and part of it hinged on my ability to cook; interesting!). Instead, I am buckling down on my Cauldron preparations, and that includes designing and running adventures.

Last weekend I was up on Orcas Island with friends, and I had the chance to play-test the tournament adventure that will be this year's Blackrazor Cup extravaganza. Players included three boys and two girls aged 15, 15, 12, 12, and 7. Yes. I ran AD&D for a seven year old last weekend. His first time. As one might expect, he had a great time and the next day wanted to know when I was going to run "Part 2" and could he play, too. I had to explain that there's no "part 2," just a string of neverending adventures and OF COURSE he can join us the next time we play, if he's available and it's okay with his parents.

AD&D, amIrite?

I'd love to give everyone a blow-by-blow, but I can't until after the con because [SPOILERS]. However, I will say the group found a way to shortcut a ton of the content and instead got to both the grand payout (difficult putting THAT cart in front of the horse) before reaching the ultimate objective, and fighting a total of only two battles. Which ended up being fine because...with only five of eight PCs...that first battle was a bit of a slog. Two-fifths of the party were slain in brutal fashion by the end, but they walked away with a big pile of treasure even so...I haven't had the chance to tally the take, but I will (the boys especially were interested in their tournament score...the girls less so as they'd been reduced to steaming remains), and the score will be posted alongside all the other people who participate...at Cauldron. Just so they can know how they did.

So, yeah. AD&D mode. School is starting up this week (Diego Monday; Sofia on Wednesday). Cross country and school soccer starting in earnest this week (I'm coaching again...and it's already off to a train wreck of a start *sigh*). And I've got about five weeks to get physically and mentally ready for Cauldron. Two more adventures to pen (Diego told me "you're cooked") but I think with the kids back in class I'll have some time. And I'm excited at the prospect.

I don't know what it is about the Dragonlance saga that keeps calling me...not the books, but the whole concept of the thing. I don't believe that I'm trying to "rehabilitate" it (certainly not consciously) but I keep dragging out these old modules and using them as jumping off points for working scenarios and situations into my home campaign (yes: more world building). It's just so damn easy...then again, maybe it's just that the fantasy wilderness of D&D worlds lends itself to the real world 'layout' of my Pac Northwest campaign. For sure, if I wanted to do 'the Forgotten Realms' (I don't), I could place "Neverwinter" in Vancouver, Washington (the very town I'm writing this) while having Mount St. Helen's stand-in for Mount Hotenow (Mount "Hot Now?"). Yeah the Pacific coastline is a little farther west than the Sword Coast, but you can always have some cataclysm or other slide the coastline underwater. Global warming, anyone?

I digress. 

[and why not? it's now Sunday evening that I'm continuing this post]

I digress...there is a rich tapestry of ideas in the Dragonlance saga, desperately needing an editor who's also (sorry to say) something of a subject matter expert in advanced D&D theory-hammering. Which is just about the silliest thing to be a subject matter expert in...but we all have our foibles and weirdness. DL is DUMB, but it is totally USEFUL. I realize I am dripping with snobbish condescension when I make this analogy, but it's been a looooong last two days (a long last two months), and I'll make it anyway: reading Dragonlance modules (I have a few) is like listening to the wildest ideas of my younger, "more creative" child, and realizing I can add a dash of Old Man canny and repurpose it into something wondrous and (for the players) "magical." It has nothing to do with story of the thing; the Hickman's "story" is as tired and trope-y as any fantasy fiction. It has to do with the situations and scenarios and ideas being presented...stuff that can be used by a DM to give the PLAYERS an opportunity to tell their own story. Which is what D&D...real D&D (in my opinion) is all about.

Just like that seven year old regaling his parents with his adventures. 

Not his character's adventures, mind you. HIS adventures. "I did this, Mom!" He survived. He triumphed. He struck the final death blow against the 'Big Bad.' It's no different from my own children's introduction to the game. Well, except he hasn't had a character die yet. Next session maybe.

; )

ANYway. I'm meandering. I'll leave it there for now, but...I'm back in the saddle. 

Kris

Yesterday, Friday, at 5:48pm, my good friend Kris passed away. He was 55 years old.

I'd like to eulogize for a minute. 

Kris Michael Loving was affectionately known (to me) as "Doc" or "the Doctor," a moniker I gave to him many years ago. I've mentioned him in many past blog posts, even detailing some of his physical and mental ailments. The last few years were not kind to Kris. He suffered from Parkinson's, brought on from the years of medications taken for his mental disorders, including bi-polar disorder and paranoid schizophrenia. Not only did he have extreme difficulty walking (ending up in the hospital on multiple occasions from falls suffered), he was plagued by voices...voices telling him all sorts of bullshit that wasn't true or accurate. He would call me every now and then, when they got particularly bad, asking for advice. More than anything, I think he wanted to talk with someone who was real, not some disembodied "other" telling him (in his head) that everyone hated him and wanted him to die or that he had to "do" things (like marry people unrelated to him and care for their unborn children) just because it was "the right thing" for him to do.

A few centuries ago, Kris would probably have been diagnosed as being plagued by demons. This would not be a bad analogy.

More than once in the last couple years he mentioned killing himself. He suffered a lot. I would always advise against this, as I would advise against listening to the "voices" (ever) just as a matter of course. He had a therapist, and a psychiatrist, and a doctor...all for different aspects of his suffering...but they were rarely available outside his normally scheduled sessions. Truth be told, I was seldom available to take his calls either (I'm an extremely busy guy), but I would take his calls every fourth or fifth time, and would call him back when I could. I would talk sense to him...reality...then steer the conversation into something lighter and always end with suggesting he do things to take himself out of his head. Walk (as best he could) or play music (as best he could) or do something artistic (as best he could). Something positive, something constructive, something concrete and real.

Kris never did kill himself. He suffered a stroke on July 30th, and was hospitalized (and intubated) ever after. I received a call from his sister...his caretaker of the last few years, a woman I'd never met...on Thursday, explaining what had happened and that they were removing the tubes Friday afternoon. I drove up to Skagit Valley Hospital (in Mount Vernon) Friday morning to say my goodbyes and to meet his sister. She was a nice woman...she said she'd really wanted to meet me, and thank me for being one of her brother's only friends, and for making his life more enjoyable for him.

...

To an outsider, Kris and I would seem to be very, very different people. Very different. Most would probably consider me a "responsible member of society." Graduated from a four year university. Had a professional, white-collar life (prior to becoming a stay-at-home dad) for some 20+ years. Wife and kids. Church-goer. Socially functional. Well-adjusted, pay my bills/taxes, do volunteer work, coach kids, etc.

Kris, on the other hand...well, even before his health went to shit, he'd probably be labeled something akin to a "burnout." Graduated high school, but not much of a student. Worked a variety of line-cook jobs: Tony Roma's, Red Lobster, Hooters. Drove a shitty hatch-back (fast, smoke-filled, loud music) till he got a DUI and had his license suspended. Drank cheap beer, smoked weed, shot pool. Lived with his (retired) parents, till they died. A bit of a misanthrope...didn't care what your race/gender/religion/sexual orientation was, but if you were an ASSHOLE he'd walk...without a word or backwards glance. Just did not suffer fools, at all. Terse. Smoker. Heavily tattooed (some done by himself). Leather jacketed hoodlum. Had a mullet into his 20s...and could pull it off. About 6'1, Swedish ancestry, brown hair, blue eyes. But nothing "smooth" about him. Awkward...or just plain close-mouthed silent...when it came to ladies, or straight-laced types. No spouse. No girlfriend. No kids. Beer, weed, and rock music and fuck off. That was Kris.

Why would I be friends with that? Why would I continue to keep in touch with such a man...especially as everything in his life started to roll downhill and the the (few) people that were in his circle quietly bowed out, allowing him to disintegrate on his lonesome?

Kris liked me...and I liked him. Truth be told, reflecting on our history, I'd say I got a hell of a lot more out of our friendship than he got out of me. There are MANY people who might say otherwise...they might assume I pitied him, or I was just a compassionate person or some such crap. I think, perhaps, that Kris's sister and former caretaker (both of whom I talked with at the hospital) might have thought this. Heck, they had no idea what to expect, although his sister said Kris's mom had talked about me fondly (which is amazing as I had no idea I even left an impression, only meeting her...briefly...once, maybe twice, three decades before).

Kris and I bonded over beers, shooting pool, and a shared love of music. For all his heavy metal persona, Kris had eclectic music tastes (as do I) and while we PREFER the hard rock, we have deep appreciations for everything from Prince to ABBA to classical music. The last time I talked with Kris (July 22nd) he was telling me about some country bands he was getting into...not my jam, normally, but then I just discovered Outlaws a couple days ago. Doc was a musical encyclopedia...picking his brain about some group or other, and letting him share his expertise, was the kind of things we did. He burned me many CDs over the years, introducing me to the glories of Judas Priest and Dio-backed Sabbath. Our mutual admiration for Kiss...a vastly underrated band, in Doc's opinion...was probably the first brick in cementing our friendship...the nickname "Doc" comes from playing on his last name (Loving) and their song, Doctor Love. 

[jamming Iron Maiden songs was also a shared hobby...he'd play the guitar licks and I'd do the operatic vocals]

But more than music or cocktails or hours spent shooting pool in smoky bars (and, to be clear, Kris taught me how to shoot pool...to the point I could hold my own against the occasional shark and place in local tournaments), we bonded over a love of gaming, especially D&D. Without Kris, I might not even be playing D&D today.

As I've related before, I'd given up the game sometime in high school, instead focusing on other games...So Many Games. I met Kris circa 1997, and when he found out I played RPGs he was more than glib about how he used to play (and love) AD&D...not something one brought up in casual conversation back then. 

But he did. And we put together a game with another mutual nerd I'd made the acquaintance of (an ex-USMC scout-sniper who was trying to get away from a murder career), as well as my then-roommate Mike. We had a good, silly session of 2E D&D, mostly intoxicated (someone else DMing), a lot of laughs and plenty to critique later. After that, Kris was...often enough...my go-to guy for bouncing gaming ideas off of. 

When 3rd Edition came out, we fired up a campaign...multiple times. I converted Village of Hommlet to D20 and ran Kris solo through it. He ran me solo through a bunch of stuff...Forge of Fury I think it was. We swapped off DMing two or three other times, including a high level (15th) adventure he designed that he simply folded after a single combat...in disgust. D20 wasn't the same thing as AD&D, and after mutliple botched attempts, we shit-canned the whole system. 

Ran some Top Secret. Some Maelstrom. Ran a Hunters Hunted adventure for Doc using 1st edition VtM that scared him so bad, he asked me to stop (he had asked me to play a human rather than a vampire; afterwards, he told me he'd be a member of the kindred next time).  We both loved Gamma World as kids and collected a bunch of stuff for it, talking about getting a game off the ground...it never materialized and he sold my books (!!)...accidentally...before moving to Oregon. Still haven't quite put my collection back together. 

Not that GW is all that important without Kris around.

He moved out-of-state before I got back into D&D proper...sometime in the early 2000s. Used to come over to my apartment and cook for/with the wife and me. He liked her, too. Like me, Kris found she fell into the "non-asshole" category. Kris could be sweet and funny and generous...even though he was an odd duck and not the kind of person my wife would ever have (normally) warmed up to. Getting to know him, through me, she found him endearing.

When I started the blog and the D&D writing, he was out of town, but we kept in touch via phone and email and he encouraged me with my first books. He always encouraged me. Just as he encouraged me with music, in his own way ("these guys suck, you're a lot better than them"). Honest to a fault, he could rub thin-skinned folks the wrong way. Fortunately, he knew this and simply kept his mouth shut, rather than badmouth people to their face. We went to a Tommy Lee concert (I think it was in his Methods of Mayhem project) at the Moore and realized during the first song (due to a glitch) that the band was lip-synching. Kris just said "Let's go" and we left. Who was I to argue? He'd bought the tickets.

I say this to illustrate that his encouragement (or criticism) was often simple, direct, and genuine. As such, his belief in my writing was very welcome and helped me through any "imposter syndrome" I felt, being a hack with no background or education/training in writing. And you may think that's a very little thing, but 20 years ago, I didn't have a purpose or meaning or vocation in my life. My life was not unexamined, but it WAS...mostly...without direction. These days, I have a direction...because of my choices...and Kris helped start me down that road. That's no small thing.

Kris's family, no doubt, thinks I'm some sort of saint for taking his calls, and taking time out of my life to listen to him, talk him through schizo episodes, put up with his crazy. I'd guess they think I did it out of loyalty or nostalgia for days of friendship past or whatever.  All bullshit. Kris was a good friend to me. Plenty were the times HE would listen to ME and all the drama in my life...my problems with my idiot brother or my dying mother or whatever stress or issues or injuries I was dealing with. He was an open ear that gave just as much to me...if not more...than I ever gave to him. The burnout metal head who could barely talk thanks to the missing teeth, the palsy, the anti-psychotic meds...our last few phone calls, I could barely make out what he was saying. But I'd listen to him and give him encouragement, and talk to him of positive things, and tell him to stop listening to the voices, that NO, not everyone "hates you," I certainly don't I appreciate you and value you and treasure your friendship and what it's meant to me.

Not everyone has a friend that "gets you." Even if he is a vastly different person with a vastly different life path. Kris approached the world in a different manner from me...but he still "got me" in a way that few individuals in my life do. Maybe no one, really. Steve or Michael, maybe. It takes a similar type of upbringing. Seattle in the 1980s. Kris grew up in Edmonds, but that's close enough.

I already miss him. And I know that as time goes by, I'm likely to miss him more. That sucks.

I am glad Kris is at peace now. I am. I really am. BUT. I wish I could go back in time to when we were both younger, spryer. Wish I could buy him a beer, shoot some pool, hear his wry chuckle which always brought a smirk to my face. Wish I'd had a chance to run some AD&D for him before he left this planet. I know he wanted to play with me, but the logistics never worked out these last few years.

*sigh*

Rest in peace, Doc. You were a good friend to me...better than most. That's something.