The tavern

The tavern. The first place adventurers go to quench their thirst, hear rumors and get started on their adventures. Yes its cliché. But considering that many of the early role players were not old enough to legally drink, this was the next best thing. I remember many, many Green Gryphon taverns in my day.  I made my own, called The Winged Dragon. I had drawn out the inside and numbered the locations of tables, chairs and such. I even had the clientele figured out for morning, afternoon and evening. In my early days that was where the party started. After they grew in levels, it was where they returned to tell stories of their great deeds. It became their HQ; the hub for their world.  For some reason the place never caught fire and when dinosaurs rampaged the city, they missed this particular business.

The owner was a character I had played only to 8^th level; a human illusionist.  I have no idea why I made him have the Winged Dragon; except after some of the stuff he had been through, I thought he might want to retire while he was still breathing.  

The place served anything and everything from Gwidiyon Wine (very expensive, very rare and very good), to Red (or any color) Dragon steak (very expensive and possibly deadly).  The dart tournament was extremely popular throughout the entire realm.  That was how one group got drug into some espionage and political intrigue; one of the members of the team favored to win, disappeared and one of the PC’s was drug in to fill his shoes.

So the tavern is the age old starting point. But after awhile, it got overdone to start a group there. The problem was how do you get a ½ Orc Bard, Elven mage and a Gnome fighter, together as a group? One scenario which I haven’t tried yet is a sinking ship.  Women and children and PC’s first!

I did play with a group and we started in a tavern, but we didn't meet up until later that night when the tavern caught fire and the owner killed by some undead. We had to scavenge starting out and then find out who did this and why; not to mention some of the group wanted payback.

The character’s group could be childhood friends, brothers and sisters or the random grouping of race, class and alignment.  The start of an adventure, The Meet Up, can set the tone of the adventure and how the characters take to each other.

And if you do start in a tavern, there is nothing wrong with that. But make it memorable. Make a barkeep they will never forget.  I played with one group, that when we went into this one tavern, the barmaid that waited on us had the personality of someone who has been here for 12 hours and was so very excited (not) to wait on another table. Her spiel was like “Hello, welcome to the Bloodied Axe (sigh), my name is Rachel and I’ll be your server for this evening, (sigh), what can I get you fine ladies and gentlemen…” in a bored and uninterested voice. Nothing we did seem to faze her either.

You could make the place smoky from the candles and fireplace and people smoking. Or exceptionally clean with the staff making sure any spilled drink is immediately cleaned up. Use your senses to describe the place they are sitting in. Make them smell the food that’s cooking in the back. Describe the two gentlemen in the back booth huddled together and cautiously glancing around.  Explain that they hear the bard getting ready to start singing (his instrument is off key and he has a poor voice). And then there are the drinks; the names, the concoctions, the drunk factor. There is so much you can do.

While the tavern is a starting place for adventure, it can be an adventure in itself. Make use of it. 

Chickens

Imagine the Green Gryphon tavern in the evening on a rainy night. The place is busy as usual and a group of new adventurers are seeking advice from the barkeep (as all bartenders are keepers of worldly knowledge). Instead he directs them to a figure in the corner.

As the party approaches the man in a hooded cloak, they note that his clothes, though old, worn and no longer in fashion are never-the- less, clean and serviceable. By the light of the fireplace they can see weird designs on his shirt and cap that he wears.  Though he seems to carry a sword, other instruments of death and destruction can be seen peaking out of his high hard boots and a backpack that is close to his feet. As the strangers approach, they can see he is petting a cat. The feline growls a warning, but is hushed by the man with a ‘shh.’

The man raises his head to take in the new arrivals. He has a short goatee starting to grey. His eyes are a lighter shade of green than his cat; and if you could see into them you would get that they had seen much. Laugh lines and a few wrinkles around his eye and mouth make his age hard to determine. He leans back a bit in the booth, as his bulk takes up most of the bench. He reaches for a mug of something, but doesn't lift to drink. He gazes at the leader of this party, who has come seeking knowledge to help them on their myriad of untold adventures yet to come.

This man seated before them is called O.G. by friends and comrades. The rest know him as The Old Gamer.

“So, you want the knowledge that I and others like me, have gleamed over the years; hoping to cheat death and improve your social and economical levels. Hmph. You young ones don’t know really know about those that went before you. They paved the way. They are honored names; if you are even familiar with them. Always remember; you are standing on the shoulders of others who were like you at one time. And we didn't have any one to turn for advice. We made it up as we went along.”

He takes a sip from the mug and smacks his lips, “Ah. That’s the stuff. This,” and he shakes the mug at them spilling some, “is what you need to fortify yourself for a night of adventuring. It is the tried and true of most gamers; it is the Dew of the Mountains. Good stuff. You can get it in 2 liters, 6 or 12 pack. There, that’s some advice.”

Those standing before him looked unimpressed.

“What? Something more than drink advice? Well, if I must. Grab a seat. You standing there makes me nervous; can’t see the whole bar.” With that he puts down the cat, which immediately scampers off.

Reaching for a bowl that held chips and other snackables, he stuffed in a mouthful and chewed. “This,” and he holds up some popcorn before eating it, “reminds me of chickens.” He pauses. “Now I can see by the looks on your faces what you are thinking; No, I’m not drunk or pulling your leg and my mother had me tested; I am not crazy. See; this is what I mean about you young ones. You think you know it all.” He grabs another handful of popcorn but just looked at it.

“Back in the day, it was pretty much dungeon delving to get the gold and goodies. There was always something big, nasty and mean guarding the stuff; usually a lot of them. One group I hooked up with took some live chickens with them when we went down into this one dungeon.”

Taking a long pull of his drink, his eyes went back to another time and another place.

“Well, we cleared out a few rooms and redistributed various items and gold from their previous owners to our own packs. Seemed pretty easy. That was until our fighter kicked in this one door and we rushed in. I’m not sure what it was or how many; I just know that we were in it deep. We ran.”

Looking at his listeners, “Don’t give me those looks, I didn't stutter. We ran. Don’t think you have to stand and fight everything you meet. There is no disgrace when you meet something bigger and more bad-ass than you. In any case, we all took off down the hall-way. But these things were right behind us, and gaining!”

He laughed now, “Man did they smell.  Anyway, here is where this party’s smarts saved our hides. As we ran, they opened up the sacks that had the chickens in them and let them go. Besides lightening the load, we just gave the big baddies some free chicken dinners. Well they fell on those feathered things like nothing else. We heard a few squawks and then nothing.  I didn't take the time to look back, but I have a feeling there was nothing left but a few feathers.

“Those chickens provided us with a diversion, and gave those things a meal that didn't put up a fight. It took us 2 more days to get out of there. We needed to get back to town and get a few more swords. And chickens.”

He takes another healthy pull and pops a few kernels into his mouth as he watches what he said sink in. Smirking a bit, “Good; I can see you are starting to think unconventionally. And that may save your life.”

Making a show of looking around the tavern, he then focuses back on his listeners, “Now this other bit of ‘chicken-sense’ came about…oh I’d say 5 years ago.” He had lowered his voice so just the listeners could hear him. “While this might make some of the goody-two shoes a bit queasy; it’s effective. A group I was with had this mage. He was a bit…different. He too carried chickens. As we descended into a underground fortification, he took a chicken out, killed it and then cast animate dead animals. So it was a zombie chicken under his command. He then cast some spells on it; one was that whenever it took any kind of damage, it would explode. He then commanded it to walk ahead of the party about 20 feet. So if it ran into a trap, it exploded. If something was hiding ahead and attacked the chicken, it exploded giving us a chance to get ready and causing damage to whatever had attacked the undead chicken.”

He could see the skeptical looks on some of their faces, “I saw it with my own eyes. Disturbing, messy and effective, all at the same time.”

Yawning, “Well, that’s going to do with the advice giving for the evening. Go out and think unconventionally and you might just make it back to share what you have learned with a group of new adventurers.”

Signaling for another drink he yawned again. “Tell you what; come back after you've been out and I will tell you some more tales. I heard of this tree-preacher mage made a good living at it; telling about magic items, spells , monsters and all other things. Now what was his name again? Oak, wood….no Elm-something or another. In any case; good luck and well met.”

My voices

What is about old friends that gets me thinking. Talked with one and he made that comment that with the passing of my father, it was an end of era. I agree. My father was of a time removed. And yet he had manners, treated everyone he met as they were the most important person. And he was louder than me. There was a time when who ever was the loudest won an argument - usually we did it just to upset my mother.

And I've always said if I was a tenth of a man my father was I'd be somebody. Another Kemper friend tells me not to try and compete with my father. Not doing that but I am glad I am like him.

Speaking of that friend; there is a country song called Voices by Chris Young. I hear voices myself and they are usually of those friends from Kemper. I kid that I have two guys on my shoulders (maybe more at times). Note I didn't say Angels or Devils, because at times they are both. But I can hear those voices, and if I wanted, I can picture exactly what they look like. Then. One of those friends wears a baseball cap as he is getting extremely bald; where as in his younger day he had curly blond hair. In this case he really needs to keep the cap on.

I can't swear if they give me advice, keep me company or are just made up memories. No matter what, they make me smile.

A Cruel Dream

I had a cruel dream this morning. I don't mean a scary dream or a nightmare; those are common at times; being chased by a score of zombie cheerleaders or falling. No this didn't have Death as a theme. I view Death as an upcoming movie I am looking forward too (not too soon, so no worries). No this was the kind of dream that leaves you unsettled and 'off' for the rest of the day. and now, in the cold, harsh light of the day, I still can remember it. But how do I explain it to my friends; I have no problem relating my weird dreams-even my nightmares. But this...I guess it is more of the perspective and how we view whats important. Needless to say, I woke up, probably screaming "No!" I know I was gasping for air as I beat my pillow.

I had woken up early and laid there trying to get some sleep before actually getting up. So I closed my eyes and between 3:30 am and 5:00 am I dreamed. All I know I was talking with this pretty woman; initially she was a redhead. She changed to a blond and back to a redhead as we talked. About what? I have no idea. Though it seem liked we were getting to know each other, like a date. We then started playfully grabbing each other and hugging. She gave me some quick kisses on my neck. I then smiled and grabbed and took her in my arms for a deep kiss and... she faded away and I was left literally holding my pillow.

Some may laugh or find it funny. Not me. Not now. Not ever anymore.

Dreams (the night time variety)

I more than most know about dreams; I minored in Psychology in college so know just how screwed I am. Dreams are either your subconscious or perhaps if you believe-of things yet to come.  And if you even remember your dreams, that's something.

I remember a dream I had last night; as it woke me up gasping for air.

I was seated outside. A pretty woman who I did not know, came up to me and I stuck my hand up, like raising my hand to answer a question in class. She took my hand and kissed it tenderly and for a long time. She then helped me up and I kissed her lovingly and for a long time. Again, I did not know her.

I then said something that I can not believe.

"Are you a mechanic? Cause you just jump stared my heart."

I then woke up, Not sure if it was from the cheesy line or what.

8-tracks, WKRP In Cincinnati and fireflies

There are times I can be envious of the kids today. Internet, computers, cell phones that are more powerful than the space craft that took our astronauts to the moon. A billion channels on TV, more graphic, more CGI (less good writing and plot in my opinion) kids bodies growing up faster (both good and bad).

I remember the big thing growing up PK (pre-Kemper) was turning into a teen. Then it was 16 and a driver license and car. Then 18 graduating college. 21 was l e g a l drinking age.

I also remember something that has gone by the wayside; the RCA and Columbia House record club. This was a way to get your music cheap. You would send in a penny and choose 11 albums and they would send them to you. Over the next year you had to buy a certain number at regular price. They would send you a packet every month, and you had to mail back the card if you didn't want that month's selection or else it would be sent to you and you had to pay. At that time the selection was reel-to-reel, album, 8-track or cassette.

I remember my first car had an 8 track player. I believe I kept that for about 2 years before changing it over to cassette, and with the addition of some more speakers (with some help from a friend at Kemper-Temple I'm talking about you.).

8 Tracks were something that would just keep playing, were smaller than albums, but bigger than cassettes. At the time, auto re-wind and play were still not yet known.

I remember my pretty church youth teacher (who I had a crush on) had a blue Firebird with t-tops and a cassette deck. She turned me onto the more modern music (Chicago, Doobie Brothers). Some more memories every time I hear those groups.

I think back to the music, the tv variety shows, three channels and if the president was on, he was on all of them. But then I also remember playing games with my parents. Being outside catching fireflies, reading books and using my imagination-a tree house that was transformed into whatever I could imagine. I remember climbing trees, staying out until it got dark and my mom rang the dinner bell for me to come home.

So see; I do have memories not necessary of Kemper. I also believe that I lived the best of times during those. Everything made sense. The music was music. The tv shows were great. Yeah I know; I look back and think 'why did I like that?' I could, except I still like 98% of what I watched then, even now. WKRP In Cincinnati is still without a doubt one of the best. And the Thanksgiving episode... OMG. Welcome Back Kotter, the Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Love, American Style. The great thing about those times was that if you missed an episodes or were away at a military school where you didn't have TV, during the summer, they re-ran the episodes, and it was like I was seeing them for the first time!

Though I am very happy with my cds and dvds and satellite radio and tv, there is still a part of me that thinks back to those days. And I remember.

Samantha Sang: Emotion

Its amazing what you remember when you hear an old song; Emotion by Samantha Sang.

This is one of those disco/70s song that I love. Well at Kemper I had the album-Yes a vinyl record. The cover was a picture of Samantha Sang looking good. Well a friend from way south of the border, I can't remember if Gomez-diaz was from Guatemala or Honduras. In any case, Gomez was one of the nicest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He wanted the album. I am not sure if it was for the music or the picture. I think I may have sold it to him for $10 and a poster.

I had that poster for a long time after that, but eventually it went away also. The poster would be considered a motivational one; I can't describe it nor can I tell you the exact wording. But the memory of that poster, the memory of my friend and that whole transaction all come back when I hear that song. It was a time of my life that I never forget, nor want to. It sustains me through the crazy and hectic days of the here and now.