The Dungeon Master

He was the fat kid whose clothes never fit and whose skin never tanned. He had long greasy hair and a bumper crop of acne in the furrows on his forehead. No one but his younger brother would sit next to him on the school bus and a year of that was enough. There was one girl - a pretty little gamine with green eyes - who thought he was mute until the first day he was left to sit alone. But by then his backpack had become so stuffed with rule books, notes and miscellaneous magic that he needed the seat next to him. She asked what was in the bag and he told her in a way that had her bemused from Pet to the Broke and then asked why he wouldn't look at her. He said that mortals were forbidden to look upon perfection and she turned her countenance away - typical goddess behaviour.

There were always two or three guys to meet him when he got to school - sometimes as many as six. Times had been they'd be waiting to prey on him sure as wolves shit sheep only now he was their king and the keeper of secrets. He was their Dungeon Master. This fat loser would mediate disputes, settle accounts, offer advice gleaned from too much science fiction and too much time alone, basking in their attention where before he was shunned. Their tributes had filled his pack to bursting and they all carried a complete set of dice in either draw string leatherette bags or carved wooden boxes. They were ten in all with names like Merit Goodgrass, Slim Picker, Dirk Blackmoor and Siriadin Urktenuct and they saved his life with their adoration so he served as their God.

He worked harder at creating their afternoon adventures than at most of his subjects and would never advance past 11th grade math but he could add sums in his head as fast as he could roll the bones. There were hand drawn maps and painted figurines that earned him praise from his group and the art teacher. Adventure stories that earned him a trip to the Principal's office made for grim fun behind the Island of Pines by lunchtime. Weekends would see them all gathered at an ambivalent parent's house, huddled in the basement with pizza and soft drinks while they overthrew dragon ruled empires and spelunked into dank monster lousy dungeons. Buckets of blood and barrels of booty awaited the boys brave enough to endure the Dungeon Master's Company...

Until they discovered women and booze mixed together in a more compelling manner. And that was the end of the grand adventure. The Dungeon Master crawled into a bottle for lack of anything better to do. The Unwritten Laws of Primitive Teenage Society contained articles on fallen idols and lost glory. It didn't matter if you were jock or a nerd, a bad ass or a boy scout; the fall from grace is complete and absolute. You're lucky if you don't get beat up every day and ranked out by teachers. The best you can hope for is a quiet corner to eat lunch in and a nod in the hallway.

This was me.

And now they want me back. Not those same guys from school, no, they've all grown up and got jobs or kids - sometimes a bit of both. No, this is a new group still shifting and sliding to find their fit in the foundations of a new Company. They're single or still engaged with no kids but furry quadrupeds and one of them is a woman - an actual woman with breasts and everything. Yes, I wouldn't mind introducing them to Razkale Blackgob and Porcine Thunder or the Fey Knights of Thinwhistle Moore but I have also developed some self-respect over the years. My clothes fit better and I wash my hair daily, most of the acne's gone. I've brought women to bed and been taken...the game's gotten better. All that I have to do is forget all I've learned in the years since high school and I could be a Dungeon Master again.

We'll see...