“There are other worlds. Countless fantastical realms. Tonight, we will journey deep within the stars of time and space, into one such world. A world of adventure. A world of terrors.”
The boy paused. He stood at the head of a WalMart folding table in his basement. He was the game master. Seated before him was a hodgepodge mix of his friends from different places.
“You done?” a girl asked.
The game master raised a finger. “Choose your class carefully, Anabel. Your colleagues didn’t, and that’s why they are royally screwed.”
It was at this moment that a freckled chap sitting next to Anabel leaned back a bit too far in his WalMart foldable chair and fell right over.
“Ehrm,” the boy murmured from beneath the table. “I recommend cleric.”
“Cleric?” Anabel asked, peeking beneath the table. Anabel turned back to face the game master. “What are my choices?”
The game master removed a three-ring binder from his backpack, flipped through its pages, disengaged its lock, took out a sheet of paper, and placed it before Anabel.
The paper was titled “Character Sheet”. There were many words on that piece of paper. Far more than Anabel was content with. And few of them made any sense at all. Worst of all, there were many blank spaces.
“Oh come on, guys, this is like homework,” said Anabel. “Can’t we ride bikes like normal boys?”
“We ride wyverns,” said the freckled boy, now mostly back in his seat.
“You ride what?” squinted Anabel.
“Anyway,” said the game master. He removed what looked like a wand from his pencil bag and used it to point to the word Class towards the top of the paper. “Your options are: Fighter, wizard, cleric, or thief.”
“What are they?” asked Anabel.
The game master motioned to the freckled boy. “Ernest is a wizard. He casts spells.” Then the game master turned to face a tall, quiet boy. “And Gibbly is a warrior. He mostly swings things. Occasionally weapons. And sometimes he hits things too.”
“All true,” said Gibbly. A rare two words from him. He was a quiet one—preferred to listen, he’d say, always with an amused, confident smile, sitting casual-like, yet with perfect posture somehow, handsome—annoying really—look at him. Brooding eyes in the middle of a dull moment. What was he thinking about? Hitting things? Dark, sweeping hair.
“And then, Charlie,” the game master pointed to an empty chair, “he is also a wizard, when he’s not late. We have no clerics or thieves. Clerics are healers. Thieves are— I don’t know, thieves.”
“I see,” said Anabel.
“So which is it?” asked Ernest.
Anabel glanced between the three of them then shrugged. “I don’t care.” Her smile softened the blow.
“Cleric then!” said Ernest.
The game master raised a hand towards Ernest. “Anabel, if I may. Imagine you’re… riding bikes. And a goblin comes along, right? No. Not a goblin. A bully. Right?”
Anabel stared blankly at the game master.
“Now, do you hit him with a, uh, bike helmet? Or, do you say a prayer of holy protection, filling said bully with fear and causing him to run away? Or, do you use your brilliance to pinch air molecules with your fingertips at just the right angle and velocity to form a glob of fiery plasma, toss it at him, and explode him into a smoking pile of charred sea glass?”
“Dude,” Ernest said. “This is exactly why we have too many wizards.”
“Fighter,” said Anabel.
“The helmet one?!” said Ernest.
“Well there’s also thief…” said the game master.
“Nah,” said Anabel. “I’d hit him with the helmet.”
The game master nodded soberly. “Alright then. You are a fighter.”
Ernest sighed.
The game master walked over and stood behind Anabel. He reached for her character sheet. “May I?”
Anabel nodded and the game master rolled some dice a few times and scribbled throughout her sheet, then handed it back.
“I made some decisions for you. After our first session, should you want to adjust any of those decisions, I’ll allow it. Once. Let’s get into it.”
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The game master returned to the head of the table and consulted what looked like a mix between a school textbook and a bible. As he did, a door slammed upstairs, then footsteps from one side of the house to another. Dust fell from the basement ceiling.
“This house is too old for Charlie,” said Ernest.
Faster footsteps down the stairs.
“Sorry sorry sorry,” said Charlie.
Charlie had his jacket wrapped over his shoulders, a Victoria Secret bag in one hand, and a white box in his other.
“I found something incredible,” Charlie said. He looked up and surveyed the room. “Oh, hey Anabel.”
“Hey Charlie,” she said with half a smile.
“Wait! Are you’re playing?”
“I guess.”
“Heck yeah,” Charlie clapped. “Guys, check this out.”
Charlie dumped the bag out on the table. A dozen or so individually-wrapped shrimp-shaped candies poured out.
“Dude?” said Ernest.
“Slime Shrimps, Christmas edition. Guys, look at the wrapping. Look.”
Ernest picked one up like it was a bug.
“Read the label. Read it!” said Charlie.
“Slime Shrimps,” read Ernest.
“And?”
“Christmas edition.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, and? And?”
“Cane sugar?”
“Give me that!” Charlie grabbed the piece of candy from Ernest and examined it. “Here. Sour and spicy!”
“And shrimp-flavored. Dude. Why?” Ernest said.
“Not to eat!” Charlie said. “Although, I could be convinced to try one. But no no, these are probably worth five dollars, each! Think how much they could be worth in a decade when Sea Treats Inc is defunct.”
“What’s in the box?” asked the game master.
“Oh,” Charlie smiled wickedly, “the box.” He raised his eyebrows.
Anabel laughed.
“Charlie,” said Ernest, “why are you carrying around shrimp candy in a Victoria Secret’s bag.”
“The box,” Charlie said again, somehow with even more dramatic effect than the first time. “Wanna know what’s inside?”
“Yes,” said Gibbly.
“Behold…” Charlie gently picked up the white box and placed it in the center of the table. “FantasyQuest.”
The room was silent.
“It's a plain white box man,” said Ernest.
“It’s a game,” said Charlie, “I think.”
Ernest raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean you think?”
“Looks like it doesn’t it?”
“It’s your box! How do you not know what it is? Where’d you get it?”
“It was on my doorstep. Probably meant for Christmas. Look,” Charlie opened the box to reveal a red booklet with the words FantasyQuest written above a line art drawing of a dragon.
“Let me see that,” said the game master. He lifted himself up and reached out across the table to grab it. As he did, a small, flat matchbook fell from between the booklet pages.
“Matches?” squinted Gibbly.
“Why matches?” asked Ernest.
“Strange,” the game master shook his head. He carefully picked up the matchbook and examined it. It too was red with a picture of a dragon on its cover.
Anabel got up and walked over behind him. “Who made it?”
“Check the inside,” said Ernest.
The game master flipped open the booklet. “CuriousCorp,” he read. “Printed 1975.”
“Woah,” said Ernest, “this thing is twenty years old?”
“It looks brand new,” said Anabel.
“We don’t have to play it now,” said Charlie, while inspecting one of his shrimp candies. “Although, we definitely probably should.”
“Might as well,” said Ernest in a slump. “Anabel went fighter.”
“Why’s that so bad?” Anabel asked.
“We need a cleric!” said Ernest. “Charlie is in a coma, like always, and I lost a leg. Gibbly got turned into a duck.”
“A quackling,” corrected the game maser.
“Whatever.”
“Let’s just start over,” said Gibbly.
“And play this?” the game master said. He flipped through the booklet. “There isn’t much defined. Very loose rule system it seems.” The game master continued flipping. “Look at this,” he turned the booklet towards us. “It’s an invitation, from,” he squinted, “the Redrock Wizards’ Guild. It’s a quest. A quest to slay the red dragon.”
“That’s how you win?” asked Ernest.
“I gotta say,” the game master nodded, “it does look charming. This is all handrawn art. Super old school. Says here you can establish a wizard tower within a city, settle down, have followers.”
“What are the classes?” Ernest asked.
“Just wizard it seems,” said the game master.
“Heh, really?” asked Ernest. “Not even warrior?”
“Can I still hit goblins with bike helmets?” asked Anabel.
The game master shrugged, “Says you can be an artificer and craft your own magical weapons too.”
“Alright. How do we start?” asked Ernest.
“Okay,” the game master held up a finger and finished reading the current page. “Okay, okay,” he flipped back towards the beginning. “How to play…”
“I think I’m gonna eat one,” said Charlie, eyeing his shrimp candy.
“Go for it,” said Ernest.
“Okay, you've convinced me.” Charlie tore off the wrapping and popped one in his mouth.
“Does it really taste like shrimp?” asked Anabel.
Charlie nodded with a laugh, which quickly became a cough, followed by more laughter.
“Ew,” grimaced Anabel. “Give me one.”
Charlie obliged.
“Okay, okay,” said the game master. “Wizard enrollment. Alphanumeric order.”
“Numeric?” asked Gibbly.
“So that's… Anabel, Charlie, then Ernest, then Gibbly,” said the game master. “Okay, Anabel. You have eleven points. You may use points to obtain spell books or to unlock special abilities.”
Anabel’s eyes seemed to glaze over.
“Is this gonna take a while?” asked Charlie.
“Well,” said the game master, “I can make the selections for you if you want?”
“Yes, let’s do that,” said Charlie.
“Yeah, for this first time,” said Ernest.
“Very well,” said the game master. The game master slowly studied the manual and scribbled something next to each of our names. “Okay, now, it’s time to summon you in,” he said finally. He squinted then glanced up at the matchbook in Charlie’s hands. “Huh.”
“What?” asked Ernest.
“The matchbook,” said the game master, pointing at it. He examined the manual again before looking back up at Charlie. “It says to stand and light the match to begin the game.”
Charlie flipped opened the matchbook. A single black match was inside. “Light it?” Charlie eyed the game master skeptically.
“It says, ‘To begin, stand and light the match’, so, yes.”
Charlie scoffed a chuckle and tore off the match from the cardboard base then stood to his feet while examining it. “Huh,” Charlie whispered. “It’s heavy.” He eyed the match between his fingertips. The match head was a deep black with a faint glistening starry texture. Light nearly seemed to bend at its edge. Charlie turned the match in his hand in awe.
“Charlie?” asked the game master.
“Hm?” Charlie uttered, glancing up at the others. “So just light it?”
“Yeah,” said the game master with a shrug.
“Why is there only one?” asked Charlie.
“Charlie, just light the match,” said Ernest.
Charlie placed the match against the striker and pulled.
I’m afraid I have no more story here for you. Everything that happened next occurred far away. And if you want to hear that story, you won’t be hearing it from me. You’ll have to hear it from Charlie himself.