I had not DMed for years in any real way. I missed it. Being the master of a story that the players bring to life is so rewarding for me. While it cuts into my writing time a bit I love creating fantastic worlds for the players to adventure in and engaging conflicts for them to resolve.
In November I took up the Ghosts of Salt Marsh adventure for my group. For any who don’t know, it’s an adventure for dungeons and dragons which is made up of a collection of adventures from earlier editions. It has a bit of a pirate vibe to it and I leaned all the way into that. So did the party!
The group has honestly been creating ever more interesting characters and even working on whole party themes. My favorite to date was a group of unemployed circus performers who went by the name “The Perilous Performers” and had an entire dramatic introduction that we executed for new NPCs we met. It was a blast.
This time the group decided they would all make goblins, except my son who made a gnome. I placed them under the (forced) employ of a small time smuggler and soon enough they found themselves free of his employ and instead working for a councilman with a secret identity. With that the adventure had begun!
The goblin each had a color assigned to them by their former master that was vaguely representative of their class. The enraged barbarian is red goblin. The sorcerer is blue goblin. The monk is pink goblin. Of course, the gnome which they regard as their brother as well, either by choice or ignorance, is white goblin. Not your typical party, to be sure.
The adventures they’ve undertaken so far have been super fun. They don’t fight is quite the same way a more traditional party might and they certainly don’t role play in the same way as a typical party does. They have aspirations of pirating their own ship and I look forward to that dream being fulfilled.
Until then, I look forward to every Monday seeing the “Green Tide” sail the seas.
Like snakes along the floor, they slithered to the pack, the dwarf intently mining for a gem which caught the boys’ eyes. It glimmered from the dark stone surrounding it and the light from the dwarf’s torch reflected from one of its finer edges. Distracted for only a moment the scent of food kept them focused enough and soon they found themselves upon the pack.
A drawstring was tied round it securing it from the boys, but one of the brothers pulled a bone dagger from his waistband and began sawing the string. The dwarf still did not notice the boys as he hammered away at the stone and hummed his song. At last the string was cut and the boys reached in and quickly found the food they longed for. As they did so however, at last the old dwarf turned and saw the boys.
“You filthy buggers!” he roared and kicked at the two whelps catching one on the back side which sent him toppling end over end before crashing against the stone wall. The other raised his bone dagger to threaten the dwarf, but with pickaxe in hand, a mighty swing sent the puny goblin ducking and scampering away for cover. Both goblins quickly fled, running on all fours like monkeys. They never looked back but shrieked and tripped and crashed their way from the dwarf.
Somehow when days are filled with stress I find that it often helps to dress In something comfortable to wear Like my oldest most worn out pair Of frayed and faded blue jeans They’re torn and pulled at the seams But still when I pull them on my legs The pressure melts from the days Of deadlines, memos, expectations Supervisors condemnations Perhaps it’s simply how they fit Whether I clean the house or sit Watching shows that entertain me Picking at the hole around my knee Sipping black coffee hot and steamy Imagining places more dreamy Than the drudgery of modern life Seems like little more than strife Yet my old blue jeans remind me still That life can be adventure, a thrill So I’ll wear them, and wear them again Because the real journey has yet to begin