I'm so glad my dad doesn't understand that much English, cause I was listening to the new ep while making pancakes in his kitchen and I outright cackled to the sound of "salmon-flavored dusty crunchies and chocolate shrimp bars". How could I even explain that??
In which Spencer Reid joins his neighbor’s D&D campaign.
I haven’t decided if I want to continue with this one, so please let me know if you’re interested in seeing more of this! I would also love some feedback, even if it’s just a keyboard smash!
You can also read this on AO3.
I’m still learning D&D, so I kept this a true intro with no actual game play.
We’re in the woods. This isn’t an abnormal place to be, there are woods everywhere. Hundreds upon thousands of tall, wide trees, older than your forefathers’ grandfather’s greatest great uncles. Everywhere, the ground is coated with fallen leaves, brown and green, and beneath them, resin. Beneath that, pine needles, shifted to the bottom of the lot by the winds and by time.
Rodents scratch across the forest floor, birds flap through the canopy above. The sun tries its fiery best to send its light through the cover, and in some places, succeeds. There is chirping, and croaking, and skittering, and silence. The kind of silence that the rest of the world has long forgotten. But the forest remembers. How could it forget?
There are paths everywhere, beginning and ending at the whim of the roots. Imagine them. Imagine the paths through the trees, adjacent to the rivers, wandering across the terrain, leading to and from clearings and streams and twisted, gnarled trunks.
Imagine one path forking at just such a contorted tree. We could turn left, toward the sunlit path, with the broad tree trunks and smooth terrain, with small white flowers and mushrooms dotting the sides. Or we could turn left, to the path all marred with twisted roots, lined by trees half-stripped of their bark, with leaves shrouding it in cool shade. It would feel like wading into a pond, wouldn’t it? Easy and blissful.
Or we could go straight and take our chances with the ferns. We could rustle through foliage, snap over acorns, brush through branches, until we found a new path. A wider path, covered in yellow leaves. The trees would be red and orange here, branches swaying gently in a cool breeze. The path would widen and smoothen and take us deeper into the woods than we thought possible. Then we would see a low stone wall to our left and right, divided in the center like a gate. We would walk through the opening, and along a wooden fence, held together with rope. We would pass out of the woods then, and see the sun lowering over farmland, and cornfields, and pumpkin patches. And then, once the sun was low in the sky and we could turn and see the first few stars – distant pinpricks of light worlds away – once the wind grew cold and carried leaves overhead with the bats, once the owls began hooting and the wolves began howling and strange shapes began weaving through the edges of the autumnal woods we walked only minutes before, just when we could walk no farther, we would come to an inn.
Last night, each of you entered the Wayside Inn for your own reasons. You smoked your pipe by the fire, you chatted up the bar, you laughed, you joked. Then, you went to your own rooms and fell to sleep.
Now you’ve awoken, and the innkeeper, her son, the stable girl, and all of the other guests are dead.
The local sheriff has hauled you in for questioning.
(Lincoln asks, “Real quick, before we go to the station, can I roll an investigation check to see if I can figure out what happened?”)
No, you may not.
The sheriff marches ahead of you, and some of his men follow along behind you. The rest of them are back at the inn, looking around to see if they can find any clues.
You walk into this low, square-shaped building with stone walls and a thatch roof with a few twigs hanging out at the edges. This building has obviously seen better days, it is in serious need of a fantasy power-washing. Inside, it’s one big room. On the far side of the room from the door, there are two metal grates closing off two separate cells. In each cell is a pallet of hay on the floor, covered in thin blankets. On the adjacent wall is a desk. There are two chairs in front of the desk, and when you look behind you, you see one of the sheriff’s men carrying in an additional chair he must have borrowed from a neighboring tavern.
The sheriff steps behind the desk and sits in the moderately impressive chair there. It is clearly the most expensive thing in the sheriff’s station, but even it has seen some wear. The sheriff’s men grab your arms and sit you each down in a chair facing the sheriff. The sheriff motions to them, and one of them reluctantly removes the shackles from your wrists. This man is broad, and taller than everyone else in the room, and he’s got a wicked scar running down his face, through one milky eye. He’s kind of eyeing you as he uncuffs you, and he makes a point to place himself between each of you and the sheriff when he does.
Meanwhile, the sheriff takes off his helmet, and he sets the helmet down on the desk with a THUD. The sheriff is a man of average build, and he sounds like he’s in his thirties or so, but he looks much older. He’s grizzled and gray, and he is missing the ring and small fingers of his left hand. He is wearing the same dirty white tunic and brown breeches as all of his men, and there is a badge on their coats that is in the shape of an elongated octagon. The octagon is off-white, and there is a red slash running across it from the top left corner to the bottom right. Unlike his men, however, the sheriff’s coat is made of a thick black wool with tarnished silver buttons. Everyone else has a very thin jacket with chipped and splintered wood buttons.
“Well then,” he says in a deep, gruff voice. “What are we going to do with you three?” He sits back and observes you for a minute, then asks, “Who are you kids, anyway?”
And now would be the time for you to introduce your characters, starting with you, Lincoln.
(Lincoln asks, “Can I make an investigation check now?”)
No.
(Lincoln whines, “You never let me have any fun.”)
Who is your character?
(Lincoln pouts.) “Yeah, yeah. My character’s name is Rothgar Bimberberyl, but most folks call me Bimby. I’m a forest gnome sorcerer, with a revoked medical license and a can-do attitude.”
Hold up, where did you get the medical license? Do we have medical licenses?
“Sure, we do. I got it from my mentor, the esteemed License Distributary, Kevin, who took it back a week later.”
You just made that up on the spot, didn’t you?
Bimby nods. “Absolutely.”
Alright then. That’ll be how you lost your license; you were just constantly making shit up.
Bimby laughs. “Exactly.”
Alright. Next up, June?
(June nods.) “Right. Character name is Gelden, a half orc paladin. She is a tank with a noble bloodline and the most embarrassing parents in the fantasy world.”
No last name?
Gelden says, “No, my last name was lost in the Morkshire Mines of Misery. It’s a part of my tragic backstory, which you’ll learn in act two.”
Bimby lets out a high-pitched giggle. “Hee-hee!”
Fabulous. And Spencer?
(Spencer clears his throat and sits up.) “Uh, yeah, I’ll be playing a human bard named Mallow Zvonki.” (It sounds like a question.)
Okay, and what’s your deal?
“Right, ah, I just arrived from out of town and I’m still trying to figure out how I got here and how all these…well, how these mechanics work.”
Here from out of the woods?
Mallow nods. “Yes.”
Okay, very good.
–
Coby sat back and looked around the table. Lincoln was still giggling a bit, June was watching him amusedly, and Spencer was fiddling with his pen. In front of each of them was a character sheet. Before Coby sat a map, a bluetooth speaker, and set of glittering dice.
“Let’s get started,” said Coby. Then she rolled up her sleeves and leaned forward once more.
.
.
Don't worry, I wouldn't keep this dialogue style. This was just to establish the characters.
interesting how when i first got into criminal minds i was way too into reid
and now i'm rewatching i'm way too into hotch
it's almost like when i first started, i wanted a smart, rational comfort character who was good under pressure but was still an innocent baby
and now i just want a comfort character who could sling me over his shoulder while he yells at my family and wins my battles for me with the power of his eyebrows
