The Chronicles of the Dumb Desperados

11/03/2023

2:15pm GMT St Enochs Shopping Centre, Glasgow U.K.

“Now, we have the banter and the jokes and catch up out of the way… let’s begin.

Greetings and blessings upon you good folk I am the all-knowing, seeing and powerful Dungeon Mistress Morgan aka Madame Tentatric-hey! Hey!! Shush!!!”

I shouted the last bit of my welcoming speech over the hubabb of noisy chatter and laughter mingling with the blaring shop music, within the retail gallery we play Dungeons and Dragons in. As I type these words on my monitor a “reset your password” is flashing at me angrily counting down to total reboot plus a dying battery hastens my words.

I looked pointedly at the amassed 13 players around 3 tables and met on the floor with my old senile laptop propped up on a tower of books, notepads and sketches of maps yet to be revealed in game. On the floor in my own carved dice tower is my legion of various blue dice glittering in the overhead shop lights.

I, Morgan sit crossed legged on the thinly carpeted ship floor area designated for socialising as it is a nerdy anime/manga/gaming shop.

In my monitor reflection I see my tired thin white face ghost like in the harsh electronic light. My steel blue eyes swarm and shift like twin oceans of thoughts crows feet dangle heavily, a pentanance of past sleepless nights. They are oval and are contained in round rimmed black spectacles, messy electric turquoise blue dyed hair is flopping over them. I was too tired to do makeup. I am dressed simply in a undershirt a flannel checkered shirt button most of the way with a blue patterned necktie tied neatly and fastened on the front, all tucked in nicely in a soft short dungaree suit. It is black with white occult symbols blazoned everywhere. I wear black tights still in the early days of Scottish spring. My blue plaid high tops tucked underneath me.

My fiancé is sitting to my left side on a short box not wanting me left out, and if I can’t make myself heard he gets the rest of their attention. His shock of red hair is neatly cut military style and he is a clean shaven muscly man with still a little chub left. I, however am slim with strong limbs and crazy wide hips, and a two month pregnant belly nestled between them. I hope for girls, I know it’s more than one I carry. He is stroking my hair as I type furiously to keep up with the countdown before I lose progress.

This is as far I got before the last five min were left, so are you interested now?

”Shall we commence”

“First I need all of all to roll me a d20 straight role no advantages allowed”

The highest role is the first to awake. It is dark and apart from the sounds of 13 others breathing gently and low rumbles of snoring, there is only distant splashing and the creaking of wood and groaning of something big.

A ship?

Yes indeed it is a ship and dimly can make out a sleeping guard sailor sat on a upturned beer barrel asleep his sword loose in the big, hairy meaty but relaxed grip.

his snoring, the guard’s is what awoke you and something else too. A woman’s voice urging you to escape somehow, and think… observe… use what’s within reach….

Because your gut tells you…that you and the 12 others are all allays somehow captured on a ship out at sea and need to escape….

That is all you have to work with, and to go on for the next choice…

“What will you do next?”

12/03/2023

Especially as the next day when I reopened it all of the campaign notes I hand wrote were (spookily and mysteriously) neatly typed up as follows…Curious now aren’t you?