Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons (15 page)

She offered me a potato, which is her nice way of saying no.

“You could come, too,” I told her. “In fact, you have to. It's mandatory.”

“Sure,” Nina said. “Ask your boss. It's her budget.”

“Hmm,” said Laura, offering me some of her volcano burrito. Clearly those two had lunch together. Probably to discuss my book tour. “So that's two around-the-world all-expense-paid trips you're asking for?”

“Not
all
expenses paid. I wouldn't expect Wizards to pay for things like souvenirs and anything over two glasses of wine per meal. Or the new wardrobe I'll have to buy to ensure I'm dressed appropriately for the 194 countries I'll be visiting.”

“That's very generous of you,” she said. “And who would do your job while you're out there gallivanting?”

“Not
gallivanting
,” I said. “This is important work. So important that it
would
be my job and therefore I'd be doing it so no need to replace me. There. Problem solved.”

“Months?”

“Maybe weeks? Several?”

“Maybe you could rein it in a bit,” she suggested. “Like go hang out downtown. I'll cover your parking.”

Disappointed I'll miss out on a trip to Palau, I start my knowledge quest a little closer to home. Like from my desk. This office is teeming with Dungeon Masters. Probably more than the entire population of Palau. I think of the most renowned DMs in the building and write their names in my new secret research notebook. (Weirdly, they are all named “Chris.”) Next week I will study these Dungeon Masters. I will watch them with rapt attention. I will analyze their every move, exchange, and gesture and discover what it is that makes them masterful. And then … I will become like them. Nope. That doesn't sound creepy at all.

Monday morning, I approach work with a renewed sense of vigor. I'm excited to get Project Dungeon Master off the ground and start winning some arguments! About midday, Laura realizes we're doublebooked for meetings that afternoon and would have to tagteam.

“Do you have a preference for which meeting you go to?” she asked.

Technically, one is for a project I'm deeply involved in, but the other one is helmed by Chris Tulach. This is a great opportunity to study the ways and means of this guy. Plus in a meeting no one will think it's weird if I'm taking notes. Even if my notebook is covered with hand-drawn cupcakes.

“I'll go to the meeting about Game Days,” I told her.

She crinkled her forehead. “Are you sure? You're probably needed more in the conventions meeting.”

“Oh, you can just fill me in,” I said. “Besides, it's important for me to be well-rounded, right? What if you got hit by a bus tomorrow and had to be in traction for a year?”

“Umm … right. Good point, I guess. Way to be a team player.”

In Chris Tulach's meeting I noticed his presentation style. He stands up. He writes on the white board. He moves with a frenetic energy common to kittens and toddlers. But I notice everyone in this meeting is iPhone free and rapt with attention. Why? He's passionate. And he knows his subject.

Is Chris doing something similar here to sell us on his new Game Day program? Why shouldn't we funnel thousands of dollars into this? He sure sounds like he's the authority. And if an enthusiastic D&D player like himself is behind it, then surely other D&D players will follow. Yes! Fantastic idea! I'm about to reallocate my entire marketing budget when I'm reminded that:

Key Takeaway #1:
Kill 'em with enthusiasm, eagerness, and expertise.

THE DEVIL IN THE DETAIL (LIKELY A TROLL, TOO)

Tuesday rolls around. (Get it? A little D&D humor?) And that means it's time for my D&D group, the Wyld Stallyns, to meet and kick some kobold. Half of the group and Chris Youngs, our DM, are there when I arrive. He's got his tackle boxes full of minis, magnetic nameplates, wet-dry markers, tokens, and laminated playmat. If only there were tackle boxes to compartmentalize my scattered thoughts, I'd be in business.

“You're early,” he said, looking at his watch.

“It's ten after,” I said.

“Uh, yeah. Early.”

Whatever.

Key Takeaway #2:
Guilt your audience into submission.

Chris starts with his “Previously on Dungeons & Dragons” spiel. It's always a welcome recap because a lot has happened to me in the last 168 hours so I can't possibly be expected to remember what happened to Tabitha. Unfortunately, I keep making the mistake of believing the same is true for Mr. Youngs. But nooooooooooooo! The guy has a memory like an iron vault. Or in this case, the stone sarcophagus the party is trying to open. Again.

We succeed, but of course doing so unleashes the ire of about 900 stirge-like creatures.

“Tabitha uses her shield!” I shouted in response to my little wizard getting attacked.

“No, she doesn't,” Chris Youngs said. “She used it four rounds ago.”

Now, I know what you're thinking.
Four rounds?
A gnat has a more robust short-term memory than I do. But understand “four rounds ago” was maybe six weeks ago. We don't get to play as often as we'd like, thanks to these little things we like to call day jobs.

“No, I don't think so,” I said. “You must have Tabitha confused with another tielfing wizard who is about to take enough damage to bloody her. Not me. Nope. This shield is brand spankin' new. Not a clink on it.”

“Nice try,” he commended. “Take nineteen damage. And put your shield away before you trip on it.”

Now, did Tabitha really use her shield already? I don't know, but I didn't argue (much) because I trust that Mr. Youngs has a better head for such inane details than I do, so I go with it.

And that's where we get:

Key Takeway #3:
Dazzle your audience with your keen ability to remember more than they do. Then use it against them.

COMMAND PERFORMANCE. AND ATTENTION. RESPECT, TOO.

On Wednesday, Chris Lindsay operates like a well-tuned cuckoo clock. Around 10:00 a.m. I see him hunched over his desk, pencil poised over index cards, elbow deep in miniatures. Then he turns his chair 180 degrees and stares out the window for a good seven to ten minutes.

“Working hard?” I asked. I can tell a lot about our lunchtime D&D Encounters game by how Mr. Lindsay responds to this question.

“Oooooh yeah,” he said, rubbing his pencil furiously between his palms. “Very hard.…” And then he smiled.

It's the smile that says it all. The you're-going-to-squirm-and-I'm-going-to-love-it smile.

Maybe it's because the six-inch wall between us offers me a vantage point to see how much work he actually puts into our games, maybe it's because I'm always starving at noon, or maybe it's because I'm really afraid of him, but I'm never late for our lunchtime game. Regardless, we only have an hour to play, so we speed through the encounter to make the most of every minute.

First thing I notice, now that I'm paying attention, is that Chris sits on the long side of the table. He does this every game. This strikes me as odd for two reasons.