Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons (32 page)

The townsfolk of Seattle's twelfth-most-popular neighborhood are in a tizzy, believing the Harpy has taken a brave, albeit somewhat lackadaisical, adventurer as her hostage.

“It will take a mighty band of warriors to bring him back safely,” the barkeeper says. “Danger is inevitable, but the rewards are great.”

“What are the rewards?” the party asks, sampling a delicious array of IPAs from Seattle's more popular neighborhoods.

“Justice,” the barkeep says, staring you right in the eyes. “And free beer.”

The party gathers up their belongings and heads out in the sidewalkless night.

HISTORY

The party arrives at an old, stucco, multi-unit dwelling, which may or may not have water damage. This is the home of the Harpy, where she has lived for nearly thirteen years, alone mostly, with the exception of various visiting hell-hounds and her evil familiar. Only few have dared to enter the Harpy's lair and usually come armed with pad thai, groceries, or boxes too big to fit inside the USPS-approved pigeonhole.

THE OUTSIDE AREA

Although this is a secured-entry doorway, the Harpy's neighbors are careless when entering and leaving and sometimes don't close the door all the way or (heaven forbid) leave the door propped open while they carry in the groceries they actually go out and purchase themselves or move out busted-up Ikea coffee tables and rust-laden shower caddies. Much to the Harpy's dismay, you have no trouble getting into this building.

There is a flight of stairs covered in threadbare commercial carpet that looks like it's been long traveled by deliverymen and logistics service coordinators in brown uniforms. You come across a spot on the carpet near the elevator.

Perception Check DC 17:
The spot is likely the result of a senior, arthritic dog with diarrhea who couldn't get out of the building quickly enough.

You take the stairs. On the second floor, you come across the unit rumored to be the lair of the Harpy. The door is brown and thick and pocked with indents that may be the result of your predecessors' failed attempts at entry, or perhaps the Harpy's failed attempts at nailing a hook to her door to hang the red-and-green-feathered wreath she got at Nordstrom. No matter.

Perception Check DC 4:
The lock on the door appears weak, and again to the Harpy's dismay, looks like you could pick it with a credit card, barrette, even the corner of a takeout menu.

Thievery Check DC 6:
The lock gives in with some minor fidgeting.

THE INTERIOR AREA

You notice a very lived-in space with designer paint on the walls and comfy, oversized couches that dip and sag in such a way, you'd surmise the Harpy loves her television. The welcoming feeling that overtakes you is surprising. That couch looks
very
comfortable. You can see why the Harpy spends a lot of time here. Oh, how you'd like to snuggle into it with that chenille blanket over you and watch several, commercial-free episodes of
Say Yes to the Dress
on her DVR. You move a few large, cardboard, sealed-up boxes out of the way to get a better view of the couch.

Perception Check DC 15:
The couch is in fact a trap.

The remains of a pizza and Caesar salad dinner are left on the coffee table, along with cloth napkins dotted with sauce, empty wine glasses ringed with cheap cabernet (that's going to be a bitch to get off), the burned-down nubs of decorative candles, and several empty water glasses. Judging by the hard pellets of sauce on the plates, you surmise those dishes have been left out overnight.

Perception Check DC 3:
You hear snoring coming from the living room and notice a large, lazy pit bull sleeping on a pile of dog beds. She is unfazed by your arrival.

The bedside tables look brand new. You stop and admire them before continuing into the kitchen/dining room, adjacent to the living room.

There is an empty pizza box on the dining room table, along with piles of papers, books, and torn-open envelopes. A brown, decorative basket sits next to the laptop computer.

Perception Check DC 2:
The brown, decorative basket is empty.

The kitchen looks as if a team of novice caterers have just completed service for 150. Olive oil, that appears to be much too expensive for such haphazard treatment, is uncapped and left out. An empty wine bottle sits in the sink, approximately three and a half feet from the recycling bin. The once-pristine stainless steel countertops are marred with a large rusty circle approximately the same circumference of the filthy wok you notice on the shelf above the stove. A colander with three cherry tomatoes sits in the sink along with—
gasp!
—more dirty dishes. From all you have heard
about the uptight, controlling, stuck-in-a-routine Harpy, you are suddenly not sure this is her lair after all.

Perception Check DC 8:
It is. You see pictures all over the refrigerator of her with some guy.

Perception Check DC 18:
The guy looks very similar to the brave adventurer who has gone missing.

The party follows a trail of toast crumbs into what appears to be the washroom. Definitely something wicked has transpired in here as evidenced by the red, sticky globules all over the basin.

Perception check DC 5:
Blood!

Perception Check DC 15:
Nope. it's just cinnamon toothpaste.

The mirror above the washbasin is speckled with white dots, making it difficult to see your reflection. The white porcelain sink is dotted with tiny black dots.

Perception Check DC 8:
Those black dots are hairs from a freshly shorn chin.

A tub of Clorox wipes sits in the corner of the basin.

Perception Check DC 5:
The Clorox wipes have not been opened. Not ever. Which probably, explains the chin hairs.

The shower curtain is falling off the hooks and barely conceals the disgusting mess of a tub behind it. What the heck is that along the rim of the tub, anyway?

Perception Check DC 7:
This tub was caulked recently.

Perception Check DC 14:
The tub needs a professional to caulk it.

The drain of the shower is covered in something dark and fuzzy.

Perception Check DC 2:
Ew! It's hair! It's the Harpy's hair! And she thinks the toothpaste is bad? Why is it so hard to clean the drain out after every shower?

This room is creepy and gives the party a sense of the willies. You leave the area and continue into what appears to be the Harpy's boudoir.

Perception Check DC 26:
The dreaded dire feline is asleep on the bed. She does not appear to hear you.

The party treads lightly so as not to wake the feline.

There are two closets and two dressers in this space. You peek inside the larger of the two closets and notice something odd. Six hangers appear to be holding men's clothing. You also notice two pairs of jeans that look oddly out of place.

Perception Check DC 7:
Relaxed fit. From what you know of the Harpy she favors boot cut or skinny leg jeans. These definitely belong to someone else.

Several pairs of men's shoes litter the floor but you don't see any women's shoes except those in boxes on the top shelf of the closet or slung in clear plastic pockets over the back of both doors.

Perception Check DC 2:
The Harpy has a lot of shoes. You find this ridiculous.

The bed is unmade. You don't know what hospital corners are but are pretty sure they are not on this bed. The duvet cover looks expensive and goes perfectly with the gray paint and yellow and white accents. Perhaps the most shocking thing you encounter is what lies next to the dire feline on the bed: A towel!

Perception Check DC 12:
The towel is still damp!

Again the party is filled with suspicion that perhaps the Harpy no longer takes residence here. Has the brave adventurer slain the Harpy? Has her infamous mother finally crushed her daughter's soul under the weight of a thousand paperbacks? Has the Harpy's attempts to untangle herself from her obsessive, stagnant, mired ways driven her mad?

Could be.

But then, her familiar is still alive. And seemingly healthy. Even though that cat is a jerk, the Harpy is a notorious animal lover. No matter how many scars or bouts with Cat Scratch Fever, or pleas from friends and pad thai delivery men, the Harpy wouldn't abandon the stupid cat. Plus the Harpy's clothes are here. There are way too many lovingly folded, hung, and organized by color to assume she could leave these behind. Besides, everyone knows the Harpy couldn't pack her most precious belongings into a backpack.

Just as you saw on the refrigerator, here there are more pictures of the Harpy and the assumed brave adventurer. They stand sunburned and sweaty in front of the Parthenon; perch overlooking Puget Sound with a magnificent picnic spread out before them; and pose steins in hands, in cheap, polyester Bavarian costumes. They smile, heads bent temple to temple in every photo. It's almost hard to believe the smiling, relaxed woman in the pictures is the same woman who could make a grown man cry for putting wine glasses in the bottom rack of the dishwasher.

Perception Check DC 4:
Yep. You fully believe these are photos of a happy-looking couple.

The party passes by a bookshelf crammed with books. You see the shiny domed heads and round glasses-wearing faces of Today's Top Self-Help Experts next to tomes full of tentacled monsters with eyestalk-sporting heads. Books about heroes and dangerous lands and handbooks and compendiums are side-by-side with hardback readers promising to unleash the power of the universe. Some of these books, especially the ones with the strange-looking experts' headshots on them, look very scary.

Perception Check DC 9:
The spines on the scary-looking books show zero signs of wear and tear. These books have never been opened.

As you look around, the dire feline yawns and stretches on the expensive duvet cover. It's hard to imagine the Harpy would allow the furry, shedding, dander-ridden beast to lounge on her bed and yet freak out over some dirty gym clothes. On second thought, dirty gym clothes
are
pretty gross. The dire feline has beautiful blue eyes, you notice, then you quickly avert your gaze lest you be turned into a pile of catnip. It is then you spot another book lying on the bed. This book is facedown and opened. The spine is crackled and creased. The pages appear to be dog-eared and marked with sticky notes. There is what appears to be a woman in white on the cover holding a bouquet of purple flowers.

Perception Check DC 5:
Unlike the scary books on the shelf, this book has been read. A lot.

A neon orange Post-it Note arbitrarily stuck to the front covers some of the book's title.

Perception Check DC 9:
You can make out the words planning, guide, and fabulous.

You can't be entirely sure what the handwritten note says because no one in the party wants to get that close to the dire feline, but you're pretty confident you can make out the words love, mom.

Perception Check DC 21:
You can also read the words see
chapter 5
, buffet, reception, and don't worry about budget.

A chill runs down your spine as you realize what this means. There is not much time. You must leave the Harpy's lair and return to town. This is much worse than anyone thought. The townspeople of Seattle's twelfth-most-popular neighborhood and beyond must be warned. No caterer, DJ, or florist uninformed.

The Harpy and her mother have a new project. And for once, it looks like mother and daughter are on the same page.

SHELLY MAZZANOBLE
is the author of the ENnie Award-winning
Confessions of a Part-Time Sorceress: A Girl's Guide to the D
UNGEONS
& D
RAGONS
® Game
, and she writes a monthly column for
Dragon
online. Her short stories and essays have appeared in the
Seattle Times, Carve, Whetstone, Skirt!
, and
SomeOtherMagazine.com
. In a fit of narcissism, she has appeared in her own work, sometimes casting herself as the lead in her plays, which have been produced in Seattle's Mae West Fest and Manhattan Theatre Source's Estrogenius Festival. Originally from upstate New York and a graduate of Ithaca College, she now lives in Seattle with a bipolar cat, a dog who may or may not have murdered a cat, and a guy who sometimes leaves wet towels on her expensive duvet cover. Visit her online at
shellymazzanoble.com
.