Of Dice and Men: The Story of Dungeons & Dragons and The People Who Read Online Free Page B

affected enemy will take 32 points of damage.
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    Brandon’s fireballs do 10d6 of damage now, but when our game began, he couldn’t cast the spell at all. That’s changed because of a key element of the D&D rules: Characters don’t just persist from session to session, they learn from their experiences.
    Anyone who has played a video game in the last twenty years won’t find that shocking. But D&D pioneered the idea of characters that become more powerful over time; before its invention, games were almost all static. The rules of Monopoly never change, no matter how many times you go around the board. 4
    Because D&D characters can grow, like real people, playing the game becomes a uniquely visceral experience. Participants are more motivated to succeed, since victories are accumulative. They experience greater joy from those successes, since they are more emotionally invested. And they know the thrill of real danger, since no one wants to lose a character they’ve spent years building.
    In short, D&D players live vicariously through their characters the way a parent might live through their children—not that any gamer would take the relationship that seriously, unless they’re crazy. But more on that later.
    Naturally, advancement is measured in terms of a mathematical progression. At various points in an adventure, usually during breaks in the narrative, a DM will review the players’ accomplishments and reward them with “experience points.” They’ll get points for every monster they’ve defeated, based on their relative threat; killing a rat might earn 100 experience points, while slaying a dragon could be worth 100,000. They’ll also, at the DM’s discretion, receive points for abstract achievements, like solving a puzzle or successfully role-playing their way out of trouble. When a character has earned enough experience points they advance a level, gain access to new abilities, and become more powerful.
    The characters aren’t the only thing changing over time. Since D&D campaigns can last months, years, or even decades, players will come and go as their personal lives allow more or less opportunity for leisure.
    Vampire World has seen its share of personnel changes. Brandon’s friend Nick played a barbarian, Taluug, until he moved out of the apartment. A second Alex (we called him “Deuce”) had a few characters, including a druid, a magic-user who draws his powers from nature. Deuce was a college student and quit because of school obligations.
    R. C. Robbins joined the game well after Abel, Jhaden, Ganubi, and Weslocke met in Kyoto. He plays Graeme, a rogue. They’re an essential part of any adventuring party; skills like finding traps and picking locks are frequently useful in the fantasy-adventure genre. But since R. C. didn’t make the game tonight, we consider Graeme “in pocket”—he hasn’t died or left the party, he’s just off in the background until next time. It’s a shame, because we could use a little help with these pirates: Babeal’s fireball scorched them but didn’t take them down.
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    Now it’s my turn. Weslocke is a cleric, and, like Babeal, he’s capable of casting powerful spells. Many of them are focused on healing—in any adventuring party, the cleric often plays the role of medic. But I’ve got a few haymakers as well.
    I pick up my mini (a man in silver plate armor, holding a heavy flanged mace) and move it five squares toward the pirates. I’m still allowed to take an action after moving, so I check my character sheet and then pick up a d20.
    “I cast Searing Light on this pirate,” I tell Morgan, pointing at a figure, and then roll the die: 17, more than high enough to confirm the hit. The spell incurs one eight-sided die’s (or 1d8) worth of damage per two caster levels; I’m a twelfth-level cleric, so I scrounge around the table to find six eight-sided dice. I roll and sum the numbers: 41 hit points’ worth of damage.
    “A blast of light shoots