Point of Order

by Taryn Frazier

Behind his screen, the game master cracks his knuckles. “OK, folks. This is session zero of a shiny new campaign, so let’s go around and introduce your characters. Bob, since you’re hosting, how about you start?”

Bob scratches his belly through his “This is how I roll” t-shirt. “Bork is a barbarian half-orc with heavy weapons mastery and a halberd.” He spins around in the office chair he’s pulled up to his dining room table. “Simple, yet elegant.”

“And Bork’s background?” the GM prompts.

Bob coughs. “Um, he’s a . . . soldier?”

Across the table, Amanda snorts and dumps her dice out of a tooled leather pouch. “Let me guess, you pulled his character build from a Weddit post.” She flips her blue braid over her shoulder. “I’m playing Azmandia, an elven wizard who wields a staff of bloodsteel. After being ostracized from her clan, she has roamed the wasteland alone, a law unto herself. She has a weasel familiar and enjoys moonlit —”

Bob makes a snoring sound, and she breaks off to glare at him.

The GM closes his eyes. “Remember the rules.”

“No sniping,” Bob and Amanda mutter together.

“Indeed. Saanvi, your turn.”

Saanvi straightens her glasses. “Saanjh is a dragonborn paladin who —”

“— carries a war hammer and was tragically orphaned at birth,” chorus Amanda and Bob.

“They’re sniping again,” Saanvi whines.

The GM shrugs. “You do play the same character every campaign.” He jots down a note, then says, “Last but not least is Dan. Tell us about D’nath, your bard.”

Dan stares down at his character sheet for a long minute. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Loosens his tie. Clears his throat.

“You OK, Dan-Man?” Bob asks, joggling his elbow.

“Yeah. No.” Dan scrapes a hand down his face. “Isobel left yesterday.”

Silence reigns, then Saanvi asks, “Like, she left-left?”

A shaky exhale from Dan. “Yeah.”

Another pause, then Saanvi asks, “Who will paint our minis now?” She catches the dagger-like glares from the rest of the party. “I mean, that sucks, dude.”

“I’m so sorry,” Amanda whispers. She reaches a tentative hand toward Dan’s where it rests on the table, then pulls back.

Bob throws an arm around Dan’s shoulders, but Dan forces a smile and shrugs him off. “Let’s just play Everdeep. This world sucks.” He pours himself a shot of whiskey.

The GM adjusts his screen. “If you’re sure . . .” He places one hand on the map in the middle of the table and the other over the players’ four miniatures. “OK, here we go.” He mutters a string of words, guttural and strange.

The players around the table close their eyes, and the violent oranges and greens of Bork’s cluttered dining room run like watercolors, taking the adventurers with them.

The colors resolve into grim shades of gray and black, and the four adventurers stagger on their new footing, a merciless field of flints. A voice booms from on high:

“Castle Everdeep clings to the side of an obsidian cliff overlooking the Sea of Oblivion. Your adventuring party has heard rumors of the great wealth hidden there, but also of the terrible dangers that await trespassers. You stop at a village at the foot of the cliff to —”

“Let’s skip the village,” D’nath cuts in, pointing with his lute toward the black castle looming over them.

Bork shoots him a worried look. “Dan — I mean, D’nath — we should pump villagers for info about what’s waiting for us in the castle.”

“And I say we skip it,” D’nath says, his jaw working.

“Who made you king?” blusters Saanjh, then grunts when Azmandia nudges her with her staff. Saanjh sighs and shoulders her war hammer. “Fine, fine. Let’s go straight to the castle, but don’t expect me to make saving throws for you.”

“As you cross the Bridge of Sorrows leading to the castle, a horde of goblins pours out from a crevasse in the rock wall opposite you. They’ve got two hellhounds on iron leashes, and every time one of them barks, a gout of flame shoots ten feet from its mouth.”

Bork cracks his knuckles. “I say we go with our usual M.O.: Saanjh and I will hack and slash, while Azmandia and D’nath fire from a safe distance.”

“I charge the enemy,” D’nath grits out.

Azmandia grabs his arm. “But you’re a bard. Wouldn’t it be better if you tried to, I don’t know, negotiate?”

“I charge the enemy,” D’nath repeats, drawing a very small dagger. With his free hand, he pulls a bottle from his doublet, bites the cork out, and downs the contents.

Saanjh groans. “I smell a total party kill.”

The GM sighs. “Roll for initiative.”

Azmandia raises her staff, and it crackles with purple fire. “Get ready to back him up, guys. I’ll get my lightning bolts on line.”

D’nath rolls.

“By the toenails of Athazar,” breathes Bork.

The GM knocks on the table as the blacks and grays of Everdeep melt back into the garish colors of Bob’s apartment. “D’nath single-handedly lays waste to the goblin horde, thanks to that natural twenty.” He stretches and gets up. “That’s it for tonight, my little band of sociopaths. Are we good for next Tuesday?”

After the chorus of yeses, Bob relieves Dan of his whiskey glass and hauls him to his feet.

“OK killer, let’s get you an Uber.”

Holding Dan by the shoulders, he guides him downstairs to the curb outside his apartment building, scolding as he goes. “You know better than to drink in and out of character, especially when you’ve had nothing but waybread for two sessions. And you call yourself a doctor.”

“A doctor of physics,” Dan protests, then lurches away to vomit behind an azalea.

“That whiskey was expensive,” Bob calls, “and the potion wasn’t cheap either.” He waves to Amanda, rocketing out of the parking lot on her motorcycle.

Dan staggers back, tieless now, and the pair wait in silence until the Uber’s headlights approach. Dan runs a hand through his thinning hair. “Thanks. For all this.” His gesture encompasses the apartment, the azalea, the Uber. “It’s keeping me going.”

“Hey, it’s one of our rules, right? ‘Never leave a party member behind.’” Bob shoves his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Is there anything else I can do for you, man?”

Dan cracks a small smile. As the car door closes, he says, “This is more than enough.”

As the adventuring party meanders around a subterranean room, the GM’s voice booms out of the dark: “People, you’ve been combing the first level of the castle for five weeks straight, and if we stay here any longer, I swear I will end you all.”

That gets some nervous laughs.

Azmandia lights a narrow stairway with the violet glow of her staff. “Let’s see what baddies are waiting for us up there. I’m dying to try my new spell.”

Others murmur agreement, but D’nath hangs back, glancing over his shoulder. “What if we do one more sweep for treasure down here? Or we could try to exorcize that wraith from the charnel room one more time. I just — I just don’t think I’m ready to move on.”

“Are you friggin’ —” Saanjh blocks Azmandia’s staff before it makes contact with her rib cage. “OK, OK. The wraith it is.”

Another stultifyingly dull session ends. As soon as Bob’s door closes behind Dan, the rest of the group reconvenes at the table.

“Dan’s in a rut,” Saanvi says. “At this rate, we’ll be stuck in the basement of Everdeep until our characters die a natural death.”

Amanda sighs. “It’s only been a month since his wife left him for her goat yoga instructor, Saanvi.”

Bob snorts. “Isobel was never the sharpest weapon in the armory. Leave a tenured professor for a guy who plays with farm animals?”

“Her loss,” Amanda says, taking a sip of Scotch. She ticks off on her fingers: “Dan is loyal and smart and kind, plus he’s a great dad.” She catches the looks from the other three. “What?”

“Do you like Dan?” Bob asks, squinting at Amanda as if she’s a particularly problematic line of code.

“What? No.” Amanda crosses her arms in front of her reddening face. “Nonono.”

“Because that would be against the group rules,” Saanvi crows, her glasses slipping down her nose.

“‘Thou shalt not date within thy adventuring party, be thou in Everdeep or earthside,’” intones the GM in a sepulchral tone.

Amanda slams down her glass. “It won’t happen.” She shakes her hair in front of her face, and from behind the blue curtain adds, “That ship has sailed. And sunk. And decomposed.”

“Shame,” says Bob. “Welp, see y’all next week.”

On the following Tuesday, players position their minis as the GM scans his notes. He checks his watch again.

“No word from Dan, but let’s get started. Last session the party had just entered the blood-drenched torture chamber when you were confronted with a brain flayer.”

Bob shudders. “Those things are creepy as hell.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Dan says, popping his head around the door to Bob’s apartment. He grimaces. “Isobel had a last-minute schedule conflict, and my parents have the flu, so . . .”

He comes in leading a tousle-headed little girl by one hand. She’s sucking the thumb on her free hand.

“Hey, Rowan,” Amanda calls, waving, and Rowan rewards her with a small, thumb-filled smile.

The GM and Saanvi exchange pained looks.

“According to the group rules —” Saanvi begins.

“Row-Row-Rowan your boat!” Bob yells. “Come sit with Uncle Bobby.”

Rowan climbs onto the stool Bob pulls up for her and solemnly surveys the table. She removes her thumb long enough to ask, “Can I play?”

The GM and Saanvi exchange another pained look.

Dan hurriedly cuts in. “No, honey. Look, I brought some snacks and your tablet, so you can sit on the couch and play your own game.”

Rowan unplugs the thumb. Her lower lip trembles. “I want to play wif you.”

Amanda mouths “torture chamber” and makes a cutting motion at her neck.

“Of course you can play with us, Maca-Rowan-i,” Bob says. “But first you have to build a character.”

When the party rematerializes in the third level of Everdeep, four adult jaws drop.

“You, um, enter a room covered in, uh, a carpet of purple flowers. Awaiting you in one corner is a massive, er, unicorn with rainbow wings and a glittering horn. Stop sniggering, Saanjh.”

“I run over to the unicorn and get on its back!” shrieks Princess Twinklesparkle, clapping her hands.

Saanjh rolls her eyes.

“First you have to do a charisma check,” the GM says, raising a finger.

Princess Twinklesparkle rolls a twenty. Azmandia claps, and Bork beams.

“You’re a natural, just like your daddy. Can I lift you into the saddle, Your Highness?”

Dan scoops up a sleeping Rowan from Bob’s couch and mouths a “thank you” to the group on his way out the door. She’s still sucking her thumb.

Bob high-fives the GM. “Thanks for improvising, man. Danny-boy needed that.”

Saanvi grumbles something as she ties her shoes.

“What did you say?” Amanda asks.

“I said I didn’t completely hate that,” Saanvi grumbles, a little louder this time.

Amanda ruffles her hair affectionately. “Aw, you know you liked it. Maybe you’ll be a mommy one day.”

Saanvi shudders and departs. As Bob gathers up maps, minis, and bottles from the table, Amanda lingers in the doorway, fidgeting with her acid-green motorcycle helmet.

Bob points a half-full IPA bottle at her. “So are you going to make a move?”

Amanda throws up her hands and the helmet hits the floor. “What do you want me to say, Bob? That I had a thing for Dan before he met Isobel? Common knowledge. Do I still like him? Sure. But it’s not that simple. If I take a risk in the game, I lose some health — maybe a character I got attached to, but if I screw this up, I screw up for real. I screw up this . . .” she motions at the table “. . . and I lose Dan. Again.” She’s whispering now.

They stare at each other a moment, then Bob says, “I was only asking whether Azmandia was going to tame the unicorn.”

Amanda slams the door in his face, only to open it a minute later. “I forgot my helmet,” she says loftily.

Bob holds it out to her, but when she grabs it, he holds on. “You two make a good team.”

“In a fantasy world,” she groans, tugging at the chinstrap.

He lets go. “I think it’s worth rolling the dice.”

“Behind the rusted scrollwork of the metal gate you see two red eyes burning in the darkness of the hallway, high above your heads. Whatever lurks there stands between you and the spiral stair which will lead you to the top of Everdeep’s tower and the treasure you’ve been seeking.”

“I cast a spell of illumination,” D’nath says.

“And I cast a shield spell in front of the party,” Azmandia adds.

“Perfect.”

They grin at each other, then Azmandia drops her eyes. D’nath fiddles with his lute.

The GM clears his throat. “Annnnyway, the light of Azmandia’s staff falls on a lich, waiting behind the gate. Nine feet tall and clad in wispy black rags, the undead creature is the stuff of nightmares. It strikes out with a skeletal hand, but the metal barrier between it and your party seems to be enchanted and resists the blow.”

“Let’s break it down,” says Bork. He gives the gate an exploratory shove.

“A dark force flows from the metal to your body, Bork. You begin to seize and froth. Roll a constitution check.”

“C’mon, I need something higher than a twelve.”

“You succeed — barely. You break free and fall to your knees, retching. You’ve lost half of your health. The lich on the other side laughs a rattling, throaty laugh.”

Saanjh backs away. “I’m not touching that gate — not with my vulnerability to undead things. Azmandia and D’nath, this is your department.”

D’nath comes forward and casts a few experimental spells, but none of them land. Azmandia joins him and they confer, heads almost touching. Then they take hands.

“I cast Sacred Ray,” Azmandia says.

“And I buff her with Ode of Empowerment,” D’nath says.

“Azmandia’s amplified incantation causes the stones of the castle to tremble. The iron scrollwork of the gate glows purple — brighter and brighter until it becomes light itself and dissipates in the deep darkness.”

Azmandia looks at her hand, which D’nath is still holding. Gently, she pulls away. D’nath looks startled and opens his mouth to say something.

“With a hiss, the lich comes forward.”

“Hurray, you did it. Now we get to die,” squeaks Saanjh. “What now?”

“Um,” says D’nath, uncharacteristically off balance.

“Try smiting it,” Bork says.

Saanjh rolls, but her four barely makes a dent in the lich.

“Get close to me, everyone,” Azmandia calls. “I’m casting a ward, but it won’t stretch far.”

D’nath moves so close, he’s almost nose to nose with her. “Illusions and non-magical weapons won’t work on a lich.”

Cheeks aflame, she looks down at her Boots of Striding, which suddenly seem very interesting. “So what do we do?”

“What we do is we stop here because I have an early shift at the hospital.” Bob yawns as the GM removes his hand from the board. “The lich will have to wait a week.”

Next to him, Amanda’s cheeks are still on fire.

Saanvi and the GM say their goodnights, but Amanda and Dan linger, talking strategy for next Tuesday’s battle with the lich.

“Closing time, kids,” Bob calls from his bedroom. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Dan gets up and stretches with false casualness. “Hey, if you’re not busy, we could keep talking over coffee. Isobel’s got Rowan at her place tonight, so . . .” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck.

“Um.” Amanda holds her motorcycle helmet to her chest like a shield. “I am. Busy, I mean. I’m busy. With all the things.” She’s babbling now. “Busy, busy, busy.”

From Bob’s bedroom, there’s a very audible groan.

“Cool. Yeah.” Dan gives her a half-smile and opens the door for her. “Maybe another time when you’re less busy.”

“Maybe,” agrees Amanda, giving him a wide berth on her way out. She speed-walks down the corridor and dives through the stairwell door.

Dan follows more slowly and opts for the elevator. As he waits for the doors to open, he bangs his head gently on the wall. “Rules. Rules. Rules,” he mutters in time with each impact.

“Boss battle day!” Bob crows as the group assembles around the table the following Tuesday. “Let’s send this lich back to the hell from whence it came.”

As Saanvi and the GM debate the merits of adamantine armor, Amanda stacks and unstacks her dice, all the while shooting nervous glances at the door. She looks away the moment Dan enters, so she doesn’t catch his tentative smile and wave.

Bob rolls his eyes.

“We’ve been playing this campaign for almost seven months,” the GM says. “And we haven’t lost a character . . . yet.” He grins wolfishly.

“The lich slashes through Bork’s boarhide breastplate, and he faints. The undead creature rounds on D’nath, who is busy healing Saanjh’s lacerated arm.”

“We’re screwed,” Saanjh yelps, drawing her sword awkwardly with her left hand.

“Hold still. Just a few more seconds,” D’nath gasps. His health is almost as low as Saanjh’s.

“I can’t hold the lich off forever,” Azmandia grunts. “It’s going to break through my Dome of Protection next turn.”

“What’s the plan?” Saanjh asks, tightening her jaw against the pain.

“The plan went down the castle privy three turns ago,” D’nath pants.

“OK, Azmandia is carrying the Orb of Perspicacity,” Saanjh says. “If she can place it atop the Obelisk of Inscrutableness, evil will no longer hold sway over the castle. At this point, D’nath and I are cannon fodder.”

Azmandia clutches the Orb to her chest. “What? No, we’re going to do this together.”

“She’s my priority.” D’nath agrees. “Our priority,” he corrects himself. To Azmandia he says, “We’ll keep the lich busy as long as we can. You make a break for the Obelisk.”

Saanjh rakes a hand through her silver hair. “I can’t do much against the lich, but I’ll amplify Azmandia’s armor.”

“At that moment, the lich shatters the Dome of Protection and, raising his scythe of dark energy, aims an eviscerating slash at Azmandia.”

“I step in the way and take the hit,” D’nath says.

“No!” Azmandia yells. “I raise my staff to deflect the enemy’s blow.”

“Let me take the hit,” D’nath snaps. “I can’t work the Orb of Perspicacity, but you can. I should be the one taking damage.”

“I don’t need saving,” Azmandia snaps back. “You have a glass jaw, you stupid bard.”

From behind her shield, Saanjh calls, “Um, I’m not sure if you guys noticed, but the lich is going to kill us all if we don’t try something. Now.”

D’nath steps close to Azmandia. “Mandy, you know I have to do this. Let me go. It’s not like I’ll die in real life.”

Azmandia turns away, her hands over her face.

“The lich lashes out at D’nath’s neck with its scythe,” the GM says inexorably. “Make a death save.”

The adventurers go still as the clatter of a die across a tabletop sounds, then —

“Shit, tough luck, Dan.”

When the GM pulls everyone earthside, Bob bows his head. “A moment of silence for D’nath, our crazy-ass bard.” He tips over the bard mini on the map.

Saanvi slams her hand down on the tabletop and utters a string of well-chosen words.

“Rules, Saanvi,” Bob says. “Exceeding four obscenities means you buy beer next time.” He throws a hairy arm around Dan’s neck. “You OK, buddy?”

Dan winces and rolls his head side to side. “I can feel that scythe action even on this side.” He nudges the GM. “Just when I unlock level-seven spells, you have to go and kill my character.”

“‘GM’s don’t kill characters,’” the GM says with a saintly expression. “‘Stupid players kill characters.’”

“Burn,” Saanvi says.

Amanda wipes her eyes surreptitiously. “It was beyond stupid,” she says gruffly. “I’m not sure if you’re a hero or an idiot.”

“It’s just a game,” Saanvi says. “What are you getting all emo—” She cuts off with a yelp when Bob kicks her under the table.

“It’s not about the game,” Amanda hisses. Saanvi flinches at her tone. “It’s — never mind.” She rises so quickly her leg jostles the table, and Bob’s beer topples, creating a foamy new lake on the game map.

“Hey!” the GM yelps.

Saanvi leaps for the paper towels, and Bob dams the flow with his hands. Dan sits still among the chaos, looking dazed. The sound of a motorcycle revving breaks him from his reverie, and he goes to the window to look out.

Bob joins him. “You’re forgetting an important rule, Dan-o-matic.”

“Hm?” Dan doesn’t take his eyes from the scene outside.

Bob’s sigh fogs the glass. “You can come away from Everdeep with a little buzz or a little bruise, but you can’t bring items back with you.” He taps a finger against the window. “Or people.”

Dan rests his forehead on the cool glass. “I know, I know.”

“Do you?” Bob asks. “One of these days she’s going to ride away and not come back. This is the real world, Dan. You can’t just roll up another Amanda.”

He leaves Dan alone with the lonely view of an empty parking lot.

“What’s Dan’s excuse for skipping Everdeep tonight?” Saanvi asks as she flips through the GM’s well-thumbed Tome of Monsters.

“Schedule conflict,” Bob says. “His therapist moved his session.”

Amanda slaps her dice down. “Life goes on without Dan. Are we going to chit-chat or play?”

“Your party returns to the hallway where the lich still prowls. Its shroud flutters as it goes through a door on the far end of the corridor.”

“I pick up D’nath’s remains,” Azmandia says thickly.

The GM’s disembodied voice sounds disgusted. “O . . . K?”

Saanjh cranes her neck, trying to see where the lich has gone. “Wait, aren’t we going to follow that thing?”

“We owe D’nath a decent burial first,” Azmandia says. “And I need some closure.”

The following month, Saanvi drums her fingers on a player’s guidebook as the GM lays out the map. “This is the third time Dan’s missed game night,” she says.

“Fourth,” Amanda corrects dully. With a finger, she nudges the mini of D’nath, standing on the sidelines of the game map.

“Even worse,” Saanvi says. “According to group rules, anyone who misses five sessions in a row can be replaced. My cousin could —”

“We’re not replacing Dan,” Bob cuts in. “He’s had a hard year, and he needs our support. He’ll come back when he’s ready.” He cuts a look at Amanda, but she’s staring hard at the far wall.

“Guys, I think I should quit,” she says out of the blue.

The GM pops his head over the screen like a prairie dog. “What?”

“Quit?” squawks Saanvi. “Why would you quit? With Dan MIA, we can’t afford to lose another player.”

Amanda picks up the D’nath mini between black-nailed thumb and forefinger. “Dan might feel more comfortable if I wasn’t here.”

“He’s not avoiding you,” Bob rumbles. “Or at least, not for the reason you think.”

At the end of the session, Bob watches from the window as a lone motorcyclist rides figure eights in the empty parking lot. He turns back to the GM and Saanvi.

“Some rules are meant to be broken, you know.”

The GM makes a thoughtful noise, but Saanvi’s forehead creases. “What, like ‘don’t do someone else’s math’? Because I’m pretty sure you miscalculated the damage that owlbear did to Bork.”

Bob and the GM exchange long-suffering looks. “Guess again,” the GM says.

Saanvi frowns. “Um, ‘the GM never has to bring snacks’?”

“Nope.”

“‘No phones at the table’? ‘Don’t tell your therapist about the alternate reality you inhabit’?”

Bob takes Saanvi by the shoulders and propels her to the window. He stabs a thick finger at Amanda, still riding infinity loops.

“Fine, fine,” Saanvi huffs. “If ending this drama means we can get back to the game, I’m willing to pass an amendment.”

When Amanda opens Bob’s apartment door the next Tuesday, Dan is the only one at the table. She freezes in the doorway, and he gives her a weak wave.

“Hey.”

Warily, she takes the seat farthest from him and sets her helmet on the table. “Where’s everyone else?”

Dan points to a piece of paper in the middle of the map of Everdeep. On it, in Bob’s heinous scrawl, are written two large words in all caps: “FIX IT.”

An uncomfortable silence follows. Amanda fidgets with her chainmail bracelet, and Dan folds and refolds the edge of his character sheet.

“Been a while,” he says at last. “What, ah, have you been up to?

Amanda doesn’t look up. “Same as always.”

“So, terrorizing undergrads and cheating death on the freeway?” His grin fades when Amanda’s expression remains stony. He clears his throat. “I was sorry to miss almost two months of the game. I, uh, had some things I had to figure out.”

“And did you?”

Dan’s ears redden. “Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s good,” Amanda says politely.

More silence.

Dan licks his lips and tries again. “I was sorry to hear about Azmandia.”

“Yeah, well,” Amanda says, looking anywhere but him.

“How did she die?”

“A small disagreement.” She squints at the ceiling. “With a balrog.”

Dan winces. “I’ll miss her.”

Amanda lifts a shoulder. “She wasn’t anything special.”

“I disagree.” Amanda glances at him, and he forges ahead. “Look, the others are expecting us to roll up new characters, but what if you made a character almost exactly like Azmandia?”

Amanda narrows her eyes. “Surely you give me more creative credit than that.”

“I do, I do! You make amazing, nuanced characters with deep backstories, but maybe . . . we could have a second chance.” He’s babbling now. “Only if you want to. I was just thinking I could tweak a few things about D’nath, and then we could try again.”

Now Amanda is staring at him intently, and he’s the one who looks away. “A second chance,” she says, tapping her pen against her lips. “Why?”

Dan scratches his neck. “One of the things I talked with my therapist about was that maybe I hadn’t really appreciated, um, Azmandia the first time around. I realized we could make a good team.”

“A good team.” Amanda’s voice is dangerously quiet. “We’ve been a ‘good team’ ever since Bob invited me to play Everdeep with you guys, what, a decade ago?”

Dan winces at her scare quotes. “Nine years and four months. But that’s not what I meant . . .”

Amanda digs her hands into her blue curls. “Then what did you mean, Dan? What? Because being with you in Everdeep isn’t cutting it for me!”

Dan leans across the table, pushing the map aside. “That’s what I meant. That. I want to be with you there and here and — and everywhere.”

There is an excruciatingly long silence.

Amanda crosses her arms. “Took you long enough.”

Dan’s smile is rueful. “Nine years.”

“And four months,” she says, her mouth twisting. “But what should I expect from a bard with a six intelligence?”

Dan laughs, and his shoulders relax from their tense right angles. “So you’ll do it?”

Amanda gazes dreamily into the middle distance. “Ozmandya will be an elven wizard who wields a staff of icesteel. After being ostracized from her clan, she has roamed the wasteland alone, a law unto herself. She has a stoat familiar and enjoys moonlit rides with balding bards.”

Dan scribbles furiously on his character sheet. “N’dath is a rakishly handsome, definitely balding bard who —”

“Just kiss already,” a muffled voice says from somewhere in the room.

Dan and Amanda jump, and the door to Bob’s coat closet swings open to reveal Saanvi, Bob, and the GM wedged into the small, cluttered space.

Saanvi bursts out, fanning herself with Bob’s fedora. “Ye gods, I was suffocating in there. The pace of your courtship is positively glacial, you two. Can we play now?”

Amanda gets up and takes the chair next to Dan. She lifts her chin defiantly at the intruders. “What about the rules?”

Saanvi mutters something as the GM sets up his screen and Bob plunks a bowl of chips on the table.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, Saanvi,” Amanda says.

“I said ‘some rules were meant to be broken,’” Saanvi says sullenly.

Amanda takes Dan’s hand. “Then we’re ready for the next adventure.”

Host Commentary

Before we start, I want to talk about something that doesn’t necessarily affect us directly, but is seismic for short speculative fiction as a whole. Next month, in only a couple of weeks, Amazon are closing their Kindle Publishing for Periodicals program–which is to say, their magazine subscriptions on Kindle. This, in the words of Neil Clarke, editor of Clarkesworld, “is going to be brutal”. Amazon is the 800lb gorilla in the eBook world, and Kindle subscriptions were the most convenient way of getting most magazines there–I have a Kindle, and it’s the way I’ve always done my subscriptions when available. It was not by choice that most magazines relied on Amazon for such a large portion of their subscription base: it was simply a reflection of the market balance.

Unfortunately, the unilateral decision of this company with a market cap of–and I just checked–literally 1.32 trillion dollars is now threatening to wipe out small fiction magazines that have a turnover measured in the thousands, and a profit margin likely written with the red pen. Fantasy Magazine has already announced that its closing, as it was struggling to break even before this took effect. Most magazines are on a knife edge, operating only because staff draw no pay and instead invest hours and stress into the venture, and this absolutely will be enough to tip more of them over into closure.

We have just lived through perhaps the best ten years for short speculative fiction we’ve ever known, with a true broadening of writing perspectives, new forms, greater depth and maturity–it has been, as I keep trying to make happen, not a golden age but a prismatic age. But the closure of this program, and the commensurate drop in income, plus the collapse of Twitter and subsequent shattering of a social media landscape so vital for crowdfunding, on top of the new problem of being spammed by AI submissions… this is a point of real crisis, friends. I cannot emphasise that enough.

Amazon first announced this decision to the magazines last December, but speaking personally: I’ve had zero emails whatsoever from Amazon about this. I only know about it from social media, from Clarkesworld and Uncanny and others shouting about it. You will be able to subscribe to some magazines through Kindle Unlimited, if you’re a member of that, if they were invited, and even if and if, the rates offered there are around half what they were under KPP. The more practical solution–and the one I’ve been building up to here, the real reason I’m detailing all of this–is that you need to go to the website of any magazine you subscribe to on your Kindle and investigate the other ways to support them. Please. Many of them offer Patreons, or subscriptions through Weightless Books for US customers; they have all been reaching out through social media as much as they can, but unfortunately Amazon refused to provide anyone with an email list of their current subscribers to aid with outreach. These are desperate times, and every person who picks up a subscription via a new method is going to be one more strand in the woven lifeline. If enough of us can do that–and I’m speaking now as a reader and a fan, and nothing to do with this castle–we can make a real and genuine difference: to the markets you’ll save now, to the new authors who’ll get their break in them, to the readers who will see themselves in a story that otherwise would have had nowhere to go. Short fiction is the fertile soil in which speculative fiction grows, and it is in our power to save it.

…aaaaand welcome back. That was POINT OF ORDER by TARYN FRAZIER, and it was her first time on an Escape Artists show, but not her first story, so if you pop on over to Read – Taryn Frazieryou can find plenty more there to dig into.

Taryn sent us these notes along with her story: I learned everything I know about RPGs from my husband, a long-time gamer. In these games, players brings their own narratives and experiences to the table. Group storytelling gives participants a way to process and connect. So while I approach this story with tongue in cheek, I really do believe in the transformative power of gaming.

Thank you, Taryn, for the thoughts and the story. It will probably come as no surprise to all of you that I am a massive nerd, and have been roleplaying in one form or another for about 25 years at this point. To be honest I’m a Johnny-come-Lately to D&D itself, that’s only been the last couple of years, but there were games of Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay back in my adolescence and there’s been a lifetime of LARP–live action roleplay–since my late teens, through multiple characters and settings. The latter, sadly, got very much shut down through the lockdown stages of our ongoing pandemic, and made me realise just how important roleplay is for my mental health. Not just for the fantasy of getting 8 hours rest a night and all your problems having causes you can address, as the old jokes go, but because it transpires that getting out of my own head for 6 hours is an essential pressure-release valve for me.

More than that, though, it’s been important for helping me work out who I am and who I want to be: any time you create a character, you’re taking a piece of yourself and exaggerating it, re-examining yourself through that facet of your whole, stretching yourself in a safe way, a permitted way. I often feel bound and constrained by the expectations of people around me, my behaviours defined by who they know me as already, so roleplay is an opportunity to escape those predefined shapes and present as more gregarious, or more selfish, or more carefree.

And, as today’s story talks about: it brings you closer together. Just because you experienced an adventure through shared narration round a table rather than in person, doesn’t make it any less of an adventure–you still faced the troubles, solved the problems and made the decisions, worked together and learned together and laughed together. It is, absolutely, group storytelling, and the only real victory condition is the satisfaction of having told a good story together: of having teed each other up, shared the spotlight, guided and guarded each other. So to the group I DM for, Amber and James and Lana and Leona, and to my two DMs, Martin and Alex, and the other players in those games, Kate and Sheila and Sadie and Jack and Tommy; to Chris and Jane and Gary and everyone else who I’ve LARPed with so much down the years: here’s to the stories, those we still recall after time out and those we’ve still to tell.

As part of our 15th anniversary celebrations, we’re asking you to send in your favourite stories from our archive; if you’ve got a suggestion, go to our website PodCastle and look for the pinned post up top for details. This week, your narrator for today, Dani Daly, has a recommendation: ANOTHER END OF EMPIRE by Tim Pratt, from episode 88: “This was one of the first episodes i ever heard of ANY audio fiction podcast, yet even over 12 years later, I still find myself thinking about it and grinning. The narration is sublime, the story engaging and funny. And stories hosted by M.K. Hobson were always fun.” Thank you, Dani!