12/25/2022
As is tradition at Do Better Gaming HQ, here is The Night Before Critmas.
This poem was written by Law Johnson. (The "Mage Your Night" guy!)
Twas the game before Critmas and all through my home
Not a PC was rolling, not even the Gnome
The party was resting, and so were the players
While feasting on pizza and nachos in layers
The GM was hidden, obscured by his screen
Highlighting upcoming traps in bright green
They’d won a hard fight, as they gave it their best
But now it was calm, and the world was at rest
The Drow were all snuggled up safe in their caves
With visions of Dwarves failing Fortitude saves
No bandits did burgle, no merchants were trading
The orcs all asleep from a long day of raiding
The temples were silent, no song from their bells
The Wizards had given up casting their spells
When outside the game room came a cacophonous reception
That everyone heard (if they made their perception)
And who should be summoned to the plane of the living?
But D&D Santa! The Warlord of Giving!
With a loud cry for battle he kicked in the door
Our group caught flat-footed from his initiative score
He stood 10 feet tall, What a sight to be feared!
With an Ogre-like gut and a Dwarven-like beard
His full plate was crimson with runes green and gold
A candy cane halberd in fist did he hold
In his off hand he wielded a heavy brown bag
Weighed down by its contents of treasure and swag
Our group was dead silent, the confusion was stressful
His intimidate check was quite clearly successful
We dodged an explosion of minis and dice
As he lept on the board and roared “Naughty or Nice?
Lawful or Evil? Greedy or fair?
If it’s all in character, I really don’t care.
You’ve solved many riddles and slain many hoards,
Now hand over that XP, it’s time for rewards!”
With a deep hearty laugh and a stomp of his boot
He tipped over the bag and poured out all our loot.
For the Ranger a Longbow Composite +3
And a druidic ring that can summon a tree
For our Bard he did offer an enchanted war drum
And an ancient black bottle of 90 proof rum
For our Wizard new scrolls! What a magical feast!
From an Arcane handbook that still wasn’t released
For the Halfling, two daggers, one black and one white
that would make him unseen as he snuck through the night
For the cleric a symbol of his God of healing
To prevent all the damage our foes would be dealing
And last but not least, our own Dungeon Master
Neither monster, nor fighter, nor cleric nor caster.
“For you, Mr. GM.” he said with a squeal
As he offered new dice made of real stainless steel
“They’re wicked and lucky, much more than you’d think.
And sure to roll 20’s” he implied with a wink.
For they both knew the game all the DMs had played
It matters not what they rolled, just the sound that they made
With a cry to the heavens he called to the night
And a dragon descended to him from it’s flight
He swung one leg over and they took to the sky
We all cheered and waved as we said our goodbye
His entrance was sudden, his exit abrupt
We’d survived the encounter and all leveled up
You could hear him call out from the Dragon he’d tamed,
“Merry Critmas to all and to all a good game!”
