My Worst Gaming Experience Ever (as a Player)

I hadn't been planning on blogging about my worst gaming experience as a player, but it just happened yesterday so I figure--why not? This game was so ludicrously mis-directed that it crossed over, right in front of my eyes, from being just plain bad to being hilariously bad, like when you're watching a really sucky, low-budget film on Mystery Science Theater 3000 and realize that experiencing utterly extraordinary ineptitude can somehow evoke a peculiar transcendant humour that is similar in effect but different in source than mere comedy. It also makes me extremely grateful to have the regular gaming group I have; I know that every single one of them can direct games a hundred times better than what happened yesterday.

I should preface this by saying that I don't get to actually play all that often, so I'm always grateful for the opportunity. I always try to give directors the benefit of the doubt, especially in the first sessions of a campaign because it can take a little while to get everyone on the same page and for the adventuring fun to begin. Directors might be nervous, learning new rules, or simply inexperienced and a little leeway from players is important so that they have time to get the hang of it.

But still . . .

This particular game was the first in a proposed campaign using D&D 3.5 rules. Except for a friend I brought along as a fellow player, the others were strangers found via the Internet. The director had a friend who was "co-directing" the game, basically by playing a high-level Cleric as an NPC/PC. I'm set to play a swashbuckling fighter, my friend to run a Wu Jen (an exotic wizard-type), and a third person is to run a druid. Everyone assembles for the first time at a mall food court (a bit of an odd location for a game, but it was equidistant for all concerned and didn't particularly bother me). After introductions are made, we get out our dice, character sheets, pencils, miniatures. and we're ready to roll.

"So what happens is," the director begins. "you're all in a city. Not the capital city. There's a tall building, and on top of it are like three level 15 fighters, a couple of level 10 wizards, some high level clerics. One of the high-level clerics gives you [referring to his friend, playing the NPC] an item, and you're supposed to take it to the Elves. And you guys [referring to the rest of us] are supposed to go to the top of the building." Neither this city, the capital city, the building, or anything else has a name. But that's okay--benefit of the doubt!

Now, none of us players know why our characters are supposed to go to the top of the building, or why we're being told the levels of the people up there (something our characters definitely don't know). But we're all in this to have fun, and shrug. "Okay," I say. "Are there stairs?" "Yes." "I climb the stairs."

"So what happens is," the director continues, "you're all on top of the building. And then a shadow approaches. And the shadow casts Darkness, and you see a figure, and then all the high-level characters are dead. And then the figure is there. And then you realize the figure is looking through the bodies for the item."

We sensibly decide to run away and reach street-level. We briefly talk about whether we should hide out in an alleyway or abandoned warehouse, but then the director speaks up again "the priesthood has safehouses. Okay, so you're at the safehouse. The priest takes a look at the item." The tracks of this railroad are being laid down, but sometimes that's necessary at the very beginning--I am patient.

At this point, we have no idea what the item is, who the assassin is, or why we (the PCs) are even here. The director does not role-play NPCs--he simply tells us what they say and "what happens next." In character, I suggest we destroy the item, on the logic that if the assassin keeps tracking us, a trail of bodies could be left in our wake. "It's an Epic item!" the director interjects. "But my character doesn't know that," I respond. The item is then put safely in a bag of holding and tucked into the NPC's armor. Give new directors leeway! I remind myself.

The next day, there's some stuff about zombies hanging about outside the temple. After inquiries are made, the director contradictorily tells us that the zombies are because of something his friend did in a previous adventure and because the NPC cleric "accidentally left the item out last night." We now learn that this item is broken pieces of a seal to keep some super-evil big bad (never named) in prison, and we have to get it to "the Elves" so they can fix it.

We leave through the back door of the temple and hit the road, seeing the city in flames behind us. "How far away are we from the Elves?" one of us asks. "A couple of weeks," is the reply. We travel along the road for "about a week" and find a grove. "A figure suddenly looms behind you," says the director. The druid PC turns around to encounter another druid. They role-play for a minute or two, and then the director says "And what happens is, this guy was your mentor." The druid PC looks surprised, but shrugs it off and asks for his new/old mentor's name. The director pauses for several seconds and comes out with "Ashton."

The next day we leave the grove and travel on for a couple of more days. "How far to the Elves?" we ask. "A couple of weeks," is the response. This seems a bit odd, but I smile and we continue on. I take a brief break and go to the bathroom. On the way back, I realize only an hour and a half has passed and the game is scheduled to go on for four more hours. I literally shuffle my feet on the way back, so as to make more time tick away.

A "powerful, mysterious old man" suddenly appears in the back of our wagon. He interacts with the director's friend, as he's apparently a pet NPC from their prior games together. I ask the old man if he can really appear and disappear at will and travel from place to place in the blink of an eye. He assents. I therefore ask him if he can take the item to the Elves (world-threatening problem solved and I'll get home in time for an afternoon nap!)

The director is very taken aback, and at a loss to answer. Eventually, we learn that "the Rules" prevent the old man from taking the item, but that he can help us with information. He talks a lot, but we get no information.

After we travel for "several days," we're followed in our forest camp by bandits belonging to the "the Duke" (later, "the Baron") who are after "the item." In what could be an interesting bit of role-playing, the PCs begin to debate whether we should attack the bandits or wait to see if they make the first move--all to naught, however, as the director quickly interjects "The bandits attack!"

The director handles this combat with no notes or references whatsoever--obviously simply deciding on whether we hit or get hit by whim and a rough sense of whether we rolled "high" or "low." He often asks us, mysteriously, to roll a die. Which die? one of the players ask. For what? asks another. The director clearly doesn't know. He has his friend roll a Knowledge: History check and the result is a modified 4; the director gives him "information" anyway.

My friend is starting to get frustrated, and we've already determined we won't be back for another session--we talk about whether this has reached the "I just got a phone call and my wife is sick" point, but decide to see it through.

During this fight, I learn that my PC "used to be a guardsman." This doesn't make any sense considering the background I wrote and e-mailed the director, but that's okay. I'm beginning to smile at the sheer randomness of it all, and start passing the time by people-watching others in the mall and thinking about snack options.

More days on the road pass, and we reach a swamp. The ritual "how far are the Elves now?" arises. "A couple of weeks," is the reply, which set me off laughing--I have reached the MST3K point. Even the director's friend looks at him with a Dude, what the hell are you doing? look.

At about the four-hour mark, we are given our first choice: we can continue on the trail through the swamp and reach the Elves in about "a week" or take a shortcut through the forest. The player running the druid asks about the different trails, and receivs a bewildering and contradictory response. All things being equal, we decide to take "the shortcut" because the Wu Jen is told he senses Orcs approaching from the North and the shortcut is South.

We head South and are told "you see a green wall in front of you." "Like, trees?" I ask. "No," replies the director. "Well, what's the wall made out of?" asks another player. "Flesh!" responds the director. Here, I'm envisioning a grotesque Living Wall monster I vaguely remember. Further questioning pins the director down on the fact that the "wall" is actually a metaphor for fifty Orcs who are heading our way--we are thus trapped between two Orc armies. The Wu Jen wonders why he would have known about the Orcs from the North and not the Orcs from the South, but to no avail.

I think this could be fun in a "battle-to-the-death" sort of way, so I suggest that the druid (who can shapechange into an eagle) take the item and fly away to the Elves while the rest of us hold off the Orcs. The Director doesn't like this idea, so suddenly each of the Orcs has a bow-and-arrow and aims it at the sky. The druid, however, has a Windwall spell to protect us against arrows. The Director decides that the Orcs have a Level 15 shaman (?) who casts Dispel Magic on the Windwall. I jokingly threaten to slit my own throat rather than be taken alive by orcs. But now the Director tells the Wu Jen that he recognizes someone among the Orcs, a fellow "emissary from the Emperor" and that the Orcs actually want to help us. If the Orcs want to help us, why did they threaten us with a rain of arrows and dispel our protective magic? But okay.

How do they want to help us? They want to give us food and water (we haven't had to keep track of such things, and between hunting and Create Food and Water we would have been okay, but fine). We hurry our way through this senseless encounter and reach the forest.

My friend checks his cellphone and realizes he "needs to leave in half an hour." I can't blame him for it. The group comes to a river that has an illusion cast on it, so it's twice as wide as it looks and there are some aquatic trolls lurking in the depths. This obstacle proves mildly interesting, but with some clever spellcraft, we cross the river.

Then we encounter Ents. We ask the Ents how far away are the Elves. "About a week," we're told. The director's friend is clearly frustrated: "But that's what you said before we took the shortcut, and we took the shortcut!"

And on this high note, the session ended. Will a disparate group of characters, assembled in an unnamed place and with no known motivation to travel together, succeed in delivering an unnamed item (necessary to deter an unnamed evil) to "the Elves" after travelling for several weeks on a treadmill? Alas, we'll simply never know . . .

The best explanation I can think of for ineptitude at this level of awesomeness is a complete and total lack of preparation at every stage of directing: (1) A failure to prepare a story or (better yet!) some story options; (2) A failure to prepare some NPCs; (3) A failure to prepare some encounters; (4) A failure to prepare by understanding the basic rules of the game; (5) A failure to prepare by creating a setting. Add to this extreme railroading, no attention to detail, no ability or demonstrated interest in role-playing, running combat by whim, and you have the perfect formula for My Worst Gaming Experience Ever (as a player).