Too late, I know...
Excuses, excuses: I ran out of time, I was too busy, my computer died... ahhh well. Here's my entry anyways, enjoy it:
If I Ran the Game
I trod, as I have trodden so often before,
Down hallway after hallway and door after door,
With a glance to my left, and a peak to my right,
I stopped at door open to a curious sight,
A man so haggard and tired by his looks,
Slaving away between towers of books,
Muttering something about CR’s and hit dice,
I wondered if he had been hit on his head, perhaps twice,
So I drew up a little closer to watch him at his chore,
When I heard a sound most surprising, a nose honking snore,
He was asleep, that’s for sure, and with no one around,
I tip-toed on in, without making a sound,
The table was old and rickety to boot,
But I leaned in even farther to peruse all this loot,
Books upon books containing page after page
The first one I saw dealt with a barbarian’s rage,
Flip, flip, and then wizards and sorcerers, too,
There was no spell too mighty, there was nothing they couldn’t do.
Then items so magical it widened my eyes,
And creatures so tiny to 49 times my size,
All this and more in these books spread about,
I could do this, I said, I could do this: no doubt,
I could run a world for brave heroes to explore,
I wouldn’t get cynical, it wouldn’t be a chore,
My players would choose the ideal party, as a starter,
Able to fight, cajole, trick, sneak or even barter,
A fighter, so noble, with feats to admire,
With dreams of taking Leadership, to acquire a squire,
His sword brandished wildly, inspiring fear,
No matter what kind of enemy was brought near,
And look here, a rogue, with skill levels untold,
Not a pick-pocketing coward, but Bluffing, witty and bold,
With only a dagger, you see, in melee or thrown,
His sneak attack skills make him a force on his own,
And a wizard, so frail it would seem at the first,
But an Intelligence score that threatens to burst,
With a robe and a staff and spellbook so blank,
In a few levels, though, he will outdamage any tank,
But once in a while, my humble players will find,
That the kindly DM is not always so kind,
It’ll happen, they’ll get beat, just to know how it feels,
And in steps the cleric with his spontaneous heals,
Someday to commune and speak with the divine,
But now only to heal, which will suit him just fine,
And with a world so sparkling, fresh, clean and new,
They’ll set out from a tavern to do what they do,
Save damsels and royalty from horrors unnamed,
And drive back hordes and armies of creatures untamed,
With charming NPC’s at their every beck and call,
And kingdoms with ivory towers, so tall,
They will grow and will prosper, become famous to masses,
Maybe even someday they will take prestige classes,
As their XP totals grow, so will their tales,
Stories to share over mutton, mead, and ales,
“Remember,” they’ll say, “of Orcus Magee?
A fine, and worthy foe at level one such was he.
An Orcus by birth,
Magee Clan by girth,
And his hit points were limited to three.
He came upon us at night,
Thinking he was oh-so-bright,
Not knowing simple moonlight,
Was enough for elven eyes to see,
Luck however, had those elven eyes lidded,
And Orcus, he tumbled, he skidded,
Into our camp we thought well-hidded,
Without awaking a flea,
Into our camp with nary a sound,
His clumsy, heavy feet sinking into the ground,
He stopped and then paused and he looked around,
And wondered with his heart full of glee,
Was Grummsch himself somewhere near,
Had his god personally lifted him here,
And with some new-found courage replaced his fear,
That was normal for the clan called Magee?
We don’t know if there was more for him to wonder,
For he was thinking outloud, was his blunder,
As he was cut into two pieces asunder,
The fighter had rolled a critical, don’t you see?”
Ahh, such stories my players will tell,
Of dragons and wishes and beholders and, well,
If I ran the game, such a game it would be,
A world of such grandeur, one would clamor to see,
To travel the length and the breadth of the realms,
Bards and their music, and warriors and their helms,
A DM for the ages, that’s what they would say,
And the players would line up for miles to play,
My haggard, sleeping friend here would be the all-knowest,
Making sure that the players roll honestly, 4d6 drop the lowest,
He would eradicate cheaters, clean up, order pizza or subs,
He would make sure that there were no character sheet flubs,
Maybe after a time, I would deem him worthy (or not)
Of taking my players on an extremely short, non-involved one-shot,
I would thank him and reward him with a nod or a wink,
And he would be excited to help me, I should think,
‘Cause if I ran the game, such a game it would be,
And with that thought in my head, the man awoke recklessly,
“I’ve got it,” he cried, “I’ve figured it out,
It’s magic items that they will have to do without,
I’ll awake them in a room, dark, damp and strange,
Maybe I’ll give the paladin mange,
Their equipment is lost, nowhere to be found,
Their encumbrance will go down about five thousand pounds,
That will teach them to ignore the story I’ve planned,
Six hours of prep work, I skimmed and I scanned,
I had interlocking story arcs that ran short and ran deep,
All tossed out the window, I thought I would weep,
But this will fix their wagon,
Not that they’ve ever bothered to have one,
They will regret ever taking this trip,
One more deviation and I think I might flip,
But, hello there, young man, who in blue blazes are you,
Did one of my players come down with the flu?
Or maybe they all did and we can’t play tonight,
I don’t think I’d mind, that would be alright,
But don’t kill the messenger, I’ve heard the saying go,
So tell me, did they send you with news I should know?”
I stood up to my full height, a solid four foot eight,
And was about to tell him my ideas for my campaign, all of it great,
Amazing him with deeds still yet undone,
Family histories that ran from great-grandfather to great-grandson,
But in a flash unexplainable, I lost all my charm,
I must have swallowed my foot, and most likely my arm,
I couldn’t find my voice, I couldn’t talk at all,
Suddenly my four foot eight seemed rather small,
He wielded so much power, this DM I had found,
My voice seemed to falter, and only let go of a tiny, tiny sound,
Something that everyone who games has certainly said,
Yet it echoed like thunder inside of my head,
My dreams of a sweeping campaign go flitting away,
As I hear my squeaky voice, timidly say,
“Ummm… Mr. DM, sir… can I play?”
