Oh God Dammit, I Made Myself In D&D Again
I do this every damn time. Whenever I’m about to start a new Dungeons & Dragons campaign, I go into it intending to create a complex new character that’s nothing like me in looks or demeanor. A character with a rich background unlike anything I’ve ever experienced that forces me to rise to the occasion and put myself in their shoes. But, as always, I fucked up and made me again.
I had this whole backstory mapped out where my giant bird person named Klekke would be a drunken former soldier turned mercenary after the campaign’s main villain murdered his family. I remember flipping through the player’s guide to fill out my character sheet. Next thing I know, the sheet is done and I’m not a tall drunken bird warrior. I’m a 5’5” human who works the counter at a potions shop (I work at a vape store) whose family is very much alive and not worth avenging if they weren’t.
All I want to do is live vicariously through my awesome characters. One time I was almost a tiefling bard who would’ve literally melted the faces off her foes with wicked guitar solos. I knew I had wound up making myself again when I decided that my character had only his own laziness to blame for never having learned how to play an instrument. Another time, I made it as far as writing the character’s race on the sheet. By the time I was done slowly and deliberately completing the “r” in “bugbear” (knowing my long history of accidentally creating myself) I pulled my pencil away to find I’d actually written “average dude.”
The upside is I feel like I’m getting a good dry run for how to react to stressful real-life situations without the real-world consequences. I might never get the chance to escape a harrowing situation as a badass 6’5” lizard assassin with a set of daggers only half as deadly as his silver tongue, but at least I’ll know what to do in the real world if danger strikes. I’ll roll a one and die.