Chapter 19 #2
No.
No, no, no.
I’ve created a monster.
“You can be a fighter,” I tell him. “Simple, strong, good with a sword.”
“Does he manage supplies?”
“He can if that brings you joy.”
“What’s his background?”
He thinks. Really thinks, looking over the options. “Guild artisan.”
“What kind of guild?”
“Bakers.”
Marley looks like she’s about to burst into flames.
“Fine,” I say. “A fighter from a baker’s guild. Name?”
He pauses. “Warr—”
“No.”
“Bram.”
“Bram what?”
“Bram Ash.”
That’s annoyingly good.
I’m the Dungeon Master, which means I’m in charge of everyone’s joy and suffering. It’s just a normal amount of pressure.
The campaign opens in the coastal market town of Marrowwick, where the party has gathered during the Feast of Lantern Bread, a yearly festival celebrating the end of winter and the first safe trade crossing through Widow’s Teeth.
Warren immediately asks how many trade wagons come through the pass per season.
I stare at him. “Many.”
“How many is many?”
“Enough.”
He winces. “That’s not a number.”
“Bram, this is fantasy.”
He looks confused. “Isn’t that still important?”
Oliver lifts his glass. His ankle is crossed over his thigh, and his other arm is draped over the back of the chair. “I hate to say he’s right, but he is.”
“Tavern keepers need to stay silent,” I tell him.
He mutters something about labor violations.
I flip through my notes, which are, to no one’s surprise, mostly based on vibes. “Fine. About two hundred wagons per season. More after the pass clears. Fewer if there are raids.”
Warren nods. “That supports a town of this size only if they also fish.”
“They do fish.”
“Where is the harbor?”
I tap the map.
“This inlet is too shallow for large ships,” he says.
“That’s not for larger ships. It’s for fishing boats. Bigger ships dock at Thornbreak down the coast, then cargo comes up on smaller vessels.”
He nods and sits back.
I continue narrating before I do something embarrassing.
“The party gathers at the Gilded Stag Tavern—”
Oliver groans.
“—where the tavern keeper, a deeply unpleasant man named Olin, refuses to admit he cares about the town.”
Marley cackles.
Oliver glares. “I see what you’re doing.”
“Olin,” I continue, “has information about a missing caravan and a mysterious flour shortage.”
Warren’s head lifts.
I bite my lip.
I added a flour shortage just for him.
Dev raises his hand. “I would like to seduce the tavern keeper for information.”
“Absolutely not.” Oliver shakes his head.
“I’d like to intimidate the tavern keeper instead,” Lisa says.
Oliver gestures to her. “Accepted.”
Lisa rolls a die.
A natural twenty.
The table erupts.
I narrate with great joy. “Sister Mara leans across the bar, places one gauntleted hand on the counter, and says—”
Lisa lowers her voice. “Tell us what happened to the flour, or I won’t ask twice.”
Marley gasps. “That’s terrifying.”
Oliver rolls his eyes. “Fine. Olin tells you the flour shipment never arrived from the northern mill.”
Warren frowns. “Why would flour come from the north?”
Everyone turns to him.
He points to the map. “The northern terrain is mountainous. The farmland is here.” He taps the central valley.
“Unless the mill is north because the river powers it, but then grain would still need to be transported north before milling, then back south to market. Inefficient unless the river current supports transport both ways or the mill has political significance.”
Silence.
But I smile.
He’s paying attention.
He’s not criticizing me or making fun of me like I thought he would.
He isn’t paying attention to humor me or tolerate me. Not to smile and say, “That’s cute, babe.”
He’s looking at the logic of the world I created and trying to understand it.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. Thinking on my feet, I add, “The mill is north because it belongs to the old monastery. They control river rights. It’s inefficient on purpose so the royal charter can use the bottleneck to influence bread prices.”
He stares at me before nodding, a smile forming on his lips.
It’s one thing for Warren to praise my talent as a baker. It’s entirely another for him to look at something I like doing, something I built, and see that it’s something worth respecting.
My eyes burn.
Absolutely not. I will not cry over fantasy grain logistics.
Oliver, because he’s occasionally useful despite his best efforts, says, “Congratulations, everyone. We’ve found the least sexy way to discuss bread!”
“Speak for yourself,” Dev mutters, his feelings still a little hurt.
Marley is staring at me, her face soft in a way I know is no good.
The game continues.
It becomes less of a game and more of a guided tour. Marley tries to pickpocket a monk and accidentally steals a sacred spoon. Dev writes a ballad called The Yeast of Betrayal. Lisa adopts a stray mule named Moral Support. Olin refuses to join the party but provides road rations.
Warren’s character immediately inventories the rations and points out that Dev’s bard has packed three scarves and no bread rolls.
“Lorian sleeps under the stars,” Dev says at one point.
“He’ll get hypothermia,” Oliver muses.
“Not if he’s beautiful.”
We all stare at him.
“He’ll die beautiful,” Marley mutters.
The whole night goes just like that. Warm and ridiculous and full of something I can’t quite describe. Every time I reveal another piece of the map, Warren wants to know the lore.
He asks questions, and sometimes it feels like we’re the only two here.
A thought lands in my head with a click.
I’m not random. I’m not just bright colors and too many feelings and latte names that send Oliver into a coma. There are reasons for what I do. Systems I’ve built because no one handed me any. Worlds I drew because real ones kept making me feel too large for the room.
And I think sometimes imagination is structure.
“Halston,” Marley says.
I look up.
She points to the dice. “Are the monks attacking us or are you having a personal revelation?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
I clear my throat and return to the campaign with as much dignity as a woman can have. “The monks attack,” I announce.
Dev gasps. “With what?”
I smile slowly. “Rolling pins.”
Warren smiles. It’s huge, bright, and lights up the room.
Dev clutches his chest. “He smiles for bakery violence!”
Marley narrows her eyes. “I knew you were sick.”
Oliver narrows his eyes at me. “You caused this. Take responsibility.”
I can’t stop staring at how beautiful he really is.
Warren’s smile fades, but not in the bad way. It merely softens. Quiets.
My heart trips over itself.
I drop my gaze. “Roll initiative.”
The battle is chaos. Wonderful, beautiful chaos.
Marley attempts to steal the sacred spoon back from the monk who stole it from her after she stole it first. Lisa’s paladin refuses to kill anyone in a religious kitchen, so she starts using nonlethal smites and moral disappointment instead.
Dev casts a charm spell and accidentally makes one monk fall in love with Oliver’s tavern keeper, who isn’t even present in the scene.
Warren’s fighter doesn’t attack first. Instead, he protects the flour stores.
By the end of the night, the party has saved the flour stores, uncovered a monastery plot, accidentally started a rumor that Olin is romantically involved with a monk, and adopted a mule.
Oliver insists that he’s never going to host again, while Marley is already online ordering her own dice.
Lisa collects character sheets carefully and places them in my binder.
I fold the map slowly as Warren comes to stand next to me.
“May I?” he asks.
I look at him as he gestures to the map.
“Yeah,” I reply as my heart flutters.
He takes one side and helps me fold along the creases.
“You liked it?” I ask.
His blue eyes meet mine. “Yeah, I did.”
“It’s silly.” I smile shyly.
“No, it’s not.”
“Warren, you don’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
“It’s just a game.”
“It’s not just a game to you.”
Around us, Marley and Dev are arguing about their characters while Oliver stacks glasses at the bar. Lisa is gathering her things to get home.
Warren lowers his voice. “You built a world and considered every possible thing.”
I blink.
“That’s not silly,” he continues.
“The river is shaped like a spoon,” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
“The lake is cursed.”
“Naturally.”
“And there are seven rival baker guilds.”
He considers this. “That is a bit excessive.”
I laugh softly.
“But not silly,” he says again.
His words undo something old. Something I didn’t even know I had held so tightly.
I think of every time I almost showed someone the maps and then didn’t. Every time I hid the binder from friends. Every time I told myself it didn’t matter because it was just a little silly hobby. Just a game, just me being too much about something else.
Warren touches the edge of the map. “I like how your mind works,” he says.
I can’t breathe.
The compliment strikes me in the heart.
I press one hand over the folded map, and for a second, neither of us speaks.
Oliver clears his throat loudly from behind the bar. “Private event is over before anyone starts mating over cartography.”
“Oliver!” Marley yelps.
Oliver hands everyone a bag of fries from the back as they leave. “For your nerd aftercare.” Lisa squeezes my shoulder and tells me my world was beautiful and she’d love to play again.
I watch them leave one by one, and my heart has never been so full.