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Dragon	-	-	-	Dragon #53

 

If you’ve attended large gatherings of
D&D® game enthusiasts, you’ve very
likely met at least one handicapped or
disabled player. Have you ever wondered
how they conquered their limitations
and became “just one of the players”?

I’m one such player. Here’s what my
problems are, and how I overcame them.

I have choreo-athetoid cerebral palsy,
which sounds like the name of a creature
from the AD&D™ Monster Manual. This
means the motor control centers in my
brain don’t work properly. My body is
gripped by writhing, dancing motions
that interfere with my sense of balance,
the use of my hands, and my reflexes. I
can’t drive a car, walking is a dangerous
chore, and everyday life is a constant
battle against a balky body. But I’ve
achieved enough independence to maintain my own apartment, and I work parttime as an English composition coach at
the University of Arizona, from which I
have bachelor’s and master’s degrees in
creative writing.

I wanted to play in a D&D adventure as
soon as I heard about the game from
players in the Society For Creative
Anachronism, of which I am an active
member. It took a long time to get a toehold in a game, though, primarily because I can’t just hop in a car and drive to
someone’s home when that person says,
“We’re playing tonight, wanna come?

One of my fellow SCA members, Kurt,
rolled up my first D&D character at my
request one afternoon during a long break
between classes at the University of
Arizona. I carried the statistics card on
this character for over a year before any
opportunity arose to actually play her.

Later I learned that the university had a
Strategic Games Club which meets every Tuesday night. Although I attended
several meetings, I never felt welcome
there. Playing the D&D game turned out
to be a passing fad for this club, and I
searched again for several more months
and years without finding a group of genuinely friendly players and DMs.

At last, I met Joubert, an ex-Navy
frogman, a pre-law student, a genial man
with whom I shared a keen interest in
science fiction, fantasy literature, and
playing the D&D game. Week after week,
while we ate our lunches or waited for
classes, he regaled me with tales of his
exploits as a D&D player, past and present. I told him oneday, “If you ever set up
your own campaign, I want a spot in it!”
 

About six weeks later, Joubert announced his dungeon was ready. Not
only did he invite me, he arranged transportation to wherever his games were
held. During those early games, I developed the methods of play and ways of
bringing equipment I’ve used since.

I always tell a DM and other players my
problem, and ask for the aid of their more
nimble, willing fingers to write down the
data and monetary information, hit
points, or experience point changes on
the score sheets. I also have other players move my character’s miniature figure
as needed, and if I must convey a secret
message to the DM, I don’t try to write it
down; I go to him and whisper in his ear.

Like most other D&D players I’ve met, I
feel better tossing dice in my bare hands
—but when I do, the dice land anywhere
but on the game table, which can invalidate a roll. I have found it best to handle
one die at a time, tossed from a cup into a
deep container used to catch the die as it
falls.

Over the almost three years I have
played in Joubert’s campaign, I have accumulated a capacious canvas bag full
of D&D and AD&D books, other game
manuals, miniatures (some of these
painted for me by player-friends) in a
storage box, five different dice, a dice
cup, a dice-catching box, and the record
sheets for my characters.

After my player characters’ statistics
are finalized and recorded, I type up the
record sheets myself, photocopy them
on legal-size paper, and store them in my
canvas bag.

I have tried playing games by computer, but all the terminals I have played on
have very sensitive keys, and when I
strike them, I have no control over the
heaviness or lightness of my touch.
Hence, a computer usually beeps or
screams at me instead of showing game
data. To play successfully I must tell a
comrade at the console which keys I
wish to be punched.

Aside from playing in Joubert’s campaign “by hand,” I also play in a D&D
game by mail. For me this is ideal; every
10 days or so the DM, Clif, informs me of
what’s happening to my character in his
dungeon, and I respond what I hope is
the proper action (usually I am able to
write to him promptly). I need to roll no
dice, I have no paraphernalia to carry; it’s
just me, my typewriter, and letter paper.
The DM does all the rest!

But there is one problem, and it’s a
major one. Not everyone in the play-bymail game has my compulsion to answer
Clif as swiftly as possible, and sometimes Clif’s other duties interfere with his
promptness in sending new data. This
makes for a long, drawn-out playing time
for each adventure, and much attrition of
players who lose interest or no longer
have the time to commit.

The D&D and AD&D games are attractive to handicapped or disabled players
for the same reasons that other people
enjoy them. But to someone like me,
hampered by hands and body that refuse
to be reliable, running a fearless fighter,
a nimble thief, a graceful elf, or a powerful paladin offers the opportunity to be
resourceful and quick on one’s feet for a
while, which never happens in my alltoo-mundane real world. Free, agile, and
daring in spirit I play, but I can never
forget that when the game’s done, I face
a much greater adversary than any a DM
can dream up: my balky body.