I write this in support of my dear freind Bob Greenberger and his 19 year old boy Robbie. Twenty-five weeks ago, Robbie began his battle with Acute Myelogenous Leukemia...

a severe but very curable form of the dread disease. Robbie had two very impotant things which will eventually help him beat this thing. First, he is young and strong and totally convinced he is going to make it. Second, he has a great pair of parents to back him up. And up to about a month ago, they had won...Remission. However the thing is stubborn, and Robbie is back in the hospital. This time , he may have to endure bone marrow replacement. Everyone in charge of his care is still very convinced this brave young man will triumph, but it is a long hard road.

If you are interested in helping on a personal level, you can try the following link:

National Marrow Donor Program

Even if you live far away & you can't help Robbie, help someone !

Greythorne--- Part V

Not so many years before, there was a sixth player. A decidedly intense player. Glenn Lasseter had once been a welcome member of the gaming crew, though at times a bit over-zealous. Throughout his gaming, he alone felt as if he understood the game’s “hidden meaning” more than any of the others. He felt its power better than anyone else, and only he understood its very soul. This sense of superiority grew until it became an obsession. No one played the game to his standards; no character was as good as his, no magic as powerful. He believed his “insights” to the game would make him powerful, therefore, unbeatable. Of course, he was bound to fail sooner or later, as so many of the overconfident do. So, though he was still allowed to play, (as it was never their policy to prohibit anyone from playing), more and more of the group shied away from any game in which Glenn participated. Soon, the group was reduced to only Dave, Bob and Glenn that night, while John played host to what would be known as ... his final game.

The game began like any other on that very stormy night. Most everyone else had begged off, citing the weather, not the participants, as the reason to stay home. But for the “core” group, it was a perfect backdrop for the festivities to come. As usual, John was elected Game Master, and as usual, Glenn decided his character was to lead the group. Their quest; delve deep into the dragon’s cave and retrieve the King’s daughter, who was to be sacrificed to the beast in exchange for the wyrm’s continued indifference toward the village. Though Dave and Bob had protested, Glenn petitioned that since his was a superior suit of armor, and he possessed a greater strength than the others, he could endure more battle and protect them all. Secretly, he reasoned it had cost quite a lot to gain +10 plate mail, and he sought to recoup that expense.

In the end, John had relented. “Very well, I’ll allow it,” he said, shaking his head, then chided, “but armor isn’t everything.” Feigning study of the game materials, John almost smiled.

Glenn soon found out what John meant by that comment, as later in the evening, the group stumbled upon the great beast at last! His ego drove him on as he exclaimed “Stand Back, all. I’ll handle this! He then draws his sword and charges in!”

Actually, the luck of the dice was with him for quite a few rounds, because the dragon couldn’t seem to tag him with his breath weapon, and Glenn made every dex roll to dodge out of the way of the worm’s claws. Meanwhile, Glenn had constantly rolled well, scoring repeatedly with his magically sharpened long sword, yet made no wound of consequence and each blow was merely an annoyance to the beast. The storm outside whipped into a frenzy while the battle inside likewise reached its inevitable climax.

Anxious to move the game along, John finally concluded that the dragon would now be too angry to use the breath weapon, and decide to chomp the little man. With a final throw, John looked out over the table , making no effort to hide his smile now. “An eighteen! A mortal wound! No matter the defense, the dragon had scored with the bite. I finally hit you, so...” he tried to continue.

“No way!” shouted Glenn caught up in the moment. He shook his fist full of dice and cast them to the table as he spoke. “My armor cannot be penetrated by normal means! And although he has magic ability, his teeth are just teeth! My character drives his sword through the beast’s eye! There... forty-two points damage!” He sat back, pleased with himself, certain he had both slain the beast and saved his character’s life.

“Just a moment,” John countered, rubbing his hands together gleefully, dice between them. A few anxious seconds ticked by. Remembering a fantasy novel he had read that covered just this kind of melee, he slowly replied, “Yes, your right, the teeth do not penetrate. But I think you have to agree that mail is not a solid piece, but is composed of many interlocking pieces, yes?” Glenn nodded slowly, not knowing where the D.M. was going with this.

“And, of course, the dragon can bite with a tremendous amount of force, am I right?” Glenn fought for control as the light began to dawn. His anger soon grew into fury. “So, although your plate protects you from the teeth, the force of the jaws has crushed you in your very own armor, just like a grape. A simple puncture wound from one of his teeth, you might have survived, but because of all that ‘protection’ you are wearing…”As he let his voice trail away, John tossed the damage dice, a mere formality, he knew. A cold stare was all Glenn could manage.

“You’re dead, Glenn. I’m sorry...”

“SORRY!?” Glenn boomed accusingly, “That had nothing to do with being “sorry”. You killed him! On purpose!” Something had taken hold of him, as if it was no longer his life to control. In a fit of fury, he grabbed the lip of the flimsy card table and hurled it upside down, scattering dice and paper alike across the floor. Dave and Bob were awe-struck. They’d never seen anyone lose it over a game before...

Glenn stood on the ruins of the game, pointing an accusing finger towards the game Master. “Do you know how long I’ve had this character? How hard I’ve worked to get this high in level...? Of course not, you’re John bloody STEVENS!” He shoved aside the booktable before John could scrabble away, and grabbed him up by his shirtfront. The window to the basement slammed down, hurled open by the wind, adding the storms’ chaos to mix. Game materials swirled around him as lightning forked outside, giving him a sinister profile. Glenn was always a half head taller than John, but now in his rage he seemed even more menacing in stature. Dave tried to intervene, attempting to insinuate himself between the two. “Hey, Glenn, what are you doing? It’s just a character. Take it easy...!”

“Yeah, we’ve all lost characters,” Bob chimed in, hoping to calm him down. Glenn would have none of it. All his attention centered on John.

“You still don’t understand, do you? You think this is just a game? I grasp far more than you can possibly hope for, and you treat this as just a game!?” Glenn’s eyes blazed with an unearthly fury. ‘Greatest D.M. Ever’, eh?, ‘D.M.’ is gonna stand for DEAD MEAT!!!” He lifted John from the floor so that he was nose-to-nose with his new enemy. “I won’t let you get away with this,” Glenn sneered hoarsely, spittle dripping from his chin, “I will have my revenge, sir,” he whispered in mock respect, then shoved John backwards over the back of his chair. Dave had a hand on his shoulder and spun him around. ”That’s enough, Glenn...” He faltered as he met with a demonic gaze in the face of the man he once thought he knew. He couldn’t tell if it was the storm or if some fire had taken Glenn over. Somehow, Glenn had managed to snatch up the fireplace iron from the hearth, and now raised it high over his head. Instinctively, he stepped back in shock of his friend’s anger, and as Glenn sought to bring it down on Dave’s head, a great flash flooded everything as lightning arced into the room and found the iron. A great shower of sparks exploded and flew in all directions, while a blue haze formed about Glenn, just before he was flung to the hearth, unmoving. All the lights in the room sputtered and died.

The three remaining gamers stood there trembling in the darkness, too numbed by recent events to speak. To Bob, it seemed like a nightmare, and as he relived the incident in his mind, it played back in slow motion like a bad horror movie. Only the occasional lightning of the dying storm, which would illuminate the ruins of their game, reminded him this was all too real. A bright flash came just as Bob looked down where Glenn lay. He sank down to his chair softly muttering “ohmygod” over and over again.

Dave, always the cool pragmatist, stepped forward and knelt by the motionless form, seeking to find a pulse. Suddenly, as the lights returned, Glenn’s eyes snapped open, glaring into Dave’s, locked on with an incredible, almost supernatural glow. Glenn’s arms came up quickly and grabbed Dave, one hand by the belt, while the other closed about his throat, and as the smaller man lifted him clear of the floor, Dave couldn’t tear himself away from the gaze long enough to realize what had happened. Only the gasp from John as he was hurled across the room woke him from that reverie. Bob simply stared dumfounded as Glenn stood panting by the fireplace.

“You’ll all pay for this, I promise you!” And with that, he bolted for the door. There was a noise like a thunderclap as he tore the door back, cracking the solid wood down its center and nearly ripping it from its hinges. Then, like the dying storm, in a final lightning flash, he was gone.

They began to clean up the mess in silence... continuing any semblance of a game now was too much for any of the remaining gamers. They all thought that was the last they would see of him...