Grief, Catharsis, and Dungeons & Dragons.
By: Carl Huber
Tags: Grief, Catharsis, Dungeon Mastering, Grief And Loss, Dungeons And Dragons

Tim was a consummate nerd of the highest order. A guru of garlic. A master of motorcycles. A tippler of tequila. A connoisseur of cigars. And a darn dedicated Dungeons & Dragons dude. Tim was also violently, senselessly murdered.

We, the remaining members of Tim’s Dungeons & Dragons group, were in shock. Obviously this is nothing anyone expects. The trauma was sharp and the pain was deep. What happens now? What do we do? How do we feel, and is it appropriate to feel anything besides shocked despair and disbelief?

Our game night was put on hold for a while, of course. Real life matters must take precedence. The funeral was beautiful, a tribute to a true nerd and friend. A d20 and his character miniature rested next to his interment vessel — a cigar humidor containing his ashes. We cried and remembered. We commiserated and celebrated. We did all the wonderful important sorrowful things one is supposed to do when they lose a friend.

But what about the game? Tim was a dedicated Dungeons & Dragons lore master, rules encyclopedia, role playing savant, and all around magical guy to have at your table. His passion for creative play was unmatched. There is no replacing Tim, but how do we even move on into the future?

One of the first lessons we learned from losing our friend was that the best way to remember him in Dungeons & Dragons was to keep playing. And talking about him. Eventually we added more players to fill the table out. It was awkward at first. Playing the game we played so often with Tim, without Tim. As they say, life marches on whether you want it to or not.

We were in the middle of a campaign of the 5th Edition adventure Curse of Strahd. I, the Dungeon Master, and the other players — Matt and Mark — could not let Strahd win. We could not let the story end unfinished. So we played on. And we felt we did so with Tim’s blessing. As they say, “it’s what he would have wanted.”

In a way, in the context of the game, it felt as if it was the Vampire Lord from the campaign had taken our friend from us. Such a random act of violence was hard to attribute, hard to grok. This force of crude elemental evil had reached into our lives and taken our friend. Strahd, in the campaign, was a crude elemental evil that sometimes reared his ugly head to taunt the players with hopelessness and despair.

We felt helpless, powerless, and lost.

In the game I decided it was best if Tim’s character, Vestor the paladin of Tyr, would be “taken” by the mists; the ever present menacing evil mists of Borovia, the demiplane where the campaign takes place. Not dead, just gone. Was this the right action? I don’t know, it just felt right. We couldn’t just have him disappear, or die in game (that might have hit too close to home and felt disingenuous in a way) and there was no way anybody else was going to take up the mantle of playing his character.

Along with the disappearance of Vestor went the Sun blade, a supremely powerful artifact in the form of a sword hilt with a blade made of pure sunlight. In a very real sense, a light had been taken from us in the real world. Having him gone in game was its own form of trauma. So what do we learn from that? We learn again that remembering and celebrating his life was the best form of therapy to cope with his loss.

Matt’s character, a tiefling sorceress named Aloka, tried to find him during down time and long rests by casting the spell Misty Step and searching out the dark mists of Barovia for her friend. This was a catharsis. It echoed our own search for meaning for the senseless act that took Tim from us. The character Aloka found a shard of the paladin’s glaive, his favored polearm weapon. Another reminder. Another way to honor him in game.

What do I do in my role as Dungeon Master to help healing without simply urging players to move on? My position as the guide to the story is to fulfill character goals and arcs, provide compelling story lines, and develop a real sense of achievement despite struggle. I realized I had the opportunity to do something very special to remember our friend, to celebrate his passion for RPGs, and to bring some closure to the gaming table.

So what did I do? I brought Vestor back.

On one hand, it was a very hard decision. On the other, it was the unavoidably obvious choice to make. Vestor must return. To give a sense of completion, to round the circle of Vestor’s character arc, even without Tim. There was no way I would play him as a DMPC (Dungeon Master Player Character) — he wasn’t mine to pilot. But I could have Vestor appear in the right place and the right time and be a blessing to the party — and a blessing to the players.

Approaching the climactic final battle with the devil Strahd in game, we also progressed in life. It had been almost two years since we lost him. You may know how hard it is for adults with children to schedule regular game nights, so Curse of Strahd progressed slowly. Life on life’s terms. Joys, struggles, and the mundane all went to fill our days. But eventually we got there. Playing over Google Meet and Roll20 because of the coronavirus pandemic, I guided the players through Barovia to Castle Ravenloft, and the final encounter.

Shortly, the battle was joined. Dice rolls were fierce and roleplaying was appropriately melodramatic. But Strahd — the foreboding force of senseless evil — is a powerful foe. The battle wavered back and forth, trading blows and arrows and claw strikes and spells.

It was time.

Before Strahd took his next turn, the everpresent mists of Barovia parted. A pure white light filled the catacombs below Ravenloft, blinding Strahd who, of course, cannot stand true sunlight. The light was the Sun Blade, held aloft by the shining form of the paladin Vestor. In the wink of an eye, the Blade swished down and lopped off Strahd’s hand. It fell to the ground, smouldering. In an instant, righteous justice was turning the tables. Strahd, enraged and wounded, skittered up to the ceiling and passed through the stone to escape and lick his wounds (as vampire lords are wont to do).

“Hail friends!” Vestor calls out.

The table (virtual table) was stunned. Several seconds of silence filled the video chat. Matt and Mark were rendered utterly speechless. Finally the bard said some kind words of welcome and gratitude. I wasn’t going to keep Vestor long — it felt so awkward for me to be playing Tim’s paladin — but his mere appearance was enough. It was time for Vestor to once more leave. But not before giving the party another gift.

In his characteristic thick accent you hear his voice boom across the catacombs. “We must fight always against the darkness! Be equipped with the holy blade of sunlight, and make great use of it, my friends!” Vestor hurls the hilt of the Sun Blade to Lucien the Elf.

You see now that Vestor is wreathed in his own halo of flaming light — the brilliance of Tyr. He calls out, “I go on to fight the darkness anew! We shall meet again, heroes!” and he turns back to the dark fog swirling around him and with a hearty laugh dives into the cloud, which pulses and disappears.

I read the above passage, having written and planned it for weeks beforehand, to the assembled party. My attention was away from the video chat screen. But when I returned to see my players’ reactions, I was shook. Jaws were dropped. Real tears were flowing.

This was it. This was the catharsis. To see Vestor again, and to be reminded of the goodness in this dark demiplane. To be given a gift of power in the form not of a magical sword, but of hope. Of optimism. Of perseverence. The reassurance from someone gone from us that the light does not diminish — indeed against adversity it must grow ever brighter. The memory of friends taken from us. It was painful, like reopening a wound, but it let healing happen. This paladin’s story was cut short. But now the players know it was not the end.

We remember, and we carry those memories onward with us. Sometimes as scars of loss; sometimes as swords of light.

After we regained composure and an honorary toast was served (it turns out most everyone had some tequila available), we returned to the game. But the gifts of Vestor were not over. Lucien wielded the Sun Blade fiercely. In his first attack with it…a natural twenty. A critical hit against evil with the weapon of hope! And you may think I’m making this up but I swear it’s the truth: followed up with another attack and another natural twenty! You should have seen the cackling laughter, fists shaking in the air, and wild chair dancing. As Dungeon Master I could not have hoped or planned for it to go any more perfectly.

In short order Strahd the Terrible was defeated. Peace was restored to Barovia. The ever-present mists of doom retreated. The land was free. The people could breathe. Vestor made one final appearance, like a Force Ghost from Star Wars, thanking the other characters for setting him free from the mists.

It was Vestor who had set us free from grief.

Carl Huber is a Dungeon Master and Graphic Designer. Visit his design work at carlh.com and visit Carl on Twitter @natural20shirts