You Never Know What the Night It May Bring

Sorcerer's Apprentice was not the only magazine to print Tunnels & Trolls mini-adventures. The June/July 1982 edition of White Dwarf (published not long before a certain book was to change editor Ian Livingstone's life quite significantly) featured The Mad Dwarf by T&T veteran author Ken St Andre. 

This was more than a year before I encountered my first gamebook, so I was completely unaware of it back then. Still, in February 2007, a search for gamebooks and the like on eBay turned up a copy of the relevant issue, so I bought it. On the same day I also acquired a complete set of Dice Man, the gamebook/comic hybrid spun off from 2000 AD, which rather monopolised my attention when my purchases arrived, so beyond establishing that The Mad Dwarf appears to be the name of a tavern (which has some precedent in T&T) I never found out anything about what the adventure involves. It's about time I had a proper go at it.

The brief introductory section indicates that I'd be best off bringing a warrior into this adventure. While I do have a couple of warriors who survived earlier adventures, they're both a little short of cash, and a tavern-based adventure is liable to involve some expenditure, so I'll generate a new one and try to budget carefully when equipping him.

As rolled, my new character is on the low side of average - almost all 9s and 10s. If I make him a dwarf, he becomes somebody who might even survive an encounter or two, with:
Strength 20
Intelligence 10
Luck 9
Constitution 18
Dexterity 10
Charisma 8
Speed 7
Plus enough cash to equip him with clothes, boots, a backpack, some armour and a sabre (decent axes are expensive), and still leave a bit of money for drinks, fruit machines and the like.

The adventure starts with me being pursued through a snowstorm by a pack of dire wolves, weighed down by the 'treasure' in my backpack. (Eh? I've saved some money, but not that much.) I'm going numb from the cold, and the wolves are gaining on me, so it comes as something of a relief when I catch sight of a 'strangely built' building up ahead, with sooty smoke belching from the chimney.

I have the option of ignoring it, but I'm not massively keen to discover whether the wolves can kill me before hypothermia sets in, so I head for the door. As I draw closer, I see indications that the building is an inn, with just about enough paint left on the sign for me to be able to make out that it depicts an axe-toting dwarf sticking his tongue out. Lacking any ability to detect magic, I must either knock on the door or face the wolves. The fact that I was even asked about my sensitivity to magic raises some rather ominous questions, but I still don't fancy my chances against the pack, so I hammer on the door.

The door is about five feet high, which would be uncomfortably low if I'd generated a human or an elf, but the height modifier for dwarves puts the lintel around a foot above my head. In response to my knocking, another dwarf opens the door. This one wears a jewel-encrusted patch over one eye, and has a hunched back. He yells at me to either come in or go away, as it's cold outside and he thinks he can hear wolves. Suppressing the urge to respond with sarcasm, I step indoors.

The inn is spacious, but with what taller species would consider a low ceiling. The bar is stocked with a wide range of containers holding liquids, and on the wall above it is a pornographic painting of female elves, with several darts sticking out of it. I'd have to turn straight to another section if my character were an elf, perhaps to see whether or not this insult to my kindred provokes me to homicidal rage, but since I'm not an elf, I get to turn my attention to the fireplace. Hanging above the flames is a large iron kettle, giving off a smell that my character finds pleasant, though it would turn the stomachs of most non-dwarves. In the middle of the room are a crude table and benches, their height appropriate for the proprietor and me. No sign of any other patrons, perhaps because of the weather, or maybe for some more sinister reason.

Mine host informs me that a room for the night costs 10 gold pieces, food and drink not included. I can afford it, but in view of the lack of other customers, I'll risk trying to haggle. That requires me to make a Saving Roll on Charisma, and the odds are not in my favour. I do fail the roll, but that doesn't result in my being thrown out - just a hefty bill. I still have enough on me, which is a good thing, as the adventure doesn't seem to allow for the possibility of having insufficient funds. Quick check - no I did not miss any mention of needing at least X amount of gold to play.

After taking my money, the dwarf gets very chatty, and his questions about the contents of my backpack and the sort of adventuring I've been up to of late make me suspicious. I decide against having anything to eat or drink and, a little concerned about what may await me in my room, opt to continue warming myself by the fire. I'd like to remain on the alert for any suspicious moves, but that is in the author's hands.

The warmth of the fire induces a comfortable drowsiness. The proprietor of the inn drinks a lot, and becomes tipsy. He invites me to have a drink with him. This could be a trap, but refusing might provoke him to violence, so I'll accept and hope that my Constitution is high enough to protect me from any harmful additives there might be in the booze.

The drink costs my remaining money, and is the sort that initially tastes pretty bad, but seems to get better the more of it I consume. Matching me drink for drink, the dwarf then looks me in the eye (though if I'd been a human or an elf, he'd be focused on my navel) and asks if I want to play darts, see the dancing girls, or go to bed. The subjects of the lewd painting on the wall are dancing, which makes me wonder if showing an interest in the girls might lead to my becoming sorcerously imprisoned in the picture. I'm still a bit wary about the bedroom, so I'll risk darts - if nothing else, the game will at least provide a pretext for having something weapon-like to hand.

That turns out not to be such a good idea, as the painting is also the dartboard, scores varying according to which parts of the elves' anatomy are hit. Also, the game involves a stake of 100 gold pieces, which is a hundred more than I can afford. I back out, and resign myself to finding out what Procrustean peril may await me in my room.

The room is small, dominated by a bed which is simultaneously massive and just four feet long. The floor is covered with a bearskin, and there's just room for a small bedside table with a basin and a pitcher of water on it. It is at this point that my height becomes a plot point, and I'm two thirds of an inch too tall to be spared the Saving Roll on Intelligence that could determine my fate. Oh, and this is one of those annoying instances where the text gives options for 'higher than' and 'lower than', but not 'equal to'. The height generation algorithm ensures that I must fall into one of those categories, but a human character would have a slim chance of being exactly the height being asked about, so that's a bit careless.

The odds of my succeeding at this roll are not favourable, and what I get would have been a failure no matter how high my Intelligence. I remove my armour and lie down, and Mr. St. Andre really hasn't thought this height business through. A guillotine blade pops out of the footboard - which would take the soles off my feet, what with that slight overhang, but the text has it going through my legs and inflicting more than enough damage to kill me.

I was never going to be happy with an outcome like that, but the fact that (somewhat ironically) it's an awkward fit for my character makes it that bit more frustrating. If the owner of this place intended to rob me, he's going to be rather disappointed, as he already had all my money, but whatever annoyance my lack of funds may cause him, it's scant consolation for me.