Albiorix began to carefully unpack his gaming supplies: an intricately detailed map of J. A. Dewar Middle School, dozens of miniatures lovingly painted to look like students and teachers, a Hall Master’s screen that blocked his secret notes from the prying eyes of players, and of course a multicolored mountain of dice.
Though none knew who had created it, Homerooms & Hall Passes was an enormously popular game in the Realm of Bríandalör. Some played the game to win (though that wasn’t really the point). Others saw it as a chance to socialize with friends while eating piles of unhealthy snacks. Many enjoyed playing an H&H character who was vastly different from themselves, while just as many opted to play ones who represented themselves exactly. The basic appeal of the game was that it allowed the players to inhabit—if only in their collective imagination—a strange fantasy world that bore only a passing resemblance to reality. Though personally, Albiorix played it to relax.
Quests were great, really they were. And perhaps tomorrow, he and the party would take that one-eyed man up on his map. Or maybe they’d help the dwarven princess? The pig exsanguinations seemed a little beneath them, but they could probably knock that one out in an afternoon, so why not? Thwarting evil. Righting wrongs. Closing infernal gates opened by demented cultists. It was very important work. But it was stressful.
Albiorix sometimes woke up in a cold sweat, thinking he’d been smashed to goo by a hill giant, incinerated by a dragon, or even taken deathly ill from a run-of-the-mill giant rat bite. Despite the fact that he was training to become a wizard, he secretly wondered if he was really cut out for the hero’s life. His friends all seemed to thrive on nearly being killed on a daily basis. If Albiorix was being honest, deep down, he craved order, predictability, and safety. That might make him a mediocre adventurer, but it made him a perfect Hall Master.
In Homerooms & Hall Passes, the players embodied “middle-school students,” but the Hall Master was in charge of basically everything else. It was Albiorix’s job to plan ahead, set the scene, arbitrate the rules, and most important, make sure everyone was having fun. He’d spend hours every week drawing up maps, planning out challenges, and poring over the countless H&H sourcebooks that filled his satchel.
The module he was currently running was called The Semester of Stultification. In tonight’s game, the players would face a daunting series of challenges: a grueling five-paragraph essay dumped on their characters right at the beginning of JADMS Spirit Week. Not to mention an upcoming earth sciences quiz, a concert band recital, a class election, and a big algebra test. To rise to these challenges would take skill, cunning, impeccable time management, and of course a few lucky rolls of the dice. Albiorix chuckled maniacally to himself.
Just then Vela, Thromdurr, Sorrowshade, and Devis burst through the door, talking loudly among themselves.
“. . . and that’s why I’ll never wear a baldric again,” said Devis.
“Makes sense,” said Vela.
“Hail, sorcerous friend Albiorix!” said Thromdurr, giving Albiorix a warm and painful hug. “I cannot wait for our game to begin!”
“Glad you’re excited,” said Albiorix. “How was the dungeon?”
“Ugh. Don’t even ask,” said Sorrowshade, shaking her head.
“We defeated the evil warlock Zazirak!” said Vela.
“Nice,” said Albiorix.
“But the treasure was cursed,” said Thromdurr.
“No, it wasn’t,” said Devis. “How was your day, Magic Man?”
“Oh, you know,” said Albiorix. “Just spent it trapped in a floating tower getting yelled at by a seven-hundred-year-old woman for not being able to bless grain fast enough.”
“Take heart, Albiorix,” said Vela. “I thought I would be a squire forever, but then, at the age of twelve, I was chosen by the Knights of the Golden Sun to become the youngest paladin in history. And it was all thanks to my extraordinary talent and dedication!”
“Uh-huh,” said Albiorix.
“My point is, your apprenticeship will be over before you know it,” said Vela.
“Sure. It ends when I’m eighteen. Only five more years,” said Albiorix, putting his forehead gently into his palms. “I bet the time will just fly by.”
“Wow. The Archmage Velaxis is seven hundred?” said Sorrowshade, grabbing a handful of mallorn nuts. “I can’t imagine being that old. If I ever make it to five hundred, somebody shoot me with a crossbow.”
“We will all be long dead by then, elf,” said Thromdurr, dipping a lembas wafer in cheese.
“Oh, right. Humans,” said Sorrowshade. “Sorry.”
“So, are you guys ready to begin?” said Albiorix as he passed out the character sheets.
“Douglas, the 8th level Nerd, is ready,” said Thromdurr, pounding the table. “Eager to use his superior intellect to crush the subject of earth sciences!”
“Glad to hear it,” said Albiorix with a grin.
“Since Valerie is an 8th level Overachiever now, does that mean her intelligence attribute rating goes up?” asked Vela.
“Yeah, it should increase by one,” said Albiorix, who didn’t even have to consult The Hall Master’s Guide. “Plus you gain the skill Standardized Testing.”
“Excellent,” said Vela, making a note on her character sheet.
“I notice you still haven’t picked a real name for your character yet, Devis,” said Albiorix.
“What? Stinky is a fantastic name,” said Devis, who was making a little tower out of dice.
“Look, I know it’s just a silly game, but I wish you’d take it a little more seriously,” said Albiorix. “And could you at least fill in something for the background info section?”
“Fine, both of Stinky’s parents are also called Stinky, and they’re, uh, professional soup tasters,” said Devis, scribbling it down. “Happy now?”
“Not really,” said Albiorix. “And last but not least, we have Melissa the Loner.” He handed Sorrowshade her character sheet.
“Uh, thanks,” said Sorrowshade quietly. Normally Sorrowshade was always ready with a sarcastic retort, but she was almost shy when playing Homerooms & Hall Passes. Albiorix often wondered if she was having fun at all. But still, she showed up every week, so she must be getting something out of the game.
Albiorix cleared his throat. His companions fell silent. Showtime.
“When last we left off,” said Albiorix, projecting his voice, “the students of J. A. Dewar Middle School were preparing for Spirit Week, a traditional festival when the children of Suburbia honor their schools with strange costumes and ritualistic displays of pride. It is a sunny October morning. You’re all sitting in first-period English class, taught by Ms. Chapman, who is also your homeroom teacher. She begins to expound upon the subject of persuasive writing.”
“Douglas the Nerd pays very close attention to the lesson,” said Thromdurr. “He is very eager to master the subject of English and to use this knowledge to conquer his academic rivals!”
Albiorix checked his notes. “Well, Douglas is currently averaging an A-plus in English. The best in the class.”
“None can defeat Douglas!” said Thromdurr, pounding the table and knocking over a couple of miniatures.
“Can I ask . . . what is Ms. Chapman wearing?” said Vela.
Albiorix rolled a handful of dice, noted the results, and consulted The Hall Master’s Guide “Table 44f: Teacher’s Apparel. “Today Ms. Chapman is wearing a . . . tweed blazer and a seasonal turtleneck.”
“Valerie would like to wait for an appropriate break in the lesson and compliment Ms. Chapman on her blazer,” said Vela.
“Give me an Apple Polishing skill check,” said Albiorix.
Vela rolled her dice and consulted her character sheet. “I got a 22!” she said. “Success!”
“Ms. Chapman beams. ‘Why, thank you for noticing, Valerie. I bought it at Coat Ranch on Bowman Avenue. They were having a Columbus Day sale,’” said Albiorix, doing his trademark Ms. Chapman voice. “That suc
cessful faculty compliment will earn Valerie a +3 bonus on the next English assignment.”
“Huzzah!” said Vela.
“Sorrowshade, is there anything you would like Melissa to do?” said Albiorix.
“I dunno,” said Sorrowshade. “Just, uh, sit there quietly, I guess.”
“Okay,” said Albiorix. “Sounds good. No roll needed for that.”
“While all this flattery is going on, Stinky is going to pass a note to one of the other kids,” said Devis.
“Which one?” said Albiorix, indicating several miniatures placed on the map. “You can easily reach the four adjacent desks: Lucy Bennett, Dave Pittman, Deanna Fernandez, and Sharad Marwah.”
“Uh, how about Dave Pittman?” said Devis.
“Sure,” said Albiorix. “What does the note say?”
“Hmm. Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” said Devis. “The note says, uh, ‘I think Deanna likes you.’”
“But this is not true!” said Thromdurr. “It is known throughout all of J. A. Dewar Middle School that Deanna Fernandez has a crush on Brent Sydlowski!”
“Yeah, I know that,” said Devis.
“Highly dishonorable, Stinky,” said Vela, shaking her head.
“Stinky does what Stinky wants,” said Devis.
“Roll a Note Passing skill check,” said Albiorix.
Devis did. “Oof,” he said. “I got a 1.”
“The note slips from your fingers and catches Ms. Chapman’s eagle eye,” said Albiorix. “‘Stinky!’ she yells. ‘You bring that note up to the front of the class right now!’”
And so an amiable game of Homerooms & Hall Passes passed in this way as the brave heroes pretended to be “middle schoolers,” and laughed, and ate snacks, and occasionally argued over the rules for longer than was necessary, until a bathroom break was called.
“Whew! That was a great relief!” said Thromdurr as he returned to the table.
“Okay, where were we?” said Albiorix, consulting his notes. “Ah, Douglas, Valerie, Stinky, and Melissa were waiting in the cafeteria line, attempting to decide between tacos and pizza.”
“Wait, wait, before we start playing again,” said Vela. “Albiorix, can you read Old Dragonian?”
“A little, sure,” said Albiorix. “Why?”
“There was a horrid curse inscribed in the hidden treasure vault inside the Temple of Azathor,” said Vela, “and I’d like to know what it was.”
“Yeah, I’m morbidly curious too,” said Sorrowshade.
“You’re morbidly everything,” said Devis. “I’m telling you: that treasure wasn’t cursed.”
Vela gently set aside Albiorix’s miniatures and spread the rubbing she’d made of the runes over the big map of J. A. Dewar Middle School. Albiorix studied it.
“If I’m not mistaken,” said Albiorix, “the inscription says something like . . . ‘Woe to thee who loots this room. . . . Let thy respite be thy doom.’”
Vela whistled. Sorrowshade shook her head. Devis looked baffled.
“Ha! I was sorely tempted to take that battle axe,” said Thromdurr. “Thank you for your caution, Vela. Verily it seems we dodged an arrow.”
“Guys, that’s not right,” said Devis. “Not at all.”
“How can you be so sure?” said Vela, squinting at the thief.
“Because!” said Devis. “I stole this!”
He plunked a doorknob-sized ruby onto the table. There was a moment of stunned silence as his companions stared at the jewel in horror.
“If that treasure horde was really cursed,” said Devis, “then explain to me why nothing has—”
And in a puff of impressively colored magical smoke, the five young adventurers were gone.
Unlike some other games you may have played—such as Gryphon Chess or Duck the Broadsword—Homerooms & Hall Passes isn’t really about winning or losing. It’s about confronting the daily challenges of middle school, exploring the delightfully banal Realm of Suburbia, and, of course, telling great stories with your friends! There are, however, numerous ways to utterly fail and be permanently eliminated from play. In game terms, this is called “Blowing It.”
—Excerpt from The Hall Master’s Guide
“. . . HAPPENED?” SAID DEVIS.
The adventurers blinked. They were no longer in the back room of the Wyvern’s Wrist tavern in the hamlet of Pighaven. Instead they were somewhere . . . else.
“The question,” said a woman in a hairnet standing behind a glass sneeze guard, “was ‘Pizza or tacos?’”
“Uhhhhhhh?” said Devis.
“Come on,” said a kid behind them. “You’re holding up the line.”
“WHAT FOUL SORCERY IS THIS?” cried Thromdurr, leaping atop a rolling silverware cart.
“Dude, don’t put your feet in the forks,” said someone else.
“What’s wrong with Schiller?” said another.
“That’s Doug the Dork for you,” said a third with a snicker.
“Uhhhhhhh,” continued Devis.
“Where are we?” asked Vela, spinning around.
The party was surrounded, standing in a long line of strangers roughly their own age. These people didn’t look hostile, exactly. And they certainly didn’t look Bríandalörian. They wore strange, brightly colored clothing. None were armed, and there was nary an elf or dwarf among them. They laughed and chatted among themselves, or stared, quietly transfixed, at glowing handheld rectangles. A few wore bandannas and eye patches that might possibly mark them as pirates.
“Oh, no,” said Albiorix. “Oh, no no no no no.”
“We’re dead and this is one of the Thirteen Hells,” hissed Sorrowshade, nocking an arrow. “Just look at the food!”
“Excuse me?” said the woman in the hairnet, crossing her arms.
“Uhhhhhhh,” said Devis.
“I AM VERY CONFUSED AND THEREFORE ANGRY!” bellowed Thromdurr.
“Keep your calm, Thromdurr,” said Vela. “Our only hope is to—”
“RAAAAAAAAGH!” cried Thromdurr, and he sprang off the cart and charged past the trays of congealing food, nearly knocking over a girl at the salad bar on his way out the door.
“We have to stop him!” said Albiorix.
Vela, Albiorix, and Sorrowshade dashed after the rogue barbarian.
“Uhhhhhhh, how about pizza?” said Devis.
“Pizza,” said the woman in the hairnet, and she plunked a slice down on his tray.
Beyond the door there was a cavernous chamber filled with large tables, at which sat hundreds of children, all eating food off trays or out of brown bags. The ambient noise level made it almost too loud to think.
“We can’t let Thromdurr hit anyone!” said Albiorix.
“That’s the main thing he does,” said Sorrowshade.
“BRAAAGHRAAAGH!” roared Thromdurr as he barreled through the room. “GRRRRAAAAAGH!”
People were starting to stare. A severe-looking bald man stepped into Thromdurr’s path, stopping the barbarian in his tracks. “Douglas Schiller,” said the man, “knock it off. NOW!”
“STAND ASIDE, HAIRLESS ONE,” said Thromdurr, “OR FACE MY WRATH!”
“Wrath? Hairless one?” said the bald man. “What on earth has gotten into you, son?”
“THE BATTLE RAGE OF THE GREAT SKY BEAR!” said Thromdurr.
“Uh, what do we do?” said Sorrowshade.
“No idea,” said Albiorix.
“Apologies for my companion,” said Vela, stepping between Thromdurr and the man. “He means you no harm. His senses are merely . . . overwhelmed by the strange sights and sounds of this realm.”
“The cafeteria?” said the bald man. “Look, Douglas, I expect this sort of shenanigans from some of these other knuckleheads.” He waved dismissively to the other kids around the room. “A kid like Garrett Palmer is probably going to end up in federal prison. But a straight-A student like you doesn’t need to be acting out for attention—running around, screaming about flying bears to get a laugh. That’s a road
you don’t want to start down, son. So consider this a warning.”
“From now on, we shall keep the peace,” said Vela. “Thank you for your clemency, wise one.”
Thromdurr looked at Vela, then at the bald man. The barbarian gave a grunt and a nod. Vela bowed.
“Get up, Valerie. No need for all that,” said the bald man. He scowled and shook his head. “It’s this idiotic Dress Like a Pirate Day. Every year it encourages rampant mischief and foolishness. It undermines discipline. I’m going to speak to Principal Greene about eliminating it. There are other ways to show school spirit than by wearing a fake parrot on your shoulder and saying ‘Arr.’ Now finish your lunch and get back to class.”
With that, the bald man turned and strode off through the cafeteria, scanning the premises for anything else out of the ordinary. For an instant, his steely gaze fell upon Albiorix, who quickly looked away. The bald man continued on.
“Who was that?” said Sorrowshade. “Some sort of petty tyrant?”
“Close,” said Albiorix. “I’m pretty sure that was Vice Principal Myron Flanagan.”
Vela, Sorrowshade, and Thromdurr turned to stare at him.
“From our Homerooms & Hall Passes game?” said Vela.
“Afraid so,” said Albiorix. “We need to get to a place where we can talk quietly.”
He looked around. “Ah, the table over by the flagpole! If I remember correctly, it’s always empty because it wobbles.”
The four of them sat down and stared at one another in dumbstruck silence. A moment later Devis plopped beside them, his tray piled high with food.
“Guys, this is going to sound crazy,” said Devis, “but I’m pretty sure we’ve been magically transported inside our Homerooms & Hall Passes game.” He unsheathed his dagger and started to slice open a pudding cup.
“Yes, Devis. Thanks to you,” said Sorrowshade.
“Hey,” said Devis. “Nothing happened when I stole the ruby. It wasn’t until some genius decided it would be a great idea to read the evil curse out loud.”
Homerooms and Hall Passes Page 2
