Board games have been my biggest hobby until today. In fact, I’ve been making miniatures and coloring them for a few years now. I can also make those metal Monopoly figures, but they’re just there on the shop so they don’t say I can’t do anything else. Dungeons and Dragons players make up the vast majority of buyers. I’ve perfected my technique and created a color palette that really brings the characters to life. When technological advancements spoke, I expanded my offerings to include amazing designs from 3D printers. From the cheapest to the most expensive, I have quite a lot of printers. There are virtually no limits to what miniatures I can offer. Alternatively, I can print swords, hats, or even horses and inject them with colour. No, I’m done with that. For good.
In the beginning I wanted to offer miniatures at a friendly price to contribute to the community I adore. It was my side hustle. Back then, I was still working in construction, and I often came home completely wrecked. I heard that you shouldn’t lift things heavier than 40 kilos at work, but those bags of concrete were maybe twice that weight. The thought of going into the art business, where I wouldn’t get dirty, never even crossed my mind. My friends always admired my collection of miniatures. They asked how much money I was putting into it. My answer was that I was only giving a few dollars for the material. They didn’t believe me. But some of them were willing to pay hundreds of dollars for my stuff. Unbelievable.
My business grew unstoppably. The biggest credit for my success goes to a woman called Mitrodora. No one knew exactly what her real name was. Mitrodora was the name of her character in games. But she was my best customer and my friend. She was beautiful. Her short red hair made her even more of a part of the roleplay community. She looked exactly like that mysterious elf who may look like a Noble, but is actually Dark.
She held grand meetings in her house, where Dungeons and Dragons was played from the dusk till dawn. These were parties just like in The Great Gatsby, only here it was simply around DnD. She always invited the best players and the most talented storyteller. My products were laid out on the table, together forming an incredible constellation of fantasy elements. Five players struggled with the storyteller for survival, one unlucky roll and it was over. Dozens of others watched. The weird thing is, after each game, she carved pentagrams into the furniture. I don’t think there’s a single piece of wood left that doesn’t have those.
One week ago, she came to my place and asked for demonic creature miniatures. But not like Aatrox from LoL, different. Her eyes sparkled when I started modeling it in Blender. Her request and the description of what the miniatures should look like gradually disgusted me. She wanted one to be composed of only tentacles and eyes. One was to be made of only human and animal skulls. Another was to be made only of pieces of living flesh. They were all far from humanoid. So I had to suffer through five sessions at Blender before Mitrodora was finally satisfied. And when I was coloring them, I wanted to vomit.
She paid me handsomely, and that made me feel like eating again that night. I was so filled with euphoria that the production process was over that when she asked me: “Do you want to come with me to tonight’s DnD party?” I said yes. And that was the mistake. To turn around and say I don’t really want to would have been weird. And it would be even more weird once we were on the road. Then it became completely impossible to say when we walked into her house.
One significant change was a huge pentagram carved into the wooden floor. It perfectly complemented the hundred others on the old furniture. It was like some kind of exorcism-themed masquerade ball. Everyone, including the spectators, wore black robes or cloaks that covered their clothes. Each player stood on one end of the floor pentagram. In the middle of it was a round table. The table represented the entire game board and every miniature of a mountain, shop or dungeon was already in place. It was just waiting for the player pieces.
As she placed them on the table, one by one, I started to feel terribly sick again. A kind of stale, dead air filled the room as the players were mentally preparing themselves. Mitrodora was the storyteller today, by exception. I swear I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. All the spectators were pinned to the floor in some kind of trance until the very end. Mitrodora’s voice, including her entire vocabulary, completely shifted over the course of the game. It took the first ten rolls of the dice before she began to speak purely in some terribly bizarre language. It scared me, but I couldn’t tell. My facial expressions ceased to respond to internal cues.
My guess is that “Treiot” means player and “Koeria” means death. I didn’t understand any of the other words in the middle of those two. For hours I suffered, and listened to the gradual deepening of the previously female voice. It was impossible for me to move my head away from the game table. I couldn’t control any of my muscles. I wanted to go home.
The last hour of this DnD session, when the sun was already rising, was the worst. Mithrodona’s voice came to life into an unintelligible demonic entity and began to articulate something, even though she wasn’t speaking at all. The rest of the game was finished in that way. No one physical spoke, but the players reacted. The invisible storyteller kept the game going until I was set free.
I can hear him now. At home. It woke me up again. I wanted to post this here so someone could reassure me that I’m not the only one this happened to. Any suggestions on how to eradicate the creature from my head are welcome.