Report for Capt. Stubing: Fall Creek Reflections on a Lost Weekend

Another year has come, and another Lost Weekend has passed. The snow has melted from the roofs of our cars, but time has not cooled the warmth in our hearts, or stilled the incubating mononucleosis in our collective bosom.

The big hit of the weekend was Descent, a five-player tabletop fantasy game by Fantasy Flight that was graciously run, run, and run again by Paul Potter. Designed as the dungeon-crawling counterpart to FF’s Doom, Descent pays the same kind of attention to miniatures, art, and mechanics. Each player selects or draws randomly from a dozen characters, each of which receives a carefully balanced assortment of combat, stealth, and magical skill cards. Players then purchase equipment based on a set amount of coins, and enter one of fifteen pre-designed dungeon missions. The best part of Descent is the dice system. Each attack’s strength is based on a colorful combination of custom, six-sided dice. One roll of these dice determines the success, range, and damage dealt by each attack. The person running the game takes on an adversarial role, making for very challenging play. His arsenal includes everything from ten hit point beastmen to web-slinging giant spiders and Balrog-like demons. Three multi-hour games were played.

Unkle Charlie joined us this Lost Weekend, ruining the fun but not function such games as “why Charlie didn’t make it” and the ever-popular “ten inappropriate things Charlie is likely to say at a Bar Mitzvah.” Charlie’s major contributions came in the form of a half-eaten birthday cake, comical quips, and his elegantly captured, Vanity-Fair-cover-reminiscent Chub Squad nude portraits that will feature prominently, and I do mean prominently, in the 2007 Lost Weekend calendar.

Sadly, however, we were Stu-less this year, for Philip Lyle, his son and heir, was born scant days before the retreat. Proving once again that it takes two men to do the job of one Merrill in the kitchen, Roger and Dave kindly lent their plucky persistence to all things edible. Bear contributed his gastro-intestinally gratifying and sumptuous chili to our menu, and breaking with tradition, we twice cooked with fire – once when we wanted to and again when five inches of snow brought down the electricity on Saturday morning. Lo, how the gods of Lost Weekend saw fit to punish us for a dearth of foxy filking and a failure to recount as much as one limerick or lost episode! In their place, we so foolishly turned our eyes to the false gospel of GURPS for not one but two nights of glorious gaming. For such an offence, our foray to McKay’s was surely smitten.

In spite of our Merrill-less misery, we still found the heart to toast the intrepidity of our comely comrade Tracy upon his nuptials. Where we did toast him remains a guarded secret.

All in all, a great time was had by all. We all slept comfortably and separately again Sunday night with visions of future book tours dancing in our heads. Huzzah and hey nonnie-nonnie, for the Chub Squad rides again!