DinQ: D&D in the Coffin Hold of the USS Enterprise

By Michael LeBlanc

DinQ: D&D in the Coffin Hold of the USS Enterprise is an immersive memoir that will captivate readers with its unique blend of real-life anecdotes, tabletop roleplaying game-fueled fantasies, and an unfiltered exploration of human experiences. Prepare to be enthralled by this extraordinary journey that explores the depths of one man's soul and the power of friendship, resilience, and the boundless worlds of imagination.

''Like the best DMs, Michael brings you into his world with clear characters and sublime scenes that will have you involuntarily turning the last page looking for more. Proceed with advantage, this is a Nat 20 of a tale!" -Todd A. Davis, Computer Resume Podcast

DinQ is a captivating memoir/fantasy meld that delves into the extraordinary life of Michael LeBlanc. In this unflinching tale, Michael, an avid gamer and fan of all things nerdy, navigates a challenging upbringing with two addict parents, relying on a tight-knit circle of friends for support. As he grows up, Michael finds solace from anxiety and depression through immersive role-playing games like Dungeons and Dragons, and the vibrant worlds of Star Trek and Star Wars fandoms.

 

From joining the Navy to facing the exhilarating highs and crashing lows of life as a young sailor, Michael learns to juggle the demands of marriage, finances, and personal growth. Through it all, he finds refuge in the intricate web of TTRPGs, where the line between reality and imagination blurs. Step into the vivid scenes brought to life by the author's firsthand experiences, and embark on a journey that intertwines the realms of fantasy and personal growth.

 

Woven seamlessly throughout the narrative are transcribed interviews with key figures who shaped Michael's life, including Tony, his lifelong friend, Michael, his brother from another mother, Tenisha and Corey, shipmates who served with him on the USS Enterprise, and Amanda, his first wife. These intimate insights offer a rich tapestry of perspectives, shedding light on the profound impact of friendship, camaraderie, and shared passions.

 

As Michael's story unfolds, he takes readers on a vivid travel-blog-style adventure, recounting his official tour to the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea during his service in the Navy. With honesty and authenticity, the author tackles both the negative and the real, painting a nuanced portrait of a life shaped by personal struggles, triumphs, and the indomitable spirit of perseverance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael LeBlanc
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223954606

Book preview

~Delayed in Qaulifications~

dinq: /dɪŋk/ adj. (alt. Dink, DinQ)

Not making a requisite amount of progress in one's Navy nuclear qualifications.

(I’m so dinq that I could get 100 signatures a day and I’d still be behind.)

Synonym: behind the curve

dinq: noun

A sailor who has not completed the requisite amount of progress in their Navy nuclear qualifications.

(I’m such a dinq. If I don’t qualify soon, they won’t let me leave the ship.)

Synonym: shitbag

In Realms Long Forgotten

The trek into the Sempandan forest had passed with no conflict, to the disappointment of the dwarf and dragonborn clerics. The air was full of their complaints that no beast or ne’er-do-well had chosen to cross their paths. The leader of the group – a large, strapping, and well-oiled barbarian by the name of Grathix – rolled his eyes and smiled as he, the two bickering clerics, the halfling bard and human rogue made their way out of the sun and into the forest ahead of them. The trees that made up the forest’s edge were an odd mixture of both young pine and gnarled wildland shrubbery. As he spied further in, the smaller growth gave way to large stalwart species of tree that created a thickly vined canopy. He halted the crew with an upwards fist and shouted, Ho, dragon cleric.

The dragonborn cleric, Jissthym, snarled a silent mocking oath under her breath before answering, Yes, little mound of human meat?

You have the good sight, the eyes meant to see the dark. What can you see in the trees?

Jissthym stepped up beside the ridiculously stacked warrior and peered into the mass of vegetation. Trees, she finally said, turning back to continue her conversation with the dwarf. She had not gone two steps away before the piercing cry of a woman shot out from the forest. The crew tensed, all laying their hands instinctively on their weapons. The rogue murmured, I have the obligation to help a damsel in distress, mostly to himself.

Nodding, Grathix hefted his battle-axe from its thick leather loop at his belt and waved a hand forward towards the cry. Another scream shot out, and the rogue broke out into a run, his body swallowed by the foliage in the space of a second. Wait, shouted Grathix as he too started to run. Come, he yelled back to the rest. After a quick deliberation, the clerics trotted into the woods. The dragonborn carried the halfling because the little one insisted his legs were too small to keep up.

What met them beyond the shrubs was a scene out of nightmares. The squat vegetation had hidden a nest of sword spiders, each eight-legged monstrosity larger than a warhorse. All were converging on the lady who had been screaming moments before. The creatures skittered around in the gloomy damp, stamped branches, and chittered and squealed to themselves as their legs sliced up and down in quick, angry jabs. At one point, the frail body of the woman could be seen impaled on one smaller leg before being slammed into the fetid floor of the nest. As the five heroes broke into the darkened grove, the cries of the woman being descended upon had died down into a groaning murmur. Wasting no time, the crew sprang into action. The clerics filled the space in cleansing magical light summoned with quick gestures of practiced hands. The bard, who had jumped down from the shoulders of the dragonborn, began shouting crude and scathing obscenities at the spiders to divert their attention from their meal. The rogue had already silently sliced three of the spiders’ legs moments before, so that the creatures’ movements were then sluggish and awkward. Grathix skidded to a stop, chest now gleaming in the heavenly glow that came from the ether. Keep them occupied, he yelled at no one as he leapt forward with his axe cocked back in preparation for a mighty blow. As he landed next to the four spiders that were just beginning to realize they were being ambushed, he swung his weapon in a devastating blow that cleaved off two chitinous legs, one each from separate spiders.

The beasts screamed in fury and pain. The last, uninjured spider stood to its full height and leapt over the scrambling mass of wounded spiders. As it sailed through the air, its legs came together like a phalanx summoned by a wicked god and hurtled towards the barbarian. Grathix struggled to remove the head of his axe from a tightly bound leg joint, but the weapon was truly wedged. He screamed in defiance at the descending creature. His roar was cut short as the ichor bloomed through the air and splattered into his gaping mouth. The leaping spider suddenly and miraculously changed its trajectory, sailed over Grathix’s head, and smashed into the bushes behind him. A sizable haft from one of the dragonborn’s javelins protruded from the twitching, bloody mess. DAMN RIGHT, Grathix yelled. Now fully enraged, the barbarian jerked free his axe with a squelching crunch and swung it overhead into the squirming fray of spiders. Their life forces evaporated in the terrible fury, leaving a panting and pale half-elf in the middle of rapidly cooling corpses.

The rogue leapt over the twitching spiders, knelt beside the small, injured victim, and lifted their head. Hey, he cried as he peered into the person’s face. This is a guy. The rest of the crew had gathered in and saw that, indeed, that screaming lady in distress was a half-elf male and – from what they could tell from the clothing – he was in the profession of stealth and subterfuge. Great, muttered the rogue. Someone else who’s going to steal things before I can. He shot a hooded glance at the bard then stood up. Well, Ferrin, he said to the dwarf. Do you still have those healing potions we knicked from that last guy?

The dwarf perked up and dug into his pouch with an enthusiastic smile. Yes, yes, I do! Good thinking, I can use this and save my spells for when we get hurt instead. He pulled out the stopper of a thick, round bottle and sloshed the contents around, perfuming the area with a small cloud of rose water scent. Someone pour this in the frail woman’s gullet.

Grathix took the potion and smiled. You need to really get a handle on that whole man-or-woman thing, he joked, casting a light-hearted grin in the small cleric’s direction. He then stooped and poured the potion between the slackened lips of the new rogue’s mouth. The rogue burbled and choked against the slug of medicine before recognizing the taste. He began gulping it down as he sat up. After two deep swigs of the potion, his eyes opened and swept around the grove. His gaze first found the steaming pile of spider flesh and then the beings that stood around him.

Oh! He rocked forward onto his feet, the magic of the brew giving his newly knitted body agility and vigor once more. Uh… thanks. He looked first from the clerics, then to the bard and finally settled on the blood-covered barbarian. The shiny man had his hand out in preparation for a handshake and his mouth was wide in a smile that – if not ringed with freshly released life essence of enormous sword spiders – would have seemed welcoming. The rogue dipped his head in a quick bow and shook the proffered hand. As he did, he eyed a bulging leather pouch that hung from cords at the barbarian’s side. He looked up. Seriously, thanks, mister…?

Grathix. Say, how’s about you come with us? We’ve gotta clear through this here forest and go see a guy in the next town. Grathix looked down at the wound on the rogue’s torso that was quickly becoming a puckered memory. You might wanna see if that wound’s gonna cause you any problems.

The dragonborn nodded. Yes, she agreed, extending a hand towards the half-elf despite the burgeoning protests from the human rogue further in the trees. Travel with us. It doesn’t look as if you can protect yourself. She indicated to the spiders. I don’t think this will be the last of the evil beings bent on snacking on you.

The half-elf shivered. Yeah, okay. His gaze then swept over the equipment strapped to her armor as he noted a few things he wouldn’t mind stealing. I can help out however I can.

Ferrin stepped forward and clapped the half-elf on the back. "I assure you, my dear. You’ll not be needing to help us." He let out a hearty laugh and began to walk deeper into the woods.

By the way, my name’s Holden, the newly minted member of the crew told everyone as they all began trekking further into the thick brush.

Who cares? yelled the human rogue. Just stay outta my coffers.

Wait, I asked as the rest of the table chuckled and marked down their damage and other status effects. That’s how I’m being introduced?

Funny, huh? asked Elliot as he flipped a page in his notes. Now let’s fast forward to the edge of town, where you all set up camp after deciding to go in fresh in the morning. Is there anyone who wants to do anything tonight? What’s the watch rotation?

Holden took first watch because – as he told the rest of the party – he felt that he had something to give, and the sacrifice might as well be a bit of lost sleep. Warily, the party agreed and settled into their bedrolls. Holden sat on a rock just on the edge of the camp and gazed into the murk of the forest as the other five turned and settled in. Occasionally, he would throw a checking glance over his shoulder and give strict attention to the sounds coming from the slumbering crew until he heard what he wanted to hear: the slow, steady rhythm of the breathing of the unconscious. Once he was sure that all five had slipped into their own dreamscapes, Holden slipped off the rock and crept into the half circle of occupied bedrolls. He stooped at each one, checking to see who was in them before he found Grathix half splayed out of his wrappings and snoring heavily. The pouch that Holden had eyed before peeked out with just enough leather for him to snag if he were careful enough.

Holden licked his lips and flexed his fingers like a bard preparing to strum. I can be very careful, he thought.

He tensed and released his legs in the practiced, well-oiled motions he had used for years. The leaves and straw under his feet folded and whispered together without a crunch as he approached the sleeping barbarian. He crouched and shot his hand out towards the pouch to judge the tension needed to pull back. Should be easy enough. He lightly brushed the bunched leather and froze, his hand hovering just above the man’s torso. Grathix’s breathing had stopped.

Holden let out a small breath and released the tension he had been holding in his legs to snap back and away. His balance shifted awkwardly as Grathix’s hand became a manacle on Holden’s wrist, crushing the thin bracer and pinching his skin with small pricks of pain. Holden stumbled on one foot, hopping in place as the larger man stood. Once at his full height, Grathix held Holden high enough that his legs no longer reached the forest floor. The rogue’s shoulder began to bloom in pain as his weight pulled against the joint. Grathix growled as he lifted the half-elf to make the would-be thief meet his eyes.

Have you no HONOR!? he roared, spittle flying from his lips. Holden raised his arm over his face and curled his legs. Dimly, he thought about fighting but in the face of the barbarian’s voice and sheer difference in size he abandoned that trail.

Holden’s voice came out thin and muffled against his sleeve. I’m sorry?

By now the rest of the crew was awake and gathered around the two in a loose circle. Ferrin had lit a torch. The flickering and dancing flames that reflected in Grathix’s eyes belied anger that bordered on madness. Holden’s arm dropped from his face as his eyes widened and he began to drink in the heat of Grathix’s stare. He felt his bowels quiver.

Not. Sorry. Enough, growled the barbarian.

Holden’s world became a blur of confusion and motion. His shoulder suddenly screamed in sharp, ripping pain as the joint separated. He was vaguely aware of being upside down for a moment before the crushing impact of the ground caved in his chest with an alarming, sickening crack and shook all the senses out of his head.

The table erupted in laughter, my own included. Elliot sat back and the smile on his face was threatening to split his cheeks. Damn, LeBlanc, he said as he stacked notes in front of him. That, uh, was ballsy.

Grathix’s player clapped me on the back. Weren’t you even gonna try and fight back?

I looked over at the small guy and shrugged. What could I have done? You’re twice my size and like… I leaned over and stole a glance at his sheet. …two levels above me?

Who cares, said Manger, Ferrin’s player. you’re a rogue. You’re practically designed to get out of tight spots. Remember, this is a fantasy land, man. You can do anything you want. It’s up to the dice and God- He jerked a thumb over towards Elliot. -to decide if you can pull it off.

Oh. Okay, I’ll try to remember that.

Elliot’s low and dark cackle should have told me what to expect next, but such is the joy of living the life of a newbie.

As the sun rose and began lighting the small camp in a filtered screen of green and gold, the crew finished stowing their gear and stamped out the meager ashes of the fire they had used for their morning meal. Grathix started out first, asking that Jissthym heft the bound, limp lump of half-elf as she had the least to carry. She agreed and the five made their way to the town’s gate. There, Holden was unceremoniously thrown to the ground.

The guard, a small human male who didn’t seem to fit his armor quite yet, jumped. Well met, travelers, he said in a thready voice. He eyed the unconscious half-elf and then up into the faces of Grathix and Jissthym. What brings you to Heinstiem?

Well, we are supposed to meet with your apothecary, rumbled Grathix. He kicked Holden’s body with his boot. But we need to drop this with you. He’s a thief. He patted his pouch as he spat down next to the body. Tried to lighten my load last night, the little snetch.

The guard glanced down again quickly, then stood back, waving an arm towards the sounds of a waking village. Go ahead in, Master and Lady. He waved to the rest and smiled warmly enough. As the crew disappeared into the milling collection of villagers, he drifted his eyes back down to the thief as his smile turned a bit sharper at the edges. I know just what to do with you.

Should I be worried? I glanced around the room, but only Elliot’s face showed any inkling of foresight into what came next.

Based on how well you handled Grathix, he said, his hands up next to him in a gesture of ‘anything goes.’ Probably?

A low roar pulled Holden’s senses out from the comfortable, swirling murk he was floating in. Holden’s eyes then reluctantly came to life, finally acknowledging the light that had been all around him with a slow and dull recognition. His hands slid up, dragging through warm sand until they came to his side, and he pressed up. He rose from the ground then sat back on his haunches. A wave of nausea made his head droop and he felt grains of sand fall from his cheek. He sat a moment more, letting the rest of his bodily senses catch up to his vision. The roar rose in volume, finding a spot in Holden’s mind and poking at it with a stick. Am I close to an arena? he mumbled. Grains of sand swam in his mouth, and he spat them out weakly.

Stand up, boy, yelled a gruff voice somewhere off to his right.

Holden lifted his head again and squinted, forcing his eyes to focus on the source of the voice. A large man wearing smooth leather armor adorned with the badges of office stood behind a simple wooden barred gate five yards away. As he made eye contact with the officer, the man raised a meaty hand and pointed to something over Holden’s head. You’d best turn around. Holden’s ears caught the whisper of shifting sand. He whipped his head around, ignoring the twinges of pain in his chest and neck. The sun disappeared as whatever was to his left loomed over him. That’s right, shouted the officer. I hate to see you bite it just yet. Paid good coin to see this.

Pain forgotten, Holden scrambled to his feet, hands patting his legs for a hidden dagger or two. His hands slapped against flimsy leather and skin. He glanced down. Save for a loin cloth, he was nude. Gods, he whispered. He looked back up to what had dwarfed him and squinted against the sun that bled around it. The creature’s head held an ample collection of hair, pulled high into a warrior’s bun. The features that Holden could make out seemed very feminine and as he cast his eyes further down and past the broad shoulders, he could more clearly note her femininity. Her bosom was tightly bound in what looked to be boiled leather. She held no weapons. Save for her chest piece, she wore no other armor. In fact, the only other thing that Holden made immediate note of was below her torso. He might have found her just as attractive as a large human if it weren’t for her coiled snake body that writhed and twisted over the sand. He cast his eyes back up and could now note her eyes as she bent down to regard him with an amused grin. Her pupils, slitted and surrounded by a vibrant green, narrowed as she breathed in the air above him. Holden took a step back. Gods, he yelled. A gorgon!

The smile on her face abruptly capsized.

Ooo, now you done did it, said someone above him. It was only then that he dared to cast a furtive glance around and note that he and this creature were in a sand-filled arena. The inner wall was made of tall, bound logs that reached well over twenty feet high. Over that sat a thinly gathered crowd of common villagers and members of the local watch. He craned his neck to look past the snake lady – who was gathering her bulk – and noted that the width of the pit was little more than thirty feet. They must still be in the town I and the others had… Holden winced. The others had turned him in. This was his punishment.

That’s a Yuan-Ti, lad, yelled out the officer behind him. If you were aiming to insult her, you struck true. Holden had turned slightly to face the man but the sighing of the snake-thing’s body on the loose sand changed into a soft roar, and he turned just in time to see a muscular arm reach out for his waist. Fear, the kind that bled from one’s gut and ate at the nerves, flooded his body and his brain did the only thing it knew how to do: Holden took one step to the left.

Scaled hands gripped his waist and legs with enough force to make one hip joint pop and another to separate completely. Holden’s cry was cut short as the Yuan-Ti jabbed once with a fist twice the size of his torso. The knuckles smashed into his face, neck, and chest with the speed of a catapulted boulder. Everything he was going to say, think, or process left his mind as easily as water through open hands. He was vaguely aware of being upside down as the sensation of blood rushing to his head blocked his ears and turned blurry vision into a fog-filled tunnel. The approximation of a large, inverted face darkened his vision.

How’s this for a gorgon? the creature hissed. Holden flailed his arms, his small fingers slipping uselessly over smooth scales as the Yuan-Ti opened her mouth. She bit the half-elf’s head off in one, clean snip.

I sat stunned, looking around at everyone else as they burst out in laughter. Elliot shrugged. Hubris, he said softly. You want to spin up another character? I nodded and reached for the PHB as he and the other five continued with their story. I’ll let that be the lesson for which it was intended: just because you’re a rogue doesn’t mean you’re a sticky-fingered asshole. Play with honor.

You know… if that’s your alignment.

Chapter 1

Through the Flickering, Glass Portals

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like a snail

Unwillingly to school.

As You Like It

(Shakespeare, 1623, 2.7.150-154)

There was a sense of comfort knowing that I could sit cross-legged in front of the humming television every Saturday in my pajamas with my cereal bowl full of Honey Nut Cheerios and watch a predictable slew of programming. Every week was a parade of rapidly produced cartoons, and I soaked it all in. I’m not ashamed to say that a large part of my murky, unreliable memories is full of TV. The screen indoctrinated me, preparing me for a world full of fiction.

One of my earliest memories of television includes me getting a splinter from old wooden paneled walls in our trailer home in North Carolina. That was the awakening of my personal awareness, an event that is forever cemented in my memory. I hope you can relate; I was once told we all have had this awakening early in our lives. It’s the moment when one’s brain finally sets onto the track of making lasting memories and they achieve true consciousness. They begin to understand cause and effect. They start – in a very rudimentary sense – to plan where to move and how they place their hands on things. It was during my moment of awakening that I found myself plopping in front of the TV to watch Pinocchio (the Disney classic version) and plotting how to tell Mom I had gotten a splinter.

There were a lot of reasons I was hesitant to tell my mother that our wall had injured me, but that’s neither here nor now. This is my point: my first core memory had a lit television in it. As I watched the wooden puppet flit about and try to fulfill his mission of becoming flesh and blood, I rolled my wounded digit between the fingers and thumb of my other hand. Eventually I stopped worrying about my hand and let the television whisk me away.

A year later, I decided to bite my dog. This is