“Food! Food! FOOD!” The command rang through his ears, even now, an entire day later, as he wriggled across the snowdrifts, dragging two rabbits and his clothes pack behind. His slithering left a bloody and scented trail in the snow. Walking, sinking deep into the snow, would be no better, and it would expend twice the energy.
“Yess, Malssiss,” Kajk mocked himself—and his entire cabal. So easily, so readily, they prostrated before the Lady of Winter. Dragons were agents of the koboldic gods, but why did Malssiss have to be such a hungry one?

Before she came, the kobolds hunted for themselves in forests of plenty. Two rabbits would be enough to feed a small cabal for a few days. These tender, precious rabbits would be gone in a single small bite for the dragon, and she would demand more even before she gulped them down.

Kajk might only see his home for an hour or two before being sent out again to feed the hungry mistress. It was only a matter of time before they would be sent to steal from dangerous humans or maybe the frost giants to satiate her hunger.

“Food! Food! FOOD!” Kajk muttered it aloud, embittered, with teeth clenched. He hated her commands this far from Winterbold, but somehow craved the security and power of serving her when he returned home. This swamp, full of frolicking winter hares and conies, lay at the very limits of her power. “Two today will have to do,” spat Kajk, mustering a flicker of rebellion.

Winterbold eventually came to sight. Bitterness ebbed away at the mouth of the icy cavern, and in its place, devotion and greed seeped in. Malssiss. A calm came to Kajk’s troubled mind when he thought of the white dragon’s name. She was here, in their cave, blessing his cabal.
They would be the most powerful cabal in the world with their mistress guiding them, roaring their power over all. He could feel her command and thoughts in his own draconic mind. His eyes blinked peacefully when he skittered into the caves to bring his mistress the fresh food he had found. They would be frozen solid, but she seemed to enjoy her kills that way during the depths of winter. Day in and day out, for weeks, Kajk would follow the command and
desire of the icy mistress. “Food! Food! FOOD!” Kajk was good at finding sweet, tender rabbits and hares, even if he might be gone for two days at a time.

“Why Kajk? Why?” The kobold found himself, again, far from Winterbold in the hunting swamp, hip-deep in snow. “Food, Food, FOOD!”
“This Kajk life now—food fetcher. Pffft!!” Kajk became aware that his mind was once again his own at the very edge of the frozen swamp. His snare had trapped another rabbit, bringing the day’s total to three. The creature, peppered with fluffy flakes of snow, trembled and squealed
in panic as Kajk approached. A gurgle of water muffled beneath thin ice caught Kajk’s attention. At the edge of the stream lay an orange-yellow rock, half-submerged in the frozen water, half clinging to the soil. Its flaky surface bled into the nearby snow, and ochre specks discolored the water beneath the ice. Kajk knew this rock—arsenic—though he had no word for it other than “poison”.

The kobold’s eyes went wide with a plan—a plan to have his cabal, his home, his caves all back to themselves!

He found more of the orange-yellow rocks and placed them in branches where he would see them on his return, when his mind would be blurred with the drug of servitude. They would be a reminder of this day, and this sweet little rabbit of freedom. Gleefully, he snared rabbits and grouse to be brought to the pool to drown them in the poisonous water. It didn’t
matter that he would forget his bitterness when he returned to Winterbold. He would happily return his catch to the mistress in his blissful ignorance.

Down, pretty rabbit!
Drink in pretty freedom.
Down you go in the cold.

Drown, pretty rabbit, drink in the freedom.
When you sleep underwater,
Back home you will go!

He sang his song as he brought the poor creatures to the pool to hold them in the spring until they were good and full of the water. They would freeze soon after, and the call of his mistress would compel him to return to Winterbold within a couple of days.

The remaining weeks of winter wore on, and Kajk obeyed his mistress when she commanded, “Food, Food, FOOD!”

“Yellow rock? Drink in pretty freedom rabbit!!”

Then, the wave of obedience came when the call to return home rang through his mind.

Eventually, the warmth of spring returned. The cabal of kobolds emerged, 200 strong. They dragged pieces of poisoned carcass from Winterbold toward a crackling fire. Kajk observed his family in supple, carefully crafted white dragon hides. Oppression was leaving their home.
Many didn’t fully understand why Malssiss stopped commanding their minds. They didn’t know why she fell ill. Such a young, healthy dragon. Had they done something to displease their god? Whispers spread uncertainty. However uncertain they might be, the mistress was no more. Gone were her commands.

Kajk was now master of his own mind and no longer a pawn to gather food. His cabal worked diligently around the blazing fire in the spring air to burn the winter’s refuse, among it the remains of their god. His stash of gold and jewels, more than he could carry, rivaled a human lord’s fortune.

It is here in the boreal forest of this world that a little fellow known as Kajk would need to choose the course of his cabal. His mind yearned for the drug of comfort and devotion when the mistress commanded him. The tribe no longer knew the spells of their mistress. Many in the tribe clung to sanity by a meager, thin thread without the dragon.

Kajk stared at the burning, poisoned meat as the embers danced and popped into the air. The cabal waited for his command; he wasn’t sure if they should have it or if he wanted to be the one to replace the dragon.

The acrid scent lingered long after the smoke dissipated, as did the pull of the Lady of Winter, now reduced to nothing more than ash and bones. A wealthy little kobold decided and changed many things that day.

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Other than Dungeons & Dragons, Doug and I were a world apart. Maybe it was because I find entrepreneurship and startups exciting. Maybe it was a mix of that “farm kid” approach, and fantasy games put together. Somewhere along the line he must have decided I was ok. In my mind, Doug was kind, funny, and inciteful when it came to business decisions. Afterall, he’d made plenty of those in his life. Honestly, I still don’t understand half of some of the things he suggested.

That first year the two fellas responsible helped me get to North Texas, then I kept coming back every year with a self-appointed badge title of “Con Artist”.

Just before that first year I told Doug that Jeff Easley was my favorite artist from the AD&D series. He put my artist booth next to Jeff’s that year then told me he arranged a roommate at the hotel (Jeff Easley). After arriving, he set me up with paints and supplies and wanted me to paint something in the booth next to Jeff. Everything was a hot mess being put on the spot in such a way. looking back at it now, it’s kind of funny. I ended up making a big pink monstrosity that I painted over it like 3 times. It was pressure to perform in the Pantheon.

Jeff and I talked a lot that year. We ate a lot of meals in the hotel restaurant too. After that Doug wouldn’t cover my food costs going forward. heh… fair enough. Between the two of us, Jeff and I spent a lot of social hours in the restaurant…. and room charges, that year, so time and money well spent for me.

Could it be Satan?

Every year at NTRPG con there is a Saturday midnight auction which raises funds for the con and serves to poke fun at the Satanic panic that plagued the hobby through the 80s. It turned out, that auction was cathartic for me to attend. Later, I learned from a preacher that I experienced what he calls “religious trauma” during this time in my youth. It’s a story for another post, but the Satanic Panic years for weren’t a joke for everyone. It was however, good to look back on it and laugh as an adult.

Mike (Satan) and Doug let me auction off some art to provide a little cashflow and I helped out wherever I could.  After that first auction, every year in my mind it’s the Midnight Auction + NTRPG con.

We lost Doug to cancer, but I am still lucky enough to be a guest at the con. I find myself looking forward to an evening with Satan and the gang every year to recover a little more from whatever life threw at me the other 364 days. Mike and Gary, who now are running the ship, have made sure I have a place to show up every year, a bed to sleep in, and friends to hang out with.

NTRPG 2026

This year a tradesman mini van is taking me to Texas all the way from Maine. More than a week on the road, filming, painting, drawing, and ending up at the Midnight Auction and NTRPG, I expect it to be a great adventure.

It will be a trip to create video content, a TV show, and I don’t know what else. But worth the drive and a gain in XP.

How Did This Happen?

I did nothing special to find myself in this position of convention guest and TTRPG persona. I mean, other than hundreds of illustrations and a couple dozen kickstarters. Most anyone who shows up at this show feels like a special guest. They will meet many of gaming’s great creators at this convention and feel they can soon call many of them friends with very little effort. It takes very little time before you’re inspired to create TTRPG content when you are so immersed in the practice.

When you do human things, you don’t need ai to write articles about experiences in gaming or to make images about creators. I showed up sincerely, played games, and shared whatever I could about a hobby I loved…. as a human. Then found friends and connections when I did.

I love Gary Con and many other cons. Luke Gygax helped me find my place in the hobby (also another story post). North Texas however, remains a centering point for me. A place where everything feels ok for a while. A place where you know the old games and many of the faces. It stays small by design and remains fun by intent.

The best way to make it in a creative world is to show up – as human – as you are. The games are a common communication point and should never be overlooked.

~Lloyd M

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Tim Kask
“Old school” (a term I despise) was all about “guidelines not rules” and
thinking outside of the box. I’d like to share just one example, of many, where this trait proved to be the difference between life and death.
This incident goes back a couple of years to an adventure I was running at a con. This was when I was still running prepared, written-out-in advance adventures. On this occasion, I was using mid-level PC pregens and told the party (as a private test of my own) that they could each have one magic item that might be considered likely to have been acquired in their relatively short careers. I told them that anything foolish or extravagant, i.e., not something a 5th–7th level was likely to have obtained, would be disallowed and they would get NO magic
item. Only one did not get the gist of my warning; I disallowed his Staff (it was either …of Power or …of the Magi). He carped about the “unfairness” and I told him that greed kills, at least in my worlds. Another player asked for a Ring of Speak with Animals. I said sure,
knowing that I had no animal “monsters” in the upcoming adventure. I also gave my standard “you’re ordinarily equipped as seasoned adventurers” speech and stated that if they were taking something unusual to just write it on their sheet before we started. He noted that he
was taking a pound of hard, dry cheese and a bag of twenty mice. Can you see where this might go? I didn’t. He sent those damned mice into every room and down every dark
corridor ahead of himself and the party. There were no surprises for the party if you don’t count the time he lost three mice to a firetrap. He finished with 17 mice, a hell of a treasure haul won much more easily than I had anticipated, and one chastened DM.

The box be damned.

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