The first time I heard the words "Dungeons & Dragons," I assumed it was either a band my cousin made up to impress girls or a knock-off Tolkien novel you could only buy at a gas station. It was the late '80s, and back then D&D wasn't mainstream—it was rumored. The kind of thing you'd hear mentioned in hushed tones between comic book bins or whispered behind your back by that one kid who wore a cape unironically.
Then my older brother walked into the house with a binder the size of a small microwave and flopped it dramatically onto the table. Inside? The Monstrous Compendium, Volume 1. It looked like someone had taken every nightmare, fantasy, and fever dream they could think of, and alphabetized it. I didn't know what a saving throw was, but I knew I needed to be part of whatever this was.
Of course, getting a campaign off the ground was a whole other beast. It turns out explaining "you play as a gnome who solves puzzles by rolling dice and arguing with your friends for three hours" wasn't the best elevator pitch.
But eventually, we formed a party. We rolled the dice. And chaos became the norm.
