Zombies Play DnD

During my college years, I wrote quite a few stories featuring monsters dealing with modern day problems (sort of?) Like Karens, people who talk loudly in movie theaters, aggressive veganism, and homophobia to name just a few.

I always wanted to continue with the theme of self-aware monster stories with hot, fun topics. It’s such a fun medium to0 write. Because it can be serious, scary, silly, and these are monsters. So they have… a different way of solving problems. Mostly involving biting and roaring.

Back when I was regularly writing stories, (writer’s block can be such a pain) I decided I wanted to do a story about the idea of gatekeeping. Specifically, some straight cis guy telling a group of zombies that they’re playing wrong. Which I mean, if that’s how you want to die, then be my guest.

The earliest draft of the story starts with a brief introduction to each character. Christop, Harry, and Rob Zombie (no, not that one) are three zombies who are getting together with their alive friend, Maria, for their first (not counting their session zero) game of DnD.

Take a look!

“So, what I have come up with so far is… I am an Aarakocra Warlock.” Christop held his character sheet in his torn scabby hands, as he looked across the table at his two undead friends. “I used one of those online character name generators to find him a name, and I really liked Krilick.” Christop was also a zombie. He’d always thought his name was a little odd, but it was what was on his gravestone– or at least, that was all he could read on his gravestone. Part of it had been chipped off when he crawled out of the grave. Today he was dressed comfortably in gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “And I haven’t really thought too much about backstory and all that, but I think Maria said she had one if I wasn’t able to come up with anything.”

They had set up shop at one of the tables in their local gaming store, <Insert Super Creative Name Here>, right near the back of the shop. The three undead adventurers sat around the table, which had already been partially set up for the game they were about to start. The DM, a human called Maria, was somewhere else in the store picking up a few supplies for the new campaign. 

One of the other two zombies grinned at him from under a blue wide-brimmed hat. “Well, shoot. That’s a pretty sweet name, Christopher.” If anyone else was looking, the smile would have been seen as more of a grimace. That was one of the curses of the intense burn wound that had consumed half of his face. The eye on the burned side of his face was covered by an eye patch. Harold Jefferson – or “Harry” as he preferred to be called–  looked older than the other two zombies and spoke with a deep southern drawl. He was wearing a faded uniform, that had since been splashed with bleach and black paint to keep anyone from associating it to his former affiliation during the civil war.

“It’s Christop.” 

“You know…” Roberta, who preferred being called Rob or Rob Zombie (no, not that one), pushed the blond hair out of her face. “If you switch the ‘r’ and the ‘l’ around, it would sound like your character’s name is Cleric.”

“Would it?” Christop looked down at the papers and tilted his head. “I don’t think there are any C’s in it. I cann’t really tell. My vision is a little blurry.”

Rob shrugged. “It does in my head.”

“Aye. It’s a wonder you have anything under that wig.” Harry let out a loud laugh and gently smacked the table.

“Rude.” Rob instinctively moved her hands to touch her hair. She rolled her eyes. “I know I might be cheating by using one of my previous names–” Rob Zombie – again, not that one– had an obsession with switching her name every few months, something that rather annoyed her friends. “–but I have named my character Jane Austen. She’s a human bard. She is mainly a storyteller and a poet.”

“So you actually are ripping off the real Jane Austen now? This seems like a copyright concern. Do you really think Maria will allow it?” Christop crossed his arms over his chest.

“How do you know I am not the real Jane Austen? She died a long time ago, right? There’s a chance I could be her. And if I am, I am not ripping off anything.”

“There’s no way. She was a beloved English author. There’s no way she was buried here in America.” Christop raised an eyebrow. “Plus, you think the UK would let one of their greatest writers, undead or not, be subjected to American society?”

“I do believe, young Christopher has a point here. Especially since certain parts of this country haven’t developed much since my time.” Harry crossed his arms and clicked his tongue nervously. “God bless ‘er, I guess.”

Christop’s hands balled up into fists. “Harry, while I appreciate your addition. I swear to Cthulhu, it is Christop. ‘Chris.’ ‘Top.’”

“Oh. Apologies, lad. I just assumed it was short for Christopher.” 

“Honestly, it probably is? But like, gravestones are all I have to go off of. Plus, it’s less handwriting on semi-official documents.”

Harry put his arms up. “Beggin’ your pardon, lad. Apologies.” 

“Who’d you create, Harry?” Christop put his character sheet down and glanced over at Harry’s.

“Well, Chris Top,” The older zombie stretched the name to two words in order to not upset the lad again. “I am playin’ one of those orc people. Like from that one movie Maria showed us.”

“I’m surprised that you didn’t have a conniption about the idea of a moving picture.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “Laddie, I died in 1894. I am well aware of what a moving picture was. No. In fact, I was ecstatic and blessed to be able to see and hear the film clearly.”

“Boooring. Just tell us about your orc guy.”

“The disrespect.” Harry scoffed, turning to Rob. “I am calling my orc, Kraltholomew. He was a sentry for a Duke, I called him the Duke Desmond – after my late comrade from the war… One night, the Duke was robbed by a party of suspicious characters known as The Sect and Kraltholomew was charged with the retrieval and collection of this missing gold.”

The other two were quiet as they stared

“You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into that.” Christop grunted. “I wish I did more character work like that.”

Harry waved a hand. “No worries, young Chris. You definitely did more work than Miss Roberta over here.”

What do we think? Is the name-stealing “Rob Zombie” a bit too much? How do we like Christop? Harry? I love making my undead characters. Somehow, it feels like I give them so much life. Reminds me of Greg and Veronica from back when I wrote that multiversal stuff.