We started out with the lower bands of the CB radio. Many CB users would congregate on 'The Dime', the common nickname for Channel Ten. Civilized CBers found a way to avoid this noisy realm. Our buddy, Blue Bear, had the technical ability to add illegal 'uppers', the lower ham radio bands, to a standard CB radio set and, for a small price, would do so. The more mature CB folks started to congregate in the channel numbers well above Channel Ten. Those quiet upper radio bands were where I pulled together a motley crew of players for an over-the-air, medieval fantasy, war game, Dungeons and Dragons.

Our little band of adventurers included myself, as the Dungeon Master and I also played Nualla of the Sorrows, a Healer. We gave ourselves colourful nicknames for the sake of anonymity and just for fun.

My friend George, known as the Book Bandit, played a Warrior.

John, a sad soul, lived in a basement apartment. He played a noble knight, a Paladin, called Earthworm.
Hugh, known as Sir Hueslester in the game, was a Thief and Archer.
Mike, the Irish Viking, fancied himself as a Kung Fu warrior, but his fighting skills all came from watching Bruce Lee movies.
Over the CB radio, voice united us in a medium where voice was everything.
George, the Book Bandit, had served in an older war, receiving combat training, In the game he was very good in a firefight. He knew very well that war was not a game but playing at war over the CB was fun.

I had drawn George in with a bit of a sales pitch.

“Hey, George?”

“Yep”

“You were in the military a while back.”

“I was an MP. That’s Military Police.

“I know. Ever play any war games?”

“Where I come from war is not a game.”

“You heard of Fantasy Football? It is like that except you and your gang are the players. In your mind you fight with swords and bows and maces. Fancy dice tell how the damage is done and I roll the dice for all over the CB radio.”

“Sounds like fun. Always wanted to be a Knight in armor. Battle mace for me and plate armor.”

“You wouldn’t travel too far in plate armor without a crane to get you up on your horse. Use light chainmail instead. Save the mace for horseback as well. A sword will do just fine. You could have a claymore, a heavy two-handed sword, or you might want to pick something lighter, so you can move faster.”

“We need troops,” said George. “Use the upper channels to avoid the goons and clowns on ‘The Dime’.”

Although over-the-air conversations may seem private on the CB, there are always listeners on the side. Word soon spread amongst the upper radio band users and before long we had a team.

As the Dungeon Master, I was the narrator and, because we were voice only and not around a gaming table, I was the dice thrower. Wins and losses, wounds and near misses all depended on my throwing of the dice. I cast them on a wooden chess board so the sound would carry over the airwaves and add a note of realism to our play.
In our minds we entered a mythical medieval time sitting in a dimly lit tavern on wooden benches before a smoky fireplace. Drinking, singing and general carousing were the order of the day. Sir Hueslester, our thief, moved through the crowd, cleverly cutting off cloth and leather pouches with his sharp blade.

Luck was not with him. A large, drunken patron caught him in the act and would have throttled him had we not intervened. We grabbed him by his lacy collar and pulled him along with us as we fled.

A long chase down muddy alleys and over peaked roofs led us eventually to the town gates where the open road stretching dismally ahead of us in the pale moonlight.
Hueslester was unapologetic. “I have coins both copper and silver!” he proclaimed.

“We have half-filled bellies and nowhere to go.” George said.

“Let’s put some distance between us and the townsfolk,” Nualla said. We’ll do a night march until we reach those hills ahead. We can camp and plan when we are well out of sight.`

“It’s dark. They can’t see us now,” said Hueslester.

“The Guard will be after us come daybreak, said George”, so we proceeded onward in a night march lit only by moon and stars.

At the foothills of the Dundreary Mountains, we stopped to rest. Hueslester proved himself an able hunter. His bow brought down a wild piglet which we cooked for our evening meal. With a flask of wine Hueselester had stole, we grew merry around the fire, despite our being homeless wanderers.

Bare ground makes a poor mattress, but we were tired and slept well. Come the dawn, we ate the remains of our pork dinner and drank the last of the wine.
Lined on each side by thorny bushes, the trail led upward in the foothills of the Dundrearies. We journeyed on until near noon.

Ahead of us, an overhang of rock crested over a turn in the path. As we turned, we came upon a strange sight. An odd little creature, dressed in red leather with high, pointed ears and nose like a turnip, sat sobbing on the path. It carried a tiny, bent bow. Seeing us the creature gave a squeak and darted off, not on the path but right into a tangle of thorny bushes.

“What was that?” George growled.

Hueslester had his bow out to fire an arrow, much too late to hit his target. Instead, a wicked little dart pinged into his own shoulder, not deep enough to cause permanent damage but painful. Hueslester howled.

“Keep moving,” said Nualla. “It’s only a wood sprite, angry at being surprised. Think of it no more than if you had been stung by a bee.” She moved to touch his shoulder removing the dart and soothing the pain.

“I’m not used to elven folk,” said George. “Are there many of them about?”

“We have entered their lands and must be courteous if we encounter them. We’ll not see many. They blend well into the wilderness. That one was startled and so shot his dart.”

“I’d like to surprise it with the pointed toe of my boot”, said Hueslester.

We came to a grove near a stream. Not having had a full night's sleep we stopped there to rest and dozed lightly. Mike kept watch over the party, ready for any new encounters. Come morning, we marched on until we found the entrance to a small cave, tucked into a stony hill.

“Here’s shelter. We can light a fire,” said George. “Hues, you’re a hunter as well as a thief. Let’s see if you’re still as good at that as you were as bad as a thief?” George chuckled at his minor jest. Hueslester took it in good part.

“I’ll shoot or snare more meat for the pot, although we don’t have a pot” he said, smiling and slipped off to see what he could find.

We found signs of occupation in the cave. Nualla raised an elf light to aid our inspection. The cave was deeper than expected. In a back chamber we found bags of looted goods

“This could be a problem,” said George. “John Earthworm, guard the entrance. I’ll back you up from inside the cave. Nualla. let the light die down, so it does not reveal me. Mike, go into the bushes outside and keep watch.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Mike said cheerfully, and moved quickly to obey George’s order.

John Earthworm stood guard at the cave entrance, but his thoughts were far away - Rosa was at the hospital now, holding vigil by her father’s bed. “He won’t last much longer,” John mused. He felt her sorrow deeply. He hated the grim reaper for the task he would do at the man’s bedside. He felt helpless. The game had distracted him somewhat from her grief, but his sorrow for her remained constant.

From his leafy lair Mike spied Hueslester bounding towards him with a brace of rabbits over his back. "Hey!" he said softly. Hues halted, crouched and laid down his catch. Mike crept up to him and breathed the news into his ear. Warned of lurking danger, Hueslester flashed his teeth in a broad grin and strung his bow.

We had little time to wait and watch. A band of five rugged dwarves came tramping along the path, laughing and talking noisily.. Armed from head to toe, they were laden with gear and loot. John Earthworm, who scorned lurking, asked boldly, “Who goes there?”

His answer came quickly. The dwarven gang threw down their loads, snatched up their weapons and rushed forward. Mike, the Irish Viking, came out of hiding, swinging his sword. His courage looked less impressive when Hueslester’s arrow nailed the foremost dwarf through the right arm causing his sword to drop. The fight was a wild scramble. In the end the dwarf gang ran off, shouting, “Death will follow!” A queer thing to say when they were in full flight.

Then, we saw a ghastly sight upon the path: no dwarf, but a man who stood six feet tall, his features painted a ghastly white making his face a bone mask. Blood–red stripes ran down it like crimson tears. Clad in white furs, he wore a gruesome necklace of miniature skulls about his throat. Lord Death’s weapons were a barbed whip and a cutlass. His scourge lashed out as he approached, showing the deadly thorns along its length.

Our Paladin, John Earthworm spoke out. “Who goes there and for what cause?

The giant menace replied, “I am bleak death. I come to rob your body of its soul!”

Mike moved to the challenge, but John gestured him back roughly.

This was all decided by the dice and Mike had lost the throw.

“This one is mine!” said John. “I have a score to settle with death,” He stepped forward, raising his broad two-edged sword. Sunlight flashed on his chain mail as he moved. He looked just like the hero he most wanted to be and his first cut grazed Death’s shoulder and drawing blood.

The battle continued; now one and then the other striking a telling blow. John Earthworm held his own, but just barely. His enemy was injured, but his wounds were too light to stop the fray. Lord Death slid the haft of his whip into a belt slot and raised his deadly scimitar high, to create a killing blow.

Sir Hueslester whispered to the Dungeon Master. A roll. A roll to end it, please. The DM smiled behind her microphone and cast the 20-sided die. A 20! Let’s have an end to it!

As Lord Death raised his scimitar high, his movement revealed - oh, how briefly - his naked navel. Hues raised his bow, arrow already nocked and ready to fire. His sharp arrow impaled the revealed navel and continued its momentum through the gut until it nicked the lumbar vertebrae’s spinal disc. Lord Death stumbled and nearly fell. He lowered his weapon, using it now as a cane to hold him upright.

John Earthworm saw only the weakness, not its cause. He brought his broadsword down upon the foe and ended the battle. As life essence pouring out from a ghastly wound, the form of Lord Death faded, became transparent and ceased to be.

John was transfigured by joy. He knew the battle was not real. He knew who he was and that he was in a two-room basement apartment, holding a CB microphone, but he also knew that, in this brief moment in the game, he had defeated his greatest enemy. He had defeated death!