And I appreciate that you eliminated competition for the magical items that my friends and I encounter in our journeys. The five-step process might have been pared down a bit, but at least I only had to do it once. While I never had trouble with math (especially simple addition), I really appreciate how you helped me break down my advancement goals into neat milestones that I could make reliably, rather than leaving it all to the vagaries of fate. This isn’t the essential D&D experience that you promised to preserve. In fact, even when you trialled these new rules in Xanathar’s Guide to Everything, they didn’t appear like they do now. But flipping through those books, I see nothing about ACP, TCP, or any other acronym that you’ve insisted we adopt. Remember when we started out our relationship? You promised me that we’d do things according to the rules we both agreed to, the ones written in the Player’s Handbook and the Dungeon Master’s Guide. As it is, I’ve been eating kobold meat a couple days a week just to survive on the stipend I’m receiving. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the living allowance you gave me was meagre, restrictive, and patronizing I could have invested that dragon hoard in things I need, like better armour. Rather than give me things to spend my money on or use otherwise plausible methods to curb my spendthrift nature, you opted instead confiscate my earnings and force me to work again to earn them back as credit toward things that met your approval. Even GameStop would have given me more for my legendary artifact sword. And we both know that the coupons and gift cards you gave me to replace them were not appropriate compensation. Instead, you chose to simply destroy what you didn’t like. You could have found another way, and I suggested many to you. You took away a lot of the things that I enjoy things that I had spent a lot of time earning, had incorporated into my life, and which no one else thought were problematic. The last time adventurers took this much damage was when our character sheets were burned in the Satanic Panic. I have tried to be patient, but every time you open your mouth, it’s to ruin something else. You called it ‘balancing’, but let’s be honest: it was punitive. You’ve become controlling, focused on ‘fixing’ my problems and not looking at your own. I wish I could say that I’m sorry, that it’s not you, it’s me-but the truth is the exact opposite: I’m not sorry, and it is you. I didn’t want you to find out through a letter, but after all we’ve been through, I just couldn’t bear to do this face to face. This is an open letter from Adventurers League players ( through the voice of their established player characters) to D&D Adventurers League, in response to the new changes for season 9.
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