Reno froze for a moment.
Of course he knew about Dungeons & Dragons.
Back in college, he had spent plenty of nights in the basement rolling dice with his roommates.
Getting a few people together, finding a reliable DM, then clearing out an entire afternoon was far too much of a luxury for adults.
"The specs are fine. They're all new machines. The network is a dedicated line too," Reno replied.
"Good. Ten dollars a month, plus your internet fee here—much better value than going to a bar for drinks."
Similar scenes were playing out all across the United States.
According to incomplete statistics, there were more than a million active DND tabletop players in the United States.
This was a vast group with extremely strong purchasing power.
The social threshold for physical tabletop gaming was extremely high.
The rules were complicated, the calculations tedious, and the most lethal problem was the time cost.
The arrival of Dungeons & Dragons Online hit these pain points with pinpoint accuracy.
The computer took over the dull numerical calculations, while turn-based play and disconnect hosting solved the headache of network latency.
As long as they had a telephone line, players could enter Faerûn anytime, anywhere, and team up with like-minded adventurers from all corners of the world.
And it was not only veteran players.
Newcomers who had always wanted to break into geek social circles but had struggled to find someone to show them the ropes also saw their chance.
In the United States, circle culture was deeply rooted.
Getting your face known in a high-quality DND campaign group often meant you could meet programmers from Silicon Valley, analysts from Wall Street, or professors from some prestigious university.
Now, this game had become the most convenient stepping stone into that circle.
To welcome