#RPGaDay2025 Day 31 Reward

What is reward, really?

Is it gold? XP? Magic items? The thrill of leveling up and unlocking that next power, that new spell, that coveted domain?

Sure. It can be all of that.

But if you’ve been playing for a while, really playing, you know the real rewards aren't measured in coin or mechanics.

The real reward is the story you still remember fifteen years later.

It’s the time your witch stood alone in the haunted chapel, torch flickering, casting Augury with a deck of real tarot cards, trying to divine whether the village elder was possessed, or worse.

It’s the argument your players had, in character, about whether or not to open the sarcophagus sealed with silver nails, or follow that perfectly innocent-looking elf into the dark alley.

It was a battle so tense that you all jumped to your feet when the last die finally landed. 

My oldest’s Sunday D&D sessions will often get quite loud. I’ll turn to my wife and say “oh I wonder what happened this time!” Especially with his recent “It’s Always Sunny in Waterdeep” campaign. I know it will be something crazy.

You don’t tell stories about how many XP you got. You tell stories about the time the halfling bard tricked the lich into believing he was its long-lost apprentice, and somehow, it worked.

You tell stories about that game, the one that went off the rails in the best possible way. The one that ended at 2 a.m. with laughter and a hastily scribbled map and a blood pact to absolutely pick this up again next weekend.

The reward is connection. It’s the friendships forged in dungeons and dark forests. It’s the notes passed between players when they think the DM isn’t watching. It’s the memes, the inside jokes, the long-running gags about cursed dice or that one player who always rolls a natural 1 during stealth checks.

And yeah, sometimes it’s the bragging rights. The tale you tell at the next Gary Con or your local game store. The story you pull out at dinner when someone says, “Wait, you play D&D?”

The reward is knowing you built something together, something weird and magical and fleeting. A tale that never existed before you sat down to roll the dice.

And maybe, if you’re like me, the reward is watching your players squirm when the signs and portents line up just right, and they realize they’ve been dancing on the edge of something much older and darker than they imagined. 

Or when they finally connect all the dots and realize that they, and they alone, are the ones to save the whole freaking world.  When Willow & Tara held hands and jumped into the maw of Leviathan. When my son’s paladin used the Sun Sword from Ravenloft to split the Chaos Stone Lolth was using to cover the world in Darkness. And so many more that have meaning to me and my players.

So yes. Reward is treasure, sometimes.

But more often?

It’s the echoes of shared imagination, still lingering long after the dice are packed away.

It’s the memory of that witch, that warlock, that paladin who fell but didn’t break.

It’s the experience of creating together.

And that?

That’s priceless.

Questions

What. Nostalgic. Character. What Character am I nostalgic for? I have to admit I LOVED playing Johan, my AD&D 1st Paladin. I have played a version of him in every edition of D&D and many other fantasy games. I have even tried a couple of versions of him in Baldur's Gate 3 and other video games. But nothing really compares to that goldenrod sheet and those old sky-blue dice from my Expert set.

--

And that’s a wrap on another #RPGaDAY! Huge thanks to David F. Chapman (Autocratik) and Casting Shadows Blog for keeping this tradition going year after year. It’s been a great excuse to reflect, reconnect, and rediscover why I love this hobby so much. Whether you joined in with every prompt or just caught a few along the way, I hope you found something that inspired you.

See you next year! 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 30 Experience

 Wow. Experience. What a loaded word.

Are we talking about experience points? Game experience? Play experience? Player experience? Or what it means to build experience over time, as a gamer, a DM, a creator?

All of it, really, I guess.

I have been posting my Witches of Appendix N to tap into the experiences of the creators and first players of the D&D game, while also incorporating my own experiences and influences. 

But today I want to focus on the experience of exploring different games, and what we carry with us when we return to the familiar.

Recently, D&D influencer Ginny Di did a great video talking about what she loved about Daggerheart, and what she planned to steal for her own games. And while she didn’t name names, we all know she meant D&D. And you know what? She’s absolutely right.

The best games we play change how we think. They expand the toolkit. They remind us there are other ways to do party dynamics, relationships, mechanical choices, and storytelling rhythms. And even if we come back to the same rules we’ve always loved, we bring something new with us.

For me, this has been a theme lately. I’ve spent a lot of time working on my Witches of Appendix N project, not just reading the stories that inspired the first generation of D&D creators, but trying to feel what they felt. What was it like to play this weird little fantasy game in 1974? What shaped it? What inspired it?

But I’m not Gary Gygax. I’m not Dave Arneson. I’m not sitting in a basement in Lake Geneva trying to rework Chainmail into a fantasy skirmish. My Appendix N isn’t just swords and dragons and pulp novels. It’s Dark Shadows reruns on PBS. It’s D-grade horror movies from the ’70s. It’s weird occult books I wasn’t supposed to be reading. It’s Led Zeppelin and  Iron Maiden album covers (I am listening to “Number of the Beast” as I write this)  and pages from Fangoria, Starlog, and Heavy Metal taped into a spiral notebook.

Those are my experiences. And they show up in every spell I write, every monster I stat out, every setting I dream up. No matter how “old-school” I go, it’s always filtered through who I am, what I’ve seen, and what I love.

And I think that’s true for every one of us.

We all bring our own experience to the table, our own flavor, our own influences, our own emotional palette. That’s what makes the hobby so weird and beautiful and impossible to define.

So yes, learn new systems. Try new styles. Borrow shamelessly. Steal structure from Daggerheart, emotional mechanics from Monsterhearts or Blue Rose, pacing from Call of Cthulhu, drama from Star Wars, or epic deeds from Wasted Lands. Fold it all back into your game.

Because your game, your world, should reflect your experience.

And if you do it right?

It becomes an experience someone else will never forget.

Questions

 What. Confident. Lesson.  What lesson am I the most confident in? I would ahve to say the math lessons I built in my games with my kids. It was great fun.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 29 Connect

Nothing in this game works without a connection.

You can run the most finely crafted dungeon, write the most terrifying villain, drip suspense like wax onto the map, but if there’s no connection at the table, it falls flat.

No tension. No stakes. No spark.

Because in the end, this is a shared experience. Between players and the DM. Between the characters and the world. And, maybe most importantly, between the characters themselves.

We talk a lot about storytelling in RPGs. Plot arcs. Mystery reveals. The slow burn of occult horror. But the game isn’t just what happens. It is who it happens to, and why that matters.

Suspense only works if the players care.

Horror only works if the players believe in it.

Mystery only works if the players want to know more.

Danger only matters if they don’t want to lose what they’ve found.

Daggerheart is good at this. So is Blue Rose. They help foster connections that matter. Even the FFG/Edge Star Wars I have been dipping into has this. It’s not really new, of course, we did this a lot with DC Heroes and Marvel Super Heroes.

That’s why I care so much about connection in my games. The bonds between players and characters are the emotional engine behind everything else. When those bonds are strong, everything hits harder. The betrayal cuts deeper. The rescue means more. The shared victory feels earned.  It makes the stakes feel higher and the victories feel better.

Sometimes this connection happens naturally. A few good players click, and suddenly you’ve got a party dynamic that could fuel an entire campaign. Other times, you have to work for it. Give them moments to talk. Space to share. Conflicts that force them to choose each other over the easier road.

And it’s not just about the characters. It’s about the people at the table.

As a DM, I try to read the room. I listen. I adjust. I check in. Because every suspenseful pause, every creepy whisper, every climactic reveal, only works if the players trust me enough to lean in. That connection is the unspoken contract we all agree to when we sit down and roll dice together.

Even when I’m building strange, mythic, symbolic games, when the world feels uncanny and the magic is layered with secrets, what holds it all together is the bond.

Between the witch and her familiar. The rogue and her rival. The paladin and his doubts. The players, sitting together in a shared dream.

Connection makes it real. Connection makes it matter.

And without it?

You’re just telling stories in the dark, hoping someone’s still listening.

Questions

 What. Grateful. Rule. I might have answered this one or some variation of it. What rule am I grateful for Rule #0 that says the GM can change what they need to. 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 28 Suspense

I love combat. I love magic duels, chaotic tavern brawls, dragons roaring from the sky while the players scramble for cover. There’s a thrill in the crash of dice, the rush of tactics, the immediacy of it all. 

But you know what sticks with players longer than the fight?

The silence before it.

Suspense is the slow blade. It’s not about surprise, it’s about anticipation. That creeping sense that something is wrong, but no one’s named it yet. It’s the moment when the music fades. When the torch flickers once and then goes out. When the NPC who always answers the door… doesn’t.

As a DM, building suspense is one of the most powerful tools I have. And unlike combat, there’s no initiative roll for it. It lives in pacing, description, rhythm. It lives in what I choose not to say.

I’ll lower my voice a bit. I’ll describe something small. Too small. I’ll pause more often. I’ll ask, “Are you sure you want to do that?” even if I’m not planning anything. Yet.

Suspense is a collaboration between the DM and the players. I give them the shadow, they give it teeth. The more room I leave, the more their imaginations fill in the gaps. And usually, what they come up with is far worse than what I had planned. As I mentioned already, often it is best to let the players’ own imaginations fill in the gaps. 

But here’s the trick: suspense isn’t just for horror games. It’s not just ghosts and witches and the slow creak of a basement door. Suspense works anywhere there’s uncertainty. Fantasy thrives on it.

• The crypt that hasn’t been opened in centuries.
• The noble court, where one wrong word will get you exiled or executed.
• The ancient artifact that hums when no one is looking.
• The character’s dream that ends with a name they’ve never heard… and the next day, an NPC says it.

Suspense turns every room into a question. Every choice into a forked path. Every moment into a heartbeat you feel at the table.

In my Occult D&D projects, I lean hard into this. I want the players to hesitate. To ask, “Wait… is that normal?” I want the moment before they open the book, before they cast the spell, before they step through the arch. Because once they do? That’s when the reveal comes. That’s when the real danger starts. But the suspense is what makes that moment matter.

There has not been enough danger in finding an old spell book in current games. It’s a spellbook. In Occult D&D, it's an ancient grimoire that belongs to an ancient witch queen, then passed down to a corrupt warlock who talked to spiders and learned their secrets. Is that human skin it is bound in? Why does it feel a little too warm to the touch? Did the book flinch when it was touched?

You can run a game without suspense. Plenty of people do. But once you start using it, once you learn how to play the table like an instrument, quiet, careful, patient, you’ll find your players remember those moments just as clearly as the big battles.

Maybe more.

Questions

 How. Enthusiastic. Person.  Ok...How enthusiastic am I to game in person? Hey, it's what I live for! 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 27 Tactic

Witchcraft Wednesday Edition

Dungeons & Dragons, at its roots, is a game of tactics.

It grew out of wargaming. Miniatures on a battlefield. Movement rates. Ranges. Terrain. Planning your strike before the other side rolls initiative. That foundation still lingers, even in the wildest fantasy campaigns. Position matters. Choices matter. You can feel the wargame bones in every hit die and saving throw.

But today I want to talk about a different tactic.

 And a very different kind of fight.

My current opponent doesn’t breathe fire or lurk in dungeons. It’s not a dragon, or a lich, or even one of those slippery players who always find a loophole in your spell descriptions.

It’s my Occult D&D project.

This thing has grown far beyond what I thought it would be. What started as an experiment, "What if I treated witches as seriously as clerics and magic-users, and they had been part of D&D from the start?" has turned into a full-blown system of spells, subclasses, traditions, monsters, mechanics, cosmology, and philosophy.

And the tactic I’ve used to wrestle it all into something cohesive?

 Research. Years of it. I looked back at my first notes on this back in mid-July (they are sitting here now), and they are dated 2013. Not my first notes ever, just the first notes I began collecting for an AD&D book. I have notes still dating back to the 1980s. All carefully kept (much to my wife’s chagrin sometimes) in three-ring binders. I might be obsessive, but it works for me. 

I’ve read historical witch trial records. I’ve gone deep into Margaret Murray, Jung, and Campbell. I’ve pulled from Golden Dawn rituals, folk magic, Wicca, Kabbalah, medieval grimoires, Victorian spiritualism, and pop culture from Dark Shadows to The VVitch. I’ve cross-referenced monster entries, spell levels, class XP charts, and Dragon Magazine articles like I was studying for an occult-themed Ph.D. dissertation.

And every time I thought I was close to done?  Another thread appeared. Another tactic had to be employed. Another heretic idea needed a place on the page.

This project hasn’t just been about building something.  It’s been about learning how to listen, to myth, to symbol, to rhythm, to the structure of D&D itself. And then figuring out where my work fits, and where it pushes back.

There’s tactical thinking in this, even if it doesn’t look like a battlefield. 

•  What does each Tradition offer? 
•  How do I balance the occult with the arcane and divine?
•  Where does narrative shape the mechanics, and where do the mechanics open new story paths?

And yes, I am using the word “story” here. Why? Because that's what the player is going to do with this. I am fairly sure that the audience here is the ones that will look at the traditions, subclasses, and classes I have and say, “yes, these are different from each other.” They are the ones I want to reach. 

It's not always straightforward. Sometimes it’s sitting at my desk, staring at a spell description for 20 minutes, trying to decide if it should be second or third level. Sometimes it’s rewriting a single monster power because it breaks one of the unwritten rules of AD&D logic, or it is too close to something already done, OR even because I need it to be closer to something already done.

But that’s the work. That’s the tactic. Slow, careful, deliberate construction.

I love a good battle map. I love clever flanking. I love using the environment to turn the tide.

But sometimes the most satisfying tactic isn’t found in the order of initiative.

It’s in building something that others can use.

And knowing that somewhere, someday, a new player’s character might light a candle, draw a circle, and say, “I cast an occult spell.”

Questions

 Where. Confident. Accessory. Hmmm...Where am I confident I can get the latest accessory? Easy, my FLGS, Games Plus.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 26 Nemesis

 One of my favorite characters in Superman has always been Lex Luthor.

Why? Because Lex never thinks he’s evil. In his mind, he’s the only one doing the right thing. Humanity can’t trust an alien god with their future, no matter how many kittens he rescues from trees. Lex isn’t mustache-twirling evil, he’s rational. Cold. Calculating. Absolutely convinced that he is the smartest man in the room and that everyone else is either too blind, too stupid, or too naïve to see the danger.

That, to me, is the perfect nemesis.

In my games, I’ve had plenty of recurring villains, necromancers, devils, cultists with too many teeth, but only a few that have earned that capital-N “Nemesis” title.

Magnus is one. He’s my classic evil necromancer, complete with black robes, pale skin, and an ego that can barely fit into the dungeon. But I’ll be honest, sometimes he feels like a cartoon villain. Fun to bring out for a good dramatic monologue, but not quite the existential threat I want.

Yoln was a better one. He was the nemesis in my AD&D 1st ed and Buffy the Vampire Slayer games. His evil had a face, a voice, a reason. Players hated him, but they also understood him. That’s good villainy.

Dracula? Always a favorite. But he’s more of a force of nature than a true nemesis. The devil you invite in by accident.  The Refrigerator? Fun, but he is a misanthropic one-trick pony.

But lately… I’ve been circling something deeper. A presence that’s shown up in many of my games, even when I didn’t know it yet.

At first, it was just a phrase, The Whispering God. A vague mythos thread to tie things together. But somewhere between running a Buffy session and catching a train in downtown Chicago, I realized something. Magnus has heard those whispers. So has Yoln. And maybe, just maybe, they were never the real threat.

They were echoes. Shadows.

The true nemesis is something I’ve started calling The One Who Remains.

He’s not a person, not really. “He” is just a convenient pronoun. “It” would be more accurate. “They,” maybe. Or “We,” if I’m being honest.

Here’s what I know:

• He was once a human, or something like it.
• He helped end the Age of Old Ones, maybe in the Wasted Lands’ Dreaming Age, maybe earlier.
• He did something, some ritual or betrayal, that shattered his being across time and space.

Now he is trying to pull himself back together.

Like gravity pulling dust into stars, his scattered thoughts, identities, and echoes are coalescing. Slowly at first. Then faster. Always faster. And when he is whole again?

It will be too late to stop him.

Some worlds feel his influence only faintly, a name in a forgotten grimoire, a face glimpsed in a nightmare. Others bear him like a scar. In some, he is barely more than a drive or a hunger. In others, he takes on form: a warlock, a high priest, a masked prophet. In some campaigns, he’s just a whisper. In others, he’s a storm.

And in my multiverse?

He’s everywhere.

He’s the shadow behind the coven. The Patron no one names. The face in the mirror when the moonlight is hitting it wrong,  or maybe just right.

He is the Nemesis not of a single hero, or of the world, but of all the cosmos. Of memory. Of meaning.

He is the end that waits, and the beginning that never should have been.

And the worst part?

He’s almost here.

I can’t wait for you to meet him.

Questions

What. Envious. Genre.  What Genre am I envious of? Well none really. Though I do like hearing people talk about their superhero games. I can't ever keep one going for long.

 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 25 Challenge

Monstrous Monday Edition

Over the decades, we've had "Dungeon Level," Monster Mark, Threat Levels, Challenge Ratings, Encounter Difficulty, and a dozen other shorthand systems meant to answer one very old question:

 "Can my party handle this thing?"

And here's the short version of my answer:

 Maybe. But also... maybe not.

That’s the paradox of Challenge in D&D and most fantasy RPGs. It sounds like math, but it plays like myth. There’s a desire, especially in newer editions, to systematize danger. To give you charts, budgets, and formulas that make the world behave. The 3rd Edition tried really hard to codify it. 5e softened the math, but still aims for the same goal: fairness. Balance.

But here's the thing. Balance is an illusion.

Challenge doesn't live in the numbers. It lives in the tension between what the players think they can do and what the world dares them to try.

In old-school games, especially AD&D 1st Edition, there was no guarantee that the next room wasn’t going to have something that would eat you in one round. The game trusted the Referee to warn, not to weigh. The sign of blood on the doorframe, the sulfur stink in the air, the scratch marks on the wall. That was the challenge rating.

And as a monster-maker and adventure writer, I love that freedom. It lets me drop a coven of night hags in the woods outside of a Level 3 village, not because it “fits,” but because it means something. The challenge is a story, not a stat block.

When I design new monsters for my campaigns, or for my witch projects, I rarely ask “Is this balanced?” I ask “Is this meaningful? Is this memorable? Will this scare the players just enough to make them think before they roll initiative?”

Because the best challenges are the ones that change the characters. Not just in XP or loot, but in story. The foe that scars them. The one that got away. The one that cost them something. The monster that becomes a legend around the table.

So sure, build your encounter tables and run the numbers if you like. But don’t forget what the real challenge is:

Getting out alive, with your story intact.

Questions

When. Excited. Adventure.

When am I excited for an adventure? Any time I get to play with my kids and family. 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 24 Reveal

Every game has that moment.

The moment when something slips out of the shadows. A secret comes to light. A mask comes off. The moment a reveal hits the table and changes how everyone sees the world, or themselves.

As a DM and a designer, I live for those moments.

They don’t have to be big. Not every reveal is a secret villain or a hidden bloodline. Sometimes it’s just a player realizing they’ve been wrong about their character’s path. Or that the “harmless” NPC has been manipulating things since session two. Or that the relic they’ve been carrying isn’t what they thought it was, and never was.

One of my favorite reveals was during my series of 5e Gen Con games my family played in. There was this elf-girl who kept ending up on the PCs tail. She would be in the same dungeon, or be in the slaver’s camp, or just following. She was Evelyn, the Princess Escalla, and she was leading the rebellion of elven slaves in the drow city of Erelhei-Cinlu.

But every reveal has weight.

In my worlds, especially the occult ones, revelations aren’t always helpful. They don’t always come with a neat explanation or a reward. Sometimes the truth is confusing. Frightening. Half-seen. And that’s the point. Not every mystery needs to be solved cleanly. Some truths don’t bring clarity, they bring consequence.

Another one was Yoln as The Hand of Leviathan. My players (and ther characters) thought the hand was a weapon. It was a person or a former person. 

Speaking of which. 

Lately, I've been threading something into my games. A presence. A name. A whisper behind other plots. He’s not always visible. In fact, he rarely is. But he’s there, like a recurring nightmare that no one talks about. A cosmic echo that appears in different guises across different campaigns and settings.

The players don’t always notice it at first. But eventually, someone will ask:

 “Wait… haven’t we heard that name before?”

 “Didn’t someone else dream about that same phrase?”

 “Why does this ruin in the Realms have the same symbol we saw in a galaxy far, far away?”

And that’s when I smile. Because the reveal isn’t just a plot point. It’s a pattern. Something reaching across time and space and genre, pulling pieces of itself together.

I’ve started calling him The One Who Remains.

He’s not just a villain. He’s not even entirely real in the way most beings are.

 He’s the echo of something that broke too long ago to remember.

 A shadow stitched from regret and silence.

 A thought that keeps trying to remember itself.

In some campaigns, he’s just a whisper. In others, he’s the secret patron behind a warlock’s power. In still others, he’s already won, and no one realizes it yet.

He’s been revealed slowly, in fragments.  And he’ll get more detail in just a couple of days. Day 26 is coming.

Sometimes the best reveals aren’t about answers. They’re about realizing the question has been with you the whole time.

Questions

How. Proud. Person. 

Easy. I was proud of my kids in their first Gen Con game and then really got into the spirit of it right away. The GM later told me he didn't normally like having kids so young, but they did great.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 23 Recent

 One of the joys of this hobby is how often we revisit the past.

Old characters. Old settings. Forgotten rulesets we swore we remembered better than we do. And yes, there’s a kind of magic in cracking open that AD&D 2nd Edition Forgotten Realms box and realizing that even though you’ve been gaming for decades, somehow… this still feels new.

But lately? I’ve been reminded that the recent moments are just as powerful.

In the last few months, I’ve been lucky enough to dive into a few very different games, and each one has changed the way I think about the stories we tell at the table.

Daggerheart caught me off guard in the best way. I went in expecting a rules-light, character-driven story game, and it is that, but what really stood out was how it handles party dynamics. There's a gentler kind of tension here. Not the clash of classes or alignment charts, but emotional connection, hope, and the quiet drama of shared vulnerability. It’s not just how the characters fight together, but how they heal together. And for someone who’s spent a lot of time in dungeons and haunted ruins, that shift was… refreshing.

Then came a run in Edge’s Star Wars RPG, and that was a whole different ride. Fast, cinematic, gloriously messy. But what it reminded me most of was this: balance isn’t the point. Fun is. Characters aren't finely tuned chess pieces. They’re scoundrels, force users, misfits, and rebels flying by the seat of their robes. The game never once worried if something was "too strong" or "underpowered." It just asked, “Did that feel cool?” And honestly? That’s a design philosophy I want to carry with me.

And finally, there’s my return to the Forgotten Realms, but this time, through the lens of AD&D 2nd Edition. It’s funny. I’ve spent years reading Realmslore, pulling from its gods and guilds, its elven legacies and deep roads beneath the mountains. But actually playing in that space, using the materials from the late '80s and early '90s? That feels different. It’s like stepping into a place I’ve only ever read about. Not as a scholar or a fan, but as a traveler.

Nostalgia is great. It’s powerful. But it’s not a substitute for presence.

And that’s the thing I keep coming back to: the most important past isn’t what we played twenty years ago, it’s what we did at the table last week.

That last game. That weird plot twist. That character choice no one expected. That moment of laughter, tension, heartbreak, or triumph that came out of nowhere.

So yeah, I love looking back. I’ll always treasure the books, the maps, the stories that got me here.

But what really matters?

What’s happening in the next session?

Nostalgia is great and fun, but sometimes the most important past is what we did in our most recent game.

Questions

What. Confident. Genre. 

What genre do I feel the most confident in? Easy Horror. I love running horror games. 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 22 Ally

Fantasy Friday Edition

If the unexpected is where the magic happens, then allies are the ones who help you survive it.

In most fantasy games, we talk a lot about the players, the villains, and the world. But some of the richest, strangest, most meaningful moments don’t come from the final boss or the quest-giver with a shiny reward; they come from the people the characters meet along the way.

The allies. The NPCs. The ones who weren’t supposed to matter, but suddenly do.

I’ve long believed that a good ally is more than just someone who helps in a fight. They’re the soul of a campaign. They give the players a reason to care about the world. A reason to stay. A reason to come back.

Sometimes they start as simple archetypes: the barkeep with a missing eye, the goblin who insists he’s a poet, the witch in the woods who offers help with a price attached. But then something happens. A player makes a connection. They ask a question you weren’t ready for. They offer kindness, or threat, and the relationship takes on a life of its own.

Suddenly, that nameless sage becomes the character’s mentor. The grumpy caravan driver becomes comic relief, and then a trusted friend.

 The rival adventuring party becomes something more complex than competition.

In fantasy stories, allies ground us. They remind the characters that they’re not alone. That the world isn’t just monsters and gold and ancient curses, it’s people. Living, flawed, sometimes irritating, and often surprising people.

And yes, sometimes they betray you. Sometimes they turn out to be working for the villain, or hiding a dangerous secret, or just get in over their heads and die in the second act. That’s part of the deal. But the good ones, the ones who stay, those are the ones your players will talk about years later.

I’ve had NPCs who were meant to be one-hit wonders end up starring in entire campaigns.  I’ve seen players go to absurd lengths to save them, avenge them, or recruit them. The characters and players even look forward to seeing them. Evelyn, the Princess Escalla, is an excellent example of this. They hated her at first, but when she showed up at the right time, they loved her. Not bad for a little half-pixie girl with a huge sword.

And I think that’s the point.

In the middle of all the darkness and mystery, all the chaos and combat, allies give us something else: hope.

 Even if they’re flawed. Even if they’re weird, and Evelyn was weird. Even if they were just a name on a note card five minutes ago.

They remind us that the world is worth saving. Or at least, worth traveling through one more day.

Questions

When. Confident. Rule.

Hmm. When am I confident in a new rule? When I have made a new rule for a game, I am confident it will "sell" well when my playtesters tell me how cool it was.  

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 21 Unexpected

 The unexpected is where the magic happens.

You can prep the dungeon. You can write out the villain’s monologue. You can stack the random encounter tables and plan your traps with precision. But none of it survives contact with the players.

And that’s the point.

"Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face." 

 - Mike Tyson

Fantasy roleplaying lives in that strange middle place between structure and surprise. The tension between what we plan and what actually happens. And over the years, I’ve learned to stop resisting the unexpected and start inviting it.

I’ve had villains turn into allies, thanks to a clever player speech. I’ve had major arcs derailed by a single spell (more than one). I’ve seen players bond with NPCs I hadn’t even named yet (too many times to count), turning a throwaway shopkeeper into a long-running favorite. I’ve had sessions where everything clicked, and others where nothing went according to plan but somehow worked anyway.

That’s what I love about this hobby. The unexpected isn’t a problem. It’s the reward.

But it’s not just in gameplay mechanics or plot twists. It’s also in the tone. The emotional texture. I’ve had horror campaigns become character dramas. Light-hearted one-shots veer into genuine catharsis. Once, in the middle of what should have been a tense combat encounter, a player described their character’s internal conflict so beautifully it stopped the game cold. We just sat with it. That moment, unplanned and unprompted, said more than any scripted scene could.

And sometimes, it’s the characters themselves who surprise you. The warlock who resists the call of their patron. The cleric who starts to doubt. The witch who turns away from power to protect something small and fragile. The hero who decides not to fight, but to forgive.

As a DM, I’ve learned to treat the unexpected like a knock at the door. You don’t always know who’s there, but it’s worth answering.

Because that’s where the best stories begin.

Not where you planned, but where the players took you instead.

Questions

How. Excited. Character.

How excited am I for a character? I am always excited about a new character, all the untapped potential. Everything about a new character.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 20 Enter

 There’s a moment that happens in every good fantasy RPG. It might not look like much on paper. A room description. A line of dialogue. A decision so small it barely draws attention at the time.

But something shifts. The torches are lit. The players lean in.

And the question lingers: Do you enter?

That’s the threshold.

To enter is not just to cross into a new place. It’s to leave something behind. Safety. Certainty. Sometimes even identity. And once you've stepped through, the world is never quite the same.

I think about this a lot when I design adventures. Not just dungeons or lairs, but those moments when the world opens up and becomes other. That heavy door groaning open into darkness. The portal that hums with a color you don’t have a name for. The standing stones that seem to lean in closer when you blink. These are not just places, they’re invitations. Rites of passage. The crossing over from the known to the unknown.

In the monomyth, it’s called the first threshold. In Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, it’s the moment when the hero accepts the call to adventure and moves from the mundane into the mythic. But I’ve always felt witches and warlocks experience this differently. For them, it’s not a line they cross once. It’s a cycle. A spiral. The path winds inward, deeper each time. Every doorway leads to another, and each one costs a little more.

Sometimes it's a literal entrance: the black iron gate of a cursed estate, the crumbling stairs beneath a ruined temple. Other times it’s less obvious. Opening a book you were warned not to touch. Answering a voice in your dreams. Saying “yes” to something without understanding what you’ve agreed to.

These moments aren’t about combat or treasure. They’re about change. The world shifts. The story deepens. And the characters, whether they know it or not, are no longer who they were on the other side of that door.

I try to honor that in my games. I give players the moment. I let them feel the weight of the threshold before they step through. I don’t need to say anything dramatic. Just a pause. A look. The air gets a little colder. The fire flickers once. Something remembers their name.

And then they enter.

Because they always do.

Questions

What. Nostalgic. Rule.

What rule am I most nostalgic for?  I miss the days when the thief class had more options for thief skills, beyond just a d20 roll for "Thievery."  While AD&D 1st Ed was great, I like the flexibility granted by AD&D 2nd Ed where you could distribute points into the skills. 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 19 Destiny

Some characters are made. Others are called.

In fantasy RPGs, we often talk about adventure as something that happens to the characters. A job they take. A dungeon they stumble into. A series of increasingly bad decisions with increasingly sharp consequences.

But sometimes… the story’s already waiting for them.

That’s destiny.

It’s the feeling that a character wasn’t just born to swing a sword or cast a spell, they were born to change the world. Or maybe to save it. Or break it.

And whether you believe in fate or not, it makes for a hell of a story.

The classic model, of course, is the Hero’s Journey, Joseph Campbell’s monomyth. The call to adventure. Refusal. Supernatural aid. Descent. Return. Transformation. It’s clean. It’s powerful. It’s the scaffolding behind everything from The Lord of the Rings to Star Wars to the better arcs in your home campaign.

But witches rarely walk the Hero’s Path.

They dance on it.

Their model isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral.

A path that doubles back. That deepens. That re-enters old places with new eyes. It’s the Witch’s Spiral Dance, a sacred return. A reweaving of self. Not a quest for glory, but a journey inward and downward, until the truth is uncovered in the dark.

And that, too, is destiny.

In my games, I love to ask:

• Does this character believe they have a destiny?
• If not, what happens when they’re told they do?
• What happens if they refuse it?
• And what happens if they chase it too far?

Not every character needs a prophesied fate. Some are just trying to survive. But destiny has a strange way of catching up. That cursed sword didn’t find them by accident. That sigil birthmark? That wasn’t just cosmetic.

Even when you're winging it as a player, the story has a gravity. It pulls. It whispers. It tempts you with the idea that maybe… this moment was meant to happen.

And when you step into it? When the character finally sees themselves in the myth?

That’s magic.

That’s the moment when dice and drama and destiny line up. When a witch completes her spiral. When a hero returns home, changed. When the dungeon wasn’t just a hole in the ground, it was the crucible of the soul.

So sure, roll with the chaos. Make it up as you go.

But when the time comes? When the stars are right, and the door opens?

Step into destiny.

Questions

Why. Excited. Accessory.

Why am I excited about BLANK Accessory? For me it is an online visual character generator. Why, but I can create characters to use in my games without needing to hire an artist every time. I'll save that for things I want to publish. 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 18 Sign

 Not every message arrives in words. Some come as signs.

• A crow circling widdershins.
• A mirror that cracks without reason.
• A cold wind blowing from the east when the sky is clear.

In the occult, both in fiction and in real-world traditions, signs are how the unseen speaks. They’re not always obvious. They’re not always dramatic. But they always mean something.

Witches know this. Warlocks, too. They don’t just read books. They read the world. The patterns in the bark, the way the candle flickers, the strange arrangement of bones at the edge of a clearing. The world is a living grimoire, and every sign is a page waiting to be read.

I’ve always loved using signs in my games. They’re more than just flavor, they’re agency. A clue, a key, a message scratched into the world itself. Sometimes it’s overt: a vision, an augury, a rune glowing faintly on a stone altar. But more often, it’s subtle. A dream that changes after entering a cursed forest. A candle that won’t stay lit inside a ruined chapel. A tarot deck that keeps drawing The Tower, no matter how many times it’s shuffled.

The best signs don’t give answers. They ask questions. They don’t tell the players what to do, they ask if they’re paying attention.

And if you want to turn up the pressure, signs can act like story clocks. Foreshadowing. Countdown markers. A narrative fuse quietly burning in the background.

The third raven means the pact is broken.

 The red comet marks the return of something old.

 And when the stars are right… well, you know how that one goes.

From a DM’s point of view, signs are one of my favorite storytelling tools. They create atmosphere. They build tension. They reward curiosity. And they make the world feel alive, alive and watching.

From a player’s point of view, they’re invitations. To dig deeper. To question everything. To realize that maybe the dungeon isn’t the real threat, it’s what’s waking up beneath it.

So the next time something strange happens in your game, an unexplained sound, an uncanny shadow, a symbol that appears where it shouldn’t, don’t explain it right away. Let it linger. Let it breathe. Let it be a sign.

And watch what your players do with it.

 Because half the fun of prophecy is wondering if it’s true.

 The other half? Watching your players spin themselves in circles trying to figure it out.

Questions

When. Contemplative. Character.

Related to signs above, when should a Character be contemplative? Obviously, when trying to figure out whatever mystery I have thrown at them, and not in the middle of combat.  Their thought process can e a great role-playing device.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 17 Renew

Renewal is at the heart of magic.

Not just in spells like Cure Light Wounds, Regenerate, or Remove Curse, but in the very bones of the occult.

The seasons turn. The moon waxes and wanes. The old year dies, the new one is born. Witches know this. They live by it. Their magic doesn’t just destroy or create it recycles. It breaks things down to make something new.

In my Occult D&D projects, I’ve leaned hard into this idea. It is a central theme of witchcraft; life-death-rebirth; renewal.

 Witches don’t get stronger just by leveling up. They grow through ritual, reflection, and reinvention.

 They bury regrets in the earth. They burn away what no longer serves. They drink from wells beneath the world and wake up changed.

That’s what I love about the occult themes in D&D: it’s not just about power; it’s about transformation. It’s about becoming someone new without erasing who you were.

• The witch who renounces her patron, but keeps the lessons.
• The warlock who breaks the pact, but keeps the scars.
• The circle that ends, so another can begin.

I’ve even designed spells and mechanics around this. Lunar rites that renew magical strength. Coven rituals that restore spent energy. Familiars that molt and reincarnate. Spells that don’t just heal, they cleanse.

And I don’t mean that in a purely mechanical sense. I mean characters who carry emotional weight and find a way to set it down. In the context of a long campaign, this is gold.

Give your witch time to grieve. Let your warlock find peace. Make room for the reset.

Because renewal isn’t just a soft option. It’s powerful. It’s hard. It requires choice, sacrifice, and awareness. But when it happens?

It feels like magic again.

Questions

Who. Optimistic. Person.

Who is someone (a person) who makes me optimistic?  I would have to say the recent batch of D&D influencers. To name one Ginny Di. They love this hobby and wear their love on their sleeve for all to see. The hobby won't be pushed forward by the old guard like me, but from the newer players.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 16 Overcome

We talk a lot about what characters fight in fantasy RPGs; goblins, dragons, liches, whatever’s on the random encounter table that day.

But what really matters? What sticks?

 It’s what they overcome.

And I don’t just mean hit point totals.

Sometimes it’s the curse that’s been lingering for three levels. The guilt over a party member’s death. The temptation of a dark deal that still echoes in their dreams. The fear that they’re not the hero the prophecy promised.

Those are the real battles. The quiet ones. The personal ones.

I love when players come to the table thinking, “We’re going to win the day,” and leave thinking, “My character just grew.” They faced something hard, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and came out the other side a little different.

That’s overcoming.

It might be finishing off the necromancer who burned your village. It might be choosing not to take revenge. It might be sacrificing power for the sake of someone else. It might be finally, finally, telling the truth.

In fantasy RPGs, we often start with heroes already equipped to face the world: magic, swords, destiny. But the best stories show us that even heroes have things they struggle with, and that overcoming those things can be even more epic than slaying the monster.

The witch who overcomes isolation. The warlock who breaks their pact. The paladin who overcomes doubt. The thief who finds something worth protecting.

As DMs and writers, it’s easy to focus on obstacles that hurt the body. But don’t forget the ones that hurt the heart. They’re harder to stat, but so much more rewarding to resolve.

So next time you’re writing an arc, or running a game, or building a character, ask yourself: What have they overcome? And what still lies ahead?

Because the adventure isn’t just about who they fight.

It’s about who they become.

Questions

Where. Proud. Genre. First all matching roll, all 3s.

Where was I particularly proud of a genre? Easy. Victorian era RPGs. As a genre I see very little infighting between groups of games, and nearly everyone gets along and lover to share ideas with each other.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 15 Deceive

Fantasy Friday Edition

Deception is everywhere in fantasy.

Illusions, glamours, false faces. Changeling children. Cursed bargains. Secret kings. The villain who was never in the dungeon, the hero who was never truly on your side.

It’s one of the oldest elements of the genre, right up there with swords and spells. And in fantasy RPGs, deception is more than a skill check; it’s a tool of worldbuilding, character development, and tension.

A good deception makes players second-guess everything.

•  The map they followed.
•  The patron they trusted.
•  The sword they pulled from the stone.

And that’s where the fun begins.

Deception in a fantasy game can be as simple as a bandit pretending to be a merchant, or as complex as an entire kingdom under a curse where no one remembers the truth. One of my favorite tools? Having a monster pose as an innocent. A cursed noble. A helpful spirit. A fellow adventurer.

Because when the truth finally comes out? That’s the moment everyone remembers.

Now, not every game needs trickery. Sometimes you want a good old-fashioned dungeon crawl, no lies, just orcs. But even then, somewhere in the back of your mind, you know:

• The statue’s watching.
• The innkeeper’s too friendly.
• The mayor is hiding something.

And then there's magic.

Magic and deception go hand in hand in fantasy. Illusionists specialize in lies made visible. Witches glamour themselves or trick the eye with shadow. Fey creatures make promises that twist into traps.

Cursed items whisper to the wielder until they think the voice is their own. 

But deception isn’t just for NPCs and villains. Sometimes the players lie. To NPCs, to each other, to themselves. Maybe the warlock claims their power comes from “an ancient ancestor,” not a hungry patron. Maybe the cleric keeps a secret god. Maybe the rogue isn’t just good at lying, they need to lie.

Because the truth is too dangerous to speak aloud.

In a good fantasy RPG, deception isn't just trickery, it’s drama. It’s tension. It’s story.

And sometimes the best twists aren’t the ones you plan, they’re the ones the players create through the lies their characters tell.

So here’s to deceit.

The double agent. The doppelgänger. The mask that slips. The lie that changes the world when it’s finally revealed.

After all, what’s fantasy without a bit of misdirection?

Questions

What. Envious. Adventure.

What adventure am I envious of? I would have to say the original Greyhawk Campaign of TAGDQ adventures. I would love to play through them again using AD&D 1st Edition, or maybe Castles & Crusades. That would be a lot of fun. 

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 14 Mystery

 In games, a mystery is often a question that needs solving. Who stole the artifact? What’s making the villagers sick? Why won’t the dead stay dead?

But in the occult, mystery is something deeper, a little more profound.

Not a puzzle to be solved, but a truth too big to grasp all at once.

The word “occult” itself means hidden. Not evil, not dangerous, just concealed. Veiled. Enfolded in symbols and silence. Not because it can’t be known, but because it must be experienced to be understood.

That’s how I treat mystery in my games, not as a locked box waiting for the right roll, but as a revelation that unfolds slowly, ritually, even dangerously.

The best mysteries aren’t just plot hooks. They are tones. They are atmosphere. They’re what makes the players lean in when you lower your voice.

They start small:

• A name whispered in a dream.
• A mirror that stops reflecting.
• A string of deaths that all share the same wound, but nothing else.

They grow:

• The name shows up in an old ledger.
• The mirror reappears in another town.
• The wound pattern matches something from a war that ended centuries ago.

Until suddenly, the players realize: this isn’t a mystery they’re solving. This is a mystery they’re becoming part of.

That’s when you know it’s working.

Because the greatest mysteries don’t just exist to be explained.

 They exist to transform.

The occult traditions get this. The Mystery Schools weren’t lecture halls. They were initiatory experiences. To understand the mystery, you had to live it. You had to enter the cave, drink the wine, draw the circle, speak the name.

That’s the energy I try to bring to my witch stories and adventures.

The mystery is the magic.

 Not the “what,” but the why.

 Not the “how do we fix this,” but the “what happens if we don’t.”

And the best part?

Even I don’t always know the answer!

Because a real mystery… changes everyone who touches it.

This is an idea I’ll come back to again in this challenge, but specifically Day 26. 

Questions

Who. Enthusiastic. Art.

Who's art am I enthusiastic about? I would have to say my good friend Djinn. She always does a great job with my characters and I look forward to seeing what she does with them.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 13 Darkness

Witchcraft Wednesday Edition

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

- H.P. Lovecraft

Darkness is the first unknown.

Before the gods named the stars. Before light was separated from shadow. Before the world had shape or time or form, there was darkness.

Every myth begins there.

In Greek myth, the cosmos was born from Chaos, and from Chaos came Nyx, Night itself. In Norse myth, the void was Ginnungagap, yawning and unknowable. In Kabbalistic lore, creation emerged from the Ain Soph, an infinite darkness with no boundary. Even Genesis opens with a spirit hovering over the waters, formless, in the dark.

Witches know this.

They don’t fear the dark. They come from it.

In the worlds I create and the characters I write, darkness is never just the absence of light, it’s the primordial potential. A place of power, transformation, and unknowable truth.

Yes, it’s where monsters live. Yes, it’s where danger lurks. But it’s also where secrets are kept. Where mysteries are born. Where souls are shaped.

Lovecraft leaned hard into the fear side of things, his darkness is cosmic, uncaring, and overwhelming. I get that. The fear of the unknown is real, valid, and a great tool at the game table. You don’t have to describe the thing in the dark. Sometimes it’s scarier when you don’t.

But I’m just as interested in the power of darkness. The depth. The origin-point.

Witches in my games don’t shine a lantern to dispel the dark; they listen to it. They ask it questions. They trace the shape of what’s moving just beyond the edge of sight.

And when my players step into darkness, literal or metaphorical, they know it’s not just a place of danger. It’s a threshold. It’s where the story shifts.

You can’t cast a shadow without light. But you can’t understand light without the dark. You need both.

So as we stand at the edge of the next room, the next decision, the next truth too big to see all at once, I remind my players:

Go ahead. Step into the dark.

 It’s where all things begin.

Questions

How. Envious. Character.

How was I envious of my characters? I don't know. Their ability to pick up languages in the game was always great. I speak English, learned German in High School, took some Japanese in college, and learned some Irish Gaelic and Spanish since then. Each one has been a struggle. But I keep at it.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/

#RPGaDay2025 Day 12 Path

One of the great metaphors in fantasy gaming is the path.

Every character is on one, whether they know it or not. Sometimes it’s clear from the start: a paladin on the road to righteousness, a rogue fleeing their past, a wizard chasing forgotten lore. Other times, the path isn’t chosen, it’s revealed, one strange step at a time.

For players, the path is often literal. You travel from town to dungeon, from forest to ruin, from the known to the unknown. There are forks in the road, trails in the wilderness, portals that beckon, and thresholds you can’t uncross. It’s all part of the adventure.

But behind that? There’s always something deeper.

The Path is also about identity.

 The journey a character takes from what they were to what they might become. And for the best characters and the best players, it’s not a straight line.

In the real world, we often imagine that our paths are chosen. Career paths. Life paths. But more often than not, they’re shaped by the things we stumble into, the things we say “yes” to, and the things we survive. The same is true in fantasy.

Witches and warlocks, the characters I write about the most often, don’t always choose their path. Sometimes they hear the call in dreams. Sometimes they’re marked by birth. Sometimes they’re just the only ones brave (or foolish) enough to follow a trail that ends in blood and moonlight. But once they’re on it, there’s no going back. The world has changed them. Or maybe the change was already there, and the path is just catching up.

In game terms, the path can be mechanical: levels, powers, subclasses, destinies. But in story terms? It’s mythic.

• The path of atonement.
• The path of vengeance.
• The path of knowledge, or power, or healing, or truth.
• The path that says this is who I am now.

Sometimes you wander off it. Sometimes you make a new one. Sometimes you find out it was never yours to begin with. 

But one thing’s always true: Once the path calls you, you walk it.

Even if you don’t know where it leads.

Questions

When. Enthusiastic. Lesson.

Oh, I have a good lesson I learned and I learned it with enthusiasm.

I have played exactly 1 ninja my entire gaming life.  His name was (horrible I know) Oko-nishi.  My lame attempts at a Japanese-sounding name.  In my defense at what I knew was bad I made him a half-orc.  It must have been around this time I made him using the AD&D 1st Ed Oriental Adventure rules.  

My then DM, Grenda,  and I had worked up a D&D combat simulator (we called it BARD), and we plugged him in with 9 other characters.  He was attacked by a Black Dragon (or Red, I can't recall) and killed. The dragon kept attacking him and only him.  We had not worked out all the errors. In the end, he had been reduced to something like -70 hp.  My DM offered to let him be ok or keep him dead. 

We enjoyed watching it so much and getting the mental image of this stupid dragon jumping up and down on my dead ninja that I felt it was a waste to say it never happened.

https://www.autocratik.com/ • https://www.castingshadowsblog.com/