Showing posts with label Mirror Mondays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mirror Mondays. Show all posts

Monday, July 27, 2026

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986. The Witch, the Cleric, and the Magic-User

 One of the central design ideas behind Advanced Witches & Warlocks is something that, in retrospect, seems obvious to me.

The Witch is not a Magic-User in a black dress. She is also not a Cleric with better eyeliner.

Photo by Alex Urezkov: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-woman-in-a-cloak-holding-a-stick-and-a-wand-27581206/

I have joked about that distinction before, but there is a real design issue behind it, one that gets to the heart of what I want the Witch to be in Advanced Witches & Warlocks.

From its very inception, Dungeons & Dragons has had two principal modes of spellcasting at its core. Later editions were more explicit in codifying the divide between these forms of magic, but the separation was always there. A Magic-User wields Arcane power; a Cleric has Divine. The former will study a spell, commit it to book and memory, experiment with it, and come to see magic as something to be grasped by way of knowledge. The latter relies on faith and service, on a connection to powers beyond the mortal realm and the authority they confer.

Even if the outcome is sometimes the same (often the same), these are fundamentally different ways of looking at magic. No one at an AD&D table would confuse the two classes when they cast spells. That is an important distinction, and in my view, the Witch is owed the same respect.

I have been saying it here often enough, but it is worth restating: Witches practice Occult magic.

By nature it is secret and initiatory, often dealing with matters that polite society would rather not acknowledge. In some respects it is like Arcane or Divine magic since witches both believe and study. They make use of books and rituals, of gods and spirits, of herbs and stars and the like, drawing on all the same sort of things a Magic-User or Cleric might. But then again, similarity does not make them the same. 

The Witch has her own way of going about it.

Knowledge, Authority, and Relationship

  • A Magic-User looks at magic and wants to understand how it works.
  • A Cleric looks toward the Divine and asks what is required.
  • A Witch looks at the hidden world and asks how everything is connected.

That last part is increasingly important to how I am designing the class.

I have written before about why Charisma is the Witch's prime attribute. I do not use Charisma here as a measure of physical attractiveness or popularity. For the Witch, Charisma is presence, the ability of the self to affect and interact with others. Often, and more to the point, how do this and not lose oneself.

And "others" is a very broad category.

Other people, certainly, but also spirits, ghosts, ancestors, familiars, demons, gods, the dead, the land, magical places, supernatural powers, and things for which there might not be a convenient entry in the Monster Manual.

A Witch does not simply know that a spirit exists. She has a relationship with it. She might summon or put an end to it, make a bargain, issue a threat, or offer some form of appeasement. Perhaps she is in its debt, or she is privy to the one name it would have left unspoken. For this kind of work, Charisma is essential.

Power for the Witch is a matter of relationships, and even those that are hostile qualify. A curse, a pact, a haunting, or the tie to a familiar are all forms of relationship. The same holds true for her connection to her coven, her Patron, or the ground on which she puts her craft to use.

In this way, Occult magic makes a clear distinction from the Arcane and the Divine. A Magic-User will see an effect replicated so long as he has the right formula; a Cleric can expect a miracle by virtue of his divine authority. The Witch acts because she knows how to deal with what lies behind the effect. At times she may know its wants or its name. 

More to the point, it may know her. That is no small thing. With Occult magic, you are always noticed in return. 

That last bit is important. Occult magic always notices you back.

There is an importance to this at the game table as well. When one considers that Occult magic is founded on relationships, a Witch ought not to come across as any other Magic-User with a distinct set of spells. The nature of her art should impose certain obligations and leave its mark. It is a matter of names and places. Of covens, Patrons, spirits, and familiars. And of encounters that are made more than once. Over the span of a campaign, she can form ties with the supernatural; and while they may prove useful, they can be just as often dangerous, or even both in the same breath.

A list of names is often more useful to the witch than a list of what treasures she has found.

That, more than anything else, is why Charisma is the Witch’s prime attribute. It is not enough to perceive the hidden world or understand it. The Witch must be able to enter into a relationship with it and remain herself when it answers.

More Than a Third Spell List

This is something I want to be very careful and very deliberate about in Advanced Witches & Warlocks.

It would be the easy thing to do from a mechanical standpoint to compile a Witch spell list by culling some spells from the Magic-User and Cleric, throwing in a few curses and calling it a day. But that is philosophically lazy. Occult magic must be more than that.

The reason for drawing a line between Arcane, Divine, and Occult is not to put spells in three separate filing cabinets. Each should be predicated on a different view of reality. With Arcane, you are working with the notion that the universe has patterns to be found and put to use. Divine magic is built on the existence of a supernatural authority and the mortal’s ability to partake of it via faith or service.

Occult magic posits that there are things in reality one can enter into: hidden correspondences and identities, debts and thresholds. The Witch might learn, or she might pray; at times she will bargain. At other times she is doing what her coven has been doing for nine centuries without fully understanding the why of it. Or perhaps it works because a promise is being kept somewhere. All of which puts the Witch in an altogether different position vis-à-vis magic.

A spellbook is for knowledge, a holy text for revelation. A Book of Shadows has both, but you will also find recipes and family secrets in its pages, or warnings and the names of the dead. There may be diagrams lifted from stones long since misplaced, or a fragment of a conversation, or the record of a bargain made. You might come across an instruction to the effect of “do not perform this rite twice in the same place.” To my mind, that is what Witch magic is.

To a wizard this looks slap-dash and like “low magic.” Clerics will call it blasphemy or heresy. A witch will see the true power.

Traditions Are Means to Answers, Not Restrictions

New Witch Traditions is an area I have been putting a good deal of work into of late. One has to consider that if Occult magic is predicated on relationships and a certain way of seeing the world, it follows that there can be no single correct Witch theology. To put it another way, the question “Where does Witch magic come from?” should not have one universal answer; different witches will give you different ones. A Tradition is a means to one such answer. It is also what the answers are grounded in and, even more than that, how the questions are asked.

A Tradition does not merely give a Witch an answer. It teaches her which questions are worth asking. 

Think of it as a worldview and a means of making sense of the hidden world, complete with its own body of teachings and magical vocabulary. It is not to be confused with a coven. A coven is a matter of who one practices alongside; a Tradition speaks to how one comprehends the practice itself. The possibilities that distinction affords are considerable.

Take, for instance, the three I have been developing: the High Order, the Scaled Sisterhood, and the Threefold Goddess Tradition. They are all capable of producing witches, and they all make use of Occult magic, but you will find they can be in radical disagreement as to what magic really is. Or even what a witch is.

The High Order
The High Order

To an outside observer, the High Order is what one would expect of an Arcane tradition. The witches of the order are students of their craft; they put in the work to investigate everything from magical laws and ancient tongues to the hidden architecture of the cosmos, the planes, ritual structures, and metaphysics. There are some who will find common ground with a Magic-User or Wizard, at least for a time.

Yet the High Order does not see magic as nothing more than a mechanism to be put under a microscope. Magic is too large for that, too sacred. One can approach it with knowledge but never fully account for it. A Magic-User is content to learn the formula for opening a gate between worlds. A Witch of the High Order wants to know what the gate is in the first place. She asks why thresholds have such import, or why some doors are two-way, and others are not. Why a spot becomes a threshold unaided by any hand. Who was the first to cross and what came back after him?

Such questions are no longer about mechanics. Study is indeed part of her life, but it is an initiation into deeper things. Her Book of Shadows is not simply a technical manual; it is a record of encounters. In fact, her education affects how she views reality. I have come to appreciate the notion at the heart of the Tradition: the Witch is sovereign, not a servant.

She might have Patrons or pay her respects to gods. She may take instruction from an Archmage or an Archwitch, or from some supernatural teacher whose name is otherwise unknown. But obedience is not the point. The relationship could be one of rivalry or obligation, mentorship or initiation. But there is a relationship. That is what makes the difference. 

That is where the High Order stops being merely "the scholarly Witch" and becomes something distinctly Occult.

The Scaled Sisterhood
The Scaled Sisterhood

The Scaled Sisterhood approaches the mystery from an entirely different direction. For these witches, dragons are more than monsters, gods, enemies, or powerful creatures. Dragons are magic, and mysteries made flesh.

They are creatures that hoard and sleep and dream; they change the very landscape around them with their presence. Their existence spans mortal generations, so it is not uncommon for a dragon to have a firsthand recollection of what the rest of the world would dismiss as mere myth. It puts a different kind of vocabulary to the Sisterhood’s magic.

The questions they put forward are of a particular sort: Why does a dragon put together a hoard? What is the significance of its blood or of fire that transforms instead of obliterating? When one lives long enough, does memory become a kind of magic? What is it to shed one’s skin in terms of identity or rebirth? And what is left in the dragon’s mind that history has let go of?

Their teachings run deep into the nature of draconic beings and powers. Tiamat and Bahamut are part of the Tradition, but by no means do they define it. One will find other interpretations of what it is to be a dragon, such as Vritraxion, Lóngzihua, Anantanatha, and older mysteries. There is no requirement for such teachings to be in accord with each other. 

I would be disappointed if they were.

You will hear the Sisterhood put forth notions like "The Breath Transforms," "The Scale Remembers," or "The Hoard Reveals." Do not mistake them for simple rules. They are propositions, true mysteries that have been the subject of argument among witches for centuries. A Cleric may see fit to worship a dragon god, or a Magic-User might put a blade to a dragon to understand the mechanics of its breath weapon. The Witch of the Scaled Sisterhood wants to know why the dragon is there in the first place. That is the point of Occult magic.

The Threefold Goddess
The Threefold Goddess Tradition

The Threefold Goddess Tradition initially appears to lean much closer toward Divine magic.

It is a theological Tradition after all, and that is made clear in its tenets: the Goddess is at once the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. And yet one cannot say the Maiden is the Mother, or the Mother the Crone, or the Crone the Maiden, even as they are all entirely the Goddess. I would not put in the effort to sort out such a contradiction; it is the theology. In fact, it is best not to try.  The Tradition has a way of regarding mystery as something that need not be simplified to be true.

The Maiden, who is beginning, discovery, courage and movement. The Mother stands for fullness, creation and guardianship. Then there is the Crone with her death-wisdom, prophecy, curses and the preparation for rebirth. These are not so much job descriptions as they are expressions. A goddess will manifest in more than one Face if she chooses, and may well seem to run counter to the system or defy classification altogether. So be it. Once you can put a complete diagram to a mystery, it ceases to be one.

The Threefold Sign makes this plain to see in the interlinked forms of the three Faces, leaving the center to stand for something else: the Mystery of the Goddess.

  • What does the Maiden reveal? 
  • What does the Mother protect?
  • What does the Crone hide?

Consider the difference in approach. A Cleric will worship a goddess and be granted Divine magic on account of it. A Witch of this Tradition might pay homage to the very same deity but in another way. She asks what is being concealed, or what is revealed in this particular manifestation, and why. If the Goddess puts in an appearance that we do not expect, the Witch is there to make sense of it. She is not just taking in doctrine; she is interpreting. 

It is a far different kind of spiritual relationship, and relationship is the operative word.

Three Traditions, One Class

This is where these Traditions help me understand what I want Advanced Witches & Warlocks to accomplish.

  • The High Order approaches mystery through knowledge.
  • The Scaled Sisterhood approaches mystery through ancient beings, transformation, memory, and living symbols.
  • The Threefold Goddess Tradition approaches mystery through sacred contradiction, revelation, and theology.

There is no agreement between them, nor should there be. Occult magic has no need for it; it demands participation instead. What unites these three is that they all put the Witch in a relationship with something concealed. For one of the High Order, this might be Magic itself, while a member of the Scaled Sisterhood could be bound to dragons and the old mysteries they stand for. A follower of the Threefold Goddess relates to the Goddess, whose various Faces are but a fraction of the whole.

These are the things that define a Witch, not some spell list. It is the difference between a Cleric who draws on Divine authority or a Magic-User who relies on understanding. The Witch derives her power from the hidden world. She makes promises and crosses thresholds. She has her obligations and her beliefs. In time, she may even have something on the other side acknowledge her. That is the nature of Occult magic.

And there are still two more Traditions I have that I have not discussed in detail yet. One is the Daughters of Baba Yaga. The other can wait a little longer.

Daughters of Baba Yaga

Back in Jackson

This distinction also explains why the Witch works so naturally in Jackson, IL, even though Jackson is a very different project from Advanced Witches & Warlocks.

Larina, Stephanie, and Faye are all witches, but they do not understand witchcraft in the same way. In fact, looking at the three of them through the lens of Advanced Witches & Warlocks helps clarify what I mean by Tradition.

Larina is a witch of the High Order in every sense. 

She is always with a book, studying witchcraft, folklore, the occult, religious theory, and ritual. It is not enough for her to know how something is done; she wants to get to the bottom of why it works, what the symbols are saying, and what lies under the surface of the accepted explanation.

You would be hard-pressed to call her a Magic-User. Larina does not view magic as some mechanism to be put under a microscope and decoded. For her, knowledge is a way of getting closer to the mystery. A text might explain a ritual, but she is more interested in what was really being contacted, or what the author overlooked. Her faith in the Goddess is no more passive than her study habits; she is trying to make sense of a larger, stranger reality, which precludes her from being a Cleric.

When the ghost sees her, and she sees the ghost, the whole question is altered. She will find an authentic word in a poorly written description of a ritual, or spot the real Enochian coming from someone putting on a show on late-night TV. She has a way of pulling at the threads where theology and lived experience meet. That is the mark of the High Order.

Stephanie is another matter altogether. In many ways I would put her in the Scaled Sisterhood, though not out of any interest in dragons. What comes instinctively to her is an understanding of power.

She knows the social hierarchies, the reputations and the influence. She can tell who is in control of a room and who is only pretending to be, who is vulnerable and where one must apply pressure. This is what makes her such an effective leader, even if she doesn’t think of herself in those terms.

A hoard is not always gold. For Stephanie, it can be status, or secrets, or social capital. She has an instinct for the invisible territories and pecking orders of a high school. But there is also the Scaled Sisterhood’s notion that power entails responsibility. When she puts a stop to another cheerleader making fun of Faye, she doesn’t just chide her for cruelty. She redefines the argument entirely.

"We don’t do that. We have to be the best Jackson Public High has. Not the worst."

In invoking duty and belonging, she is using the very structure of things. That is Stephanie. She has no quarrel with the hierarchy; she makes it serve as her protection. Stephanie understands something else dragons know instinctively: possessing power changes the space around you whether you intend it to or not. 

The Scaled Sisterhood studies dragons because dragons embody power in its oldest and most concentrated forms. Stephanie does not need a dragon in front of her to understand the lesson. She already understands what it means to have power and decide what kind of person you are going to be with it.

Then there is Faye. She is a Daughter of Baba Yaga. I have yet to put a lot of detail into that Tradition here, but Faye can help us understand it a little better now.

If Larina is occupied with the hidden world and Stephanie with the way power is structured within it, Faye is immersed in something much older. The Old Magic. The sort that predated anyone’s efforts to file it away in a church or an occult order or some respectable tome.

The Daughters of Baba Yaga may preserve practice. They remember what must be done even after the reason has been forgotten.

Faye was raised by witches of the Blackthorn and Thorne lines who had no inclination to justify themselves to outsiders. They have their ways, their grudges, their recipes and curses and protections, knowledge handed down through the generations without the need for a formal theology. Some things are done out of habit. Others are left alone because one recalls what went wrong the last time around. Faye is well aware of the difference. She might not care for it, and often doesn’t, but the Old Magic runs in her.

It is why Faye can grasp a thing in an instant that would send Larina off to do some research. Larina wants to know the origin of a custom, the mythology behind it. Faye will just say: "Don’t do that." And when asked why? "Because you don’t." It is an answer that would madden Larina, though Faye is usually right. And Larina knows that.

The Daughters of Baba Yaga are meant to stand for a rougher, more elemental side of witchcraft. Folk magic, inherited wisdom from old women who know too much, dangerous bargains and spirits, rules whose source is lost but not the consequences. 

Yet Faye is not a prisoner to it. Her role is in part about what she chooses to hold on to and what she will remake for herself. That is a relationship with tradition in its own right. She is the witch in Jackson that "looks evil, but isn’t," like Moria is "looks innocent, but is evil" and Sylvia is "looks evil, and is evil, and looks better than everyone else while doing it."

Larina looks for the structure. Stephanie sees how power flows through it. Faye is aware that some magic is older than the structures we build to account for it. They are all witches; they all work the Occult, but the hidden world speaks to each of them differently.

That is the point of Traditions in Advanced Witches & Warlocks. Not to lay down which spells a Witch may cast, but to show what she notices, what she deems important, the questions she puts forward when the impossible occurs. What answers is she willing to accept?

And the Witch has to live with those answers.

Note: For RPGaDay2026 next month, Mirror Mondays will be on pause, but I am still working on all my new projects and campaigns. 

Monday, July 20, 2026

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986. The Satanic Panic

Photo by Lucas Pezeta: https://www.pexels.com/photo/ancient-metal-pattern-on-stone-surface-5277398/
The Satanic Panic and the Secret Appeal of Forbidden Books

I am currently reading Manly Wade Wellman for my Witches of Appendix N. He has a lot of occult investigators and talks a lot about dangerous occult texts. There is a strange magic to being told a book is dangerous.

Not real magic. Not the kind the pamphlets warned us about. Not the sort of thing that appears when you mispronounce something in Latin while standing in a chalk circle at midnight. I mean the older, more human kind of magic. The kind that happens when an adult lowers their voice, points at a book, and says, "You should not be reading that."

For a certain sort of kid, that is not a warning.

It is an invitation.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately while working on my Advanced Witches & Warlocks and Jackson, IL projects. I have also been going back through some old Satanic Panic videos, both vintage and retrospective. Some are from the era itself. Some are modern looks back. One or two are modern warnings that feel like they could have been broadcast in 1986 with very little editing.

I am not here to dunk on them. Well. Not entirely.

Some of this material is ridiculous. Some of it is unintentionally hilarious. Some of it is sad. Some of it is built out of real grief aimed in the wrong direction. Some of it comes from people who were clearly frightened by a world changing faster than they knew how to handle.

But all of it circles the same idea 

The fear was not really just about Dungeons & Dragons. It was not just about heavy metal. It was not just about horror movies, Smurfs, He-Man, E.T., or some plastic wizard in the toybox. The fear was about children having access to an imaginative life that adults could not completely supervise.

And that, I think, is where the forbidden book gets its power.

I have written about the Satanic Panic before. Back in 2024, I said I was fascinated by it because I had lived through it and, as someone who was not religious, the whole panic was confusing to me. I also admitted something else that still feels true: my own teenage reaction to all of it absolutely influenced my early D&D games. Lots of undead. Lots of demons. And, yes, lots of witches. Immature? Sure. I was a teenager. That was practically my job. But it was also fruitful. Some of that old material has never really left me. It just waited for better books to live in.

The Panic in the Toybox

One of the great artifacts of the era is Turmoil in the Toybox. If you have never seen it, it is one of those videos that feels like it was assembled in a church basement, a public access studio, and a fever dream all at the same time. Gary Greenwald and Phil Phillips seem convinced that the devil is hiding in every toybox, or at least making a pretty serious attempt to franchise there.

  • The Smurfs? Suspicious.
  • Masters of the Universe? Dangerous.
  • E.T.? Worth a second look.
  • Dungeons & Dragons? Obviously trouble.

The whole thing is amazing because it does not merely worry about D&D. It worries about the entire imaginative ecosystem of childhood. Toys, cartoons, commercials, fantasy symbols, magic words, Saturday morning television, action figures, and role-playing games all become part of one invisible machinery. The toybox is no longer a toybox. It is a grimoire with plastic hinges.

That sounds like a joke, but that really is how the panic worked.

The D&D section is especially perfect. The game pieces, they tell us, include witches, wizards, necromancers, clerics, evil magic-users, and all the usual suspects. Good versus evil becomes white witchcraft versus black witchcraft. Someone even claims that when game pieces are burned, screams come out of the fire because spiritual forces have inhabited them.

Now, look. That is nonsense. But it is also myth-making.

The panic did not merely misunderstand Dungeons & Dragons. It mythologized it.

That is the funny thing. The adults who wanted to make the game smaller made it larger. They turned rulebooks into occult manuals, dice into ritual objects, miniatures into idols, character sheets into dangerous documents, and the Dungeon Master into some sort of suburban necromancer with graph paper.

For the average kid, D&D was a game. A weird, wonderful, sometimes confusing game with too many charts and not enough hit points at 1st level.

But after the panic got hold of it? 

Now it was forbidden. And forbidden things glow.

The Book They Told You Not to Read

The Satanic Panic did not create the fire of D&D’s mystique, but it poured gasoline on it.

The books already looked strange. The Monster Manual was full of demons, devils, dragons, undead, and things with names that sounded like they had crawled out of some medieval marginalia. The Dungeon Masters Guide felt like an occult textbook even when it was mostly explaining initiative, treasure tables, magic item creation, and why you should never let the players get away with too much.

Then the grown-ups started saying these books were dangerous.

Well. That certainly did not make them less interesting.

In the 1980s, D&D books became contraband grimoires in the popular imagination. They were passed from hand to hand, argued over in churches, hidden from certain relatives, discussed on television, condemned in pamphlets, and defended at kitchen tables by kids who were absolutely certain that none of the adults understood what was actually happening.

Most of the time, the kids were right.

The game was not teaching us how to summon demons. It was teaching us how to imagine consequences. It was teaching us how to map darkness. It was teaching us that monsters had names, rules, weaknesses, treasure types, and armor classes.

That is powerful. Not Satanic. Not corrupting. Powerful. And power is always frightening to someone.

Or as my mom once so eloquently said about D&D, "This is nothing but Mythology and math!"

The Wrong Demons

One of the more painful parts of looking back at the Satanic Panic is realizing how often adults named the wrong demons.

There were real kids in pain. There were real families struggling. There were real cases of depression, isolation, abuse, grief, mental illness, and fear. But instead of asking harder questions, too many people blamed the game, the records, the horror movies, the toys, the novels, the black t-shirts, the dice.

That is the actual horror.

Not that adults believed in demons. I write about demons all the time. My newest book, Codex Qliphothica, is full of things no sensible person would want crawling out of the wrong side of creation.

The horror is that they named the wrong demons.

That is something I touched on in my 2022 A-to-Z post. In the real world, there is no worldwide Satanic conspiracy. There are no secret armies of Satanists trafficking children through every daycare, pizza parlor, and game store. But in a horror game, there can be demons, devils, evil spirits, and worse. The trick is not to make the panic true. The trick is to understand that people are often looking in the wrong direction. Sometimes the evil is not a cult at all. Sometimes it is perfectly ordinary people who use fear to hurt the "undesirables" in their own community.

That idea matters a lot to me, especially for Jackson, IL. In a town like Jackson in 1986, it is easy to imagine a parent seeing a TV preacher or a warning video and suddenly looking at everything in their kid’s room differently. The D&D hardback. The heavy metal cassette. The horror VHS tape. The plastic skeleton warrior. The fantasy paperback. The notebook is full of strange names. The girl at school who wears a triple-goddess necklace and knows too much.

Most of the time, the adults are wrong.

But this is Jackson. Sometimes they are wrong in the direction of something true.

That is the sweet spot for horror.

In the real world, the panic was destructive because it mistook imagination for corruption. In fiction, though, we can ask the more interesting question: what if the panic was wrong about the cause, but not wrong that something was there?

  • What if the book was just a game book, but the thing watching from the closet was real?
  • What if the record was harmless, but the voice on the blank tape was not?
  • What if the toy was just plastic, but the child was right when she said it moved after midnight?

That is not the Satanic Panic being correct. That is horror using the emotional vocabulary of the panic and aiming it at better targets.

I survived the Satanic Panic
Click to get your own!
 My Life With the Satanic Cult

This is where it stops being only media history for me.

I grew up in a small town in Central Illinois. In 2024 I wrote about a moment from around 1985 or 1986 when someone supposedly found a "satanic altar" in a cornfield south of my high school. I remember the panic ripping through the school. I remember being fascinated and horrified by it. Fascinated by how fast everyone reacted. Horrified by how quickly it changed people. The next day, people wore homemade "Satan Busters" armbands featuring an inverted cross within a red buster circle.

That is the kind of detail no amount of research can invent better than memory.

I was already a D&D kid. I was already interested in witches, monsters, demons, horror, occult books, and the kinds of things polite adults thought you should probably not be reading. I was also an atheist in a place where the average person on the street did not know, or care to know, the difference between atheist, Satanist, witch, gamer, metalhead, or just "weird kid."

The assistant principal, who was a decent guy, told me and some of my gamer friends that we should keep our D&D books at home until all this stupid shit blew over. He was probably right. I still hated it.

I hated the idea that something I wanted to read had to be hidden because a mob of scared idiots had decided books were dangerous.

That feeling has never really left me.

And yes, as I wrote before, my love of psychology was probably strengthened then. So was my love of witches. No one was trying to burn me, not literally, but they were trying to burn the things they feared. And there were book burnings in town. Real ones. People on the conservative religious side burning D&D books and other things they did not understand.

That matters.

Because once you have seen people burn books, you never look at forbidden books the same way again.

Heavy Metal, Horror Movies, and the Forbidden Shelf

By 1986, the forbidden book was not alone. It had a lot of company.

There was the forbidden record album, especially if someone claimed the lyrics meant something different when played backward. There was the forbidden horror movie from the video store, the one with a cover more dangerous than the movie itself. There were forbidden toys, forbidden cartoons, forbidden symbols, forbidden bands, forbidden fantasy novels, forbidden magazines, forbidden games.

The whole shelf was glowing in an evil Satanic light.

That is why a movie like Trick or Treat is such a perfect artifact of 1986. It takes the heavy metal panic seriously enough to turn it into a horror plot. A dead rock star comes back through a record. The music really is dangerous. The adults' warning about Satanic rock is, inside the logic of the movie, kind of right.

That is hilarious. It is also revealing, and wonderful for my games.

Horror loves taking the thing adults are panicking about and saying, "Fine. But what if it really was haunted?"

  • What if the record really does speak something backward?
  • What if the toy really does know your name?
  • What if the book really does open a door?
  • What if the game really does teach you something you were not supposed to know?

That is not how the real world works. But it is absolutely how good horror works. It is very much how Jackson works.

The Satanic Panic Never Really Went Away

The funny thing is, the Satanic Panic did not completely vanish. It changed clothes.

In 2022 I wrote that if you think this "corn-filled nugget" was left behind in the 1980s, I had some news. The panic’s old shape involved Satanists, daycare centers, trafficking, cannibalism, and ritual abuse. Later versions involved Pizzagate, QAnon, and other conspiracy nonsense that kept recycling the same fears in new packaging. 

That is why a modern Christian response to D&D can still feel so oddly familiar. The video is new. The anxieties are old. Role-playing as spiritual danger. Spellcasting as a gateway. Tiamat as proof of pagan contamination. D&D books as corrupting objects. Christian parents being warned to keep the game out of the house. It is all there, just with better lighting, HD resolution, and modern YouTube pacing.

I do not say that to mock people’s faith. I know plenty of Christians who play D&D, write horror, love fantasy, and understand perfectly well where the game ends and the real world begins.

But the panic itself? That old habit of flattening every strange symbol into “Satanic”? That is still with us.

And honestly, from a horror writer’s point of view, it is hard not to be fascinated by it.

The Witch Was Always There

Here is the part that matters most for Advanced Witches & Warlocks.

The panic kept pointing at the Witch.

Even when people were talking about D&D generally, the real charge was around magic. Spellcasting. Divination. Necromancy. Enchantment. Demons. Spirits. Symbols. Curses. The old gods. Forbidden knowledge. Books that teach you things.

Again and again, the panic caught sight of the Witch's shadow and recoiled.

I want to do the opposite. I want to look directly at her and say, "Yes. You belong here."

The Witch was always part of fantasy gaming, even when the game did not quite know what to do with her. She was there as the evil enchantress, the village wise woman, the hag in the woods, the priestess of the old gods, the herbalist, the oracle, the charm-worker, the necromancer, the woman everyone feared and visited anyway.

  • She was there in the margins.
  • She was there at the edge of the village.
  • She was there in the spell list.
  • She was there in the panic.

The mistake was reducing her to "evil spellcaster" or treating her as merely a monster. The Witch is older than that. Stranger than that. More useful than that. She is better than that.

The Witch belongs to the place where folklore, religion, fear, healing, social suspicion, forbidden knowledge, and personal power all overlap. Which is to say, she belongs in D&D perfectly.

That is what Advanced Witches & Warlocks is about. Not making the panic true, but reclaiming the imaginative territory the panic could not stop pointing at.

High School Is the Real Haunted House

The Satanic Panic also helped sharpen something else for me: the horror of being a teenager and having adults decide what your symbols mean before you get to explain them.

I came back to that in my Monsterhearts post, where I talked about Larina in 1986. High school is already horrifying. Add the Satanic Panic, a sleepy Midwestern college town, and a girl everyone already suspects is out in the woods sacrificing animals and calling up demons, and you have something that feels very close to the emotional center of Jackson, IL. The truth, of course, is smaller and stranger. Larina is more likely to be in her attic room listening to her dad’s Yes albums than leading a coven in the cornfields. But rumor has never needed truth to grow teeth.

That is the Jackson mood. I talked about this in detail last week.

The town does not need every parent to believe there is a demon in the toybox. It only needs enough of them to wonder. Enough to whisper. Enough to throw away a book, forbid a game, search a bedroom, call a pastor, or look twice at the quiet girl with the strange necklace and the too-old eyes.

And the kids? The kids know the adults are wrong. Mostly.

These Are the Books You Were Warned About

So here is my cheeky little sales pitch, and I am only half joking.

These are the books you were warned about in 1986.

Codex Qliphothica is on the way out, and it is very much a demon book. But it is not a "everything dark is Satanic" book. That was always one of the dullest parts of the panic. It flattened everything. Devils, demons, pagan gods, witches, ghosts, occult symbols, fantasy monsters, and rock music all became one big smear of "darkness."

Good horror does not flatten. Good horror names things.

The Qliphoth are not generic devils. They are not just demons with a different coat of paint. They are shells, refuse, wounds, corruptions, anti-creation, things that should not have survived the making of the world and yet did. They are what happens when the cosmos has a scar and something learns to live inside it.

That is much more interesting than "the devil is in the toybox."

Advanced Witches & Warlocks comes from the other side of the same forbidden bookshelf. It asks what old-school fantasy gaming looks like when the Witch is not a joke, not a monster, not an afterthought, and not simply a reskinned magic-user. What if she had been there properly all along? What if the game had made room for occult magic as something distinct from arcane study and divine authority?

And Jackson, IL is where all of this comes home.

Jackson is 1986 as a haunted town. It is school lockers and church warnings, mall bookstores and strange kids, rumors and records, public access panic and real shadows behind the gym. It is the place where adults blame D&D, heavy metal, horror movies, and witchcraft because those are the monsters they know how to name.

But Jackson has older monsters. Jackson has quieter monsters. Jackson has the things that were listening while everyone argued about the wrong books.

The Secret Appeal

The secret appeal of forbidden books is not that they are evil. It is that they promise the world is larger than you were told. That is the real danger.

A forbidden book says there are secret doors. It says names matter. It says monsters can be known. It says the dead might speak, the old gods might stir, the map might continue past the edge, and the strange kid might not be strange for nothing.

That is why the warnings failed. They told us the books were dangerous. We believed them; we just understood danger differently.

For some of us, danger meant possibility. It meant mystery. It meant there was something behind the ordinary world, something the adults were either too frightened or too tired to see.

That is the heart of fantasy gaming. That is the heart of occult horror. That is the heart of every witch story worth telling.

In 1986, that promise might have been sitting on a bookshelf with a dragon on the cover.

  • Or in a toybox.
  • Or in a record sleeve.
  • Or on a VHS tape from the back room of the video store.
  • Or in the hands of the quiet girl at school who knew more than she should.

And if someone told you not to open it?

Well...You were probably going to open it.

Parents Against Spellcraft & Swordplay
Mirror Shard: The Jackson Satanic Panic

I feel like I have talked about this one a lot already. Partially in posts here and all weekend at EGG Con. In "Am I Evil," the Satanic Panic comes to Jackson, but not in the way the town's folk expect. It is in the form of Moria Elizabeth Zachary. She looks like a nice girl. She wears fuzzy sweaters. She is polite. She has an ugly dog she holds. And she is utterly evil.

Darren Vale acts evil, but he is really sort of a joke. Sylvia Velasco is evil, but not the way everyone thinks she is. People even think Faye Thorne is evil, she isn't, but her family is. 

As my co-creator of NIGHT SHIFT, Jason Vey, commented this past weekend, the Satanic Panic in Jackson takes on new dimensions. 

And of course I have my own real-world history from the real-world Jacksonville. Sure, it is not as dramatic as some other tales of the Satanic Panic, but it has the advantage of being mine. 

There is just too much material here to use. Really...there is too much material NOT to do this. 

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Monday, July 13, 2026

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986, The School as Haunted Castle

Despite its smallish size, my old hometown had three high schools. There was the public school, Jacksonville High School (JHS), the Catholic school, Routt, and Westfair Christian Academy. But there was also a fourth one. Or more accurately, a first one. The Newton Bateman High School was the home to JHS for many years. It had students who had seen WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. It had history, stories, and legends. 

It was also scary as hell by the mid 1980s.

Jackson Public High School by day and after dark
Jackson Public High School by day and after dark. Mouse over the image, if you dare.

In my personal, real-world history, the Newton Bateman building (named after a local educator) opened its doors in 1921 and then closed them in 1982. Meaning I never walked those halls, and it sat like a grim reminder of a different age. My High School, also then called the "New" High School, was brand new. Slick. The halls were all carpeted, and the HVAC system was brand new. We had, for the time, a state-of-the-art Science Center named for astronaut Neil Armstrong, which included great chemistry labs and a planetarium. We had a great computer lab stocked with all sorts of new TRS-80 computers. And one of the best theatres in all of downstate Illinois. The place was massive and impressive.

It made the "Old" High School, then abandoned, look even older and more grim.

In my Jackson, IL setting, I rather shamelessly copy all of this.

There is the Public School, Jackson Public High School (JPHS), and the Catholic School, St. Michaels Catholic School (formerly called St. Michaels Academy and still called that by some). No stand-in for Westfair, really. I really didn't know much about that school and didn't even know it existed until they posted their graduating class in my then local newspaper.

There is the old High School building, the Thompson-Morgan building, paid for and built by the Thompson and Morgan families back in the 1910s and long before the two families had their falling out. 

The official word in Jackson is that the school closed because it was unsafe. Asbestos, lead, radon, or something. The students would spread rumors that the Morgans used it to dump chemical waste (at least that explains the food in the lunchroom) or that the Thompsons used it for their evil magic to stay in power. The Class of 1983 was the last class to graduate from there. The deaths of Selene "Lena" Marquette and Keely "Q" Ellison were the final judgments on the school. Everyone began the 83-84 school year in the new school.

But the Thompson-Morgan school was not torn down. And the reasons for its closure were never really revealed. 

When my "Tales from Jackson, IL" began, it was this school that called to all the supernatural creatures in the area. The witches, Stephanie, Larina, and Faye, all heard the old bell ring, even though it could not ring. Candy and Denise heard it as well, even though they are not supernatural.

The bell is the important part. A school bell tells students where to go, when to move, when to stop, when to gather, when to leave. In a haunted school, the bell does the same thing. It still gives orders. The problem is that no one knows who is ringing it anymore. 

In the new high school, both in Jackson and in my real-world school, the "bell" was an electronic beep. I mean yeah, it was bell-like, but it was also very, very 1980s. It had more in common with an 8-bit video game than a bell cast in iron or even brass. 

The old school had a proper bell. 

The old school has become something akin to a haunted castle in my game. Old, abandoned, and scary.

In teen horror from the 1980s, one of the unspoken but important characters is the High School itself. Look at the "Nightmare on Elm Street" movies, or even newer takes like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (80s in all but name) and even "School Spirits." The High School *IS* an important place.

But I get to play around with that idea some. Yes, there are scary things happening at the new High School. But those are not old hauntings. They are new monsters coming to school because, well, supernatural things are attracted to the angst and melodrama of teens. You say "Sturm und Drang" and a supernatural creature hears "Bon appétit."

The new high school is always busy, day and night, so there are plenty of opportunities for me to use it.

The old high school, though, is the Mines of Moria, Dracula's Castle, The Caves of Chaos. Vampires can be nesting in the basement, or the sub-basement with tunnels connecting to the hospital tunnels underground where things still live. There are ghosts in the hallways from 70+ years of student deaths. 

The new high school is where the town is still pretending everything is normal. The old high school is where that lie went to die.

The place isn't just haunted. It is haunted haunted.

And there is no good reason to go there unless you have to.

The cops keep an eye on it all the time. If anything is seen there, well, the newer cops will investigate. The older ones on the force will call it in and then stay the hell away.

Many years ago my younger sister called our hometown a "sinkhole of evil." This was long, long before anyone ever said the phrase "hell mouth." And I want to keep that idea; it isn't just the high school; it is the whole damn town. The high school just has a high concentration of weirdness.

In truth, I have avoided the urge to fill it with monsters. Yes, I know there are plenty of ghosts in the place; that is a given, but I am waiting to see what else *needs* to be there. I think the Hollow King is there, feeding off of the residual emotions of the place, but so far he is the only one I know for sure. 

That is a compelling image, really. All these ghosts, all these monsters, and they are afraid of something hiding in the lowest level (or maybe the Bell Tower). What scares the monsters?

Should it scare you as well?

Thompson-Morgan Building in 1985

Mirror Shard: The Bell That Should Not Ring

There has not been a student in the Thompson-Morgan school building since Spring 1983. The place is dark, the windows are boarded up, and the doors have chains on them. Even the bell tower had been out of commission for years before the school closed.

Yet at times the bell will ring.

Not everyone, though, can hear it. Witches and sensitives will hear it, as will ghosts. But some ordinary folk do too, and that is always worse. Denise and Candy heard it, and they had no right to be hearing a dead school calling their names.

When characters hear that bell, something has shifted in the old building. A door stands open where it was shut. A ghost has had a recollection. Perhaps a monster has made its way in or a room has come back into being. Maybe a student who died there is once more in the halls, or the Hollow King needs feeding.

Treat the bell as an adventure call, but do not make it so straightforward that it amounts to "go to the school and have your fight with the monster." It should convey that something is underway, and that ignoring it is to invite something worse later on. 

The Bell is not a call. It is a warning. But a warning the characters have to answer sooner or later.

After the bell rings, the characters might notice something like these:

  • The clocks at the new high school are all stuck on 3:33. 
  • An old hall pass from the Thompson-Morgan 3rd floor is found in a student’s locker (the new school only has a single floor). 
  • A yearbook lies open to the Class of 1983 of its own accord. 
  • The school nurse puts down her work to hear students laughing in an empty corridor. 
  • By morning, a window at the old school has been unboarded, and unbroken. 
  • There is a name on the detention list from 1974. 
  • Or the ringing follows one home.

In AD&D terms, this is your haunted castle or ruined abbey bell, the kind from a village chapel whose tower fell thirty years ago, or the warning from the old keep for those with a curse on them.

But in Jackson it is a school bell. And it still expects obedience. It expects the high school students to obey it as they did in the old days.

Monday, July 6, 2026

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986. What I Learned from 40 Years of Larina

The Witch Queen and the Girl in Homeroom: What I Learned from Forty Years of One Character

Advanced Witches & Warlocks - Larina

I created Larina in July, 1986. 

That sentence feels simple enough, but it carries a lot of weight. It means she has been with me through six editions of D&D, most of high school, college games, new systems, abandoned campaigns, resurrected notebooks, lost files, new editions, new worlds, and more than a few versions of myself. She has been a magic-user, a witch, a sage, a horror heroine "last girl", a multiversal constant, and occasionally the person in the room who knows far more than she should.

I have known her longer than my kids have been alive, and I met her 15 months before I met the girl I would one day marry.

I wish I could remember the exact date, but failing that, and for reasons that make sense to me, I'll say it was 40 years ago today. July 6, 1986.

At some point, a character stops being just a character sheet. At some point, she becomes a mirror to what I am doing at the time. 

And Larina has always been a mirror.

Larina was not my first character. She was not even my first "witch" character. But over the years of playing her and using her in many games, she quickly became a favorite of mine.

If you like, you can read some more about her here on her own page and all the versions of her I have posted here over the years.

The Character You Start With Is Not the Character You Keep

That first version of Larina was nothing special at the time. Not really. She was a "witch" but only in the respect that she was a collection of ideas I had about witches. Some notes, some ideas, a rough draft. Her class at the time? Magic-user, 1st level. This was July 1986. I would use her a few times, but my main "wizard" was Phygora-Cronus. He was, and let's be honest here, my Doctor Who-ripoff character. A traveler who messed with the lives of others. Phygora did eventually become his own thing. But that very, very first version of Larina barely saw any adventures. Phygora even stopped traveling to be Larina's "advisor" at the magic school. 

Larina Character Sheets
Larina 1st Ed AD&D Character Sheets

Still, there was something that drew me back to her. She saw some play, but not a lot really. I am hard-pressed to remember any of her adventures between that summer and the Fall. 

Then came October 1986 and the release of Dragon Magazine #114 with its new take on the witch class. I really can't overstate how much that issue affected my ideas of how to play a witch. That put an end to her as a "fake-wizard". I made her into a 1st-level Magic-user/1st-level Witch right away with a brand-new sheet. I figured out that she had been to magic school, but the tuition was too much to keep up. Sound familiar? I was in the same boat with one school, so I took my second choice. Another mirror.

So I gave her a backstory to fit. She was working in the school library to make ends meet, and she picked up her witchcraft on the side. Libraries have always been where I study things on the edge of belief, so it was only natural. It was another mirror of my own situation.

That little bit of backstory did a lot more work than I realized at the time. It explained why she knew things she was not supposed to know. It explained why she had access to odd books, old languages, half-forgotten rituals, and dangerous scraps of lore. It made her something other than a spell list. She was not just a student of magic. She was a student of forbidden shelves, closing-time whispers, and books that should probably have been locked up better.

Looking back, that is where Larina really started to become Larina. Not by virtue of better hit points or power, but because she was the one who knew where to find the book. She was the one with the answers. 

This early Larina was hardly the best version of herself. Beginnings seldom are. But she had a spark. Her core was there.

Every Edition Reveals Something Different

I have done this with all of them. I currently have Vera Rook sitting on my desk, and I have six character sheets for her, maybe seven soon. I showed you all this as an experiment with Elowen Hale.  Vera began with a concept and then character options were used to support that concept. Elowen was built by looking at character options across the games and choosing the concept that fit them all. Every game and edition offers a chance to redefine a concept. With Elowen and Vera, it was a matter of deliberate design; with Larina, it has been a decades-long process.

Larina, 2nd Edition AD&D, the Witch Priestess
Larina, 2nd Edition AD&D, the Witch Priestess
I have some 75 versions of her in posts for various systems now, each one a test to see if I could make a proper witch. For example, in AD&D 2nd Edition, she took on more of a priestess role. I called it her Wiccan side (to put it in modern terms) as she found her faith. The mechanics were simply there to put it on paper. 

And in a way, it was another mirror: while she was getting deeper into the supernatural, I was embracing my atheism and skepticism. There is a contradiction in all this that I have always found amusing. The further I put distance between myself and belief, the more exacting I became with hers. She became the High Priestess of faith and belief, while I rejected such ideas for myself. 

Perhaps that was her utility. She let me get at faith, ritual, gods, spirits, and the like without having to put my own stock in them. Where I was skeptical she could be sincere, she could stand in the circle and invoke the Goddess in earnest while I was on the periphery with a notebook to put in a word: "Yes, but what are the game terms for that?"

If you want an honest appraisal of my witch writing, there it is. I don’t need to believe in a thing to see its power.

I will ask her different questions depending on the game. D&D wants to know what she can cast. A horror game will ask what she has endured to survive. Superhero games make you wonder how much power she truly has. Sci-fi asks what she knows of the universe. Modern horror asks what she does when the monsters are not locked in some dungeon but are down the street. And so on. Every answer tells me how to play her and how to bring her into whatever comes next.

Converting a character is never a mere numbers game for me. You can have your fun making sure a 7th-level spell translates to the equivalent power in another system, but that is not the work. The task is to determine what the game deems important. Some games are about combat or social standing, others about trauma or whether you can afford rent and still be at the ritual on time. When I convert Larina, I am not just changing her stats; I am letting the game have its say with her.

Forty years on, she still has something to say.

Long-Lived Characters Become Mythology

Larina has been with me long enough to take on a mythic quality in these worlds. My players and my kids’ players are familiar with her. I have minis and 3D prints of her in the game room, art on the wall, even a Monster High doll someone went to the trouble of modifying for me (people love this post). Here, you will hear her name in the same breath as "The Simbul," "Circe," or "Tasha/Iggwilv."

I won’t pretend she is on their level in the annals of game history or literature, but at my table, she occupies that space. She is one of the names the young witches talk about in hushed tones. She is the woman who has already had her bout with the thing you have just come across, the one whose notes you find in the margin. She may be of assistance, or she may decide you are not ready for the truth.

Tea with the Witch Queens by Brian Brinlee
Tea with the Witch Queens by Brian Brinlee

That is what mythology is. Not official canon or a publication record. It is what a name means when enough people at the table understand it.

It also means the little details start to matter more. Her red hair, the purple clothes, the dragon tooth necklace, the Triple Moon Goddess tattoo, and the scar below her left collarbone. Or the way she will tell you her birthday is Halloween when in fact it is the 25th of October. Things that were once just bits of color are now like relics. 

After a while, the details are no longer decoration; they are signs.

And because Larina has so many versions, those signs are what tell me she is still Larina. The stats can change. The edition can change. The cosmology can change. She can be in Mystoerth, Jackson, West Haven, WitchCraft, NIGHT SHIFT, Wasted Lands, or some far future starship-adjacent nonsense that probably started with me watching too much Doctor Who and WAY too much Star Trek. But if she is still the woman with the books, the questions, the occult knowledge, the stubborn compassion, the terrible habit of putting herself between people and the dark, and biting her nails, then she is still Larina.

Larina by Jeff Dee
Larina by Jeff Dee
She Taught Me What a Witch Is

Every Witch class I have ever written has Larina’s shadow somewhere in it. Sometimes obvious, sometimes hidden, but always there. Elowen is an "adopted daughter"; Vera is a dark shadow; Marrissia is the mother of hers that devours.  Even Sinéad, to a degree, is "what if Larina had been raised in the Forgotten Realms?" All these witches are part of what I call her extended coven. Which is more growth for her because from the start she was a solitary witch learning via books she borrowed from her library. 

My witch books don’t just appear out of a vacuum; they are born of a lived-in experience I have with her. One feeds the other. Another mirror.

Larina made it clear to me that a witch is more than a woman with magic, a druid who has taken to the indoors, a wizard with better jewelry, or a cleric with the wrong holy symbols.

A witch is a relationship.

That was a revelation when I first saw it. Which is odd since what I was looking at were my own notes and writings. But there it was. Was it my writing or hers? Sometimes it is hard to tell.

The witch is a relationship. With power and place and memory. With old gods, false ones, and things that were never gods. With a coven, be it made of ghosts, familiars, past lives, a very patient cat, and the odd book.

That informed my design. A witch needs magic, but she also requires the rituals, the pacts and taboos, the marks and the consequences. She needs to be able to heal, curse, bind, and banish. And most of all, to know. Intelligence is important. Wisdom informs. But it is Charisma that sets it all into motion. 

Larina was never at her finest when she was flinging the largest spell in the room. She was best when she could tell you what the monster was and where it came from, what book made a passing mention of it, and why you should have heeded the old woman at the start of the adventure. 

That is the witch I keep writing.

Larina Nichols of Jackson, IL and Larina Nix, Witch Queen of West Haven
The witch girl and the Witch Queen
A Good Character Can Outlive the Campaign

This is something of a big deal. Groups disband, people move on, editions are replaced, files go missing, and books get sold. Most campaigns have an end. Yet some characters endure.

Larina is my means of keeping old games from being set in amber. She is continuity, if sometimes of a confusing sort. I have four timelines for my main computer to make sense of what she has been up to since 1986, which is no small chore. In fact, trying to account for her "lost years" and sort out one of those timelines is what first put the notion of an updated Advanced Witches & Warlocks in my head. If you look at one of my playtest notebooks, you will find nothing but character sheets of her from various stages and reams of notes. What was she doing? What was she thinking? Why did she begin to embrace witchcraft as a practice and a religion more?

Will any of this make it to print? No, not all of it. Does it inform what does? You bet.

Those campaigns are history now. I am the only one left alive from some of them. But she has been here with me all along, my witness to the fact that it all happened. She was the chronicler of those long-lost campaigns. The people who were there are gone, but I have the notes I kept in her voice still tucked away in one of my 3-ring binders or stapled to a character sheet. It is strange when I read something like "Must talk to Killian" or "Find out what Morgan Highstar knows." Notes on Larina's sheet by her (by me for her) directed at characters who can no longer answer. Another mirror: Larina, when she is a GMPC or DMPC, often acts as the party's translator or chronicler. There is a certain sadness to it, and a comfort as well. Knowing that she is still bearing witness to deeds of glory.

Old campaigns are like ghosts. You hold on to the recollection of the character deaths and the lucky rolls, the big set pieces and the arguments over rules, not to mention the maps we were sure we would have for all time, only to mislay them. And the dumb jokes. But memory is no good at archiving; it will let go of what you once deemed important and hang on to the odd bits.

She reminds me that those games happened. Those people sat at those tables. That we cared very much about things written in pencil on loose-leaf paper. That we spent entire afternoons arguing over what a spell could do. For a little while, the world was bigger than the room we were sitting in, and the room we were sitting in was bigger than the world outside.

Larina is not the campaign itself, but you can smell it on her clothes.

The trick with an old character is not keeping her exactly the same. It is letting her change without letting her become someone else. Larina from 1986 is not the same character as Larina from 2026, because I am not the same either.

She has become something of a creative engine for me. What she needs is what my books need. It may sound mad, but then again, I once put in some time as a QMHP at an institution for schizophrenics, so perhaps it rubbed off. Or I just know this character well enough to tell the difference between what works and what I might want.

The WitchCraft RPG made clear to me the distinction between her magic and her psychic side, and I carried that over to Ghosts of Albion with its separate Magic and Faith abilities. From her I got the Wicca and the Witch Priestess for Advanced Witches & Warlocks, and the Witch Queen for Liber Mysterium and my 3rd Edition book. She was the six-year-old in my AD&D Complete Netbook of Witches & Warlocks. 

Which is the strangest thing of all: the adult Witch Queen and the girl in homeroom with glasses, wearing her watch on her right wrist, are one and the same. Not in any tidy, linear way, but in the manner of a dream or a myth, or an RPG you have been at for a while.

The child answers the call. The teenager comes across the book. The young witch puts up with the vampire. The adult who becomes the teacher. And the Witch Queen who becomes the warning. 

And somewhere in there is a guy (also with glasses) with a notebook, trying to figure out what all of that means in terms of saving throws, spell levels, and whether or not this really belongs in the next book.

Forty years on, and Larina is still around. 

I don’t hold on to her out of stubbornness (though there is a lot of that too); she has a way of showing me something new. Just when I think I have had my fill of her lessons, another one of her turns up. A stat block in a folder I have not opened in ages. A picture. Some class feature that is there only because, at some point, Larina did that at the table. A spell that is logical in a way only she could make it so.

Maybe that is the real lesson.

The best characters are not the ones who stay frozen on the page. They are the ones who follow us out of the dungeon, through the years, and into whatever strange country comes next.

For me, Larina has been a witch, a mirror, a witness, a test case, a mythology, and a creative engine.

Not bad for a little 1st-level magic-user girl from July of 1986.

Larina by Claudio Pozas
Larina by Claudio Pozas
The Mirror Shard: The Dark Anima

This one is a little bit different than other mirror shards. Those typically cover concepts I can use in both my Occult D&D campaign and my Jackson, IL campaign, even if they appear different in each. 

I have talked about this before, but it is worth bringing up again here because it is part of Larina’s genesis.

My first foray into psychology was in the mid-80s. I went the way of most people and began with Freud and then Jung. Freud had his Id, Ego, and Superego, all very serviceable concepts. Jung I found a bit more philosophical, or at any rate more to my liking as a writer and a gamer. From him I took the archetypes, the Shadow, synchronicity, the Animus, and the Anima. That was what resonated. 

The Anima, in Jungian terms, is the inner feminine image in a man’s psyche. The Animus is the inner masculine image in a woman’s psyche. Now, I am not going to pretend this is modern psychology, or even particularly good psychology by today’s standards. This is armchair Jung, filtered through a teenage gamer in the 1980s who was reading books he only partly understood and immediately turning the interesting bits into D&D characters.

In a way, that was all I really needed then.

But the notion of the Anima held me. Jung would have you believe it is the inner feminine in a man’s mind (the Animus being the woman’s inner masculine). I wanted to know what mine looked like, and not in the pedestrian sense of an ideal type of woman. I was after something darker and more symbolic. If the feminine side of my imagination were to step into a dungeon with a spellbook and some secret she wasn’t in a hurry to share, who would she be?

Larina was the answer. Or perhaps she was there first, and I put the question to her later. In college, I worked on my undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral degrees in Psychology. All the while, I had Larina by my side. Informing me, informed by me. I read Jung in highschool, I read it again in college and discussed him in History of Psychology classes I was in. Her first "publication" may have been a paper I wrote about the Anima with the Witch as archetype. That would have been at least 1989 or 1990. 

She is not simply “the girl character.” Sure, I like witches, and I have played a lot of women over the years, but that is not why she is here. She was curious and intuitive. She was compassion made into a weapon. She was the part of me still open to magic while the rest of me was being weaned off it. A useful tension.

As my Anima, Larina, is not merely soft and healing. She is dark. Not evil; there is a distinction. She is the witch standing at the periphery of the firelight; the one standing in the liminal space. The one who tells you there is more to it than you see. The librarian who will hand you a cursed tome because you need the lesson. The red-haired woman in purple who smiles when the monster misnames her.

Forget the seductress or the evil queen; they are too convenient and too cliché. The Dark Anima is your guide to the underworld. Think of Beatrice with a black cat, or Persephone once she has memorized the map of Hell. She won’t rescue you from the dark; she will show you how to navigate it. She is Innana and Ereshkigal. 

That is why she has a habit of appearing in my work as a sage, a mirror, or a teacher. She is the voice in my head that says the monster is a symbol, a wound, an old story in new clothes.

It also makes for good company with Nigel. He is my Id, all impulse and violence, the one who will put a blade to the problem and leave the philosophy for another day. Larina is his interpreter. She understands his danger and his necessity. Between them, I have Phygora as Animus, Johan as Super-ego, Retsam as Ego… a full psychological adventuring party in my head. It may not be entirely healthy, but it has given me my share of characters.

But Larina is the one who has stuck.

The Anima is no ordinary character. She is a mirror. She shows you desire and fear, and the things you put aside for being inconvenient. And as the person looking in the mirror changes, so does she. In a very literal sense, she has been my mirror, reflecting my turn away from religion, my skepticism, my fondness for libraries, my urge to codify the occult for a game, and my fascination with women who know more than they ought not to.

She is not me. But she is mine in a way my other characters are not. 

I suspect that is the reason for her forty-year run.

Monday, June 29, 2026

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986, The Final Girl and the Adventuring Party

Candy and Denise, in trouble again
Candy and Denise, in trouble again.
Jackson, IL is a place where 1980s horror rules apply.

I just finished watching "In Search of Darkness" on Tubi, and it was wonderful. It is about 4 and a half hours long and covers movies from every year of the 1980s. There are some fantastic movies, wonderful interviews (Barbara Crampton and Cassandra Peterson still look amazing!), and just a wonderful romp through some of my favorite VHS, and now Tubi, memories. 

They talked a lot about the "rules" of horror movies and how more recent movies still abide by them and/or try to send them up. They are useful and a lot of fun. 

I have no desire to go by the book on every one of those rules, though. Some of them are better left broken or put into question. Others ought to be hauled out behind the old school and put in the ground where the football field lights can’t find them.

Then there is the matter of the Final Girl. She still has her place.

She matters in that she is the one who spots the pattern. The locked door, the photograph that isn’t there, a name you keep hearing, a song in the wrong room, some sound the rest of them don’t pick up. She puts two and two together before the adults do and lives to see how the horror is done. When the game is well played, she will act on it.

Mina Murray Harker is still my favorite example of a Final Girl. It might seem an odd choice for a discussion of 80s horror, but she is the root of it for me. More than simply being the one to outlast Dracula, she makes sense of things. She organizes the evidence, types up the journals, and turns fear into something you can act on. I find that more to my liking than the "last girl alive" trope.

For the 1980s, we have Nancy Thompson. She is a prime case. She stops waiting for the grown-ups to come to her rescue and starts making ready for the fight herself, having learned Freddy’s rules. Or take Kirsty Cotton in Hellraiser; she doesn’t survive by overmatching the Cenobites but by knowing their rules well enough to make a better bargain than the one they offer. Or  Laurie Strode in Halloween, or Ellen Ripley in Alien (ok, 1979, but she still counts). 

That is what I want in my games. None of the lazy notion that survival is a form of moral superiority, no purity or punishment for its own sake. The Final Girl endures because she learns and adapts and won’t let the monster have all the upper hand. That is good horror design and good adventure design.

In Jackson, the title of Final Girl does not belong to the witches. My playtests have shown it is usually Denise and Candy who are best at it. And that is as it should be.

They are NPCs, certainly, but they stand in for the kind of characters Jackson should be able to support. They are not here to supplant the ones at the table but to demonstrate the sort of arc you can get from the game. YOUR characters should feel like the Final Girl. At least that is my desire. 

Denise and Candy are not the stars of every Jackson game, but they are the proof of concept: ordinary people can stand in the center of the horror and still matter. In fact they can sometimes have the best clarity.

Denise and Candy are always in some kind of trouble. Not from any weakness or foolishness on their part, but because they are right in the human center of the horror. They are tied to the town and its consequences. The witches may spot the occult angles first, but Denise and Candy will see the human side of it. Who is being lied to? Who is missing? Who is afraid? Plus they just have a knack of being exactly where they shouldn't be. More Horror Movie logic.

What am I getting at? Survival is not always about power. It should be about noticing what is going on. 

It is what makes them targets and what makes them valuable.

The horror in this part of Illinois is not just about who wields the magic. It is about who comes through an encounter and doesn’t leave the vulnerable behind, the one you can run to later. That is where Denise and Candy count for most. They don’t just get through a bad night and disappear. 

I would call that a Final Girl arc, and I want one at my table. In a ways it is like The Hero's Journey, just with more AquaNet.

With this logic then there can be more than one "Final Girl." You will not find that in a film. A Slasher is built to whittle things down to a single survivor; a role-playing game has no need for such assumptions. The Game Master ought not to view the rest of the cast as so many bodies laid out to flatter one character’s significance. This is not a screenplay. It is a room full of people making their choices and rolling the dice to see if they can get through the scenario.

In Jackson, the Final Girl might be Final Girls. Or a boy. Or a coven. Or a whole lot of furious, battered teenagers who put up with the haunted school and then have to be in class on Monday. That makes for better play. The archetype is there, but the table is what counts.

And this is where we look at Advanced Witches & Warlocks.

In Gothic Horror, the Final Girl is often the helpless last victim. Mina Harker broke this mold. She is last, but she was never helpless. She was the hero.

In AD&D the Final Girl is the adventuring hero. To make her only the Witch would be too self-serving, too narrow. The Witch has her part to play: she is the one who knows the monster’s true name or reads the omen the others missed. But let the Fighter hold the door. Let the Cleric be the one who won’t abandon the dead. The Thief can spot the way out, the Magic-User the spell that turns the tide, the Ranger can follow the horror to its lair, while the Paladin stands at the threshold. The Gallowglass, the Warlock, the Magus, they all get their due.

The adventuring party in AD&D are all potential Final Girls. Fantasy and horror mix well because the dungeon is a haunted house with rules you have to learn or die by. D&D is different in that it allows your characters to be more than mere survivors. They become the ones who go back in.

You have Nancy setting traps for Freddy, or Kirsty haggling with Hell and coming out the other side. Mina is the one who collects the evidence to put Dracula to the sword. Laurie and Ellen telling the monster, "No." Then the party comes to the crypt with lanterns and spells, and someone says to the monster: "We know what you are now. And we know how to fight you."

That's D&D for "Get away from her, you bitch!"

That is the moment I am after. Not because I want to make horror easy. If the creature is reduced to a bag of hit points, you have lost the tone. But if the characters have put in the work, survived the first pass, and figured out the pattern, then acting on that is no betrayal. It is their reward for paying attention.

The Final Girl isn’t the one the scenario lets off the hook. She is the one who has learned how it works. She knows the rules. And at the table, that can be anyone, or all of them.

Mirror Shard: The Survivor’s Rule

There are times in an adventure, be it in Jackson, IL, or with Advanced Witches & Warlocks, or with your own horror game, when the horror is thick, and the characters have come face to face with the main threat and put up with it. In those cases, put this rule into play.

Let a player who has just survived a run-in with the central horror put in one question to the Game Master about the creature’s weakness, its limits or how it operates. You must give a straight answer. It doesn’t need to be exhaustive, but it has to be true. The character has been there and seen what the rest of the party has not. This is their reward for paying attention. For surviving. 

Some good ones to ask might be:

  • What does it invariably do before making an attack?
  • Is there a name that will make it pause?
  • What has it left in its wake?
  • Who is it after, really?
  • Where won’t it go?
  • What old mistake has it made?
  • What compels it to follow a certain rule?

In Jackson, you can think of it as genre knowledge born of fear. The survivor has picked up on the rhythm of things; she knows the hallway is quiet when it should not be, or what tune precedes the ghost. She can tell the adult is lying because she has heard the lie from him before. With the Advanced Witches and Warlocks, it is more of an old-school affair. They have put themselves in harm’s way to see how the monster behaves, to watch it choose or reveal itself.

But don’t let the rule be a way of handing them the answer. Make it the basis for their next dangerous decision.

It is horror movie logic, gamified. 

It is the desire to survive against terrible odds, certain death, or worse. 

The "or worse" is important. In AD&D, death is something that happens a lot, and there are ways to raise the dead. In Jackson, death is a much bigger deal. A death can shut down a community, and there are no Raise Dead spells here. Dead is dead.

But Player Characters are not Horror Movie Characters. So the fear may never be as real to them. I keep thinking about "A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors". Those kids are still in terrible danger. Freddy is still Freddy. But once they understand that the dream gives them a kind of power, the game changes. They are not safe. They are not invincible. They are just no longer completely helpless.  That is what the Survivor’s Rule is meant to do. It gives the players a small edge, earned through fear and attention. The Big Bad can still be bigger and badder. In fact, it probably should be. In the end Freddy still gets most of them. 

That is why I keep coming back to the Final Girl. Not as a fixed role, and certainly not as a body count waiting to happen, but as a way to think about play. Horror gaming works best when the characters are frightened, outmatched, and still paying attention. Jackson, IL gives me Denise and Candy as my working examples of that. Advanced Witches & Warlocks gives me the adventuring party as the fantasy version of the same idea. Different clothes, different weapons, different rules, but the same moment at the table: the monster has shown itself, the players have survived long enough to understand it, and now someone gets to say, "We know what you are." That is when horror becomes adventure.