EGG Con, NIGHT SHIFT and the Wasted Lands of Yog

 I am back from EGG Con this past weekend, and it was fantastic. I sold a lot of books and played a few games. Heidi Gygax Garland and Erik Garland did a hell of a good job with the Con. Reminds me of Gary Con in its early days. It is kind of small, but I hope it grows; it is really a great con.

Jackson, IL

I got to play some NIGHT SHIFT in Jackson. I ran a session of "For Whom the Bell Tolls." It was a fantastic experience to see Valentino, Renee, Andy, Rowan, Denise, and Candy brought to life by others. It was just so great. 

It really got me excited to do more with Jackson and Jason, and I talked about it quite a bit. I am pleased that people seem to really love it.

It also got me thinking a lot about my Dark Places & Demogorgons crossover as well and how the two games are getting further apart. 

Yog: The Dying Lands 

I also sold a lot of Wasted Lands. I mentioned to a lot of folks that I use Wasted Lands as my D&D replacement and that is true. I do often do that, but usually run something I have. Like some B/X or AD&D modules. What I was lacking was a solid idea. I was going to buy a copy of DCC's Dying Earth (I have the PDFs and I love them), but I was complaining that I have too many systems and not enough time. I told Jason then that Wasted Lands did everything that DCC did, and vice versa. 

It dawned on me that I had already put together an idea for a Dying Earth-like game, my Wasted Lands: The Dying Age. I also had another world I have been playing around with; a pastiche of cheap 1970s-80s Sword & Sorcery novels. And by cheap I mean dirt freaking cheap. Cheap and sleazy. Some of it has also come out of my exploration of Appendix N fantasy. I have been calling the world Yog. On my drive home, I combined them all into one idea: Yog The Dying Lands.

I'll detail some more Yog later on; it is turning into a fun little experiment. Spent quite a bit of time with it Sunday and Monday night. It went pretty fast since I combined three other ideas I had. "Yog" is the world and the last continent. 

This gives me my world, my desire to do Dying Earth, and my desire for some cheap pulpy novel action. AND I get to do it all in Wasted Lands. I want it to feel like a cheap used paperback you found in 1982 with a half-naked barbarian on the cover with a giant snake and an even more naked sorceress in the background summoning lightning. The cover was enticing, scandalous even; the words might be good or not. Doesn't matter really. 

It is a really fun idea, but not grabbing me as hard as Jackson is right now. 

As my habit, I tend to pool all the things I buy at a Con into a single idea, so I'll likely try to fit the various Gaxland adventures I picked up. 

I plan to play it very much as a dying world, and everyone knows it. The heroes are not really expected to save Yog, just merely survive. I know, not much of a reason for adventuring; I am working on it.

I DID have one idea.

Back on Facebook a month or so ago, this guy was lamenting that there had never been a good Gor movie. I replied back that this was because "Gor sucks."  Since starting this blog, I have read some of the Gor books in my efforts to complete my "Classical" education. Yeah. They suck. But I have been stewing this idea of a Gor-like world, BUT (and this is where it becomes mine) there is this group of witch "freedom fighters" who fly in on booms (flying is important, brooms are just fun) and rescue women and children and take them to a sanctuary. So part Gor and part "Logan's Run." Also, while drawing inspiration from the Soviet Night Witches and the Women's International Terrorist Conspiracy from Hell (W.I.T.C.H.). 

Honestly, I rather love the idea of this world, with its slavers and abusers, being terrorized by a group of flying witches. It would give the setting some conflict. I can imagine guards standing watch at night and then suddenly hearing the cackle of witches and seeing their silhouettes against the starry skies. Sounds like a Falero painting to me. 

Of course I am on the side of the witches. Turn them into what our world's ultra conservatives think feminists are. Sounds like a freaking blast. Sounds a bit like the whole Hexengeddon line from Relentless Fiction. Witches vs. The Patriarchy, or in this case, Witches vs. The Priest-Kings. I kinda like that. 

I might have some version of Vera Rook/Veyra Shadoraven in charge of the witches. That sounds like fun.

Signings and AD&D 2nd Ed

I got a few books signed. I am not an autograph hound, but I do like talking with the original creators.

So I spoke with Jeff Easley and Ed Greenwood again; both are always a pleasure. And I got one I have been wanting for years, Tom Wham.

Getting these reminded me I really wanted to convert my AD&D 1st Ed Forgotten Realms game over to 2nd Edition, but it has also become my Advanced Witches & Warlocks playtest game. 

I'll have to think about it more. I do want to dust off my AD&D 2nd Edition.

Now to check eBay for some AD&D 2nd Ed books for my kids.

Mirror Mondays: The Witches of 1986. The Satanic Panic

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.

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.

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. 

Links

Videos

• D&D is Satanic, from the classic "Turmoil in the Toybox." A must-watch!
• Trick or Treat (1986) The Satanic Panic of the 1980s (Retrospective)
• The Satanic Panic: A Brief History. A great retrospective and overview of the Satanic Panic and D&D's place in it.
• KSTP Twin Cities Live August 1986: Satan is in your Child’s Bedroom. From the day, the Satanic Panic sealed in amber for us to enjoy.
• Christian Concerns about Dungeons & Dragons, newer, but it shows that 40 years later, people still keep making the same nonsensical mistakes.

My Posts

• Satanic Panic!
• A to Z of Witches. O is for Occult Panic and Obeah. Links to Turmoil in the Toybox
• AtoZChallenge2022: S is for Satanic Panic
• AtoZChallenge2024: S is for Satanic Panic

Mail Call Tuesday: Endless Quest and Joseph Campbell

 Last week, my brother shared a Facebook Marketplace find with me: some Joseph Campbell books, the Historical Atlas of World Mythology. I wnted to grab them but have been burned on Facebook Marketplace in the past. So I did what one does: I went to eBay. I saw several good candidates, but I didn't pull the trigger on any of them. 

Then I was at Half-Price Books this weekend, and they had copies. A combined Vol. 1 (Parts 1 and 2) and the softcover Vol. 2 (Parts 1, 2, and 3). The price was good and I figured, what the hell.

It is rather amazing, to be honest. Heavily researched, illustrated, and tons of pictures. 

Here are just two examples.

If I ever wrote a book about shamans, then this is the source I would start with. But I am not going to do that. Still, it is a fascinating read, and I can't wait to get into it.

The issue is these are huge books, like 14" tall. Larger even than my Time-LIFE Enchanted World books. They are not going to fit well in my shelves.

A little smaller is a classic Endless Quest book. 

The book is in worse shape than I expected, but I am such a sucker for anything "Dark Druid" that it is still worth it for me. 

I'll read it and see how it goes. I have wanted to do a prequel to my own Dark Druid called All Souls Night for a long time. Maybe this will give me some inspiration. 

Updates From Jackson, IL

A couple of cool things from my all-too-brief Jackson game over the weekend. The characters met more Blackthorn Hags and their rivals, the Cricklow Hags. We also learned about a supposed occultist, Arthur Voss, and his wife Mai. Mai and her daughter are assumed to be dead. Some deal gone south with the Blackthorns. The PCs learn of a mansion in downstate Cheny, IL

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. 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?

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.

Witchcraft Wednesday: Larina at 16, the Girl in Jackson, IL

Larina Stephanie Nichols at 16

 On Monday, I talked about Larina and her genesis in 1986 and before. On Friday, I am going to talk about the character's future. So today I thought, what about the present? What is Larina doing right now, and how does she affect my game design? So *who* is the Larina sitting on my desk now as I write?

Well‚ unless this is your first day here‚ the current incarnation of Larina is the one in Jackson‚ IL‚ set in 1985-86‚ and she is not the witch queen, not yet and se might not ever be․ She is often more frightened than not. Well‚ not that she'd tell you․ She only knows two spells and has a handful of books on witchcraft. And now, she and her dad just moved to Jackson‚ IL‚ the most haunted town in the Midwest․

There are a lot of really good reasons to go back to an earlier version of this character․ For starters‚ as I have hoped to point out‚ this was when she began in real life‚ so it would make sense to explore the character becoming who she is․ Not the legend․ Not the queen․ Not the character who has shifted through AD&D‚ Chill‚ WitchCraft‚ Mage‚ and NIGHT SHIFT‚ but just simple Larina‚ the sixteen-year-old trying to figure out why every shadow in the town knows her name․

I have had forty years to get to know the person Larina is. But in 1985-86, when I play Jackson Larina, it is an altogether different matter. At sixteen, fresh to town, left to make sense of her magic on her own. She has some friends who become her coven and are like sisters to her, and other friends she will fiercely defend. But the monsters here always have the upper hand.

Back in real 1986, Larina was not nostalgia. She was immediate. She was a character I needed at the table, a witch-shaped answer to a question AD&D had not quite answered for me yet. Today, writing Jackson Larina as a sixteen-year-old in a fictional1986 is something else. It is not just returning to the character. It is returning to the age when I first imagined her.

That changes everything.

I was the same as Larina when I first put her on the page. Being a teenager in 1986 is no exercise in imagination for me; I was living it. The music and books, the games and the anxieties that came with them, the moral panic, the cheap notebooks where I would scribble down character ideas, the disputes over rules, the feeling that the world was a far stranger place than the adults would have you believe, all of it was right there. Larina is a product of that time.

With Jackson Larina, I can return to those days, but from a different vantage point. I am not sixteen any longer, nor am I looking ahead from 1986. I am looking back. It puts her in an altogether different position in my writing and in the games I make. She is more than a younger iteration of a familiar character; she is a means of inquiring what she was before the weight of mythology and design had a chance to settle on her. And honestly, I like her that way.

There is utility in stripping away the power one has accrued over the years. Jackson Larina does not have a host of powerful allies or old enemies to call upon, no lost loves, no artifacts or cosmic scars to speak of. What she has is her father, a few spells, some books and a good deal of stubbornness. And an instinct telling her something is amiss in Jackson, and that if she does not put two and two together, someone will be the worse for it. That is a witch of a different sort. 

She does have friends. Stephanie and Faye are her coven. Candy and Denise are loyal even if they need saving more often than help, but they are still there. Even later characters like Andy, Rowan, Ami and Valentino have their places in her life. Much different than her Dark Places & Demogorgons counterpart.  

Which is precisely why she is so useful in my game design. I can have all these versions of her.

While Larina is always a feature in my design work, here she plays a more crucial role. She is my test of the rules and setting for other characters, the character others might use. Characters you might use. If the rules only work when a witch is already powerful, then they do not work. If the setting only makes sense once the character has become legendary, then the setting is too thin. Jackson Larina asks a more basic question: can a beginning witch survive here?

That is what I need to know.

You will not find high-level characters in Jackson, IL. This is a town of teenagers and their teachers and parents, of record stores and public libraries and old cemeteries, of college lore and haunted houses and things best left unencountered after midnight. A witch operating in this environment must be able to conduct research, protect her friends, and make mistakes. The game has to let her be clever, not invincible.

So the fact that this Larina knows only two spells is of consequence. It makes me, as a designer, consider what witchcraft is apart from a laundry list of abilities, powers and spells. What does she suspect? What has she read that is beyond the others? What does she see when they are not looking? And at what cost? Those are the questions that matter to Jackson Larina, not the damage a spell might do. With this version, I am able to create a witch as a playable character rather than a pre-packaged archetype. She ought not come across as the inferior of an older one, but as one who has only just started on a perilous education. Jackson Larina is my means of testing that proposition. She shows me if a novice has sufficient mystery to hold a player’s interest, or enough to offer an adventure and a group.

Larina also serves as a reminder that knowledge is among her most ancient of powers. Even in the days of AD&D she was never simply a matter of spellcasting. She was the one with the books and the lore, the one with the questions, the translator of ancient languages. If there was a symbol on the door or an old name in the grimoire, or a ghost that made its annual appearance, it was she who sought to make sense of it. Jackson Larina refines that. Her two or three spells are beside the point; her strength is in what she pays attention to. She reads and listens and connects one weird detail to another.

I want a "knower" in NIGHT SHIFT and in my Jackson work, not merely a caster who hurls magic at a monster without knowing why it is there. 

She doesn't have firepower. She has two spells and a library card.

The Larina on my Desk

There is a certain vulnerability in her that the older incarnations lack. An adult Larina can be fearsome, the Witch Queen mythic; some versions of her can enter a room and reality must bend around her. Jackson is not at that stage, she might never get to that stage. She can be overmatched or mistaken, in need of assistance, the new girl unsure whom to trust. That suits Jackson better. 

The town is at its best when the characters are not entirely in command. That is Horror Movie logic and Gothic Fiction logic; it is good for horror. They may be resourceful and brave, but Jackson should seem older to them. Dangerous. There are secrets in the place that predate their birth, colleges with ghosts, houses with memories, and adults who know either too much or not nearly enough. A sixteen-year-old Larina belongs in such a world; she has the power to spot the cracks but not always know how to put them right.

In a way, that is what Larina is worth to me today. She is no longer just the character from forty years back, nor the Witch Queen in waiting. For now she is the red-headed girl in Jackson with her couple of spells and a handful of books, some really great friends, an over-protective dad, and a nagging feeling the town is going to put everything she knows about magic to the test. As a designer, I need her to be there.

If Jackson Larina works, then the witch works. Not the high-level witch. Not the legendary witch. Not the Witch Queen. The beginning witch. The playable witch. The girl who has just enough magic to get herself into trouble and just enough courage to try getting everyone else out of it.

That is the Larina sitting on my desk right now, and after forty years, she is still teaching me how to write witches.

Two Spells and a Library Card

A natural question can be raised. Why her? I mean I have no shortage of witches. I even created a brand new one (more or less) just last week. I even have a witch that has a great background AND is about the right age in Elowen. 

So why go back to Larina?

I think part of that has been answered above. Larina, the character, is a product of the mid 1980s for me. A lot of what I wanted a witch to be in 1986 is her. So naturally, if I am going to have a witch character in 1986, why not her?

Also, Larina is always great for me because I know her so well. When I am running situations as a thought experiment or at the table, I know how she should react, not how I, as someone who knows the rules of the RPG, would react. That's important to me.

Also, Elowen has a very specific role in my mind. She is deeply connected to West Haven and very much Larina's "adopted" daughter. More so than Sinéad was, despite that being an early idea. 

Larina at 16, at least how I am using her in Jackson, is becoming something really fun and she can proudly stand beside her "sisters" (or Shards as I have been calling them) from Chill, WitchCraft, Mage, and the Witch Queen from AD&D. Even the other versions of her in NIGHT SHIFT. 

Other Larinas have crossed worlds and realities; the Larina of Jackson, IL has to get across town to St. Michaels for her Greek II class in her old purple 1977 VW Bug (which she has named "Eurydice" which makes no sense really). That is enough of a challenge.

And she is teaching me more this way.

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

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 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

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

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

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.

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

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.