I meant to post about this over a month ago, but failed drastically. However, better late than never I suppose. (Sorry Eric). Myself and my good friends Rich and Marty were invited by the host Eric to feature on the GM Book Club podcast. This episode is called From Graphic Novels to Gaming Tables: How Monstress Inspires Adventure and is all about Monstress by Marjorie Liu.
I love graphic novels and comics and find that the stories tend to be bit wilder in this format. So it was a joy to do a deep dive on this one with the others. Eric did a masterful job of hosting and kept us all on track.
We discuss the book in the context of roleplaying and look for things to port into our games. Great fun!
If you would like to check it out choose one of the links below.
As the three of us are based in Australia, we now make up the international chapter of the podcast! I’m looking forward to recording more of these episodes in the near future and we have a couple locked in already.
I’ve just finished reading The Dice Man by Luke Rhinehart a cult novel from the 1970’s about a man who lives his life by rolling a dice for all decisions. It’s a strange, comedic and slightly dark book and worth a read if you like that sort of thing. However, it got me thinking about the central feature of dice in the games that we play. There’s always a quiet moment just before the dice land, especially when there’s a lot hanging on the roll.
Breath held. Glances exchanged. As the dice decide your fate.
In that moment, the story does not belong to the Dungeon Master. It does not belong to the players. Instead it belongs firmly in the hands of Lady Fate. And if you let it… it can create something far more powerful than anything you planned during your session prep.
The Temptation to Control
Every Dungeon Master knows the pull. You’ve crafted the encounter. The story arc is all there. The perfect story is unfolding… until a player makes a completely unexpected choice or the dice threaten to derail everything. Using hidden rolls becomes a quiet safety net. A nudge here, a fudge there. The story stays intact. We’ve all been there, especially at the beginning of our DM careers.
But I believe that something subtle is lost in the process. When players suspect the outcome is being managed, tension fades. Victory feels softer. Failure feels less real. The game becomes less of a shared discovery and more of a guided tour. Consequently, the fun begins to fade.
Letting the dice speak is about surrendering that control. Not recklessly like Luke Rhinehart in the Dice Man, but deliberately. (Although some might say Luke Rhinehart was also being deliberate in his dicing… read the book to find out).
Open Rolls, Open Story
Rolling in the open changes the atmosphere immediately. Now, when the villain strikes, everyone sees the number and it’s associated consequence. When the rogue attempts the impossible leap, the result is there for everyone to witness. There’s no veil, no quiet adjustment behind the screen. Success or failure, it’s all there. And this, in a game, is electric.
It means that when a character fails, it wasn’t because the DM allowed it. It means when a desperate plan succeeds, it wasn’t because the DM wanted it to. The story earns its scars and triumphs honestly. Every roll matters more.
Let the dice decide the fate of your game
Fate is a Better Writer Than You
Here’s the uncomfortable secret: the dice often tell better stories than we do. We are chock full of preconceived ideas and notions. The books we love, the movies we’ve just watched, they’re all stored in your head waiting to be let out. Of course, the dice have none of these.
Planning a heroic last stand? The dice might deliver a sudden, brutal defeat instead. Expecting a tense negotiation? The dice might turn it into an unexpected alliance or a catastrophic insult.
These moments feel real because they are unplanned. They surprise everyone at the table, including,, most importantly, you.
Surprises like these are the heartbeat of engagement for everyone at the table. A campaign where outcomes are certain and safe becomes predictable. A campaign where fate is allowed to intervene becomes legend.
The Discipline of Not Rolling
Unlike the protagonist of the Dice Man, letting the dice tell the story does not mean rolling for everything. In fact, the opposite is true. If you roll constantly, the dice become noise and if I’m bein honest, something of an irritant. Ultimately, the magic fades. The key here is restraint. Roll when:
The outcome is uncertain
The stakes matter
Failure would change the situation in a meaningful way
Don’t roll when:
Success is obvious
Failure would stall the game without adding tension
The action is trivial or purely descriptive
Think of dice as the exclamation marks of your story, not every word.
Designing for Honest Outcomes
If you’re going to let fate take the wheel, your game needs to be ready for wherever it drives. That means:
Flexible encounters: Avoid hinging progress on a single success
Fail-forward thinking: Failure should open new paths, not close doors
Consequences over corrections: Let outcomes reshape the world rather than trying to steer back to a plan
When the dice derail your expectations, don’t try to fix it. Go with it and see where it takes you.
Trust at the Table
Open rolling is also an act of trust. You’re telling your players: “I’m not here to beat you, and I’m not here to save you. I’m here to discover what happens with you.”
Players take bigger risks. They invest more deeply. They accept failure more readily because they know it’s real. Ultimately, the table becomes less adversarial and more collaborative. Not in the sense of controlling outcomes, but in sharing the experience of them.
Oh no a 1…
When the Dice Hurt
Of course not every roll goes the way the table wants. Characters will fall at the worst possible moment. Plans will collapse. Sometimes the story will take a darker turn than expected.
This isn’t a flaw, it adds texture to the story. If you think about it the most memorable campaigns are rarely the ones where everything went right. They’re the ones where things went wrong and the group had to respond.
The Story That Emerges
When you stop hiding rolls, when you resist the urge to intervene, when you only call for dice at the moments that matter… something remarkable happens.
The story stops being something you as the DM tells. Instead it becomes something you witness. A living thing, shaped by decisions, chance, and consequence.
You’re no longer the Wizard of Oz sitting behind the curtain. You become more of a player sitting at the table, just like everyone else, watching the dice tumble and wondering…
“What happens next?”
And that question in games like these, is where the magic lives.
There’s a particular story we love to tell about leadership.
One person stands at the front. They have the answers. When things go wrong, they step forward, make the hard call, and save the day. The team rallies. The credits roll.
It’s a great story. It’s just a terrible way to run a Dungeons & Dragons party… or any other organisation.
The Myth of the Hero Leader
Hero leadership is built on a simple idea: progress depends on a single exceptional individual. The hero leader is decisive, charismatic, endlessly capable. When the dragon appears or the quarterly results dip, they draw their sword (or pen) and fix it.
In D&D, this often shows up as the “main character” syndrome. One player dominates planning, talks to every NPC, solves every puzzle, and lands the killing blow. The rest of the party becomes a supporting cast, present but rarely essential.
In business, the same pattern plays out with the superstar manager or visionary executive. Decisions funnel upward. Problems wait for approval. Success is attributed to one person rather than the system around them.
In both cases, things may appear to work… for a while.
What Actually Happens at the Table
At a D&D table, hero leadership creates subtle damage long before it causes a wipe. Other players disengage. Why contribute if the paladin always decides the plan? Why risk a creative idea if the wizard will override it? The game becomes quieter, flatter, less surprising.
Worse still, the party becomes fragile. When the hero is absent, stunned, or simply wrong, everything collapses. A single failed saving throw can derail the entire session. D&D is designed around distributed competence. Different characters shine in different moments. When one player tries to carry the whole narrative, the system pushes back, usually with teeth.
The Workplace Version Is No Kinder
Hero leadership in business produces similar cracks. Teams stop thinking ahead. People wait to be told what to do. Initiative dries up, not because people lack ideas, but because they’ve learned those ideas won’t be used.
Decision bottlenecks form. The “hero” becomes exhausted, then indispensable, then overwhelmed. When they finally step away, the organisation discovers it hasn’t been developing leaders at all, only dependencies.
The scariest part? It often looks like success right up until it doesn’t.
Heroes Don’t Scale
A single hero can slay a goblin. They cannot sustainably run a campaign. Both D&D parties and businesses face complexity, uncertainty, and problems no one person can fully understand. Trying to centralise leadership in one figure reduces the system’s ability to adapt.
When leadership is shared, something different happens. People take ownership of their piece of the problem. Information flows faster. Mistakes are caught earlier. Success belongs to the group, not the loudest voice.
In D&D, this is when the rogue scouts ahead without being told, the cleric speaks up about risk, and the fighter suggests a plan that isn’t “kick in the door.”
In business, it’s when team members make decisions within their remit and feel safe doing so.
The Real Alternative Isn’t Leaderless Chaos
Rejecting hero leadership doesn’t mean abandoning leadership altogether.
It means shifting from “the leader has all the answers” to “the leader creates the conditions for good answers to emerge.”
In D&D, the best leaders are often the ones who ask questions: “What do you think?” “Who hasn’t spoken yet?” “What’s another way this could go wrong?”
In business, strong leaders do the same thing. They clarify intent, set boundaries, and trust their teams to act within them. They step forward when needed and step back just as often.
Shared Leadership Creates Better Stories
The irony is that hero leadership actually makes for worse stories.
The most memorable D&D moments rarely come from flawless heroes. They come from messy plans, unexpected teamwork, and someone stepping up who wasn’t supposed to be the star. The same is true in organisations. The strongest cultures aren’t built around legendary individuals, but around teams who know how to think and work together under pressure.
If you want a campaign that lasts, or a business that survives its own success, retire the hero.
