Tag: Inspiration

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Discovering the Hidden Joy of One-Page RPGs

Roleplaying games come in all shapes and sizes. Some arrive in beautifully bound rulebooks hundreds of pages thick, complete with detailed character creation systems, extensive equipment lists, and years of accumulated lore. I love those games. But sometimes, the funnest adventures fit on a single sheet of paper. One-page RPGs occupy a special place in my gaming heart. They are unapologetically focused, delightfully weird, and incredibly accessible. In a hobby that can sometimes feel intimidating to newcomers, a one-page RPG keeps it simple: “Here’s the premise. Grab some dice. Let’s play.”

Theme Heavy, Rules Lite

The magic of a one-page RPG isn’t found in complex mechanics. It’s found in commitment to a theme. A good one-page RPG takes a single idea and runs with it at full speed. The handful of rules exist purely to support that concept. There is no attempt to simulate every possible situation. Instead, each game asks a simple question:

“What if we spent the next few hours fully embracing this particular fantasy?”

That focus creates something remarkable. Players aren’t spending the first hour learning rules or optimising character builds. They’re immediately stepping into the tone and spirit of the game. The result is often a session that feels more like an improv comedy show, a favourite movie, or a particularly chaotic stage play than a traditional campaign.

Perfect for a Single Evening

Where I think One-page RPGs really shine is as one-shots. Most can be taught in less than minutes and completed in a three to four-hour session. That makes them ideal for game nights when the full Dungeons & Dragons campaign isn’t happening, when new players are joining the table, or when you simply want to try something different.

There’s also a peculiar freedom that comes from knowing the story begins and ends in a single sitting. Players are more willing to take risks. They make bigger choices. They embrace ridiculous plans. Nobody is worried about preserving a carefully crafted character for the next two years of campaign play.

If the plan fails spectacularly, then that’s a great way to finish.

Nice Marines

One of my favourites is Nice Marines. I ran this back at MartyCon 2026 with ten minutes prep and we had a blast.

The premise is wonderfully simple. You’re genetically engineered super-soldiers in enormous power armour, capable of crushing enemies and surviving impossible odds.

Your mission? Diplomacy. Helping a planets government after the war. The contrast between the imperial murder machines and the non combat scenario became a great source of comedy.

Want to play regency era? Virtues and Scandals might be for you.

Virtues and Scandals

Then there’s Virtues and Scandals, which I would like to run for my current gaming group. This throws the players into a Bridgerton-esque Regency-era romance drama. Think grand balls, whispered rumours, unsuitable romances, ambitious social climbing, and enough scandal to keep society talking for months.

Here success isn’t measured by defeating monsters or collecting treasure. It’s measured by reputation, romance, influence, and whether your latest social disaster can somehow be turned into an advantage.

The stakes are completely different, yet somehow feel just as important. And for a group that enjoys the rough and tumble of combat it will make for a fun change of pace. I might even buy some cheap fans for the players to hide behind during the game.

This One Time at Bard Camp

If Virtues and Scandals is Regency drama, This One Time at Bard Camp is pure college comedy. Players take on the roles of aspiring bards attending a summer academy dedicated to music, performance, and probably causing trouble.

The game embraces all the classic teen movie tropes: rivalries, friendships, crushes, embarrassing mistakes, talent competitions, and authority figures who are somehow always one step behind the chaos.

I think this would be great fun for my group to get let loose on.

A Perfect Fit for the Workplace

One of the biggest challenges when introducing roleplaying games to a professional audience is overcoming the learning curve. Participants may only have an hour or two available, and few want to spend half that time reading rules.

That’s where one-page RPGs excel.

Explaining the rules takes minutes, allowing groups to spend the majority of their session actually playing, communicating, and solving problems together. The simplicity removes barriers and helps participants focus on the experience rather than the mechanics.

The strong themes also make it easier for people to engage quickly. Most people immediately understand the social dynamics of a Regency romance, or the chaos of a summer camp comedy. Familiar tropes give players permission to jump straight into roleplaying without worrying about getting the setting “wrong.”

For workplace conferences, training sessions, and leadership development programs, this makes one-page RPGs an ideal tool. In a single 90-minute session, participants can practise communication, teamwork, creativity, adaptability, and problem-solving while sharing plenty of laughs along the way.

In many ways, one-page RPGs demonstrate one of the greatest strengths of roleplaying games as a learning tool: meaningful experiences don’t require complex systems. Sometimes a simple premise, a clear theme, and a group of willing participants are all that’s needed to create genuine engagement and lasting memories.

Why They Matter

One-page RPGs remind us of something important about our hobby. The rules are not the point. Rather, we should be focusing on is gathering around a table with friends and collectively creating fun, memorable stories.

A one-page RPG strips away almost everything except imagination and theme. What’s left is often pure roleplaying joy. They’re easy to learn, easy to run (usually), and easy to share. As such they allow us to explore worlds and genres that would never justify a year-long campaign but make for an unforgettable evening.

Most importantly, they remind us that roleplaying games don’t need to be complicated to be memorable. Sometimes all you need is a single page, a handful of dice, and a group of players willing to embrace the premise completely.

Jump onto google. Search one-page RPGs, and find one that has a theme that appeals to you. After a quick read you can have it at the table in 15 minutes. I think you’ll enjoy the results.

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Building a Realm One Session at a Time: My Fortnightly Mythic Bastionland Game

Every fortnight my gaming group gathers to play Mythic Bastionland by the talented Chris McDowall, a game about wandering knights defending their realm from strange myths and ancient dangers.

If you imagine the sweeping, generational storytelling of Pendragon, but loosen the strict expectations of chivalric codes, you are somewhere close to the spirit of the game. The knights of Bastionland are not bound to an exact interpretation of honour. Instead, they roam the realm keeping to their oaths: Seek the Myths, Honour the Seers, Protect the Realm. In doing so they confront mysterious forces that threaten the realm, shaping its fate through their deeds.

And it has been an absolute blast to run.

The Knights of the Realm

Our current band of defenders is a wonderfully strange mix of personalities and mythic archetypes:

  • Ser Steele, the Cosmic Knight, who has a fascination with the stars and enormous ambition.
  • Lady Faun, the Snare Knight, at one with nature, preferring the wilds to the slowly burgeoning civilisation.
  • Ser Aegen, the Salt Knight, hardened by sea winds and coastal hardships.
  • Ser Whynn, the Iron Knight, steadfast, laughs in the face of danger with a mead in hand.
  • Ser Perceval, the Temple Knight, devoted to sacred duty and the protection/creation of holy places.

Together they wander the realm confronting the myths that threaten the fragile stability of civilisation.

Creating characters is easy, 1D12 +1D6 for three virtues Vigour, Clarity and Spirit, roll or choose a knight and you’re off.

The Realm of Caer Senara

Creating the Realm of Caer Senara

As the games master, one of the joys of Mythic Bastionland is how easily it helps you create a living world. Rather than meticulously designing everything in advance, I generated most of the setting using the book’s random tables.

The result was the realm of Caer Senara, centred around Stillharbour, the coastal port and Seat of Power. Around it lie several holdings:

  • Mistfields – a valley of lakes and vineyards, ruled by a drunken lord with a sinister senechal pulling strings in the background
  • Faecairn – Watchtower where the boundary to the fey is thinner
  • Silvergard – Home of the Praetorians and taciturn and well trained military force
  • Brightbridge – Foodbowl of the realm with seas of wheat and hotbed of rebellion

To give the realm immediate tension, I also generated four myths lurking within its borders, along with a number of strange landmarks including the Sea Kings throne, a ruined monastery and a deranged alchemist. What emerged surprised me. The random tables didn’t create chaos. Instead they produced something that felt layered, mysterious, and alive.

The bones of the world came together over a couple of afternoons. However, the real magic began once the dice started rolling.

When the Realm Comes Alive

Over the first ten sessions, the knights have already shaped the fate of Caer Senara in dramatic ways.

  • The company won a grand tourney against knights forged from clockwork
  • A tidal wave once threatened to devastate the realm, forming in the mountains instead of the sea.
  • A giant boar roamed the countryside, leaving destruction in its wake.
  • Political tensions simmered among the noble houses resulting in a rebellion erupting within the realm itself.

None of these stories felt forced. They grew naturally out of the myths, locations, and the decisions of the knights. I feel that I am discovering the plot at the same time as the players.

The artwork in Mythic Bastionland is thematic, intriguing and beautiful.

Entering the Second Age

Now, after ten sessions, the campaign has reached an important milestone.

We are entering the Second Age of the realm.

Time moves forward in Mythic Bastionland, and the passage of years is part of the story. The knights themselves are growing older, as they do their stats initially improve, but as they enter old age they begin to decline. Marriages have been arranged and the key holdings are now run by the players. Successors have been appointed. The political landscape has completely shifted.

New challenges loom on the horizon. This movement of time gives the campaign an epic quality. It feels like a chronicle of a realm slowly changing across generations.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Another reason I enjoy this game so much is its simplicity.

Running a campaign that isn’t Dungeons & Dragons has been surprisingly refreshing. The rules are lighter, record keeping is minimal, and the style of play is very different. Players rely more on their wits than an array of powerful abilities.

Less bookkeeping means more time for story, strange myths, and the unpredictable decisions of wandering knights.

Sharing the Realm

I’ll be making my original scrappy realm notes for Caer Senara available for anyone who is interested. You might use them as the starting point for your own campaign, or simply as an example of what a randomly generated realm can look like. Either way, they show how a few tables, a handful of myths, and a group of players can quickly grow into a living world.

And who knows. Perhaps your knights will one day ride through the misty fields of Caer Senara as well.

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GM Book Club Podcast: International Chapter

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.

For more podcasts I’ve been involved in check out my podcast page here.

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Let the Dice Decide: Trusting Fate at the Table

The cover of Dice Man Novel

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.

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Why Hero Leadership Really Fails

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.

Build the party instead.