Scenario Archives - Dungeons and Dragons at Work

October 2, 2026September 19, 2026

Welcome to Widow’s Bay: How to Turn the Show into a Fun Call of Cthulhu Adventure

Call of Cthulhu usually gives investigators a reason to poke around in places where sensible people would turn around and go home. A strange letter, missing academic or a suspicious death. An ancient book discovered in a dusty attic. But what if your investigators aren’t detectives, professors or private investigators? What if they are the local council? That was the thought I had while watching the first few episodes of Apple TV’s Widows Bay. I won’t spoil anything beyond those opening episodes, but the combination of an isolated island, strange events, secrets and an increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere immediately made me think that this would make a fantastic Call of Cthulhu adventure. Not an adaptation of the show, exactly. More a case of taking the ingredients and putting them into the cosmic-horror blender.

And what comes out is something particularly nasty.

Welcome to the Island

Using the premise of the show the investigators are all members of the local council on a remote island. This could be set anywhere, remote Scotland, off the coast of Canada or Australia. Having it local to your actual real world location can really add to the player engagement.

Of course, the island is beautiful. It has rugged coastlines, spectacular scenery, historic buildings and a desperate need for economic opportunities. Unfortunately, it also has a problem. Nobody comes here. The council has decided that tourism is the answer. Someone has created a shiny new website and the ferry service has been expanded. A festival of the Sun is planned. Investors are interested. The council is finally beginning to believe that the island might have a future.

Then the ferry arrives.

Start in Media Res

Don’t begin the adventure with a council meeting. Avoid spending twenty minutes having the players introduce their councillors around a table while discussing the tourism budget.

Start with the ferry.

The characters are standing on the dock as the first significant group of tourists arrives on the island. There is excitement. Cameras. Children running around. The mayor is giving an enthusiastic speech about the island’s bright future.

And then there is an accident. Something falls. Someone disappears beneath the water. Screams cut through the festival atmosphere.

And when the councillors finally see what has happened, they realise that the accident is far worse than anyone can possibly know. An onlooker has been dragged beneath the water, by something indescribable.

The council has a problem. Without the tourists the economy of the island will collapse. If the visitors on the ferry see the tragedy all will be lost. A cover up is needed. Fast.

Don’t Tell Anyone

This is where the premise gets particularly fun. The investigators now have three goals:

Protect the public.
Enhance the island’s reputation by keeping the tourism campaign alive.
Work out what actually happened.

Of course there are plenty of juicy complications to keep the players on their toes. Obviously, the police want to investigate, while the victims relatives are calling conspiracy to anyone that will listen. A couple of tourists are posting photographs online. Meanwhile, somewhere in the background, someone is quietly removing evidence.

Initially the investigators have every reason to believe they’re dealing with an ordinary disaster. Then things start becoming wonderfully strange.

An old fisherman tells them they should stop.
A local family refuses to cooperate.
Someone mentions an old story about the island, something about sacrifice and witchcraft.
One of the investigators notices an ancient symbol carved into the dock.

Just as in episode 2 of widows Bay, the mystery deepens very quickly.

Let the Dread Build

Now’s the time for the session to take a darker turn. The first disappearance should be pretty much explainable. The second should be suspicious. Of course the third should be impossible. By this time it becomes abundantly clear that the tourists aren’t merely disappearing. They’re being taken.

Chaos erupts. The ferry is sabotaged and panicked tourists demand to leave. The council must maintain calm and order.

The Island Itself Becomes the Monster

A great way to run this adventure would make the island feel increasingly hostile as play continues. Birds disappear. Fish wash ashore. The tides become strange. Old wells start producing salt water. The sea glows at night. People begin dreaming about enormous things moving beneath the earth.

Uncomfortably, the investigators start finding the same symbol everywhere.

On gravestones.
Inside old houses.
Under layers of paint.
Carved into fishing boats.
Hidden in the council archives.
Perhaps even beneath the foundation of the council building itself.

The island has been living with this thing for centuries.

The Tourism Campaign Becomes Horrifyingly Relevant

Of course, the council has spent months trying to attract visitors. And now they have succeeded. Unfortunately, the island needs visitors.

All these tourists descending on the island isn’t simply creating a problem. It is fulfilling part of an ancient plan. One involving sacrifices of incomers. Every new tourist group brings the island closer to its ultimate ancient god -raising goal.

Hopefully this creates a wonderful final dilemma reminiscent of the mayor keeping the beach open in Jaws. Do they shut down tourism and evacuate the island? Or keep everything quiet while they attempt to stop whatever is coming?

The Final Act

Eventually, the investigators discover what the islands end game. The missing tourists haven’t been killed. They have been taken to a crumbling temple beneath the island, where something ancient and evil awaits to be woken.

Will the investigators stop this terrible calamity and at what price?

The Inspiration Blender

As you can see, from watching 3 episodes of Widows Bay we can create a compelling one-shot or even short campaign for Call of Cthulhu, or even Ten Candles. What makes this premise particularly appealing is that it doesn’t need to come from Widows Bay alone. You can throw all sorts of influences into the pot. The Wicker Man, The Shadow Over Innsmouth, Jaws, X-files, can all add to the flavour.

So next time you sit down to watch a new show, think about how it might port onto your gaming table. You might be surprised with what you come up with.

Now remember, sometimes the most terrifying thing isn’t discovering that there is an ancient god beneath your island.

It’s discovering that you invited everyone over to meet it.

September 25, 2026August 20, 2026

The Choices That Matter: Why Meaningful Decisions Make RPGs Powerful

I’ve been thinking about how to design adventures for the CMM conference in June next year. Part of the secret that makes playing RPGs so much fun is when, as a player, you have to make a meaningful decision. Of course, this can include tricky moral dilemmas, but doesn’t need to. Knowing that your decisions at the table have consequences really elevates the experience.

Do you open the mysterious door or keep walking? Will you trust that suspicious stranger? Save the villagers or pursue the villain?

A meaningful decision is not simply a decision between two options. It is a choice where the outcome matters, there has to be something to lose, and where neither option is obviously correct.

Choices are the engine of roleplaying

A roleplaying game without meaningful choices is essentially a guided tour. The players may roll dice, fight monsters and explore interesting locations, but if their decisions don’t meaningfully affect what happens, they are passengers rather than participants.

When designing adventures create situations where players have agency. The players decide what their characters do, and the world responds accordingly.

Homlet Village is under attack by a gang of Bugbears, led by their arch nemesis Greyneck. Do the players attack the Bugbears? Perhaps they open negotiations with the dastardly Greyneck. Instead the adventurers sneak into the village to spirit the inhabitants away before the enemy break down the gates. If Greyneck has something the characters desperately need, it opens up even more possibilities.

The important thing is that the players get to decide. And the decision has consequences. This is what makes an RPG feel alive.

The power of the dilemma

The most memorable RPG decisions are rarely between good and bad. They are between good and good. Or, better yet, between bad and worse.

Imagine a party discover that the Realms ruler is actually an imposter. He killed the real King years ago. The problem is that he is a fair and just ruler and his subjects love him. They can bring this imposter to justice where he will surely be executed, potentially causing a civil war. Alternatively, they can keep quiet and let the “King” continue as is, knowing that he is a murderer.

There isn’t a perfect answer.

Now the players have something to talk about around the table. “What should we do?” The dilemma creates tension because the players care about the outcome. They debate, argue and negotiate. They make their case.

When eventually someone says: “Right. We’re doing it.” it creates an incredibly important moment. Ultimately, the story now belongs to the players.

The Prisoners Dilemma is a classic for a reason.

A choice without consequences isn’t really a choice

RPGs also demonstrate an important distinction between choice and meaningful choice.

A player might be offered three doors.

Behind door one is a monster.
Behind door two is treasure.
Behind door three is another monster.

Technically, the player has choices. But if the doors are essentially arbitrary, the decision has little meaning. Instead, contrast it with:

Door one: Save the captured villagers, but allow the villain to escape.
Door two: Pursue the villain, but leave the villagers to their fate.
Door three: Attempt to do both, knowing there is a strong chance of failing at both.

Now the choice has weight and the player has to decide what matters. Meaningful decisions like this force the players to reveal their priorities.

Meaning comes from having something at stake

Think about the stories we remember from playing RPGs. We rarely remember the encounter where the party fought six identical goblins, lost no hit points and collected 14 gold pieces. No, we remember the moment when the party had one spell slot left, the cleric was unconscious and someone had to decide whether to run or stay and save their friend good friend Vesperian.

We remember the difficult choices. And we remember them because something was at stake.

If I want to make these hour long adventures mean something then there must be something serious hanging in the balance. The players need to know that their decision, regardless of what it is, has consequences.

They are hunting a monster that has been persecuted by the villagers
A prophecy has identified the Chosen One who will save the land. The King wants to execute her, rebels hide her away. Her death will stop the ravenous horde of the dead
The Grand Magical Library is burning down. Doo you save the loyal librarians or magical tomes that might hold the secret of immortality

Using the meaningful decision

As i work on these adventures, I am going to make sure that each has a meaningful decision at it’s core. Then as part of the session debrief we can explore the ways that the players reached agreement (or not) around how to approach it. i really believe that this will help create a memorable experience for those signing up for the games. And that is ultimately what I want to achieve. Creating an impression of D&D that they will remember long after they have left the conference.

In addition, I’m going to be a bit more purposeful about including these in my current Mythic Bastionland campaign. Often they come about in the moment, but I feel that a few well placed meaningful decision points might be a good way to lift the campaign.

August 28, 2026July 23, 2026

Hold the Line: Fun Space Weirdos Collaborative Game

A lone space marine is left behind in this collaborative skirmish game

I run multiplayer games of Space Weirdos for six to nine of my friends at least twice a year. Usually I fill them with secret objectives, betrayals and other shenanigans. This time round though I wanted to focus on something different. Collaboration under pressure. So here it is my first foray into the collaborative game.

Drawing inspiration from Warhammer 40,000, the players took on the role of Deathwatch Space Marines deployed to a doomed Imperial world. A Tyranid invasion was sweeping across the planet, and their mission was clear.

First, prevent the Tyranid hordes from reaching the hive city long enough for the civilian population to evacuate. Second, fight their way to a communications array and call in an extraction. Finally, survive long enough to reach the dropship and escape.

Simple objectives on paper. In practice, there was a planet full of hungry Tyranids standing in the way.

Preparing for the Collaborative Game

One of the motivations for running the game was finally getting some of my new miniatures onto the table. Last year I picked up Games Workshop’s Tomb World box set and painted the Deathwatch Kill Team (see picture above). I’d only managed to get a few games of Kill Team in with them. So I created individual character cards for each of the ten marines, attempting to match their equipment and battlefield roles as closely as possible.

The six players each selected a marine, based on coolness factor, to begin the mission.

The battlefield itself was a roughly 4′ x 4′ urban warzone, packed with ruined buildings, fences, city debris and a crashed transport vehicle. The environment felt suitably desperate, as though the defenders had already lost most of the planet and were now fighting for the final survivors.

On the other side of the table, I had prepared six waves of Tyranids that would arrive turn by turn. Unfortunately, I managed to forget my Genestealers on the day, which would have added another nasty element to the invasion. Thankfully the Tyranid force was still varied, dangerous and more than capable of causing problems.

I did have a few other surprises up my sleeve. Wave five introduced a monstrous Psychophage and wave six a Tyranid Prime, basically claws and teeth with wings. Both were significantly tougher than anything the players had encountered up to that point and immediately changed the tone of the battle.

The Plan Meets Reality

Before the game began, I gave the players five minutes to discuss their strategy. To their credit, they quickly came up with a sensible plan and launched into action. Their first priority was reaching the communications array so they could call in extraction as early as possible.

Then the first wave arrived.

Seven Termagants entered the table. There were a few quiet groans around the group. Not because the termagants were tough opponents, but the fact that this was a first wave of many. If the first wave brought seven, what would the next waves bring?

The marines cut down the first wave with disciplined bolter fire, but every alien corpse simply became a stepping stone for the next wave. Wherever the players created a gap, more creatures poured through it. Much like the movie Aliens, the battlefield gradually transformed from a military operation into a desperate fighting retreat.

Collaboration Under Pressure

What made the game interesting wasn’t simply the combat. It was watching how the players worked together as the pressure increased. At the start of the mission there was plenty of discussion. Players coordinated firing lanes, covered one another’s movement and shared responsibility for achieving the objectives.

As casualties mounted, however, priorities began to shift.

Three marines were eventually killed in action. As a designer i was happy about this, it meant the danger of the scenario was very real. Each time, the player simply selected another Deathwatch marine and jumped back into the battle, ensuring everyone remained involved throughout the game.

Even so, the constant Tyranid pressure forced difficult decisions. Do you stay and support a teammate? Do you hold the line for one more turn? Or do you focus on reaching the extraction point before it is too late?

Having these dilemmas take shape on the table is a key ingredient in making collaborative games so memorable. There was no single player capable of carrying the mission alone. Success depended on the group acting together while balancing individual survival against team objectives.

A Hero Left Behind (Gasp)

Through player coordination they managed to get the dropship to arrive relatively quickly. After fighting through wave after wave of Tyranids, the players finally had a route off the planet. Then came the ultimate dilemma. While the surviving marines boarded the extraction craft and escaped, one marine did not.

Honour among the marines was forgotten. The five marines nearest the evacuation point managed to get away and the marksman covering them was left behind. In a fantastic emergent narrative that games like this produce, the lone Deathwatch operative was left behind as the dropship lifted off. While his comrades soared into orbit, he disappeared into the ruined city below, surrounded by an endless tide of Tyranids.

It was exactly the sort of grim, bittersweet ending that feels perfectly at home in the Warhammer 40,000 universe.

The mission was technically a success. The civilians were saved. But not everyone made it home.

Golden Aquilas for the Victorious

With the battle concluded, we tallied up the Tyranid kill counts and handed out Golden Aquila medals to recognise the most effective warriors, witht he best Marksman taking away the biggest Aquila. It was a small touch, but one that added a fun competitive element to an otherwise cooperative game.

More importantly, everyone left the table with a small memento and stories to tell.

The overwhelming Tyranid waves created constant pressure, the objectives forced players to make meaningful decisions, and the multiplayer format encouraged communication and teamwork throughout. Most of all, it demonstrated something I have found time and again in tabletop gaming. Collaboration becomes far more interesting when success is uncertain.

When resources are limited, enemies are overwhelming and the clock is ticking, players stop focusing on optimal solutions and start making real decisions together.

And sometimes those decisions result in medals, heroic last stands and one very unfortunate Space Marine being left to an uncertain fate on a doomed world.

If you’d like to get hold of my notes and Space Weirdos stats for the game you can get them here.

August 14, 2026August 14, 2026

Murder, Matrimony and a Most Scandalous Evening

What happens when five Regency-era sisters discover their father has been murdered a few hours before hosting the social event of the season? Well, recently I had the opportunity to find out when I ran a two-hour one-shot of Virtues & Scandals called Featherington Manor.

Dear readers, the premise was delightfully simple. The players took on the roles of the Featherington Sisters, daughters of the fabulously wealthy Baron Featherington. Each sister had her own personality, ambitions and secret desires, while also navigating the rigid expectations of Regency society. Reputation was everything and scandal could destroy the entire family.

Our cast of sisters could not have been more different.

Bally Featherington was the eldest sister and self-appointed Queen of the Ball. Fanny was the dutiful daughter, determined to uphold the family’s reputation. Lucy Featherington possessed an almost alarming fascination with soldiers and military men. Milly was a hopeless romantic dreamer searching for true love. While Lizzy was a horse-mad adventurer who seemed entirely unsuited to the restrictions of polite society.

Together, they inherited a problem. Several problems, in fact.

Act One: The Dead Baron

The session opened with the sisters discovering their father dead in his study.

Unknown to the characters, the Baron had been poisoned by their scheming cousin Roger Askill. This thoroughly unpleasant opportunist stood to inherit everything if the sisters failed to secure a marriage. (This premise was lifted directly from the wonderful regency era podcast Bitcherton. Highly recommended for inspiration).

As the sisters searched the study, matters became even worse. Not only was their father dead, but his papers revealed that the family was effectively bankrupt. If one of the sisters did not secure an engagement before the evening was over, Featherington Manor would be lost.

Naturally, this was the exact moment when visitors began arriving at the front door. Rather than mourning their father, the sisters immediately began a frantic operation to hide the body. All the while maintaining the appearance that everything was perfectly normal. The dead Baron was eventually rolled in a rug before relocating to the coal cellar, which seemed entirely reasonable at the time.

Players scrambled to distract visitors, conceal evidence and fend off the ever-present Roger Askill. Every conversation became an exercise in maintaining propriety while desperately trying not to reveal that the head of the household was currently hidden amongst the coal.

As a bonus complication, an amorous gardener also entered the picture. Creating further opportunities for confusion, awkwardness and increasingly questionable explanations. By the end of the first act, the sisters had somehow managed to keep both the murder and the bankruptcy secret.

For now.

Act Two: The Featherington Ball

With disaster temporarily postponed, attention turned to the annual Featherington Ball.

One of my favourite tools as a Game Master is asking players to help build the setting through “paint the picture” questions. Rather than me describing every detail, the players collectively created the atmosphere of the evening. I had a series of questions ready to go and as such the grand ball took on a life of its own.

The ballroom quickly came alive with glittering decorations, whispered gossip, fashionable guests and subtle signs that the family’s wealth might not be quite as secure as everyone believed. The ball itself became a whirlwind of dancing, flirtation and social manoeuvring.

A collection of eligible bachelors attended, each carrying secrets of their own. There was the dashing Captain Percival Cavendish, the scholarly Julian Fairfax, the wildly unsuitable Lord Jasper Redmond and the sombre Mr Charles Wetherby. Meanwhile Roger Askill continued lurking in the background, hoping the sisters would fail and leave him free to claim the estate.

As conversations unfolded, alliances formed and ambitions collided. There was matchmaking, misunderstandings and a surprising amount of unsuccessful flirting.

And then there was the Can Can.

A Dance Too Far

At some point during the evening, the Featherington sisters managed to convince the attendees to participate in the scandalous new dance sweeping society: the Can Can.

The image of respectable Regency nobles enthusiastically joining a dance that would have sent society’s chaperones into fits of horror perfectly captured the spirit of the session. The game had begun with strict expectations of decorum and social propriety, yet slowly descended into delightful chaos as players embraced increasingly bold solutions to their problems.

By this stage, secrets were being uncovered, schemes were being hatched and romantic opportunities were being pursued with varying degrees of success.

A Happy Ending… More or Less

Despite the murder, the bankruptcy, the hidden corpse, the scheming cousin and the numerous social disasters waiting to happen, the sisters ultimately achieved the one thing they desperately needed.

A proposal of marriage.

With an engagement secured by Fanny and the wealthy merchant Fairfax, the family estate was saved from falling into Askill’s hands and the Featherington name survived another day.

Why It Worked

What made Featherington Manor such an enjoyable session was how quickly the players embraced the premise. The combination of Regency etiquette, hidden agendas, personal ambitions and absurd circumstances created fertile ground for roleplaying.

Unlike many games where problems are solved with swords or spells, every challenge here revolved around conversation, reputation and relationships. Players had to think like ambitious socialites rather than adventurers, balancing personal goals against the needs of the family.

The result was a session filled with laughter, memorable character moments and exactly the kind of emergent storytelling that tabletop roleplaying games do best.

For two hours, five players became the Featherington Sisters, desperately trying to preserve their family’s future while hiding a murdered father in the coal cellar. While I, as the GM, desperately tried to keep up as the various suitors, stable boys and servants.

One of players commented that there was no fighting, it was a very different session to normal. Which is exactly why I love running one-page rpgs.

For those interested in running a similar session, go and buy Virtues and Scandals! I’ve also included my session notes to download for free here.

July 31, 2026July 21, 2026

How to Write Engaging Game Scenarios That Fit a Tight Schedule

One of the biggest challenges when using roleplaying games in workplace settings is time. At home, a roleplaying session can happily sprawl across an entire afternoon or evening. Players chat about their week, argue with goblins for forty minutes, and somehow spend half the session buying rope. Conference environments are very different creatures entirely and run to an extremely tight schedule. Sessions need to start quickly, engage immediately, and conclude cleanly before attendees disappear into the next keynote presentation.

I have been asked to run a series of games for a communication conference in 2027 (I’ll post more details closer tot he time). There will be four sessions over two days, each 75 minutes long. The idea is to showcase how roleplaying games can help foster communication and develop leadership skills. Now I love playing short one shots, but they normally take a minimum of 3 hours. So, I have an interesting challenge: write two engaging scenarios that show case the player interaction and can be wrapped up with a debrief in one hour. Easy, right… right…

Rules

While I love D&D, Call of Cthulhu and others, they do contain pretty heavy rulesets. I will also be working under the assumption that none of the conference attendees will have any experience playing roleplaying games. Consequently, using an established ruleset is going to have too high of a learning curve.

In order for the players to get into the game quickly I’m going to use my own ruleset Play2Lead. Easy to learn in a couple of minutes participants should be able to get into the action straight away. In a similar vein there will be no character creation, rather pre generated characters will be provided for each scenario, with clear roles.

The Three Encounter Structure

I’ve written before about designing workplace scenarios before and i intend to follow the same design principles. As such each of these scenarios will a simple three encounter structure that I use for one-shots:

Cold Open: Throw players straight into action—explosions, monsters, a chase. Skip the slow build.
Middle Twist: Add a big revelation that flips the situation on its head.
Final Showdown: End with a bang. The danger should feel real, and not everyone has to make it out alive. If possible add a difficult dilemma for the players to work through.

That’s all we have time for.

This structure creates momentum. Players immediately understand there is a clear objective and limited time to achieve it. As first-time players it’s important that they feel comfortable so they can quickly grasp the rhythm of the game.

Perhaps most importantly, it leaves room for some roleplay without letting the session drift into the wastes of overlong decision-making.

Why Familiar Genres Matter

One thing I’ve learned over years of introducing new players to RPGs is that unfamiliar rules are far less intimidating when wrapped inside familiar stories. People already understand the language of popular movies. They know how zombie survivors behave. The tension of an alien horror film is obvious. They instinctively grasp the heroic structure of fantasy quests. Of course, this means you can skip enormous amounts of explanation.

Nobody needs a twenty-minute briefing to understand: “Something is hunting us on this spaceship.” Or: “The dead are rising and we need to escape.”

The tropes do the heavy lifting for you. Players arrive with expectations already loaded into their brains like pre-installed software, allowing them to engage almost immediately.

As such my intention is to design my scenarios around popular movies. My initial thinking is Alien, Zombies and potentially a Lord of the Rings inspired one, this is roleplaying after all.

First Thoughts on an Alien Inspiration

Science fiction horror works beautifully in short-form workplace games because the pressure is immediate and constant. Everyone can visualise the close industrial tunnels of these types of film. The players can get straight into the game without much in the way of explanation.

Characters

The pre-generated characters for this session will include standard tropes: captain, engineer, science officer, medic, pilot each with a specific skill and piece of equipment.

Encounter One: The Distress Signal

Straight into the action, the crew of a salvage vessel begin by investigating a damaged research station after receiving a fragmented distress call. The station is mostly abandoned, lights flickering, alarms sounding intermittently, and signs of violence scattered throughout the corridors. The players must find the generator and restore power to the engines. What has caused such chaos?

Suddenly the hull will breach and the players need to work together to secure it, quickly. A nice bit of urgency right from the get go.

Encounter Two: Something is Loose

Now for the middle twist, although probably not unexpected given the theme. As the team explores deeper into the facility, they discover evidence of a hostile lifeform. Slime, scratch marks etc. Communications fail. The creature begins stalking them through vents, maintenance tunnels, and darkened laboratories.

Players must talk in whispers, or communicate through note or face attack from the creature. The scenario becomes about teamwork, communication, and managing panic under pressure.

Encounter Three: Escape

The players discover the only way out is aboard a damaged shuttle with limited seats and a failing reactor countdown. They must choose between rescuing survivors, destroying the station, or simply escaping alive. A very juicy dilemma!

This final encounter creates fantastic workplace discussions around leadership, decision-making, and competing priorities.

Keep It Simple, Keep It to a Tight Schedule

The key to designing this sort of adventure is that simplicity creates engagement.

Conference attendees do not need twenty pages of backstory and complicated rules.

They need:

A clear objective
Recognisable tropes
Immediate problems
Interesting decisions
A chance to contribute

That’s what creates memorable sessions.

Over the next few months I’ll be refining the design for 2-3 scenarios and sharing my thinking here.

But what i really want is to give those conference attendees signing up for my games to leave with a fun memory having experienced something different. And i hope the realisation that RPGs can be used as a fun way to practice both communication and leadership.

Particularly the bit where Dave from HR sacrificed himself to the space monster while screaming into a malfunctioning flamethrower.