Villains Are Human (Or... Even When They Aren't)

 A good villain isn’t just driven—they’re alive. Motivation explains what they want, but personality shows who they are when they’re not plotting. Give them quirks: a nervous laugh, a love of gardening, a habit of humming old war songs. Let them joke, hesitate, show kindness to someone undeserving. Those moments make them human—and unsettling. Because when the players see the villain as a person instead of a problem, every confrontation feels heavier. You don’t need sympathy, just recognition. A villain with reasons is interesting. A villain with personality is unforgettable.

Let's look at an example:

Sauron is often treated as pure malice in armor, evil for evil’s sake—but even he had motives and personality. He was a perfectionist, obsessed with order and control, born from the fear of chaos. He didn’t want the world destroyed; he wanted it organized. His tyranny was the shadow of a craftsman’s pride—the urge to shape, refine, dominate until nothing was left to chance. That’s not mindless evil; that’s a flaw twisted to its limit. Sauron wasn’t chaos—he was control. His ruin came not from hatred, but from the inability to let anything exist beyond his will.

There is nothing more boring than a villain without personality. Might as well be fighting a hurricane for all that it matters.

Adventures: The Villain Doesn't Know They Are The Villain

 

A good villain doesn’t twirl a mustache and cackle about world domination. They wake up in the morning and believe they’re right. Maybe even righteous. How many people watching the MCU though Thanos had a point? I know my wife went around snapping her fingers trying to just get rid of bad traffic.

 

Kill Your Darlings (Or.... Just Let Go)

Every game designer has an idea that feels brilliant in the moment. It sticks in your head, keeps whispering that it must be the foundation of something great. But the hard truth is: not every idea deserves a full game treatment. Some don’t fit, some collapse under their own weight, and some simply don’t click no matter how many times you turn them over.

“Kill your darlings” is advice borrowed from writing, and it applies perfectly to game design. The discipline isn’t about how many concepts you can dream up—it’s about knowing when to let go of the ones that don’t work. Ideas are cheap. Execution is precious.

Take my own “January Rendezvous” concept. Alien space locusts swarm the solar system, devour everything, then move on, leaving humanity to crawl back from asteroid colonies and underground vaults to reclaim Earth’s ashes. Sounds cool, right? Except—it just doesn’t work. I’ve circled back to it over and over, but the pieces never fall into place. So I shelved it.

That’s the lesson: letting go frees you to chase the next idea, the one that will sing. Don’t be afraid to bury your darlings. They make space for better games.

Release: Brave The Impossible

 

Happy to say that Brave The Impossible - Steampunk in the wake of a failed Martian invasion - has returned to the fold and available once again. Follow the link on the side of the page. 

Secrets Are Heavy (Or... Don't Let Them Drag)

Secrets at the table aren’t free - they’re weight. Every hidden agenda, every concealed truth, is a stone in the pack. Carry too many, and the game drags. That’s why secrets should be used sparingly, but revealed generously. A secret is only fun when it hits the table - when the truth shocks, twists, or redefines what players thought they knew. You know it in the reactions of the players when it drops: The wide eyes, the 'Oh shit!' responses. Very gratifying, but keep it hidden too long, and it rots. Share it at the right time, and it explodes into story. Secrets aren’t trophies to hoard. They’re tools to shatter expectations and make the game burn brighter.

The best time to reveal secrets are:
 

At the Cliffhanger – End a session with the reveal, so players return buzzing.

During a Crisis – Drop the truth when everything’s already on fire.

At the Bargain Table – Let the secret change negotiations, alliances, or trust.

When It Hurts Most – The reveal lands hardest when it costs someone dearly.

At the Moment of Triumph – Victory twists when it’s not what the party thought.

When Someone Asks the Right Question – Reward curiosity by making the secret spill.

Table Culture: Secrets at the Table

 

Most groups sit down to roleplay with an unspoken agreement: we’re all on the same side. The adventurers form a party, the party forms a plan, and the plan - more or less - gets executed. It’s cooperative by default. That’s fine. But it’s also limiting.

Because secrets can change everything.