It was almost dinnertime when they finally stopped. Edmund had lost every game.

Before they started, Edmund was skeptical; Draughts looked perfectly balanced to him. Both sides had the same number of pieces, the same rules for movement…any game had to end in a tie, or at least be very close.

By the end of the sixth game, Edmund had learned differently. He was beginning to see the whole board at once and to plan more than a single step ahead. He was finding pleasure in small victories; he had captured three of Junapa’s pieces in the last game and even kinged one of his own.

Inspired by Annihilation and Roadside Panic, QZ is about the Quarantine Zone; a place where the laws of nature decided to take a holiday and turn the area into a surreal fever dream. The game itself is not a horror game, nor comedy, nor drama; but the QZ can be horrific, funny, and dramatic in turn.

In the instructions on how to use the rule-book, the book clearly states that the game was designed to be played as a sandbox.

Lady Blackbird is, in fact, Chapter one of Tales from the Wild Blue Yonder, three pre-built one-shot adventure modules where you play as pre-made characters, in medias res, with a carefully constructed scenario for you to play through in an attempt to fulfill your character’s goals.

It’s not as locked-down as that makes it sound. For all the pre-building these characters have gone through, there is a lot of flexibility in how the characters are played and how their backstories are revealed. You spend dice to do certain actions, and you can regain those dice by inventing and revealing bits of your backstory to other characters. You get bonus dice or XP whenever you do something that connects with your characters motivations, but its up to you how they connect. You can also buy off certain motivations and replace them with others if — in narrative — your character changes their mind.

Uneasy Lies the Head is a GM-less RPG focused on telling the story of a tumultuous royal court as a disastrous portent threatens to destroy everything the court holds dear. Perhaps the throne has cracked, perhaps the revolution has finally reached the gates, perhaps the sun has exploded. Whatever the cause, the players — as members of the court — must enact their schemes to reshape the world to their liking.

“Wonder of wonders!” Kolb’s face was a beacon of delight as he opened the door. “How delightful! When I told Ung I would eat in my room, I hadn’t expected to be served by the future heir!” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t tell Wislydale the heir of the family is carting around cooking like a compliant courier. He’ll pitch a right fit.”

Edmund handed Kolb the tray, and then pulled out the letter. “This is also for you.”

When thinking about media influence in RPGs, the obvious first step to take is to look at games like For The Honor.

No, that’s not accurate. The most obvious step is to look at officially licensed RPGs based on IPs like Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Lord of the Rings again, Doctor Who, Sailor Moon, Highlander, Steven Universe, and many more. Those are systems for creating stories in established canons — what we could uncharitably call the RPG equivalent of fanfiction.

Starlight Riders is a card-driven heist-focused space-western with a 50s cartoon aesthetic. According to the website, “You play as a bunch of outlaws, fighting against an oppressive system that took all you had. It’s your role to tip the scales back in favor of the forgotten.”

GM-less and designed for one-shots, Starlight Riders is great for low/no prep games. There are a lot of little interesting quirks with the system: players get a few cards instead of a distinct “character sheet,” and as a troupe RPG, any player can play any character at the table. Gameplay alternates between cards, dice, and role-play fairly smoothly along the game’s three-act-structure.

Though you might not think to look at it, Olaf Hits the Dragon With His Sword is an RPG, even if the entirety of the game is summed up by its title.

The mechanics are simple enough: you and your fellow player have six colors of dice, and you answer a few narrative questions about your character — Olaf or the Dragon, natch — and their motivations. Each different answer corresponds to a color of die, and you put said colored die in the central pool after giving your answer.

Edmund awoke the next morning feeling different than he ever had before.

Leftover rain dripped from the roof outside. The storm had continued all night, letting up only slightly after the mansion struck six in the morning. The sudden silence had jolted Edmund from his shallow sleep.

His sleep had to have been shallow; getting to sleep had been so difficult. He had settled into bed at the stroke of one in the morning. Even so late, no matter how still he lay, his heart beat so fast and thoughts sped through his brain at such a rate that he had lain awake for hours, assaulted by a thousand ideas all demanding his attention.

Designed to be played in only a few sessions, Alas Vegas is structured like an HBO miniseries, focusing on the strange surreal uncertainties that await each player. Afflicted with amnesia at the start of the game, they don’t know exactly who they are, where they are, or why they’re there. The players choose which skills they gain through narrative flashbacks, giving the characters shape both narratively and mechanically as the game continues.