For thirty years, I’d been complaining about players, just like every Game Master. At every opportunity, be it a convention or a reunion, we would eventually end up whining about how terrible and ungrateful our players were. We tried our best, sweated blood for them, were ready to do everything for them, and paid attention to every little detail. And they would still just show up at the session, stuff themselves with crisps, collect PD, and go home, without even as much as “thank you,” “you’re the best,” or at least cleaning those damn potato crisps after themselves.

I mean, preparing such a session takes dozens of hours. It’s like a full-time job. And afterward, you don’t even get a “thank you”.

In the games I design, players have dozens of decisions to make. In the famous „51st State,” each card can be played in three ways. In „Robinson,” each action can be performed in two ways—safely or with risk. Even in my story-driven „Detective,” I crammed in as many choices as possible—there are 36 cards in the deck, but players will only read 18 of them. Which ones? That’s their choice.

I like choices in games. I like making decisions and, most importantly, I love that moment after the game ends when I look at my score and tell myself, „At that moment, I made the wrong decision. If I played again, I would play differently.”

This week, I played a game during which I hardly made any decisions.

I have always been interested in war games. Unfortunately, I didn’t play them much, as I was navigating through the realms of RPGs, miniature games, and, of course, modern board games. There wasn’t enough time for war games. Additionally, I didn’t have fellow wargamers.

So, every six months or so, I would treat myself to one game. Classics like Commands & Colors: Ancients or Manoeuvre found their way into my collection, and I was playing them maybe twice a year. I somehow justified it, telling myself that it made sense, that if the Annual Playthrough Coefficient was at a solid two, it was worth it.

The crack of the shot broke the silence; the enemies hiding in ambush returned fire and with a shout, they rushed towards us. They advanced from their concealed positions in the shadows of the thicket. It took a moment before we spotted them, before we could reach for our weapons and move to meet them…

It wasn’t the best scenario I’ve ever played in my life. Just a good, fun fantasy adventure. Marcin, who was our Game Master, didn’t reach any great heights of his talent, nor did anything particularly noteworthy. On the contrary, I vaguely remember him leading, cigarette after cigarette, which didn’t quite fit the fantasy theme.

Yet, I remember bits of that session to this day, even though it’s been 20 years. I remember because there was a bonfire around which we played. I remember because after dark, the trees in the orchard next to which we had settled took on menacing shapes, and with the setting sun, they transformed into a mysterious forest. I remember because of the crackling fire, because of the sparks shooting into the sky when we added wood to the fire, because of the distant barking of dogs in the nearby village – all of this transported us into the world of the session as if by the touch of a magic wand. It was one of the best RPG sessions I’ve ever played in my life. Because of the bonfire, because of the orchard, because of the sunset.

July 2005, the beginnings of the gaming industry in Poland. My friends from Galakta Games release „The Lord of the Rings: Confrontation” in the budding Polish market. Words cannot express how excited I am. Well, let me try – I’m so excited that I’m going nuts. I’m so excited that I’m traveling to Krakow to get a copy. I bring it home. I read the rulebook, set up the game. I’m on fire with enthusiasm like Stannis’ fleet. I explain the rules to my wife, we play, Frodo rushes into Mordor, I win, it’s wonderful.

Only one being in the world can bring a person down to earth with a single word. That being in question is the wife. She can do that. „Boring,” says Merry. One word. I put the game back into the box. I place it on the shelf. Stannis dies.