About.

What I do — and what I don’t

I’m a Storyteller. The term comes from Blood on the Clocktower, but it’s the right name for what the role is across the genre: someone who runs the night so the players don’t have to. I take rules off your plate. I read the room. I decide when to twist the knife and when to let things breathe. You sit at the table and play.

What that means in practice:

• I bring everything except the room. Game materials, character sheets, role cards, my time, my voice. You provide the venue and the players.
• I teach as we go. People who’ve never played walk in confused and leave fluent. People who’ve played for years get a Storyteller actively shaping their experience instead of a host reading a script.
• I read tone. Some nights want chaotic shouted accusations. Other nights want slow-burn paranoia. I can tell the difference and steer accordingly.

What I’m not:

• Not a magician, not a comedian, not a “facilitator.” I run games, not entertainment-of-the-month.
• Not a corporate trainer with a slide deck. There is no team-building debrief unless you specifically want one (I can do it; usually you won’t need it).
• Not a referee. Social deduction games have rules but the soul of them is improvisation. I keep the structure honest; I don’t police your bluffing.

What these games actually are

Social deduction is a small but rich genre. The shape is consistent: some players have hidden information — a role, a faction, a secret — and the rest of the table is trying to figure out who’s who, mostly by listening to each other lie.

The classic example is Werewolf, the original you maybe played at a summer camp. One player is secretly a werewolf. Each “night” the werewolf kills someone. Each “day” the village votes someone to execute. The villagers want to find the werewolf before they’re all dead. The werewolf wants to stay hidden long enough to win.

Modern social deduction does much more. Blood on the Clocktower gives every player a unique role with its own ability — twenty-plus roles in a typical edition, no two games the same. Two Rooms and a Boom puts thirty people in two physical rooms negotiating with hostages and timed rounds. Paranoia spins the whole thing into a comedy RPG where everyone is a traitor and The Computer is watching.

The reason these games hold an evening — through three hours, through groups who’ve never met, through corporate teams skeptical of “games” — is that the entertainment is the people, not the rules. Once you understand the basic shape, the rest of the night is reading each other. Who paused before answering. Who’s overcompensating. Who’s clearly enjoying lying a bit too much. By round three, your group knows each other in a way no team-building exercise can fake.

Why I run them

By day I run tech, governance, and software development at a Danish IT consultancy of around 100 people. Lots of strategy, lots of infrastructure, lots of “can we just sync on this real quick.” It’s good work, but it’s mostly spreadsheets, policies, and Entra ID configurations that refuse to behave.

The opposite of that is what happens at the table on a games night. Drama, paranoia, narrative — the parts of my brain that don’t get a workout in a corporate meeting room. Storytelling has been the through-line in everything I’ve cared about, and these games are storytelling at its most participatory. The players are the story. I just shape the conditions.

I’ve been running them for years now. The mix has been: hobby groups deep in the genre, corporate evenings for companies trying something new, parties for friends-of-friends-of-friends, and one-off sessions for people who’d never picked up a board game in their adult life. The thing that keeps me coming back is the moment around round three when someone — usually the quiet one — pulls off something nobody saw coming. That’s the night they tell people about. That’s the only review I care about.

What an evening actually looks like

Roughly:

• I arrive early. Set up the table, lay out role materials, get the lay of the room.
• People show up. Drinks, snacks, easy intro. Nothing formal. If anyone is brand new to the genre, I do a five-minute primer so they don’t feel lost.
• The game starts. Whichever game we’ve chosen — for most evenings that’s Blood on the Clocktower as the headliner, sometimes paired with shorter games for warmup.
• I run it. Quietly steering, sending information to the right players at the right moments, watching for the table’s energy. You don’t think about rules. You think about who’s lying.
• Climaxes happen. A wrong vote. A correct one. A demon revealed at dawn. There will be a moment.
• Short debrief if you want it. Otherwise we cut to the chase: drinks, talk about it, maybe another game if the room still has energy.

For most groups: 2–3 hours for a single full Clocktower game. Shorter formats stack into a longer evening (an hour of Werewolf, then a Clocktower main event, then a Two Rooms finisher if the room still has it in them). I shape the program around what you tell me you want.

Who this is for

• Hobby groups already deep in the genre. You know the games, you’ve run them yourselves, you know the problem: someone has to host and that someone never gets to play. Bring me in for a night. Everyone takes a seat.
• Work teams who want something better than a workshop. I’m not selling team-building. But these games happen to do team-building work as a side effect, and people actually want to come back. If your offsite is one more guided exercise away from mutiny, this is the alternative.
• Friend groups planning a thing. Birthday, milestone, Friday night, group of friends who want one good evening they’ll talk about. These games scale from 5 to 20+ players cleanly.
• People curious about social deduction. You’ve seen Werewolf on YouTube, or you’ve heard Blood on the Clocktower described by someone who can’t stop talking about it. You want to actually play. This is the way.

If you’re not sure whether you fit, write me. I’ll tell you honestly if it’s not the right match — there are nights where my games aren’t the answer, and I’d rather say so up front than waste your evening.

See the games I run → See pricing →