Mike’s Personal Thoughts

By Harnak’s shattered pickaxe, lad, I’ve watched more brave fools tremble over a simple choice at the table than over a troll charging straight at them. Some of ya sit there clutchin’ yer character sheet like it’s a confession scroll, convinced yer the weak link, the burden, the reason the whole campaign might wobble off its wheels.

But that whisper in yer skull? The one sayin’ yer not enough?

It lies. And it lies with confidence.

I once journeyed with a lad named Orrin Stonewhistle. Strong arms, quick hands, clever with runes, and nervous as a baby deer whenever we sat down to plan. Each victory felt like luck to him. Each mistake felt like proof that he didn’t deserve the torchlight.

One night he froze clean through during a goblin ambush. Afterward he hunched over the fire, mumbling that maybe he was dragging us down. So I turned to him and bellowed,

“NO ONE ASKED YA TO BE PERFECT, YA GOBLIN-KISSIN’ MILK DRINKER!”

Near woke a whole murder of crows with that one.

But the lad heard the truth buried in the shout. He mattered before he swung his axe. He mattered after he missed. His worth wasn’t a number on a page, and it sure wasn’t whatever story fear told him in the dark.

If that hits a nerve, take a slow stroll through the etiquette halls, especially the scroll on comparison poisoning the mind in “The Quiet Damage of Comparison at the Table” over in the Tavern Etiquette section. That fear’s been lying to more folk than I can count.

When Yer Doubt’s Barkin’ Louder Than Yer Axe

👉 If this fear’s been gnawin’ at yer boots, wander the old stone halls of the Tavern. There’s a heap of crooked wisdom waitin’ on the About page, and if yer voice shakes too hard to speak up, knock on the contact door.

Fear of not being enough doesn’t arrive with trumpets. It creeps in like damp air under a door. First ya hesitate. Then ya apologise for breathin’. Then ya shrink yerself so small that even the fire can’t find ya.

But hear this carved in granite:

Yer fear is smaller than ya. Not the other way around.

Fear tells ya the party is judging every decision. It tells ya yer mistakes are louder than yer victories. It tells ya silence is safer than stepping forward. Fear’s wrong every time.

A good table thrives on uneven edges. On surprising choices. On imperfect attempts. On the lad who tries something wild. On the lass who takes a moment to think. The story doesn’t want perfection. It wants presence.

If yer afraid yer choices ruin things, take a look at the wisdom in “They Were Supposed to Go to the Tavern, Now They’re Lost in a Desert”, tucked over in the GM Wisdom collection. Stories bend easier than bones. They’re meant to.

And if yer fear makes ya step back too far, have a read through “Don’t Wait for the GM to Babysit Ya” in the Player Tips hall. Participation beats perfection every single time.

That wave of shame when another player shines? That belongs in the same barrel as envy. If it stirs in yer gut, the scroll “When Another Player’s Spotlight Makes Ya See Green” over in Tavern Etiquette might steady yer boots.

And if ya freeze when scenes get real — when the room goes quiet — try learning how to speak first and swing later through “Talk First, Swing Later”, another gem in the Player Tips chamber.

Yer worth ain’t up for negotiation. Not with dice. Not with the rules. Not with the table.
Yer human dignity isn’t a stat. Doesn’t rise or fall based on yer last roll.

Yer presence is the gift. The rest is practice.

Yer Seat at the Fire Has Already Been Earned

👉 If yer fear still nips at yer heels, wander deeper into the GM Wisdom halls or sit with the rest of the Tavern Etiquette scrolls. And if doubt grabs ya by the beard again, send word through the contact stones. I’ll remind ya why ya belong — every time.

FAQ

Q: What if I really am less skilled than everyone else?

Skill grows with time. Belonging isn’t bought with expertise. A party needs courage, curiosity, and heart. Bring those and the table gains strength immediately.

Q: What if I freeze and don’t know what to do?

Pick something small and honest. A simple action. A question. A choice. Momentum keeps stories alive. Silence starves them.

Q: What if no one notices I’m trying?

Good tables learn to see each other. But even before they do, yer value doesn’t hinge on their attention. Keep showin’ up. The story will meet ya halfway.