How I Discovered Actual-Play Podcasts
When commuting, I generally read or work through a language course. Walking with a stroller or folding laundry is different: my hands and eyes are occupied, but my mind is free. Podcasts became a way to reclaim time that would otherwise disappear. Actual-play podcasts eventually offered something more—a way back into tabletop roleplaying when I no longer had enough time to play regularly.
Since having children, and especially since moving to Luxembourg, I have found myself walking much more. Initially, this was mostly with a stroller, because walking is an excellent way to put a child to sleep—and, with some children, the only way to manage it without a great deal of screaming and resistance.
Over time, I began to enjoy walking for its own sake: the nature, the quiet and the temporary absence of demands. I must be getting old. As a child, I found walks with my parents dreadfully boring, particularly when they developed into hikes during family holidays. It is strange how differently the same activity can look once you have children of your own.
My route into podcasts began before the move to Luxembourg, when I discovered that they made folding laundry considerably less tedious. It started with Freakonomics Radio. I had already enjoyed the book, and when my brother recommended the podcast, it seemed worth trying. From there, I moved mostly into science programmes such as This Week in Virology and The Skeptics’ Guide to the Universe.
I discovered actual play almost by accident. I was searching for other people’s experiences of playing Svavelvinter—literally “Sulphur Winter”—a Swedish roleplaying campaign with something of a cult reputation. It was far ahead of its time and still stands out for its quality.
Its author, Erik Granström, later transformed the campaign’s setting and story into a highly regarded sequence of novels. At the time, neither the original material nor the novels was readily available to readers outside Sweden.
While searching, I found a relatively new podcast called Vi Spelar Rollspel—“We Play Roleplaying Games”—which had begun playing the campaign. Curious, I downloaded Podcast Addict and started listening.
The early sound quality was uneven, and some of the players were new to roleplaying and needed time to find their voices, but I enjoyed it. The podcast gave me access not only to the story, but to the peculiar pleasure of hearing a campaign develop through the unpredictable decisions of actual players.
Although I enjoyed the material, I did not always agree with the execution. There was sometimes so much joking and laughter that the story disappeared beneath the table talk. That is not necessarily a flaw in the game itself—joking with friends is part of why people play—but what works around a table does not always make the best listening.
During a break between campaign arcs, I began looking for something more atmospheric. I thought Call of Cthulhu might suit me better and eventually tried How We Roll.
Its early episodes also had occasional sound-quality problems, but I enjoyed them. What I missed was the character development and larger narrative that only a long campaign can provide. Short scenarios can be tense and effective, but they rarely create the same sense of progression.
How We Roll was also my first encounter with actual play that used added sound effects: creaking doors, background music and other elements intended to make the story more immersive. I initially found this impressive, but gradually concluded that conspicuous effects could be almost as distracting as excessive table chatter.
Background music worked better for me. It could establish a mood without demanding attention, provided it remained behind the voices rather than competing with them. I was beginning to discover that my ideal actual-play podcast was neither an untouched recording of a gaming session nor a fully scripted radio play. It occupied an uncertain space between the two.
Around this time, many new Swedish roleplaying games were appearing, including revivals or reinterpretations of games I had played as a child. A corresponding wave of actual-play podcasts followed.
One of the most notable was Rollspelsradio’s production of Mutant: År Noll – Genlab Alfa. Its audio and production quality were excellent. I sampled several other Swedish actual-play podcasts, but few made the same lasting impression. They were not necessarily bad; they simply featured systems or campaigns that did not interest me, or placed their emphasis somewhere different from where I wanted it.
In August 2017, Red Moon Roleplaying began its production of The Black Madonna for the new edition of KULT: Divinity Lost. KULT was itself the revival of a cult-classic Swedish horror game. I had never played it, but I had heard a great deal about it, and its themes seemed close enough to Call of Cthulhu to catch my attention.
The podcast promised a strong focus on character and story, so I gave it a try. I was immediately struck by the quality. The earliest episodes still had minor sound problems, but the production was otherwise almost like a professional radio drama: carefully edited, supported by atmospheric music and focused on the unfolding story rather than an endless succession of dice rolls.
I do not remember a single roll of the dice in the first episode. Whether or not there actually was one, that absence from memory says something about the production. The mechanics supported the story without constantly announcing themselves. This was what I had been looking for.
Red Moon Roleplaying followed The Black Madonna with an equally accomplished production of Curse of Strahd and later produced material for the Fifth Edition of Vampire: The Masquerade. In 2019, it received a well-deserved Silver ENnie for Best Podcast.
By early 2020, the Swedish actual-play scene was expanding rapidly. New podcasts appeared regularly, production standards were improving, and shows such as Sweden Rolls were beginning to receive international recognition.
What interested me most was not simply that there were more podcasts, but how differently they approached the same basic form. Some tried to preserve the looseness, laughter and unpredictability of people playing around a table. Others edited the session into something approaching audio drama.
I had initially assumed that actual play was simply a recording of people playing a roleplaying game. The best productions revealed it as a form with its own creative choices: how much to edit, how visible to make the rules, whether music strengthens the atmosphere, when table talk adds personality and when it breaks the spell.
The dice may generate the story, but producing that story for an audience is an art of its own.
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