Convention: Cauldron 2025 Reflections

October 23, 2025

I spent last weekend (October 17–19) playing old-school Dungeons & Dragons at Cauldron, “an OSR Euro Con.” I had an absolute blast of a time, organisers did an amazing job, and players were all great.

In this post I share my reflections on the whole experience. See this post for reports on games I either played or hosted.

Preparation

I've decided to take a night bus to Frankfurt, then a train to Marburg, and then hitched a shuttle ride offered by the organisers to the final destination, Hofraithe Rosenthal.

Everything I needed to run my games was packed in a single yellow binder: five reference sheets for OD&D, player reference sheet for Magic-User and Cleric spells, character index with eighty fourth level characters, eighty character sheets printed on yellowish paper, and, of course, module notes and maps.

Early on I decided I will (1) run three games myself—The Thieves of Fortress Badabaskor on Friday night, Conquering Barbarian Altanis on Saturday night, and Darkness Beneath Megadungeon level on Sunday morning—and (2) join three other games. That, I felt, was a fair balance of supporting others and offering what I like to others.

Since I've already written about why I have chosen to run OD&D and above adventures, I point you to the following post.

Friday

Night bus was perfect for me. I've slept through most of the journey and arrived well rested. I did not get to experience the horrors of DB. My train arrived on time, and organisers greeted me on the train station as agreed upon. An hour or so later we reached nice white houses with timber beams, my home for the next three days.

First thing I did was make my bed. No way I'd be in the mood to do so at 2 am, or whichever time would my Friday night game finish. That proved to be great foresight. Next, I scanned all the gaming rooms. Organisers provided a small map and a list with all the games and associated tables and rooms.

Tables were beautiful, chunky and concrete. Beams worried me a bit, for they too were chunky and concrete. My assigned table was just between two beams and between two other tables. I worried how many player could realistically fit given that I wasn't even able to wedge in eight chairs. Second table was kind of useless because there were other beams around, so there was nowhere it could be moved without blocking passageway. And I didn't want to stand in the way of gamers trying to reach their fix.

My games were with unlimited attendance. I was committed to running a game for two or twenty players. I tried out few different layouts, but ultimately decided to pull the horizontal table behind me and place it against the wall. Then I left all my belongings on that table—now promoted to the Judge Table—and decided to have nothing on the Player Table.

There were some really great rooms, but Linde, the one I was assigned to, had the most concurrent games. I knew it'd be loud, but I was looking forward to it nonetheless because I knew the atmosphere would be great.

With everything prepared I mingled around, meeting people and chatting. It was great to connect faces with online nicknames and handles. This was also a very special convention because I met several long-time players from our Conquering the Barbarian Altanis campaign. That was absolutely awesome. I am unable to express in words how great it was to meet in person after gaming since 2022 together.

Playing in Dreadlord's game was mighty fun. Read more about it here. We smashed through the dungeon and almost completed it with great success. My character died in the process, but one of our adventuring party member's escaped with the scroll. Dreadlord is an outstanding Judge, with quick wit and great humour. Players were great too—I was impressed by the gaming skills of all present!

Hearty dinner was served. It was then that I noticed that pretty much everything was home cooked. And how awesome is that?! This made me feel like I was at a barbecue, an intimate event, and not some corporate convention with fancy catering and what not. Organisers told me there was around hundred people here, but it felt much tighter. The atmosphere was just great.

Given that I had a night game to run I elected to skip soda drinks and focused on water. Throat was to be protected. I had hours and hours of being loud ahead of me. A Chainmail game was being set up on the ground floor. It looked really great, and I was looking forward to hearing from everyone how it went. Settembrini and Dreadlord tried to convert me to figure-collector-painter-sufferer but I made my saving throw and remained committed to avoiding adding another expensive hobby to my life.

People slowly queued up for the game sign-up forms. I took a glance at the papers and they were filling up fast. Great, just how it should be! My assumptions about Linde and table setup were quickly proven true. We shimmied the table a bit to make room for everyone. Packed tight, we were ready to game!

I framed the game as simple as I could: no player versus player, your objective is to exterminate the Cult of Angall, we play until we want. I went over the core gameplay loop with two moves per turn, dexterity ranking no-roll initiative, and assigned a caller. Game time!

45 minutes into the session and players suffered a near total TPK caused by Wand of Cold. Only one character managed to escape. That was a total of 10 in game turns. New characters were distributed, and players planned a new delve, intent on getting it proper this time.

The session is described in detail here. I am not sure until when did session go, perhaps 1 or 2 in the morning. Players managed to breach the Temple, but then noped out with Beads of Escape after seeing all the opposition inside. As I cleaned up the table I took a glance at the character index. 18 characters out of 70 got used up on the first day. That was one quarter of all characters! 8 of them perished. People preferred human fighters and magic-users.

I smiled. This will be a great con.

Saturday

It was already Saturday by the time we wrapped up our Friday night game. I walked around, looking at the items for silent auction. There was some cool stuff so I added few lazy bids. Most of the games were done, but Chainmail game was still raging on. I had some tea for the throat and then retreated to the room.

Morning brought more mingling, good home-made food (cakes!). People were approaching me, pumped about the night session I were to run later that day. More about that in a moment. I drank tea after tea...

The first session I played in was the Blue Mausoleum by the indomitable Melan. It was flat out awesome. All players were great. We adopted a very aggressive play style, going straight for the grand jewel, ignoring everything else. If my count is correct we went through almost 25 keyed areas, killing and looting. Professionalism!


On mapping duty.

Next up was another game by Dreadlord, Setian Vault that will be published in one of the upcoming Fight On! issues. I politely refused the mapping and caller duty, opting to focus on drinking tea, and stabbing things. The game was chill. We barreled through the dungeon, finding secret doors to shortcut sraight to the evil artefact. Once again, iron focus won the day. We crushed evil snake-children without any mercy whatsoever. We destroyed their altar and left with great treasure, unharmed. Dreadlord was stellar as always.

Suckling pig and sauerkraut were served galore for the dinner. Auction followed, with many cool items. All my items bombed hard, getting zero bids. In fact, I only sold and traded items outside of the auction, so there was at least that.


Food of champions.

The list for the Wilderlands game was filling up fast. That was great. But there was no way Linde could take all of that. Dreadlord, or perhaps Niko, suggested I speak to Settembrini about using the dining room instead. With the organiser's blessing I changed the room on the paper from Linde to Dining Hall.


Photo by James Knight.

Theo, Mitch, Niko, and Sam rode into the hall like four riders of the apocalypse, all dressed up in Wilderlands shirts. They helped me arrange the tables. As other players trickled in they joined in on the work. Since I have experience managing large workshops and groups I made it extremely clear that one side of combined tables is exclusively mine. There were to be no tables nor anyone sitting next to me.

This is a simple trick to ensure that I have everyone's undivided attention. I am one and the players are many—and I must do whatever I can to minimise distractions. With such large group my number one priority was to ensure everybody gets to play, not spectate but play! In order for players to play they must have a clear view of me, hear my words, and understand the information I am communicating. That is why it is vital for large games to have a central spot without any additional distractions.

As more and more people poured in we added more and more tables. We were filling up the dining hall! Settembrini kindly reminded us that we still have a full tray of pork behind us. Indeed, it is important to be well nourished for peak gaming performance.

This was a session 149 of our ongoing Conquering the Barbarian Altanis campaign. What happened here is part of our regular game. Stakes are real. Consequences enduring. Choices endless. We brought our whole open-world sandbox to Cauldron, and opened it up for all those present to rock it as they wish.

I already provided a detailed in-game session report in this blog post, and now I wish to focus more on behind the scenes.

First, I did not bring any preconceived notions of what the players would or wouldn't do. Total and complete freedom. What I did bring though is a summary of intelligence player characters have so there is something to work with.

Once everyone was seated and had a character sheet I opened by framing the game. I explained it is a part of our home game and that everyone has a say in what they wish to do tonight. Regular players would get no extra voting power. In fact, I encouraged everyone to consider their own goals and not simply delegate the decision making to regular players! I repeated my two HARD NO rules—no player versus player and no sexual violence—and then summarised the in game situation. Some were taking notes, some soaking it in, and some suffered in their own way. Finally, I said there will be no breaks. Anyone can get up and leave to do whatever they can. Just inform the player next to you to take care of your character. We will play until the last man standing.

As I wrote several times before (see here or article in Fight On! #16), I prefer high-energy, fast-moving games. People came to play in Wilderlands, not sight-see people playing Wilderlands! Therefore I adopted a style that would “activate” every player every in-game turn, discussion, and decision. With large groups delegation and clear, concise instructions are key. Plus, it was already late when we started. I knew player concentration would only diminish as we played.

It was an endurance marathon. And I was about to run it as a sprint.

To begin I divided players in three teams, asked them to discuss intelligence and leads I have shared with them, and decide on which they would like to pursue and why. Alternatively, they were also free to propose an option of their own. Once they decide they must choose one amongst them to present their thoughts to the whole table. I gave them a timer and off we went.


How it started.

The thrill of that moment is something that cannot be described. I love to be challenged as a Judge. Where will they go? What will they decide on? Everything is a possibility! Theo and his team pitch to storm the palace and kill the queen. Other two teams argue for the Windowless Tower full of valuable crystals. One, they are valuable, two, they are light to carry. In less than 10 minutes we had 15 players agree, align, and commit to a specific expedition goal. I cannot stress how important that is for running sandbox games where players have total freedom.

Although I brought along laptop with me, I did not want to power it up. It is small, but it still would be a barrier between players and myself. Everything I needed was in my head. I know map of Barbarian Altanis by heart. I know distances between major spots. I could describe and draw all the directions players could imagine to go into. I referenced my material only when I absolutely had to—which was usually to double check something before wrecking player characters. Key to brutal, no fudge games, is ensuring players are not unfairly butchered. I never killed a player character out of spite or deliberately. I simply create conditions in which players get their characters killed.

During the overland exploration, I made use of the teams to discuss and align on the plans. This ensured we maintain a brisk pace and alignment. This also allowed us to split the party (more like company given their numbers) and cover more terrain. Once the dungeon entrance was located, I advised everyone should enter, simply because deciding to do otherwise would be deciding not to play.

Once they entered the dungeon proper I asked them to draw up marching order. This is a vital piece of information for me, especially given the size of the group. From then on I was rapidly calling out players, asking them to declare and describe their character's actions. It doesn't matter if they are still doing the same thing (“I keep watch,” “I guard the exit,” “I follow behind him”)! What matters is that the brain gets activated, they speak up, and they are involved. This was super important to maintain attention given we were playing past midnight after a full day of gaming.

The shenanigans that went on were beyond belief. But it was exactly the type of Dungeons & Dragons I love to play. Characters exploring dangerous environments. Characters interacting with dangerous stuff, bringing ruin to themselves and others. Characters succeeding despite the odds, emerging victorious.


In action. Photo by Gus.

Just imagine fourteen characters in a large cave, three of them trying to build a human-elf-hobbit pyramid to reach a large bronze bell above them, five of them forcing open large stone double doors, a dwarf peeking down bottomless chasm, other checking some rubble on the other side of the cave. Then one character activates magic mouth which causes a wandering monster to come. I roll a purple worm, which then burst out the cave walls, causes total chaos, characters scrambling all over. In panic and tiredness, one of them pulls the Wand of Fireballs and blasts the worm. But with limited space, fire ball fills the volume and kills half the characters.

What do we do with five players whose characters just died? Kick them out? Absolutely not! The purple worm has a blast hole in it. And it just happened to swallow five adventurers before bursting into the chamber. Keep on playing! Bell went off, roll wandering monster, FIVE FUCKING PURPLE WORMS INCOMING!

“You better run,” I advise the players. They oblige, but run in different directions. The energy of such chaotic game is incredible; something that cannot be captured in any medium. I do not think it can be described in writing, nor recorded on dictaphone, nor video. It has to be lived in the moment; experienced together.

Our hollering attracted people passing by. To be fair, we were playing in the dining hall, so people were coming for food and drinks too. I offered everyone whom approached the table or watched to join us. A simple yes and I'd give them a character sheet. Come join the madness.

Iron Golem of Wishing had me in stitches. I find it incredibly funny—not in a demeaning way—when players decide to give something a go, despite everyone being well aware that something is most likely a trap. I am incredibly grateful to the player who stepped on the copper disk and made his wish. I was in tears, laughing.

Another notable situation was when hobbit and elf detected secret doors high above the floor. They improvised a ladder by hammering in some iron pitons, which the hobbit scaled. He was in a bad spot, with poor balance, leaning backwards, pulling onto something that required force.

“Roll snake eyes on 2d6 to succeed. That is around 2,5% chance to succeed.” I declared.

Whole room erupted as Gus rolled 1 and 1 on his emerald green dice. But why 2 on 2d6? Why didn't I ask for % on d00 or something on d20 or something else? In my mind rules are more than rules. They come with certain aesthetics. OD&D, or more specifically little brown booklets, use primarily d6s. Yes, there are other dice, but d6s are rolled a lot. I know 2d6 distribution almost by heart. 8+ is around 40%, 9+ 30%, 10+ 15%, 11+ 10%, 12+ 3% (not exact probabilities, but rounded well enough for adjudicating in the moment). This was a nearly impossible task, so 12+ sounds good. But 2, i.e. snake eyes, has slightly different flavour and yet the odds are the same. So in a split moment I adjudicate the odds (cca 2,5%), the dice to be rolled (2d6), and target number (2), all congruent with aesthetics and feeling of the game we are playing.

We began with 15 players. One dropped as soon as he joined. Around 1:30 in the morning another 8 dropped due to tiredness and exhaustion. Two more joined. One vanished. Around 2:30 three more left, retreating into their bed chambers. The Final Four Titans played until 3:30 when they recovered great treasure and escaped the dungeon against all odds.

I salute their endurance and congratulate everyone on their success. They have just unleashed terrible artefact into our game. I love it.


The final four in action. Photo by James Knight.

Sunday

It was around 4:30 in the morning by the time I cleaned up the room. Players helped me and then retreated. We congratulated each other on a game well played. I put the reference sheets back into the judge binder. Character sheets were for players to keep—either to play in other games, take home as memorabilia, or both.

I was too pumped to go to sleep. I went for a walk through the gaming rooms upstairs. They were all empty, lights turned off. I lost all my bids. Oh well, at least it wasn't anything that I really desired. But losing for one euro feels funny. Anyway, I had some snacks and something to drink.

It was almost 5:00 in the morning and there was a small group of folk discussing loudly by the Chainmail table. A gentleman was tallying up the scores for best player, best judge, and whatever else was there. I realised I forgot to ask players to fill in any of those. Oops. I had a pleasant conversation about society, technology, belief systems, philosophy of science, and breaking jaws with Prince of Nothing, Oger (I think), and two more gentlemen whose names I unfortunately forgot.

I set my alarm to 7:30 and went to my room. My roommates were in deep sleep. I laid down and slept like a baby. Woke up on time and packed everything up since we were to leave the rooms.

There was an awards ceremony followed by a group photo in the morning. As one of the Judges I was granted access to the Chest of Treasure, from which I had pulled a branded notebook. Once again, the atmosphere was great as we all cheered for the best player, the best Judge, winners of the tournament, so on and so forth. At one moment I wondered “who are these people?!”

Then it hit me how packed the agenda was. I was playing non-stop since I arrived. Virtually the only time I stopped to chat and mingle was Sunday before dawn. It'd be great if the con was extended by one more day, but then again, would I simply play one day longer or actually hang out? I guess I will see next year, because the organisers announced Cauldron 2026 will be from Thursday to Sunday.


Cauldron dice tray and notebook.


FAG cap, a gift from Dreadlord.

I glanced at the character index. 20 were taken last night for the Wilderlands session, leaving around 32 more characters to pick from for the last game. There were only one human fighter and one magic-user left. There were plenty of human clerics, and hobbit fighters. Perfect for the Darkness Beneath Megadungeon session I ran for the final gaming slot. We were back in Linde, squeezing with others. Luckily, table to our left abandoned the room, so we had some extra space to accommodate all ten players that joined.

As before, I framed the game, outlining the goal and boundaries. I was also explicit on ending the session 15 minutes before scheduled ending time so everyone would have time to say goodbyes and do whatever else they need to before leaving the premises. Fascinatingly, no one showed any signs of weariness! I loved that, for this was another high-energy, fast-paced game. Interestingly, this party had the same random encounter as the last party I led through this dungeon, which was for Precognition con earlier this year. Brain rats jumping in river, boarding the coracles, and causing chaos.

By the end of the con 45 player characters from my list of 70 pregenerated characters were used. That is almost 65%! Of those, 19 died, some 40%. Of those, 25% died due to friendly fire. Great numbers.


Blue for characters that were used, red for those that perished.

Summation

An absolute spectacle of convention. Pesa Nexus and volunteers did an amazing job. There is room for improvement, but they are well aware of all the points raised by the attendees and are working on it. And I cannot stress enough how minor these issues are in the light of an awesome convention they ran.

This is the event for people desiring to play old-school Dungeons & Dragons, be it any flavour of the originals from the 70s, or the first edition of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. Congratulations to organisers for their hard work, great effort, and amazing experience they have provided us. Also, a special call out for young players who were volunteering and playing in between. I was impressed by their skills— they played like pros! The game will survive us just fine.

I hope to see you there next year. You can expect another Wilderlands marathon session, and perhaps even a special romp through the City State of the Invincible Overlord. Fight on!


Until next year!

Attronarch's Athenaeum