Graeme Patrick
- Narrative Design, Creative Writing, and TTRPGs -
Graeme Patrick is a dyslexic Scottish writer currently living in England by the sea. He has written a slew of best selling Tabletop RPG scenarios, having worked with Choasium and Occupied Hex Games. He is currently lead writer on the multi-award-winning horror-comedy podcast Ain't Slayed Nobody's Old West Campaign. Branching out into audio dramas he has also been a guest writer for several anthology podcasts including Magnus Protocol, Nine to Midnight, KillFM, and Creepy Podcast.
AWARDS
Best Writing In A New Production with Magnus Protocol Audioverse Awards 2024
Gold ENnie Winner for Best TTRPG Podcast with Ain't Slayed Nobody 2022
ENWorld Favourite TTRPG Podcast, Hall of Fame with Ain't Slayed Nobody 2022
Best Improv Production with Ain't Slayed Nobody Audioverse Awards 2022
Winner of Chaosium's Cult of Chaos Convention Scenario Competition 2019
Self Published Call of Cthulhu Sceanrios
Scripts & Audio Drama
Self-Serving - A fully dramatized short audio story.CW: the sin of gluttony, body horror, self-cannibalism, death, delusions, explicit language, hallucination, suggested harm to domestic cat, manipulation, self-harm, violence, sounds (chewing flesh, choking, gore, struggle, vomiting)
CreditsWriting: Graeme Patrick
Editing: Corbin Cup, Graeme Patrick
Sound Design: Corbin Cup- Voice Talent -
Danny Scott as TV Chef
Virginia Lee as Daphne
Harlan Guthrie as Mittens
Bob Danielson as The Delivery Man
Writing SamplesBelow are excerpts from several projects, collected together for tone.
Short Story - Sirens in Rain
Five Minute Read
The girl came out of nowhere as Bob thumbed at the radio dials; he slammed on the brakes and prayed. The Hackett family screamed, and the decade-old Volvo estate aquaplaned into a skid.
“When I wake up!” The radio yowled.“SHIT! Did I hit her? Todd, sit down! I can’t see.” Bob said, glaring at his eleven-year-old through the rearview mirror. He craned himself around, got caught on his seat belt, and swore again. Releasing the buckle, he huffed and twisted to peer out the fog-bound glass. There was no sign of the girl, and Bob could make out little else among the oncoming traffic.Headlights blazed passed from out of the gloom, pelting the Volvo with cascades of rainwater. The squealing wipers offered little help against the downpour. A horn bellowed at them as a BMW changed lanes to avoid a pile-up. With a tut, his wife, Diane, flipped on the hazard lights.“If I get drunk!” the radio added. Bob stabbed at its buttons to silence the jovial accusation.
“Dad! You swore,” Todd cried. His face became an ugly red scrunch, and the inevitable high-pitched sobbing began to burble up out of him. Bob’s youngest, Sue, seemed to take it as a challenge and added her own chorus of wails. Bob could feel those stone-cold sliders he’d eaten at the diner crawl into his arteries.“Relax,” Bob said as much to himself as his family. Wiping the condensation off his driver’s door window, he squinted out, fantasizing that there was never a girl out there. Could it have been a trick of the red brake lights on the standing water?Turning conspiratorially to his wife, Bob said, “Diane, I didn’t feel an impact. We’re O.K, right?”
Diane pointed passed him into the rain. “There, by the rails. What is she doing?”“Shit,” Bob said, already wrenching his door open. He knew exactly what she was doing, but at least he hadn’t hit her; no way she’d be standing if he had. He started to pray for that version of events to exist, then he pushed himself into the blaring sirens and driving rain. Transfixed on the girl, Bob ran into traffic, flip-flops squelching through puddles.Bob glanced back; Diane was leaning over to the driver’s side and shouting. He couldn’t tell what she was saying – Something about an umbrella? Frustrated, he waved his wife back as she started to get out too. He knew she wouldn’t listen, and he turned to the girl as a Ford truck swerved around him. He exchanged gestures with its occupants as they passed in and out of each other’s lives.Bob made it to the side. The girl had climbed up in the structure, holding on to a mammoth cable as she dangled over the abyssal darkness below. The rain had soaked her to the bone, a brittle thing with long black hair that clung to her like a dead man’s fingers. Her eyes bugged out of her head, large, like a startled doe."Uh. Hi, nice weather for fishing, ain’t it." He said stupidly. Lost for words, Bob’s mouth continued to move. “I know a great spot down the coast, bass as long as your arm.”The way her dress clung to her skin, skin that seemed slick with a sheen of? Of what, slime, oil, and streaks of blood? Maybe he had hit her, maybe if she jumped… Another car deafened Bob, horn blazing. It ploughed over a flooded drain drenching him in filthy ice water and ending all cognition.“Jesus!” Bob said as Diane crossed to him, huddled behind a pink umbrella. Bob should have thought of that. “What!” Bob said. Diane stared accusingly as if he’d been doing nothing but gawking at the young pretty girl until now, which wasn’t entirely unfounded.“Don’t spook her.” Diane hissed, “I’ll see if I can’t get her attention, then you grab her.” Bob nodded and locked eyes with the girl. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t been staring this whole time. Her eyes were just full of sadness… He had taken some steps toward her. He hadn’t meant to do that.“Hey honey, we saw a diner a mile back. We could call your family and get some pancakes. Would you like that?” Diane saidThe girl smiled sadly and said, “I don’t like pancakes.”“Well, if you come down, Bob will get you whatever you want, isn’t that right, Bob?” Diane said. The girl looked at Bob, and he stopped moving.“Uh, sure! The sliders were nice,” he said.The girl stared into him for the longest moment before offering him her hand. Bob stumbled forward to take it almost on impulse, and then she let go of the cable and leaned back. Diane lunged for Bob as the girl dragged him over the rail. He clamped down on her wrist, and she swung out, feet kicking. Her skin was slick and wet, and she slipped from Bob’s grasp. He leaned right over the hungry darkness and forced Diane to pull at his shirt. Diane screamed as Bob pulled her off her feet.“Diane, help!” Bob cried. He had let go! But the girl was holding on now, watching them both with a sad fatalism in those dark eyes. Diane’s fingers twisted up in Bob’s shorts, and she gasped at the pain. Finally, she had to let go. She scrambled for the umbrella and thrust it at Bob.Bob watched his wife’s terror as his stomach lurched and the pair plummeted into the dark. The girl dragged him close and kissed him; Bob tasted rot, and it hurt. Her mouth yawned wide as she pulled back, and her face split in two. Long translucent teeth peeled from her gums, and she bit deep. They slammed hard into the ocean; it engulfed them. Knocked senseless, Bob struggled to escape from his tormentor. And together, they sank amongst plumes of churning red to where the others waited.
(click images for main product)
DUSTER 2026
SCENARIO DESIGN & WORLD BUILDINGA quirky post-apocalyptic Gaspunk world by Andrew Orvedahl, set in a world where the world has been rebuilt in the style and function of the old west. I was commissioned to create two compact scenarios for this Indie Kickstarter success story as it ramps up to announce an expansion. I worked with Andrew to create a new setting religion, complete with iconic leader characters that fit his colourful, weird world.
BLEEKER TRAIL 2020- 2024
BRANCHING NARRATIVE & TEAM COLLABORATIONThe second season of Ain’t Slayed Nobody’s Comedic Old West arc.
The story followed a medicine wagon show that was a front for a team of investigators looking into strange events in the deserts of Texas, taking them on a mind-bending journey into dreams.
The released show was a polished product that sat between table banter and an audio production, and I collaborated with editors, VAs, and musicians on final cuts. I was responsible for the story, cold open scripts, voice actor role breakdowns, and script doctoring. Taking on critical feedback to create a tight listening experience. This culminated in an award for the podcast in 2022, winning Best Podcast at GenCon 2022 Gold ENnie, and led me to work with Chaosium, writing 100k words for them on a TBA project.
MAGNUS PROTOCOL 2024
SCRIPT WRITING & IP BIBLESIn 2022-23, Rusty Quill relaunched their coveted audio drama, Magnus Archives, as Magnus Protocol, a sequel and prequel series on Kickstarter. I was tasked with writing the third episode, Putting Down Roots, which stayed true to the IP of Archive and the new Protocol. The series went on to win the Spotify Bronze Award with 100 million downloads and the Best Writer in a New Production AudioVerse Award.
BLADE RUNNER 2023
MARKETING & SCRIPT EDITING
An Ain’t Slayed Nobody paid-promotion of Free League's Blade Runner RPG, which featured in-game advertising and cold-opening scripting to drive sales and promote their new line. The finished product is a slick, polished presentation of their rich world. I script-edited and produced VA documents for line reads, for the likes of Ross Bryant from Dropout TV.
OF SORROW AND CLAY 2023
AUDIO DRAMA COLLABORATIONA special Call of Cthulhu scenario created for Ain’t Slayed Nobody for an Old Gods of Appalachia series featuring Becca Scott. This scenario was set within a historically accurate 1920s Kentucky and had to be consistent with the podcast's world-building. The players take on the role of the Taft family as they search for their father. It is a deep exploration into family and decade-old secrets.
The scenario has sold over 1,200 copies and holds a high rating on DrivethruRPG.
FOUR HOURS TO RENO
CONVENTION DEMO & INVESTIGATIVE CLUE WEBSA classic scenario Call of Cthulhu that blends an old west setting with an Agatha Christie train mystery, where a railway baron, Mr Knox, is murdered on his very own train. The players take on the role of Deputies transporting the dangerous Hensley gang, and must discover the truth before the train reaches Reno and the killer slips off into the crowds.This won Chaosium’s Cult of Chaos competition in 2019 and sold out on hundreds of tables at venues around the world, including GenCon, giving customers a taste of playing in its Old West setting.
The game has a heavy investigation element to uncover the killer and was designed for a contained space, with the four-hour convention time slot in mind to prevent overrunning. Cult of Chaos was shut down in 2024 and replaced by a new programme, at which point Four Hours to Reno was updated and bought outright by Chaosium. It’s now awaiting an official release date.
Sample 1: Contemporary Cosy Fantasy Dialogue
Short paragraph: Scene focuses on character chemistry, magical realism, and conversational humour.
The physician padded over to whisper in his mother’s ear.
Nodding, she upturned her empty teacup onto the saucer, allowing the Physician to dab at the leaves as they slopped out. The pair gravely exchanged looks until one broke and giggled, and then the other. And with great majesty, Mother rang the service bell.
“Aud! I think we have it!” his mother said. “The green tea shows what the white tea will not.” Her thin smile turned down into a pantomime pout. “Oh, come on, this is fun! Aud, you remember fun! Penance is having fun, right?”
Penance looked up at Maple, their basset hound, who was still rotating three feet in the air. “Mhm. Fun,” she muttered and turned the page of her book called Gobstoppers and Other Things That Break Your Teeth.
“See!” his mother declared.
Audrey rolled his eyes at her superstitious nonsense and decided to ignore their petty conspiracy. Instead, he turned and leaned out the window to take in the crisp air as the day relented and gave over to cool night. Maple broke the silence and had a good bark at his tail, which remained wagging furiously just out of chomping range.
Audrey closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine, I’ll help you find your ghost.”
Sample 2: Modern Magical Fantasy
The scene focuses on a relationship, emotional concerns and contemporary witchcraft.
“So… you’re a witch now?” Tomás said?
“Wicca, actually. It’s been like, uh, ten days? I don’t think I’ve slept. Ok, maybe an hour here and there, but did you know chaos magic works, actually freaking works. I can’t sleep, not yet…” Jen replied as the kettle clicked off.
Tomás sat and tried to share a concerned look with Mumbles, but the obese tabby batted at Tomás’s toast instead, licking at the golden butter. “Ok, so you? What? You meditate now?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t think sure is going to cut it, Jen. Look at this place.”
Mumbles stepped backwards into a discarded cereal bowl. Hissing, he kicked it to the kitchen floor. Tomás peered down and gagged a little at the rank milk before reaching down to pick up the dish. Jen shuffled over and sat, slippers splashing in the bloated cereal. She pushed Tomás’s tea into his hands as he came up from under the table.
“Do we have a mop?” he asked.
Jen barely shrugged, studying her foot as she slapped the milk again. “What if we just aren’t equipped to see? Like dogs missing colours. You can’t explain colour to a dog?”
Tomás eyed his cup. Escaped leaves swam free in the turbulence of the final vigorous stir. He sipped at it cautiously. “Is spring cleaning in the Wicca handbook?”
Jen tutted. “Right, I get it. You’re colour blind. It wasn’t a dig. All I’m saying is we might be missing something else. You need to listen for the lie, the little betrayals of reality, like a black hole. You can’t see a black hole, but if you pay attention, its fingerprints are there. You just need to find new eyes, that’s all.”
Tomás let his silence diffuse the conversation. Instead of speaking, he opened the cupboard. No mop. Inside was the laundry basket. Through its wicker weaves, a soft light thrummed.
“What…What’s all this?”
Jen grinned. “A surprise.”
Sample 3: Fantasy Character Reflection
The scene focused on the parent-child relationship with emotional warmth and whimsical character interaction.
Throwing down the crowbar, Tim upended the sack, searching for an answer. Junk and tools clattered onto the pine needles. Sifting through the mess, there wasn’t much. Rope, a few hand tools, lantern oil, sugar lumps for Bessie, a flask, and a bundle of linen.
The old man came and perched next to him. “You must have picked up mine from the wagon.”
“What’s this meant to be?” Tim said, unfolding linen and holding up what looked like burnt squares.
His father frowned into the dark. “You know fine well. That’s your mother’s shortbread. I thought ... I thought I’d try to make some. Never mind, I know it’s not the same, and they must be stale by now.” He went to snatch them back.
“Wait, I’ll have some. I don’t think charcoal gets stale,” Tim said, jerking the bundle away.
“Right,” said the old man.
“Right,” said Tim.
He chewed the sweet charcoal and sipped whiskey from his dad’s old flask. It tasted like any other Hogmanay, listening to bawdy stories and raucous laughter. As a boy, he’d like to think the cinders of the fire danced to the fiddler’s tune. The pair sat together, not a word spoken, watching the early frost make the branches sparkle in the fog-bound moonlight.
The old man broke the silence first: “Time for resolutions.”
Sample 4: Cosy Supernatural
Healing Scene with Modern Magical Realism
Scene focused on nature-inspired magic, emotional warmth, and whimsical character interaction.
The roof brimmed with hundreds of pots, pans, and plastic barrels. Several had burst open, spilling roots and scree, piling earth onto the sagging black tar surface. Wildflowers had sprung up from the islands of dirt, and even a few trees thrived here. The largest dominated the centre of the space. He thought it might be a hawthorn, but it was mostly a wild guess. He knew some of the plants and picked out foxglove and ferns, which were easy enough to identify. He also thought he spied valerian and mugwort hiding in the dark. His sister would pester Harold for hours to help her press flowers in a big scrapbook. He’d held on to those names; he didn’t know why.
A rustling of bushes saw swarms of glowing insects fill the night with a soft, yellow-green light, illuminating Mrs Goodfellow.
“Lampyris noctiluca. Sadly, they are quite rare in these dying days. Set her down.”
Harold blinked stupidly. The insects swirled around him like he was standing inside a universe of churning stars. “What?”
“The bird. You want to save it or not?”
“Yes. Sorry.” Harold placed the box on the bench and looked inside. The little robin didn’t move. “We might be too late.”
Mrs Goodfellow didn’t reply; instead plucked plants and added them to a mortar. The clunk of the pestle matched her steps as she flitted over to another clump and stuffed nettles into the mixture. Her eyes caught his, and she dumped worms into the bowl, ground them in.
“What’s that for?” Harold whispered—scared to speak aloud.
“You.” She said, eyes wide, and waved the bowl around, sending the glowing bugs into a manic dance.
“Me?!”
“Of course not, it's for the bird, dolt. But you should have seen your face, ha. Never gets old, that one.” She threw back a tarp and uncovered a dirty little gas stove near the door to the roof. Twisting the gas tap, she touched a lighter to the hob, bringing it to life, then set a wok on it to heat, brushing away the debris. From her cardigan pocket, she pulled out some chicken bones from dinner and found a length of garden string to wind around them. The aroma was like mown grass and Sunday roast. “Now, take the spoon and gentle, gentle. Yes, that's it. Feed her a little taste of that.”
Harold dripped the mixture into the little robin's beak. Around the little bird’s box, hundreds of new stems sprang up and blossomed into daisies. Before long, the glow bugs swarmed around them, their wings thrumming in a hypnotic rhythm. Almost like a heartbeat, and then, the robin moved.
“Bloody hell,”
“Now, who’s the silly old crone? There is more to this world than your loud music and cartoons, boy.” Mr Goodfellow muttered as she reached down and scooped up the robin. She eyed it, nodded and threw straight up. The bird sang and flurried its wings, taking off into the city night.















