You’ve got a ticket to your first Blood on the Clocktower night — possibly ours in Camborne — and you’re tempted to spend the evening before watching rules videos so you don’t embarrass yourself. Stop. This post covers the useful version: what actually happens at the table, and the only three things worth knowing in advance.
The shape of the night
You arrive, get a drink, and meet your town: 7 to 20 players and one Storyteller, the host who runs the game. Everyone secretly receives a role. Most of you are good — Townsfolk with useful abilities, plus a couple of Outsiders whose abilities are more… complicated. A few of you are evil: minions, and the demon itself.
The game then alternates between two phases:
Night. Everyone closes their eyes. The Storyteller moves around the circle, quietly waking certain players to use their abilities — the Fortune Teller learns something, the Empath senses their neighbours, the demon chooses a victim. You’ll hear soft footsteps and feel unbearable curiosity. Keep the eyes shut.
Day. Eyes open. Someone’s dead. And then the actual game begins: the whole town talks — publicly, privately, in huddled twos in the corner — comparing claims, catching lies, building theories. Days end with nominations and a vote; get enough votes and you’re executed, your role revealed by consequence. Good wins if the demon dies. Evil wins if the town dwindles to the demon’s mercy.
Repeat until the finale, which will come down to one vote, one speech and at least one person saying “I TOLD you it was them”.
The three things actually worth knowing
1. Dead isn’t out. When you die — and someone always dies night one — you become a ghost: you keep talking, keep scheming, and keep one final precious vote. Some of the best games are won by the dead. Do not sulk; haunt.
2. Your first job is simple: share, carefully. You’ll know one small thing — a role, a number, a suspicion. The town wins by pooling information, but sharing everything loudly on day one hands the demon a target list. The craft (which nobody masters on game one, relax) is choosing what to say, to whom, and when.
3. Lying is allowed. Even for good players. This surprises first-timers: a good player can bluff their role to stay safe. The game isn’t “evil lies, good tells truth” — it’s everyone managing information, which is why it never plays the same twice.
First-game etiquette
Ask questions freely — the Storyteller expects it and the table’s veterans genuinely enjoy helping (partly kindness, partly recruitment). Don’t show anyone your role token unless a rule says so. And when you’re inevitably accused of being the demon while holding the most innocent role in the game: enjoy it. Being wrongly executed with dignity is a rite of passage. Being rightly executed while protesting innocence is even better.
Why not to revise
New players are protected by their own cluelessness — nobody wastes suspicion on the person still asking what a Ravenkeeper is, which is precisely why Storytellers love handing newcomers the demon. Arrive fresh. Learn at the table. Be dangerous by accident.
Your first game is waiting: dates for The Sleuth Society’s nights in Camborne are on Eventbrite, and the full local rundown is on the Blood on the Clocktower page. Eyes closed. Ears open. Trust nobody cheerful.