John Leopold is a long-time teacher of ancient history and Latin at Oakwood Secondary School in North Hollywood, California. Since 1988, he has supplemented his curriculum with various role-playing games of his own design—something that began as he searched for a way to make learning more interesting for his students. Unsurprisingly, a few of the pupils in the Latin class were also enthusiasts of Dungeons & Dragons, and they helped him design some of the more technical aspects of the games he runs. Now, almost every class he teaches incorporates some kind of game.

One of them, Daggers in the Forum, pits individual students against each other in a contest of brinksmanship and intrigue set around Caesar’s rise to power in Rome. Another groups the students into countries in the Ancient Near East who must compete against limited resources and each other for survival. In his language classes he is not limited to historical simulation and becomes more fantastic, running campaigns (entirely in Latin!) based on Roman myths or Arthurian legend. More recently, he has introduced a new game based on vampire and werewolf lore set in 18th century Styria, specifically meant to engage the multitude of Twilight-obsessed girls in this year’s class.

Parents sometimes hear stories from their children about what’s going on at school and raise questions. Is this really a serious education?

Dale was always swearing by video game work but tonight’s Heineken seems to have animated him even more than usual. “I finally got my car back from the shop thanks to that Eldritch gig,” he says, waving the stub of his cigarette around. “I know you think you’ve got better stuff to be doing, but that dinky theater company of yours isn’t going to pay the rent. Right?”

Rebecca stares off the balcony into Culver City’s balmy orange night. “Yeah. Not here, anyway.”

“Well, either you’re gonna make it work here, or you’re gonna give up,” Dale says, with uncharacteristic bluntness, as he lights up again. “Don’t think it’s going to be any easier in New York. Seriously.”

Suddenly, he sits up in his cheap plastic patio chair, mouth widening into a frown, chest expanding with air. “In a land long obscured by the Shroud of Mist, a new evil something something. And they were called... the Eldritch Kings,” he stentorates, then belches. “Seven hundred dollars.”

Rebecca smirks. “How many beers have you had?”

Dale gives a sharp, short laugh, and raises his bottle. “Still on my first, baby.”