Writing Modern Cults for Fantasy Settings

by Jon Torres

Cultists aren’t crazy.


Let’s ignore the devils and demons and minor eldritch monstrosities for the moment. Cults are purely manmade constructs. The only reason a cult exists is because enough ostensibly normal human beings thought it ought to.

This is something that’s lost on most D&D cults. Seems like a lot of folks in Faerun/Eberron/wherever are really down to join doomsday cults with no benefits. The Temple of Elemental Evil is perhaps the most egregious example, with four “unique” factions each trying to bring about their own flavor of apocalypse… because they can? It’s a miracle they manage to attract recruits with all the elemental terrorism going on; each of these cults is a serious PR nightmare.


So if you’ve ever been irked by the state of cultist rhetoric in D&D, or wanted to write/run a cult informed by real world cult psychology, or are just tired of more of the same ToEE nonsense… well you’ve come to the right place. In this post, I’m going to look at cults in the real world, find out what makes them tick, and try to apply my findings to my next campaign.


Joseph Manola already did a fantastic breakdown of D&D cults over on Against the Wicked City. Consider that post required reading for this one.

IRL Cults

There are two kinds of real-life cults.

The first type of cult is a religious group that worships a single deity/religious figure. These cults were common in Rome, where individual Gods had to be placated by dedicated sects with specific rituals and ceremonies. Similarly, cults dedicated to the worship of Catholic saints appear throughout history.

The second type of cult is a social group that revolves around a single charismatic leader. These cults are high control environments focused on recruitment and social power, and are often rife with all kinds of member exploitation. These are the cults you hear about in the news: Heaven’s Gate, the Branch Davidians, and Peoples Temple.


For this post, I’ll be focusing entirely on the latter type of cult, for a number of reasons:

1. Type 1 cults are already extremely prevalent in D&D. ToEE and other famous D&D cults fall into this category, but so does most mainstream religion. In fact, the whole concept of a cleric/paladin devoted to a single god is very cult-ish. If you’re interested in this type of cult, here’s a post from Sword of Mass Destruction that is highly deserving of your attention
2. Type 2 cults are morally fucked. In a setting with objective morality, these cults are pure, manipulative evil, but in a way that we can understand and relate to the real world. That’s a great starting point for writing a villain.
3. The word “cult” has some pretty negative connotations, in part due to the marginalization of non-Judeo-Christian worship in the West. If we’re going to draw a terminological distinction between the “good” religions and the “bad” religions in D&D, we should use “cult” to describe actions and not just beliefs. “Worshipping the wrong gods = evil” is unsavory rhetoric.

by Timofey Stepanov
everyone uses this same darn image for their cult posts

Cult Leaders

Cult leaders are the who, how, and why of a cult. The cult exists to serve their ego, and all cultist actions are extensions of their will.


Real world cult leaders are typically high-functioning narcissists. They believe that they deserve the world and don’t see anything wrong with taking what they feel they’re owed. They’re highly charismatic, blending in yet standing out. Most would describe them as outgoing, level-headed, and oddly irresistible.


A cult leader’s most reliable tool is rhetoric. They’re often fantastic public speakers. They can read the emotions of others, even if they don’t have the empathy to feel those emotions themselves.


Paradoxically, pathological narcissists often suffer from inferiority complexes. The thought of another person being more important than themselves upsets them like nothing else. Cult leaders tend to be volatile, prone to fits of rage and sudden mood changes. They are likely to hold a grudge.

The ultimate goal of a cult leader is self-aggrandizement; they want to feel important on a cosmic scale. This is reflected in their many schemes, all of which are designed to funnel power, attention, and admiration toward themselves.

Recruitment and Public Image

Younger cults have really good PR by necessity. Due to a high turnover rate and deep-seated pathological desire for constant growth, cults are always on the hunt for new recruits, which necessitates an aggressive recruitment strategy. This is why new cultists are told to spread the word to family and friends, sometimes with a recruitment quota.

[Sidebar: Mature cults with a large member population sometimes choose to withdraw from the world to build their own society. These cults raise the majority of their members from birth and don’t need to recruit outsiders, but traces of this recruitment-minded culture may remain from the early days.]

Cults are designed to appeal to average people. Contrary to what ToEE would have you believe, exclusively recruiting from the bottom third of the alignment table is not a viable strategy for any cult, and not just because it puts a target on your back. The ratio of lawful-neutral to chaotic-evil is like 50:1 in civilized society, and hiring exclusively evil sociopaths is just asking to get stabbed in the back.

To appeal to the general public and conceal its true ambitions, a cult will develop a respectable public image. Many operate a humanitarian front—a hospital, orphanage, or other charitable enterprise—which conveniently doubles as a recruitment center.

Cults never refer to themselves as cults, preferring words with positive connotations like “temple” or “family”. Compare “Heaven’s Gate” or “Unification Movement” to “The Cult of Howling Hatred”: which of these names will attract the most members?


None of this precludes you from writing a cult that summons murder-demons and kills baby unicorns; cults have many layers of secrecy to hide the hardcore shit from fresh recruits. Only the truly depraved are promoted to the inner circle, where all the seal-clubbing takes place.


by Jonah Lobe

Brainwashing and Control

Cultist rhetoric is designed to prey on human psychology. Recruiters target the most vulnerable members of society—the depressed, the lonely, the marginalized—who are more easily lured by their impossible promises. Those who buy in are transiently showered in affection and attention, a brainwashing technique called “love-bombing” which leaves them craving the cult’s affirmation. Like an addiction, cult brainwashing induces cycles of extreme emotional highs and lows until the cultist becomes emotionally and socially dependent on the cult.

D&D cults are evil because they abuse and extort others. In the real world however, cult leaders are more likely to perpetuate these evils against their own subordinates. Cult members are victims of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse at astounding rates, and yet, after months of brainwashing, members still find themselves dependent on the cult for social and emotional stability.

The strength of a cult lies within the disproportionate control it has over the lives of its members. Leading expert Steven Hassan summarizes the many forms of cult control in what he calls the BITE model:

• Behavioral Control: Cults set strict schedules for their members. The cult decides when/what/where you eat, sleep, pray, work, attend meetings, etc.
• Information Control: Cults are excellent propagandists. Cult members are encouraged to spy on one another and warn their superiors of dissenters.
• Thought Control: Cults teach their members thought-stopping techniques and allow only cult-approved, “positive” thinking. Cult members may be required to change their identities.
• Emotional Control: Cults use guilt and fear to destroy member self esteem, then bury them in affection to keep them off balance. Cult members are forced to confess their sins publicly.

This constant, overbearing control slowly erodes a cultist’s sense of self, allowing the leader to manipulate them into uncharacteristically immoral behavior. It’s real-life brainwashing, no magic or science fiction devices required.


The scariest thing about cults isn’t that they can summon Cthulhu or drop a meteor on a small kingdom; it’s the fact that they know your brain better than you do, and can talk you into anything if you give them the chance.

by Maxime Minard aka Istrandar

How To Use This In-Game
Key Takeaways:
⁃            Cults are extensions of their leaders.
⁃            Cults care a lot about recruitment.
⁃            Cultists are normal people.
⁃            Cultists are brainwashed.


I approach cults as singular villains with lots of hands, by which I mean they have more in common with a queen ant and her colony than a hobgoblin tribe. A cult is ego incarnate, a miniature society working in unison for the selfish benefit of one being, willingly and with limited regard for their own wellbeing.


Because the cult leader is so central to the cult, I prefer to nail down what they’re all about before moving on. Narcissism as a motivator can manifest in many ways.

1d6	Cult Motivations
1	Delusion: The cult leader has adopted a worldview in which they play a central role, either as a prophet or long lost royalty. Has constructed an entire false history/religion. Most likely to believe everything they say.
2	Greed: The cult leader believes in the power of gold above all else. The cult is a pyramid scheme/mafia/all of the above. Tells followers to “free themselves from their earthly possessions”.
3	Entitlement: The cult leader wants to live comfortably in excess. The cult is one big polygamous “family” hustling drugs/slaves/tigers on the side. Most likely to be hand-fed grapes in their throne room.
4	Hatred: The cult leader has a vision for the world, and [insert minority group] aren’t a part of it. The cult is militaristic and very vocal in the political sphere. 50/50 chance the cult leader is an “undesirable” in disguise.
5	Entertainment: The cult leader has a playful, sadistic streak. The cult runs an underground gladiator ring. The cultists consider scars to be holy. Most likely to torture their subordinates for fun.
6	Spite: The cult leader has a grudge against one specific, important entity. A typical campaign setting has plenty of powerful individuals and factions to pick from; just pick one and figure out what the cult leader needs to do to kill and/or surpass them.

I suggest picking a few different motivations to make the cult more dynamic. If the cult leader wants to capture an angel AND marry the princess AND discover immortality AND impress their father, the question of “what will the cult do next?” becomes a lot more interesting.

In the case of a non-human cult leader—devil, dragon, or otherwise—consider the cult’s recruitment strategy. A monstrous cult leader may have to use illusion magic or hire a charismatic pawn in order to attract followers. Either option gives the cult an important weakness for players to exploit: a well-kept secret or an amoral advisor.

The cultists closest to the cult leader are lieutenants. They’re the most devoted, victimized, and altogether dangerous of the cultists; mini-bosses basically. Most resemble their cult leader in alignment and general nastiness; spend enough time around that type of egomaniac and you’ll find yourself imitating them. They’re as good an excuse as any to force a weird combat scenario, but they can also be powerful allies if you can sus out what they want. I mostly use them to add variety by splitting the cult-dungeon into factions.

Cults provide a unique dungeon experience insofar as the party can open a door in a cultist hideout and discover a dozen or so normal humans just meditating or doing their taxes or whatever. Newer recruits are inclined to listen to reason, so long as it doesn’t directly contradict cult teachings. At best, innocent bystanders give the players plenty of options for social and combat encounters; at worst, they make for interesting terrain. Even at nighttime, infiltrating the cult will likely wake up a recruit or two, throwing a wrench into the PCs plans.


Because all cultists are human, they’re going to have connections to the outside world. Smart players can leverage these to gain access to the cult.

1d6	Cultist Backgrounds
1	This cultist has a loved one on the outside who wants a letter delivered to them.
2	This cultist is actually a long-lost friend/family member of a PC.
3	This cultist wants help smuggling contraband into the cult.
4	This cultist has a sordid past, and if the cult finds out they will be punished.
5	This cultist is trying to hide from debt collectors.
6	This cultist once belonged to a wealthy family. They'll pay good money to have their child brought home.

Rescuing cultists is difficult and takes time. Forceful deprogramming has been widely discredited by psychologists, and cultists don't take well to sudden cognitive dissonance. However, players who stick with a cultist for multiple sessions should be rewarded for their patience, either with a valuable ally or sympathetic NPC. I try not to punish players for loving NPCs (at least not on the first run through).

by Anato Finnstark

  Two Cults of the Hungry City

The Sisterhood of White Roses

On the surface, the sisterhood is a nunnery dedicated to the eradication of violence in the world. The founder, Jens Belrond, is a self-proclaimed prophet who preaches that the gods created a finite amount of violence on earth, and that all conflict can be averted if enough people internalize suffering via fasting and self-flagellation. They started out small, but the threat of war on the horizon drives more and more citizens into the arms of the sisterhood each day.

In reality, Belrond uses his platform to torture cult members for his sadistic pleasure. He is never content, always seeking the next most extreme sensation. He’s been summoning devils as creative advisors, and his most recent scheme for getting off is going to involve some domestic terrorism. Right now he’s in the process of setting up the perfect scapegoat.


Members of the Sisterhood of White Roses are called sisters, regardless of gender. Their uniform is a white robe with an open back (for easier whip access). New recruits come to live in the nunnery and are kept away from the basement, where punishments take place. They pray in large churches with gutters built into the floor, so the blood from their backs can be drained away after the sermon.

The Surgeon’s Guild (Godly Path)

The guild runs one of three hospitals in the Hungry City. Of the three, their services are by far the cheapest, but illnesses and afflictions frequently return after a week or so. The guild head, Mariel “12-Finger” Dis Reya, is a skilled medical practitioner and sorcerer who pioneered “clean thinking”: ridding the mind of negative thought in order to cure all sorts of illnesses.

Dis Reya loves being treated as a savior, going so far as to inoculate patients with new afflictions just so she can treat them again a few weeks later. She is the only person so far to successfully cure the mysterious Blue Plague, and the guild is swelling with new recruits as a result, unaware that Dis Reya herself is behind it all. She’s currently scheming to seize political power by infecting one of the Sixfold Lords with an anti-magical plague which only she can cure, but first she’ll need to speak with one of Zuggtmoy’s brood (she’s new to the whole “summoning demons” thing).


Godly Path members are referred to as healers and nurses. Most are nursing some sort of infection or illness, which they proudly declare is “under control” thanks to their clean thinking. They spend most of the day meditating in “tidying rooms”, brainwashing chambers flush with abrasive white noise that drown out thought. Their guild hall is a spotless mausoleum for the living where disease spreads like wildfire; nurses who pass away are said to have “gone on missionary duty,” and their bodies are fed to the basement furnace.