Matt “Fantastic” Loter with ten-year whiskey from Devil’s Gear’s Johnny B to mark ten years in the business. Credit: Jisu Sheen poto 10-Year Anniversary CelebrationElm City Games71 Orange St.New HavenFeb. 21, 2026 It was the Winter Cotillion. I was, in Mark Casiglio’s words, a “do wn-on-your-luck nobody.” But my luck was about to change. Gasps echoed around the room as I revealed that I had in my possession two torches, flint, and steel—in other words, a source of light. Not bad for a lizardlike creature named Chomp. I was participating in a role-playing game called ShadowDark. Casiglio called out scenes, challenges, and odds as a dozen players sitting around a table rolled many-sided dice to determine our fates. We were at Elm City Games, celebrating the community game shop’s tenth anniversary on Orange Street in Ninth Square. Games were free to play all afteroon. Johnny B from Chapel Street bike shop The Devil’s Gear had just dropped by with a bottle of whiskey. A decade ago, Elm City Games was the new kid on the block. Now they’re another neighborhood big sib, welcoming newbies to the thriving scene they’ve helped foster. “Part of why we’ve been here for so long is the community,” said Matt Loter, AKA Matt Fantastic, co-owner of Elm City Games along with Trish Loter. He likes to “step outside and see people I know.” If someone on the block plays music he’s not into, he embraces it. It’s fun to co-exist. One attendee reminded Loter of the days when he would host Taco Tuesdays at home, before Elm City Games existed. Sometimes 20 to 30 people would show up. Looking around the room of games, beer, and good vibes, I was not surprised by Loter’s home hangout origins. It was time for fellow ShadowDark player Justin Berry and me to figure out how our characters knew each other. He picked a scrap of paper from a pile: “Always argues at town meetings.” Someone to bicker with! Things were looking up for old Chomp. I took a step closer toward a waltzing wraith. “That’s the bad decision I would expect from you,” Berry said, in perfect argumentative character. Free beer flowed from taps on the counter, gifted by Armada Brewing in Fair Haven. Loter is working on a game-based beer can (or beer-can-based game?) with the brewery called Wizard Shot the Potion, expected to come out around summertime. The name is a reference to what Loter called a “gauntlet game from the ’80s.” In Wizard Shot the Potion, you and your friends are a bunch of skateboarding wizards in a trick competition. You play using your thumb on the beer can. “It’s all on the label,” Loter said. I nodded, trying to comprehend it. Then he said, “If you wanna play tournament mode…” and I decided it must be cooler than whatever I could imagine. Around the game table, everyone was talking rapidly, bouncing off each other’s energy. Fellow player Mary Toms tried to kill a spider and accidentally killed Patrick Raley’s character. I found a pair of magical silk gloves. Berry found a shortsword. (“Oh, you found gloves?” he said. “I found weaponry.”) Polly Ingram, playing as a hobbit-like creature, asked Casiglio if she could speak to the dancing wraith. “He’s not going to talk,” Casiglio replied. “But you’re going to get these kind of psychic impressions from him.” Loter would go home with a permanent reminder of the day’s festivities. On his thigh was a fresh tattoo from Hope Gallery, a local studio Elm City Games had invited to the space for a flash pop-up. The ink depicted a unicorn sticking out its tongue. Why? “‘Cause I love unicorns, and what better than to have a sassy unicorn on your tenth anniversary?” As Chomp, I got stuck dancing with the wraith, who immediately started draining my life force. Great. I tossed a 20-sided die for a “charisma” stat to see if I could dance the phantom into somewhere more interesting, but I got a 3. Then I had to subtract 2, bringing me to a 1. Chomp was not a good dancer, not even a little. But would I survive the encounter? Casiglio had me roll a “constitution” check, using the same die. I got… A 20! It was, the room informed me, something called a “critical success.” In the scene before me, the room behind me, the shop space to my right, and the partitioned section down the hall, partygoers mingled, drank free beer, and congratulated Elm City Games on ten years in the rough game of retail and the sweet bond of friendship. Now that’s what I call a critical success. Loter’s now soul-bonded with anyone else who got unicorn tattoos that day. The post Die Cast For 2nd Decade Of Elm City Games appeared first on New Haven Independent. ...read more read less