Gallows Road is a game of hidden identities. Each player is secretly dealt a role, and the village must root out the werewolves before the wolves devour them. Here is every role you may be dealt — and how a round unfolds.
Win by uncovering and eliminating every werewolf. Most of these roles wake at night with a power to protect, investigate, or disrupt.
No power but the vote.
You wield no special power — only your voice and your vote.
By day, debate, accuse, and persuade. Read the table, press the suspicious, and shield the trusted. The village lives or dies on the strength of its reasoning.
Survives the wolves' first bite.
You are an ordinary villager with one stubborn advantage: the first time the werewolves attack you, you survive the night unharmed.
That toughness only blunts the wolves, and only once. A second night attack kills you — and the village vote, the Witch's poison, or a Hunter's shot can still cut you down at any time.
Eyes that pierce the dark.
Each night, secretly choose one player and learn their true allegiance — villager or werewolf.
Your sight is the village's sharpest weapon, but revealing it paints a target on your back. Steer the vote without exposing yourself too soon.
Heir to the second sight.
You begin as an ordinary villager, your gift dormant.
The night after the Seer dies, you inherit their sight — and from then on you wake each night to learn one player's true allegiance. Until then, stay hidden and stay alive.
A steady hand against the wolves.
Each night, choose one player to protect from harm. If the wolves strike your ward, they survive until morning.
You may not guard the same person two nights in a row, so spread your shield wisely.
Two potions. One life, one death.
You hold two single-use potions: one of healing and one of poison.
Each night you learn who the wolves attacked and may spend the heal to save them. The poison lets you secretly kill any player. Each potion works only once all game — spend them well.
A voice the village will follow.
While you stay hidden, your vote counts as one, like everyone else's.
Once per game you may reveal yourself publicly; from then on your vote carries extra weight. Time the reveal to swing a crucial verdict — it cannot be taken back.
Bind two hearts before the first night.
On the first night, choose two players to become lovers.
If either lover dies, the other dies of grief. And if the two belong to opposing factions, they abandon their old teams: they can now only win together, as the last pair left alive.
A final shot from beyond the grave.
You play as an ordinary villager — until you die.
The instant you are eliminated, whether by the village's vote or the wolves' jaws, you immediately take one player down with you. Choose your final shot well.
A villager cursed to read as a wolf.
You are a true villager and win with the village.
But your blood is cursed: every Seer who reads you sees a werewolf. Expect to be accused — and be ready to talk your way off the gallows.
Win by devouring the village until you equal their numbers. You know your packmates; by day you must hide among the innocent.
Hunter of the village.
Each night, you and your pack secretly agree on one victim to devour.
You know who your fellow wolves are; the village does not. By day you must blend in — lie, deflect, and steer the vote away from the pack.
The pack's youngest fang.
You hunt with the pack like any werewolf.
But if you are killed, the wolves turn rabid: the following night they may claim two victims instead of one. Your death is the pack's fury.
These roles answer to no team. Each chases its own victory condition and can win alone, no matter who else falls.
Win by being hated.
You belong to no team and hold no power.
You win the instant the village votes you out — and only then. Court suspicion, act guilty, and bait the village into hanging you before they find the real monsters.
A tune that empties the village.
Each night, you charm up to two players.
You win alone the moment every living player outside your faction has fallen under your spell. You are neither village nor wolf — let the two sides thin each other while your tune spreads.