<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>PromptEngineering on Federico Maiorini</title><link>https://procionegobbo.it/en/tags/promptengineering/</link><description>Recent content in PromptEngineering on Federico Maiorini</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sun, 24 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://procionegobbo.it/en/tags/promptengineering/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Chimera Forge: how I stopped fighting with prompts and built something</title><link>https://procionegobbo.it/en/blog/chimera-forge/</link><pubDate>Sun, 24 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://procionegobbo.it/en/blog/chimera-forge/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;This post was translated from Italian with the help of Claude.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;p&gt;I&amp;rsquo;ve been playing tabletop RPGs with my current group for six years. We started online because the group is spread across Rome, Naples and Brazil. One evening a week, almost always, and I&amp;rsquo;ve never been bored. One of the things I&amp;rsquo;ve always loved, both as a game master and as a player, is imagining and describing scenes: when it works, what happens during a session becomes almost a real memory, and days later the players retell it with the same casualness of recounting a weekend at the beach. That feeling is worth more than anything else.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>