Don’t Be That Player

Elara

Okay, so hear me out. Picture this. It’s the boss fight, the whole party’s on edge, and—

Grom

—Let me guess. Someone tries to seduce the dragon?

Elara

Not just the dragon, Grom. The Dragon God! And, like, they rolled a... uh... natural one. It was so, so bad.

Grom

Of course. Because nothing screams "prepared party" like trying to flirt with the deity of destruction mid-battle. Let me guess—

Grom

—did they have any backup plans?

Elara

Backup plans? Oh no, no. Their whole backup plan was—are you ready for this?—convincing the cleric to pray for divine intervention. Who, let’s be real, wasn’t even paying attention. I think they were organizing their inventory or something?

Grom

Right. Because invoking the favor of the gods is always a surefire backup strategy when Plan A is… romantic diplomacy.

Elara

Ha! Exactly. And the DM’s just sitting there, torn between wanting to bang their head on the screen or lean into the chaos. Guess which one they chose?

Grom

Knowing how most DMs operate? Chaos, every time. What happened?

Elara

Oh, what didn’t happen? The dragon god’s offended—obviously—so it sets the entire room on fire. No saving throws. Boom. Instant TPK.

Grom

A total party kill… because someone thought divine beasts respond well to pick-up lines. That’s—that’s impressive in all the wrong ways.

Elara

And yet it was iconic! Everybody still talks about it like it was the greatest disaster they’ve ever witnessed. Which, you know, is... kind of true.

Grom

Let me double-check something. This wasn’t your character causing the meltdown, was it?

Elara

What? Me? Pfft, nooo. I mean, I was the cleric. But in my defense, I I didn’t even hear the flirting because I was sorta... okay, fine, maybe rearranging my healing potions.

Grom

I knew it. Honestly, though, it’s situations like these that remind me why structured planning always beats chaotic improvisation.

Elara

Oh, come on! Chaos like that creates stories people never forget. Planned sessions? They’re great, but when a session tanks spectacularly, that’s where the legends are made, Grom.

Grom

Legends or cautionary tales. Perspective matters, I suppose.

Elara

Says the guy who still hasn’t recovered from that bardic duel disaster. Remember? "Who needs combat ability when you can play the lute really well?"

Grom

We’re not—no, we’re not talking about that. Ever.

Elara

Touchy. But seriously, there’s a fine line between chaos and what we’re here to discuss: the dreaded red flags that can tank a session. Like, when does quirky turn into disruptive?

Elara

So, building on that—when does something like a quirky obsession with cheese wheels, which starts out fun and lovable, cross the line into being a red flag?

Grom

Quirky is fine. Even encouraged. But when it disrupts the game or overshadows the rest of the party, that’s when we’re entering red flag territory. The cheese wheel obsession? If it’s the only way that character engages in the story, then it’s a problem.

Elara

Oh no, not the cheese wheels! But seriously, I think we all know that player who takes the quirky trait way, way too far. Like, "my character won’t talk to anyone unless they also like cheese."

Grom

Exactly. And it’s not always about quirks either. Sometimes it’s how someone insists their character is "just naturally abrasive" to justify arguments with the party at every opportunity.

Elara

Oh, oh! Or the infamous lone wolf types. You know, "I don’t need the group, I’m a lone rogue, leave me in the shadows!" Like, buddy, this is a team game. Maybe let us know when you’re done brooding so we can actually play?

Grom

And that’s the core of it: the roleplaying needs to serve the group, not just the individual. A character's quirks or flaws should add to the story, not derail it.

Elara

Right. And I think—sometimes—people might not even realize they’re being disruptive. I mean, maybe they just love the spotlight too much, or—

Grom

—Or maybe they think they’re being clever.

Elara

Hey, it’s possible! Although sometimes it comes down to how those behaviors repeat, over and over. Like, okay, I I love me a good prankster bard, but if your solution to every problem is "I cast Vicious Mockery," it’s gonna wear thin.

Grom

It’s about balance. A good DM can weave quirks into the game, but the player has to want to mesh with the group, too. Otherwise, they risk becoming a distraction.

Elara

Alright, so here’s my challenge: can you, Mister Serious, think of a time where a red flag trait actually made a session better?

Grom

...I can. But it’s a thin line, Elara. And I’m talking about an exception, not a rule.

Elara

Alright, you mentioned exceptions, and I can think of one—murder-hobos. Why do they exist? Like, is it a rite of passage for every new player to at least consider becoming one?

Grom

It’s not so much a rite of passage as it is… well, a default mindset for some players. If you strip a TTRPG down to its mechanics, you’ve got stats, weapons, and enemies. Some people just see that and think, "Oh, I’m supposed to fight everything."

Elara

Sure, I get that. But why the impulse to turn every campaign into a bloodbath? Like, do some players just wake up and choose chaos?

Grom

Sometimes, yes. Chaos can be appealing—it’s unstructured, unpredictable, and frankly, easy. But more often, I think it’s a lack of understanding. These players either don’t grasp collaborative storytelling yet, or they just… don’t care enough to try.

Elara

Oof, harsh. I think, sometimes, it’s also just nerves? Like, some people wanna make an impact early on, so they, you know, stab the tavern NPC for no reason. It’s almost like they’re shouting, "Notice me, DM-senpai!"

Grom

And the irony is, it usually backfires. A murder-hobo party burns through every potential ally, every plot thread, every moment of depth… until they’re left wandering, wondering why they’re bored.

Elara

True. But, okay, sometimes chaos can work, right? Like, maybe it adds an unexpected twist. You just need to control it a little.

Grom

Control being the keyword. There’s a difference between chaos that enhances the story and chaos that derails it completely. A good DM might lean into unexpected actions and craft something engaging, but there’s a limit.

Elara

Ohh, like when the murder-hobos go from quirky rogues to straight-up evil dictators? Seen it. Been in that campaign. It got awkward, fast.

Grom

Or when the kleptomaniac decides every shiny object they see belongs to them, regardless of context. It’s novel at first, but eventually, someone’s going to ask, "Why hasn’t this character been arrested yet?"

Elara

Right? Or—or what about the lone wolves? Like, do they ever actually add to the story, or are they just there to brood in the corner until combat starts?

Grom

They can add something, but only when the player makes an effort to tie their personal storyline back into the group’s. If they’re just wandering off on their own, it gets frustrating fast—for both the DM and the party.

Elara

Exactly! Especially when the party’s all, "Hey, we’re over here trying to save the kingdom," and broody McShadowpants is like, "Nah, I’m searching for my tragic backstory in the woods."

Grom

And that’s the heart of the issue. These behaviors—murder-hoboing, kleptomania, lone wolfing—are self-indulgent. They prioritize the individual over the group.

Elara

Have you ever seen disruptive play… actually work?

Elara

Speaking of disruptive play, what about the “main character” types? How do you stop them from hijacking every session without, you know, crushing their enthusiasm?

Grom

It’s a delicate balance. You don’t want to dampen their excitement, but at the same time, the game isn’t about any one person. It’s collaborative storytelling, not an improv monologue.

Elara

True, but you’ve gotta admit, sometimes their energy can be kinda contagious. Like, sure, they interrupt a little—or a lot—but it’s not always malicious, right?

Grom

Not always, no. Often, it’s driven by excitement or a desire to contribute more. But when that enthusiasm starts overshadowing everyone else’s contributions, that’s when it becomes a problem.

Elara

Right. And, okay, let’s put it out there: sometimes, and I say this with love, it might actually come from insecurity.

Grom

Insecurity? You mean they’re compensating for something by dominating the spotlight?

Elara

Exactly! Or—or maybe they just feel like they’ll be left out otherwise. Like, if they’re not steering the ship, who’s gonna notice them?

Grom

I can see that. And that’s where the DM—or even the party—comes in. Redirecting those players can be as simple as giving them specific moments to shine, but also ensuring they step back when it’s someone else’s turn.

Elara

Oh, totally. Like, toss them a bone every now and then, but also gently remind them that it’s a team effort. It’s like when someone keeps stealing all the lines in a group improv game—you want their energy, but not at the expense of everyone else.

Grom

And they need to understand that, too. A session where everyone feels heard and valued will be more memorable than one where it’s just “the So-and-So Show,” every time.

Elara

Ooh, Grom with the sentiment. But seriously, accountability is key here, yeah? Like, if you keep letting it slide, you’re just teaching them it’s okay.

Grom

Exactly. Addressing it doesn’t have to be harsh, though. Sometimes, something as simple as slowing the pace or asking a quieter player for input can redirect the spotlight without escalating tension.

Elara

And if they don’t take the hint?

Grom

That’s when the DM needs to step in directly. A private conversation can often save a lot of heartache. But again, it’s about framing it as encouragement, not criticism.

Elara

Oof, private conversations. Love them. Hate them. But, yeah, I guess it’s better than the DM snapping mid-session, like, “I swear if you interrupt one more time—”

Grom

Which, let’s be honest, we’ve probably all seen happen at least once.

Elara

Oh, for sure. And hey, I’ll admit it—I’ve been the overenthusiastic player before. You just get so into it! But when I realized people were kinda shrinking back? Game changer. You gotta learn to read the room.

Grom

And that self-awareness is critical. If players can’t recognize when their actions are impacting others, it’s going to cause friction.

Elara

Totally. So basically, it’s teamwork: helping them channel that enthusiasm while making sure everyone gets a moment in the sun. Easy, right?

Grom

Not easy. But worth it.

Elara

So, speaking of balance—like we talked about with overenthusiastic players—here’s a big one: where do we draw the line between pushing creative boundaries and just... straight-up destroying immersion?

Grom

It’s a tough line to walk. Creativity is what makes TTRPGs special, but when someone pushes too far—or in the wrong way—it can make the whole table uncomfortable, or worse, ruin the session entirely.

Elara

Right, like that one guy everyone’s met, who thinks their low-key offensive joke is just “edgy humor.” Newsflash: it’s not. It’s just weird. And not ha-ha weird.

Grom

Exactly. Jokes like that don’t land—they crater. And when it crosses into disrespect, it’s no longer about creative risk—it’s disruptive and inappropriate, plain and simple.

Elara

Oof, true. But, okay, let’s talk about intent. What if someone thinks they’re just being funny or trying to lighten the mood? Do they even know they’re being disruptive?

Grom

Sometimes they don’t. But intent doesn’t erase impact. If a comment or action takes people out of the narrative or makes them uncomfortable, it’s already too far. Awareness is key.

Elara

Yeah, and once the mood’s been shattered, it’s so hard to get back on track. Like, great, now we’re not fighting the evil sorcerer. We’re fighting secondhand awkwardness.

Grom

And awkwardness is contagious. You can almost see everyone at the table trying to figure out how to respond, or worse, just shutting down completely.

Elara

Oh, totally. And then you get the ripple effect—you know, where people start pulling back, getting quiet, and suddenly, the whole vibe’s just… off.

Grom

Which is why it’s so important to set the tone early. If the group agrees on boundaries and expectations at the start, it’s much easier to handle any boundary-pushing behaviors when they arise.

Elara

Yeah, like a session zero! Honestly, every campaign needs one. A little, “Hey, here’s what’s cool and here’s what’s not” chat? Saves so much drama later.

Grom

Absolutely. Establishing shared expectations makes it clear what kind of humor, actions, or stories are fair game. It creates a foundation for trust—and trust is critical for immersion.

Elara

Oh, for sure. But what happens when someone ignores all that? Like, I’ve seen players who treat session zero like a suggestion, not a rulebook.

Grom

When that happens, addressing the behavior becomes necessary. Ideally, the GM—or even the group—should have a conversation to course-correct before things escalate.

Elara

Okay, but it’s not just jokes, right? It’s also players who push the envelope too hard—like, trying to sabotage the party for “fun” or doing something so wild it pulls everyone out of the moment.

Grom

Right. One-off surprises can add excitement, but when “pushing the envelope” becomes a pattern? That’s when it crosses into self-indulgence. A rogue going off-script once might work, but consistently derailing sessions just alienates the group.

Elara

Exactly! It’s gotta serve the story, not just the individual. Otherwise, it’s like, congrats, you’re not a boundary-pusher. You’re just… That Player.

Elara

Alright, so speaking of those moments where immersion breaks—how often does it feel like the GM ends up playing babysitter rather than storyteller when things start going off the rails?

Grom

More often than they’d probably like to admit. And sometimes, Elara, it’s less about babysitting and more about building the right framework. Structure matters.

Elara

Ooh, you love a good structure, don’t you?

Grom

I do, because structure prevents chaos. Establishing tools like session zero conversations, using safety tools like the X-card, and openly addressing expectations can save GMs—and players—a world of trouble.

Elara

X-cards are great! I've seen a couple of tables use them. But not every group buys into safety tools—sadly. So, what happens when a GM just skips that part?

Grom

Well, skipping it doesn’t magically make the risks disappear. At best, it’s naïve. At worst, it’s dangerous. Without clear boundaries, you’re essentially rolling a d20 on whether someone has a bad session—or a bad experience.

Elara

Yikes. Critical fail. But okay, let’s give GMs a little grace here—sometimes they’re not enabling red flags on purpose, right? Like, maybe they just don’t see the signs.

Grom

True. GMs aren’t omniscient. But ignoring subtle red flags—like a player consistently breaking group dynamics—eventually lets those issues fester. And then, it’s not just a red flag. It’s an entire crimson banner waving in your face.

Elara

Oof, yeah. Nobody wants what could’ve been a “quirk” to escalate into “Oh no, this session’s ruined now.” So, uh, what can players do in that case? Like, how do you help each other without stepping on toes?

Grom

Communication. Plain and simple. If you’re at the table and feel like someone’s actions are causing discomfort or frustration, bring it up. Ideally, without confrontation—and away from the table, if needed.

Elara

Totally. Like, sometimes it’s as simple as, "Hey, just so you know, when your barbarian smashed the beloved magic shop guy, it kinda derailed the story for me."

Grom

Exactly. Feedback doesn’t have to sound like criticism. Another option? Support each other in the moment. If a player seems nervous or unsure, gently redirect their focus back to the group dynamic.

Elara

Oh, love that. Like turning a lone wolf’s solo broody act into a reason for the group to go, “Hey, let’s check on them.” Suddenly, it’s a bonding moment, not a roadblock.

Grom

Precisely. It’s all about maintaining trust—player to player, and player to GM. That trust is what turns potential red flags into, well, teachable moments.

Elara

Ha! Teachable moments. Spoken like a true Grom.

Grom

I’ll take that as a compliment. And really, it’s about staying proactive. Letting things slide too long always makes resolving them harder later.

Elara

You know, Grom, hearing you talk about trust and teachable moments got me thinking—it’s kinda like facing a tricky dungeon. You recognize the warning signs, but instead of panicking or running, you look for ways to adapt and move forward, right?

Grom

Exactly. They’re not the end of the story—they’re the beginning of a conversation. A chance to address potential issues before they spiral into… well, we’ve seen the spirals.

Elara

We have. Oh, we have. But it’s all about keeping lines of communication open, yeah? Like, session zero? Life-saver. Honest feedback? Double life-saver. And trust? That’s the Holy Grail of group play.

Grom

Trust is key. Without trust at the table, every red flag feels like a scarlet wall separating players, rather than an opportunity to build something stronger together.

Elara

Aw, look at you, getting all poetic. But seriously, I think people underestimate how constructive confrontation can be—like, when done right, it’s not about blame. It’s about growth.

Grom

Exactly. Growth as a group. And knowing how to approach those conversations—whether it’s with a DM or another player—isn’t just useful, it’s essential.

Elara

Right! Like, instead of hiding behind, “Oh, it’s just a game,” you actually work through things. Because, honestly? This game works best when it’s not just a game. It’s storytelling. It’s... collaborative art.

Grom

Collaborative art, Elara? Are you feeling alright?

Elara

Hey, I can be deep when I wanna be. But for real, I I just think people should lean into addressing red flags. It’s not about pointing fingers—it’s about turning those moments into a better story for everyone involved.

Grom

And the key is focusing on the story. When players remember that everything—every action, quirk, flaw—should serve the group’s narrative, the red flags become more manageable. Even the biggest ones.

Elara

Biggest like… the time the rogue’s “quirk” ended up derailing an entire campaign because their kleptomania got out of hand?

Grom

You’ll have to be more specific. But yes, I know the type. These quirks often walk a fine line between adding depth and, frankly, driving everyone else insane.

Elara

Yup. And I’m just saying, sometimes "quirky rogue" ends up being "party liability." Especially when they’ve got, you know, a skeleton or two in the closet.

Elara

Alright, Grom, speaking of party liabilities—let's talk about skeletons. Not the literal kind your wizard might summon, but the kind we all carry around. Secrets, bad choices... Every group has 'em, right?

Grom

Exactly. The skeletons in the closet can add intrigue—or disaster—depending on how they’re handled. A rogue slipping a jewel out of a noble’s pocket might fuel a great subplot, but withholding that they did it? That’s where it gets dangerous.

Elara

Oh, totally. You think you’re just playing your character, but surprise! There’s tension boiling over, and oops, now the cleric refuses to heal you because you jeopardized their sacred oath or whatever.

Grom

Which, frankly, is exactly why transparency and group cohesion are vital. Secrets can be fun, but they should ultimately enrich the story, not dismantle it. A rogue who takes only what they’re willing to share? Great character depth. Hiding it and then acting like it’s fine? Recipe for a fractured party.

Elara

Oh, and let’s not forget the player part in this. Like, you gotta read the room. Are you dragging others into your “quirk” at their expense? Because, trust me, no one likes feeling like the unwilling supporting cast in someone else’s solo drama. Been there.

Grom

Agreed. A group’s ability to navigate these red flag moments—both literal and metaphorical skeletons—depends on trust and communication. Addressing these issues sooner rather than later saves everyone a lot of frustration. It also prevents unnecessary rogue-vs-group showdowns.

Elara

Pfft, unnecessary? Showdowns can be—okay, okay, fine. Yes, maybe leaving skeletons unspoken is a shortcut to chaos. But it also makes for amazing stories, if you survive to tell them.

Grom

That’s the key, though—surviving as a group. Tension is great when it drives the narrative forward, not when it drives the party apart. Have your secrets, but use them wisely. Play the rogue, but don’t expect everyone to like that you stole from the king’s vault.

Elara

Exactly! Or, you know, set the vault on fire while you’re at it, just to add some flavor. But seriously, sharing these juicy, behind-the-scenes moments? That’s what makes this game so unforgettable. Every group learns something from their disasters.

Grom

And on that note, let’s invite our listeners into the confessional booth. We know your parties have had their fair share of skeletons—and questionable rogue behavior—or any red flags that come to mind. Share those stories! We’d love to hear how your groups handled them.

Elara

Oh yes! Drop your tales of TTRPG dirty laundry in the comments. Did your clutch save turn into a catastrophic TPK? Or did an innocent secret derail everything? We’ll be all ears—and maybe slightly judgmental ones.

Grom

And, of course, we’ll be back next time to dig into another juicy topic: Alignments and Morality. Because what’s a session without someone arguing over whether lawful neutral means “lawful, unless it’s inconvenient”?

Elara

Oof, yes, alignments. Can’t wait. But for now, thanks for hanging out with us in this wild world of skeletons, rogue chaos, and red flags. Until next time, don’t be that player!