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One of the things that most of us like about TTRPGs is our ability to leave the real world behind. We can examine strange worlds, imagine having incredible powers, fight off monsters that we would be powerless against, and otherwise do the impossible.

The other thing is that we can experience things that would be utterly terrifying and horrible in a safe environment. In that regard, a game session is not unlike riding a roller coaster. There is an illusion of danger, but it still has the safety valves on.

But sometimes the fears and dangers are close enough to the real world that they can hit the fears and anxieties not just of the player characters, but the players themselves. This is especially the case when the dangers they face aren’t just fantastical ones, but brush up against real-world horrors. After all, bad guys in games do some horrible things, and a Goblin threatening to eat a child can really hit the buttons of a player who has a history of child abuse.

Recently, in Episode 39 of Something… Something… Dragons, we ran into just such a case, where something happening in-game pushed the buttons of one of the players and they made use of the X-Card to say “No, stop, I can’t handle this.”

We’ll get to the specifics of the X-Card below, but what I really want to talk about is the fact that we had an X-Card, and why, and why it was set-up ahead of time.

As a GM (or Storyteller, or Referee, or whatever term your particular game uses), you have a phenomenal amount of power over your players’ imaginations. After all, you control not just the world that their characters are in, but also their perceptions of that world. You control the narrative and essentially everything that isn’t left up to the roll of the dice (and even that you have some say over). Your players willingly give up that control, based on trusting you. Because by default, the only control they have otherwise is to say “No,” and walk away from the game, which ends the fun for everyone.

But there should be a step before that where they can say not just “Yes, and…” or “No,” but have an ability to say “Yes, but….” And where they can tell you when you’re getting close to their limits without pushing past them.

The specific tool you use is going to be based on what is right for your table, but the important thing is getting these tools in place *ahead of time*. And the reason is that it both makes sure that you aren’t violating their boundaries and limits, and that it gives them the trust in you that you won’t. If they can trust that they’re safe at the table, they’re much more likely to give themselves over to the scene and the moment. And giving them the safety valve builds the trust that may well ensure that you never need to use it.

The important other half of that equation, of course, is to respect the tool. If you have discussed limits and boundaries and then violate them, or ignore the use of one of these tools, your players won’t trust you. And they shouldn’t.

Before looking at any of the specific tools, there are some practices that I think belong as a part of any game.

Pre-Game Talk / Session Zero

Before you start a campaign, a Session Zero is a good plan. This makes sure that everyone is on the same page and is trying to play the same game. It can include everything from what method of character creation, to which House Rules will be in place, to a shared background that the characters should have, but it can (and should) also discuss the tone of the game. If you’re playing a superhero game and one person expects Golden Age heroism, one player expect 60’s-style “Camp,” one-player is expecting 90’s-era angst, and one person expects a cosmic space adventure, someone is going to be unhappy.

Similarly, if you plan to explore mental illness or domestic violence through the campaign, this should be talked about ahead of time. So, figure out what everyone at the table wants and is looking for ahead of time, and you can make sure that you’re all on-board. For instance, I knew in Something… Something… Dragons that it was going to be horror-focused, so I made sure that the players were going to be ok with a certain degree of suspense and psychological horror. We had requests to avoid excessive gore, so we’ve done that. And we’ve had players express varying interest in romance and physical displays of affection.

Post-Game Debriefs

Now, I don’t think these *have* to happen every session – or at least they don’t have to be more than just saying “Everyone having a good time still?” But there should always be the ability to have them. And the debriefs can involve the whole table, or be one-on-one between player and GM. But it’s definitely worth suggesting them after an intense session (like we had at the end of Season One and the death of Thalia.)

So, with that in mind, here are a few of our favorite tools.

X-Card

The X-Card is one of the simplest tools, and one that can be easily implemented. It’s nothing more than a card with a large “X” on it placed where everyone can reach it. If anyone (including the GM) is uncomfortable with how a scene is going? They can just touch it, and the other people at the table are expected to change the scene (either fade-to-dark and skip the scene, or change what is happening). The person who activates the card is not expected to explain their reasons, but they may explain what exactly is being “X-ed” out. Maybe they don’t need the scene to stop, maybe they just need a particular description to be skipped over.

It also doesn’t have to be about something that they find disturbing. If most of the people are engaged in a serious role-playing scene, and one person is cracking wise about an episode of TV, someone might want to X out the silliness at the table.

The X-Card was developed by John Stavropoulos.

Lines and Veils

Lines and Veils is more of a “Session Zero/Debrief” tool than one that will come up in game. Instead, it’s a system of establishing boundaries for the story, and are usually defined by each player individually and then shared with the GM before the start of the game (or revised between sessions).

The distinction between Lines and Veils is that lines are a hard border for things that will be excluded from the game with no questions asked. This could include any specific topic and taboo, but common lines are child murder, rape or sexual violence, racial discrimination, but depending on your group, could even include more neutral topics like in-character romances. Veils are more “soft borders” where it’s not that the person objects to the content existing in the game, they just don’t want it to be explicit. If a player has – for instance – drug use as a veil, it’s totally fine to establish that the crime boss deals drugs, but you wouldn’t show an addict strung out waiting for their next hit. A very common veil would come to physical intimacy, where you would fade to black after an initial kiss and then pick up with the characters the next morning.

The Consent Flower

The Consent or Support Flower is designed around letting players communicate their current emotional barometer about a scene in a subtle, non-verbal way. On the table, there are three cards – one green, one yellow, and one red. As conceptualized, these were created with flowers on them, or the cards were designed to look like petals, but the colors are the important part.

The person activating the card will make eye contact with the person they are communicating with and tap one of the three cards.

• Green: This card means “go ahead,” and possibly even “go further.” It’s a way of explicitly giving consent without verbally doing so.
• Yellow: This card means “caution, but proceed.” It indicates that the scene as it is currently going is acceptable, and can continue at its current intensity, but should not be intensified. A good example of this might be when a player with arachnophobia is dealing with the party investigating the lair of a giant spider, as their way of saying “Your current descriptions are a little creepy, but they’re still in my comfort level. Don’t go any further.”
• Red: Red means “stop.” The current scene is outside of their comfort level and should be pulled back immediately, and the intensity lowered or the scene ended.

In all cases, of course, no explanation is owed beyond that which the person activating the card feels the need to provide.

Tayler Stokes created the Consent Flower.

These are only a few of the options available, and we’re not here to say which ones you should or shouldn’t use. That’s going to be something for each table to decide for themselves, and you may decide you don’t need any of them aside from a good Session Zero. You may decide you need to use several of the different tools. And that’s fine.

You’ll probably realize that a lot of the concepts from these different tools aren’t that unique or original in and of themselves. You will no doubt recognize these concepts from other places in your life. But hey, we’re gamers. We tend to like having rules and guidelines, even if we do end up wanting to break them. Also, to be frank, a lot of gamers have some social awkwardness, so having a system in place to communicate comfort can be a big boost above and beyond just expecting everyone to be able to read each other.

What is important is that everyone at the table be comfortable and feel safe and supported. That environment will allow everyone to enjoy the game more, and can even make it easier to push into difficult topics and themes having established where everyone’s boundaries are and knowing what is and isn’t off the table instead of blindly guessing.

It’s about communication and conversation. Which, after all, is the basis for good storytelling. Good gaming, everyone!

Alright, so you’ve made a character. They’re shiny. They’re new. They’re full of possibility.

If you’re anything like me, you have at least five pages of backstory. You poured over their family, the way they grew up. Hopes. Dreams. Fears. Every detail that made them the way they were up to the minute your campaign begins. You could tell me their favorite color, what they ate on Tuesday, or what recreational sport they may play on the weekends.

Here’s the secret though: it doesn’t matter if you don’t do something with it. Those pages you wrote? The other players don’t have them. Your GM may not have read even read them all. Unless your character has their life story tattooed to their body, backstory doesn’t enter the world you’re playing in- until you introduce it.

Now I’m not saying that backstory isn’t important: quite the contrary. Backstory is pivotal in how you play your beloved character. It’s incredibly valuable reference material, and sometimes makes for the best role-playing moments in a campaign. What’s important to realize, though, is that in a campaign your character doesn’t exist outside the things they say or do in your sessions.

Is your character’s favorite food lime Jello? Have them order it in copious amounts at a tavern (only to be disgusted when the only flavor available is cherry). Have they always wanted a pet? Have them constantly talking to and try befriending creatures they come across- regardless of how hostile the animal may seem. Little nuggets like that take small amounts of time in a session and help flush out the personality of your character, without you having to deliver a report on who you’re playing. Trust me, your fellow players will find this approach more engaging, and the overall story you’re telling will be that much more fun.

This applies to the bigger parts of your backstory as well. For example, say your character was a shut-in with no access to the outside world until just before the start of your campaign. Wow- there’s so much to play with there! How do you interact with your party members (or other NPCs)? Perhaps you’re guarded and find trust in short supply. On the flip side, maybe you’re overly-faithful to the rest of your party who helped you escape. Do you know what money is and how to interact with merchants? Maybe you’re always stealing things, not because of malice but because you don’t understand how a sales transaction works. With no formal education, can you read? Do you purposely ignore signs out of pride? Constantly need people to read things for you, or do you take the time and frustration required to learn the skill as a now-adult? These are all ways to play aspects of that backstory, instead of just blurting it out as a footnote in your character description.

I know the urge to overshare at the top of a campaign. After all, we’ve spent all this energy crafting the perfect character, and we want everyone to see the work we’ve done. In my experience, this doesn’t yield the same impact as a slow release throughout the story. Having things come up organically is better for story-telling: it’s more meaningful and more engaging. Keep those secrets as long as you can- it’s fun to surprise your fellow players part way through.

Happy trails, adventurers!

I’ll admit it; the TTRPG that got me into this whole mess was D&D. 3rd edition, right as it was transitioning to 3.5, or thereabouts. And for the longest time, that was the only game I knew. It was what my high school friends were playing, and what we would do when we got together after school or on weekends to play. But one day, after we’d added some more people to the group, we tried a new game, Legend of the Five Rings. I remember the run didn’t last really long; we had trouble meeting up with the whole group, personal issues cropped up, usual teenage stuff. But I remember being really glad we’d tried something different, even if, for the next eleven years or so, it was pretty much only D&D as my main game.

Past those college years and into young adulthood, I learned about the Origins Game Fair. Kind of late to the party, as it had been in my home state for ages at this point, and even then my first time going was spent in the board game room. I did however get an event book that detailed all the different games that were being run at the convention, and I saw a lot more TTRPG systems on there than I knew existed. At that moment, I resolved that, the next Origins, I was going to come for more of the convention and experience more of those games.

So, a year later, and with a lot more knowledge about what the convention was and how to sign up for it, I spent HOURS sorting and resorting the excel spreadsheet listing out all the events that were being offered. I knew I wanted to make this trip one of new experiences, so the first thing I did was filter out all the D&D games. Even though the GMs and scenarios would be new to me, I knew the rules, and I wanted something more than that. So, locking those games out, I started my search. I settled on just a few RPGs for the days I was going to be there, sparsed in with some board games for good measure. Savage Worlds, Star Wars Saga Edition, Scion, Mutants & Masterminds and Champions all made the cut that year (why yes, I do have a spreadsheet with events I picked out for every year, thank you very much). The scenario descriptions drew me in; I was excited, if not a bit nervous, to be going to play with people I didn’t know game systems that I didn’t know. I was worried that not knowing the system could make me feel left out at the table, unsure of what I could actually do or how best to work my character within the rules. Those fears were unfounded, I am very happy to say. I sat at some wonderful tables where the players and the GMs were welcoming of people that didn’t know the game, and were willing to teach enough of it to get through a four hour session with just a bit of work spent up front to get me up to speed. Here was the other thing too; it wasn’t just me sitting at these tables not knowing the systems. It was true for some of the other players as well. And we all had a great time learning the game with each other.

And thus my Origins habit began; I’ve been to each convention since 2009 (except 2020, stupid pandemic). And each year, I have gone with the intent and purpose to try out one or more new RPG each year. That was relatively easy, at first, because I hadn’t experienced too many, but as time went on the offerings of systems I hadn’t tried started to dwindle. I still persist though, every year, to find that new system, that scenario that sounds really fun, and try it out. I’ve learned a lot of new systems because of this, if only at a functional, play a game for 4 hours level. New mechanics, new ways of looking at scenarios rounded me out as a role player, gave me the creative spark to put my hand back in the GM ring, not just for home games but for the convention as well. It was as if I’d unlocked a new level of myself as a TTRPGer that I didn’t know existed.

At this point you might be asking what the point of this all is? I promise you I’m not just reminiscing of games past. I’m illustrating a case in which I was only aware of, or at least had spent the majority of my roleplaying time, in one specific system. And that by branching out, I was able to broaden my views, spread my proverbial wings and take to the skies. And while this might not be the path for everyone, it was the path for me.

I’ll leave you with this, dear reader. If D&D has been your main RPG, even through it’s many iterations, take a chance the next time you get to go to a convention, or the next time your campaign ends, to try out a new system. If you like superheroes, several systems like Mutants & Masterminds or Champions can make you feel like an Avenger or a member of the Justice League. If you want to try your hand at an Indiana Jones or Lara Croft type of game, look for systems like Hollow Earth Expedition or Savage Worlds. Want to head into space and all its perils? The Expanse or Traveler systems might work for you there. The options are out there, if you want them.

If not, I think there’s likely to be a 5E version of any of the above options as well.

It finally happened. The Big Bad got a critical hit near the end of a climactic encounter. You rolled a Natural “1” on your Death Save. There was no last minute reprieve for your heroic last stand. And now? Now your character is dead.

For many of us, the character isn’t just a bunch of numbers on a sheet of paper (or electrons in a virtual tabletop). This was a character we had become invested in. We had hopes for their future. We had plans for what they would do next. We knew their backstory, from their childhood friends to their first fumbling steps into becoming a hero. And now, this story is over – in all likelihood, not in a way that we intended.

There are certainly people who will scoff at the deep feelings that many of us (or the players at our tables) might be feeling at this moment. Certainly those who are newer to gaming may think “Well, just write ‘Jr.’ at the end of the character’s name and bring in their kid,” or compare it to a video game. After all, when Link dies, you can just go back to the last time you saved, right? And certainly in many game settings, death can almost be a revolving door, with methods of bringing a character back from the dead.

But it’s not always possible. And feelings can be hurt. There’s going to be shock and denial, pain and guilt, anger and bargaining, depression… in other words, all of the same stages of grief we feel in the real world when someone we love is lost.

This. Is. Ok.

When you’re emotionally invested in a character, it’s normal to grieve the end of their story. It is a loss, and it can be a painful one. Even if the character had a “good death,” that doesn’t change that we can be sad about never getting to play them again.

So, what should you do in these moments? My suggestion is to treat the same way (although to a lesser extent) as you would for any other grief. Allow yourself to have these feelings. Seek out other people who have a connection to this character that you can share stories and anecdotes with. And if you need to cry a little? Go ahead and do that.

Role-playing games are a social activity, and are about forging the connections and relationships around the table through the medium of shared storytelling and gameplay. If you’re doing it right, you should feel something when a major character dies.

I also advocate after-care. As a GM, I think it is important to check in with your players regularly. In general, this can just be about checking how people feel about the tone of the story, or any house rules that are happening, or events that are regularly happening (or regularly not happening). But after a major event in the future of the campaign – and a player character death certainly qualifies – it’s perfectly acceptable to just bring the table together and ask “How is everyone doing?”

In Something… Something… Dragons, we did just that at the end of The Haunting of Harrowstone. I would have wanted to do that anyway, just because it was a turning point in the campaign, but it became doubly important because of events that transpired during the final session. Now, we were doing it for an audience, but even if we hadn’t, it would have been worth doing just for the check-in with my players.

But my biggest advice after a player character death is the same advice I give to people who are mourning the loss of a real person. Grieve, and allow yourself to grieve. But afterwards, continue to live. The old character is gone, and that is sad. But there are more stories to be told, and the friendships that were created around the table can continue. Pull out that backup character and start building your excitement for the next set of stories that can be created. As the Vision put it “A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.” Every character’s story will eventually end, so enjoy the stories while they’re available to you – around the gaming table and away from it.