It’s happened to all of us. We’re sitting at the table. Our fearless leader is explaining the world: a beautiful chapel sits upon a hill in a quaint little town, and we have to break into the church and save the minister before a doppelgänger takes over his congregation. The paladin to your left has his great axe sharp and ready to go. Your barbarian on your right is already enraged and ready to go. You’re all one foot out the door, until you realize the rouge in the corner hasn’t budged. When you ask him to tag along, he says the five most dreaded words you can say at a gaming table: “My character wouldn’t do that.”
It’s the bane of the DM/Storyteller, and in many ways it’s torment to the other players at your table: this little sentence stops all the action of the game. Our friend the rouge has now hijacked the story, and is making the DM scramble to come up with something to either get their difficult character on board or rewrite the story they’re telling on the fly. Imagine if you were the DM: all that time and energy wasted! Muy frustrante
We all come up to moments in a campaign where we don’t think our character would intentionally interact in a scene. It’s challenging: we’re trying to improvise in a character and a world that isn’t our own. We have math and magic to manage. We have ideas about who we’re playing. But here’s the catch: we’re also players in a larger story. It’s our responsibility to collaborate with the other people at the table- even if our initial instinct is to recoil.
Sometimes we’ve got to find a way to justify going into the haunted house, creepy carnival, quaint church. It’s good for the story- and a good exercise for you to get your character out of its shell.
Think about it: have you never done something out of character? Been spontaneous? We do things all the time that don’t necessarily fall into our natural alignments. It gives us a chance to change, a chance to grow. Who knows – you may discover something new about your character – a new avenue that could take your player on a whole new path. We’re always learning new things about ourselves in real life: the challenge is being vulnerable enough to do that with your characters at the table in front of everyone else.
Let the DM take you on the journey. Trust that they’re there to make the overall story work for everyone at the table (including you). Justifying it in the moment may take some getting used to. Take our rouge mentioned above: if they’re an atheist who doesn’t care about the people in the town, it may not be an easy intuitive leap to get them involved. If they aren’t motivated simply by “doing the right thing,” we’ll have to try a little harder to get them interested. Are they fans of espionage? Maybe they can use the time in the chapel to research for a new clergyman identity. Are they interested in making new contacts to expand their spy-network? Church communities often bridge all socioeconomic/racial backgrounds within their towns/cities, and can serve as vital intel and gossip centers for the rogue. If nothing else, churches often house valuable relics for the amoral coin-driven rogue with sticky fingers. All these options make for a better story (and character development) than refusing to partake in the adventure.
Who knows? While they’re there they may develop a conscience and donate to the church. Or not. But you’ll never know if you sit in the corner of the tavern, sulking in your ale.
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I totally relate to this, both as a player and a DM. I have to deal with a lot of “Eklan wouldn’t know that” when I make a knowingly stupid decision, like walking right into a magical trap because his Arcana skill literally doesn’t exist.
I also have a rogue in my D&D party who is more like “my character WOULD do that.” Resulting in a lot of mixed-up stories, involving new wolves, giant spiders, impromptu-dead NPCs, an insulted vampire, and an adopted goat.