Let’s face it: if you’re like most people, you don’t like talking about your flaws. I know I don’t like mentioning my irrational fears, my vices, my obsession with all things cotton candy… But enough about me. On to serious matters.
While we might not like chatting about the skeletons in our closets the truth is we have them, and so should our characters. They round us out, give us dimension, and make for better stories. Conflict doesn’t solely come from the mind of your GM/DM/Storyteller, it can spark from the characters we create just as easily.
Think of the last book you read. Hopefully it was one you couldn’t put down, with fascinating characters who develop as you become more immersed in the story. Was the protagonist flawless from the start- a shining pinnacle of virtue? Most likely not. It provides no room for growth as the story progresses. In the best stories, the lead character evolves with you through the book. If the character was a paragon form the start, what would they be able to mature into?
This is not solely true of books. It can be seen in any storytelling medium: theatre, television/movies, and even video games/TTRPGs. In the latter examples, this is partially done by the leveling of players: characters at level one can’t do the same amazing things as more experienced and higher level characters. But it’s also done by certain game systems and clever GM/Storytellers who ask us to think deeply about who our characters are. When they ask us to come up with our flaws and setbacks, they aren’t looking for opportunities to kill our beloved characters: they’re trying to challenge us with obstacles that make us heroic.
When you’re sitting at the table, one of the most rewarding things that can happen is overcoming something within your character. Sure, slaying a dragon and looting its lair is cool. It’s what’s expected in our campaigns. But everyone can connect to someone who’s trying to better him/herself.
An example: You’re a rogue thief who is illiterate. You walk into stores unable to read the signs, unsure of what you’re actually stealing. You rely on everyone to tell you what town markers say, you can’t read your mail. You can’t so much as order off a menu without assistance. One day, a deal goes wrong in your crime syndicate because you misread (or couldn’t read) a letter from your boss. Now, you’re on the run from your leaders. It spawns conflict, sure, but it also provides you something to rise above.
What if you enroll yourself in a group reading class? You find yourself surrounded by five-year-olds, maybe one or two whom you actually enjoy. You’ve opened yourself to new settings, NPCs, and something to eventually triumph over. It won’t be as easy as an 80’s movie montage, but with the effort will come the reward that you’ve developed into a better, shinier character. That wouldn’t happen if you started off with the ability to speak and read in twelve languages.
