One of the things I value greatly about role-playing games is the emotional satisfaction I get from the experience. Building up a new storyline that'll run as our next Cabin Trip adventure fills me with a sense of accomplishment. Watching that story unfold, and seeing key plot points revealed, makes me well up with pride. Witnessing my friends discover where the tale will lead us, and the way their personalities and characters add to it, creates a bond and a community between all of us at the table. At the end of the day, gaming with this group is just plain fun. Even if the game itself turns out to be a dud or hits a dead end, we find a way to enjoy the experience.

That may or may not have something to do with the fact that Chase generally has a ready supply of home-brewed beer on tap, but I digress.

Unfortunately, not all is ale and roses. Tempers can flare. Quarrels can erupt. Feelings can get hurt. And while it makes no logical sense to let those negative emotions linger, especially while enjoying one's favorite pastime, most of us at some point will have to (or already have had to) confront that moment where in-game frustration takes a real-life toll.

A LIKELY STORY

Just to show you that I'm not picking on anyone mentioned later in this post, I'm going to start with an example from my own experience. You may remember my recent re-telling of my first game of Werewolf: The Apocalypse, and my frustration with the storyteller who altered the rules to fit his plot. I also have a similar story, almost a mirror image of that one in fact, taken from a brief game of Castle Falkenstein that a college roommate ran.

The theme of both episodes is simple enough. My character pulled off some bad-ass stunt, enabled by a bit of planning and sheer dumb luck, and the in-game effects were not up to my expectations. My feelings were hurt, and my pride was wounded. I felt cheated because I didn't "get what I deserved" in terms of outcome. As a result, I left both of those campaigns quicker than I rolled up characters.

The other side of my bruised ego, however, is the hours of planning, plotting, and writing that went into the adventure we were undertaking. Perhaps it's because I myself have now run several campaigns, where before I had not. In hindsight, however, the defense both of these game masters used seems far more viable: "It was for the good of the story."

While running games on the fly may be preferred by some, and necessary at times, no one wants to see their time and efforts spoiled in the blink of an eye. When the story you're trying to tell gets derailed in the first five minutes, it's easier to exercise that authorship in the moment than to call "do over" like you've just hit the Wiffle ball in the neighbor's pool.

Quite honestly, the game masters in the stories above tried to tell me that in their own way. Even if they had taken me aside at that precise moment, and explained in private how this moment would further a great story and an exciting game, I'm certain I would've objected quite loudly. Until I stood in their shoes, all I knew were my hurt feelings.

YUP, YOU'RE GONNA BE ATTACKED

The rules to any system are printed in black and white, and established as a universal standard that governs the game world. Even the most adamant rules lawyer, however, can't memorize and recite every single rule correctly, every time. (No Justin, not even you.) That's why the books exist in the first place. Well, that and all the pretty pictures...

Sometimes a rule will get missed, or misapplied, or interpreted differently by players in the same group. Sometimes the rules won't favor a particular party, or a particular combat, or a particular character. I've seen games where the real combat is the rules-lawyering going on at the table, while the blue dragon that just killed our friend's Druid quietly slips out the back door and shuts it tight.

The biggest source of flaring tempers I've seen, when it comes to the rules of a game system, is the lack of knowledge and familiarity with a particular system. I've been on both sides of this coin myself. I've had opponents in Warhammer tournaments curse my name for "exploiting" a little-known or seldom-used rule. I've had players tell me "Oh wait- I forgot to use this rule last turn so we have to go back for a minute." Sometimes, people just get pissed because they didn't know a rule existed and it ruins the bad-ass stunt they were about to pull off.

Likewise, I've felt slighted in games when the rules seemed to be "working against me." The monster I'm in combat with continually hits me, even though I beefed up my Paladin to withstand any assault. The bridge I'm crossing gives way, and I'm forced to Swim for my character's life- using mechanics I've never seen before but are currently failing me. Perhaps, albeit unlikely, the game master may even forget a rule that's important to the encounter and recall its application in the middle of combat. Right before you take your turn.

It's easy to be suspicious of and angered by things we don't understand. The same is true in the world of gaming. The rules, however, are meant to be a unifying force. They are meant to bring groups and games together. If someone's use of the rules, or perception of their use, results in hurt feelings those issues need to be sorted out away from the game. Take a break, and look over the pertinent pages. Decide a house rule if one is needed. Don't do it during the encounter however. In the heat of the moment, logic is going to be struck down by emotion almost every time.

KING ME!

Be honest now: have you ever stayed mad at a fellow player for something they (or their character) did during a game? I know games, friendships, and even a marriage (don't ask) that have ended because the divide between the actions of the characters and the players became indistinguishable in someone else's eyes. The potential for hurt, harm, and emotional upheaval is perhaps most potent in this area.

The "White Crown Saga", as a tale of Cabin Trips past has come to be known, has already served as an example of this. In a previous post about RPG religion, that game demonstrated the negative effects on a campaign when player values and character motives clash in a very public and vocal way. Fortunately, the impact of that episode was only in-game. No one was offended, hurt, or resentful that others had expressed differing or conflicting views on morality and faith.

So if that instance didn't give me fodder for this post, what could possibly qualify?!? It was the White Crown itself. In our campaign setting, this arcane artifact is seen as almost too powerful. Being in possession of it is considered both dangerous and heretical; the former because of its potency, and the latter because the Church in our setting has outlawed arcane magic. And of course. our party was in possession of it.

More specifically, Dale was in possession of it. While Dale was running a Ranger of a different name, Dale took his character's keeping of the Crown very seriously. He diligently obeyed the orders of our party's faith-based characters to keep it hidden and resist its lure. While the Ranger carried it, the Crown called to him and spoke to him and begged him to be free. Dale, however, maintained his character's commitment to the party's plan and denied himself the power the Crown promised him.

Chief among our religious leaders was Justin's character, a Church Inquisitor and arrogant sonuvabitch. (Not Justin, mind you; the character only.) It was his constant warnings and sermons against the White Crown's influence that set the standard for our party's actions. Even with a Paladin and Cleric in tow, the Inquisitor's authority- both in matters of church and state- was always looming. Our party was reminded of this daily and loudly.

You can guess where this is going. When the vampire enslaved our entire village, and the goblin spit hit the proverbial fan, what do you suppose our holy ace in the hole turned out to be? The Inquisitor put on the White Crown. Did it save the village from eternal damnation? Certainly so. Did it also start a fight at the table? Regrettably yes.

When any player builds up a character for years, from lowly first level to heroic heights thereafter, an attachment is formed. The player is thinking, acting, and feeling for the character after all. Many of us in this campaign were almost literally playing ourselves, or at least a large part of us lived in our characters. That style of play provides great emotional highs, and can result in some pretty frustrating lows as well.

Justin's character, by contrast, was not him in any way. He began the game as our DM, and we rotated that duty every Cabin Trip session. So when it was his turn to make a PC, he purposely created a foil to our young, idealistic, perhaps naive party. He made a hardened, self-righteous representative of the Church who would shepherd our sheepish characters along the correct path. In short, his character was a giant prick. But it definitely made for interesting role-play.

After all the investment we had made in the game, both as players and as characters, feelings were running high. I don't think anyone would blame Justin for acting in character, or Dale for being hurt by those actions as a fellow player. He bore the burden, and received none of the prize. His reward for obedience was to have his prize taken away when it mattered most. It didn't really matter whether it was Justin or his character who had acted. All Dale had to show for his efforts were hurt feelings and dead goblins.

SWEET EMOTION

Luckily for me this post is meant to be commentary rather than advice, mostly because what we feel doesn't fit comfortably into some formula or stat block. To dismiss it as "only a game" doesn't do justice to the personal commitment and emotional investment that make this hobby so rewarding. Simply decreasing or avoiding that investment, to lessen the impact of hurt feelings and wounded pride, would also decrease the pure (sometimes ridiculous) joy of gaming.

I will venture this much, based on my own history. In order to maximize the fun of a role-playing game, it's important that everyone at the table has the chance to feel good about the experience. That enjoyment is a communal effort, just like the success of the party and ultimately the campaign.

So don't be afraid to talk as a group about those things that cause friction throughout the course of play. However, you've got do it outside of the RPG session. If it's a real-life problem don't try to confront it while playing a game. Likewise, every issue has (at least) two sides. Hear all of them, and think of ways you can help. Take the time to ask yourself if you're adding to the problem or to the solution. Talk to each other about how to create more fun for the group. You won't always leave the table feeling the nerdy euphoria that's captured by some sessions, but you'll always feel good about the role you played.

Has your group had to overcome negative feelings before you could roll the dice again? Are you offended by all this touchy feely crap on your favorite gaming blog? Are you trying to calculate the AC of your own wounded pride? Tell us how you feel in the Comments!