Conflict is absolutely essential for great storytelling. At the gaming table, it can create drama, tension, and growth… as long as everyone’s onboard. Sometimes, though, what starts as roleplay could actually reveal personal discomfort, and that discomfort is easy to weaponize.
That’s what we’re talking about today: The potential for TTRPGs to teach healthy conflict resolution. Said TTRPG only lives up to that potential if we as Stewards train ourselves to recognize the difference between narrative tension and emotional harm.
When the Game Stops Being Fun
When I was first getting into D&D, my son and I started playing a few regular sessions with a group. Out of the blue, the socially-awkward, middle-aged engineer of the group asked if he could guest DM. Our usual guy agreed and, within a few minutes of that session, it became apparent that he was targeting my character.
Every choice I made was met with harsh consequences, culminating with my Bag of Holding exploding after I put another item in it, spreading all my character’s worldly possessions across an inaccessible dimensional plane.
I was suddenly like Carrot Top robbed of his prop comedy. Everything I had amassed to create cool combinations was gone. My character motivation… was gone. The “coincidental” loss of all my possessions felt punitive and performative. After that session, I explained to our usual DM that I wanted my character to fake his own death and to lay low for a while. The DM agreed, and I spent months away from the group.
When I finally came back–because I knew that the experience had been very beneficial for my son–I created an overpowered tiefling warlock (the antithesis of my happy-go-lucky gnome bard). The minute our DM introduced my character to the party, the engineer’s character began to physically attack. “It’s what my character would do,” he shrugged.
Long story short, our skilled DM created a shared enemy for us to defeat. I didn’t take the cue and, instead, I literally dug a hole with my pet ankheg (a giant burrowing insect), and I remained there until the end of the session. Childish, yes, but I knew that I was never interested in playing with the vindictive engineer again. Soon after I left, the rest of the party quit, too, and none of us ever sat at another gaming table with that engineer.
The lingering question after so many years is this: Could I have addressed the problem earlier in a way that protected both the story and all players involved?
Tip #1: A Culture of Collaborative Conflict
I’m not saying that a little tension between player characters is a bad thing. If done well, it can actually deepen the overall drama and give your characters someplace to grow. What’s important in allowing inter-party conflict is that all players understand the overarching team goal. Every time I run an standards-based Ealdsmyth game in my classroom, there’s always that one group that tosses aside that team goal, thinks it’s funny to start attacking each other and, eventually, gets really frustrated with each other and starts to shut down.
Before a session begins, you may want to talk to your party about “Lines & Veils.” This concept is a consent-based storytelling tool and brainchild of Ron Edwards, who uses it in the game Sorcerer. Essentially, the party will discuss with the Game Master what lines they don’t want to be crossed–hard boundaries of types of content that they don’t want portrayed in the game (such as sexual violence). Then, they’ll discuss the veils–things that can be addressed, but they need to be done “off-screen” or without being addressed in explicit detail (such as a romantic encounter between characters).
Another effective tool is the PvP Agreement Discussion. This is simply an informal talk about what players might do if put in a situation of player vs. player conflict. How might they handle it? What cues could they communicate to let each other know that it’s escalating in an unhealthy manner? Then, the players can discuss what should happen after the PvP encounter–both in game and out of game. Sometimes planning ahead for the worst is enough to steer you away from such encounters when the soil gets fertile for inter-party conflict.
Finally, GMs can start the party’s first adventure as a “Session Zero.” I often lead these, and they serve as a great way for players to determine their inter-party dynamics in a less intense setting. Instead of going straight to the high-stakes decision of which faction to join to stave off the end of the world, they can start in a village, where a beloved cow has gone missing. By planning a few potentially comedic PvP opportunities, the GM can give the players opportunities to test each other’s social limits when the stakes aren’t so high. Think of a Session Zero as the tutorial portion of a video game that helps the player understand how best to play the game.
In designing Ealdsmyth, Roger, Greg and I built in the mechanic of establishing narrative tone and player expectations beforehand. It could be as simple as reading the “Read First” text in our player’s handbook, or it could be something more aligned with the Steward’s voice and playstyle. Setting intentions before the game starts does wonders toward how the players will play the game.
Tip #2: Check the Power Dynamic
Okay, let’s get back to the vindictive engineer. (I promise I’ve moved on from this, really!) One place where he went wrong as a guest DM is in how he took the reins from our usual guy. The usual DM had a playful tone in his game, allowing for the full exploration of emotions when the narrative allowed it while also allowing players to explore areas where they might want to grow. Such an approach to DMing requires humility. When the engineer took control, that tone went out the window. It was as if the slapstick comedy film you were watching suddenly became a slasher horror. Nobody saw it coming, and it showed a lack of respect for the continuity the usual DM had established.
Exploding someone’s Bag of Holding isn’t a mere plot device. In fact, it happened randomly and had no bearing on what was happening in the story. Instead, it felt like a power move: the vengeful god destroying his creation merely because he could. Without player buy-in on such arc-altering decisions, it risks undermining player trust, and that’s exactly what it did.
It’s important to remember that, when Stewarding a group of TTRPG players, good storytelling isn’t only about serving the plot. Good storytelling is also about honoring the players.
Tip #3: Invite Reflection After Sessions
Just as Ealdsmyth has an intention-setting welcome to the game, it also has a reflection phase after all is said and done. When you ask questions like “What moment stood out emotionally?” or “Did anything feel uncomfortable?” it allows the players to unravel their feelings. Through this process, you can get a better idea of what works and doesn’t work for future sessions. An after-session reflection period gives players a structured chance to share their concerns, clarify boundaries and process the dynamics between their characters.
Do you think if our sessions all those years ago had questions about our emotional processing afterward that it would’ve bubbled over into exploding Bags of Holding and pouting in a hole? I doubt it. Just remember that some players may need deeper digging or multiple sessions behind them before they can trust you with their feelings.
Tip #4: Know the Signs of Real Discomfort
As was the case with the engineer, in-character targeting–especially repeated and one-sided targeting–can signal out-of-character tension. I would later learn that it was the engineer who had convinced my DM to start a D&D campaign in the first place. This was the campaign that introduced both me and my son to the power of TTRPGs and forever changed my life’s trajectory. When you look at it that way, I should probably be thanking the old Grumpy Gus.
I can only speculate that the engineer expected to be praised for his great idea, and that all us newbies around the table would come to him for sage wisdom gleaned from a lifetime devotion to Dungeons & Dragons. When we picked up on the game fairly quickly, and when my academic training in storytelling made me occasionally the star of the show, reality no longer matched his expectations.
As a Steward, you’ll want to watch out for red flags. Such flags include:
- When one player’s ideas are constantly being shut down.
- When someone’s sarcastic tone bleeds into real frustration.
- When post-game debriefs aren’t addressing the hard topics.
When these or other signs of discomfort appear, it’s often a good practice to talk to that player privately. If you can help them to name that discomfort, then you can help them to resolve the problem. Simply asking, “Is everything okay with how the game is going for you?” can unearth a lot of vital information.
Tip #5: Knowing When to Push Through—and When to Walk Away
One important thing to remember about tabletop gaming is that it’s not a marriage. You haven’t pledged to stick with your fellow players through thick and thin, for better or for worse. If the vibe just isn’t working, sometimes the best thing to do is to leave that situation. I’ve since had wonderful game sessions with all the other players and the DM. But the engineer and I weren’t a good fit for each other at the gaming table. And that’s okay.
From a SEL standpoint, however, it’s always beneficial to reflect. Maybe leaving was the best option for me, but what other options might have preserved both the group and my wellbeing? It later became apparent that the other players weren’t enjoying the engineer’s playstyle either, so perhaps there could’ve been a healthy way to address it.
One thing I didn’t do but could have was to have a direct-but-kind conversation about my boundaries with the engineer. I never gave him an opportunity to explain himself or to hear how his actions were affecting me.
I also could’ve asked the DM for a facilitated check-in session. It’s actually something he does expertly now, perhaps because of the tragic way our party fell apart. I could’ve also asked that the group use a full session to reflect, Ealdsmyth-style, on our overarching goals and realign our characters with them. (Of course Ealdsmyth didn’t exist back then, but fortunately for you it does now!)
In retrospect, I stand by my decision to leave the group. It wasn’t the only decision I could’ve made, but it was the one I felt that I needed at the time. My leaving wasn’t a failure on my part, on the DMs part, or even the engineer’s part. It was simply a boundary that I set, and that boundary was met with integrity.
In-Game Disagreement: The SEL Factor
Because I’m now all about infusing social-emotional learning with tabletop roleplaying games, let’s look at why in-game conflict should be in your game at times. When such conflict is handled with intention, it can teach empathy (because it requires you to see another character’s motives), it can teach perspective-taking, it can teach repair once the disagreement has been resolved, and it can teach assertive communication (players can learn how to stand up for their values without unnecessary aggression).
We can model SEL competencies through “I-statements” made in-character. Instead of starting a complaint with “You always attack my character,” we can focus on ourselves and the thoughts we have a better chance of understanding (“I feel like I’m being repeatedly attacked in a way that’s distracting us from our main goal.”). When in-game conflict occurs, a perceptive Steward can find moments in the game to encourage reconciliation or compromise between the two conflicting parties. After the session, those reflection questions are golden. Ask specific questions that relate to the argument in question, such as “What did that scene teach your character about trust?”
Keep the Story Going, but Not at Any Cost
The beautiful and scary thing about TTRPGs is that they’re collaborative by nature. Because of this, we’re able to practice interacting with others, and sharing all the related emotions, as a rehearsal for real life. Conflict doesn’t need to be avoided. This is a lesson it took me a long time to realize away from the gaming table. That’s because I assumed that conflict had to be nasty, scorched-earth and final, but conflict can also be safe, shared and respectful. I didn’t fail by stepping away from toxicity when I did. With the right tools and timing, though, I’m confident that I could continue the story with future players before throwing in the towel so soon.
Here’s to the Torchbearers
As always, I want to give a special thanks to my patrons on Patreon! Your monthly support also supports these honest and vulnerable stories alongside the joyful ones. Because of your support, it’s possible for me to build tools that turn tension into transformation.
One of those tools is the set of conflict resolution prompts for TTRPG gaming & reflection. (Find it on my Patreon here.)
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