Tabletop role-playing games allow us to step into a realm that's not our own.
They can be exciting and thrilling, letting us push our boundaries and
explore things we'd never get to experience in real life. But sometimes
the thrill can turn to a bit of a chill as events of the story end up making
other players uncomfortable, which can ruin everyone's enjoyment. So today we're
going to talk about how to make your players feel safe during gameplay and
why sometimes being a little uncomfortable can actually be a good
thing.
INTRO
In previous tabletop episodes, we've talked a lot about Eddy's work on
Pugmire, a light-hearted fantasy game about pets in the distant future, but
prior to becoming the prince of puppies, Eddy spent years as the creative lead
for a very different kind of game: Vampire the Masquerade. Really, Eddy? Wow
man! Teenage goth Matt is bowing down right
now. Seriously, props. Sorry back to it. So we've brought him back in because he has
a lot of experience working on horror games which deal with dark and
controversial topics. He's run games that have made players squirm in their seats,
and sometimes that's a good thing, so let's start things off with an analogy:
roller coasters. Most people think of roller coasters as fun, but if you
described the experience to, I don't know, say, your friendly neighborhood space
alien: riding a roller coaster is about hurtling down a very high railroad track
at top speed in an open train as you're thrown in a variety of directions, which,
if you think about it, doesn't sound like fun so much as sheer terror and during
the ride there's a part of you that intellectually understands you'll be
fine, but there's another part of you that's a little worried you might die.
Playing a game that pushes your personal boundaries can feel the same. Well, maybe
not the part about possibly dying, but it can be scary to dredge up the darker
parts of your psyche and bring them out for everyone to see. And sometimes it can
be cathartic to play through that kind of scenario, or even just be a little
evil in a game, because that purging of fear terror or self-loathing that comes
from being in a simulated environment that feels dangerous are stressful is
really quite safe and that's the key factor
rollercoasters have thick belts and heavy metal bars that remind us at all
times that were securely strapped in for the ride. Tabletop RPGs need to have the
emotional equivalent of safety belts during gameplay, so that players can get
the most out of their catharsis without the experience inadvertently plunging
over the edge and harming others. And that emotional safety belt is trust. If
the players can trust the game master as well as each other, then it's easy for
everyone to stretch their personal boundaries and explore things that might
be personally valuable for them to explore, and there are several great
tools and tips on how you can build that trust at the table. But before we dive
into those, I just want to mention real quick that while tabletop role-playing
games can absolutely have a therapeutic value, they should never take the place
of therapy, even though some therapists are using these kind of games in their
own practices. There's actually a great nonprofit organization called the Bodhana
Group that explores therapeutic applications of RPGs, and they released a
booklet called Wizards, Warriors, & Wellness which gets into all of this
more. We put a link to it in the description below because it's
fascinating and maybe we'll talk about it some more some other time. Anyway, the
first and most obvious tool you can use is communication. Talking about what your
game will entail, along with discussing everyone's personal boundaries
beforehand, is a fantastic way to start building trust, because, sure it might
feel pretty cool to play a jerk for a while, but if you don't talk to your
other players or have them on board with your character's potential actions, you
can't just abdicate responsibility and say that, "well that's just what my
character would do!!!" Think of them as emotional warning beacons, letting the
players know in advance what kind of content they can expect and also what
content they won't see no matter what. It's great to set these boundaries up at
the beginning of a game before you start, not only because it hopefully avoids
anything that will be a bad experience for the people playing, but it also lets
everyone talk in an environment where no one gets defensive because they're
getting accused of crossing a line. But not everyone is comfortable with talking
about their concerns up front; and of course, something might come up during
gameplay that wasn't discussed beforehand. A great way to handle these
situations is a tool called the X-Card. Created by John Stavropoulos, the X-Card
is a piece of paper with an X on it that's placed
in the middle of the table. Whenever anybody at the table feels uncomfortable
with the topic at hand, all they have to do is touch or point to the X-Card and
that lets everyone know it's time to change the subject. They don't have to
explain or justify their concerns; the game master simply moves immediately on
to the next scene, or rewinds events and goes in a different direction. The X-Card
gives everyone a chance to speak up if the game is pushing their personal
boundaries too far. This established rule up front has to be respected though
which gets us back to trust. Too many times I've been in a game where players
complain that the group's not letting them roleplay, because the group wants
their boundaries respected. So in that situation, I'll let you in on a little
secret: don't be that player! If you're ever putting your own desires over
something that's causing someone else legitimate harm, you're not just playing
a jerk; you are a jerk. The other players have to trust that you'll respect their
wishes so they can know what you're doing in-character isn't a reflection of
you as a person. So when people say they have a boundary, accept it. No amount of
staying in-character is ever worth it in a game when it's harming someone in the
real world. Finally, reframing a concept in a more
positive light can keep the topic on the table without making it offensive. As
someone with hearing loss, Eddy is passionate about disability
representation, and he sees post-apocalyptic and cyberpunk games as
a great way to showcase that. I mean, think about it:how many people in zombie
movies are missing a hand or an eye? And really, cyberware is just another form of
assistive device. But in both cases, characters in zombie movies or
cyberpunk novels are still strong, capable people that incorporate their
disability into their personal stories. By shifting the narrative focus so that
disabled characters are equally represented as cool and capable, everyone
at the table can explore the topic in a more inclusive fashion, and that kind of
representation is really important and once again goes back to trust: because a
person seeing themselves in the game you're playing says that everyone is
welcome at the table, and that their experiences are valid. By putting those
disabled characters up as iconic and aspirational people, the group is letting
everyone know that disabled people are also aspirational: that what brings them
to the table, both figuratively and literally, is interesting and compelling, and
disabled players can, in turn, trust that the group values them and their
contributions. Having mutual trust at the table means we can use tabletop RPGs to
explore ideas that are uncomfortable, from the Holocaust to racism to violence,
in a way that's healthy for everyone. And when the game is run safely, we can use
these experiences to help us understand how we would confront these things in
the real world, and they can give us experiences to share with others once we
leave the table--because at the end of the day, those positive experiences are
really what role-playing is all about.