How a Backstory Can Make Your Character Worse

I think that many of us who have grown up with tabletop roleplaying games know how much harder it is to find time for games the older you get. I love getting invested in a character, but I barely have time for the sessions as it is. I used to be the kind of roleplayer who spent hours exploring my character and their story in between sessions, and doing so caused my roleplaying to suffer more than anything. Today, I don’t have time to sit down and flesh out my characters to that extent, but neither do I want to.

As it happens, an extensive backstory can cause more harm than good, and it isn’t needed to create a character with depth. In this article, I want to show you how to quickly and effortlessly make rich and engaging characters in mere minutes during Session Zero. I’ll also share why letting go of the idea of extensive backstories being a good thing will make your character stronger in play.

If you’ve ever struggled coming up with good character ideas, or if you’ve ever felt pressured to work on your characters between sessions like homework, this article is for you.

WHY BACKSTORIES CAN BACKFIRE

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with backstories in general. They can be fun to write and can provide the GM with useful story hooks. If you don’t mind spending hours writing, who am I to tell you not to?

The real problem begins when the backstory gets so detailed that you become overly attached to it. If you write a story hoping the GM will incorporate it into the game, you’re putting expectations on the GM. The GM already has a bigger role than you in relation to the game, and they don’t magically have more hours in the day than you do. If you write a story and the GM doesn’t read it, there’s disappointment already there. But you might also hope for specific arcs that never come, or see things turn out differently from what you expected.

The more detail you add to your story, the more potential story hooks there are for sure. But there’s also a stronger risk of attachment—not just to your work, but to how you imagine the story unfolding. That’s where disappointment creeps in.

I used to be guilty of writing long backstories. When I was young and had the time to spend entire days writing, I could obsessively dig into my characters. The backstory I wrote for my first Exalted character was about 150 pages. I thought it was a good thing that I was so invested in my character, but it turned out to work against me in the end.

What happened at the table rarely matched what I had in my mind, and I often ended up disappointed that certain prewritten arcs weren’t touched upon or resolved. It wasn’t that the game was bad, but I crippled myself by clinging to a story I’d already written. When one game didn’t dig into the stories I wanted to see, I tried the same character again in a different game, much to the same disappointment. Looking back, I should have just written a book.

Tabletop roleplaying games aren’t solo stories. They’re more like ensemble stories. It’s easy, without realizing it, to make your character’s story into your own center of gravity. It pulls you in. The more time you spend writing alone, the more your mind starts treating it like the story, rather than one story among many. When the GM doesn’t indulge that vision, it can feel like losing control, and your expectations take a hit.

SHIFTING THE MINDSET

That leads to my main point. Not only can you make a character feel deep and detailed without a prewritten backstory, but you’ll often find yourself better served without one. The most important shift is trading ego for collaboration.

Like I mentioned, an intricate backstory can accidentally send the message “I’m the main character” to the table. But the goal is shared spotlight. You’re not the only one entitled to a good game and a good story. You might need to park that ego, stay curious, dare to let go of control, and see your character emerge from play.

This is the important part. Detaching from specific outcomes isn’t the same as detaching from your character. Be invested in your character without being too rigid. If you’re too attached to a specific story, you’ll seek to control the narrative going forward. Investment without attachment makes you resilient to the unexpected, and you’ll be able to approach the story with curiosity and excitement, even in the face of failure—or even character death.

THE “FOUR + ONE” FOUNDATION

I’ve talked about how the intricacy and detail of an elaborate backstory can work against you. But an entirely blank slate feels plain and uninteresting. So, what do I consider the minimum you actually need to make a character start feeling meaningful? I recommend a process I call “Four + One.” So, what is it?

First, answer the question: “What brought you to where you are?” This is your inciting past, like an event or force that pushed you onto the road. Second, answer the question: “Who are you now?” This is your present identity in a single line, similar to FATE’s High Concept. Third, answer the question: “Who or what do you care about today?” These are the people, factions, places, or ideals that anchor you to the world. Fourth, answer the question: “Where are you headed?” This could be a direction, a motivation, or a quest you’ve been given. It gives you momentum into the story.

These four questions don’t need elaborate answers. You can answer each one with a single sentence, and your character will already start seeing depth.

But I said Four + One. So, what’s the “+ One?” It’s the question: “What complicates your life today?” This is similar to FATE’s Trouble: it’s a flaw, a burden, or a recurring problem that makes your choices interesting. Flawed or burdened characters feel more alive and interesting, and it allows for more engaging stories. The reason I’m calling it Four + One instead of simply Five is because I want to give this last question extra emphasis. The first four questions define your character’s foundation, while the final one adds the complication that makes them interesting. It’s the difference between a character concept and a story waiting to happen.

Let’s use the Four + One method in a quick example. “What brought you to where you are?” My village was razed by an invading force, so I had to flee. “Who are you now?” I am a farmer turned hardened survivor. “Who or what do you care about today?” I care about civilians caught between feuding lords. “Where are you headed?” I’m trying to push back the invaders and reclaim a quiet life. “What complicates your life today?” I live with the shame of leaving someone behind to save myself.

It barely took me a minute to answer these questions, and it already suggests scenes, choices, and conflicts to spark storylines. It’s already playable. It’s evocative. And it didn’t require any effort or homework.

Let’s use the same Four + One principle for a completely different type of game, like KULT: Divinity Lost. “What brought you to where you are?” I haven’t been able to sleep properly for years, so I take late-night walks to distract my mind. I saw something I cannot explain on such a walk, and now I feel like the nightmares are becoming real. “Who are you now?” I am a social outcast who is always looking for new distractions, but my vices are becoming extreme. “Who or what do you care about today?” I care about my grandmother because she is the only one who checks in. “Where are you headed?” I feel like I’m heading into an abyss, and I follow whatever sign I get that leads me away from that path. “What complicates your life today?” I am sleep deprived and use vices like intoxicants. It harms those around me.

See, now we have a deeply troubled but also realistic character that would fit neatly into a horror game like KULT: Divinity Lost. It doesn’t really matter which type of game or genre it is: the Four + One method will give your character meaning in less than a minute of work.

But we’re not done yet! This is just the foundation to build upon. We have done a minute of work on the character so far, and it’s already more than a blank slate. But we can do even more, though the next step will require collaboration.

COLLABORATIVE PROMPTING

The simplest way to turn the Four + One foundation into something the whole table can use is to take advantage of Session Zero. Do it together rather than alone.

Start by having each player speak their Four + One answers out loud. The answers themselves should come from the questions, but the character creation process and earlier discussions about the game are also important foundational pieces in coming up with appropriate answers. I recommend that you collaboratively create characters during Session Zero, not only to have these conversations, but also to avoid potential overlaps in character creation.

This is a bit a digression, but avoiding character overlap gives opportunities to both claim and cede the spotlight, which is important in a collaborative game.

After a player has introduced their foundation to the group, go around the table and have each person ask one short question to that player. Keep it simple and specific. Ask what they do in quiet moments, who they secretly admire or resent, or what rumor about them might be true. There are no stupid questions. Even the ones that don’t seem directly relevant can add flavor to a character and give their player thought and maybe a new perspective upon their personality.

Using the previous example, questions posed to the farmer turned hardened survivor might be things like “what is something your character does for fun?” and “who do you trust the most?” The player should then treat each question seriously and come up with an answer. In this example, it could be “he writes poetry that he doesn’t show anyone” and “he doesn’t see eye to eye with his sister, but she’s his last remaining relative and he knows she wants what’s best for him.” Two questions, seemingly random, and the character is already richer.

After you have done this for each player’s character, run a second round where each player asks a relationship question that ties their characters together. You could ask what you have bonded over, when you let each other down and how you mended it, how you met and why you’re traveling together. This is important not to add more flavor to the characters—though it does do that as well—but primarily to connect the characters to the group and the setting in a more meaningful way.

Using the farmer example again, let’s say that the other players in the group are going to be an aging soldier and a traveling troubadour. The soldier’s player might ask: “What is one thing our characters bonded over?” and the troubadour might ask: “Which song do you always ask me to perform?”

Same as before, taking the questions seriously, you might tell the soldier’s player that “You are the only person I’ve told the full story about my village to, including the shameful parts,” and you might tell the troubadour that “You have a song about how a man’s tragedy can lead to triumph. It inspires me when I hear it.” Again, seemingly random questions taken seriously, add flavor to the character, make you consider things you hadn’t considered otherwise, and help tether the character to the party and the setting in ways writing a backstory in isolation couldn’t do.

Throughout the rounds, the GM can jump in with clarifying questions and additional prompting statements to invite the players to come up with more details. It’s in the GM’s interest to get the information they need to come up with meaningful narrative hooks. Asking questions is helpful, but prompting statements can have additional purposes.

“There was a commander in golden armor leading the raid on your village. Tell me something about him.” This isn’t a question. It’s a statement. The GM might already have things in mind for the commander in golden armor, but by inviting the player in this way, the GM both collects new prompts to spark their own creative process and gives the player a connection to a potential story arc that will feel personal.

The player invents a detail in response to the statement, and it instantly becomes a shared hook. “I had a moment of eye contact with the commander when I was hiding. He smiled at me but didn’t tell his soldiers where I was. I don’t know why, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” Now, both the GM and the player own that piece of the world, and it’s alive at the table. You don’t need to delve deeper into that prompting statement now. You’ve already given the GM what they need to build upon that hook if they choose to.

You can keep asking each other questions for as long as you desire, but it’s recommended to leave some blanks on purpose. You don’t need an answer to every question, and some mysteries are better left to discover later.

WHY THIS WORKS BETTER THAN LONG BACKSTORIES

The Four + One and collaborative prompting approaches beat the big backstory for a few reasons. First, they’re flexible, allowing your character to evolve more organically. Second, they’re collaborative, so the story hooks belong to the whole table rather than to you alone. Third, they’re actionable, which means that every answer produces something both the group and the GM can use right away. Fourth, they’re practical, since you remove the burden of homework— ideal for us busy grownups and welcoming to new players.

There isn’t anything new in this approach to character design. A few decades ago, it was common for games to incorporate lifepath systems and random tables to prompt character ideas. Cyberpunk did this already in the late 80s and early 90s, but many lifepath prompts were still gamified to engage the players. Later, you saw other forms of gamified narrative prompts, like FATE’s Character Aspects. Other narrative games incorporated individual character prompting, like the playbooks of Forged in the Dark.

It’s a fairly new phenomenon for mainstream games to incorporate collaborative prompting as part of the default character creation process. Exalted Essence mentions it as part of the suggested structure of a Session Zero. Daggerheart has it as a vital step of character creation with designated sections for it on the sheet. Don’t skip this just because it isn’t gamified.

THINGS TO CONSIDER

There are other things to consider when it comes to these approaches. First, if you worry about stealing spotlight from other players, the Four + One method makes your character interesting without turning it into a narrative gravity well. Since your foundation is minimal and focused, there are less prewritten arcs to be attached to, and it will be easier for you to avoid sucking attention away from the other players or the larger story.

Second, if you’re a perfectionist, remember that “good enough to play” beats “perfect but late.” It’s easy to fall into the pit of overpreparation, and it can both kill the excitement for a game and the game itself. You only need a sentence or two per prompt to know enough about your character to start rolling dice.

If you’re hesitant or unsure about something, ask the GM to lead the conversation. Take every question seriously and answer it honestly. Don’t judge or rewrite each other’s answers. If someone gets stuck, offer a suggestion, not a correction. Even simple questions are meaningful, and an answer that contrasts from your original character idea can work in that character’s favor.

A question like “what’s your character’s favorite food?” might sound trivial, but suddenly you have a scene where a character treats another to dinner and makes that exact dish. That tiny detail personalizes the moment and makes the game more impactful.

If you’re a player who loves to write and wants to take time between sessions to delve deeper into your character, feel free to flesh out certain details or journal the experience as you think is fun. But remember to check in with yourself too to avoid the risk of attachment. Maintain curiosity and recognize that your character isn’t fully yours—it’s part of the group’s shared story, and the group are shareholders in its fate.

CONCLUSION

To summarize my main points. Remember the collaborative aspect above all. Help each other fill in blanks. Give extra emphasis to connecting your characters to each other and to the setting. Don’t get bogged down in minute details that no one has context for yet. Those are the kinds of blanks that will fill themselves in as you go, and they will feel more genuine because they grow out of scenes you actually play.

Remember that depth doesn’t come from length. It comes from hooks you’ll actually put on the table, together, session after session. Build the foundation with a few sentences, ask each other questions with curiosity, tie the party together, and leave space for discovery.

Machineborn DLC – Kirlians Available

Few people in the solar system have heard of kirlians. Their existence isn’t necessarily a secret, but most factions think it better if people are unfamiliar with them. The reason why is the existential dread that comes with the truth that death might not always be an escape.

People from all progenies can become kirlians. And while being one imbues you with great power, it isn’t something people would want to strive to become.

No, kirlians are tormented by an affliction. It is almost like a state of undeath, an incurable sickness that forever reminds you that your body isn’t truly alive; that your mind is nothing but a memory stuck in a husk of dying flesh. As a kirlian, you sometimes feel trapped in time; like your life is a lie; that maybe you actually died and this is all a dream.

But what actually happened? Well, you died! At least, you would have died. Maybe you should have died. It was an intensely traumatizing experience; perhaps a result of violence or an accident. Whatever the situation was, you recall just enough of it to know that you were filled with dread. But you also recall that you didn’t want it. You were afraid of it. You wanted to live.

The Voidstar noticed your pain. It came for you. It began the extraction of your consciousness. But then something happened. Maybe your will to live was too strong. Maybe it was your body that didn’t want to let you go. Or maybe the Voidstar changed its mind, if it has one. Whatever it was, it didn’t work! You woke up, perhaps on the street, or a hospital bed. You woke up alive.

But something was different. Something felt off about your body, your memories, your emotions. You didn’t feel right! It was almost like you woke up without a piece of you that was important, or maybe with a new piece that didn’t belong. Maybe both.

Download the Kirlian DLC here!

Exploring Identity Through Roleplaying

UNDERSTANDING TABLETOP ROLEPLAYING GAMES

With the release of Dungeons & Dragons in the early 70s, tabletop roleplaying games became part of popular culture. And in the decades since, we’ve seen a wild variety of games, worlds, and ways to play. At their core, these games are all about having fun with friends, but they also mix storytelling and gameplay in a unique way. There is a Game Master that weaves a narrative, and there are players bringing characters to life—it is like a sophisticated form of make-believe (Underwood, 2009; Fuist, 2012; Flournoy, 2018).

Tabletop roleplaying games are all about collaboration. You and your friends create and explore fictional worlds together, mostly by sitting at a table, talking, and throwing dice. Sure, you can play online, over text, or voice chat, but no matter how you play, it’s all about that shared experience. And this goes beyond just the game itself. You’ve got communities, fan sites, and creative spaces that let you connect with others who share your interests. Playing tabletop roleplaying games is a social hobby. They are the perfect gateway to finding friends, and they can be especially empowering for those who might be more introverted or anxious in everyday life (Goodall, 2021; Harris, 2021; Ilieva, 2023).

The games are important, but the people who play are even more so. Understanding why people play—and keep coming back—is just as important as understanding the games themselves. To understand how to use these games for self-exploration, we need to first understand why people want to play at all

UNDERSTANDING THE PLAYER

Historically, tabletop roleplaying games were played mostly by dudes within same-gender friend groups during adolescence, so there’s no surprise that there weren’t many women around. But times are changing, and more people of all genders are now diving into the hobby (DeHart, 2008).

So, why do people start playing these games? Most of the time, someone pulls them in—maybe a friend says, “Hey, wanna play D&D?” Or they stumble upon it online or in a game shop. Sometimes, it’s pure creative curiosity. They’re drawn in by the idea of building worlds and telling stories (Coe, 2017).

But once you’re in, what keeps you coming back for more? For many, it’s the thrill of creative freedom. You get to use your imagination to shape entire worlds and craft epic stories, and that can be addictive. For others, it’s about exploring different aspects of themselves. Maybe you’re playing a character who’s like you, or maybe you’re trying on a totally different persona. Either way, it’s a chance to learn about yourself and others in a way that’s fun (Coe, 2017).

Another big reason is belonging. Tabletop roleplaying games give people a space to connect, interact, and just be part of something. It’s about finding a group where you feel included and safe. There’s also the appeal of escapism. Life can be stressful, and tabletop roleplaying games offer a mental break—a chance to step away from reality for a bit and immerse yourself in a different world. Finally, there’s personal improvement. You’re practicing things like social skills, problem-solving, and conflict resolution without even realizing it. It’s like a playground for your brain, giving you space to grow (Coe, 2017; Flournoy, 2018).

But the magic of tabletop roleplaying games isn’t just in who we are as players—it’s also in the roles we take on. Stepping into a character means navigating a whole new set of expectations, both in the game and in real life. To learn more about what this means, we need to dig into the concept of roles.

UNDERSTANDING ROLES

Consider the following scenario: if two friends are playing a tabletop roleplaying game and one steals an item from the other in the game, did they really steal from their friend? Well, it’s complicated. It all depends on how the players understand their roles in the game and in real life. In tabletop roleplaying games, the lines between the game world and the real world are constantly shifting. This means that the roles you play in-character can influence how you relate to each other out-of-character (Williams et al., 2018).

For example, one player might be a thief in the game world, stealing an item as part of their character’s role. Meanwhile, the other player might feel personally attached to that fictional item, even though it’s just part of the story. This isn’t just about what happens in the game—it’s about how those game roles bleed into the real world. Players are constantly juggling multiple roles, both in and out of the game, and that can get quite complex.

Sociologist Erving Goffman famously compared social interactions to a theater performance. He argued that we all play roles based on what society expects of us, and these roles aren’t just superficial—they’re deeply tied to who we are. Some roles are handed to us, like becoming an aunt or an uncle, while others we choose, like being a student or a gamer. How we perform these roles is influenced by our cultural upbringing, which shapes how we act and interact with others. People can be said to navigate multiple roles at the same time, like being an aunt or an uncle, black or white, queer or straight, American or European. All these roles and their social contexts form a spectrum of identities. Playing a tabletop roleplaying game, in a way, adds another layer to this, giving us a stage to enact new roles (DeHart, 2008).

Before the dice start rolling, players go through a kind of psychological warm-up, where they assess the game’s theme, set boundaries, and agree on a kind of social contract with each other. This marks the shift from the “real world” to the “game space.” And when you’re in that game space, you know you’re playing a role. Maybe you’re playing a villain. That’s okay in the game—but obviously, it wouldn’t be in real life (Kawitzky, 2020).

In tabletop roleplaying games, players move between three main frames of focus: there’s the real world, where you’re just yourself; the game context, which is all about following the game’s rules; and the narrative, where you’re fully in character, living out the story. Props, cues, and even just the vibe around the table can help players know which frame they’re in. But sometimes, the lines blur, and you might see people get mixed up, hiding behind game rules or confusing their in-game actions with real-world consequences. This is like a liminal space where your real-world self overlaps with your in-game persona. It’s like when you find yourself speaking as your character without even thinking about it, or shedding tears when they achieve a decisive goal. You’re in the liminal space between frames, the roles touching like waves against a shore (Flournoy, 2018; Williams et al., 2018).

Roles are important to understand on the path to self-exploration, but it wouldn’t have any impact without immersion—the feeling of truly becoming your character and seeing the world through their eyes. But what is immersion really, and why does it feel real?

UNDERSTANDING IMMERSION

When you play a tabletop roleplaying game, your character isn’t just a name on a sheet—it’s your bridge to the game world. It’s how you, as the player, connect with the story, and it’s the medium that pulls you into the imaginary space. You’ve probably heard the phrase “getting into character,” right? That’s exactly what’s happening here (Harris, 2021).

Think about it like this: when you put on a VR headset, you’re thrown into a virtual world—you see it, hear it, and feel like you’re really there. It’s all about the first-person perspective and those immersive sensations that trick your brain into “being there.” But here’s the cool part: your brain doesn’t need all that fancy tech to create an immersive experience. Whether you’re reading a book, watching a movie, or playing a tabletop roleplaying game, your brain builds a mental model of that fictional space. The deeper you connect with that model, the more real space fades from the front of your consciousness, and your focus shifts towards mental space (Harris, 2021).

But here’s the catch: if the game feels too easy or boring, it’s hard to stay in that mental zone. Players want a balance of rewards and challenge; they want to step in and out of their comfort zone. It’s like a dance between feeling safe and taking risks. And it’s during these moments, where you test or push past your boundaries, that you can level up your real self. You start to see yourself and the world in new ways, and you take those experiences from the game and carry them into real life. It’s like translating fantasy into reality (Harris, 2021).

Play is, in many ways, the ultimate form of immersion. It’s like rehearsing for real life; trying out new roles, testing boundaries, and learning new skills in a safe space. When you play, you’re not just pretending; you’re evolving. And sometimes, the line between what’s real and what’s imagined isn’t all that clear. Take live-action roleplaying, for example: if someone plays a skilled swordsman, they might not become a master swordsman in real life, but they’re still learning something valuable—maybe confidence, coordination, or even just a sense of belonging. And that has real-world impact (Harris, 2021).

When we add the concepts of roles, frames, and immersion together, we start to uncover the true impact that roleplaying games can have on us. Playing a character isn’t just a performance, it’s a way to explore who we are and who we might become—and stories aren’t just entertainment, they shape how we see the world and ourselves in it.

UNDERSTANDING IDENTITY

There are countless theories about the concept of self and the creation of identity, and some of them tie into roleplaying in interesting ways. Take Herbert Mead’s idea of the generalized other. It’s kind of like having an invisible audience in your head; a mix of societal attitudes and expectations that influence how you see yourself. When you create a character that pushes against social norms, you’re not just playing pretend; you’re negotiating with those ingrained social expectations, testing boundaries both in and out of the game (Harris, 2021).

Then there’s Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of habitus. The idea is that your habits, skills, and perspectives are shaped by your upbringing, your education, and the social world around you. It’s personal, but also deeply social. So, when you make a character, you might unintentionally sprinkle in some of your own experiences, like giving your rogue a rebellious streak that might touch upon your own struggles with authority (Harris, 2021).

Psychologist Lev Vygotsky argued that learning isn’t something we do in isolation—it’s social. We learn from our interactions and the cultural tools around us, like language, symbols, and storytelling. He used the term scaffolding, which is basically the support we get from others when tackling something new. When you’re roleplaying, you’re in this interactive learning space, where the group you play with helps you dive into your character’s perspective. Each conversation and choice you make in-game shapes not just your character but also how you see the world (Harris, 2021).

Finally, there’s the idea of narrative identity, which suggests that the stories we tell about ourselves are constantly shaping who we are—and that includes the stories of our characters. Roleplaying isn’t just a fun hobby; it’s a way to explore different sides of yourself, one adventure at a time. When you look back on those in-game moments and share them with others, you’re actually piecing together parts of your own identity, blending your lived experiences with the ones you’ve created in the game (Harris, 2021).

These are just a few examples of how theories like these can be tied to the roleplaying game experience. I found a nice allegory in one of the studies used as reference for this article. They likened a person’s identity to a 20-sided die—each side shows a different aspect of who you are, and what’s visible depends on the roll, the context, and the perspective of whoever’s looking (Harris, 2021).

All these ideas aren’t just theories—they can be found in real experiences. One roleplayer said that the games gave them a unique way to connect with others, and it was through play that they found a space to express their queer identity to their partner; something they struggled with in other places. For them, the magic of roleplaying lies in those real, vulnerable moments where everyone is deeply connected to the story and to each other. Another player felt that the real magic of roleplaying was in the sense of connection, where everyone’s energy feeds off each other; creating something truly special. For some, roleplaying even became a way to explore parts of themselves that felt scary to embrace in real life. One player described the best parts of tabletop roleplaying games as trying out aspects of themselves and gauging others’ reactions, gradually feeling confident enough to bring those parts into their real life. For them, playing a character was like giving themselves permission to be who they truly were (Harris, 2021).

What all these stories have in common is that the magic of roleplaying happens in those shared moments of play, where players create stories together, explore new possibilities, and see new potentials in themselves. It’s about experimenting, growing, and discovering things about who you are that you might never have seen otherwise (Harris, 2021).

UNDERSTANDING STIGMA

But while tabletop roleplaying games offer incredible opportunities for self-exploration, they haven’t always been welcomed by society. Stigma has long shadowed the gaming community, affecting how players are perceived and sometimes how they perceive themselves. This is a hobby that can be difficult to explain to people who haven’t played, because it is something you really must experience for yourself. To some, it might seem childish, weird, or just a waste of time. There’s also the stigma of adults doing things that don’t fit the “traditional” mold of having your life together—things like contributing to society, building a career, or starting a family. And when people feel judged for their interests, they often retreat, keeping things private (DeHart, 2008).

Stigma leads to isolation. There’s social isolation, where someone lacks meaningful relationships, and then there’s societal isolation, where people feel shut out of broader cultural events, employment, or other activities. These often go hand-in-hand; people who feel excluded from society usually have smaller support networks, and this can impact their health, self-esteem, and overall quality of life (Goodall, 2021).

It’s also important to distinguish between social isolation and social exclusion. Isolation is about not participating, while exclusion is about being prevented from participating. Many who experience exclusion deal with internal struggles like feeling “socially awkward,” or they’ve faced external challenges like bullying. Some may be neurodiverse to a degree where social interaction is tricky, especially with neurotypical people. But here’s where roleplaying games shine. These games create a space where people can practice social skills, learn the rules of interaction, and gradually build the confidence to engage with others. It’s helped people who’ve felt left out or judged find their footing in social situations, from being comfortable with small talk to understanding facial expressions and even finding friends (Goodall, 2021).

Tabletop roleplaying games also give players a chance to explore their own biases, ideas, and preconceptions in a safe environment. Research shows that roleplaying can affect behavior, emotional well-being, and even how we handle emotions like anger—directing them towards fictional scenarios rather than real-world conflicts. It’s like a sandbox for your psyche, where you can try on different personas and see what fits. For example, playing a confident character when you’re anxious in real life can be a way to have a dialogue with yourself about who you are and who you want to be. But the impact happens when players reflect on these experiences. At the end of the day, you’re the one who decides what these new perspectives mean for yourself and your life (Flournoy, 2018).

UNDERSTANDING THE CHARACTER

Characters are at the heart of every tabletop roleplaying game and creating them is a deeply personal process. From crafting their backstories to watching them grow, characters become extensions of ourselves. But how do we balance our intentions with the realities of play?

While the Game Master sets up the overall narrative, it’s the players who bring their personal stories to life through their characters. You might come up with a character concept first, like a brooding rogue or a bearded wizard, and flesh out the details later. Or you might start with the numbers, figuring out stats and traits first, and let the character’s story emerge naturally. A backstory isn’t required, but often just happens. It helps explain why your character makes the choices they do, or what drives them forward. And as you play, you discover more about who your character really is, making decisions from their perspective, not your own (DeHart, 2008; Shepherd, 2021).

Like mentioned before, you can create characters that are like you, or completely different. You might explore a new gender, a different background, or even try on a personality that’s unlike your own. This isn’t just about roleplaying; it’s a tool for empathy. By creating and stepping into a character, you’re imagining life from someone else’s perspective. You’re not just watching a story unfold; you’re responsible for how it plays out. It’s narrative empathy in action, and it helps you understand real-world identities (Shepherd, 2021).

The more you roleplay, the more you start to “become” your character. This shift happens when your character’s personality starts to shine through, and you instinctively know how they’d react to different situations. Maybe you create a character who’s an idealized version of yourself—a bold adventurer, a clever strategist, a femme fatale. But then, thanks to the unpredictability of the game (and some unfortunate dice rolls), they end up clumsy or foolish. Instead of forcing them back into your original vision, you go with the flow. The character evolves organically, and that’s where things start to come together. Trying to stick too rigidly to your initial idea can leave you feeling stuck or bored, which will also make it harder to immerse yourself. It’s often easier to play characters with physical traits, like a strong warrior, because you can rely on dice rolls and game mechanics. But playing a cunning or social character—like a master diplomat or a shrewd thief—often leans more on your own social skills and creativity. Sure, you can roll to persuade the king, but the real fun is in the conversation, in making those choices in character (DeHart, 2008; Harris, 2021).

As you get deeper into your role, your character starts to feel real. But even when they feel real, they’re still distinct from who you are in everyday life. You slip in and out of character, solving problems the way your character would, not how you would. If you’re playing a hot-headed barbarian, you might rush into battle without a plan—even if, in real life, you’d think things through. That’s what makes roleplaying so compelling: it’s the constant shifting between who you are and who your character is (DeHart, 2008).

This slipping in and out of character takes you between the different frames—those distinct spaces that lie between reality and fiction. You explore these spaces through your character, stepping into identities and experiences that you might not get to try in real life. Your character is a part of you, but they also stand alone. You’re not constantly thinking about how “real” your character is; you’re just playing a role. But when the game ends, they go back to being a story, and you return to your everyday life. It’s a seamless transition, but one that leaves an impact every time (DeHart, 2008).

UNDERSTANDING THE COLLECTIVE

So far, I’ve focused a lot on the individual experience. But tabletop roleplaying games are a collective experience, where the players’ choices shape the story and the dynamics around the table. You can’t bring your character to life without others to interact with, and the story doesn’t exist without a Game Master there to facilitate things. When you play together, the game’s story becomes a part of the group’s shared history. Players often talk about what happened in-game as if it were real—telling stories in the first person and reminiscing about their characters’ adventures like they actually lived them. The characters might only exist while you’re playing, but the emotions and memories? Those stick with you long after the game ends (DeHart, 2008).

Looking at tabletop roleplaying games through the lens of identity offers a glimpse into how we, as people, connect with each other. Our identities aren’t set in stone—they change based on our social connections. The way we see ourselves is always evolving, influenced by our imagination and our interactions with the world. Playing a tabletop roleplaying game isn’t just about creating and playing a character; it’s about connecting with your group and the broader roleplaying community. Whether you’re at a friend’s house, a game store, online, or at a convention, you’re forming collective identities through shared stories, rituals, and cultures. These shared experiences shape how we understand our lives and express who we are (Fuist, 2012).

These games can also be powerful tools for exploring complex social issues. Through the lens of characters, players can confront topics like racism and sexism. It’s not just about escaping reality; it’s about engaging with it. The game provides a space to explore real-world issues in a safe way, allowing players to approach these themes rather than run from them (Fuist, 2012).

At their core, tabletop roleplaying games let people connect, grow, and find their place in the world. They’re not just about rolling dice or defeating dragons—they’re about forging bonds, exploring identities, and tackling the big questions of who we are. They provide a unique platform for confronting personal and social issues, offering players a chance to see the world from different perspectives and to connect over shared challenges. It’s more than just play—it’s a way to transform, both individually and as a community.

UNDERSTANDING CULTURAL IMPACT

One of the biggest draws of tabletop roleplaying games is the sheer creative potential; they’re a playground for acting, problem-solving, and world-building. There’s something magical about stepping into a character and navigating a world that feels both real and imaginary. The liminal space of play creates room for self-reflection and transformation. Being a roleplayer isn’t just about rolling dice; it’s about shared values, interests, and sometimes even speaking and behaving in a way that’s unique to the gaming table. It’s like a shared language that helps players connect with each other and better understand themselves (DeHart, 2008; Williams et al., 2018).

Roleplayers learn this culture by playing games and engaging with the community. They don’t just absorb it_they help create it, shaping how to think, feel, and act. They learn the lingo, like what it means to “roll a 1” (you know, that feeling when everything goes wrong). And as the culture evolves, so do the games themselves (Williams et al., 2018).

But just like any form of art, tabletop roleplaying games are products of their time and place. They’re built on hundreds of pages of rules and worldbuilding that define how the game should be played. But because these games are written by people in a specific time and place, they often carry the biases and values of their creators. Tabletop roleplaying games aren’t static works; they’re social phenomena that evolve with the community. Look at Dungeons & Dragons, which has gone through multiple editions, each refining and redefining what it means to play the game. But even as the mechanics evolve, some cultural artifacts—like outdated viewpoints—can stick around, reflecting the beliefs of the era in which they were created (Garcia, 2017).

It’s not just the game designers who shape these narratives—players do too. When roleplayers create game worlds, they don’t do it in a vacuum. They bring in elements from their own lives, cultural experiences, and the media they consume. Every gaming group weaves in their own references, whether it’s in-jokes, iconic quotes, or memorable scenes from a show. But it’s not all positive; sometimes harmful perspectives like sexist tropes, homophobic slurs, or racial stereotypes sneak in as well. This mix of influences shows how tabletop roleplaying games aren’t just imaginative spaces; they’re mirrors reflecting the broader culture we live in (Ilieva, 2023).

Players draw inspiration from all sorts of media—comics, movies, video games—not just because it’s easy, but because it lets them take control of their entertainment. Tabletop roleplaying games provide a space to engage with friends and build something unique together. Both the designers who set the stage and the players who bring it to life are participating in creating art. It’s a shared creative process where everyone has a role (Underwood, 2009).

Tabletop roleplaying games offer a unique opportunity to create spaces where everyone can see themselves reflected, but they also reveal the gaps that still need to be filled. Now when we’ve learned about the games, about roles and identities, and about the stigma that many roleplayers have faced, I want to look at the concept of representation, and how tabletop RPGs can be an empowering tool for marginalized communities.

UNDERSTANDING REPRESENTATION

Players don’t come to the gaming table as blank slates. Everyone’s experiences, privileges, cultures, and backgrounds shape how they play and contribute to the game’s story. The moment you start roleplaying, especially in scenarios that involve power dynamics, you’re stepping into a political space. Tabletop roleplaying games can sometimes amplify existing biases, but they can also be powerful tools for self-exploration and defiance. Want to explore gender identities? Your character becomes a way to experiment and express yourself. Coming from a marginalized community? Your character is entirely your own, free from biased media portrayals. Roleplaying becomes a canvas where you can challenge the status quo. For those who have been historically gatekept from certain spaces, creating new ones through roleplaying is not just an act of defiance—it’s a way to survive and thrive in the face of exclusion (Kawitzky, 2020).

But creating a character you identify with is only the first step. You also need a supportive group that enables your exploration. Let’s look at an example: John creates a character he describes as autistic, reflecting some of his own experiences with autism. However, two other players, Mike and Sophia, who are also autistic, initially worry that John’s character might reinforce negative stereotypes. This sparks a conversation where John explains his intentions, and Mike and Sophia, understanding where he’s coming from, accept his character choice. This creates a safe space for John to explore aspects of his character that are meaningful to him. Without that support, John wouldn’t feel comfortable exploring this character out of fear of offending his friends (Shepherd, 2021).

Stigma follows many marginalized people, often leading to feelings of confusion and isolation. For queer people, for example, coming to terms with their identity can be a long, painful journey. Even as you start to accept who you are, society might not be so accepting. Social exclusion can make even the simplest things—like using a public bathroom—a source of stress and isolation. Positive relationships help, but they aren’t guaranteed. Some people face harassment, violence, or mistreatment simply for being themselves (Goodall, 2021).

When it comes to roleplaying, feeling safe and supported by other players is crucial. Many roleplayers, especially those from marginalized communities, feel more comfortable playing with people who share similar experiences. One player, Alex, preferred gaming with close friends or others with autism. June preferred playing with other women and gay people. Morgan, who played D&D in the Navy, avoided playing female characters out of fear of being called out as gay. It wasn’t until he joined a predominantly queer group that he felt free to express his character fully. Elliot, who is non-binary, felt alone in a group of mostly cis men, who often engaged in humor and behaviors that weren’t inclusive (Harris, 2021).

Playing with others who understand your identity reduces the burden of constantly having to explain or justify yourself. Queer spaces, for instance, offer a kind of shorthand—an unspoken understanding that makes it easier to be authentic. Many queer roleplayers seek out these groups because it feels like a mental relief, a place where they don’t have to educate others about their lived experiences (Harris, 2021).

But it’s not just about feeling seen and valued as a player; your character’s choices should also matter within the game’s story. A good Game Master isn’t there to antagonize; they’re there to create a space where your character’s story is important. They should respect boundaries and present challenges that are meaningful and engaging (Harris, 2021).

While many players from marginalized communities find comfort in spaces that reflect their own identities, tabletop roleplaying games can also enable exploration and discovery within those marginalized spaces. For some, it’s a way to explore who they are and where they fit in. Morgan experimented with gender identity by playing female characters; Elliot played an effeminate character, which helped them embrace their non-binary identity. Alex’s preference for strong female characters aligned with their sense of gender nonconformity. Kay, who played a male character to explore gender fluidity, found that being misgendered by other players disrupted their immersion (Harris, 2021).

Many players describe barriers based on past experiences, but once they find a group that makes them feel safe, those walls come down. The key takeaway is that establishing trust and comfort among players is essential for meaningful play. Modern roleplaying games now emphasize session zero and safety tools for a reason. Those tools and game design choices do not limit play. It’s the exact opposite. They open possibilities for different kinds of groups and games, creating inclusive spaces where everyone can feel engaged and immersed (Harris, 2021).

CONCLUSION

In this article, we’ve explored how tabletop roleplaying games are far more than just games—they are powerful spaces for self-discovery, creativity, and connection. Through roleplaying, we push the boundaries of who we are and who we might become. We can step into new identities, challenge societal norms, and explore complex aspects of ourselves in ways that we cannot normally do in everyday life. Whether you’re exploring gender, facing personal challenges, or just having a fun time with your friends, these games offer a space where you can safely ask, “What if?”

But the true magic of tabletop roleplaying games lies in the community. It’s the shared stories, the laughter, the struggles, and the victories that make character experiences real and turn game nights into memories. The group is the heart of the experience—without it, there are no stories, no characters, no game. The games remind us that we’re never just playing alone; we’re always collaborating with those around us, building something great together (DeHart, 2008).

Tabletop roleplaying games can be many things: a therapeutic tool, a social outlet, a space to learn, or simply a way to unwind and have fun. They can help us communicate, make decisions, and form bonds that might never have existed otherwise. But it’s important to remember that the impact of these games isn’t guaranteed—it all depends on the dynamics of the group and the willingness of players to support and uplift one another. A positive environment can turn these games into powerful engines of personal growth, while a negative space can do the opposite, leaving players disappointed, disconnected, or excluded (Flournoy, 2018; Goodall, 2021).

Tabletop roleplaying games invite us into realms of possibility, drawing us from the everyday into a world where we can see ourselves in new ways. Every game is a chance to explore, experiment, and reflect on who we are and who we might want to be. It’s about more than escape—it’s about connection. It’s about finding those magical moments where you feel seen, heard, and valued for exactly who you are (Harris, 2021).

So, the next time you sit down at the gaming table, remember: it’s not just a game. It’s an opportunity to discover something new about yourself and the world around you. Every roll of the dice, every character choice, and every shared story is a step toward understanding who we are, both as individuals and as a community. Whatever you do, keep playing, keep exploring, and keep telling stories.

SOURCES

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