This Feature’s technically part of my ongoing True Campaign Managery Course. If you aren’t following that series, use The True Campaign Managery Course Index to start at the start and catch up.

This Feature’s also technically part of the True Mechanical Managery Module that’s dominated the last several True Campaign Managery lessons, but it’s also kind of a one-off thing. Frankly, if this thing I was about to spew didn’t grow directly from all my recent crap about Character Death and if it weren’t explicitly related to policy-setting in tabletop roleplaying game campaigns, I’d have just flagged it as Random Bullshit and called it a day.

I guess that works for a warning.

A Campaign Managery Digression: Changing Character Faces

I’m pretty deep into outlining the next major lessons in both this course — True Campaign Managery — and my other one — True Scenario Designery — so I’m gonna take a minute to do a one-off that came up as a result of that giant-ass Character Death thing.

See, I discovered — accidentally — that something that I never considered an issue — not even a tiny little bit — is a major problem for some of y’all. Maybe lots of y’all; I don’t know. But in working it out with a couple of you, I stumbled on something that’ll make for a good lesson about setting practical policies and resolving actual conflicts in the real world.

And by real world, I of course mean at the game table. Because that’s all I ever write about.

See, Game Masters love to get into these deep, analytical debates about hypothetical issues in Discord servers and on Reddits and shit like that. But once they get just a little high on their own farts, the hypoxia breaks their brains and they totally forget that reality is a thing. In my own Discord server, we call these “spherical chicken in a vacuum” discussions and when I, personally, call them out, I add a few swears for good measure.

So, today, I want to talk about an issue, yes, and suggest a general Campaign Management policy you should all consider implementing, but I also want to give you an amazing trick for breaking out of all the hypothetical theorycrafting crap so you can come up with actual solutions that have a chance of actually working at your game table.

The One Benefit of Character Death (Sarcastic Italics)

Remember how I hinted that there’d been a huge-ass thing in my Discord server about Character Death as an idea because of what I’d written? Well, technically, when it started, no one had read that crap I wrote. Also, technically, I started it. But I started it because of what I was writing.

I ain’t gonna go into the whole thing here and I don’t want to have it out in this comment section, but it all came down to a question about what good, from a game design perspective — because Game Design Über Alles —  Character Death actually brings to the table that’s worth all the giant headaches it creates, especially given how many players hate their characters dying and how many Game Masters hate killing them.

Don’t answer. Not here. Not the point.

Now, I ain’t gonna call any dumbass out by name here, but one of my followers proposed one, specific gameplay benefit of Character Death that they considered pretty valuable.

Character Death gives players a way to switch to a new character if they want to.

My reaction was much what you’d expect. At least initially. I did the Blinking Carey Elwes Meme thing for about three minutes while the stroke cleared and then, when my brain rebooted, I tried to make sense of what I’d just heard. Read. Whatever.

Thereafter, what I did probably isn’t what you’d expect from me because you jerks never give me any credit. You just assume I always pick the Path of Most Asshole.

See, when someone says something that legitimately confuses me, the first thing I do is ask questions. I always want to understand where people are coming from, if only so I can explain in precise, specific detail why that’s a stupid place to come from. I don’t argue until I understand what I’m actually arguing against. I know that’s now how the Internet works, but it’s how I work.

Shut up; it is. The reason you don’t see it is because you dumbasses can’t tell the difference between understanding and agreeing. But I digress…

I learned something very interesting and, because of that, I’m actually going to drop making fun of my poor, bedraggled followers for saying what they said. It actually wasn’t a dumb thing to say and the reasoning made perfect sense once I had some heretofore unknown context. The unknown context was this…

Some Game Masters consider the idea of players changing characters to be so disruptive as to disallow it on principle. They think it’s detrimental to play for many of the same reasons that I said Character Death is a giant pain in the ass. Consequently, some Game Masters only let players change characters when they put the original character in the dirt. Hypothetically, then, a player could plan their character’s death to allow them to change and thus, Character Death provides a way for players to swap characters.

I get the logic, I really do, it’s just alien to me. I’ve never stopped a player from changing characters and I’ve never demanded the OC be murdered to make way for the new hotness. There’s always a way to write a character out and write a new character and, frankly, I’d rather do that than deal with Character Death. Because, despite what some people think, Changing Characters is nothing like Character Death at all. They’re totally different and Changing Characters carries almost none of the serious problems that Character Death does.

So You Want to Change Your Character: A Guide for Angry Players

Here’s how I handle character swaps in my campaigns. And in a rare move, I’m gonna claim this is pretty close to a general, one-size-fits-all policy. I know I’ve been beating the pick the right policy for your specific game drum heavily in this whole True Campaign Managery thing, but this policy’s kind of unique in that I think it’s probably the best fit for almost every campaign no matter what.

Hopefully, you’ll see why by the end…

If you want to change your character, tell me that and it’ll happen. There are just two conditions.

First, you have to work with me to make it happen in a way that’s minimally disruptive to the ongoing game. You can’t just show up with a new sheet and say, “This is me now.” It may take a couple of sessions to make the transition happen. We’ll decide how and when the old character leaves the party and what they do next. We’ll work out the new character’s details — race, class, background, etc. — based on what’s appropriate for the campaign and the setting and the current in-game situation. Finally, we’ll agree on when and how the next character will appear on camera.

Might you be stuck playing your old character for a session or two to get the game to a point where we can make the swap? Yes. And I expect you to play in good faith. No intentional suicide, no purposely rushing the party back to town to meet your new you, none of that bullshit.

This is the sort of thing you can pull off when you just sit down with a player, understand their needs, communicate your own, and seek a compromise. Everyone can walk away happy if they’re willing to give a little. Crazy? Yeah, but then, I’m a crazy guy.

The second condition is that if you change your characters frequently enough that I feel like it’s affecting the continuity of the game or party cohesion or whatever, we’re gonna have a talk about that. I don’t need a written policy for that; that’s just me being a manager. When there’s a problem behavior, you address the behavior. I’ve got no problem saying, “You’ve been through three character changes in six months and it’s really getting disruptive to the continuity, it’s creating extra work for me, and it’s preventing the rest of the party from building an attachment to you so you’re becoming an outsider. What gives? Why are you having trouble settling on a character you want to play? Let’s work this out because it can’t go on like this.”

Again, I know that’s crazy-ass shit, but I am Crazy Uncle Angry.

I totally acknowledge that frequent character changes aren’t great for the game. Roleplaying games need teamwork and camaraderie and it’s hard to build that when the team members keep shifting. Roleplaying games also rely on permanence and continuity and consequences and character continuity is the primary continuity that holds roleplaying games together, so character switching is a mess there too. Moreover, while retiring and replacing characters ain’t onerous like Character Death is because it doesn’t catch you by surprise and you can handle it at your own pace and on your own terms, it does eat up some table time and requires extra effort.

The point is that, while a single character change is a minor inconvenience at worst, repeated changes are a pain in the ass. That’s why I don’t actually advertise my policy. If players ask for a change, I grant it, but they’ve got to ask. Of course, if I notice an unhappy player or if someone says some dumbass thing like, “I wish that had killed my guy; I’m ready for a change,” I’ll do a sidebar and offer a change. I’ll always ask why a player wants a change, of course, but that ain’t because players have to justify the change. It’s just so I can make sure there’s not some underlying, unaddressed problem that character change won’t solve.

See, I don’t want a player that feels trapped in a character they’re not happy playing. Not ever. There’s no benefit to that. It’s not good for the game, it’s not good for the player, and it’s not good for the group. Now, sometimes players do get temporarily unhappy and sometimes there are minor tweaks that can fix unhappiness without the need for a whole new character. That’s why players have to ask for it and why there’s a conversation. My goal is to leave the player happy with what they’re playing but to also find the smallest, easiest solution that’ll get there.

That said, once a player gets it into his head that the only solution is to change characters — and once they start imagining how much better the game will be with their new character — they’re gonna need that change. It’s unavoidable. They will never be happy with their current character. That’s how people’s brains work.

Manuals Make Terrible Managers

Now you know my written — but not technically published in the Player’s Guide — Character Swap Policy. It’s one of my only standing Campaign Policies and Procedures that I apply to pretty much every game I run no matter what I’m doing. It’s also one of the only Campaign Policies and Procedures I’d actually recommend everyone pretty much apply to their own games. The alternative is a written policy whereby an unhappy player is forced to stay unhappy. That’s kind of the opposite of everything a good Game Master is going for, no?

It’s important, though, to remember that your personal judgment overrides every Policy and Procedure in the manual. People forget that shit. Campaigns need actual managers, not just Policy and Procedure Manuals. The policies and procedures just streamline dealing with reasonably foreseeable and fairly common issues and they prevent stress and conflict by reassuring everyone there’s a plan in place for most of the hiccups. But they can’t — and don’t — cover everything…

Consider…

The party’s in the middle of a deep dungeon in some remote corner of the disc. It’s pretty tense. After one session mired in the dungeon, Adam pulls you aside and says, “Hey, I’m not really happy with Ardrick anymore. Can I change characters?” You say, “Of course. I don’t want you stuck playing a character you’re not happy with, but the party’s pretty deep adventuring in no man’s land right now, so I’m going to ask you to stick with Ardrick for a session or two until we reach a natural break in the game, cool?” Then, Adam flips the frak out. He starts yelling about how he can have a new character ready to go before the next session and that party can just find a prisoner or something because it doesn’t matter and that Matt Frigging Mercer wouldn’t treat him this way or whatever.

Basically, Adam loses his mind and throws a tantrum.

Your Policy and Procedure Manual just ain’t gonna cut it. It’s time to be a Campaign Manager. What you do will depend on your relationship with Adam and how out of character this is for Adam and whether you can de-escalate and get him talking, but it ain’t really about Character Swapping Policy anymore, is it?

Consider the same situation, but Adam responds with something like, “Okay, I get it. I can’t change right now. I’m just gonna skip the next couple of sessions, all right? Let me know when I can start a new character and I’ll come back. Here’s Ardrick sheet. Do whatever you have to with it.”

Every actual Campaign Manager reading that just said, “Shit, something’s really wrong and you need to get to the bottom of it.” Adam’s totally going along with the Policy and Procedure Manual, but it’s clear he’s seriously upset about something if he’s willing to skip games rather than play Ardrick for a few more sessions. So, again, it’s time to put the manual aside and be a manager.

You seem really unhappy. I thought you really liked Ardrick. I am not going to force you to play a character you don’t want to play and I don’t want you feeling like you have to skip games either. Can you tell me why you’re feeling this way?

Roleplaying games have Game Masters for a reason. It’s absolutely frigging impossible for a pile of rules and code, by themselves, to provide an open-ended, immersive, fully-responsive roleplaying gaming experience. Which, by the way, is why I’m not scared of A.I. taking my job. Maybe someday; not today.

Campaigns need Campaign Managers for the same reason. No Policy and Procedure Manual can cover the full length, width, breadth, depth, and heighth of everything a Campaign Manager’s got to do. A manual can’t determine whether Tantrum Adam is a problem player or whether he just totally snapped because of something completely unrelated. Maybe he got a call yesterday that his dad died or something and this whole dumbass thing about pretend elves is just his emotional dam breaking. Shit like that does happen. A manual also can’t determine whether Withdrawn Adam is hiding the fact that something you did during the session — that you thought was innocuous — left him feeling like his character is tainted or ruined. Shit like that happens too.

Policy and Procedure Manuals are great tools. You absolutely need one. But they’re purely theoretical. You write them alone outside the situations they’re meant to govern and away from the actual people with the actual feelings they affect. You write them to handle the most obvious, most likely, simplest-to-handle problems — which are also the most common problems — so that shit doesn’t disrupt your game. You still need a Manager’s judgment to know when to execute the policy and when you’re beyond its limits.

Which brings me to…

Real Solutions for Real People

Someone in that long Discord conversation about Character Swapping raised the idea of a player changing their character super early in the campaign. Too early to even really know if the character worked or not. Say, after just one session of play, a player says, “I ain’t happy with my character; I want a change.” It was suggested, perhaps rightly, that the player can’t possibly have identified a problem that quickly and so, they — the person doing the talking here — said they’d require the player to stick out at least two more sessions and then they’d revisit the discussion about a Character Swap.

As an aside, that naturally led to the idea of a Cooldown Period — a written policy that says you can’t change characters until you’ve played a character for at least three sessions or whatever.

That seems totally reasonable, right? It is. On paper. It’s a good solution for spherical chickens in a vacuum.

I ask you now — as I asked my Discordian — to think about how that would actually play out.

So, a player comes to you at the end of the first session of a new campaign and says they don’t like the character they made. They say they want to make a new character. You say, “I’m sorry to hear that, but you can’t change characters after just one session. You should give it more of a chance. Play for two more sessions and then, if you’re still unhappy, we can arrange a change, okay?” What are the actual odds, if you’re totally honest, that that player’s going to have two good, fun sessions? Do you think they’re going to be invested? Or do you think it’s more likely they’re just going to grind through the probationary period because you required it and then say, “No, I’m still unhappy, but I already made a new character so I can start this one right away.”

It’s absolutely always worth discussing why a player’s unhappy and talking through different solutions, but unless a player is already in a receptive state, all you’re doing is trapping a player in a skin they’re miserable wearing. The truth is, most people don’t change their minds about how they feel once they’ve decided they feel a certain way and settled on a solution. By the time a player comes to you asking for a change, most have already gotten themselves entrenched in the idea that it’s their only solution.

Online gaming discussions — be they about rules or mechanics or systems or about policies and procedures or about interpersonal conflicts with or between real human players — online discussions often spin so far off into the Realm of Theory that their conclusions can’t possibly work back in the real, practical, ugly world of people. You have no idea how many times I’ve watched people theorycrafting new rules or mechanics or systems that get so fiddly and picayune that they’d be impossible to remember or keep track of at the table or to program into a VTT without requiring flipping between three different tabs or pages or whatever.

That’s why — and this is the important lesson I want you to take from this and also where I’m going to end — whenever you’re working out a design or a policy or a solution to anything away from the actual game table, alone or with others, stop and ask yourself periodically, “What would it look like if I actually did this with the human people at my table? How is this actually going to work? How will I actually track this? How will the player I’m dealing with actually feel? What are they actually likely to do? What will this look like in the real, actual, ugly world of practical people?”

Moreover, you can say, “I’ll write my policy this way and I’ll just provide exceptions in the moment if things go bad,” but you’re better off writing the policy for when things go bad and then making exceptions when they go good. Why? Because the whole point of writing policy is so that you don’t have to count on yourself to be smart and alert and aware in the actual, emotional moment when you’re on the spot. That’s when you’re most likely to miss shit. If your policy assumes the best and counts on you to recognize when things aren’t that good, you’re writing a policy that maximizes the fallout from your mistakes and leaves you on your own when you’re most prone to making mistakes. That’s really ass-backward.

And, really, that’s all I have to say here today. Just let your players change characters if they want to because there’s no margin in refusing them and sanity check yourself when you’re making plans, policies, procedures, or designs away from the table — and especially on the Internet — to ensure shit’s going to work when you bring it back to the real world.

Because, sadly, people aren’t spherical chickens and they can’t survive a vacuum. Trust me, I have verified both of those facts experimentally.