Player Guide

//Taken from a post on my old forums, by Shadowlance.

First off, I’m not posting this to single out anyone. If you’re reading
these and thinking “what an asshole, he thinks that’s me”, stop. I’m
posting this arbitrarily for information’s sake. Everyone has been
guilty of one or more of these at some point. We grow as roleplayers by
improving. I can tell you personally I’ve been just about every one on
the list.

Below is a catalog of problem players and the various
ways that you as a Storyteller might want to deal with them. Keep in
mind that not every problem player will fall into these groups. Most
players have a couple of faults that they exhibit to vary degrees
depending on their mood, the situation and how easily you’re annoyed at
the time. Really bad players can be so addled as to defy categorization
and aren’t worth the effort of taxonomy, anyway.

**The Star**
Creativity gone out of control, this player creates a
tremendously
 detailed character. The character comes complete with detailed
histories, biographical sketches, subplots, associated Storyteller
characters, turn-ons, turnoffs, spring and autumn wardrobes and
everything else that could conceivably be needed to portray the
character as the focus of a Dickens novel. The player then wants you to
become familiar with this material and incorporate it into your game.
All of it. If the group is like this, it just means the game is
immensely demanding to run. If just one or two of the players are like
this, the game rapidly becomes their show, with the other characters as
the supporting cast.
**Solution:** Dealing with a Star
is harder than you’d think. Players who spend several hours a day
detailing their characters generally want to see that hard work
incorporated into the game. This is made more difficult by the fact that
 the material is often quite imaginative, it’s just that there’s too
much of it to use without consuming the game. You’re left with the
choice of either running large numbers of solo stories for the character
 (and thus rewarding the player for disruptive behavior by giving them a
 central role in the game) or else just resolutely ignoring the fruits
of the player’s labor. This can potentially breed bad blood, but it’s
very difficult to tell this sort of player to stop, because the output
is often high quality, and the player is acting on innocent motives. The
 best solution is to hopefully steer the player toward a bluebooking
effort or perhaps rewarding their diligence by giving them a few bonus
experience points if they keep a detailed record of the chronicle.

**The Prodigy**
Players
 invest a lot of love into their characters. Unsurprising, given that
the character is the player’s cool, supernaturally powerful alter ego in
 a fantasy world that exists just for the gratification of the players.
When that character fails, the player sometimes experiences a profound
feeling of disempowerment. Things like Willpower points exist to allow
characters to succeed at the things the players really want, but some
players are very sensitive about failure. These players generally either
 insist that you’re short-changing them or just get angry and sulk. In
either case, it’s not good for the game, because it happens at critical
moments.
**Solution:** Ideally, you would just say,
“Grow the hell up.” If the player has no reason to complain, then feel
free to say it. Sometimes, however, the player will have at least some
reason to sulk. It’s essential that you not encourage players to throw
tantrums when then don’t get their way, but don’t discount all player
dissatisfaction as whining. Remember that as a Storyteller, you’re there
 to facilitate an enjoyable game. While it can be horrible for the game
 if you just ignore the rules, it’s just as bad to follow them
dogmatically. If the game could be run straight from a book, you
wouldn’t need a human Storyteller.

**The Freak**
Some
 people confuse horror and disgust. Other people’s parents didn’t know
enough to just ignore Junior when he stuck out his tongue and showed the
 family what he’d been eating. In either case, the result is someone who
 confuses roleplaying that makes the characters uncomfortable with
descriptions and situations that make the other players uncomfortable.
Lesbian incest and detailed gore-romps lead the way in a parade of poor
taste. Some players may do this to be “mature” (that is, say things
their parents wouldn’t like), and others may do it just to creep out
those unfortunate enough to bear witness. The end result serves no real
purpose but to offend, take up time and be dumb.
**Solution:**
 Tell the player to stop, and refuse resolutely to get excited or
offended. Because offensive things are almost always done to attract
attention, the more you ignore it, the less the player is rewarded for
bad behavior.

**The Terminator**
Be it
with Feral-Claw-whirling, Celerity-boosted, kung fu action or with twin
double-barreled twelve-gauges spewing Dragonsbreath hell, this player
knows that the most important thing their character can do is kill
things. In fact, almost any obstacle, real or perceived, will be met
with a bullet or mighty blow. This is not only hard on the scenery, it’s
 also hard on the plot. Every interrogation is the Saint Valentine’s Day
 Massacre. Every Storyteller character, no matter how obviously powerful
 or critical to the plot, is beaten down and their wallet searched for
clues.
**Solution:** Too many computer RPGs or
hack-and-slash campaigns have left this player unable to tell the
difference between storytelling and a first-person shooter. Generally,
outside the sort of carnivals of carnage that are their native
environment, these characters don’t last long. They normally make one
brief, frenzied suicide run until the forces of sanity catch up with
them, usually in the form of other players’ characters.
Unfortunately,
 the games that make up these players’ native environment have
Chow-Yun-Fat-level body counts for players’ characters as well as bad
guys. When their characters are killed, these players will happily have
another go at things, immediately. Some may even make up several
characters ahead of time in preparation for their untimely demise; not
too hard, as they’re typically a carbon copy of the last character. On
the good side, these players get bored easily. If you run things
realistically and just have them automatically slay mortals in their
path, they’ll either start roleplaying to get out of the center of the
mess they’ve caused, get tired of all this boring character interaction
and leave the game by the third session or get killed. In the latter
case, just tell them they’re not suitable to the game or make the player
 wait another month until you get around to introducing their new
character. By that time, they’ll be long gone.

**The Rules Lawyer**
Your
 every judgment and ruling is recorded and meticulously filed in the
mind or notebook of these players. They will extrapolate from these
rulings, and when they attempt to do something ludicrous and derail the
game, you will be told the day and time of all rulings you’ve made
pursuant to the subject. The end result of this proof is inevitably that
 you have already in fact ruled in favor of the matter, and it is now
irrevocable. It is difficult to describe the degree of irritation
experienced when you must make perfectly sound and accurate rules
judgments on the fly while running a fiveplayer game.
**Solution:**
 If you’ve handled one of these players before, all the subsequent ones
are a snap (assuming you know the game really well). To some extent,
this player has a legitimate case. Yours rule interpretations define the
 way the world works. Players shouldn’t have to guess what’s going to
happen when they do something elementary. On the other hand, these
players are caught up in mastering the rules of the game and not in
playing it. Reserve the right to change snap judgments after giving them
 some thought out-of-game. Reserve the right to contradict yourself.
Reserve the right to change the way well-established things work if it’s
 required to keep the game from breaking down. The Storyteller exists
precisely because of the need to have human moderation and intervention.
 Do your job and keep things running smoothly and enjoyable for all
concerned, and rationalize the results after the fact.

**The Chump**
It’s
 inevitable that a player who has only minimal social skills will
eventually decide to play a Ventrue ex-CIA interrogation specialist who
was a high-society debutante prior to joining the Company. So what do
you do when the slickest thing since Caine invented Presence is
stumbling around in circles trying to introduce herself? This can be a
serious disruption to a game, particularly if the group lets each
character be unchallenged in their specialty.
**Solution:**
 If the player’s social ineptitude is only marginal or if the group is
willing to accept a certain amount of abstraction, you can use the
player’s attempts as an indication of general intent. Once you’ve
determined the direction of their efforts, have the player make rolls
using the character’s social Abilities to determine how well the
character performs. After all, the players don’t have to shoot a gun
with a certain amount of accuracy for their characters to hit in combat.
 Sometimes everyone needs to ask to make a roll because they aren’t as
good as the character. These folks just need to do it more often than
everyone else.
If the group doesn’t tolerate abstraction of social
situations or if the player has more serious social problems (like
severe shyness or no understanding of how humans interact), this
approach won’t work so well. At the point where the bulk of the
character’s social interaction is simulated with dice, you really have
to steer the player away from social roles. Try to encourage them to
take combat or planning characters, rather than acting as the group’s
talking head. The whole reason for face-to-face storytelling is the
interactivity. While using dice as a crutch is acceptable - that’s why
the systems exist - having the party’s primary social character rolling
out her every social encounter really defeats the point of the game.

**The Dolt**
Someone
 has to be the dullest knife in the drawer, and this player is that
someone. Clues inevitably elicit mistaken conclusions. Interactions with
 Storyteller characters go in unexpected and unrewarding directions.
These players usually learn about the plot via a slow, step-by-step
explanation given to them by a fellow player roughly three seconds away
from a homicide rap. Worse, these players are often very defensive about
 their lack of insight, and the tensions that develop between the group
as a whole and its less mentally apt members can be very difficult to
manage.
**Solution:** There’s not much you can do about
dumb players. If you’re running a sophisticated or complicated game, it
 can be a real disruption to have one or more players unable to
comprehend the point of the exercise. If someone’s just a little slow,
have them make some Intelligence + Whatever rolls, and toss out some
clues - everyone needs hints now and again. Couch your revelations in
statements like, “You realize that the priest may have been lying to
you,” to prod the player in the right direction. If you like the player,
 throw him the occasional bone of a non-mentally challenging situation
where his character can shine.
If the player is dumber than a frog on
 a log, try to steer them toward characters who have similar
shortcomings, but be subtle. People get defensive at phrases like,
“You’re too dumb to play a Tremere.” Don’t kick someone in the ego
without expecting a response. Leave your egalitarian ideals at home:
You’re a Storyteller, not a social worker. Dumb players who are a
serious disruption or a liability that a delicate narrative can’t afford
 should be cut out of the group.

**The Wallflower**
This is the player, often new
to gaming, with a case of terminal shyness. Quietly, she sits in the
back of the group and watches the game go by. During periods when your
game shifts into high-gear,
everyone-shouting-at-the-top-oftheir-lungs-to-be-heard mode, you may not
 even notice this player is present for 30 or more minutes at a time.
This can be quite disruptive when the player timidly sits out several
turns of a major combat.
**Solution:** Don’t confuse
someone who is portraying a quiet character with a problem player. Not
every vampire talks constantly. If it is the player and not the
character playing her cards close to her vest, it can take a lot of work
 as a Storyteller to coax her out of her shell.
First, open up your
game to a sincere, quiet, interested audience. A lot of really quiet
players just want to watch the game unfold but can’t do that without a
character. Save yourself the disruption of a character whose player is
really just there to watch, and soak up the ego boost of having
spectators at your game. Once you get used to the idea of having them
around, spectators who are quiet and nondisruptive are no problem at
all. Just think of your game as avante garde theatre and don’t get stage
 fright.
Second, make sure as Storyteller that you are doing your
part. It is not intuitive to people raised with a conventional set of
manners that the best way to make themselves heard in a shouting crowd
is to shout louder. A lot of people become frightened or confused by the
 amount of talking out of turn that goes on in a game. Make sure you ask
 the players for their opinions and actions. You should already be
trying to distribute your attention equitably. Assert yourself and let
the quiet person get a word in edgewise over the loud-mouthed gumby
telling you that she’s also going to study the Ritual of Smash the Major
 Antagonist.
Meanwhile, take the player aside and explain to her that
 she must be assertive or that she will get trampled. Obviously, people
don’t just spring into a new social situation, but over the course of a
few sessions, the player should start to express herself without
prompting. Make it clear to the player that you won’t be there to
support her forever. You may lose some players this way, but eventually
you have to take off the training wheels.

**The Veteran**
It
 is a natural human urge to tell stories. Unfortunately, some people
have problems restraining this urge. Any event in play (or any event at
all, in the worst cases) is a sufficient excuse for this player to
launch into an extended war story about a past chronicle, the player’s
military exploits or any one of 10,000 other topics. This is made worse
by the fact that the recitation is usually delivered with sufficient
volume to drown out the voices of more focused players.
**Solution:**
 There is no game session without kibitzing. The average session will
probably run between a fifth and a third digression, particularly if the
 players are part of a social group that doesn’t assemble very often
outside of the game. Try to set aside some time at the beginning of the
 session for people to socialize. If the group takes a meal break, let
it be a fairly long one to allow more time for socialization. During
play, become familiar with the use of the words “let’s keep the game
moving.” Like acting out, telling stories is a way to be the center of
attention. If you and all the players stop dead, look coldly at the
disrupter, sigh lightly and ask if you could please get on with the game
 now, you’d be surprised how many people fall in line.

**The Loathsome Quoter**
Compulsive
 digression is at least amusing when you haven’t yet heard the stories
fives times each. However, you and everyone in your group may well have
heard everything Yoda and those wacky guys from Monty Python have to
say. Nevertheless, it is almost certain that you will get to hear it
again (and again, and again) at the hands of the Loathsome Quoter. What
exactly makes the abuse of flaccid, stock gamer humor such a critical
part of some people’s storytelling experiences is unknown. Whatever the
cause, you can bet that when a character rushes to the side of his
former mortal love, now a withered and sickly old woman, a voice will
echo from across the room “When 900 years old you be..” totally
destroying the moment.
**Solution:** Tell the player to
stop quoting Highlander at inappropriate moments. Dock her experience
points if she doesn’t. Invite her to leave if she continues to do so.
Quoting is a vile habit and encourages inbred thinking.

**The Two-Fisted Coward**
A
 more specialized version of the player whose character is too cool to
fail, this player wants his character to be at the center of all the
exciting stuff but not to take any of the consequences for being the
person to press the button. He will insist on being at the head of any
situation, until it goes terribly wrong, at which point he will inform
you that he never took part. This will annoy you, and the resultant
arguments can waste an awful lot of time.
**Solution:**
Make sure you’re describing the scene well enough for the players to all
 visualize it in a roughly similar fashion. Make sure to ask everyone
where their character stands when some critical event begins unfolding,
and keep track of people’s location. Nobody wants to be told she’s in
the killing zone after having taken special precautions not to be there.
 When it finally comes down to it, you’re the arbiter, your word is law.
 If you say a character was leaning over the crypt when the Tzimisce
elder reached up to yank someone into the coffin, that character becomes
 so much dust under the elder’s fangs. End of story. Don’t abuse the
powers of Storyteller omnipotence.

**The Player Slayer**
Any
 time in-character actions or relationships start mirroring
out-of-character relationships, problems are developing in your game.
They may fester for a long time before manifesting, or they may be as
instantaneous as someone starting a new character to “get” the character
 who killed the slighted player’s last character. In either case, you’re
 going to have problems with game continuity.
Real-world stuff
happens, and things like falling outs and budding romances among your
players aren’t really your business as a Storyteller. However, when
characters in a long-established continuity suddenly change attitudes to
 mirror the feelings of their players, that threatens the game, and that
 is your business.
**Solution:** This one is a potential
 game-killer. People are going to have lots of strong, irrational
feelings. You don’t have the right to dictate personal lives and
feelings, but you can damn well take the players in question aside and
insist privately that they either play nice in-game or that both of them
 are going to hit the bricks. The words “grow up” might be employed to
some effect. Do not, under any circumstances, play favorites. Other than
 this, all you can do is play damage control and figure out how to keep
the game going with one or more characters suddenly gone or dead.

**The Cardboard Character**
Some
 people confuse playing a unique and individualized character with
playing the last member of a dying race. Others have no intention of
actually playing a character but have a staggering list of guns and
swords listed on their sheet. These are the players who will beg you to
let them play a Baali, a Cappadocian, a shapeshifting vampire alligator
with true magic or a character “like the guy in Highlander, except he
has twin silver katanas and a pair of Ruger Redhawks loaded with Glaser
rounds. And an Uzi. Plus, he’s laserproof and invisible.”
**Solution:** The
 player may simply want kewl powerz or to be able to full-auto her way
through problems that would otherwise require thought. More likely, she
doesn’t understand that what makes a character unique isn’t the
implausibility of the character’s backstory or some berserk capacity for
 martialry. While you should pretty much just learn to say no, don’t be
too quick to pull the plug on your player’s creativity. Being a Lasombra
 antitribu or an arms broker isn’t going to somehow destroy your game.
The
 problem is when the character is either a collection of
powers/equipment cobbled together for no reason but killing things or
the personification of an improbable backstory, devoid of any real
personality other than clan stereotypes and a two-dimensional persona
ripped off of a syndicated cable science-fiction series. You can
generally tell the difference between the monkeys and the players
looking to do something interesting. Use your judgement, but don’t
forget that you have the right as Storyteller to veto crud, no matter
how long the player labored over cobbling together a list of Soldier of
Fortune’s favorite models.

**The Loremaster**
This
 player cannot refrain from thinking of the game in mechanical terms.
Any demonstration of supernatural ability will send the player scurrying
 through a stack of books trying to figure out precisely what power it
could have been. These players are often Rules Lawyers and will
generally use a plethora of proper nouns from other World of Darkness
games; for example, “Why, every neonate in the Tremere clan learns that
South America was once inhibited by shapeshifting bats called Camazotz
that were tainted by the malefic supernatural entity the Garou know as
the Wyrm!”
**Solution:** The amount of damage these
players can do to the atmosphere of the game at critical and dramatic
points is enormous. Compulsive taxonomists compete with the slobbering
combat junkies and Monty Python quoters for the bottom-feeder niches of
the gaming ecology. Tell the player to stop, penalize him experience if
he won’t, and ask him to leave the game if he still refuses to desist.
Nothing ruins a game’s mood like an obnoxious player rudely revealing
the puppet’s strings.

**The X-Factor**
For
 this player, the scheduling of the game is a matter to be determined on
 a week by week basis based on the time that is most convenient for
planning her day. She may arrive an hour or more late or may just never
show up at all.
**Solution:** Attendance is not an
optional thing for a storytelling game. While everyone has to cancel now
 and again, a player who can’t manage to show up on a regular basis is
best told to just save herself the occasional trouble and not show up at
 all. One easy way to combat this is to make a player show up for two or
 three sessions of “observing” an established game before you let her
create a character. If the player can’t make it through two or three
concurrent sessions without an absence, she doesn’t need to bother with a
 character.

**The Copycat**
This is
perhaps likened to a very peculiar form of hero worship or emulation. A
player will find either another player or a character he really likes
and admires and set out to have their character become like the other
player’s. Either he will ask to create a new character in the image of
the idol or else begin adopting more and more of the character’s habits.
 This also covers people who incessantly play characters from movies,
comics, books or other sources than their own mind. Solution: If done
because the player is conveying a character’s hero worship, this is
tremendously cool. If done because the player is suffering from hero
worship, it’s disturbing. It can mean a player is having personal
problems or self-confidence issues that, if you’re a friend, you may
want to talk to him about. It could just mean that he sees something he
idolizes in that player or character. It can also be that the player
isn’t a terribly original thinker or is convinced that he can’t have
cool ideas, so he feels compelled to lift them from someplace else.
Personal
 issues aside, you’re mostly interested in the fact that one of your
players is assiduously stealing the schtick of another. If that’s
impermissible by the house rules of the game, you need to talk to the
emulating player about it. A lot of these players flit from emulation to
 emulation, and there’s really no help for them, except to convince them
 that that it’s a bad idea to steal from movies or other players rather
than making up their own material.