Some characters have plenty of resolve, and some surprise you with how little they actually have.

In our turn of a new Leaf Call of Cthulhu game, I expected my character, Terence McSweeney, to have quite a bit of resolve. However, despite the fact that he would go toe-to-toe with gangsters, it seemed that exposure to the impossible and the supernatural had him faltering in his resolve more often than not. He still tried. He still had principles, but the enormity of the situation got the better of him on many occasions. I can’t fault him for that. I have no idea how I would have handled it. For all I know, he did better than I would have.

I’ve also seen characters with tremendous resolve. In our screaming for vengeance Hyperborea campaign the members of the Iron Eagle clan had tremendous resolve as they sought to recapture the Hammer of the Gods. They stood their ground as hordes of cultists tried to take it back, and they emerged victorious. They still faced more trials, and if we ever pick the campaign back up again, we will see what happens to them, but they always stood firm no matter what the opposition.

That’s one of those things that you never know until play goes on for a while. You might have an idea or a concept of a character in your head, but the real character that emerges takes on a life of their own.

In the world of role-playing games, mercy is kind of a rare bird. Think of it: our characters are actively doing something to steal a phrase from my friend Anthony: they are acting, reacting, and interacting with the world around them. Mercy might be the last thing on their minds.

At some point, your character has the power to punish or condemn somebody, giving them their just desserts. This isn’t violence for the sake of violence or condemnation for the sake of condemnation. This is administering justice, isn’t it? When do we stay our hands, and why?

Imagine Inigo Montoya finding the six-fingered man and telling him, “Go on, get out of here before I change my mind.” But maybe I’m not being fair. That was an awfully personal desire for justice. Perhaps Samwise Gamgee being merciful to Smeagol because he was so pathetic might be a bit closer.

However, role-playing games are not movies, and they are not novels. They are dynamic worlds with lots of moving parts, and our character is just one of them. Anything can happen, and ultimately we are sitting in the chair making decisions for the character or as the character. What would they do?

It’s not hard to imagine a character so human that they simply couldn’t administer justice when they had the chance, but it’s a rare thing, isn’t it? I’m trying to remember a time when this happened, and I’m sure I’m forgetting some, but I can think of far more examples where no quarter was given. Maybe this says something about us.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a character that reached everything that they strove after. Something was always just out of reach. Something was always left undone. There was a mystery left unsolved, a debt or a grudge left unpaid.

I don’t think this is a bad thing. Imagine what would happen if our characters were to accomplish everything they set out to do. What would they do next? What would we do next? What would be the point of having a game any longer? What would captivate and motivate them like an unfulfilled desire?

It’s frustrating. Trust me, I know. I’ve been there many, many times, but having these things just out of reach that irritate and motivate our characters is what makes the experience so captivating. At least it’s a big part of it. My characters will always continue to reach for something. Every once in a while, they’ll catch it, but these things are like slippery eels and escape from their grasp. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m trying to think of characters that I’ve had which you could say had poise. It’s not something that I normally would associate with most of my characters, which makes me laugh a little bit. I do recall some characters that had grace under pressure. At least I seem to remember that, but memory can be a tricky thing.

In our Star Wars: Age of Rebellion campaign, run by the UmbramancerEloy Cintron, my Bothan character, Bob, was quite a skilled pilot. We had some pretty dicey situations, and the video record might remember this differently, but I seem to recall him being rather calm and poised during these moments, unlike just about every other moment he had to deal with when he wasn’t behind the wheel of their ship.

Anthony’s character, Il-ha-na, was quite poised when the shit hit the fan and stormtroopers needed to be shot. I remember him standing there stoically and doing his thing while all hell broke loose. Once again, it’s possible I’m remembering this wrong, but that doesn’t seem likely, does it?

The most charming character I ever had wasn’t charming at all. In fact, he was quite reprehensible, and people could sense that from a mile away.

In a Lamentations of the Flame Princess game way back in 2011 I played in a game run by Joe the Lawyer as the Game Master. It was a great campaign, and Duras was my magic user. I totally named him after a Star Trek character, sue me.

In the beginning of the campaign. He was rather fond of using the old spell, “Charm Person”, which is something that I think we kind of didn’t appreciate as much in the past when we were children. It’s permanent, just as long as you don’t push the person that you have charmed too far. It takes a lot of tact, but you can slowly but surely create an army of yes men. You just have to know how far you can push them before things break, and that got to be quite a game in and of itself.

I’ve seen it done by other people when I was running a game, and I’ve done it with some other characters. It’s one of those things I couldn’t believe we didn’t explore more as kids, but then again, we were hacking and slashing and happily killing goblins at that point, not thinking long-term conquest and power.There are many different games that use something similar, and any time the results or effects are permanent as long as certain conditions are met, it starts to become this really intriguing long game.

It couldn’t possibly have any analog here in the real world, could it? No, that would be crazy. How could that happen?

Some games like 1979Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, and Call of Cthulhu have you roll to determine the size of your character. You could end up a corpulent man like Smalls in our Turn of a New Leaf Call of Cthulhu campaign, or you could end up a rather imposing fellow like Big John in AD&D. Sometimes this means you get stuck in a well, other times, well…

In 2026, our good friends Anthony and David.have suggested that we consider characters when we talk about these topics, maybe even make characters. As a person that is very interested in the experience of the character, that sounded like a great idea.

I had to think about all the characters I played, and much to my chagrin, not a lot of them were terribly disciplined.

Sure, in order to have the skills that they had, they certainly would have had to be disciplined. Perhaps Philippe Moreau in our All for One Régime Diabolique campaign was the most disciplined in terms of his practice of fencing. Outside of a couple of times that all occurred outside of play and were just assumed to be happening.h

However, another character in that game was consumed by discipline. Martin, played by Anthony “Runeslinger” Boyd, was among the most disciplined characters I have ever seen. He spent hours a day in prayer. Mechanically, this allowed him to improve his ability to be an effective musketeer and sometimes to heal the sick; however, it went far beyond that.

Martin carried himself with extreme discipline at all times, and this was something that just kind of oozed off of him. He was definitely one of the most serious characters I have met.

Our friend Scott aka disemvowel always mentions that there’s always some part of you in your characters, and perhaps this is true. Perhaps this is why my characters are somewhat less disciplined and Anthony’s tend to be more so. I don’t know, but whatever the cause, I can’t think of a more disciplined character than Martin.

Younger generations are scared if they’re going to be able build a good for life themselves, and that isn’t the case with Generation X and older millennials. We already have that, but we have a different fear: are we going to be able to keep it, or even something close?

It’s no secret that life has become more and more expensive in terms of the necessities, and everything seems to be a subscription. Some of us have done the math and realized that we might not ever be able to retire. At the same time, we’re starting to notice that we’re not capable of the same amount of sustained effort that we were when we built our lives.

To make matters worse, we watch our parents in their decline. While they certainly had it better than we do, we’re watching some of them have to sell their assets in order to pay for their care, or end up in really small, suboptimal conditions. In many cases their incomes have shrunk to the point where they can barely afford to live in an subsidized efficiency apartment. We’re stuck wondering if our future is going to be the same or even worse. 

Recovery is possible. Fourteen years ago, I woke up and didn’t use alcohol or any other drugs for the first time in over fifteen years. I haven’t used them since, but it was one day at a time.

I remember vividly watching other people live their ordinary lives: going to work, going to the store, playing with their children, and wondering how they were able to do that. I remember I used to be able to do that. I used to be able to do all of it without needing something just to function. I was pretty convinced that I had broken something and it felt like I was on the other side of a thick pane of unbreakable glass watching normal life. There was no way I was getting back. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that the trip was comfortable. It wasn’t. Early recovery is especially difficult, and early recovery means p

the first two years. I can tell you that it’s been worth it. Life still happens, so I can’t tell you that life will get better if you get clean, but I can promise you that you will get better.

I found that Narcotics Anonymous worked for me, even as an atheist, and I was able to work the steps just fine. I also chose total abstinence from everything, including alcohol and marijuana. For me, that was incredibly important.

Let me tell you: if you’re stuck, if you feel like there’s no way out, if you feel like you’re hopeless and broken, don’t give up on yourself. Go get help, but be prepared to do one of the most difficult things you’ve ever done in your life. It won’t be easy, but it is worth it. 

So many times in life, there are no guarantees, but I believe this is one exception. If you stay abstinent one day at a time and do the work to heal yourself, you will recover.