Tact is not something that many of my characters have had over the years, occasionally, but they’ve tended to be very direct. I wonder why.

Having a high natural charisma or the ability to be persuasive doesn’t always indicate tact, and some situations must be handled delicately.

In our turn-of-a-new-leaf Call of Cthulhu campaign, one would never accuse my character, Terence McSweeny, of tact. Far from it. However, his counterpart, Alfred Smalls, was a master of it.

This didn’t mean that he never spoke his mind. He certainly did, but he was able to defuse situations and prevent things from escalating on more than one occasion. He seemed to have an knack for it.

I don’t know what it said on his character sheet, but I do know how he got played.

He wasn’t necessarily somebody you would associate with being a master of social situations. He certainly wasn’t, but he did have the ability to say some pretty outlandish things to people and have it sound somewhat rational.

Eventually, he got thrown in the insane asylum for a while, but that’s another story.

What gives one character privilege over another? What sets them apart? Did they earn it, or was it bestowed upon them? Are they even aware of it?

In our all-for-one regime diabolique campaign, it was a privilege to be a musketeer. We were able to do things most others were not, but it was more of an honor than anything else. Some people were impressed, and others, like the Cardinal’s Guards, were likely to bite their thumb at us.

In Circle of Hands, once you ask an NPC their name, they become a named character and have stats and are elevated from being just a regular background character. To a certain extent, they come alive. The player has bestowed upon them the privilege of becoming real, and this is an interesting thing to see happen.

In a curious sense, our characters have a privilege or a status over most of the other denizens of their world because of our attention. They act with an agency and independence outside of the run-of-the-mill people around them. This doesn’t mean that they’re protagonists, nor does it mean that all the non-player characters are simply lifeless background.

However, our attention has turned them into something else. Regardless of the game, at any moment a non-player character can be afforded this same level of privilege and realness.

What would our characters be doing without our attention? Would they just be another one of the sheep? That’s a strange question.

I wonder, do they consider it a privilege?

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?