When the Dice Turn Cold: My Worst TTRPG Experiences (and What I Learned from Them)

Prelude

I don’t know if I’ve ever said it out loud, but I like TTRPGs. Maybe I’ve mentioned them briefly here and there, or touched on the topic in passing, but something about this world keeps pulling me in.

Jokes aside, these days I enjoy TTRPGs in my own way. I don’t play actively; in fact, it’s been over a year since I last ran a session. And as a player? I’ve only joined two games; both, honestly, were terrible.

That’s what today’s post is about.

I’m always talking about the wonderful side of this hobby (and trust me, there’s a lot to love) but I think it’s also good, even healthy, to talk about the bad experiences too. Let this be a cautionary tale for new adventurers, a reminder of what not to allow when you’re playing, whether it’s a random table or one with familiar faces.

Once upon a time…

There was a time when everything was Dungeons & Dragons. It was during the pandemic. I was bored, and one day I stumbled upon a group of young folks rolling dice and saying very strange words. It was the Critical Role crew, and they quickly guided me down a rabbit hole I’ve barely managed to crawl out of since.

I was instantly hooked. I needed my hourly doses of this new drug.

I bought everything: the Player’s Handbook, the Dungeon Master’s Guide, the Monster Manual. Miniatures. Maps. A 3D printer. And dice. So. Many. Dice. You have no idea how many math rocks I managed to acquire in just a few weeks, even without having played a single session.

I read and re-read all the manuals, bought the Starter Set with The Lost Mines of Phandelver, and studied it like a sacred text. I thought I was ready, and I literally forced my friends to gather and play (I was so insistent I probably annoyed them into submission).

The disaster.

All went down from the very beginning. They asked me questions I couldn’t answer. The social interactions were clumsy and awkward. And the combat… let’s not even go there. I didn’t know how to apply the rules, read a stat block, or improvise without breaking the flow. I made things up on the fly. Everything that could go wrong went worse.

Four hours of tension, panic, and confusion. I couldn’t balance narrative scenes with combat, and my players, who thought this was a “regular board game where you do stuff”, just wanted to fight.

I went home feeling completely defeated. The word “useless” echoed in my head. I was disappointed, mostly with myself because I knew it was my fault. I wasn’t prepared.

For weeks, I re-read the books, replayed the session in my head, and watched others play. I subscribed to every actual play I could find and watched every how to video out there, but I still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me.

Then I reached the only logical conclusion: I needed experience.

As usual, I tried to jump straight into running a full campaign, creating NPCs, subplots, villains, the whole world. Being the control freak that I am, I wanted to handle everything. But I didn’t have the fundamentals.

So I compared both roles on a table and, in my head, the player’s role was radically different from the DM’s, and, frankly, infinitely easier. After all, they only have to worry about one thing: their character.

And since none of my friends had the slightest interest in DMing (or even playing again after that first disaster), I took the only path left to me: the online world.

Online tables

Keep in mind, I’m always talking about my experience. I understand not everyone has gone through the same things, but still.

This. Is. A. Weird. Place.

I’m Spanish, so back then, the idea of playing at an English-speaking table hadn’t, and honestly still wouldn’t, crossed my mind. I looked for online groups that could teach me the basics: how to build a proper character, how to introduce myself to a table, maybe even play a simple one-shot. But no.

Every table I found was full of sweaty people who got nervous when I built the level 5 character they’d asked for, and I forgot to write down that I had an explorer’s pack. Others wanted me to install some very suspicious software on my PC so we could “access every published material ever made and enhance the experience together.” Yeah, no. I said no to those tables because, you know, common sense.

The ones who seemed chill, using basic rules and just sharing a single screen, turned out to be people who, and I quote, “were going to be the next Critical Role… but better.” Of course, I hung up the Discord call and left that server faster than a Tabaxi doing dope monk shit on caffeine.

After a while, I finally found a group. They offered to guide me through the basics, and before diving in, they let me watch a session to understand their dynamics. I was grateful, I could see how they interacted, how they role-played, and what their vibe was. They asked me about my experience, and everything seemed fine. Until they started playing.

It was chaos. One meme quote after another. Constant shipping. Heavy, erotic roleplay moments, mixed with jokes that never stopped. It was like a fever dream of overacting and thirst.

That broke me.

Don’t get me wrong, I know jokes are part of the game. My own table back then couldn’t go five minutes without laughing or making fun of something, but we still tried to follow the story and engage with the world. But this online group? This specific one? It felt like they were two seconds away from jumping through the screen and having sex in front of everyone.

Soon after, I found another server that offered a West Marches–style campaign. But they didn’t help me create a character, nor did they explain what West Marches mode even meant. So I left that one too.

As you can see, my experience with random people in this nerdy world hasn’t been a particularly good one. I’m not saying there aren’t good players or tables out there, I’m sure there are, but what I went through was enough for me to decide that I only want to play with people I know. And even then, I have to be very careful.

And as a DM?

Well, that one’s a short story.

I resumed my role as a Dungeon Master: not out of resignation, but out of determination. Everything I’d seen as a player pushed me to do better. I wanted to be better. I needed this to be part of my life.

So I did.

I went back to the basics, running small sessions with friends. But even there, I ran into situations that made me realize something crucial: reality rarely matches what you picture in your head.

We even had a big fight once. A stupid misunderstanding that pushed me away from the hobby for a long time, almost a year. But thankfully, we talked it out, cleared the air, and things went well. We eventually got back to playing, this time with fresh eyes and a better understanding of what we wanted from the game.

The first thing I had to understand was that not everyone comes to the table with the same mindset, attitude, or expectations. I had to balance (and occasionally educate) players who only wanted to fight and those who were there for the story.

All of them were new to the hobby, and none of them understood the concept of taking care of your character. No matter how many times I asked them to read their sheets or offered help, they just… didn’t. I told them they could always reach out and talk to me about anything, but no one ever did.

When I tried to discuss their backstories, I’d usually get the same answer: “Do whatever you want.” Not even a half-paragraph summary about who their character supposedly was.

One time, one of them even slapped me in the face (literally) as “part of the roleplay moment.” When I confronted them, they just laughed and said, “Oh really? Didn’t realize.”

So yeah, basically I don’t DM anymore. And I’m not planning to anytime soon. But who knows, maybe if I find a group that brings the respect and engagement I need to make a session worth running, I’ll do it again. It’ll take a lot of conviction, though.
But hey… I like cookies.

I don’t intend to discourage anyone from stepping into this wonderful world.
It’s given me some of the best things in my life so far. But remember: not everything in this hobby is a colorful path of roses, there are darker corners too. Just learn to see them for what they are… and avoid them at all costs.