This is not a list of quirky little gremlins who forget their dice or make bad puns. This is the rogues’ gallery. The player archetypes that tear campaigns apart at the seams and turn friend groups into scorched-earth battlefields. Every single one of these types has destroyed tables, nuked Discord servers, and made GMs cry into their prep notes. These are not hypothetical. These are real. And they are out there.

1. The Creeper
There’s always one. The guy (it’s almost always a guy) who rolls up a bard with a 20 Charisma and immediately starts trying to bang barmaids, dragons, or worse—other players. He’s got a ‘seduction check’ locked and loaded before the DM even finishes the NPC’s name. At first it’s flirty jokes. Then it’s prolonged descriptions of “how sexy” their character looks while attacking. Then they start targeting the shyest player at the table for in-game ‘romance,’ usually the one least comfortable with confrontation. Before long, the game devolves into softcore fantasy erotica with an audience held hostage. And when someone finally says, “this is making me uncomfortable,” the Creeper flips it—suddenly they’re the victim, whining about censorship and how “you’re ruining my character arc.”

2. The Chaos Agent
You’re trying to build a tense infiltration scene. They’re trying to ride the gelatinous cube. Every plot hook gets ignored, every stealth roll becomes a keg stand, and their idea of teamwork is stabbing the mayor because “it’s what my character would do.” First, it’s funny. Then it’s exhausting. Then it’s actually campaign-derailing. The group tries to plan something meaningful—and this clown sets it on fire for laughs. You know it’s reached terminal velocity when everyone else just stops planning anything because it’s all pointless. Eventually, they do something so colossally stupid—like breaking a sacred artifact or assassinating a king—that the DM is forced to abandon half the story, or everyone else rage-quits.

3. The Feuding Couple
Remember how your campaign was supposed to be about a cool vampire conspiracy? Now it’s about Brian and Jess passive-aggressively flirting, arguing, or crying in character because someone forgot to do the dishes. At first, it’s background noise. Then Jess’s cleric “accidentally” lets Brian’s rogue die. Brian’s rogue “forgets” to heal Jess after combat. Soon the whole campaign is a soap opera written by gas leaks. Players pick sides. The tension becomes a black hole that eats plot, pacing, and patience. Things explode when someone finally confronts them—and they both claim you’re the problem for “making it awkward.”

4. The Narcissist
They don’t just want the spotlight. They are the spotlight. Every subplot must orbit their tragic backstory. Every scene becomes their dramatic monologue. They interrupt other players’ RP, rewrite conversations, and make every emotional beat about themselves. It’s all center-stage, all the time. They slowly start forming out-of-game alliances, feeding drama, testing how much attention they can control. The campaign dies not with a bang, but with every other player checked out—because why bother showing up to the Solo Show featuring Mr. Main Character Syndrome?

5. The Control Freak
Ah yes, the Grand Strategist. The party is not a group of adventurers—it’s an extension of their spreadsheet. They start off helpful, the “planner.” Then they’re telling you which spells to prep, what your character would do, and how your build is wrong. Eventually, they hijack turns, criticize every suboptimal action, and refuse to accept anything outside their flowchart. Sessions become anxiety drills. People stop experimenting or having fun, afraid of messing up the sacred plan. And when someone does finally do something wild or creative, the Control Freak sulks, ragequits, or scolds them like a disappointed parent.

6. The Gaslighter
The master of retroactive truth. First it’s minor misremembrances. Then it’s “you never said that,” “we agreed to a different plan,” “I didn’t betray anyone, you misunderstood.” They twist events, sow doubt, and rewrite the narrative until everyone’s second-guessing their own memory. Confronting them only makes it worse—they double down, deny, deflect. Trust erodes. The table fragments into paranoia. The final straw? Someone brings out session notes or recordings to prove them wrong—and they still insist everyone else is lying.

7. The Rules Lawyer
They don’t love the rules. They weaponize them. The Rules Lawyer will interrupt your character’s dying words to argue about advantage rules. They throw shade at DMs for fudging dice, accuse others of cheating, and bring flowcharts to boss fights. Early on, they seem helpful. But eventually, they challenge every ruling, stall every scene, and derail the vibe to protect their sacred +2 bonus. The real collapse hits when players stop investing in the fiction and start playing defense against the player instead of the monsters.

8. The PvP Instigator
They say it’s “just what their character would do.” Steal from the cleric. Backstab the party face. Leave the tank to die. But what they’re really doing is treating your campaign like a Hunger Games simulator. First it’s little betrayals. Then sabotage. Then a full-on coup mid-session. Everyone else is forced into metagaming just to survive the rogue’s emotional chaos. Eventually, the party splits—or someone pulls the DM aside and says, “I’m not having fun anymore.”

9. The Ghost
At first, it’s “hey, no worries, life happens.” Then it’s every other session. Then it’s always 40 minutes late. Then it’s “forgot my dice, forgot my sheet, forgot we were playing.” They say they care, but their actions don’t show it. The campaign starts warping around their absence. People stop investing in shared plot because one fifth of the group is always MIA. Eventually, someone jokes that their character should just die offscreen. And when the GM finally stops prepping for them, the Ghost gets offended they’re not included anymore.

10. The Gatekeeper
You like your goblin bard? Cute. They’ll explain—loudly—why that’s wrong. They’ll correct your lore, mock your build, and act like having fun the “wrong way” is a sin against Gygax. New players get talked over. Creative characters get nitpicked. Rule of Cool is outlawed. At first it’s annoying. Then it’s alienating. The final snap? When a newbie visibly checks out or rage-quits the group—and the Gatekeeper just smirks like they’ve protected the sanctity of D&D.

11. The Emotional Time Bomb
They’re not just moody. They detonate. A failed roll? Instant sulk. Another player’s spotlight? Quiet resentment. A plot twist that doesn’t go their way? Tears, silence, or storming off. You spend more time emotionally managing them than playing the game. Everyone walks on eggshells. Eventually, the whole table is trapped in their mood ring. The collapse? When someone finally says “can we just play the game?”—and they react like you kicked their dog.

12. The Saboteur
They smile while they steal your group. They seem friendly. They offer to run a one-shot. Then they move it to the same night. Then they “accidentally” recruit all your players. Then they start comparing campaigns and calling theirs more “chill” or “fun.” What begins as overlap becomes undermining. Suddenly your players are distracted. Sessions get skipped. The vibe is poisoned. The betrayal becomes crystal clear when your game is canceled—for theirs—and nobody even says goodbye.