Tales from the RPG trenches are stories, anecdotes and reflections inspired by actual events in my 45+ years of playing roleplaying games.

When I finally went to see Hamilton, I think I was the last person in the continental United States who hadn’t heard the soundtrack.

That was by design. I knew some of the history involved, of course, but I wanted to get to experience the musical itself knowing as little as possible about how it would all be presented.

Thus, when Aaron Burr started telling the audience about a private dinner attended only by Hamilton, Jefferson and Madison, I didn’t know the title of that song, or what its chorus would be.

I can recall, sitting in my seat, wondering how they were going to handle presenting a conversation that probably didn’t appear in any public records. If they would treat it as a rap battle like the cabinet meetings, if they’d be talking over each other like Hamilton had with the farmer on the soapbox, or what?

Then, for my money, they did the best thing they could absolutely do. They fully admitted that no one knew what really went on in that meeting, and sang about that. About how many of the most important decisions are made in just such little rooms, by a handful of people.

I was listening to that song just the other day, and it reminded me of an incident from a roleplaying game I’d played … oh, nearly thirty years ago now.

It was a very heavily political game of Changeling the Dreaming set in the Kingdom of Apples (in New York state, I believe).

The player characters were all nobles of the kingdom, and in one session we’d been tasked with finding a solution — or a course of action to a solution — for some major problem.

Now, in and of itself, that sounds just like one of those rooms where a small group of people are going to decide the fate of a kingdom.

But it gets better.

During the discussion, two of the characters (well, technically one of them was a non-player character) stepped out of the room for a private conversation.

The rest of us were expected to put these talks on hold while these two characters discussed something among themselves.

To make matters worse, these were two ranking nobles. Sidhe, who considered themselves the nobility of all fae, a class unto themselves.

I, myself, was playing a troll named Jornensaaran, who had been chafing against sidhe arrogance for most of the campaign.

And now they tried to pull this?

When I saw those two sidhe go into a private room to talk, I saw two sidhe trying to resolve this question on their own and bringing it to the rest of us as a fait accompli. They were trying to make that the important room.

I refused to let that happen.

In person, I barged into the room.

The game master looked up at me and said, “Excuse me. We’re in character.”

“So am I,” I said. “This is Jornensaaran, barging into the room.”

“Excuse me,” I said, in character now, “but if you are discussing the matter at hand, then you should return to the other room. We were all assigned to this task, and have the right to hear whatever you have to say. And if you are discussing something else, I respectfully suggest it wait until kingdom business is concluded.”

They didn’t follow me back into the room, but they did return only a moment later. And I made sure that the final solution wasn’t simply forced down our throats by the sidhe. It reflected the interests of the other fae besides.

Two different rooms. Two different private conversations by very small groups of people.

Just a roleplaying game, but still. While playing out a scene like that, the consequences have to feel real, significant, or it’s no fun.

So no, I’ll probably never be in one of those small rooms, making very, very big decisions. And since I’m not willing to devote myself to a life of politics, that’s my decision and I’m fine with it.

Still. It’s kind of cool to feel as though, in some small way, I do know what it feels like to be in such a room, making such momentous decisions.