RPG companions need to be hateable to be loved

Why Your RPG Companions Need to Be Flawed: The Power of Friction in Storytelling

In the world of role-playing games, we often seek out companions who are perfectly pleasant and agreeable—easygoing allies who simply make the journey smoother. But what if the secret ingredient to truly compelling storytelling isn’t frictionless companionship, but delightful friction?

Consider the character Gale from Baldur’s Gate 3. While his charm and wit are undeniable, what cemented his place as an all-time romance for many players wasn’t just his charisma; it was his capacity to be a petty little bastard.

“Nobody weeps because the weather is fine,” Gale once declared, delivering a line that perfectly encapsulated his self-conscious, brooding nature. This willingness to embrace a thorny response—a touch of self-insecurity mixed with attitude—is what made him three-dimensional and utterly magnetic.

This dynamic illustrates a larger point: allowing companions to be unpleasant or challenging doesn’t just create amusing moments; it builds genuine depth. When characters have conflicting viewpoints, prickly insecurities, and the need to constantly navigate opposing personalities, they become far more fleshed out than perfectly agreeable foils.

The strength of any great RPG structure relies on genre conventions: a world-ending threat paired with companions who accompany you. But for these narratives to truly shine, writers shouldn’t assume that every companion must be a source of comfort. The goal should be to put the most eclectic mix of strangers into an ‘all or nothing’ scenario, forcing them to interact and challenge one another.

This friction is the engine of brilliant banter. Think of characters like Alistair and Morrigan; on paper, they would be an impossible pairing. Yet, their combined dry cynicism and cheerful wit create extraordinary entertainment when they are constantly on the brink of verbal warfare.

Conversely, games that strive for frictionless perfection often fall short. In some recent titles, companions feel like empty vessels—blandly kind oflikeable figures who lack the complexity needed to truly grip the audience’s attention. When characters don’t have conflicting beliefs or impactful flaws, they risk feeling less real and fail to create a powerful emotional bond.

This ties back to human nature itself. We are wired to form connections based on vulnerability. The “Halo effect” tells us that if we form a positive initial impression of someone, we tend to rationalize their less pleasant behavior later on. However, deep affection requires moving past that initial bias. It takes the introduction of complexity—flaws and virtues—to allow our emotional systems to fully bond with a character.

When characters are permitted to be flawed, they map more accurately onto the messy reality of friendship. This allowance for imperfection allows us to connect on a deeper level, tapping into the very neurological processes that drive social bonding. To achieve true immersion and love for your story companions, you must give yourself permission to love them—even when they manage to rub you the wrong way.