10 Signs That You May Be A Neurotic RPG Player

I’ve been playing a fair amount of Dragon Age: Inquisition lately. After about a dozen hours, you’d think I’d be making my mark on the land, recruiting an army and working to rid the world of those mysterious rifts. Nope. Instead, I’ve been trotting around the first few opening areas, realizing I’m dissatisfied with my character, and starting all over again. That’s just one of the behaviors I predictably fall into whenever I take on a big RPG. Read on for more examples, including a few that are bound to hit home.

You have no problem losing hours of progress if you suddenly realize your created character is ugly
I run into this time and time again. I went through at least four Shepards in Mass Effect before settling on one that I could stomach watching in a cutscene. I’ve run into the same problem in Inquisition. The tools are deep, but I’ve got a knack for making a perfectly serviceable character with one unforgivable flaw. They include accidental platypus lips, ears that clip through helmets, and beards that are even worse than the one I carry around on my face in real life. I understand that developers want people to feel attached to their avatars, but be reasonable. If I’m able to fire lightning out of my fingertips, surely there’s someone in those fantasy worlds who could rearrange my face to something better.

You will replay a boss encounter over and over again at the prospect of getting marginally better loot
This is the reason I had to quit playing World of Warcraft. I had a great time with it, but all that grinding started cutting into my actual life. It’s possible to get along in most games without doing a whole lot of that kind of stuff, but if I know that there’s an infinitesimally small chance that I could get a hammer with a .24-percent chance of stunning instead of, say, a .20-percent chance, I will kill the same dude until it happens.

Autosaves are a foe as vile as any demon lord
Sometimes I appreciate it when a game realizes I haven’t saved in a while and does it for me. When I’m playing an RPG, however, that kind of helpful attitude can backfire in catastrophic ways. I don’t know how many times I’ve inadvertently botched a quest, accidently torched an NPC, or spent all my gold reserves on a worthless item, only to have my error burned into permanence by an autosave. I’d say that I’m all about suffering the consequences of my actions, but that’s clearly not true. I’ll save when I’m good and ready.

You’ll talk everyone’s ears off – multiple times – for fear of missing out on dialogue
If you’re an NPC, you clearly don’t have a lot going on in your life. If you did, you probably wouldn’t be standing around in the same spot all day long. Don’t be surprised when I systematically roll through your dialogue tree several times to ensure that I’m not missing on any scraps of your sob story or potential side missions. I won’t be convinced when you try to get me to leave by saying, “I have nothing left to say to you right now,” either. I’ll be back – you’re camped out next to the potion shop, after all – and you can bet that I’ll talk to you every time I restock on supplies.

You’ve given more thought to decorating your in-game house than your actual living space
When I played Morrowind, I agonized over the way my make-believe house looked. Where does that skull look best? Is this a good place for a basket? Does that glass bottle add that little bit of pizazz the room needs? Meanwhile, in real life, I slept on a mattress on the floor and kept my clothes in a pile. I’ve grown up a little bit since then, but I do pore over the little details in my characters’ houses that I ignore in my day-to-day life. Note: I am not proud of anything on this list.

Every active quest in your journal nags at your soul
Most quests fall into two categories: The ones that you’ve completed, and the ones that stare at you, piteously, taunting you with your inability to complete them. As you steadily finish them off, you only end up acquiring more along the way (remember that bit about talking to every NPC?). This is one of the reasons I flinch every time I pull up that menu. I only feel okay about leaving a village once all of my business is finished. There are a variety of reasons why I don’t finish every RPG that I start, and this is one of them. This is the kind of behavioral tic that can utterly paralyze me.

You will not rest until every inch of the map has been uncovered
Once I finally make it out of town, things don’t get much better. Actually, they get worse. When I pull up my map, I look at it like a larger version of the town map. It’s some kind of fractal nightmare. If there’s a fog of war-style haze obscuring my vision, I’ll methodically walk in a pattern like I’m mowing the lawn, in the event that I’d miss something. I rarely do. Ugh.

You can’t walk past a waterfall without first seeing what’s behind it
Whether the Legend of Zelda is technically an RPG is beside the point. It introduced a concept to me, and for legions of other players, that’s carried over into the decades since its release. If there’s a waterfall, there’s a distinct possibility that there might be something amazing behind it. There’s only one way to find out, and that usually involves dismounting, hopping onto rocks, and working my way behind the water. I can’t help but feel ripped off when my exploration leaves me empty-handed. 

If an item isn’t nailed down, you’re going to take it with you – even if you’re not playing as a thief
I don’t even want to know how many pairs of calipers I ended up pocketing in The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. They didn’t do anything but take up inventory space, but that didn’t stop me from filling my pockets with the stupid things. Until I figure out exactly what is and isn’t important, I’m going to suck up every item that crosses my path. And, in the case of those calipers, I might even do it after I figure out what is and isn’t important. If you ever find yourself in Cyrodiil and you’re in need of calipering, look me up. I’m the Khajiit who jingles like a sleigh when he walks.

No barrel, crate, or table will escape your smashing
Hey, you never know what’s inside all that breakable stuff! Okay, you probably know. It’s gold. Even when money is no longer important, I still can’t help but destroy every piece of furniture that I come across. It’s fun, it’s easy, and it usually makes a satisfying crunching sound. And that’s something that anyone can get behind – even if you’re cursed with platypus lips.