This year, D&D is leading us down a dark path. We’ve got a Ravenloft setting book stuffed with spooky subclasses. And, as the next books on the DnD release schedule approach, we’ve seen several playtests of an edgy persuasion. Many of them describe themselves as ‘Villainous’. 2026 is officially the year of the evil player-character, baby.
90% of Dungeons and Dragons players will read that statement and wince. Evil characters have a sour reputation, one that’s less associated with cartoonish cackling and more with players behaving like assholes. Words like ‘antisocial’ and ‘murderhobo’ spring to mind – and words like that can destroy a D&D campaign.
But it is possible to play an evil character without destroying your game (or your friendships). Ironically, all it takes is a little kindness. The least evil D&D players tend to make the best evil characters.
Here’s some advice on bringing evil to your D&D games in a thoughtful and, most importantly, fun way.
Define what evil means
In older editions of D&D, there was no question what evil meant. Evil was a binary anathema to good. Evil and good, just like law and chaos, were quantifiable forces that shaped the multiverse. Entire planes were good or evil, and entire species subscribed to a particular alignment.
50 years on, we’ve moved past these in-game definitions. That’s because, frankly, they were absurd. The idea that an entire race of people were biologically good or evil left no room for nuance, which hindered interesting storytelling. It also allowed D&D to be straight-up racist.
Now, no one is automatically assumed to be evil. I suggest you add even more nuance by asking what evil actually means.
Here, most players will jump to the extreme examples. Assault. Murder. Putting pineapple on pizza. But what if we defined evil by its most mundane acts? Lying, for example. Or simply being a little bit selfish.
When I choose a character’s alignment, I see the good-evil binary as a way to decide if you’re playing selfishly or selflessly. ‘Good’ characters generally make decisions that benefit others, while ‘evil’ characters always protect themselves. This way, your alignment still matters for roleplay reasons, but you don’t need to slaughter a village of NPCs to prove it.
Find common ground
So, you’ve decided to be evil. Congrats! You’re now part of a very exclusive club. So exclusive, in fact, that you’re unlikely to find many other evil players at your table. All-evil games do happen, but they’re generally premeditated.
If you’re the only baddie at a table of do-gooders, that creates some tension. Your method of problem-solving is diametrically opposed to theirs. Your idea of a good time would make them recoil in horror.
D&D is a cooperative game, though. If you want your games to be fun (and not full of arguing), good and evil must find a way to work together.
The easiest way to do this is to establish common ground: a reason, regardless of alignment, that it’s in everybody’s best interests to work as a team. Perhaps that do-gooder is your clumsy younger sibling, and though you argue about politics ’til the cows come home, you still feel duty-bound to protect them.
I’m currently running a Curse of Strahd campaign with a lone evil character. This is the perfect setting for such a party mix, because the characters are stuck in a demiplane, and their only hope of escape is teamwork. Lathandril the Dragonborn Warlock, utter bastard though he is, needs the party to survive. He may not want to save some helpless villagers, but refusing means losing his safety net.
Be prepared to compromise
That story above shows a skill that every great D&D player should regularly exercise: compromise. Sometimes, not everyone at the table thinks your plan is the best idea. That can happen to characters of any alignment, but it’s more likely for a character who says ‘what if we just rob them?’ on the regular.
If everyone else is against the ‘steal and pillage’ plan, don’t take this as a personal rejection. Instead, view it as an opportunity.
Firstly, it’s an opportunity for roleplay. Why would your evil character agree to go along with this? Are they sensible enough to know that crime will draw the wrong kind of attention? Are they trying to convince someone they’re a better person than they really are? Or is this the first step to them realizing they’re a better person than they thought they were? Everybody loves a redemption arc.
Secondly, it’s an opportunity to share the spotlight with your fellow players. A bloodbath might not be appropriate, so you can safely step back and let someone else be the main character for a bit. Knowing when to do this is one of the most important parts of player etiquette. There will be time for bloodbaths later – and if there aren’t…
Talk to your fellow players a LOT
Everyone at the table deserves to enjoy D&D, including evil players. That doesn’t mean you’re entitled to antisocial, murderhobo moments – your right to fun isn’t more important than anyone else’s. However, it does mean it’s okay to consider your needs as well as those of your friends.
If you feel you’ve been sharing the spotlight oh so generously, but others haven’t given you the same grace, talk to them. Seriously, this is the solution to almost every source of player disagreement – speak to each other out of character.
It doesn’t have to be an argument. It can be as simple as saying ‘My grumpy Elf Rogue hasn’t had a cool character moment in a while, can you help me think of ways he could contribute?’. Your friends are probably more than happy staging a dramatic party fall-out, provided you get their consent first and pay attention to safety tools. It’s still fun storytelling, even if it isn’t totally spontaneous.
You can apply this same logic to your DM. Desperate for a bloodbath, complete with evil laughs? Let your DM know you’d like a bit more combat in future sessions, preferably against inconsequential, extra-specially-evil NPCs. That way, you can murder, set things on fire, and muahahaha to your heart’s content – without crashing the party for everyone else.
Let’s return for a moment to Lathandril. What a git. But his player is a delightful man named Matt. Matt still gets to have his ‘gosh, what an asshole’ moments, but he communicates his plans. He might subtly text me mid-session, saying ‘Hey, I have this cool idea for a character moment, but do you think it’ll ruin the others’ fun?’ – and we talk about the best path forward.
Most great D&D tables are made that way because the players trust each other. They feel safe throwing ideas into the melting pot, and they approach conflict in good faith.
Playing an evil character often jeopardizes that trust, because players assume the character is going to breach the game’s cooperative social contract. You can change this stereotype, but you need to be the kind of evil I want to see in the world. The kind that creates a safe space for friends to call them out if they’re overdoing the evil a bit. The kind that does something spectacularly nasty in-game, but checks how their fellow players feel about it afterwards.
My kind of evil is thoughtful, co-operative, and makes decisions that serve the story and the group telling it. Boy, that’s real evil.
Got your own tips on being just the worst? Let us know in the Wargamer Discord. It’s got Chaotic Good vibes, but we’re always open to dastardly schemes.
Source: Wargamer
