When Splittin’ the Table’s the Only Mercy Left

Oct 21

Mike’s Take

By Torvak’s bloody knuckles, sometimes a table’s like a wagon carryin’ too much ale. The wheels creak, the axles splinter, and no matter how much ya patch it, the damn thing’s gonna break. That’s what mismatched play styles do. One lad wants tactical warfare, another wants bardic drama, and the rogue just wants to steal chickens all night. If ya keep ‘em chained together, ye ain’t runnin’ a game — ye’re babysittin’ a tavern brawl.

There comes a time when the kindest thing ye can do is split the table. Two groups, two games, twice the sanity.

The Signs Yer Table’s Tearin’ Itself Apart

Endless arguments about tone: “serious epic” vs. “chaotic goofball.”
Spotlight hogs clashin’ with the quiet ones until nobody’s happy.
Sessions that end with players sulkin’ instead of smilin’.

If ye ignore it, it festers. The ale turns sour, and good players walk away bitter.

Why Splittin’ Can Save the Game

It ain’t failure to admit one group can’t play the same style. It’s leadership. By givin’ each crew their own table, ye let ‘em breathe. One game dives into tactical combat, the other swims in high drama. Nobody feels like dead weight, and yer campaign stops drownin’ in resentment.

📌 Barkeep’s rule: Better two small tables havin’ fun than one big table wastin’ everyone’s night.

How to Do It Without Breakin’ Friendships

Be honest: tell ‘em straight — the group’s expectations don’t line up.
Offer options: if ye can run two games, do it. If not, help players find a GM who matches their flavor.
Keep bridges intact: invite crossovers now and then. Characters from each table meet in a one-shot or a festival night. Keeps the community feelin’ whole.

And remember, ye don’t owe anyone misery. If a group dynamic ain’t workin’, mercy is walkin’ away before it poisons the lot.