Breaking the Heroic Mold: Utilizing Betrayal in Survival TTRPGs
Spoiler Alert
This post contains several spoilers for Session 14 of the ongoing 300 Days campaign.
Breaking Player Trust
If you watched Session 14 – The Matriarch, the climax might have felt emotionally manipulative. And I understand that. I made a deliberate effort to build trust between the PCs and the Matriarch. Then I ripped it away at the end. It was a giant middle finger to their sense of empathy.
That was the point.
Fifth Edition Heroics
A common rule in D&D adventure design is to not punish players for “taking the bait.” I mostly agree. If you break trust too often, players stop engaging your adventure hooks. They get paranoid, become suspicious of everything, and the game spirals into nihilism.
That’s because D&D is designed to make characters feel like heroes. They risk their lives to rescue Timmy from the well, slay the necromancer, and defend the kingdom.
But here’s the thing:
This Ain’t D&D
The 300 Days Basic Rulebook presents four Absolute Truths that govern the game:
- You are not a hero.
- Scarcity and brutality are the norm.
- The goal is to survive, not thrive.
- Death is coming.
In 300 Days, players don’t need to seek danger. It finds them. Their job isn’t to chase heroics. It’s to survive a hostile world that wants them dead. I want them to be suspicious. I want them to remember that everything is trying to kill them. As the GM, I am the agent of chaos, fostering a descent into nihilism.
Cults, Cannibalism, and the Illusion of Safety
I always envisioned Marvin as a cult leader, using warped religious zealotry to justify cannibalism. But what about the people under his subjugation?
The women of Devil’s Thumb Ranch were victims of Marvin’s narcissistic religious abuse. In D&D, this would be a classic “save the helpless” scenario. But again, this isn’t D&D. I needed something darker.
My first idea was a ritual group suicide. But that felt too passive. It had shock value, but nothing for the players to engage. It also felt like a condescending trope for the women to respond to Marvin’s death with suicide.
Instead, I made them hostile. But a direct attack from inside the house didn’t make sense. The PCs just got out of a big fight. Why didn’t the women fight with the men in the last session? So I had them lure the PCs into a false sense of security, and then strike when their guard was down.
When the players left Peter alone in the kitchen, I knew he’d be the first to die. When they split up to search the property, I knew I’d attack on two fronts.
But what about the explosion? Was that necessary? What if the Matriarch’s detonator didn’t work? I considered it. The players had already been sufficiently reminded to stay suspicious. They also weren’t far removed from Macaulay’s C4 antics from Session 9.
Admittedly, it was a bit self-indulgent. But explosions are fun, and Marcus’ critical condition creates fresh tension they’ll have to navigate. And that’s the game. No safety. No comfort. Just pressure.
They Don’t Deserve Your Sympathy
With all of this in mind, if you still think the emotional rug-pull was unfair, let’s take a minute to audit the group’s track record. Because they are definitely not heroes.
First, they murdered an encampment of unarmed farmers before even speaking to them. Bunk even celebrated his critical headshot on a defenseless hippy.
Then, they bludgeoned two Russian scavengers to death. Their only crime was not speaking English.
So before anyone sends me hate mail about “punishing” their sense of morality, just remember: these murder hobos are covered in innocent blood.
Hugs and kissses,
Ryan
