17 Problem Player Types in D&D and How to Deal with Them

By Luke Hart

Today in the Lair, we’re talking about one of the hardest—but most necessary—parts of being a dungeon master: dealing with problem players.

If problem behavior goes unchecked, it will erode the quality of your game. It will sap your energy, frustrate your good players, and in the worst cases, cause the very people you want at your table to leave. Then you’re left running a game for the people who caused the problem in the first place.

That’s why this matters.

Below, I’m going to walk through 17 common types of problem players I’ve encountered over the years. For each one, I’ll explain what the problem actually is, why it’s disruptive, and how I recommend handling it.

By the way, if you’re a busy GM without enough to time to prep like you know you should, Lairs & Legends 2 can help. Grab an adventure, read it in about 15 minutes, and you’re ready to run your game! With over 700 pages of 5e resources, there’s no reason to feel stressed out and overwhelmed before your next D&D game.

Watch or listen to the video version here:

1. The Rules Lawyer

There’s nothing wrong with knowing the rules. In fact, I personally like running rules-as-written most of the time. Rules create a shared baseline of expectations and help the game feel fair.

The Rules Lawyer becomes a problem when they twist wording to get their way, ignore the spirit of the rules, and interpret English in… let’s say creative ways. Even worse, they argue endlessly—long after the DM has made a ruling.

This isn’t about rules knowledge; it’s about control.

How to deal with it:
Make your expectations clear. Let the player know that discussion is welcome and that you genuinely listen to your players. But once a ruling is made, the discussion is over and the game moves on.

Sometimes I’ll make a temporary ruling for the sake of pacing and tell the group I’ll research it later and issue a permanent ruling between sessions. That keeps the game flowing while still respecting the rules.

2. Mr. Limelight

This player hogs the spotlight. They talk over others, jump into every scene, interrupt roleplay moments, and rarely wait their turn. The result is that other players barely get to play.

Ironically, this is something I personally struggle with when I’m a player. I have to actively restrain myself and make space for others.

How to deal with it:
Frame the conversation positively. Acknowledge their enthusiasm—it’s usually genuine. Then explain that their excitement is crowding out other players.

Ask them to help you. Enlist them as an ally in drawing quieter players into scenes. But be clear: they must give others room to play.

3. The Cheater

Cheating isn’t just fudged dice rolls—though hiding rolls behind a wall of books certainly doesn’t help. The worst cheating usually involves misrepresenting spells or abilities and conveniently omitting the parts that limit what they can do.

I’ve had players where I had to double-check everything they did.

This kind of cheating is harder to catch unless you know the rules well yourself or are willing to look things up. Honest mistakes happen, and over time you’ll learn the difference.

How to deal with it:
First, make sure you actually have evidence. Second, ask whether the cheating is meaningfully affecting the game or frustrating other players.

If it is, talk to the player privately. Present the evidence, explain the impact, and ask them to stop.

Some people believe any cheating must be confronted aggressively at all costs. I respect that—but this is also a social game with social consequences. Not every battle is worth fighting.

4. The Instigator

The Instigator is the player who seems to get their enjoyment from messing with everyone else. They steal from party members, initiate PvP, sabotage plans, or intentionally make choices that derail what the rest of the group is trying to accomplish. The classic example is attacking guards after the party has agreed to talk their way through—or stealing from another PC “as a joke.”

Almost without fail, this behavior gets justified with the infamous line: “That’s what my character would do.” And that’s nonsense.

What’s actually happening here is that the player is choosing to prioritize their own amusement over everyone else’s fun. D&D is a cooperative game, and this kind of behavior directly undermines that cooperation. It creates frustration, resentment, and sometimes real out-of-game tension between players.

How to deal with it:
I come down hard on this behavior. This is not a gray area. You need to have a direct conversation with the player and make it clear that intentionally ruining other players’ fun is unacceptable. Period.

Personally, I don’t allow PvP in my games at all for this exact reason. It almost always causes problems, both in-game and out-of-game. If the player pushes back or continues the behavior after being warned, that’s a strong signal that they’re not a good fit for your table.

5. The Min-Maxer

The Min-Maxer loves building powerful, optimized characters. They splash classes, hunt for perfect feat combinations, and spend way too much time on Reddit and forums figuring out how to squeeze every ounce of efficiency out of a build.

Now here’s the thing: this is not inherently a problem.

I’ve personally never had serious issues with min-maxers as a dungeon master, because the solution is usually straightforward: I adjust encounter difficulty to account for increased character power.

The most common objection I hear is, “But Luke, doesn’t that make the game harder for the other players who aren’t min-maxing?”
In my experience? No. The group adjusts just fine, and no one ever knows the difficulty was tuned in response—except me.

That said, if min-maxing does become disruptive at your table, there are a few table rules that solve about 90% of the issue:

Use 27-point buy.
Disallow multiclassing.
Limit races and classes to official sources—or even just the Player’s Handbook.

Yes, some people will freak out about these restrictions. That’s fine. Calm down.

Personally, I use point buy and limit sources, and even with min-maxers at my table, it’s never been more than a mild annoyance. If the group is having fun, that’s what matters.

6. The Power Gamer

The Power Gamer looks a lot like a min-maxer at first—but there’s a key difference.

A Power Gamer isn’t just optimizing their character. They’re constantly trying to extract advantage during play, often by twisting rules, arguing semantics, or ignoring the spirit of the game entirely.

They know the rules extremely well—and they weaponize that knowledge.

I once had a Power Gamer try to argue about what “five feet” meant in combat. After years of playing with the same table conventions, he suddenly decided that measuring from the edge of a square instead of the center benefited him in that moment. He was wrong—but he still managed to drag the game to a halt for 15 minutes arguing about it.

And that’s just one example.

How to deal with it:
I have very little tolerance for Power Gamers. They frustrate me because I know exactly what they’re doing, and they consistently slow the game down by arguing over nonsense.

You deal with them the same way you deal with any problem player: have a conversation, explain the behavior, and ask them to stop. If they don’t, remove them from the game.

I’ll be blunt here: the last Power Gamer I removed dramatically improved my game. I waited far too long trying to make it work, having conversation after conversation that went nowhere. Everyone—including me—would have been better off if I’d handled it sooner.

Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do for your table is to cut a problem out instead of hoping it magically fixes itself.

7. The Jokester

The Jokester is the player who has a joke, quip, or sarcastic aside for every situation. A little humor at the table is great—D&D should be fun—but this player constantly pulls the group off track. One joke turns into another, then into a five-minute tangent, and suddenly you’re spending half the session trying to herd everyone back into the game.

This can be especially disruptive during tense scenes, emotional roleplay moments, or combat, where focus matters. The problem isn’t humor itself—it’s lack of restraint. The Jokester often doesn’t realize how much they’re derailing the game because everyone’s laughing… including the DM.

How to deal with it:
You don’t want to shut this down completely. Stomping out humor entirely will kill the table’s energy and make the game feel stiff and joyless.

Instead, have a conversation. Acknowledge that joking around is part of the fun, but explain that it’s starting to interfere with the flow of the game. Be clear that you’re not asking them to stop being funny—you’re asking them to dial it back when it’s time to actually play.

Most Jokesters respond well to this, because they’re usually not trying to be disruptive. They just need boundaries.

8. The Metagamer

Metagaming happens when a player uses out-of-character knowledge to inform in-character decisions. In other words, the player knows something their character shouldn’t—and acts on it anyway.

We’ve all seen it. The moment trolls show up, the player immediately switches to fire damage. Or someone conveniently prepares the perfect spell for a monster they’ve “never encountered before.”

This is one of the reasons I rarely use monsters’ real names at the table. Descriptions instead of labels go a long way toward reducing accidental metagaming.

That said, metagaming isn’t always malicious—or even conscious. A lot of it happens unintentionally. And some metagaming is actually healthy. For example, players assuming encounters are probably survivable because it’s a game? That’s good metagaming. Otherwise they’d be terrified of every goblin they ever meet.

How to deal with it:
You cannot—and should not—try to eliminate all metagaming. That’s exhausting, unnecessary, and will suck the fun out of your game.

Instead, pick your battles.

When metagaming is especially blatant, call it out in the moment. Ask the player to explain their decision in character.

For example:
“I noticed you put away your greatsword and pulled out your maul just now. Why would your character suddenly do that, given they’ve always used the greatsword?”

If the explanation is flimsy, label it plainly as metagaming and ask them to stop. Importantly, don’t take control of their character or forbid actions outright—just apply social pressure and make the behavior visible.

Some DMs go to great lengths to rewrite monsters, change vulnerabilities, or heavily modify modules to prevent metagaming. You can do that—but it’s a ton of work, and I rarely bother.

A much easier approach is to reward good behavior. Give inspiration or other benefits when players intentionally avoid metagaming and lean into roleplay instead.

9. The Player Critic

The Player Critic is the person who constantly comments on how other players are playing their characters. Most often this shows up in combat—criticizing suboptimal choices, questioning tactics, or pointing out how someone “should” have played their turn. But it can also bleed into roleplay, with the critic judging how another player portrays their character.

I once had a player tell another player—openly at the table—that after a year of play, they still “didn’t know how to play the game” because their combat decisions weren’t optimal. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t go over well. The criticized player got upset and eventually left the game. That incident also became the final straw for the critic, who already had a pattern of rules-lawyering and arguing with me as the DM. He was removed shortly after.

This behavior is toxic because it creates a judgmental atmosphere. Players stop experimenting, stop roleplaying freely, and start worrying about being “wrong.” That kills fun fast.

How to deal with it:
I handle this bluntly. Not everyone plays D&D the same way, and not everyone cares about playing optimally. Some players love combat efficiency; others care far more about story, roleplay, or just hanging out.

How someone else plays their character is simply not the Player Critic’s business. If they need to vent about suboptimal play, they can do it somewhere else—Reddit is full of people eager for that conversation.

One of my core goals as a DM is to maintain an open, welcoming table where different playstyles are respected. That means I do not tolerate players who tear others down, even if they think they’re being “helpful.”

10. The DM Critic

The DM Critic is similar to the Player Critic, except their target is you.

To be clear: feedback is good. I want feedback from my players. Thoughtful, well-intentioned feedback helps me improve my game and better serve the group.

The problem arises when criticism is delivered poorly—snidely, constantly, or publicly in front of the table. This is the player who interrupts the game to point out what you “should” have done, questions every ruling, or tries to backseat-DM in real time.

That’s not feedback. That’s undermining the DM.

How to deal with it:
I’m personally very open to critique, but there are limits. If a player is criticizing my every move or openly trying to run the game for me, I would address it directly and clearly.

The conversation is simple: feedback is welcome, but it needs to be delivered respectfully, at the right time, and with the goal of improving the game—not asserting dominance. I am the dungeon master. You are not. You don’t have to agree with every ruling, but you do have to respect that I’m the one running the game.

11. The Puppet Master

The Puppet Master is the player who speaks for other players and tells them what their characters should do. They offer “suggestions” that are really commands, narrate actions for other PCs, or answer questions directed at someone else.

This is a direct theft of player agency. Over time, it leaves quieter players frustrated and disengaged—because why bother showing up if someone else is playing your character for you?

Left unchecked, this behavior can absolutely drive players out of your game.

How to deal with it:
This is something the DM needs to shut down immediately.

My approach is short, direct, and calm. I’ll say something like: “Please stop telling other players how to run their characters. They’re here because they want to play the game, not watch you play it for them.”

You don’t need to overexplain or debate it. Agency belongs to the player who created the character. Protect that, and you protect your table.

12. Mr./Mrs. La-La-La Land

This is the player who is physically present but mentally elsewhere. They’re on their phone, zoning out, not tracking what’s happening, and doing the bare minimum to participate when their turn finally comes around. When it is their turn, the game grinds to a halt while you recap everything they missed.

This behavior slows the game down and drains energy from the table. Worse, it can feel disrespectful to the DM and the other players who are engaged.

How to deal with it:
The first step is not to assume the player is lazy or rude—figure out why they’re disengaged. Have a private conversation and ask them what’s going on.

In my experience, a player who isn’t paying attention usually means one thing: the game isn’t interesting or fun for them. That’s uncomfortable to admit as a DM, but it’s also valuable information.

Maybe they enjoy combat and your game is heavy on social intrigue. Maybe the pacing is too slow. Maybe their character doesn’t have strong hooks into the story. Once you understand the reason, you can respond with a targeted solution—more combat, tighter pacing, clearer spotlight moments, or story elements that appeal directly to their character.

I view this less as a “problem player” and more as a design challenge. If I can make the game engaging enough that they want to pay attention, the problem usually solves itself.

13. The Bully

The Bully uses intimidation—physical, verbal, or intellectual—to get their way. They pressure other players, steamroll discussions, talk down to people, or try to force the DM into rulings through aggression rather than conversation.

This is one of the most destructive types of problem players because it creates an environment where people feel unsafe or anxious. D&D is supposed to be fun and relaxing. A bully poisons that immediately.

How to deal with it:
Start with a direct conversation and clearly name the behavior. Give them a chance to correct it. Sometimes people genuinely don’t realize how aggressive they’re being.

But if the behavior continues, don’t hesitate—remove them from the group quickly.

People do not come to D&D to be intimidated. No campaign, no friendship, no amount of talent at the table is worth keeping a bully around. One person like this can ruin the game for everyone else, fast.

14. The Shy One

The Shy One is the opposite of many problem players. They’re paying attention. They’re engaged. They just don’t speak up much.

And here’s the important part: that is not inherently a problem.

Some players genuinely enjoy observing more than performing. They like being part of the group without being in the spotlight, and that’s a perfectly valid way to enjoy D&D.

How to deal with it:
The tricky part is determining whether the player is quiet by choice or quiet because they’re being overshadowed.

If they’re happy as-is, don’t force them to change. But if they’re being drowned out by louder players, then it becomes the DM’s responsibility to create space for them.

That can be as simple as occasionally calling on them directly: asking what their character wants to do, or what they say to an NPC. You may also need to rein in louder voices to make room for quieter ones.

This is one of the hallmarks of a great dungeon master—facilitating the table so everyone gets a chance to play, not just the loudest people in the room.

15. The Permanent Newbie

This is the player who never seems to learn the basics of the game. They’ve been playing for months—or even a year—and still don’t understand how attack rolls work, what their abilities do, or which dice to roll. Every mechanical moment requires hand-holding.

In most cases, these players are what I’d call casual players. They’re there primarily for the social aspect of hanging out with friends. If the group were getting together to play Monopoly or Candy Land instead of D&D, they’d be just as happy. The game itself isn’t the draw.

How to deal with it:
Here’s the hard truth: there usually isn’t a real solution. You cannot force someone to care about learning the game. You can explain things. You can remind them. You can help. But you can’t give them the internal motivation to learn if it isn’t there.

So most of the time, you tolerate it and hope that, slowly, through repeated exposure, they pick things up. Some do. Many don’t.

One practical step you can take is steering these players toward simple classes. Barbarians are a great choice. Fighters can work, too. What you want to avoid is putting them behind the wheel of a complicated class like a wizard or paladin. That just leads to frustration—for them and for everyone else at the table.

On a personal note, this is one of the reasons I often recruit players from outside my friend group. When I bring in strangers, I know they’re there specifically to play D&D. Even if they don’t know the rules well at first, they usually make the effort to learn them. With friends, that motivation is often much weaker.

16. The Freak Out

This is the player whose reaction to a setback or problem is wildly out of proportion. They yell. They slam things. They get passive-aggressive. In extreme cases, they even get physical.

This behavior instantly puts everyone on edge. Tension replaces fun, and the entire table starts walking on eggshells. Left unchecked, this will absolutely kill your game.

How to deal with it:
There’s nothing clever or nuanced here.

You talk to the player. You tell them the behavior is unacceptable and ask them to stop.

If it continues, you remove them from the game.

D&D is a hobby. People are there to relax and enjoy themselves. Someone who regularly freaks out destroys that environment, and no campaign is worth keeping that energy around.

17. Mr./Mrs. “I Want to Play a New Character Every Game Session”

This one’s a personal favorite of mine. This is the player who gets wildly excited about a new character concept every week and constantly wants to swap characters.

While that enthusiasm is great, the constant character churn becomes a real headache for the DM. It’s disruptive to the story, disruptive to party cohesion, and exhausting to constantly justify why a character leaves and a new one shows up.

How to deal with it:
I set firm limits. Players like this can only switch characters every so often—maybe once every three months, or once every few adventures. The exact number doesn’t matter as much as having a rule at all.

Another effective approach is giving them a reason to want to stick with their current character.

For example, I once infected a character with lycanthropy—specifically, werebear lycanthropy. I homebrewed the mechanics so they were flavorful and fun, but not overpowered. The player loved it. Suddenly, they had something unique and exciting tied to that character, and the constant character swapping stopped entirely.

Sometimes the solution isn’t saying “no.” It’s giving them something so cool they don’t want to leave.