> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://www.dungeonprep.com/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Why Every D&D Adventuring Party Needs Someone Ordinary - URL: https://www.dungeonprep.com/why-every-d-d-adventuring-party-needs-someone-ordinary/ - Published: 2026-10-08T04:27:00.000Z - Updated: 2026-10-08T04:28:10.000Z - Description: The chosen one tries to save the world because an ancient prophecy commands it, but Greg the Roofer wants to save the world because his wife and children live in it. - Author: Lilith A. - Tags: Player The tiefling warlock is secretly a demon lord's son. The aasimar paladin is the chosen champion of a forgotten god. The elf ranger is 400 years old and seeking revenge for a fallen kingdom. The rogue is a former assassin carrying a cursed dagger that whispers to him in his sleep. And then there’s Greg. Greg used to repair roofs. At first glance, Greg seems utterly out of place. In a party filled with prophecies, ancient bloodlines, and world-ending destinies, an ordinary craftsman hardly sounds like hero material. Yet that is exactly why Greg matters: he is the character most often remembered after a game because he feels the most ordinary. ## When Everyone Is Special, No One Is What appeals to many about modern Dungeons & Dragons is the encouragement to dream big. When entering this world, we envision fallen angels, demon hunters, exiled royalty, and even mysterious wanderers with tragic pasts. It is exciting to shed our mundane lives to be someone unique and special for a few hours. That's a wonderful way to escape the real world. But when every member of the party is the chosen one, “special” starts losing its meaning. Every great fantasy story needs someone who reminds us what normal looks like. Ordinary characters provide a point of reference that makes everyone else’s extraordinary qualities shine more, while also grounding the story in a home worth returning to, people worth protecting, and a perspective rooted in the world everyone else is trying to save. The same principle applies to DMs. If your campaign is already underway and every player has arrived with an ancient prophecy or an array of tragedies, you can still introduce a “Greg” into your world. An ordinary innkeeper, village carpenter, shepherd, or merchant can become the emotional anchor that reminds the party what they are actually fighting to protect. Sometimes, the most important person in your campaign isn’t the demigod or the dragon slayer. Sometimes it is Greg the Roofer. ## The Problem With Competing Epic Backstories Think to yourself: how many hours have you spent crafting intricate backstories filled with far-away kingdoms, loss, secret identities, tragedy, and the call of fate? Probably quite a few. And it’s easy to see why. A compelling backstory makes us feel invested in our characters before they even roll initiative. I have done the same thing: I like to see my characters suffer before they can achieve greatness. And these elaborate concepts aren't inherently problematic. What is, though, is that this has become the norm. So players unintentionally try to outdo one another by creating the most epic characters. Individually, they all present exciting ideas, but together they begin to compete for the same narrative space. ## Ordinary Characters Make Fantasy Feel Bigger I believe that extraordinary works only when there is something ordinary to compare it against. Think about the magnum opus of fantasy literature, *The Lord of the Rings*: *the Fellowship* would not be as epic if it only included the greatest warriors of each race and a literal angel. The hobbits, who make up nearly half of the Fellowship, ground these heroes, bring them down to earth, and let them shine through all the fights and struggles. But at the same time, Eowyn wouldn’t have managed to kill the Witch-king without a little help from Merry, Gandalf wouldn’t have learned of Saruman’s plans if Pippin didn’t peer into the Palantir, and the One Ring wouldn’t have been destroyed if not for the pure dedication of Sam and Frodo. That is to say, the prince in exile becomes far more compelling when he travels beside a mercenary whose greatest ambition is paying off his gambling debts. The celestial champion feels more heroic when the village blacksmith chooses to stand beside her despite having no prophecy to guide him. These ordinary characters provide contrast, and that contrast creates deeper meaning. Fantasy has always relied on this balance. Even the myths of bygone civilizations did. In *The Odyssey*, the loyalty and dedication of the humble swineherd Eumaeus make the return of the great hero Odysseus all the more meaningful, reminding us that kingdoms are built on ordinary people as much as legendary kings. In this light, the strange feels stranger, the magical feels far more magical, and the heroic feels more heroic. All you have to do is look through the eyes of someone who never expected to become part of an epic adventure in the first place. ## Ordinary Stakes Are Often the Most Emotional Stakes Ordinary characters often arrive at the table with something many epic heroes no longer possess: an utterly ordinary life. They have families waiting at home, businesses to run, neighbors they know by name, or a farm that won’t tend itself while they’re away fighting dragons. Their motivation is very different, too. It is rarely destiny—it is their reality. The chosen one tries to save the world because an ancient prophecy commands it, but Greg the Roofer wants to save the world because his wife and children live in it. This difference is pivotal. These are the characters who ground the adventures in tangible stakes. They remind the rest of the party that kingdoms are made up of villages, and villages are made up of people with routines, relationships, and responsibilities. Their goals may be smaller, but that doesn't make them meaningless. Some want to return home or protect their communities; others simply hope there will still be a home to return to when the quest is over. Fantasy is full of characters that serve this role. In *The Witcher*, Dandelion is neither the strongest swordsman nor the most gifted mage, yet his very ordinariness gives Geralt something worth protecting beyond contracts and monsters. He embodies the world of inns, songs, friendships, and everyday life that would disappear if the Black Ones won or the Wild Hunt took over. What I mean is that when the extraordinary hero fights because destiny demands it, we often admire them. But when the ordinary hero fights because they refuse to lose the life they love, we truly understand them. ## How Greg Becomes the Heart of the Party Ordinary characters often become the emotional glue that holds an adventuring party together. While the warlock is doing body checks, Greg is asking where everyone is sleeping tonight, whether anyone remembered to buy rope, or even why they are risking their lives for strangers they met only three days ago. These seemingly mundane concerns create roleplay opportunities that grand destinies often make impossible. Because characters like Greg are not consumed by prophecies or revenge plots, they tend to engage more naturally with the world around them. They try to learn local customs, converse with merchants, get attached to random NPCs, and even have something that most grand players miss: they experience genuine surprise when they meet dragons. ## Give Your Character Something Ordinary to Fight For So, ask yourself if D&D needs yet another demigod, mysterious orphan, or forgotten prophecy. And I think the answer you will reach is “probably not.” But tables almost certainly need Greg the Roofer. The next time you sit down to create a character, resist the temptation to become the last surviving heir to a fallen kingdom. Instead, give your character a trade. Give them friends and neighbors who know their name, a family they miss, a dog (or a cat) waiting at home. Or a roof they promised to finish fixing before winter arrives. Give them a good reason to survive beyond fulfilling destinies. Remember, while extraordinary characters make stories exciting and riveting, ordinary ones make a story believable and lived-in. In my experience, the character everyone remembers six months later is rarely the chosen one, but the fighter who kept the group together as everything slowly fell apart. Greg the Roofer somehow became the heart of the entire adventure without ever trying to be special. So ask yourself, honestly: if your current party was stranded in the wilderness, who would actually know how to fix a wagon wheel, negotiate with a merchant, or cook a decent meal?