Different Descriptions of Common Items for Variety

One of the issues I ran into pretty frequently as a beginning DM was that I was thinking of most of the parts of the world as interchangeable. By this, I meant that a longsword was simply a longsword to me--any longsword was essentially the same. This is in part because the game rules dictate that essentially all longswords are the same according to combat rules. But of course, no two longswords are going to be exactly the same. So this is a guide to common items with a variety of descriptions to keep your game fresh. 

Architecture by Culture in My Homebrew Setting

When you describe the setting of your game, the appearance of the world is an important element of what you need to share. In particular, the appearances of buildings matters, as it characterizes both the gameworld and the cultural customs of the races in it. It stands to reason that different cultures would have different architectural styles as they do in real life, so what does each race's architecture look like? Answering this question will allow you to portray a more colorful world as well as helping you to define what each culture is like. Read on for a full description of each race's architecture. 

Before we get into the individual races' architecture, let's address the concept at large. What are we talking about when we address architecture? Building styles, mostly: what materials are used to build things, what shapes and decorations they include, what practical applications these building styles serve. These three ideas will guide what follows. It's worth noting that your worldbuilding has considerable effects on architecture. Plentiful building supplies might be easy or difficult to come by in your world. If there is a history of cultural imperialism, one race's style might overshadow another's. The relative wealth of your world determines the average size and structure of people's homes. In my world, none of these details are especially game-changing. Building supplies are relatively easy but not necessarily inexpensive, so that remains average. Although Daltoners in my world have embraced imperialism, they lack the cultural power to determine anyone else's cultural practices. And my world is relatively low-wealth, so most homes are relatively small unless the person in question is above the lower classes. But just because my world doesn't need special attention in these areas doesn't mean yours won't. Be aware of details like these before you adopt architectural styles. 

Now let's tackle the races' architectural styles one by one. I'll be answering the questions I set out above (materials, shapes, and practical applications) for each race as well as providing sample floorplans for each one. Keep in mind these descriptions where your players make their way through towns; these varying styles can present the image of a diverse community which is also visually interesting. 

Daltoners

The more villainous of my two lines of humans, the Daltoners are strict and forbidding about wasting anything. Born of a resourceless rock in the sea to the East, the Daltoners have always made the very most out of what they have. To that end, their buildings are utilitarian and devoid of decorative features. What that means in practice is that their buildings are square and vary only by size. Other races in Evanoch, when encountering the mercenary way that Daltoners built new settlements, have noted the usefulness of the square building, and now most structures that are built in Evanoch are simply square buildings. Daltoners made their first lasting dwellings of brick, but in Evanoch, they take advantage of whatever materials they can. When given options, Daltoners prefer stone bricks. 

The shape of the Daltoner home is unremarkable except for the fact that it creates the most possible floor space for the least amount of resources. Decoration of Daltoner homes is minimalist; showing uniqueness in Daltoner culture is frowned upon. Common decorations include shrines to the Daltoner Pelor, plaques of the government of Dalton, and portraits of important historical figures. The layout of the house being so utilitarian means that many Daltoners do not view their homes with pride in the same way that other races do. 

Practically speaking, the Daltoner home is focused on use. The entryway in Daltoner homes functions both as a reception area and a public space. More personal relations are allowed into the living room, which also serves as a place for rest. The kitchen is allowed to only the resident or their servants, and private quarters are both highly private and devoid of personal touches. The home, for Daltoners, is a fact of life, and nothing to be considered beyond that. 

The only area of architecture that Daltoners expend real energy is in that of their cathedrals. Their houses of worship to Pelor are marvels of both engineering and aesthetics. The New Dalton Church of Pelor has over 200 pounds of gold used in a carving of Pelor atop the cathedral, rising to a height of 180 feet. 

Faninites

The more peaceful of my two lines of humans, the Faninites are imagined as Viking-like yet peaceful. In order to honor that inspiration, I decided that Faninites traditionally reside in longhouses like the Vikings of our world. But importantly, longhouses are also easy to build and suited for a simple set of needs, and those are great selling points. The native forests of Fanin, the island far to the North, yield enormous firs and spruces as well as redwoods, so Faninite homes are often made of cross-sections of gigantic trees rather than assembled from a collection of smaller ones. Where that is impossible, Faninites will create dense, thickly-walled longhouses out of bundles of trees. 

The shape of a Faninite home is relatively unassuming. It is longer in one direction than another, making use of long cuts of wood for the longer side. Its roof slopes down from the top, giving the interior a triangular shape. The kitchen typically exists in the center of the house, so that smoke can be funneled out of the highest point in the roof. The living room is a casual space, as is the sleeping area. Entire Faninite families commonly share a room, and few Faninites think poorly of entering another Faninite family's private area. Faninites decorate their homes with handicrafts, especially those made by loved ones. Furs and flowers are also prized decorative measures. 

Practically speaking, the simple design of the Faninite home serves only the bare necessities: a place for food and shelter. Because of that, Faninites spend little time at home and more time out in nature, with their community, or working to improve oneself. The home becomes a place where the family regroups and rests at the end of a day rather than a place which is lived in. Since the longhouse is relatively easy to build, the marriage of Faninites is usually marked by the presentation of a new longhouse to start a family in, built by the family of the married couple. 

The largest concentration of Faninites in Evanoch is in the city of Finiel, near the elven capital. In Finiel, there are hundreds of longhouses in stretching neighborhoods, and the residents have taken to decorating them in elaborate scenes, many with taxidermied animals and dolls made of grasses and reeds. The community there holds it as a friendly competition. 

Dwarves

Dwarven architecture is characterized by a mixture of practicality and ostentatiousness. The basis of a dwarven building is in segmentation: the building itself is structured in a way that naturally creates distinct sections of a building for different uses. This reflects the dwarven value of intentionality, having a meaningful purpose for each action taken. Dwarves classically build structures of stone, and only the most hardscrabble dwarf in the least hospitable of settings would build a structure of wood. Stone varieties signify class in dwarven construction: plentiful limestone is used for simple structures, middle class dwarves use granite, and the wealthiest dwarves build their homes of marble. 

The shape of a classic dwarven home exemplifies the segmented construction prized in dwarven culture. It appears from above as a common rectangle with a square removed from one edge. The result is that a dwarven home has a small entryway which lead to two separate halves of the home. One side is meant to be private--personal quarters and washroom--and the other is intended as a public space (kitchen and living area). Decorative measures in dwarven architecture range from simple adornments and curved lines to break up the straight edges up to intricate gargoyles that stand watch over the home. 

Practically speaking, dwarven homes lead the resident to a highly regimented life. The divide between personal and public spheres in the home means that dwarves regard their homes as places of balancing acts, trying to maintain both in the small space that is a dwarven home. It is worth noting that dwarven construction style sacrifices potential space and uses more stone to build in the distinct shape of dwarven homes, but this sacrifice is considered worthwhile, as it allows for the segmented lifestyle dwarves tend toward. 

Dwarves in the capital of Underhar created their buildings by carving them directly into a mountain. The capital itself is mostly underground, and the city is always growing further into the mountain as the city's expert masons create new areas to live out of nothing but solid rock. 

Elves 

Elven architecture is governed by aesthetics moreso than any other race. Elven homes are designed to be unique, and therefore are difficult to generalize about; uniqueness reflects well on the social standing of the homeowner. Elves prize buildings of wood more than stone; the most prestigious elven homes exist as alterations to living trees, but lumber is an acceptable alternative for the less wealthy. Cheap homes are built of softer woods like pine, middle class homes are constructed from birch, and the finest elven homes are made of oak. 

The shape of an elven home is simple: it is a longhouse-like design with a right-angle side jutting out from the end. The elven custom for the wealthy is to build houses that are circular, but in the last century, the swelling of the lower classes has meant that elven homes have started to mimic Faninite homes in their longhouse design, but with the variation of the extended end. Decorative measures in elven homes recall nature; fresh flowers often sit in visible spaces, and wood carvings of natural scenes and animals are considered the height of home decorating. The exteriors of homes are nearly always complete with gardens (often in the space in front of the entrance) and wooden carvings. 

Speaking practically, the elven home allows for flexibility of purpose. Like the dwarves, there is a distinct area for private life, though this is less demanded in elven culture. But the most public space in an elven home is the extended section, called in elven the welparin, or community home. Elves take turns hosting the other elves in their communities in these spaces, which have special connotations as religious spaces as well. Thus, this part of the home is dedicated to connection with the gods and the rest of the community. 

The elven capital of Mishara is home to the largest tree known to humanity, and into its branches and trunk have been carefully cut homes. Those who live in this living tree must routinely cut new growth of the tree back or risk being squeezed out of their homes. 

Half-Elves

Half-elves are the offspring of elves and the human lineage known as Faninites. Likewise, their cultural customs, including architecture, are an amalgam of those races' customs. And yet half-elves are also the most highly regarded artists and freethinkers in the land, and so there is a great variation among half-elf homes. Both elves and Faninites use lumber to build their homes most commonly, and the hierarchy of wood types remains the same: pine at the bottom, then birch, then oak. Because Faninites prize the wood of the keskit tree, some halfling homes are built with its wood in decorative uses. 

Half-elven homes can vary in shape, as many are surprising designs. But the average half-elven home is an extended longhouse which also incorporates the elven tradition of a communal gathering space or welparin. This design places welparin at the center of the house, where in elven tradition it is an asymmetrical addition to the house. This tradition, developed by the half-elves, has caught on with modern elves, and this design of house has become popular outside of the half-elven community. Decorations in half-elven homes reflect the fine arts: paintings, sculpture, anything that captures beauty through creativity. 

Practically speaking, the half-elven home creates a living experience that reinforce the idea of an interconnected system that functions as one via the connection in the home between common life, communal life, and private life. Additionally, the longhouse shape is relatively easy to build, and so half-elves have little trouble beginning again somewhere new, which is helpful because a half-elven cultural custom encourages them to try their hands at as many different things as possible in life. 

The most intricate half-elven homes incorporate nature in their designs. One half-elven estate on Lake Playbor is shaped as a giant octagon, with a dizzying array of hallways and a greenhouse that can feed the entire estate. This home also has a system of mirrors installed so that even the faintest sunlight can completely illuminate the house. 

Halflings

Halfling architecture stems from roots of burrowing; early halfling settlements dug mostly underground structures. But the difficulty of conducting massive social interaction and business when buildings were essentially hidden from view and meeting with other races introduced halflings to the advantages of above-ground buildings. Today, many buildings in the halfling capital of Curagon remain underground, and some halflings that strike out on their own build burrows rather than houses. When halflings construct buildings, as they largely do today, they build low-to-the-ground structures that are at least partially dug out. Because the lumber used is in such small pieces, halflings can opt for nontraditional wood for their buildings; hickory, ash, and cherry (ascending quality) each find their uses in halfling homes. 

When a halfling builds a traditional home, they first build a small house--almost a shack, really--and decorate it as a simple entry hall. Then they get to work burrowing. They create a staircase down until they can leave several feet of supported earth above them. Most halfling homes have only about 3 or 4 feet from floor to ceiling, though some halflings have constructed their homes to allow for larger humanoids as well. The dug-out home is usually four or five times the size of the entry hall. Decorations in halfling homes usually consist of collections of everyday items that the resident finds eyecatching. A sample home might have an end table with a porcelain teapot, a fern, a wooden tankard, and a quill carefully arranged. 

Practically speaking, halflings divide their homes into three rooms. There is a common space for entertaining guests (and which often serves as a study for the resident), a large kitchen area (halflings devote more space to kitchens than any other race), and a private quarters. Only the common space and the entryway should ever be seen by guests. Halflings generally take more pride in the underground portion of the home than the entryway, but in recent generations, halflings have taken to building more complete above-ground homes and more limited underground areas. In these homes, the underground area is considered incredibly private. 

In the halfling capital of Curagon, there are a great many burrows--so many, in fact, that entire stretches of the city have only hatches above ground. Some of the burrows in the city are larger than even the finest house, as they stretch for several stories down into the earth. Construction above these burrows is strictly forbidden, as previous construction attempts proved disastrous. 

Gnomes

Gnomish architecture has changed drastically over the years. Early gnomish buildings were domes, which later evolved into geometric designs, predominantly the icosahedron. However, for the last thousand or so years, gnomish buildings have become hexagonal for maximum use of space. Gnomes build their homes of a combination of wood and stone: the most common gnomish houses have a foot-tall foundation of stonework (mostly large stones set in mortar) with the framework and surfaces made of lumber (maple is prized for its flexibility). 

The gnomish design of a hexagon easily allows for up to six rooms. Many gnomish houses make the living room, study, or private quarters larger at the expensive of an entryway or laboratory, but designs will vary by gnome. The high degree of order conferred by this design is a reflection of the lawful nature of gnomes and their society. Just as gnomish society is mathematically considered, so are all elements of life given their proper place. Gnomes frequently entertain visitors and consider an impressive home (and especially study) to be a mark of social honor and distinction. Decorations in a gnomish home are far-ranging; gnomes try to express themselves through their homes in this way, so it is not uncommon to see a collection of art, personal trophies, religious items, inventions (successful and otherwise), and knickknacks. The more unique these decorations, the more enviable. 

Practically speaking, these homes are not only easy to divide spatially; they also can be closely fitted together. This means that gnomish settlements are dense in construction and give rise to close interactions with neighbors. Community is a highly prized value in gnomish culture, so this proximity is not unwanted. Outside of gnomish communities, gnomes construct hexagonal buildings as a way to honor their gnomish heritage. Gnomes are more likely to build homes large enough to be visited by larger humanoids, but the majority of gnomish homes are small enough only for them (mainly to preserve resources). 

In the gnomish capital of Vestry, thousands of these hexagonal buildings are interlocked like honeycombs for miles. This was an effort of reform during a time of gnomish progress, when buildings were altered to all be uniform and space-efficient. Since that time, hundreds of years ago, all of the capital is a sea of hexagonal houses and businesses. 

Orcs 

The orcish homeland is a small island called Grob. The tribes on this island always meant to keep space from one another, and this premium on real estate meant that tribes grew up, not out. The trademark orcish buildings always have at least two stories. There is little stone on Grob, and so a great effort has been made by orcish populations to harvest lumber from the nearby Shorgon Forest on the mainland. The Shorgon Forest is mostly home to alder, spruce, and cypress, so most of their buildings are constructed from them. In the rest of Evanoch, orcs build with what they can find, preferring oak and ash when their homeland's lumber is unavailable. 

These multi-story houses, expanded by floors when extra rooms are needed, are always built with the possibility of expansion. To that end, the average orcish home in an orcish settlement seems to have scaffolding going above the building's roof; this is the resident looking to grow their home. The interior of orcish homes relies on the balance of four spaces. The living room is a place for family to be together and to entertain guests. The kitchen, nearly as large as the halflings', serves also as dining room and often as a space for curing meats. Upstairs, the trophy room/shrine known as a gorshen can be found. This space is a personal altar for religious worship, and it is traditionally decorated with markers of past victories, especially pelts and treasures. Private quarters are especially guarded, and it is considered a grave offense to enter the private areas of an orc's home. Decoration in orcish homes is especially important in the gorshen, but orcs try to adorn their homes at large with stirring decorations, like paintings of battles, fiercely taxidermied animals, and strange lighting effects. 

Practically speaking, there has been an unintended side effect of the multi-story homes of orcs. At the beginning of time, orcs linked their private and public lives often; it was a powerful statement for an orc to keep everything out of the public eye. But since orcs began building homes so long ago, their thinking about these realms has changed. Downstairs in their homes are private spaces, and one must physically ascend to reach the more private areas. In modern orcish culture, personal privacy is paramount to survival. 

In the orcish homeland of Grob, the settlements reach considerable heights. The most powerful chieftain in the land resides in a house which climbs 28 stories into the air, employing a network of support beams anchored on the ground and on nearby buildings. It is possible to spot an orcish settlement from far away due to its stacked housing. 

Temple Descriptions for Each Deity

In Dungeons & Dragons, the gods can be constant figures. I've written before about my homebrew rules for gods, and they stand the chance to be major forces in your gameworld. But whether the gods are important figures in your game or not, temples are an everyday part of living in a D&D world. People within the world know that deities exist and can exert forces on the world, and they devote time and energy to the worship of these gods. The temples they build are perhaps the greatest display of how people commit to the gods. This list describes the standard design of each god's temples, and you can use its format to design temples for the deities in your campaign. Read on for the full list. 

The general thing to keep in mind when it comes to designing a deity's temple is two-part: who is the god, and how do common people interact with them? A temple design should take into account both ideas. My list below contains the 19 canon deities from D&D 3.5 (the gods who feature in my gameworld), but let's use an example from outside that selection by way of example. The Eastweald campaign initially featured a cleric/rogue who worshipped the Silver Flame. The Silver Flame is lawful good, associated with the domains of Good and Protection, and their favored weapon is a longbow. The Silver Flame speaks through a proxy, the Voice of the Silver Flame. We can use this information to create a temple for the Silver Flame.

For starters, the building should be orderly and structured, as the Silver Flame is aligned to law. There should be lots of regular angles and a sense of solidity. Let's say that the temple itself is shaped like a hexagon when viewed from above; that shape is evocative to me of structure and regularity. The Silver Flame considers Protection one of her domains, so at least part of the function of the temple should be to help good people. To reflect this, we'll have a sanctuary room where out-of-luck people can request help. The detail of the longbow could be ignored, but we might also use it to decorate the temple; the icon of the Silver Flame resembles an arrowhead, so we might have a stone longbow with a crystal arrowhead adorning the temple. Finally, we have the detail of the proxy; unlike other temples, where people come to worship in their own way, there will be a staff of clerics who work at a temple of the Silver Flame. There should be a speaker to interpret the Silver Flame's teachings, defenders of those seeking asylum, and a caretaker to keep the temple functional and clean. 

Of course, not all temples will be built the same way. That depends as much on the intention and resources of the temple builder as on the deity's characteristics. But by creating a framework for what a temple generally looks like, you can provide your players with the general description worked out for the temple and tweak the details depending on the specific temple. Just as architecture descriptions can spice up the game for your players, descriptions of temples can make inherently magical and remarkable places actually seem as legendary as they are. Let's move on to the temple descriptions:

Boccob

Temples of Boccob are exceedingly rare, and the deity is essentially uninvolved in the affairs of humanoids. A few temples exist, and they are quiet, small, secretive places. The only publicly known temple of Boccob exists in the city of Talon Gorge, where religious freedom is taken very seriously. Temples of Boccob are more often libraries of secret knowledge than actual temples of worship.

Corellon Larethian

Temples of Corellon Larethian are places of social integration, as elves of all classes and backgrounds come together to thank Larethian for the everyday blessings the elven god is believed to bestow. Small communities build their temples to Larethian in simple designs, often rectangular buildings just big enough to accommodate the community. Larger communities build their temples in crescent moon shapes, with the main temple area in the largest part of the building and supplemental rooms in the smaller edges of the building. Clerics of Corellon Larethian are often on-hand to provide healing and blessings to members of the church. The greatest temple of Corellon Larethian is in the elven capital of Mishara, and it is one of the most visited temples in the known world, as it serves as a pilgrimage for elves all over the continent.

Ehlonna

Temples of Ehlonna rarely appear in settlements, and when they do, only at the edge of the smallest towns. The temples themselves are usually built in circular shapes with windows all around the building. A few temples of Ehlonna have fine stained glass scenes in their windows, depicting nature and animals. Temples of Ehlonna never have assigned clerics; followers of Ehlonna are self-sustaining and turn to the god directly for help rather than using an intermediary. The floor of these temples classically has the emblem of Ehlonna carved in, and the temples are more often wood than stone. Wildlife around temples of Ehlonna tend to be more peaceful and stronger than normal creatures and plants.

Erythnul

Temples of Erythnul are kept secret at all costs. Only devoted followers of the god of slaughter learn the locations of these temples, for fear that protectors of the Good would discover and ransack the temples. Temples of Erythnul most often appear in mid-size to large cities, carefully disguised as abandoned buildings and shady businesses. Inside temples of Erythnul, there is nearly always a basin filled with blood; the blood slowly is consumed by Erythnul and must be replenished with fresh kills, and if the basin goes completely empty, the temple loses its tie to Erythnul. Temples of Erythnul take the form of twisting and turning buildings with snaking hallways that disorient even regular visitors. No one works at temples of Erythnul, and it is considered the joint duty of all parishioners to keep the temple at its best. The most frequently-visited temple of Erythnul is in the industrial city of Ringsdale, where the basin of blood has never been emptied in over 250 years.

Fharlanghn

Temples of Fharlanghn exist in major cities, but most lie on major and minor roads across the continent. Travelers can recognize these temples by the symbol of Fharlanghn depicted on the outside; the door of any temple of Fharlanghn bears the simple icon. The temples themselves are sometimes more akin to camps than buildings; Fharlanghn's temples are open air and have only basic architectural foundation. Outside each temple of Fharlanghn is a circular path which is meant to remind followers that every journey keeps going. Visitors to these temples often walk around this path when encountering the temple as a good luck charm, and it is considered bad taste to skip walking in the circle, even in a hurry. No one tends to temples of Fharlanghn, and it is the responsibility of any traveler who stops by to tend to the cleanliness and order of the temple.

Garl Glittergold

Temples of Garl Glittergold appear in major and minor cities where gnomes are plentiful; the largest is in Vestry, the gnomish capital, and it is among the most extravagant temples in the known world. Temples of Garl Glittergold are built of stone with significant gold inlays; the more gold, the finer the temple if considered. At least one gold cloud is standard in all temples of this deity. Moreso than most temples, those of Garl Glittergold take in funds from parishioners, mostly in the aim of providing public services to the less fortunate. A temple of Garl Glittergold generally has at least 3 people who work there: a healer, a public servant, and a community leader. The pentagonal buildings that form temples of Garl Glittergold are as much public service organizations as they are spiritual centers.

Gruumsh

Temples of Gruumsh are hard to find outside of the orcish homelands of Grob, where they appear commonly--though there is a Common Worship Charter allowing people freedom of religion, there is still concern about the evil orcish god's influence spreading. Temples of Gruumsh are built generally in round designs in stone, and the eye of Gruumsh is uniformly depicted on the floor of the temple. In the orcish lands, many temples of Gruumsh also function as armories, but this function is eliminated in other humanoid lands. Orcish temples of Gruumsh are worked by both a spiritual leader and a combat expert; in other lands, only the spiritual leader appears, but often quietly working in the role of combat expert as well. The greatest temple of Gruumsh appears on the island of Grob, and the combat expert for this temple is also the Ragnar (or prime leader) of the orcish people.

Heironeous

Temples of Heironeous were once among the most popular in the land, but over the last 300 years, people have become less concerned with fabled good-versus-evil and more concerned with day-to-day blessings, which are not the domain of Heironeous. The remaining temples of Heironeous are sites where only the most committed do-gooders congregate to work together on their goals. The temples themselves are usually two-story stone buildings; the first floor is a grand temple adorned with fine metalwork, and the second story serves as a home for the staff of the temple. The staff consists of both a spiritual leader and a philosopher; the spiritual leader tends to healing and questions of faith, while the philosopher is responsible for ensuring that the church changes with the times and reflects both current values and tradition. The greatest temple of Heironeous exists in Finiel, a half-elven city which has stood as a beacon of good values for generations.

Hextor

Temples of Hextor were once difficult to find when his brother Heironeous was more popular, but recent decades have seen a small surge in the popularity of Hextor. Temples of Hextor are kept somewhat secret to protect the identities of their evil members, but that is increasingly changing with time. A temple of Hextor is a small, square building with no windows and a steel door. Inside are chairs for public gatherings and a granite altar engraved with Hextor's holy symbol. These temples generally have one person working there: the cleric of Hextor is responsible for caretaking the building, community outreach to gain new members, conveying Hextor's wishes to the community, and any other tasks necessary for the prospering of the temple. The greatest temple of Hextor lies in the port city of Torga, where many government officials are secret worshippers of Hextor.

Kord

Temples of Kord are sites of celebration and competition more than traditional temples. The temples themselves are mid-size round buildings with the symbol of Kord etched into the floor, but only serious spiritual questions are considered inside; most of the temple's work happens in the street in front of the temple. Nearly all temples of Kord have enormous public squares where follower wrestle, share feats of strength, and discuss how to deal with public issues according to their code. A temple of Kord generally has one servant: their role combines caretaking and spiritual guidance with community outreach, as followers of Kord take a protective stance over their communities. The great temples of Kord are in Grob (the orcish capital) and Underhar (the dwarven capital); Grob's temple is the physically largest, and Underhar's temple has the most parishioners.

Moradin

Temples of Moradin are among the most architecturally unique in the world. While some modest temples constructed in small communities build the structure in common shapes, most temples of Moradin are built in the outline of Moradin's anvil. These temples generally have four rooms: a public worship area, an area for the poor to request assistance, quarters for the clerics, and a library of religious texts. The temples of Moradin are among the most heavily-staffed: there are generally at least three healers, two religious leaders, several caretakers, and an entire group of trainees for temple leadership. Temples of Moradin are highly integrated into their communities. Because of the large staff of temples of Moradin, collections for these temples are usually higher than most other temples.

Nerull

Temples of Nerull, once considered the most ghastly of all temples, have become increasingly popular in recent years. Public perception of the deity has changed from a malevolent reaper to a caretaker for a natural process, and so temples of Nerull have begun to appear in some communities with close relationships to nature. Because most of Nerull's temples are relatively new, their architecture is markedly different from other temples. Temples of Nerull are built like apartment buildings: there are several private rooms available to parishioners rather than a collective space for worship (due to the private nature of a relationship with Nerull). These temples are tended to only sparingly by a caretaker, who is responsible for keeping the temple clean for new visitors, and this caretaker often has another job to sustain themselves. The greatest temple of Nerull exists in the mid-size city of Such, where gnomish and halfling beliefs about death and nature have given rise to a population of Nerull followers.

Obad-hai

Temples of Obad-hai occasionally appear in cities as shrines for travelling nature enthusiasts, but most temple are located in the wild. City temples of Obad-hai are simple wooden buildings with a shrine inside, as well as a few plants to make the place more natural. But wilderness temples of Obad-hai are wild things; resembling oversized pagodas, these simple structures do not bear the holy symbol of Obad-hai as other temples adorn with symbols of the corresponding deity. Rather, they are partially curated and partially wild collections of plants. Travelers who arrive at these temples are invited to use the present plants for potions and salves if they wish, and it is common practice for visitors to plant a new plant or at least tend to those there. No one tends to temples of Obad-hai, although some dedicated followers check on the temples often. The greatest temple of Obad-hai resides just west of the gnomish capital, Vestry; in the heart of the greatest woods of the continent, this temple of Obad-hai stretches for nearly a mile and has been tended to by thousands.

Olidammara

Though temples of Olidammara do not have the evil reputation of other temples like Erythnul's, temples of Olidammara nonetheless remain secretive. Every major city, and quite a few minor ones, has a temple to Olidammara, though most residents in those cities do not know about it. A temple of Olidammara always appears as an unremarkable building, such as an abandoned shack or a nondescript house. Inside, however, will be a collection of masks in homage to Olidammara's holy symbol. No one works at temples of Olidammara; it is the responsibility of visitors to tend to the temple themselves. No dues are expected from visitors, but they do have the responsibility to work to keep the temple secret and functioning. Word of these temples spreads by word of mouth from rogue to rogue. The greatest temple of Olidammara lies in Curagon, the halfling capital, and this specific temple has an enormous mask formed from dozens of smaller masks.

Pelor

There are two distinct types of temples of Pelor: temples of Pelor, the sun god, and temples of the Dalton Church of Pelor, a violent reinterpretation of the deity.

Temples of Pelor vary more than most gods'. Small communities, especially farmers, build simple temples to Pelor in the hopes that he will smile on their agricultural work. Healers in small communities also worship Pelor, and these small temples always have a dedicated healer and spiritual guide. Larger cities' temples to Pelor are more concerned with the healing element of Pelor's powers, and they often have closer to three healers on hand. In fact, the most reliable way to receive healing in the world is to head to a temple of Pelor. Fine temples depict Pelor's holy symbol in gold on the wall of the temple, but simpler temples use brass or a similar metal. The greatest temple of Pelor exists in Talon Gorge, where it serves large communities of farmers and healers alike; this temple stretches for two city blocks and employs at least 5 healers at any given time.

Temples of the Dalton Church of Pelor exist only in settlements with large populations of the line of humans known as Daltoners; this generally means that the Daltoner capital (New Dalton) and nearby communities are the site of these intimidating temples. These temples are built to be huge and imposing, with a fierce and perhaps even cruel image of Pelor staring down from both the inside and outside of the temple. Daltoners pour as much wealth and status into their temples as possible, including making solid gold symbols of Pelor to decorate the temples with. Like other temples of Pelor, there are quite a number of people employed by a Dalton Church of Pelor temple: a Cardinal, several underlings and servants to the Cardinal, a small deployment of healers (who charge considerable amounts for their work), and a fleet of caretakers who keep the temple shining. Most temples of the Dalton Church of Pelor demand sacrifices on a daily basis (almost always a farm animal), and these temples have special areas for both holding the animals and sacrificing them.

St. Cuthbert

Temples of St. Cuthbert are simple affairs, and they have only recently become more common as the recently deified god has gained notoriety across the land. Most temples of St. Cuthbert are built of both wood and stone for a sturdy construction, and steel versions of his holy symbol hang from the walls of these temples. Only one person works at a temple of St. Cuthbert: a single devotee of the god works around the clock to perform all duties necessary to the temple. Healers who worship St. Cuthbert have been gaining increased popularity, and in some communities, temples of St. Cuthbert are used for healing as much as temples of Pelor. The greatest temple of St. Cuthbert exists in the city of Ringsdale, where residents have built a gaudy cathedral to the deity, who has chosen to avoid associating with the temple because he is uncomfortable with the extravagance of it.

Vecna

A temple of Vecna was once a relatively common sight, but as public cooperation has become an increasingly popular motivation for the people of Evanoch, the value of secrets has changed. The average temple of Vecna exists hidden within or just outside of major cities, but a good number of Vecna's followers simply create their own secret makeshift shrines to the god. When public temples do exist, they are sprawling buildings with unassuming appearances. Most often, a door will lead to a series of hallways or underground tunnels, and the building will look abandoned. But after searching the building's tunnels and hallways, followers of Vecna will discover a shrine with a symbol of Vecna, usually needlepointed or crocheted. The greatest temple of Vecna exists on the outskirts of the elven capital in a city called Cintan; there, an entire abandoned mine system houses a shrine to Vecna and a magical library of secrets reside, as well as a holy symbol formed by a preserved hand and eyeball.

Wee Jas

A temple of Wee Jas is hard to find. Evil gods' temples are elusive because they must be secret, but Wee Jas's temples are on the wane. Where once Wee Jas claimed as followers most who revere the life-death cycle, many of these followers now claim Nerull as their god. As a result, spellcasters are the most common among Wee Jas's followers, and they are known for keeping their religious lives secondary to their education in spellcasting. Nevertheless, temples of Wee Jas exist across the continent here and there, mostly outside of major cities. A temple of Wee Jas is built in a circle, with a large skylight placed at the center of the building. Etched into the floor is a clockface, and the skylight's sunlight functions as a timekeeper. Most temples of Wee Jas are unattended, although a few of the bigger temples get regular attention from dedicated followers. The greatest temple of Wee Jas is in Mishara, where it is a part of the great Misharan Library; people are able to research in the library and request help with anything else at the temple.

Yondalla

Temples of Yondalla are sites of joy; these wooden buildings resemble oversized houses, meant to make parishioners feel at home. Inside the temples, there is little to indicate that it is a temple at all--only the crest of Yondalla hanging from the wall gives it away. Otherwise, the temple is just a large living room, where parishioners come to socialize with their communities and work together to solve community issues. While the other racial deities generally frown on other races visiting their temples, Yondalla openly invites all people to take part in her bounty and maternalism. Generally, temples of Yondalla have one official working: an elder woman from the community who administers healing, advice, spiritual guidance, and whatever support she can. Temples of Yondalla are supported by donations from the community, but people are expected to contribute only as much as they can. The greatest temple of Yondalla is in Curagon, the halfling capital: this enormous round building can hold up to 200 people and was built to be large enough for non-halflings, who have to stoop down to enter most temples of Yondalla.

That's 20 different temple descriptions, all matched to the deities they represent. Now when my players enter a temple, I know exactly what they're walking into and can describe it in a way that makes the scene more detailed and memorable. These temple descriptions can be especially helpful if you have a character in your party who is particularly religious or is a cleric. And your homebrew gods can have unique temples with just a bit of work like what I've set down above. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: details on agriculture in your gameworld, how to design a one-shot from a movie, and how to create player character notes as an in-game document. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Describe Setting

Your job as GM is diverse; you must provide the rudiments of story, the reactions of the world to player actions, the framework to keep the game stable, and all other manner of narrative tasks. Describing details an important element of that work. I have written about how to describe various aspects of the game: critical rolls, combat, magic, and other details. But setting is another vital part of the game, and describing it well will enrich your game and give your players a better sense of the world. Read on to learn how to describe your game's setting. 

Generally, there are two reasons you might be describing the setting of your story. Option 1 is that you're introducing your players to an area, and your goal is to describe it well enough that they have a sense of where they are. Option 2, on the other hand, is where your players are in a scene that you have already introduced, and you need to add more details so that they can make use of their surroundings. You'll want to take different details into consideration depending on which scenario you're dealing with. Let's start, naturally, with option 1. 

When you introduce your players and their characters to a new area, you have three things to keep in mind: detail, scope, and pacing. Detail refers to the level of description you give--yes, the shack in the clearing is built of stone, but what else would characters notice about it? They might take note of the architectural style, understanding it to be classic dwarven construction. They might notice that a small herb garden lies to the south of the shack. They may recognize that they shack has only one small window and is otherwise unadorned. These kinds of details may require a Perception check to notice if that's your style; I prefer to include most obvious details as part of my initial description because it's more logical that player characters would be paying attention when they encounter a new scene than rolling a 2 and seeing nothing of note (how would someone reasonably miss a stone shack in the middle of a clearing?). 

The above example uses a human-made structure; in that case, you want to use your understanding of buildings to describe it. Scenes in nature will correspondingly require you to use your knowledge of plant life to characterize the scene. Let's keep the shack example and describe the woods surrounding it. The players can notice with a Nature check or Survival check that the trees nearby are generally sycamores and elms, all high enough to be at least 50 years old. On the ground are shrubs and bushes, mostly ferns. The players can hear the chirping of birds and the distant clacking of a deer's antlers against a tree; a Nature or Survival check will identify the birds as finches and a mockingbird. There are many other details we could include, such as how thick and tall the grass is, how dense the trees are, or what the weather is life. Whether or not we include these details relies on our other two considerations: scope and pacing. 

Scope is an important idea to consider when describing setting. There are a whole range of details you could provide, but how fine of detail should you get into? By way of example, let's stick with the shack in the clearing. We've described the architecture and the nature around it; what other details are valuable? That depends a lot on whether we're dealing with option 1 (first time encountering an area) and option 2 (filling in details). Option 2 will require more description in terms of scope, but more on that later. For now, option 1 means we need to make sure that our players have a good sense of the scene. In addition to the information we've already established, let's add a few other details. It is a balmy spring day, nearly noon, and a light breeze plays through the leaves on the nearby trees. A few clouds hang in the sky, including one in the shape of a rabbit's head. A small path has been beaten into the ground leading from a chopping block to the front door of the house. Now we have a fuller scene that the players can really dig into. Further details would probably clutter things up, so we won't go into more detail when the players initially encounter the scene. 

Pacing is the counterbalance to scope. Where scope demands that you consider the full range of what the players might notice, pacing demands that you also respond to player perception without weighing them down with too much detail. For some games, the detail about the rabbit-shaped cloud is too much detail because it doesn't really add anything to the story. This is the measure of pacing: does it affect the way you can tell your story? Good pacing would be introducing the details named above and turning control over to the players to further investigate things. As Pearl S. Buck once said something to the effect that good storytelling should never be bogged down by details; the pacing of the story matters more than anything else. Embrace this idea--don't worry about leaving the players in the dark as far as certain details go; the players can always use their actions to refocus the story back on where you're going. But at the same time, pacing requires enough information to go off of, so don't entirely skimp on description. A good rule to go by is whether your players are tuning out during your description: if they're getting bored and losing attention, trim your descriptions; if they're asking loads of questions about setting, step up your description game. 

When you introduce your players to a new area, you want to provide all the details that would be both fairly obvious and which advance the story. For example, with the shack in the clearing, if the goal is to introduce the players to a hermit-like character, it would be important to provide details that characterize how solitary the character is: there is a large vegetable garden, a tanning rack, a stack of recently-chopped firewood piled against the shack. Now when the players encounter the hermit, they'll already know the lengths to which this character has gone to live alone. You may wish to include certain details only with a Perception check. This applies mostly to puzzles you want your players to solve. For instance, if going to the shack was the plan for meeting and confronting a powerful spellcaster, and the hermit secretly is that spellcaster, you'll want to offer a few setting-based clues. Magic books might be hidden in a secure location, there may be potions-grade herbs growing in the garden, and there may be a collection of homemade wands stashed away. These kinds of details reveal story moments, and advancing the story through them often means challenging the players with something like a skill check. 

But let's say that you've already described the scene to your players, and now that they have been in the scene for a while, they want to notice specific details about the place. Now we're dealing with option 2, which means slightly different procedures for description, although we still use the same three ideas to guide our description: detail, scope, and pacing. 

Your players have investigated the shack in the clearing. They have decided before going in to look more closely at the surroundings of the shack. Now it's time to offer refined descriptions of what we've already said. Inspecting the grounds reveals more specific details than the first time. The vegetable garden on the grounds is mostly corn, wheat, and root vegetables; there are stumps of freshly cut trees at the edge of the clearing, suggesting the clearing was smaller before the shack was built; a prize buck's skin is stretched on the tanning rack. These details may seem insignificant on the surface, but they provide the player characters with both characterization so everyone is picturing a similar place and the ammunition to develop crazy plans. Experienced GMs: how likely is is that a player harvests a few cornstalks to create a disguise? Or uses the deerskin to try to wrap the hermit up? These things are distinct possibilities, and they only became possible because you mentioned these details in the first place. 

Not only should your level of detail increase when your players are more closely inspecting a scene, but the details you provide should suggest possibilities to your players. Let's imagine that the players have inspected the grounds and then enter the shack to find it empty, its owner tending to business in the woods. Now our description of the scene should offer opportunities for the players to act. Once they're inside, we describe the scene: there is a small table and chair, both seemingly built of the same wood as the surrounding forest. The hermit has a bookcase with mundane books nearly filling it, and a small woodstove with a stack of wood next to it. The bed is a simple stack of straw and a blanket. On the north wall hangs a hand-carved symbol of Obad-Hai, god of nature and balance. High Investigation checks reveal the secreted-away magic books, wands, and potions-ready herbs, allowing the players to interfere with the hermit's plans before they return home. These details not only characterize the scene, they guide players to making story decisions. 

Scope matters with extended descriptions as well. Your scope of detail should expand considerably when players are further investigating a scene. I recommend roughly doubling the amount of information you give, unless there is a deliberate shortage of information to challenge the player characters, such as a player finding a magic wand and needing to discern what spell it casts. So once the players are inside the shack and they're investigating, go back over everything you've already covered and add a new detail to each thing. The woodstove is roughly put together, but still hot. The bookcase's tomes are organized chronologically, and most of the books are at least 100 years old. The small table and chair are both a bit wobbly due to leg length disparities. The straw bed is depressed in the shape of an adult dwarf. The symbol of Obad-Hai is crude, but living yellow flowers sit where the god's eyes would be. Again, these details don't drastically change the story, but they do create openings for the players to run with certain ideas. Just from these five details, the players might choose any variety of tactics: they may try to feed the fire in the woodstove, looking to burn the structure from within; they may search the books for strategies in dealing with the hermit; they may cut into the chair's leg to knock the hermit over when unsuspecting; they may hide caltrops in the straw to hurt the hermit; they may steal the symbol of Obad-Hai in order to gain a bargaining chip. Any of these strategies is possible once you've described the basis for them. And even if your players don't take any of these details as strategies, they still get a very complete picture of the hermit as a person from investigating their living quarters. 

Finally, we have the matter of pacing when it comes to extended investigation. This can go either way; you'll either want to slow down or speed up these scenes depending on your players. Generally, the rule is this: if your players are trying to speed the scene up, speed it up with them. If your players are getting more granular, match them. Let's say the players are speeding the scene up; they've heard rustling around in the woods from inside the shack, and now they're trying to hide for an ambush. They're trying to speed things up, driving the hermit into combat. So our description of the hermit's moving around outside and entering the shack should be quick and to the point: You hear the rustling continue outside until it is just outside the door, which swings open to reveal the hermit. One simple sentence that conveys everything we need. For sake of comparison, let's look at an example in the same situation with too much description (unless you're trying to drive up the anticipation with a lengthy description): You can hear the plodding of leather boots on the ground, meandering their way toward the shack. It sounds as though they approach the garden and stand watch for a moment. Suddenly, the rustling approaches the door, and with a creak, it swings open to reveal the silhouette of a stocky dwarf in the doorway. As I mention parenthetically, this isn't a bad idea, necessarily; you may want your players on the edge of their seats at the beginning of the ambush. But if the players are accelerating the story, you should generally accelerate too. 

Likewise, slowing down generally means you do the same. Let's say that rather than ambush the hermit, the player characters are waiting politely outside the shack for the hermit to return home. When they see the hermit in the distance, they give friendly waves and call out. They're not pushing the action; in fact, they're actively trying to have a conversational approach rather than a more decisive one. So we slow down a bit. Our description should get longer and more elaborate in response: The hermit slowly picks their way through the woods, stepping carefully between fallen trees and shrubs. Once they are within seeing distance, they offer a friendly wave of their own, but their body language suggests that they are on-guard. Still nearly 100 feet away, they cry out like a bird of prey, and a large hawk swoops down and nestles on their outstretched arm. Finally, they reach shouting distance and stop at the edge of the woods, sycamores hanging low over them in the afternoon light. This description characterizes the encounter and further establishes the setting; by adjusting our pacing to a slower speed, we draw this dramatic moment out, and the hermit's approach becomes more of a stand-off to begin with. 

And just as slowing down when your players speed up can make a scene more complicated and tense, speeding up when your players slow down can do the same. As they make choices that try to slow down and draw out the scene, you counteract it with a rapid response from the gameworld. Let's stick with the above example: the hermit is standing off a ways, waiting for the party to say their piece. The party is using negotiating tactics, but the hermit can see that they are outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage, and they want to introduce some chaos to even the odds. So they pull an ax from their pack, quickly chop a few times into a nearby tree, and guide it to fall on the party. The players, with their methodical approach, will be challenged to adopt a new plan when the world is spinning quicker than they're acting. Use this tool--challenging the pace of the players--sparingly if you can. Generally, you want the players to be making decisions based on what they want, not what they're being forced to do by the game. 

Setting description can become a lot easier if you use visual aids. With a battlemat and figurines (or a roll20 map, for that matter), you can depict many of the details that would become difficult to describe without their help. Use drawings, reference art, or any other visual aid you find helpful. But also remember that some details cannot be included by visual aids. And remember that your players are imagining the world as you describe it, but their characters are actually in the world. They would notice a handful of things automatically that would characterize a scene, even with a bad Perception roll. So err on the side of overdescription when in doubt. Your players will thank you for it. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: how to involve player character-related NPCs in your game, how to allow characters to customize their appearances, and how to use TRPGs as therapeutic tools. Until next time, happy gaming!

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How to Describe Magic

I've discussed description before--how to describe critical rolls, how to describe combat, and how to describe narrative details. Description is perhaps your greatest tool as a GM, so it's important to use it to the fullest potential to create scenes for your players. And just as description is the key to GMing, magic is the key to a lively fantasy world. This means that your descriptions of magic will be especially important in painting a colorful picture of your gameworld. This guide will present some considerations to make when you describe magic so your players get a real sense of how magic functions in your world. 

The first question to ask yourself is whether you're going to use the magic rules of a game like D&D as presented or if you're going to approach it from the homebrew perspective. You can deviate from the rules as far as you would like. I created a custom magic system with room to separate from the game's mechanics, and it's surprisingly easy to do something like it. But for the sake of this guide, let's say that you're walking a middle path: you're using the D&D rules for magic and you're allowing mostly cosmetic changes to the way the spells work. This raises more questions for you to answer about how magic works. 

One of the most basic details of a spell is what it looks like. Some official D&D spells provide simple description of what a spell looks like--Magic Missile, for instance, reads, "You create three glowing darts of magical force. Each dart hits a creature of your choice that you can see within range. A dart deals 1d4 + 1 force damage to its target. The darts all strike simultaneously, and you can direct them to hit one creature or several." We get some basic information here: the spell creates three glowing darts which strike their target(s) simultaneously. Other spells offer much less information. Inflict Wounds, as an example, simply reads, "Make a melee spell attack against a creature you can reach. On a hit, the target takes 3d10 necrotic damage." This spell doesn't really tells us what it looks like at all. In my opinion, there aren't many spells at all that offer concrete details on what a spell looks like, and I believe that is so that you as the GM can offer those details on your own. 

So how can we spice up these descriptions? Let's start with Magic Missile. We have three glowing darts. But that's only three pieces of information: three, glowing, darts. We want to provide our players with more than that. So you could decide that all three darts are pale green in color and that their glowing light is faint. We can add that the darts are shaped like arrows or perhaps simply d4-like pyramids. We can describe the darts as moving slowly at first and then accelerating faster and faster into their targets; we could also describe them as flashing quickly through the air and exploding in dazzling bursts of light when they strike. The important thing is that the details make Magic Missile seem interesting and unique. And when a player casts Magic Missile again, you can return to your earlier description to keep things standard, or give it a different twist if it expresses how the situation has changed. 

Then we have the Inflict Wounds spell. We have very little to go off of here--all we really know is that the target takes necrotic damage. But that's still enough to go on. Imagine for a moment what this spell looks like in your mind. 3d10 necrotic damage averages to about 15 damage, which is a fair amount for early-level characters. And necrotic damage is especially brutal, as it directly removes life from the target. We can use these details to describe the spell more effectively. When the caster touches their target for the attack, there is a snapping sound and a burst of silver light from the place they touch their target. Then we can describe how the skin around the touched area quickly becomes dry and veiny. We can add that the target shouts in pain and grasps at the wounded area. We could even consider whether the target drops their weapon in pain and shock or decides to surrender rather than face such a blow again. The details give way to more details--this is how good narration functions. 

The visual details of a spell are important because they characterize spells which otherwise are simply rules. Whether you're in combat or not, it's a good idea to take a moment to describe what it all looks like. The easiest way to do this is to develop a sense of what colors different spells are represented by. You don't need to do a lot of work to accomplish this--just use your emotional associations with each color to associate effects with different hues. By way of example, I use green for vibrant energy like the Magic Missile spell above or anything that is nature-related. Light blue energy is for healing, reddish colors are for damaging spells, and white light is associated for me with spells that call on divine entities. You can and should think about how each color is related to an effect in your mind and use that as a key to what spells look like. 

A small note on using emotional associations for descriptions: you can do this for other effects as well. Magic is supposed to be otherworldly but still intuitive, and your associations are the perfect source for something that is both otherworldly (filtered through your subconscious) and intuitive (it fundamentally makes sense without thinking about it). And after all, this is really the place where GMing will come naturally to you--in the place that makes sense to you without working at it. Allow yourself into this place when you GM and you'll find that the results will reflect your vision for a gameworld better than you anticipate. 

The level of a spell is important, too. It follows logically that a cantrip shouldn't seem as impressive as a 9th-level spell. So take the level into consideration when you describe a spell. D&D's spells are already rated on a scale of 1-10 (cantrip through 9th level), so just think of the spell's level as a rating of how powerful it should be. A cantrip should be impressive enough as a spell in the first place, especially for a beginning party, but you should be ready to bump up the level of detail as the spells and the player characters become more powerful. Let's look at a pair of examples to illustrate this point. 

Let's say you're running a game with some 8th-level characters. That means your spellcasters have access to 4th-level spells. So when the wizard in your party casts Magic Missile (a 1st-level spell), you want to use your sense of what a 2 out of 10 is (since a 1st-level spell is the second step toward the top). When the wizard casts the spell, you describe its power as being a bit below moderate. Now when those three green glowing darts fire through the air, you can tell the other players that their characters feel a rush of wind and the sensation of static electricity from the impact of the darts. But when that same wizard casts Banishment (a 4th-level spell), we're now working with a higher threshold of power. We can relate this to a 5 our of 10 (since a 4th-level spell is the fifth step towards the top) and up the impact of the spell's effects. Now when the same wizard casts Banishment, we say that a creature is enveloped by dark purple lights which swirl around them before enveloping them; after a crash of thunder, they are gone. The thunderclap evokes some of the higher power we're talking about, but we can add more. When the thunderclap sounds, a smell of sulphur and burning hair fills the area. Now the effect of magic are far greater, and you can describe the different spells in a consistent way. 

Another aspect of spellcasting involves whether or not a spell succeeds. Some spells like Magic Missile automatically hit, but most involve a roll on the target's part to avoid at least part of the effect of the spell. A successful hit with a spell should be described as outlined above, but a failed spell requires a different tactic. Let's use the Banishment spell as an example. A wizard casts Banishment on a foe, and the foe rolls high enough to avoid being banished. But the spell still happened, so we need to describe it failing. I like to have my failed spells function as intended up until the moment of effect. So our failed Banishment spell encloses the enemy with the dark purple light and a sound of thunder in the distance booms closer, but the thunderclap dissipates with a hissing sound as the foe stands against the spell. The dark purple light wavers in the air and collapses, the foe standing with a resolute look on their face. Details like this create a sense of the spell's functioning and its failure in a way that dramatizes the spell despite its failure. 

What I have described so far is how to deal with spells in combat. But many spells are cast outside of combat, particularly in roleplaying campaigns. Because the momentum of combat is quick-paced, we generally want to offer detailed but brief descriptions of magic. If a few players are controlling melee combatants who roll to hit and end their turns, it doesn't make sense to take several minutes to go into the details of a spell. You want to temper your description given the demands of combat's pace. But out of combat, there are no such limits. I recommend taking out-of-combat spells further and describing more details as they appear. Let's consider some examples. 

The spell Remove Curse is a 3rd-level spell which removes malignant effects from a cursed individual. Let's say one of the members of a party is cursed in combat, and after the enemy has been dealt with, the party wants to remove the curse. Now we have the time and space to really get into the effect of the spell. You will have already described the effect of the Curse spell, and we'll say for the sake of example that you have described it as a dark red cloud that hums around the target, a whining sound and a wave of heat emanating from the target. That red cloud remains after combat. When the party's wizard casts Remove Curse, we describe it as outlined above: a pale bluish light in a sparking ball moves slowly from the caster toward the cursed individual; it crackles with energy as it encounters the cursed person, getting louder and brighter as its aura collides with the red aura. After a few moments of crackling energy, the pale blue turns white, and a loud snapping sound marks the disappearance of the curse. The person who had been cursed feels physically exhausted for a time, but can feel the strength returning to them as the seconds pass. 

This description is a touch longer than the earlier spell descriptions. And it works well because the moment of a player becoming uncursed is an important moment, and it deserves to be observed in detail by the players. This makes the wizard who cast the spell a valuable asset to the team, and the description of how the spell functions lends power to the wizard. Let's look at an example that's totally removed from a combat application to see how it can enrich a narrative moment. 

We'll use the spell Fabricate for this example. Fabricate allows a user to create an item out of a selection of resources, such as a wooden bridge from a clump of trees. The wizard in our party wants to create several outfits of average clothing from a heap of linen. When they cast the spell, it's time to provide the details we can. So as the wizard casts while standing over the heap of linen, you describe a vibrant yellow light emerging from the wizard's fingertips, coalescing into a swirling cloud of energy over the heap of linen. Tendrils of the yellow energy reach down from the cloud and begin to manipulate the linen, folding and stretching each piece. The linens move faster and faster until a blast of orange light explodes; when the player characters blink away the burst of light, five sets of linen outfits are laid side-by-side on the ground where the heap was. The clothing is warm to the touch, and the area smells faintly of fresh cloth. 

This description takes the foundation of the spell and fills in details so that it will entertain the players. It creates an impression of the power the wizard holds. And it makes a narrative moment out of what could otherwise simply be the wizard obtaining a set of clothing. Your players will take note of your descriptions and try to cast spells in ways that make the most of the detailed spell descriptions you provide. 

A final note on describing magic: it's easy for a magic spell to seem more impressive than someone trying to strike an enemy with a sword. And you don't want your players who are melee specialists to feel as though they aren't as powerful or valuable as spellcasters. My advice is to offer the best descriptions you can of magic and try to match that intensity with your combat descriptions--there are plenty of ways to make a melee attack more exciting than simply rolling the dice. Once your players are receiving detailed descriptions of their actions in and even out of combat, they will be eager to best their previous actions in terms of excitement. Once you have communicated that magic is something to get excited about, your players will get into the spirit of it and have fun with their use of spells. And that's your goal as a GM: get your players invested in the process of playing and making decisions. 

That's all for now. Good luck turning magic descriptions into something that enriches your game.As always, if there's something I didn't cover here or you would like to see written about here, comment below! Look out for a guide to the accessories you need to play, a guide to building a strong party, and uses for my expanded Wild Surge Table. Until next time, happy gaming!

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