Transportation in My Homebrew Setting

Nearly two decades ago, I developed the foundations of my homebrew setting. At that time, the amount of detail about my world seemed massive in scale and depth--I had gone beyond what the various editions of the Player's Handbook tell us about world design and included details that my players at the time found unexpected and exciting. But of course, with time and consideration, my homebrew setting became significantly more developed. Where my initial homebrew setting reference document was about 25 pages long (a not negligible amount of information), it would be difficult to put a similar number on the expansions to that setting I've developed for this site. I would estimate that my additions to Evanoch, its surroundings, its societies, and its cultures stand at over 300 pages of much more specific detail. And as I say in every profile on an aspect of my homebrew setting, diving deep on these ideas is always helpful in a variety of ways. 

Some of what I have written are straightforwardly helpful in obvious senses. Things like the natural world, the realm of politics, and the variety of religious beliefs in Evanoch are fairly obvious in terms of usefulness to most campaigns; each of these define large and overarching parts of one's everyday experience in the setting. But more granular details are not necessarily less important. Rather, things as specific as common sayings, styles of home décor, and even the tiny detail of tattoo art trends can be colorful additions to games that actually reveal larger cultural identities and values. In my mind, no element of everyday life is too small or insignificant to consider in depth for your homebrew world. For this profile on my homebrew setting, I'm choosing something somewhere in the middle of that spectrum: transportation. How people get from point A to point B in Evanoch can be important, especially in campaigns that involve moving between locations. Sure, it's possible to simply say that the party walks or rides around the countryside. But why not try to go deeper? I fondly recall playing The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind for the first time and being floored by the amazing silt striders, massive and long-legged insectoid creatures that are piloted by directly manipulating its organs. This was the game's elegant and interesting solution to the game's implementation for fast travel. So why not try to inspire our players with something similarly intriguing? This guide will explain the methods of transportation available in Evanoch. 

City Geography and Planning in My Homebrew Setting

As a perpetual GM, I rarely get a chance to be a player. And that's a shame--one of the best ways to refine your GMing skills and style is to play with other people. Seeing other GMs in the act often inspires us to think about out own games and worlds in new ways. That's something that's happened recently for me--after years of GMing without playing, I got the chance to play a character I've been dreaming of for a long time, and I've ended up learning a lot more than I expected to. One such way that's been expressed is worldbuilding in terms of city layout--my GM puts a lot of effort into creating interesting and distinct locations that really characterize the places we go, and I've realized that I want to do similar work on my world. [Disclaimer: the person whose GMing led to this revelation tells me that my mystery campaign, which they played in, featured a distinct and interesting place that inspired them in terms of worldbuilding; this is a great example of the way players and GMs can inspire each other in turn.]

And so this guide explores the physical locations in my homebrew setting. I'm focusing on the ten most major cities in my world (the nine biggest cities and the smaller orcish capital); I've previously addressed the political worlds, diplomatic situations, and architecture styles of each location, but the physical space of each place matters a great deal too. In the campaign I'm playing in now, getting to explore these colorful places is a thrill of its own, and I aim to create details that not only express information I have in my head but have never expressed, but also to create details that inspire my players to want to learn more as I do with my GM's world. So, with that in mind, let's explore the physical spaces that make up Evanoch's most important places--I hope you discover something that piques your curiosity. 

Mishara: 

Mishara, the elven capital, is a city at the center of the biggest island in the Lathien Island chain. The Lathien Islands are partially submerged under water; the land that emerges above the water is mostly plant life that grows up and out of the shallow waters. Thus, building stable housing is dependent upon using the plants, especially the mangrove trees, that grow here as foundations for construction. The most wealthy elves who live here tend to carve homes from the larger of the mangrove trees, while less wealthy elves will construct homes in their branches or simply on top of solid moss growth or piled soil. The precariousness of elven building and the need to have exceptionally long-lived buildings has meant that construction has become an increasingly specialized field--while other groups build structures without expertise, only the most talented builders are trusted to create lasting buildings on the Lathien Islands. 

Within Mishara specifically, the city does not follow strict divisions in terms of sections of the city; there are not distinct business quarters or areas designated for specific groups. The longevity of elves and the tendency for elves to leave their families to start over on their own has meant that elves from various family lines have spread across the islands, and Mishara specifically is home almost exclusively to the oldest (as well as wealthiest and most prestigious) elves. An average area of Mishara might contain a cross-section of expert businesses, a group of elder elves' fine homes, a few historic temples, and a selection of cultural sites such as playhouses and museums. Most sections of Mishara are fairly comparable, but the center of the city is especially known for a concentration of the very wealthiest homes as well as the government's seat. 

Navigating the Lathien Islands is less a matter of walking along roads as it would be elsewhere and more a matter of traveling via small boats, something like moving through a Venice-like city, but where the buildings are all composed of nature. As a result, a few industries have arisen here that don't exist elsewhere: boatmaking is an important field in Mishara that supplies average people with the means to travel around the island system, and slightly larger boats that ferry people along common routes charge modest amounts to offer public transportation. Swimming these routes is both dangerous (there are deadly creatures in the water) and looked down upon (only the very poor and the socially disenfranchised don't employ boats for travel). Mishara, then, is a city whose historical and impressive buildings are essentially their own islands within the city, and this conceptual isolation is an expression of elves' tendency to live highly individualized lives. 

Kruush:

Kruush, the orcish capital, is a relatively small city on the orcish island of Grob, but it is the largest city on the island. Since an orcish-elven war five hundred years ago (the War of Kraal), the orcish population on Grob has greatly diminished, leaving its once-thriving capital only partially populated. The ground is too rocky to farm in, so homes and businesses, which are generally built with at least two stories, tend to be anchored to the ground by driving stakes into the ground where a split in the stones can be found. Ladders are the most common way to scale a multi-business tower, while homes tend to have interior stairs. Kruush itself is a dense collection of stacked homes and businesses nestled against the middle of the Groknog mountain range. The buildings of Kruush are mostly built in a small grouping that is slightly spread across the bottom of the mountains' bottom slopes, so the buildings are all on slightly different elevations, distorting the height of the buildings. 

Kruush's first buildings were built initially as forts where the southern clans of orcs could defend their holdings further up the mountain, but by two thousand years ago, new buildings made the city as much a capital of commerce as a site of military intelligence. Many orcs argue that the safety available at Kruush made it an ideal location for merchants. As a result, the buildings along the first real incline of the mountain range are fortresses and barracks-style buildings, and the buildings further up the mountain tend to be pricier homes and businesses, while more affordable homes and businesses are constructed out into the flatter land. In terms of districts within town, most businesses tend to locate themselves close to other related merchants, so Kruush is very much divided along the lines of the purpose served. Kruush is noted for its smithing district, its eatery district, and its arts district (which includes everything from physical handicrafts to theaters and art galleries). 

One orcish custom involving death that impacts Kruush's appearance as a city is the practice of horroscan, or "spirit marking," wherein an orc is memorialized by loved ones or allies by driving a spike into stone (easy to find on Grob Island, which is mostly stone and rocky soil) and removing the spike--the hole left behind represents the hole left behind by the orc's death. Because so many orcs who called Kruush home served in the deadly War of Kraal, there are thousands and thousands of such holes in the ground in Kruush, and their anonymity creates the effect that thousands of nameless orcs are represented and memorialized in every part of the city. Kruush is, as a result, a quite somber place for those who understand the significance of the horroscan surrounding them, and many orcs from smaller settlements undertake visits to Kruush to witness the scale of their loss. 

Underhar: 

At the southernmost tip of the Kallett Mountains, ancient dwarves dug deep into the stone and created an underground city that is one continuous piece of rock, the same stone that forms the mountain range. The city itself follows a surprising lack of explicit order; having been carefully mined away bit by bit, many outsiders assume that Underhar is a carefully-planned community. However, the city is in reality quite chaotically constructed, as new buildings simply need to be carved away, only ensuring that the mountain's structure itself is stable enough to not bring the peaks crumbling down. There is a saying among dwarves that "The only thing keeping you from a mansion is lack of ambition," meaning both that for dwarves in Underhar, a home is exactly what one makes of it, and also that ambition opens the door to most any pursuit. The city stretches from the base of the mountains, where a ramp downward leads from the surface down into the city, to a great way under the rising peaks in the distance; the deeper the building is under the mountains, the more prestige it carries for the owner. 

Underhar was not built with specific districts in mind--the dwarves who lived there simply built where seemed best at the time, usually with accessibility to other developed areas in mind. As a result, it is fairly easy to determine how old a part of Underhar is given how easily-connected it is to other areas of the city. For instance, there is a long, snaking part of Underhar that goes from its deepest points at the former palace to the entry to the city from above ground--this section, called "The Spine," is by far the most developed, busy, and well-known section of Underhar, where long-standing businesses and families call home. On the other hand, newer excavations on the eastern and western edges of the city are more out of the way for average dwarves, and these neighborhoods tend to be home to non-dwarves who live in the city and more niche or unproven businesses. Thus, Underhar's prevalent class system is expressed geographically by distance from The Spine, and businesses denote a similar class system by which neighborhoods they serve (it is frowned upon for people to visit businesses they don't share a social class with). 

Because Underhar is entirely underground, agriculture is separated from the city, as all but a few more fungal crops cannot be grown there. As a result, over time, farmers have slowly developed a distinct identity in Underhar. Farmers are considered outsiders because they have to live outside of the city proper, but they are also seen as vital caretakers since Underhar would starve without them. As a result, farming is considered among the most selfless acts a dwarf can undertake, especially since the social prestige is limited. [For readers in the United States, think of the role of teachers--many respect it, but few would commit to it with its limited rewards and lack of proper status.] This has in turn led to a strange turn in the economic world of Underhar; while dwarves are committed to free markets, farmers have followed the gnomish model and developed a powerful union that protects them from passing political phases, and modern dwarven farmers are more prosperous than any of their predecessors. 

Vestry: 

The sprawling gnomish capital was built on a large expanse that was once rolling forested hills; the construction of the city involved clearing the trees (and using the lumber to begin building) while levelling the area for a literally equal foundation for everyone in the city. Vestry is the only truly planned community in the major cities of Evanoch--it is a large square on the map which is built along regular and geometric lines, and it is generally agreed to be the most easy-to-navigate city of note since it was designed with such simple navigation in mind. Each area of Vestry is dictated by square shapes of descending sizes: the overall city, four smaller quarters, and four still-smaller quarters within each of those (forming sixteen districts total). These districts are further divided by function, as will be explored in the paragraph below, and the gnomish leadership that designed the city created those spaces with as much equality as possible; each of the sixteen districts and four quarters are meant to be not interchangeable but equivalent. 

The quarters and districts of Vestry tend to keep a certain formula: it was originally assumed by the city planners that between 60% and 70% of citizens would need a physical space to run a business, and so most of any given area is a bit more neighborhood homes than local businesses. Legally, a set number of sustenance-related businesses are reserved--30% of all business spaces are set aside for grocers, food markets, and restaurants (though most districts actually dedicate more space to these). Vestry charges a higher tax rate on businesses than homes, and this is largely the source of most of the Vestry government's income (which it uses on public education, public housing, and other public services). As a result, merchants who can dispense with a physical space make use of the public market spaces located in each district, and these spaces are considered second in quality compared to businesses with their own locations, but they are preferred for price. The further details of Vestry's districts involve local government's role, which is unique to each district's political leanings, but according to law, all of them include public arts spaces, schools and academies, and a variety of government outreach centers. 

Gnomes traditionally build their houses in hexagonal shapes, which allows them to maximize space inside the home while still fitting tightly in with neighboring homes. This is a practice that existed before Vestry's construction, but the shape became standardized among gnomes following the building of the capital. At the same time, gnomes delight in things that make them unique among their peers, and so there is a tension between creating these standardized homes and expressing themselves through their homes. The result has merged the two competing ideas: gnomes keep a standardized hexagonal home as a mark of social responsibility and equality while expressing their individuality through a decorative marker at the top of their home. This is a somewhat popular practice outside of Vestry, but in Vestry, essentially every building has some manner of decoration. Common decorative markers include devices created or used by the building owner, animals admired by the owner, and geometric shapes that mimic or contrast with the house's hexagonal shape. Buildings are commonly described by the decorative markers on them--"Turn left at the house with the oak tree on top, and it will be on the right past the cascading triangles." 

Curagon: 

Curagon is located in the heart of the Heronal Forest, and it has been constructed in a way that essentially hides the settlement from view for any stranger. Halfling homes are built as burrows underground, which serves several purposes at once: they are hidden from potentially predatory people, they do not interfere with the beautiful and lively rainforest around them, and they require almost no building supplies and only simple tools to construct. These advantages are especially important to halflings culturally. As the smallest and slightest of Evanoch's residents, being hidden away is sometimes a matter of survival. The Heronal Forest is of basically spiritual significance, and not felling any of its precious and mighty trees is a cultural value. And because halflings wish to preserve nature and lack physical strength, a building method like burrowing which keeps resources alive and takes only persistence is ideal. As a result, outsiders usually don't even notice Curagon as they pass through it, as buildings seem only to be slight depressions in the ground which are usually kept hidden. Curagon is sometimes called "The Hidden City" thanks to this. 

While gnomes' city planning is ordered and driven by law, halflings embrace the opposite. Halflings have no central government to determine property rights, and there is no effort to keep halfling settlements organized in a clear way. Halflings tend to argue that the best organization comes naturally, and the only real consideration made before constructing a burrow is to search for and then consult with neighbors to ensure that a prospective burrow won't intersect or interfere with construction. But this is not to say that no organization exists at all--halflings tend to locate their homes near their work sites, near their friends and family, or near other important locations (a chosen temple, a favorite business, a specific part of nature). As a result, neighborhoods tend to emerge along lines of commonality: it is highly common for neighbors to share jobs, value systems, hobbies, and/or friends, which further strengthens the bond between neighbors. In fact, the term "neighbor" in halfling carries a heavier connotation than it does in other languages--it communicates something more along the lines of "chosen ally" than "person who shares proximity." 

Because halfling buildings in Curagon are dug out between the massive trees of the Heronal Forest, it is highly common for homes and businesses to include root systems. This is viewed by outsiders as very undesirable, since the roots seem to either require removal or relocation. However, halflings adapt to the root systems instead, carefully digging around the roots and diverting them to other directions back out of the burrow; some especially nature-loving halflings preserve the roots and feed them with nutrients and water to keep them growing inside the building. Thus, an average halfling home might include visible tree and other plant roots that are tended to as a living part of the home. This carries some social prestige among halflings, but it is acknowledged by most to be a serious undertaking. Ironically, elves are known for their in-tree homes on the Lathien Islands, but because halflings tend to remain secretive about life in halfling society, few outsiders realize that halflings too tend to the lives of the trees that form their homes; in any case, most halflings find the carving out of elven homes from trees to be barbaric. 

New Dalton: 

The plains on which New Dalton now exists were once rolling plains and the home of dozens of small and interconnected townships of mixed communities, largely gnomes, dwarves, and halflings. When Daltoners from the island of Dalton to the east arrived about 650 years ago, they swallowed up these cities, ransacking and dismantling them and leaving only what could not be looted burning. When it became clear from dwarven and gnomish military opposition that Daltoners could not imperialize the entire continent of Evanoch, the Daltoner forces retreated to the point on the eastern Haenok Plains where the Volluul River met the ocean back to Dalton. It was here that they began to build their megacity, which was initially meant to be an outpost which would send resources back to Dalton, but which eventually eclipsed the home island entirely. Today, the massive city sprawls across the plains, a multitude of buildings rising from the grassland, the physically largest and most populous city city on the continent, reaching far out across the plains and towering high over the coast. 

To those unfamiliar with Daltoner society, New Dalton does not appear to be organized in any particular fashion--its districts are not defined by class or by function like in most cities. However, Daltoners and those in the know can recognize that there are specific markers of status among Daltoners built into the city. It is true that the size or grandiosity of a building indicates an element of its status, but the building material used in construction is a better clue. In Daltoner society, rarity is associated with quality, as is similarity to the home island of Dalton, where almost all resources are rare. This means that some types of stone, especially granite and marble, are highly regarded for  their durability, their difficulty in obtaining (relative something like felling a tree), and their use on Dalton. For similar reasons, the hardwoods of the central grasslands where New Dalton lies (hickory and elm) are considered especially important. Thus, a trained eye will notice that entire sections of New Dalton are built from the same types of materials, elevating those parts of the city into upper class areas even if the construction itself remains unremarkable (aside from religious buildings, Daltoners eschew decorations in buildings). 

One other marker of status and position in society that is invisible to outsiders is that the distance a Daltoner's home is from the nearest church is considered highly important. Travelers to New Dalton may notice that the homes built immediately around temples tend to be larger; in fact, temples in New Dalton have generally been constructed with "donations" from people in neighborhoods deemed too far from a church who wish to increase their apparent piety. As a result of this secondary market for temple construction, there are an above average number of churches in New Dalton, which further creates individual churches which become highly insulated, which means that most churches in New Dalton have fairly specific interpretations of religious teachings. Because the dominant faith in New Dalton is the Dalton Church of Pelor, there are effectively hundreds of sects of Pelor worship scattered across the city. This means that socially, Daltoners are strongly united in terms of dedication to Pelor, but they are also extremely divided in terms of how to interpret their religious faith. 

Finiel: 

In Evanoch's history, there are generally two periods which divide discussion of politics: the kingdom era, a period that stretched from pre-recorded history until only five hundred years ago, and the post-kingdom age, in which new settlements have risen to importance. Finiel had classically been under the domain of Mishara, not least due to the large population of elves and half-elves living there and especially in its government. It always prospered because of its place on the northern coast, but when Mishara lost its legal grip on Finiel, it faced a choice: compete with Mishara or retain its protection. Finiel's leadership chose to compromise--it remained deferential to Mishara but expanded its port operations to the world beyond Mishara. In the five centuries since, Finiel has leveraged its geography into economic power. Finiel is the most notable of the cities along Evanoch's northern coast, and while the lumber industry remains small (out of respect to the Cosetta Forest, which is a spiritual place for its residents), Finiel has also used its position as a travel hub in the north and western parts of Evanoch to capitalize on its arts industries in ways that rival Mishara. Finiel does not generally create buildings inside of living trees, instead adopting more conventionally-constructed homes which more resemble Faninite longhouses than the elven L-shaped model. 

Finiel's layout is not guided by an intentional pattern; as a fishing village initially, it grew along the coast. Today, Finiel still hugs the waterline more than it pushes into the forests away from the shore. This means that the divisions in the city that do exist tend to be along what type of water exists along the specific part of the coast--whether the tide's receding or rising affects embarking or landing, for instance, or what kind of sea creatures can be found there. This means that it is incredibly hard to gauge how much a coastal property in Finiel is worth--buying a home or business space in the city usually involves speaking to as many neighbors as possible and hoping they're being honest, or even requesting permission to investigate the waters before sale. And as a further extension of this, visitors to Finiel often don't recognize that any properties are worth more or carry more status--the buildings are all fairly humble, aside from a few of the city's theaters and galleries (and even these businesses vie for waterfront property despite not needing it for business; such is the culture of Finiel). 

Because Finiel is currently regarded as a cultural capital of Evanoch--its high artistic aspirations are rivaled only by Mishara's, and Finiel's half-elves tend toward more universal and broad work than the insular elves--Finiel has something of a reputation as a haven for artists. It is true that Finiel is a great place for artists on the rise, but for those still struggling to make a name for themselves (which is most who flock here) discover crowds of hopeful artists just like themselves. Finiel has taken to constructing hostel-like housing for the displaced, and these have been constructed in land not desired by others: inland into the forest. This means that while most of Finiel proper lies along the shore of the Empira Sea, there is a mass of temporary housing further inland. Some of Finiel's citizens have complained that this creates an improper first impression of the city for travelers; what is clear, though, is that Finiel's citizens have no real issue with the residents of the temporary housing, who are noted by most as eager to contribute to the community--they simply don't like the look of the housing itself. A few artists have begun painting the housing, which seems to be a solution most everyone agrees to. 

Talon Gorge: 

Finiel clings to the western coast of the Empira Sea; Talon Gorge rests on the towering cliff face on the eastern coast of the Empira Sea. Because the city sits at the highest point on the ridge that borders the Empira Sea, it was extremely difficult to construct--hauling building materials up the ridge was difficult. But Talon Gorge, which was built only as kingdoms' rule over cities in their domain ended, was something of a modern marvel: in the space of only one generation, a wide expanse of forest was cleared, stones in the area were mined, and almost all of Talon Gorge was constructed, including its impressive royal compound. Because Talon Gorge was built in one large project rather than developing naturally, it is the most planned of all Evanoch's cities. At the center of the city, which is roughly the highest point on the ridge, is the royal compound, and seven triangular sections stretch out from that center, creating a roughly circular city whose western edge butts up against the cliff face. As one walks further from the royal compound, the elevation of the city lowers, and all but the most expensively-crafted buildings are made from the same wood that was cut from the original site of construction. 

Talon Gorge's seven sections are each further divided into three sub-sections. The smallest of these sub-sections (those closest to the center of the city) hold municipal and public buildings--government offices, banks, guardhouses, and other places where citizens can tend to public life, including some of the city's temples. In the center sub-section is a mixture of houses and marketplaces. The city design mandated that a certain number of marketplaces be included in various parts of the center so that no citizen have to walk more than a certain distance to get to necessities. In the outer sub-section are more houses and more permanent businesses. In general, the homes in the outer ring of the city are of higher quality than those in the center, and this is especially true of the homes in the two districts that face the cliff to the Empira Sea to the west--these are the most respected and expensive parts of the city, especially on the cliff face itself. These sections are known by a sort of grid-like naming pattern; "1C" would denote the innermost section of the third district, for instance, and citizens of Talon Gorge typically refer to different parts of the city by these coordinates rather than giving specific names to parts of town. Likewise, neighborhood pride is usually expressed via these coordinates--"You better not mess with 6B." 

In Talon Gorge exists a peculiar social dilemma that occurs due to its solution to the problem of reaching the Empira Sea nearly a thousand feet below: a series of pulley and scaffolding systems that lower and raise platforms from docks built at the base of the cliffs to the city at the top of the ridge. Because use of this transportation from bottom to top requires specific land in the city to access, this real estate is especially valuable. But at the same time, allowing public or business use of this space carries a price--what would be personal, private space in the form of a backyard and a beautiful view becomes a space heavily-trafficked by all manner of people. And in turn, there is a social price: choosing to sacrifice one's private life for profit is seen as unsavory by many in Talon Gorge, where revolutionary politics have recently toppled the self-proclaimed king of Talon Gorge and set the city alight about big political ideas. So in the city, certain types of wealth and status have begun to be viewed negatively among the general public. 

Ringsdale: 

Ringsdale is built where the eastern edge of the Kallett Mountains level out; it straddles the Oldoff River, which divides it into North Ringsdale and South Ringsdale. North Ringsdale is in the Liggen Forest of northeast Evanoch; South Ringsdale lies on the Haenok Plains. The halves of Ringsdale are built according to the materials available: North Ringsdale is built of a variety of woods, mostly oak, spruce, and cedar, and South Ringsdale has some wooden buildings (generally acacia but sometimes elm) but is largely built of stone from the mountains. North Ringsdale is also distinguished by the fact that the more fertile soil tends to sprout shrubs and wildflowers and even trees between buildings, and these are often left to grow; South Ringsdale has more of the Haenok Plains' typical burrowing animals living under their homes, and treatments for floors that the animals can't breach have become common. 

Within Ringsdale's northern and southern halves, there are further divisions which characterize individual parts of town. The city, known as the industrial capital of the continent, has distinct industrial sectors throughout the city. In eastern North Ringsdale is the metalwork district, and in the west is the lumber processing district; in eastern South Ringsdale is the stonework district, and in the west is the Ringsdale Public Guildhouse, where there is public space for guilds of all sorts to meet and do business. Housing, small businesses, and marketplaces have popped up around these industry centers, usually along the lines of what one does for a living, so most neighborhoods are collected by trade (most smiths live in the east of North Ringsdale, for instance). The court system of Ringsdale is housed in central North Ringsdale, and other government buildings such as the guardhouse and prison, are in central South Ringsdale. Thus, the city is organized almost entirely around function, and it is not uncommon for people to live in Ringsdale for years without seeing other parts of town since all they need is in their neighborhood. 

Ringsdale is, in some ways, the most modern of all of Evanoch's major cities. It arose as a powerhouse of commerce and industry over only a few hundred years; it eschews leadership in politics in favor of an experimental model; Ringsdale is at once just like every small town in Evanoch (built on practicality and hard work, and more concerned with day-to-day life than with the whole world around it) and nothing like them (with a swelling population larger than some former capitals and the economic power to have a say in global negotiations). Common business advice to up-and-coming entrepreneurs is to try one's business idea in Ringsdale since the masses there just want something that works well without any flash and pomp--indeed, the city's reputation as a place for honest businesspeople has resulted in many of the most successful and prevalent companies and services come from Ringsdale ventures, including Evanoch's renowned Lerpul's Premier Courier, which transmits messages quickly across the continent, and widely-distributed newspaper The Voice of Evanoch, the best known paper in the land. Because Ringsdale is so focused on commerce, business is the most common topic of conversation, and it's considered rude (and sometimes bad luck) there to change the subject away from business. 

Torga: 

As a port city, Torga mostly wraps around the coast of the Prockinor Ocean where it meets the southeast corner of Evanoch; only one of its districts isn't mostly along the water (its massive marketplace). It lies at the delta of the Decax River where it flows into the Ocean. It is also worth noting that Torga is a somewhat modern city built to combine three smaller cities into one larger community--the divided cities that became Torga (an orcish city, a dwarven city, and a Daltoner city) were messily conglomerated (check out Listen Check, a podcast set in Torga, to find out just how messily) into one city that took better advantage of its natural setting. To accommodate different visions of the future of Torga, the groups that formed it constructed different constructions out into the Prockinor Ocean. The orcs built a wide platform out over the waters near the delta of the Decax; this fishing and shipping center (also known for welcoming sailors) became known as The Pier. The dwarves built a complex metal loch system (nicknamed The Docks) which allowed ships into a harbor safe from the turbulent waters outside, and the engineering required to construct them still attracts visitors. The Daltoners built a massive extended boardwalk that reaches two hundred feet out into the ocean at a considerable height, as the hill at the eastern edge of Torga meets its top; this construction, The Island, which required cooperation from all the city's builders and architects, houses the most upscale businesses in town. It can generally be observed that the higher up the hill one goes, the nicer part of Torga one is in. 

The three districts that project into the water serve distinct purposes--so do the seven on land. From west to east: The Gap is a broad area that was meant to be developing housing for people moving into town, and that purpose was served for a few hundred years, but many have left the area in favor of better neighborhoods further up the hill as the projected immigration never materialized. Next is The Commons, an area set aside for affordable housing by Torga's government during incorporation; it is more populated than the Gap but still isn't entirely full, and its businesses tend to offer the city's lowest prices. Further east is The Grounds, an average neighborhood that's full and fairly safe, which is largely because The Grounds lies directly between the Docks, where goods enter the city, and The Hub, where they are sold. The Hub is the only district not on the coast--it is a large, roughly round space dedicated to open air markets and businesses, most of which rely on the shipping coming into or going out of the Docks. To the east of The Grounds is a small district called The Arm, which is entirely government buildings, including the port authority, the governor's residence, and the city's legislative chambers. Up the hill to the east is The Jute, so named for the guard force that polices the notoriously criminal city (who are in turn named for the fabric of their coarse uniforms)--here lie the massive guardhouse, the prison, and other governmental buildings involving oversight of the public. And finally, to the east, and adjoining The Island as it extends from Torga's hill, is The Field, an area featuring the finest of Torga's homes to match The Island's fine businesses. 

Because Torga is so notorious for its criminal population, a number of social effects result. Torga is especially heavy-handed with criminal justice issues (or was until recently, when the three most powerful in Torga's government stepped down)--this has generally meant both a high number of law enforcers and a lack of restraint in prosecuting. At the same time, the abundance of crimes being committed, from petty to extreme, disempowers law enforcement threats, so Torgans experience crime as a given part of life in a way that people elsewhere do not. Further, the city's culture is so influenced by its criminal population that few citizens are even aware of the extent of the influence. Once such example is in the naming of the districts: The Field is so named because it is where a criminal works (where the money is the best), and The Jute district (which is also known for hosting the city museum, the city's university, and dozens of prominent businesses) is so-named because that's the only thing about it that matters to a criminal. Torga is the most prominent city along the southern coast of Evanoch and second only to New Dalton on the eastern coast; it links New Dalton, Underhar, and Kruush in terms of trade, which has led to its prominence, and many attribute the mingled populations of orcs, dwarves, and Daltoners there to its ability to trade so widely. 

There you have it: a guide to the major cities in my homebrew setting and the ways they are formed. This has been a really great resource to get to write for me--I've run major campaigns in several of these cities (you may be able to tell which from the details I've provided), but not knowing this information now seems ridiculous. Some of these cities, which would be household names in my setting, were basically just spots on a map to me. Now, I can enjoy more fully picturing these cities as real places. I hope that writing about the places you game in helps you in the same way. Of course, the only way to find out if it does is to try, so as I always encourage my reader: take the time to get creative about this stuff--really cool stuff will come out of it. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: funeral rites and views on death in my homebrew setting, how to write a one-shot, and public views of a historical event in my homebrew setting. Until next time, happy gaming!

How to Create an In-Game Newspaper

Writing inside your gameworld can be an especially exciting find for your players. I've written before about general in-game writing, books, and character-written notes, but one of the best opportunities for in-game writing is something I haven't covered yet: newspapers. I remember that, years ago, in a campaign I played in, our DM would make in-game newspapers every in-game day that filled us in about the city, often recounted our exploits, and signaled new plot developments. It's something I have used a few times, though never on that scale, but no matter how often you introduce your characters to a newspaper, it can be a great tool for worldbuilding, immersion, and story inspiration. 

I know a lot of folks are probably thinking, "but how do I write a whole newspaper?" The good news is, you don't really have to. This process only requires writing four to six quick stories that follow the same rule I strive to follow as a GM: add the beginning of a story, but nothing more. The rest is for the party to decide. So let's brainstorm, and brainstorming is different depending on your purpose. The three commonest purposes for a newspaper are introducing a storyline, introducing a settlement, or chronicling something that the party has done. If you're introducing a storyline, you need your one main plotline, plus a few miscellaneous others; for a settlement, you want a mixture of new plotlines and characterizing details; and for a party deed, you need your one recognition story and a few miscellaneous others. In each case, most of what you need is a lot of ideas. So let's brainstorm!

I think I good breakdown for most newspapers includes the following: 

1 leading story (either your storyline or a main quest)

2 secondary stories (best served by characterizing details and sidequests)

2 tertiary details (best served by characterizing details and sidequests)

1 humorous characterizing detail

This breakdown allows you to emphasize stories with different levels of stress--you have different tiers of importance to give to stories, allowing you to up-play or down-play whatever you want. Maybe you stress the story you're interested in, or you minimize it so your players feel like they found a hidden secret. It's whatever works best for you. With all this in mind, let's start working on an example. 

I'm not currently running a campaign that could use a newspaper right now, so I'll imagine that I'm making one for a settlement that some hypothetical adventurers have decided to visit. This newspaper will be basically their introduction to the town, and so I'm looking for quests and characterizing details. Let's say that this town is a desert outpost which recently missed a shipment from their food supplier. So their main story, and essentially a quest hook, is to gather food for the starving town. Another lesser story might demand justice from the town the missed the shipment, asking for a posse of adventurers to go exact revenge. Because the town is between orcish and elven country, there might be efforts in the newspaper to stir up dissent between those two communities, or perhaps a competing story asking for help smoothing things out. On the other hand, our characterizing details should tell us more about this town. Maybe it's uncharacteristically peaceful for being in basically a warzone, so there's a record of public arrests showing that no one has been arrested in weeks. Maybe it's a fairly cultured place, so one of the stories is about a community production of a play. And for the humorous characterizing detail, we might add that a locally well-known person had recovered from an embarrassing injury, which I'll say is sitting on a cactus while drunk. So we have some ideas. 

To turn those ideas into full stories, we need to ask ourselves a few questions. What is this story supposed to be about? It should fill in details that make your other stories possible or which provide setting information. What is this place like? The story should reflect the place in some way so that it makes sense. What should the players take away from reading this? Remember that players will latch onto unimportant details with regularity, so focus your stories only on things that contribute to the direction you want to go in. 

I'll turn one of these ideas into a story with some guidance along the way. Then we'll begin to prepare the visual representation of the newspaper. Let's work with the main storyline I brainstormed above about the food shortage. What is the story supposed to be about? It needs to explain the situation and propose a solution. So the article will describe the reasons for the food shortage and call for helpful people to donate and ship food, noting a blockage in the supply chain elsewhere. What is this place like? The city can grow a bit to sustain some of its needs, but it can't supply everyone. So with the growing hunger, people have destroyed the existing crops, worsening the problem. What should the players take away from this? That the situation is dire and that payment would be offered for help. So the article will specifically state the direness and name a benefactor who is offering payment. These answers resulted in the paragraph below, our story about the food shortage. 

A terrible famine is sweeping our fair city of Nyirin. Our desert rose town has been struck by a terrible blow of fate, and a delayed cart of life-giving food has left people starving in the streets. The problem's root lies with the bad faith business deals which Nyirin has received from our sister city of Yothbalog time and time again. Their fairer skies and loamier soil gives them an advantage over us which they wield like a weapon. We are starving, and the hungry had unwittingly destroyed our crops by overharvesting. This situation requires an answer now, and Baron Cyathin has offered a cash reward to anyone who can bring food to Nyirin before the Yothbalog carts arrive. 

I've written the other articles and will fill them in as we assemble the newspaper's appearance. Start by opening Photoshop and creating a new document with a 9 inch width and a 13 inch length. It should look like this: 

Our blank canvas. 

Then we're going to add an image of parchment texture. Once the image is in Photoshop, resize it until it covers the whole canvas. It should look something like this: 

Our blank parchment.

Then add a title for your paper as well as the date (mine is in my gameworld's system rather than the Gregorian calendar) and some decoration:

Title and date added. 

 

Now it's time to add the text from the stories. It's not something that had a set way it has to be, but people generally expect different sections and columns. Have some fun deciding how big the text box are and how big you want the lettering to be. I'm going to emphasize my main story with bigger print and scale the rest down to fit. Remember to leave some space between the text boxes. I've also added a "Totally Anonymous" tag to the paper because (1) it's an interesting idea, and (2) I don't want to come up with author names. 

Text added.

Now all we need are some formatting lines, and we have a newspaper. I suggest using the box highlighting tool to highlight where you want your line to be, then use the paint tool to fill it in using the same color of ink you used. 

Lines added. 

And then you have your finished product! If you meet physically with your players, you can print it out for them; otherwise, you can share it with them digitally as a part of your world. 

The finished newspaper. 

So, you can add lots of great characterizing information on your world, build for future quests, show the consequences of player character actions, and immerse your party into your world by taking some extra time to create something like a newspaper for your players. It took me about an hour and a half to create the newspaper and the documentation here to tell you how to do it, and you won't need to create instructions, so it's really just a matter of committing to be creative and making it happen. And think about how cool it would be to regularly make newspapers in-game and then have a record of all the plot points and storylines and player accomplishments. It's absolutely within your reach, so good luck. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: why I use a combination of 3.5e and 5e, why most first-time D&D players are more Neutral than Chaotic-Neutral, and a list of interesting cities to use in your game. Until next time, happy gaming!

Why You Shouldn't Recreate the Real World's Problems in Your Gameworld (But How to Do So Responsibly)

I've seen a lot of discourse online in the last year about how many DMs faithfully translate the real world as their gameworld, and moreso about the failures of inclusion in doing so. Much of what I've read has centered on ideas about how many people live with oppression, and reliving in the game isn't exactly the escapist fantasy many people strive for. I agree with these criticisms in as far as that much goes. But I also think that there are many other important reasons to be more creative with your homebrew setting. This guide aims to explain why you shouldn't just recreate the real world in your gameworld, and it also provides tips on how to use the real world as inspiration without using it unedited. 

If you're familiar with this site, you know that I've spent a lot of time writing about my homebrew setting. At the time of this article's writing, I've penned 29 different descriptions of details of my world, from different rules for gods to a guide to cultural senses of humor and even information on what tattoos look like by culture. And if you've read any of these, it will be obvious that I've borrowed details from the real world--the senses of humor and tattoo styles are depictions of or inspired by real parts of our world. But none of them are direct taken from a real group. In other homebrew articles I've written, such as the architecture profile or the guide to cultural foods, I've taken real world ways of doing things and adopted them with small changes to my cultural groups in the gameworld. But even here, I have not decided that because dwarven architecture is fairly Gothic that they culturally resemble western Europeans in the 1800s. These examples help to illustrate that it is possible to borrow from the real world without entirely taking it. And that possibility deserves exploration. 

What a lot of fledgling DMs experience in trying to build gameworlds is a kind of overwhelming. The possibilities are endless, but you have to decide on something. It's like options paralysis, writer's block, and the frustration of not know where to begin, all at once. So the obvious idea occurs: borrow from the real world. It's worked for countless real creatives, including Tolkien, whose works are a fundamental part of D&D history. But as I said above, it needs to be partial borrowing. That leads me to my first tip: when you feel inclined to borrow, ask yourself what part of it inspires you? If you could only take a detail or two about it, what would those be? Once you can answer those questions, you know what you want to adapt. Let's use an example from a campaign I'm playing in: the DM wanted to adapt the classic D&D underground drowish city idea into their campaign, but they didn't want it to be operate like a canon drowish city. But they knew they wanted to use this idea for plot reasons, so they took it to the next step: building in details that fill in the rest. Here, you're asking yourself, how does this idea logically (or illogically) fit into the gameworld? What will make this detail more interesting? In my example, my DM added that the drow had become reformed, peaceful members of another elven society that merged with them. The underground city became a safehaven from biting cold weather and bigoted neighbors. This was a great twist that we're still investigating, and it's far more interesting than it would have been had we simply encountered a dungeon full of drow. So although it can take a while to imagine and decide on these details, it's certainly possible. It can be easy with practice and enthusiasm. And it's rewarding whenever performed. 

Another element of problems coming from adapting the real world has to do with predictability. When you draw on information that's well-known enough to be recognizably referenced to an average person, you necessarily rely on their familiarity with it for the reference to make sense. It's entirely possible to run a campaign about something very obscure and get drama out of it because people don't have a reference point for it, but a campaign that was about something in the public consciousness, there isn't going to be a lot of room for surprise. Discovering things about the world you're in can be one of the most exciting things to experience as a player, and you lose that when you adapt from the real world directly. I have heard of DMs basing campaigns on real military campaigns before, and I frankly can't imagine enjoying myself in a game with no mystery except how the dice will roll. I recognize, of course, that some people do enjoy it, but as I've written about before, I think that the height of tabletop games is role-playing. And if you want your players to engage in role-playing, you're going to want them surprised sometimes, meaning it's best to have some details of your own making to keep your players guessing. I personally strive for less than 50% of a detail about my world to be true of a real world counterpart as a rule, and I work for less than 25% when I can as a goal. I would recommend the same rules as you go about crafting your own gameworlds. 

An additional consideration with borrowing from the real world is that the real world is not understood by the general public very well. We live in a time in which nearly everyone in the world lives in a place full of lies told by those in power. Cultural stereotypes about others are not accurate by any means. And yet, by my estimation, the most common form of real world adaptation in tabletop games is in making the racial/cultural groups in the world stand-ins for real world national/cultural groups. I would say that the most recognizable case of this is with Dungeons & Dragons dwarves. I have scarcely met a player who doesn't associate a Scottish accent and German culture with dwarves. This is largely due to film adaptations of Lord of the Rings, I suppose, but it's also pretty bizarre. It's seen as somewhat harmless, but I also see lots of DMs who portray elves as very representative of Asian cultures like China and Japan. To me, that's interpreting perceived aloofness on the part of real Asian people and fictional elves as similar and therefore representative. That's a fine line with being xenophobic at best and possibly racist. Equating dwarves with specific western European powers doesn't seem much better. And that's entirely avoidable. My dwarves, for instance, appreciate a paternalistic society with privileges for the wealthy because there's a cultural belief that wealth is attainable with hard work, making them complacent with their lopsided government. I would argue that this is a representation of some real-world problems, but they also make this decision because the interference from their government is very mild, leaving them to focus on their lives as they choose. This is something of an amalgam of modern Western society, but not very representative of any specific people. The other races in my homebrew setting are all quite distinct from this--each is inspired by cultural beliefs from our world, but expressed in distinct ways. And while the dwarves are very of this world, the others except for Daltoners (imperialists inspired by imperial Westerners in real world history) are nothing like what we have in reality. This is because I've used cultural ideas to build the societies rather than specific recognizable traits. But you can see how the risk of conflating real life cultures with fictional depictions is murky territory, best avoided by a DM--especially when the alternative is a more enjoyable, engaging sharing of your own imagination. 

One final argument I'll make concerning using real life ideas for your worldbuilding: I have played a lot of tabletop games in my time--I've been playing for over half my life now, longer than any of my students have been alive. And one thing I have learned is that a DM's way of unveiling their worldbuilding tells you a lot about them as a DM. When a DM presents classic D&D materials to run as a module, it tells me they don't yet make the effort to run things without a script. When a DM presents materials that are very closely modeled on the real world, that's one step up the creativity ladder of homebrew, but it's a similar spirit. There's a lack of confidence in one's creativity to entertain one's party. On the other hand, when a DM presents very original worldbuilding, it's a sign that the DM is comfortable with the creative process. And a DM who is comfortable with the creative process is going to do more than worldbuilding well. You can also learn this information before playing with someone. Ask the DM about their world and see what they tell you. They're going to advertise what they think is most attractive about their gameworld. If it doesn't match the style of play you're looking for, then you know without playing; if it does match your playstyle, you can go in knowing what to do as a player. In any case, good worlbuilding isn't just a predictor of enjoyable gaming; it actually builds the skills that a DM needs to do well. 

So, do you still want to play a game about something controversial/too close to home/dramatic from the real world? Well, I get it. As a writer, anything and everything is out there, so accepting that something is off-limits (which I'm not arguing--merely that real life as worldbuilding has its limitations) can be really difficult. You're committed, so how do you do it safely? Consideration of your fellow players is your guideline. If you suspect that a storyline or idea might be controversial to someone, ask your players if they're okay with a storyline involving the topic you have in mind. If anyone says no or even is hesitant to answer, accept that this isn't the time for that idea. But if everyone's on-board, you have the green light to make your story ideas work. One thing I learned from a brief beginning of a campaign involving parallels to the Civil Rights Movement of the United States was that dice rolls can meaningful change the course of the history you're referencing, so that's another potential drawback to drawing from real life. Ultimately, tabletop games are a way to make things the way you want them to be--slaying monsters, exploring other lives, being heroes--and DMing should be too. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: how to make an in-game newspaper, why I use a combination of 3.5e and 5e, and why most first-time D&D players are more Neutral than Chaotic-Neutral. Until next time, happy gaming!

Common Misperceptions About History in My Homebrew Setting

In my never-ending quest to make my homebrew setting more detailed and realistic, I often set out to describe cultural phenomena. What are politics like? What are senses of humor like? What are superstitions and stereotypes like? Along these darker lines, what conspiracy theories are out there? As you can tell, I'm interested in why people are the way they are. In many ways, tabletop games are how I make sense of the real world, trying to construct something that evokes reality despite being unreal. And so, as a trained historian, I'm interested also in the ideas that people believe which are ahistorical. This happens all the time in real life--people refer back to people and ideas that do not match their beliefs. And so this is a guide to historical misconceptions in my gameworld. 

1. Ancestral Homelands

Historians don't agree much about prehistory, but it is generally held that contemporary societies exist precisely where their ancestral homelands lie. The argument goes that each race has held its own territory for the duration of time. However, this is not true, with the exception of the human groups to arrive on Evanoch's shores; Faninites are largely clustered around their arrival point on the northwest coast, and Daltoners are most plentiful in their capital of New Dalton on the eastern coast. In reality, homelands have changed, sometimes multiple times. 

These shifts can be grouped into three general categories. The first is migration. Migration was the main cause for the current state of the easternmost parts of Evanoch. The dwarves began at the center of the Kallett Mountains, not at the tip as believed today. Rather, on the plains surrounding the believed dwarven homeland were gnomes. Further up the coast were halflings near the forests, which were uninhabited by people. However, due to climatological changes, certain crops became ungrowable in their former homes. This led to massive migrations along the eastern coast, where these changes were most severe. First, the halflings moved west across the Kalletts and into central Evanoch, where their home in the Heronal Forest remains today. As this movement ended, the gnomes sought to move north and try to tame the northern forests, carving out what would become their capital of Vestry today. The dwarves, seeking a warmer climate, and knowing that the gnomes had vacated the area, moved south and recreated their previous lives where Underhar is today. 

The second category of territory shift is from war. Elves are popularly believed to have come originally from the northern volcanic islands called Lathien, and orcs are believe to have originated on the southern rocky island of Grob. The reality is switched: elves' original homeland was the rocky island to the south, while the orcs came from the volcanic islands to the north. The switch came just before recorded history, and the effect was that all evidence was destroyed, leaving little indication of the truth. After centuries of warring, both orcish and elven leadership decided to launch all-out assaults on each others' capitals. A new leader for the enemy capital, a small delegation of advisors and leaders, and almost the entire military force of each nation was sent along a circuitous route to the enemy capital. The elven and orcish capitals fell within days of each other. Most of both cities were razed. Each had to learn to live in the other's treacherous environments, and both found that in some ways, they were better-suited to life in their new homes. 

The third category is more conceptual: genetics. A few researchers have put forth the surprising but true fact that all of the races of Evanoch are actually descended from the same common ancestor. Unknown even to those researchers is the origin of this common ancestor. In fact, it was descended from a nearly feral creature that lived on the opposite side of the planet. Increasingly intelligent ancestors burrowed deep under the sea to arrive at Evanoch, some staying beneath the surface and evolving into distinct subterranean races first splitting into a smaller, nimbler ancestor and a larger, more powerful ancestor. These two ancestors further divided and evolved. The smaller ancestor became a taller version called the Drow and a smaller version called the Deepling (psychically-linked and armored beings); the larger ancestor became a stouter form called the Duergar and a stranger long-necked form called the Gant (magical and intelligent creatures). When those groups adjusted and evolved to life on the surface, there was one further notable change. Widely, these new races were less prone to violence and less naturally deadly, though they used their striking intelligence to counteract this deficiency. The Drow became the elves; the Deeplings became halflings; Duergar divided once more, now into smaller gnomes and hardy dwarves; the Gant became stronger and lost their long necks to become orcs. So, from a more distant perspective, all Evanines' true homeland is a terrifying place that the earliest people rallied together to escape. 

2. The Formation of the Continent

It was long held in folklore that the shape of Evanoch was the product of a wrestling match between the gods--its mountain peaks were said to stirred up by a bout between Kord and Gruumsh, for instance, and its valleys mined away by the greedy likes of Vecna, searching for hidden treasure. Over time, this folk belief has disappeared in most places, replaced by faith that shifting earth and erosion can explain why the continent looks the way it does. In fact, the myth is closer to the truth. The shape of Evanoch comes from fortifications for the battle between the gods that never occurred--something of a cold war between deities. In the time before humanoids lived on Evanoch, it was a stomping ground for a gods, a kind of paradise for only them. Their actions to protect it changed it forever. 

The preparations for battle happened generally in three phases. In the first phase, actions to secure the island continent were made carefully and under cover so as to be able to make movements without alerting the other gods. Initially, Erythnul began to create camps near some of the less martially-inclined deities; Hextor mimicked this strategy in opposing his twin brother Heironeous's headquarters; and not long after, Vecna established control of various libraries that contained information needed to oppose him. This set the stage of the conflict, which was only further fed by Vecna's discovery that the continent itself had magical energy. Vecna tried to keep this information secret, but Olidammara discovered the secret and spread it to everyone. With each god in full awareness that the fate of massive magical energy was up for grabs, the cold war properly began. 

The second stage of the diverted conflict involved almost unanimous fortifications from the gods. The evil gods who established footholds early as described above furthered their strongholds (Erythnul building more bases around the weaker gods, Hextor creating a massive fort around Heironeous, and Vecna attempting to broker a deal with Boccob). Many of the good-aligned deities forged an alliance to combat the presence of the evil deities. With some difficulty, the good deities established a base at the center of the continent, and they were soon surrounded by evil forces. The good deities created an emergency team--Yondalla, Pelor, and Heironeous agreed to act as healers in case battle came. Evil forces dug in around them, especially on the east side of the continent and in the ocean to the south. The gods pressed in on each other, magically and physically. From this, the center of the continent gained its mountain ranges on the eastern and southern edges. 

The third stage of the preparations for battle was the execution of a few strikes launched by both sides which caused permanent consequences, but did not result in a full-blown war. Once it was clear that the good deities and their defenses in the center of the continent were not vulnerable, Erythnul suggested appealing to the more neutral deities. This action was further polarizing to the neutral deities, who increasingly chose sides (Fharlanghn, Kord, and Obad-Hai leaning importantly to the good, while Gruumsh, Nerull, and Wee Jas tended to side with the evil gods). Under cover of darkness, Hextor killed an incarnation of Fharlanghn, and this caused a group led by Heironeous to drag Hextor to the same spot and kill him. This site is now the Kraal Desert, and little to nothing grows there. The racial deities tended to help the good gods, but only Yondalla explicitly chose a side. Olidammara helped both sides, and this nearly prevented her from being able to broker a peace. After the deaths, Olidammara (at Boccob's urging, their knowing that only Olidammara could be trusted by both sides, ironically) brought together the gods and agreed that they would leave without further action and allow the island continent to persist without their interference. The heavens were far more spacious than the island, after all. The gods agreed, and they left the continent looking as it does today. 

3. The Magic War

I've written previously about The Magic War, a massive and contemporary struggle fought over the regulation and use of magic. Today, only a generation after the war, there are already considerable misconceptions about it. The most common modern conception of the magic war is that it was a struggle fought by volunteers to end the use of magic which ended with unregulated magic. The reality is that there are three fundamental mistakes in the previous sentence. 

The first mistake is that the war was not a struggle fought by volunteers. It is true that a great many Evanines put their lives on hold and went to fight in an idealistic war. But it is also true to say that a great many of the soldiers who fought in The Magic War were not volunteers. It is estimated by informed historians that over 80% of soldiers were enlisted by either a provincial military or a group of mercenaries, meaning that more than four fifths of the people who served in the war were professional soldiers, paid for their service. Further investigation by historians reveals that the common complaint that ideological organizations were the most frequent to appear on battlefields is unfounded--in fact, the most common organizations represented on any given battlefield were city and town militaries. Contrary to the belief that individuals fought the war independently, the truth is that official local organizations dominated the war effort. 

The second mistake is that the war's central question was not just to end the use of magic. At the outset of the war, the central question of the debate that led to tensions was basically, "Should magic use be free, regulated, or abolished?" And it is true that for the first few months, this was the basis of the struggle. But quickly forgotten or covered up were the changing demands by some of the sides. While it is unequivocally true that the pro-magic side never changed their demands or terms, their opponents did not hold to the same. The regulation cause shifted from public oversight of magic use to private oversight of magic users relatively early in the war, making the regulation cause more in line with the anti-magic cause, and thereby less open to compromise with the pro-magic cause. Later in the war, the regulation camp would shift further, adopting a stance that all magic would need to be cast in the company of an official--many historians believe this to be retributive for the often bloody victories of the pro-magic camp. The anti-magic cause was even more prone to changing positions, getting so progressively aggressive that even moderate members of the army clamored for the execution of all magic users. By the war's end, the anti-magic position called for the immediate imprisonment all of known spellcasters and the execution of anyone casting a spell in the future. So it was not precisely an end to magic, but also the punishment and/or surveillance of magic users. 

The third mistake is that the war ended with unregulated magic. It is officially true that the war ended with pro-magic accepting surrender from the opposing sides, consenting to the terms that magic would be freely available as before without additional terms. However, as many spellcasters in Evanoch can tell you, it is not the actual law of the land. Because the war was ended by representatives of ideas rather than governments with standing armies, the enforcement of the freedom of magic is uneven. In major cities, it is observed, but in smaller towns and less progressive places, magic users are still moved to practice in secret, or at least out of sight. So without a governing body to execute the pro-magic victory, there is little in place to practically protect some magic users from repressive governments. 

One of the things that's most fun to me about the development of information like this is that it's unlikely to be known even by people in the gameworld. That means that I could potentially use this for something. I might build a campaign around being a historical researcher who discovers truths like these, which can be really valuable to a player. I just ran a one-person campaign with a friend and fellow DM in which he personally uncovered evidence that gnomes and dwarves come from the same ancestor, and he said it really struck him to be such a part of the world that way. I think a campaign structured around this information could be really fun. 

Or I could use it to create some real characterization and worldbuilding in-game. I might have characters talking about the world, and have a character who shares one of these ideas and gets called a conspiracy theorist. It would leave an open place for the players to jump in and ask questions and learn more and decide for themselves. Even if they just shrug off the person who shares the information, that's still a far more interesting detail to add than most things that would typically take place. 

Or I could just keep it as out-of-game lore that hold onto. You never know when it might come in handy down the line. Or perhaps just share it out-of-game with your players when the time is right, like after a campaign (players love DMing secrets most of the time). Or use this to build further lore--I could easily write another five pages about the cold war between gods or about the fateful switching of capitals between elves and orcs. I'll say it forever: worldbuilding helps you every time, whether you see the payoff now or later. 

That's all for now. Coming soon: why you don't have to recreate the real world's problems, how to make an in-game newspaper, and why I use a combination of 3.5e and 5e. Until next time, happy gaming!

How to Use Downtime In and Out of Game

No amount of careful planning or clever GMing can get around it; any longer game such as a campaign is going to have downtime. The players may be pausing between quests (or just procrastinating), or perhaps someone needs to look up some unknown rule. Not a lot is happening. So how do you make the most of your time? 

The answer depends on your group of players and your own needs as GM. But in general, certain positive activities lend themselves best to certain circumstances. This guide will walk you through what to do in each circumstance that you may have some downtime. 

Let's start with something obvious that some GMs nevertheless need to hear. At the beginning of a session, it's important to have a bit of social time in what is likely some downtime as people assemble and prepare to play. But even if you don't have incidental downtime here, it's worth creating it. I have had the great fortune as a GM to teach many people to play and a healthy number to run their own games. And one lesson that seems to have stuck with all of my acolytes is that it's healthy for players to have positive relationships outside of the game--it actually creates or heightens the trust necessary to enjoying roleplaying. So make some time and foster some relationships between your players (respectfully and at their comfort). 

But what about more ambiguous moments, like in the moments between people's turns in combat? There's often some space between players' actions that can sap energy and momentum out of a fight. I think that one solution is to keep adding description to the scene. You can describe the battlefield more closely, provide narration of enemies' body language and facial expressions, and get really involved in the details of combat narration. Details like this help to fill the downtime with potentially useful information that might inspire the player, and it also can help to keep combat focused (in my experience, combat makes for chaotic conversation). An example of this tactic in action: "The barbarian you're facing off against is standing about five feet from a boulder. He's favoring his right leg after the last strike you got on him. He's glaring at you but is grimacing with pain. You can see he has two bulging coinpurses at his side." All of these details are minor, but they might lead the player to use "Stone Shape" and fashion the boulder into stocks around the barbarian; they might focus their attacks on the barbarian's revealed weak spot; they may prioritize looting differently with the coinpurse information. All of these would affect the outcome of the scene, and all of it comes from a bit of added detail in these downtime moments. 

One of my favorite cases for downtime is when players feel like they just need a break from the stress of questing and seek out in-game fun. This circumstance is close to my heart because it's basically an opportunity to goof around with your friends. A lot of times, this situation starts with a player character deciding to go to a bar. Now, very rarely are player characters really looking for bars--they're really looking for a place where something interesting is likely to be happening. We all assume that a tavern is full of drunk folks doing wild things, and so that's the shorthand; we want craziness, so we say "bar." 

Now, there are a few ways to respond to this. You could allow the players to easily find a bar, and the important thing is that they are able to find a rowdy bar. Maybe the first tavern or two is a little lowkey, but they should find a bar with some bizarre goings-on. Remember, they're looking for something interesting, so give them something interesting. We're talking about a traveler with a talking rat interesting, minimum. 

You could also recognize the spirit of the request and give them something they'll like just as much or more. If you have players setting the bar for interesting at "maybe there'll be a fight," and you give them a wizard duel in the street or a parade of circus animals, you're going to give them a good time. So the idea here is basically to allow the player characters to look for a bar, but have them interrupted by the more interesting thing that they were really looking for. This approach uses improvisation pretty heavily, but it's definitely worth it for the reactions it gets. 

The last approach I would recommend for players needing to unwind is actually stepping back and allowing them some relatively quiet time and seeing how they react. Sometimes, especially with roleplaying-centric groups, an activity like going out to the bar is once again not really going to a bar, though it's also not exactly an invitation to adventure; it's a simulation of real-life socialization. Taverns are where people carried out social business, and roleplayers want time and space to express their characters outside of all the immediate stresses of the game's story. If you have player characters who are reflecting on their emotional experiences associated with recent events, you have absolutely found a roleplayer doing what they play for, so let them have that time when you can. 

Depending on your gaming setup, you may have to contend with bathroom breaks. To a certain extent, this should be obvious; people need to go to the bathroom, and usually find times to use the bathroom when their character is not as involved. I concede this is obvious. However, I have played in games where the forward momentum of the story carried us well past the point several of us needed bathroom breaks, but we didn't want to say anything since the GM was so into it. The fact that it's happened to me means that it's happened to others, and to those GMs, I say, "Yes, the pacing matters. So do your friends' bladders." Always choose being considerate as a GM--remember that the point is fun, and it's hard to have fun when you're not being treated considerately. 

Different GMs take different policies on side-chatting during the game. This one really is up to your discretion, but I think that it's best dictated by what type of game you're playing. If your game is more casual, I think side-talk should be not only allowed but encouraged. The point of a casual game is to have social fun, so it should include a social focus. More serious games--both roleplaying and combat--tend to need a little less side-talk. Roleplayers need immersion in the world, and hardcore combatants need to focus on the tactics and strategy. However, your tolerance for a lack of focus on your game is ultimately the most important factor, so use your best judgment and give yourself your best position to GM well. 

A conceptual note about downtime: this discussion is predicated on a division between time spent playing the game in the way all assembled parties have chosen to do so and time spent doing anything else. I hope that my explanations above help to show that this division does not have to exist. I have run a very casual hijinks campaign for about a year and a half that mostly plays to be silly and hang out. Essentially 100% of their time by the above definition is downtime. They don't do quests very efficiently, and mainly they want to entertain each other with antics. And that's totally fine! I spend a lot of my time trying to add bizarre things in their way, like they're constantly looking for a bar (but not really). And that's just life as a GM--you adapt to your players. 

So what do you do when you encounter downtime? You make it serve your game! Whether you add details to combat, wild chaos to the story, or some personal time between players, you can really benefit from treating downtime as an opportunity. So get out there, figure out what best serves you and your players, and start getting the most from every session.

That's all for now. Coming soon: common misconceptions in my homebrew world, why you don't have to recreate modern society's problems in your homebrew setting, and how to create an in-game newspaper. Until next time, happy gaming!

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Spell Slot Tracker

For characters with magic abilities, keeping track of which spells you have cast and which you haven't can be complicated. There are dozens of gadgets and apps which you can use to track your spells, but most of the available options cost money to obtain. That's why I've created a free spell slot tracker which is easy to use. 

The default spell slot tracker. 

First, follow this link to a google doc where you can track your spell slots. Then, click File -> Make a Copy -> Make a Copy (once you have decided how to save the spreadsheet). Using the tracker is simple: I have placed "x"s in the tracker that indicate which slots are possible for any caster; you should place your own "x"s in the slots where you are unable to cast. For instance, if you were a 3rd level cleric, your tracker should look like this: 

This is a 3rd-level Cleric's possible spell slots. 

Once you have made a copy and set it up for your use, it's an easy way to track spells. You could potentially place another type of marker for used slots (for instance, typing an uppercase "O" might indicate a spent slot), but I highly recommend typing the name of the spell you used in the slot. This will allow you to remember exactly what you did, which can give you some peace of mind in terms of what you have and have not cast. 

Along the bottom of the spreadsheet are different pages. All five of the included pages have the same default allowances for spell slots, so you will need to update them to fit your class. But you can use each individual sheet of this spell slot tracker to represent periods of time between rests; simply switch to the next sheet when your party undertakes a rest. If you're so inclined, this tracking method will allow you to recognize which spells you most commonly use in various situations. 

Please enjoy this free spell slot tracker, and have fun with all of the magical hijinks and power moves you can imagine. That's all for now. Coming soon: a time loop one-shot, how to spend downtime in and out of game, and common misconceptions about history in my homebrew setting. Until next time, happy gaming!

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