Today, Part 2 of the Topologia campaign setting details the Glassdust Desert, the Fields and Farms of Gardenia. But first, a section that got inadvertently left out of last week:

Walking Out Of Splinter

There are four compass directions, and walking in one of them leads to the edge of a different territory.

The river runs from East to West, ending at the Everflow Plunge. If you walk alongside it, you get to the Cliffs, and at their base, you find the Shadowfen, as explained previously.

If you walk in the opposite direction, you come to the edge of the Fields of Gardenia, exactly as you would expect from what’s been described already. But that still leaves north and south.

Heading North takes you into the Forests of Asthar, and more specifically, into the Brambles, a part of the forest where stinging nettles and other noxious undergrowth makes passage all but impossible. However, it’s possible to walk west to the cliff from the far side of the river and then north, skirting the Brambles. This carries you into the Scarletwold, an area in which the leaves always display the reds and golds of autumn, no matter what the time of year. These trees were always objects of fascination for the Elves, who long ago awoke them and decreed their independence of the Elvish people. They are unremittingly hostile toward non-elven travelers and harbor many creatures who make passage still more difficult; Spirit Wolves and Ghostkin and more.

For many years, it has been an unofficial rite of passage for youths seeking to prove their courage to spend a night under the outermost trees of the Scarletwold; so close to the town, they rarely encounter anything terribly dangerous but a lot that is scary. Anyone penetrating deeper is taking their life in their hands, however.

Heading south leads you into the Ironbarb Crags, a rocky and volcanic wasteland where the earth melts and from time to time erupts into great geysers of lava, where water placed on the ground quickly boils, and where the wind carves rock into great chasms and strange flowing shapes. The Crags are the domain of lizardfolk, dragons, and many fell things that are quite comfortable breathing the noxious fumes that fill the air. The part of the Crags closest to the town are the Crystal Spires, and they are actually the safest part of the Crags, except when it rains. When water falls from the skies it awakens venomous vines and other plants that animate and crawl this way and that, and the passages through the beautiful crystal towers are subject to flash flooding with water that itself burns and dissolves metal and flesh. Such events do not last long, but can quickly kill any who dare set foot in the area, save for those few who are naturally resistant.

It is the dangers poised at the edges that make the ‘alternative travel means’ so popular.

The Glassdust Desert

This desert is vast area of shifting dunes. When first you enter, and around an oasis, these are only 10-20′ in height, but as you travel deeper, they grow taller until the achieve almost 200m in height (650′).

The taller the dune, the finer the grains of sand, ultimately becoming akin to ground glass. Any creature without large soft pads for feet can sink a foot into this fine sand with every step, and the entire weight of the dune then resists the lifting of that foot.

The Great Salt Lake

Struggle through, and in the very center of the desert you will find a vast dry salt lake, from which salt is mined and purified for trade to the townspeople by the Dramedyn.

It rains five or six times a year, mostly in winter, and when it does, the salt lake comes back to life for a week or two, erupting in a riot of color as flowering plants spring forth from beneath the salt surface. As the lake again dries out, these brown and wither and seeds drop from the dying plants, 30-50 of them from each flower; most will not survive the conditions, but always there are enough to spawn a new generation the next time conditions are right.

The water-sources

Scattered throughout the sands are wells and oases but the sand moves around so much that these seem to wander the desert in their own right; every attempt to map their locations has failed, they never seem to be in the same place the next time you look for one.

Possibly this is because a reset has left memories that no longer accord with the current position – but perhaps not.

The Dramedyn

Inhabiting the desert are the Dramedyn. These are centaur-like camel-men who carry entire tents on their backs when they migrate.

They form 12 loose tribes who follow complicated paths from oasis to oasis; they have the natural ability to ‘small’ water from twenty miles away; unless guided by a Dramedyn, you need to be extremely lucky to find water.

Dramedyn are generally placid and peaceful, with a sly sense of humor, but they are proud and can be quick to anger. They are also known to hold grudges.

…until the next reset, at least.

Within their tents, they kneel on large cushions using their hind legs. When awake, they remain standing on their front legs; should they kneel on those, so that their bodies are angled toward the flooring, they are able to lock their arms to provide additional support while they sleep.

At need, Dramedyn can traverse the desert for about four weeks without water. This is more than enough time to get anywhere in this region, so if they undertake hostile action, they can literally come from anywhere.

The Dance Of The Dramedyn

The 12 tribes migrate roughly every 4 weeks to the next in a series of 12 major oases. Somehow, they time and coordinate these movements so that the tribes do not accidentally cross paths during a migration, averting possible conflicts.

The migration pattern between the 12 oases, if they were arranged in a circle (and including amongst their number two favorable spots on the River Everflow), would look like this:

It is the responsibility of the tribe who is about to migrate to the more upriver of the river landings to pause at the Salt Lake and mine as much salt as they can in about a week. If there has been a recent rainy day, they need to migrate a week later than they normally would, and this can result in conflict if the Tribe heading for the current campsite has not also delayed their migration.

Sometimes tribes have no choice; diets at any given oasis tend to be constricted, with all other supplies needing to be brought with the tribe. Only by regularly visiting all 12 micro-climates can a satisfactory level of nutrition be maintained. “Dramedyn cannot live by dates alone,” as they themselves say.

Unfortunately, the reality is more complicated. The oases are not evenly distributed around the edges of the desert in this way; some are close, and some are further away.

Because 12 sets weeks of 7 days each only totals 336 days, wherever a tribe is located at the start of a year, they will return to before the end of that year, and in fact be close to leaving it at the end of that calendar year (measured by the turning of the seasons). Over time, this means that each tribe will experience each location in all four seasons, a 12-year cycle referred to as “The Great Circle”.

Variations between Tribes

Every tribe is a little bit different. Much of this derives from the personality and leadership style of the tribe’s chieftain.

If you draw up a list of characteristics – “Relationship with humans”, “Greed”, “Generosity”, “Friendly Demeanor”, “Hard Bargainer”, and anything else you want, as a general rule, on a scale of 1-12, all 12 possible values will be represented – though they will be distributed randomly.

A table with the tribes numbered 1-12 along the top and the characteristics down the side permits using a d12 roll to select which tribe has the next value. So you roll once for the “1” and then a second time for the “2” and so on – ignoring any that have already been allocated numbers.

It should be noted that these are relative values that do not override the basic nature of the Dramedyn – even a tribe with a “1” for “Relationship with humans” will still be polite and willing to receive any that visit his tent. He’s just less likely to give them anything more than the minimum courtesy and hospitality. And likely to get angry of they insist or complain.

Relationship Between Tribes

Dramedyn practice a strict formality with their own kind based in traditions, many of them millennia old. Or so they think, anyway. These are designed to use customs as social lubricants – fulfill your obligations as demanded by tradition, to the letter, and there is less chance of conflict arising between tribes.

This leads to some practices that even the Dramedyn consider archaic, but that they will not change.

The Exchange Of Daughters

When female Dramedyn reach an appropriate age, they are left at the Salt Lake the next time the tribe passes near it, with a suitable dowry. The size of the dowry indicates the authority within the source tribe of the female’s father.

When another tribe passes the salt lake a few days later, they will pause to permit their unwed males to interact with the females and, if they seem compatible, to marry one. The tribe’s chief gets half the dowry and the bachelor’s father, the other half. Both are expected to match it in value relative to their own social standing in a gift to be delivered by the couple to the tribe of the newly-wedded daughter. They are then expected to return to the tribe of the former bachelor, with the daughter being formally adopted into that tribe.

The Exchange Of Sons

Bachelors get only 8 opportunities to look for a bride; after that, they are exchanged by the father of the bachelor for one of the daughters, who joins his harem. The father then has the obligation to deliver the compensatory ‘gift’ to the former tribe of the new concubine.

The bachelor, who has been effectively expelled from his tribe, is given the responsibility (along with others in the same position) of defending and protecting the unwed females at the Salt Lake. In so doing, he earns kudos and appreciation from those protected, and when next a tribe stops to look for brides, the prospective brides regale the chieftain. with tales of the battle prowess of the sons.

If he is sufficiently impressed, he may adopt the bachelor into his family and tribe, and must then marry the bachelor to one of his concubines – at his own pace; he can wait years for a suitable match.

If the bachelor has a bad personality, the reports are likely to be less than glowing, and the chieftain. less likely to adopt the bachelor – leaving him at the salt lake for another tribe to swing past.

Exchange Of Sweethearts

Should a couple form within a single tribe, Dramedyn custom permits them to wed, but at a price: they must leave that tribe and find another to join.

Nor are they permitted to accept the first offer given to them; they must wait for three offers to be received from different tribes, and are then allowed to choose the one they want. Variations between the tribes are strongly reflective of the offers that are made and the compatibility of the tribe with the couple.

Until the day they receive the third offer, they are honored visitors amongst any tribe they may encounter, and are expected to offer whatever skills they possess in return for that hospitality. This gives them a chance to demonstrate what they have to offer the tribe, and for the tribe to demonstrate what they have to offer the couple.

It is not uncommon for the most generous offer to be rejected in favor of a smaller one from a tribe that is a better ‘fit’.

The couple are considered envoys and representatives of their old tribe, so the refusal of offers must be done very carefully so as not to give offense and create a state of war between those tribes.

Trade Goods

In addition to salt, Dramedyn sell preserved game, fruits, etc (if they have any spare). They also sell the finest sand from the tops of the tallest dunes, which in turn makes the best glass.

In exchange, they will buy flour, preserved meats and fish, made goods like lanterns, fabric for clothing, and so on.

Unlike Elves and Dwarves, Dramedyn do not visit the town; the cobbled roads hurt their feet. Instead, they expect traders to come to them.

The Lost Tomb Of Ezrarch

Somewhere in the desert, a long way from anything else of note, travelers will sometimes come across a strange construction of stone. This is the Lost Tomb of Ezrarch. Who Ezrarch was is not remembered, only the name is known.

It is rumored that the tomb contains uncountable wealth in valuables, but there is a terrible curse that comes from disturbing them – at some random time in the next 30 days, any item taken AND all other wealth belonging to the trespasser will magically transport itself into the tomb. No ifs, buts, or maybes, no plea bargains – it’s all gone, including anything magical that they possess, even if they were miles away and wearing it at the time. The owner will fall asleep, or into a deep reverie if they don’t sleep, and when they come to, their goods are just gone.

Phistil, the Guardian of the Lost Tomb

Why, then, would anyone seek out the Lost Tomb? The answer is, the guardian. A cryosphynx of unprecedented size and age, she has three roles to play.

• If you come to her with a question, and answer her riddle, she will give you a clue as to the answer or a direction in which to find the answer. Sometimes, this is so profound that it gives the asker +1 INT – until the next reset.
• If you come to her with a problem, and answer her riddle, she will impart a single piece of relevant wisdom. Sometimes, this is so profound that it gives the asker +1 WIS – until the next reset.
• If you come to her with neither, but present her with a gift that she likes, she may reward you with one of the above with no riddle to overcome. Or she will give you the gift of entry to the tomb (see below).

The Dangers Of The Desert

All manner of creatures who like the heat abide in the desert besides the Dramedyn. Snakes, and scorpions and who knows what. It’s even rumored that there are Salamanders and Fire Elementals. But the desert itself is the biggest danger; near the taller dunes, even a strong breeze can act as a flensing wind, flaying flesh from bones. Lack of food or water can kill almost as quickly. It’s a good thing there are a lot of tribes of Dramedyn out there…

Leaving The Desert

There are 5 ways out of the Glassdust Desert.

• The Lost Tomb Of Ezrarch has an exit into the Mountains of Zugarth. If you do not earn passage with a suitable gift to the Guardian, you must answer a riddle to earn passage AND tell her a riddle she has never heard before. The first hard, the second is even more so. But it’s an option.
• Somewhere in the desert, not close to anything else of note, is an archway of rock with a hole in its underside. There is usually a rope ladder hanging down from the hole. Climb up the rocks to the arch, climb up the ladder into the hole, climb up the hole, and you will emerge from a hole in the ground near to the central square of the town of Splinter.


I’ve modified this image from the Arches National Park in Utah to include the passage to and from Splinter (with a rope ladder for the townspeople’s convenience and to remove a photographer that was visible on one of the rocks). Original image by Rosy / Bad Homburg / Germany from Pixabay.

• Somewhere in the desert, not close to anything else of note, there is a pillar of fire concealed by the sand dunes and the heat-haze of the desert. Walk through it, and (if you aren’t incinerated), you will find yourself in the Ironbarb Crags.
• Somewhere in the desert, not close to anything else of note, there is a dead tree almost 40′ in height and with a base almost six feet across. The interior of the tree is hollow. If you walk to the far side, and grope around, you will find a second hollow space within; squeeze into it (about 1′ across by 4′, so it’s difficult but not impossible) and you will find yourself in a completely different dead tree hollow, one located in the Shadowfen.
• Lastly, there is the Everflow. Going Upriverleads directly to the Ironbarb Crags, then Shadowfen, the Forest of Asthar, and finally, the Zugarth Mountains. Going Downriver leads to the Fields of Gardenia and then to the town of Splinter. Beyond splinter lies the Everflow Plunge – which (in theory) drops you back into the Shadowfen from a height of more than 1,000 feet.

The Fields & Farms of Gardenia

Gardenia is a vast plain and valley that is just big enough and fertile enough to feed the population of Splinter as well as the rest of Topologia. Should that population falter, a share of the losses will be amongst the farmers who abide here, meaning that fewer crops are planted/sewed and hence there is no vast amount of waste. If necessary, farmers who are no longer needed in that role will relocate to Splinter and take up a new social role / profession.

What astonishes the locals and the inhabitants of Splinter is that – to them – the converse is also true – if there is a vast upswelling of population, somehow Gardenia will grow by the precise amount necessary to feed the greater population.

The reality is, of course, twofold: that the entire ‘world’ of Topologia is an artificial ‘pet enclosure’ designed and constructed to provide adequate food for the current level of occupation, and that it keeps resetting to this baseline position.

Geography of Gardenia

The river runs from East to West in long, lazy, bends through the middle of Gardenia. The northern region is very different to the southern, however, though both are full of fertile lands appropriate to the name.

Beyond Gardenia to the south are the Zugarth Mountains, preceded by foothills that are also considered part of Gardenia. Numerous small, shallow, streams. .emerge from the mountains and run down to join the river. These often come together or split en route, effectively creating a network of lozenge-shaped islands, but these waterways are easily crossed. The soil in this direction is fairly heavily clay, becoming more balanced as the river is approached.

Beyond Gardenia to the north are the sands of the Glassdust Desert, and – as you would expect – the soil is comparatively sandy in these regions. The border falls where the land ceases to be agriculturally productive, even though it is supported by viaducts and waterways used to irrigate the land. These tend to be deeper and wider than the streams to the south, but there are abundant bridges, ferries, and fords enabling passage by foot.

The vast forest to the east also provides vegetable matter in the form of leaves and occasionally trees to fertilize the soil, so it is somewhat richer to the east and slightly less productive as you approach the town.

Agriculture in Gardenia

This geology impacts the agricultural practices, suiting some crops better than others. Closest to the desert is a belt of Barley, but this soon gives way to wheat-fields. Windmills and Waterwheels are used to transform the wheat into flour for easier transport.

The wheat-fields. give way to lands used for the growing of vegetables from about 2/3 of the distance to the river, though crop rotation is practiced routinely. Pockets of slightly less-fertile soil support vineyards. There are also pockets of corn and tomato plantations, strawberry fields, blackberry bushes, and so on.

South of the river are bands of more of the same, but not all of this land is cultivated; much of it is left fallow and used for the growth of grasses for the support of cattle, pigs, and horses. Much of the farming in these parts supports root vegetables like pumpkins, potatoes, and turnips.

Past the 2/3 distance to the mountains from the river, these strips of farmland give way to orchards, while the natural strips become increasingly used to support sheep and – eventually – goats, as the mountains draw near.

Farm Ownership

This is operated on a variation of a more 19th century model than the feudal / medieval. Farmers own both the land and produce that they produce, but they have to buy these from the King every year; come January 1, title reverts to the crown. Unless there’s a war that has to be paid for, these expenses are generally amortized over the entire year, and amount to between 1/3 and 1/2 of the production value. Some small quantity is paid in kind to feed the royal household and the army that they command. A further 10% is taken in tax (usually after sale and conversion to hard currency).

Every farm strikes hard times now and then and fails to clear these debts in the course of the year. Some debt can be rolled over and added to the debt owed in the next year; but after 2-3 bad years in a row, this begins to exceed sufficient production to support both the debt and the residents. A fourth year in which the debts remain unpaid results in foreclosure and the farmland being available for purchase by another family, who will hopefully be more prosperous.

The former owners then have to work for someone else for a living until their debts are cleared, plus a penalty period of 2 years; the family are then free to purchase any new farmland that becomes available, with their past debt record expunged. It is generally hoped and expected that this period of ‘apprenticeship’ will show the family what it was doing wrong, enabling them to be successful the second time around – but there are occasions when the problem is laziness or sloppiness and those personality traits are often harder to shift. As a result, there are always some who are found working other people’s farms.

Farmhouses

These start out quite rustic, but get improved year after year as the farms prove successful and well-managed. Looking at them gives a quick indication of the level of success of the family – those who are productive year after year grow country mansions as well as crops!

Most are not successful to that extent, and live in comfortable and sometimes extensive cottages.

Families, Neighbors and Reputation

Farming is hard work, and it’s not uncommon for farmers to have large families. This encourages a ‘clan’ mentality in which the family owns the farm and shares in the labor of running it, even though the title may vest in the head of the household. Daughters who are not the eldest child usually have to marry and move away from the family farm, but there is a bride-price paid by the farm that acquires a new worker in this way, usually equivalent to five years’ worth of labor by the ‘lost’ daughter. Sons normally remain on the farm when they marry.

There are times when there is more work than their are hands to perform it; this often happens when a daughter with many years experience marries and the bride-price used to hire a less-skilled replacement. When this happens, the first resource available for assistance are the nearest neighbors. It is commonly expected that farmers will trade in favors and helping hands when necessary, fostering a local community spirit; come need for a barn-raising, for example, it’s quite common for the neighbors to gather workers from the rest of their neighbors and simply show up one morning – once the farmer has the necessary construction materials. It is expected that the beneficiary will feed these workers.

Of course, if one has a bad reputation for whatever reason, people are less likely to volunteer their time and efforts to help out. Being stiff-necked or cantankerous earns you few friends, and sooner or later, that comes back to bite you. Being niggardly, unwilling to pay debts promptly, or not giving your share to such group activities, is generally noted and means that you are more likely to be on your own when trouble strikes.

The result is a reputation, especially amongst townsfolk from Splinter, of generosity of both purse and spirit, an earned goodwill that makes life a lot easier in troubled times.

Itinerant Specialists

There are some annual tasks that are manpower-intensive, such as shearing time, when more labor is needed than is available. Many farmers whose crops are quite able to be managed without a lot of activity in such times supplement their incomes by learning a specialist secondary trade and making themselves available for such tasks. A few with large families can even devote themselves full-time to a series of such endeavors and become Itinerant Specialists who spend their entire year working a ‘circuit’ of support activities – picking crops here, shearing sheep or goats there, and so on, and then moving on to the next task.

Hamlets in Gardenia

Especially where two or more agricultural activities meet, the largest employer in the region may erect additional buildings and form a hamlet, a small village where there is sufficient economic activity to support secondary industries and services. There are dozens of these small communities scattered through Gardenia, none with populations of more than one or two hundred people.

The residents of these communities use the proceeds of their activities to buy the land of their dwelling and business from the farmer who establishes the hamlet, paying rent to them in the meantime. They are thus a source of considerable wealth for those landowners.

Should a hamlet be established where there is insufficient economic support for it, because another one is too close for example, however, and this can become a road to quick ruin. They are not cheap to create, and if there isn’t enough demand, the businesses will fail, rents will not be paid, and the landowner can find themselves out of pocket by significant amounts.

It follows that being host to a prosperous hamlet is a significant feather in one’s cap.

Note that the landowner is also expected to give up more than just the land and buildings occupied by hamlet residents and businesses – they have to provide suitable means of accessing the broader community through roads and the like, and these rights-of-way are purchased from the original landowner by the community, funded by local taxes.

Dangers and Adventuring In Gardenia

There are always those who find it easier to take from others rather than perform hard work for themselves. Bandits, they are commonly called. There are also perpetual threats from the mountains, in the form of creatures who hunt the meat-on-the-hoof of the farms, and the occasional monster from the Desert. And the forest is home to many dangerous beasts that sometimes venture forth. Throw in politics and the way some landowners seem to go off the deep end from time to time, and there’s plenty of adventure growing alongside the fruit and veg.

But adventurers can’t be expected to do all the work on their own. There are two forces emplaced whose primary responsibility is dealing with these threats.

Each hamlet has a sheriff and a couple of deputies who are charged with investigating banditry and putting the perpetrators in prison. Typically, 10 days for a first offense, 30 for a second, 60 for a third, and then up through years – 1, 2, 5, 10, 25, life. Other offenses count as well – including murder and the like – and may catapult the offender up the chain with breakneck speed.

Sheriffs generally know their limitations and those of their manpower, and will often deputize adventurers for specific tasks – capture this bandit leader or whatever – when those resources are inadequate. Once the task is complete, the deputization lapses.

To counter the more significant threats from outside Gardenia, small elements of the army are often deployed along the borders. Sometimes in hamlets (which can supply the needs of the force) but equally-frequently in forts and strongholds. But their task is to protect the farmers and their lands; they will not pursue a ravaging monster back to whence it came. For tasks beyond the purely defensive, they turn to adventurers, recognizing that there are things a small band of specialists can do that a large group of fighting men cannot.

It is also worth paying attention to the dichotomy of the farming footprint and the implications for encounters. North of the river, carnivores will find little of interest; the biggest threats come from herbivores and omnivores and those that attack for reasons other than a square meal. South of the river, there is a lot less of interest to herbivores but – as noted – plenty for hungry carnivores to hunt. There are exceptions to these patterns of course – northern carnivores can hunt farmers – but, these are the broad general patterns.

GMs are encouraged to find ways of keeping the threat levels posed comparable. There is a strong tendency in most game supplements that provide encounters to reserve the higher threat levels for carnivores; but, in nature, herbivores can pose almost as great a threat, and the scales are more evenly balanced.

Noblemen and Royal Offspring

These defensive establishments are usually commanded by a Nobleman or a junior member of the royal household, and both can be a source of unwanted problems. These usually come from a sense of entitlement, one way or another. There are offenses that are exclusively the province of the nobility within the criminal code; these require the direct command of the King to prosecute. But even when such permission is given, the army is duty-bound to obey the commands of the offending Noble, and the local constabulary are in no way adequate to the task of capturing the offender. This task, too, falls to adventurers.

Leaving Gardenia

There are five quick ways out of Gardenia.

• Barn
  Near the center of Gardenia, and about half-a-mile from the river to the south, there is a large Barn used for the slaughter and dressing of animals. From the outside, it has only one entrance or exit; once inside, however, light reveals a second exit on the far side. Opening these doors leads directly to the town of Splinter.

• Rocky Arch
  Somewhere in the northwest corner of Gardenia is an archway of rock. If you circle around it, there is nothing strange until you are within 40 degrees of directly face on from the southern side, when the area under the arch abruptly fills with a mysterious mist that momentarily obscures the view through the arch completely and then clears to reveal a rocky wasteland beyond. Similarly, from in front of the arch in the wasteland, the fields of Gardenia become visible. One can simply step from one place to another.

• At the eastern end of Gardenia, there is a bridge of multicolored stone, crafted to resemble a rainbow, named the Rainbow Bridge, which crosses the river. No matter from which side of it you approach, as you get to the middle a curtain of blinding green light momentarily descends, and when you vision clears, you are able to descend the bridge into the Shadowfen.
• Valley Rope Bridge
  At the extreme south of Gardenia, about 1/3 of the way along it’s length, you will find Utopia and Nirvana, the tallest peaks in Gardenia. About 2/3 of the way up them is a perpetual band of cloud. Climb up to this part of Utopia peak and you will find a tunnel through the mountain leading to a rope bridge, whose far end vanishes into the fog towards Nirvana. Crossing the bridge is not for the fainthearted; it is poorly made and very loose, swaying alarmingly up to 30 degrees with each step – the direct depending on your center of gravity at the time. Some can only bring themselves to cross it on all fours. Mounts panic and many have fallen through the ropes to either side to their doom. The bodies show that the bridge is entirely within Gardenia. At the far side, there is a second tunnel through Nirvana to a set of stone steps carved in the rock that descends into the forests of Asthar. Most animals will refuse to enter the tunnels unless forced, so mounted individuals tend to avoid this shortcut.

• Mine-shaft
  Somewhere in the northeast of Gardenia, an erection of steel lowers a basket into a hole deep in the ground using a clever pulley system. Take the trip down, and you will discover a seam of pure coal being worked by Dwarves. Ascend back up the shaft, and you will emerge into a cavern, whose mouth lies in distant Zugarth.

• The Everflow River
  Much of the traffic to and from Gardenia utilizes the Everflow. Heading Downriver takes you directly to the town of Splinter without passing through the Ironbarb Crags or the Glassdust Desert first, even though going upriver from Splinter carries you through both of these lands before reaching Gardenia.

And that’s a wrap for part 2 in this series! In the next part: The Shadowfen and the Ironbarb Crags!

Part 1 of a campaign setting with some unique features – like limited immortality, topological insanity, a touch of the Wild West, and the Church of the Holy Octopod…

40,000 words done for the next post in the Trade In Fantasy series and it’s still not ready to post. So it will be a monster when it does appear… This series isn’t a time-out, it’s a fill-in – inspired, believe it or not, by an phone company advert!

The Town Of Splinter

Picture a town from the Wild West named Splinter – saloon, bank, general store, sheriff, jail, blacksmith, the whole nine yards – in a lushly fertile valley (the image above may help). A river runs along one side of the town, down which farm produce is delivered by barge every Saturday. On Sundays, the residents of the farms that produce this food and the town congregate in the church for prayers to the octopoidal god Cthelchek. Farmers and townspeople then attend a feast laid on by the local monarch, King Jeremy, and then a huge open-air market where produce and supplies for the week to come are purchased and where clerical and arcane services can be obtained.

On Sundays when the moon will be full in the coming week, Elves from the Forest Of Asthar make the journey to the town to join in these celebrations and trade the leathergoods, soft fabrics, and magical trinkets that they produce.

Two Sundays after the Elves come the Dwarves of the Zugarth Mountains, miners who wrestle iron, copper, tin, lead, silver, gold, and the occasional gemstone from the earth and rock, trading those commodities for the supplies that they will need over the month to come.

On the nights of the dark of the moon, the town transforms completely. Strange shadows emerge from the walls to reveal gargoyles who are invisible and inanimate the rest of the time. The buildings twist and transform into gothic nightmares, or so it seems to anyone seeing them from the outside. In the graveyard, the hungry spirits of the long-dead rise and stalk the streets, usually accompanied by swarms of bats. Roving packs of giant rats emerge from the sewers to steal away anything that is not firmly attached to building or ground. Locals and visitors bar their doors and windows and do not open them for any reason until the break of Dawn.

At such times, the dark God Kechleth holds sway, rousing the populations of fell creatures and evil folk that surround the town’s environs and sewing mayhem wherever possible. Twisted, evil, and malignant, he plots and schemes the downfall of Cthelchek and the civilization that worships and empowers him. A thousand times has he sought its destruction by a thousand different means, and a thousand times, he has failed or been thwarted, most frequently by the bravery and self-sacrifice of noble Adventurers. Kechleth is the sworn enemy of all that is wholesome and civilized.

Heroes In Splinter

Most people in Splinter and its surrounds are ordinary people leading ordinary lives. But every now and then, chance or fate steps in and touches someone facing this ordinary existence and elevates them to the extraordinary. The populace believe them to be ‘touched by Cthelchek’ and devote every effort to training and preparing them to confront and combat the evils of Kechleth.

It goes without saying that every PC is automatically one of these extraordinary heroes, though most of the ‘extraordinary’ is only potential when they begin their adventuring.

Cthelchek and Kechleth

What the population, and especially any PCs, don’t know is that Cthelchek and Kechleth are one and the same being. When the dark of the moon falls, all the instincts and thoughts and hate that are normally suppressed in the benevolent Deity worshiped by the populace come to the fore and take over their shared body. His great advantage over Cthelchek is that he remembers everything that the Deity has done since Kechleth was last extant, every preparation made against his rule – but his actions are secret, unknown to his better self.

Splinter and it’s surrounding environs are a fantasy town unlike any other; a wholly artificial creation of the Ilithid Cthelchek for his experiments in torture and mortal psychology. As his experiments progressed, Cthelchek began to think of the subjects as his pets, and developed a soft spot for them and for the ‘reality’ that he had created to house them. This drove him quite insane, causing the suppression of his natural instincts and nature, which only re-emerge when the moon is dark. Make no mistake, by his own standards, Cthelchek is irrational, even mad, most of the time. If any aspects of Splinter or the world of Topologia don’t make sense, that’s why.

Time In Splinter

Splinter, as a reality, is extremely episodic – far more so than is usually even possible even in ‘episodic’ campaigns. One weekday feels like the last; every week feels much the same as the one that came before and the one that will follow. What differences there are form part of a monthly cycle, and a few – like the seasons – a very mild yearly cycle that repeats endlessly. It’s always the year 143 of the reign of the Tredor family, currently headed by the 45-year-old King Jeremy Tredor.

King Jeremy and The Population Of Splinter

The surname is evocative; every inhabitant not born within Splinter was stolen from their natural reality by Cthelchek and programmed to occupy a place within the unnatural reality he had created. King Jeremy, or one of his ancestors, may well have been an ordinary Merchant in their first life – but this memory and identity was erased and replaced. If Jeremy ever seems out of his depth, this is the reason.

Death In Splinter

Named individuals do not die in Splinter – not for good, anyway. A few days, a week, or even a few weeks later, they will be back in town AT FIRST LEVEL – and no-one who’s not a PC or Kechleth is even aware they were ever “gone”. If they died some distance from the town, it might be remembered that they were “away” for a while, and have now returned – nothing more. Nor do the reincarnated remember being killed or dead.

Undeath In Splinter

Cthelchek is the agency responsible for the resurrections; the “Moon” is actually a visible manifestation of the arcane device he created to perform the task of ‘restoring’ his ‘testing ground’, though he does not remember doing so. Cthelchek is himself as subject to the “Resets” as any member of the populace; after each, he vaguely remembers having created the world, and simply ‘discovers’ it as it now is.

However, changes that he makes to the town or its surrounds – material improvements, the ‘seeding’ of new mines, whatever – do accumulate over time. Remember that Cthelchek is completely unaware that he is also Kechleth, though the reverse is not true – Kechleth knows and hates that he has to spend most of his time in that form, and actively schemes to undermine and sabotage his creation; he just doesn’t get to act for very long at a time or very often. This means that he has to plant ‘seeds’ and leave them to mature on their own.

Change In Splinter

The only source of change in Splinter therefore derives either directly or indirectly from the actions of the Dark God, Kechleth. Much of what Cthelchek does each cycle is to overcome whatever “damage” Kechleth has done to his ‘domain’; the more overt and obvious, the more quickly this can be done, leaving more time for ‘improvements’ to the Domain. The more subtle and subversive it is, the longer it can persist before Cthelchek even notices it and takes remedial action. This remedial action may not be rational. As a result, despite the repetitive nature of the cycles, the setting does slowly evolve over time.

PCs In Splinter

This raises the question for the GM – are PCs the creations of Cthelchek as weapons against Kechleth, or are they some devious scheme by Kechleth intended to force Cthelchek into awareness of his true nature, making Kechleth dominant all the time? Either are equally possible, despite what the PCs, Cthelchek himself, and the Church of Splinter believe to be the case.

When a PC dies, they get reset and resurrected the same as any other named character. If the player chooses to continue with the same PC, it retains it’s memories of past experiences, including death, though it doesn’t know how it remembers certain things. If the player chooses to create a new PC, one that can follow a different developmental path, then their former character never gets touched by the event that made them something special and becomes an NPC like any other, while a new person gets ‘touched’ and becomes special in their place. The former PC no longer receives the gift of reset-spanning memories, and the new PC has no memory of the past adventures – though other surviving PCs can spin wondrous tales of those who came before them.

Danger & Adventures In and Around Splinter

Splinter is a town under constant threat from hostile forces, or sometimes by the forces of “nature”, or some combination of the two. These enemies are manipulated or controlled by Kechleth, many worship him as their God (though they may perceive his nature to be different than it is – as a God Of War, or a God Of Death, for example).

Adventures are basically “menace of the week” against a backdrop of the PCs figuring out the world around them and finding a way to take action about it.

Note that these menaces are ‘reset’ periodically in exactly the same way as the town – PCs can broker a peace treaty between the town and the Orc tribe of Zasleen to resolve one adventure only for both townspeople and tribe to forget that a truce ever existed.

This week, Kechleth recruits a vain shopkeeper into creating a dark Cult to attack the town from within; next week, a Trio of Beholders assault the town from without; the week after, the Elven Village is Razed by what appear to be Dwarves, sparking war between the two with the Village (which depends on both) caught in the middle; the week after, a strange tomb appears in the wasteland…

Threat Levels in Splinter

Especially early in any campaign set in this environment, threat levels should be much higher than GMs would normally inflict. You WANT one or more PCs to die fairly quickly so that they can discover the unique ‘reset’ attributes of the setting.

Alternatively, you could begin the campaign immediately after a reset in which one or more of the PCs were killed in backstory. Whichever character has the lowest hit points might be a good choice.

I’ll cover the ‘reset’ and what it means for PCs more extensively in the final part of the series.

Leaving Splinter

There are 5 ways out of town. Each leads to a different environment. Everyone knows of them, and most are two-way bridges between these environments. Attempting any sort of geographic or topological analysis of the town and its environs is an exercise in futility; there is, at best, a thin veneer of logic. But everyone ignores the irrationality because “that’s just the way it is”.

• A Hole In The Ground near the central town square, where the markets and feast are held, leads to a split in an underground rock; climb down it to emerge from a hole in the underside of a rocky arch in the desert. Or climb up it from the desert to emerge from that hole in the ground in the center of town.

• Next to the stables is a large barn. When you enter it, you find that it has doorways at both ends – one leading to and from Splinter, and the other located in the Fields of Gardenia.
• Opposite the Saloon is the Sheriff?s Office; an alleyway alongside it leads to the Wood Store. Like the barn, entry reveals a second doorway, into the Forests of Asthar (which is where the wood comes from, obviously).
• There’s a rocky mini-mountain on one side of town, not far from the Butchery, Blacksmith, and a distillery. An Arched Brick-lined tunnel through the heart of this hillock emerges in the mountains, near to the Dwarven Village of Zugarth for which they are named. Building stone is extracted from a quarry nearby, and wagons from the Dwarven Village convey ores that they have mined and smelted when they come to trade.
• There is a River, as mentioned previously. It is named the Everflow. Going Downriver leads to the top of an impossible cliff with a huge waterfall, named the Everflow Plunge. Chalk is mined near the head. Anything thrown down the watercoarse can be found (after a diligent search) somewhere in the Swamps of The Shadowfen.

• Going Upriver leads to the Fields of Gardenia, the Gilded Glassdust Desert, The Ironbarb Crags, The Shadowfen, The Forest of Asthar, and finally the Zugarth Mountains.

That’ll do it for part 1. There are six other environments and their contents to describe, so I’ll do them one or two or three at a time (I’ve already done 2700 words for the next part), then wrap it up with other elements – like where Cthelchek and Kechleth are and how the PCs can (eventually) get there.

The career of Formula One legend Michael Schumacher holds some important lessons for RPG GMs.

Backstory

A video on the achievements of legendary F1 driver Michael Schumacher inspired this article when I connected a couple of stray thoughts together.

Having roughed out the content in my head, I decided not to write it, to do something else instead. I quite literally had second thoughts as to how useful or relevant it might be.

And then I had a fresh insight, a new angle, and third thoughts entered the picture, and, well, here we are.

Schumacher Achievements

For those that follow Formula 1 even casually, it’s hard not to know of the legendary achievements of Michael Schumacher. In his time, he set no less than 31 records, including Seven Championships (a record now shared with Lewis Hamilton). He won his first two back-to-back racing for the Benneton team and then moved to Ferrari, where he achieved an unprecedented FIVE more consecutive titles.

Along the way, he scored 91 Grand Prix wins, 155 Podium finishes, 66 pole positions, and 77 fastest laps. In 2002, he stood on the podium at every one of the 17 races that season; he had the most consecutive seasons with a win (1992-2006), and he won the French Grand Prix no less than eight times.

It has to be remembered that if Formula One is not the most elite racing series in the world, it is at least equal with others as the Pinnacle of motorsports, attracting the best drivers and the most competitive teams.

Perhaps his greatest achievement was in the 1994 Spanish Grand Prix, when early in the race, his gearbox failed leaving him stuck in 5th gear. For most drivers, that would have spelled the end of their race; Schumacher not only did most of the race in that gear, he finished an astonishing second!

Early Days

And yet, it almost didn’t happen at all. Schumacher started competitive Kart racing at the age of 4, and won the direct-drive Karting European Championship in 1987 at 17 years of age.

Graduating to junior formulae, he dominated in Formula Konig in his debut season before moving on to German Formula 3 in 1989. He finished third that year, and won the title the following year – and then his career seemed to stall.

With no F1 seats available, he was recruited into the World Sportscar Championship, which is generally NOT regarded as a leading feeder series into Formula 1 or the other sporting Pinnacles – it’s a second-tier series, or at least it was regarded as such by the Elites. While he became a race-winner in that series, for the most part, he was not dominant. Virtually no-one in F1 Fandom knew his name.

The Golden Opportunity

For the 1992 Belgian Grans Prix, the Jordan team were in trouble. One of their drivers had gotten into a heated confrontation with a taxi driver and sprayed him in the face with mace or pepper spray or something similar. Whatever he used was illegal in England, where the incident occurred, and he was promptly arrested. Meaning he was not available to drive the race.

Eddie Jordan was notorious for his color and for spending as little as possible. Somehow, the name Schumacher floated across his desk, and – since it was for a single race as a fill-in – he decided to take a chance. It didn’t hurt the cause that Michael had sponsors who would pony up at least part of the cost of running the car for the weekend.

To appreciate what happened next, you need some appreciation of where Jordan stood in the F1 pecking order. This was their first season at this level; their car was good, sorta, and their drivers were a promising young talent (now in jail) and a long-past-his-prime older driver. Usually qualifying around 8th-10th, reliability had seen them regularly challenging for the points (i.e. top 6) before being sidelined with a mechanical failure. Nevertheless, they had been one of the talking points of the grid all year. Their record for the year was 10th, 13th, 8th, 4th & 5th, 4th, 6th, 6th, 5th & 6th, 7th & 9th.

Schumacher seized his opportunity with both hands, and qualified 5th. At the start, he overtook Jean Alesi for 4th and was closing up on the three cars in front when his clutch failed and he coasted to a halt. Whether this was a failure of the car or over-exuberance by Schumacher was never made clear. But – especially for a first-time driver – it turned heads.

There was something about the cars, and their power levels, and the downforce and traction they provided, that just clicked immediately with Schumacher.

The following race, he had been signed up as a regular driver for Benneton and rewarded the team with a 5th place. Betrand Gachot, the promising up-comer, was replaced by a name Americans will know – Alex Zanardi, another up-and-comer at the time. Schumacher repeated his 5th place and followed it with another 6th – scoring points finishes in 3 of his first four races. It was a sign of things to come.

Lessons For GMs

When he was in cars that exploited his talents and mitigated his weaknesses, Schumacher shone, immediately. When he was in cars that did not, he was mediocre.

So it is with GMs and Game Systems. Some combinations just click into place effortlessly, some are hard work, and some are totally incompatible – that GM’s mind and talents simply don’t work in the way that the game system expects them to, and the two are constantly engaged in a cold war.

It doesn’t matter how much the game system seems to fit the description of what the GM wants, in terms of genre and style; it simply won’t deliver, and the exercise is going to be one of frustration.

Some people think that there is a similar connection between Genre and an innate resonance with GMing style, but my experience suggests otherwise – given the right campaign concept within the overall genre, a GM can still shine.

But even a good campaign concept in a genre that the GM is familiar with can’t rescue a mismatch in the game system.

Some Characters Make Things Worse

Game systems are complex, multifaceted things. Most have some core elements that are ubiquitous within play; if you have a problem with those, there’s not a lot that can be done about it. But if your problem is with a specific part of the rules, then it can appear as though everything is hunky-dory until a character – PC or NPC – taps into the vulnerable point in the GM-Game System relationship.

This presents a dilemma to the GM – ditch the game system (which is otherwise working just fine), change the problem area, or ditch the character. Or do nothing as the campaign flounders and limps.

Some personal examples

AD&D 2nd Edition & Fumanor

When I first conceived of the Fumanor campaign, it was intended to operate as an AD&D campaign. My prospective players were a bit “meh” on that idea – in fact, I had been shopping the campaign around for about 10 years at that point – but were willing to take it on if I switched up a gear to 2nd Edition. They were even willing to provide (on loan) the necessary rulebooks.

So that’s what I did, and for a while it looked like things were going fine. Slowly, though, I became aware that the characters were progressing a lot faster than I intended. Encounter levels were geared to challenge the party, and that aspect of things was working well; they weren’t too easy, they weren’t too hard. But the rewards that the players were earning from those encounters were out of line with expectations and risks.

Initial attempts at solving the problem failed, and by the time they had been unsuccessfully tried, the problem had reached crisis levels.

Rolemaster & Fumanor

Drastic action was needed, and so the decision was taken to switch the whole campaign to the Rolemaster system. On paper, it was the perfect solution. Ways were found to translate the characters from one system to the other, and away we went.

It was an unmitigated disaster. Prep time required skyrocketed out of control, and even with that prep done, the results failed to meet anyone’s expectations. And when the prep wasn’t done, the results were even worse.

The experiment lasted for only a few months and it was an uphill slog getting them to last that long.

D&D 3.0, D&D 3.5, & Fumanor

The players and I had several long discussions about what wasn’t working, and why. My solution was to go back to my original AD&D proposal, but my players still weren’t sold on that. Instead – on a trial basis – they suggested shifting to D&D 3.0, which cleaned up a lot of the elements of 2nd Ed that had been causing problems.

The game system and I just clicked into place immediately. It gave me flexibility where I wanted it, it let me implement the campaign tweaks that were needed, it compensated for the characters being 8-10 levels more advanced than expected in campaign design terms. It was Formula 1 to my Schumacher.

When the slightly-more-evolved version known as 3.5 came out, shifting to it was a no-brainier. And even when 4th ed came out, there was no desire on anyone’s part to change. The entire campaign, and its subsequent sequels, were played out under the 3.5 banner.

Paulo Lumierre & The Adventurer’s Club

When I first hooked up with the Adventurer’s Club campaign, it was as a player, not a co-GM. Paulo Lumierre was a hypnotist modeled on Derren Brown and some of the things that he had demonstrated being able to do in his television specials.

The way Hypnotism works in Champions 4th Edition is as a power called Mind Control. You roll an attack where the equivalent of your To-Hit is based on your mental stats instead of your physical ones (this is called an Ego Attack). Similarly, the target’s defenses are based on their mental stats. If the attack succeeds, then you roll however many d6 you have in a power called Mind Control. Your objective is to get multiple times the target’s Ego stat; the more multiples you get, the greater your control over them.

The version of the power that I constructed was laced with restrictions and limitations – you can’t tell a hypnotized person, “You’re a chicken” and expect it to work, it’s more “You think it would be fun to pretend that you’re a chicken”. It’s like making them feel that it’s a joke and they are in on it. I had to be within just a few feet of the target – there were hefty range penalties on the attack roll – and so on.

Paulo broke new ground in that it had a mechanism built into his “Power” to address susceptibility to hypnotism. If the first Mental Control roll (4d6 in his case) was in the bottom 1/3 of results, then the target was Resistant and could never get more than a superficial control result. If it was in the middle, then he got an extra 4d6 Mind Control against that target; if it was in the top range, then he got an extra 6d6 again.

The average Ego stat is 10. A stubborn or narcissistic target might have 15-20.

4d6: low of 4, average of 14, high of 24. Bottom 1/3 was or less, Top was or more. 10% of the time, I’d get in the bottom 1/3, and 10% I’d get in the top; the rest of the time, I was in the middle. So 90% of the time I’d get nothing more, and while some weak-willed people might get x2 or x3 their ego, there was a significant chance that I wouldn’t even get 1x, especially if they were stubborn.

Most of the time, I?d get another 4d6, taking the total to 8d6. I’d get 1x the average ego virtually 100% of the time and 2x 96% of the time. 38% of the time I’d get 3x it, and 0.74% of the time, I’d get 4x. If the target’s Ego was substandard – 6, say – then those numbers become 100% x1, 99.99% x2, 98.63% x3, and 82.11%, x4. If they were high – 14 for example – then they are 99.92% x1, 54.05% x2, 23.77% x3, and 0% x4. Maximum ‘Human Normal’ is Ego 20: 96.11% x1, 0.74% x2, no chance of x3 or x4.

If the character was susceptible, I’d get a total of 14 dice. Against a low Ego: 100% x4. Against Average: 100% x1, 100% x2, 99.92% x3, and 93.10% x4. High Ego: 100% x1, 99.98% x2, 87.85% x3, 15.61% x4. Maximum ‘normal human’ (Ego 20): 100% x1, 93.10% x2, 5.02% x3, virtually 0% x4.

Villains can have higher Ego values if the GM wants them to. We usually limit ourselves to 25, maybe 30 if it’s part of their defining “Shtick”. There was a low enough chance of significant control over one that it was virtually impossible for the character to ruin an adventure. If I got close enough, I might be able to put a flunky to sleep or even turn them against the master villain, but the character was smart enough not to even try attacking the villain directly.

The clever bit was that these values for the number of dice were permanent – if I later went to re-hypnotize the same NPC, I would immediately get the same number of d6 against them, even if it was a completely different adventure. You don’t gain or lose susceptibility or resistance, it’s an innate part of you.

I had no problems whatsoever running the character. The GM of the campaign at the time, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to grasp how it was limited and restricted – what I could and couldn’t do with it. Instead, he started to impose ad-hoc immunities to the power – “It?s a mutant, it can’t be hypnotized” was probably fair enough (and they were dangerous enough that I wasn’t inclined to get that close to one, anyway) but “He’s a cop, you can’t hypnotize him” went too far.

We were discussing all this in the car on the way home after my second or third session as a player and some of the problems that I had perceived in his knowledge of the game system; I offered to help him if he wanted assistance, and the next thing I know I’m co-GM. And what was expected to be a 6-12 month long campaign, starting way back 2004, is still on the books today, 21 years later.

Marcus Phillips & The Adventurer’s Club

Which is not to say that it’s all been smooth sailing. Ian Gray started the campaign with a female super-spy character employed by the British Library – a sort of “Jane Bond”. But he did his usual superlative job of constructing the character and it quickly proved to be the most combat-effective of the PCs. After a while, he got tired of the character and dropped out of the campaign for a few months while he thought about new PC options.

What he came up with was Marcus Phillips – at least, he thinks that was the name, it was a long time ago. Marcus was a field tester of military-grade hardware – every adventure, we would give the character a certain number o build points in gadgets to test and he would have to find a way to try them out in the course of the adventure. Because these were prototypes, we could “build in” all sorts of funky flaws and failure modes, so a small Gadget Pool could go a long way. I think there was even a mechanism that let us ‘save points’ from one adventure to the next so that we could afford to throw more expensive hardware his way from time to time.

As a concept, nothing wrong with it. And I had the Champions 3rd edition supplement “Gadgets” to draw on for ideas, so we seemed good to go.

Unfortunately, too many of the gadgets in the supplement were either (1) Magical or (2) too powerful or (3) too expensive or (4) too limited or (5) not in keeping with the 1930s game setting, something none of us realized at the time. It wasn’t very many adventures before the well ran dry.

The Champions system is great for a lot of things. Ad-hock creation of gadgets is not one of them – if it’s for a Villain, we have an unlimited budget (at our discretion) and don’t need to specify full game mechanics. When it’s for a PC, neither of those cards is on the table. We quickly ran out of viable ideas and the flaws started becoming repetitive.

Neither of the co-GMs (Blair Ramage and myself) could come up with goodies fast enough to feed to beast. Our ‘intuitive grasp’ of the mechanics – well, my intuitive grasp of the mechanics, because that was always something that I brought to the partnership – had reached its limits.

The character didn’t even last long enough to develop a really distinctive personality. This was no reflection on Ian, or on the PC that he had created – it simply pushed us into an area of the game mechanics we weren’t equipped to cope with very well.

Through mutual consent, the character went away and was replaced with a Polish mining engineer, and all was well in the campaign. But Marcus remains one of the ones that got away.

The Rules-As-Written Metric

How do you judge – in advance – whether or not a game system is going to be a good fit?

When I came up with the Zener Gate campaign concept, I looked at potentially a dozen different rules systems. These were culled down to a short-list of four:

• Triumphant Super-Heroic Role-Playing;
• Villains & Vigilantes 3.0;
• OVA The Anime Roleplaying Game;
• and, from out of left field, Maid, the Role-playing game.

None of them were quite right, and ultimately I chose to develop a bespoke game system for the campaign – I did it right here in the pages of Campaign Mastery. And it worked – with only minor tweaks, these rules sustained, and remained in place for, the entire campaign.

Reflecting back on the decision-making process that led to that decision brought a relevant insight:

The greater the players insistence on rules-as-written, the more those rules have to match GMing style and abilities perfectly.

The more a game system has to be cut, bent, folded, stapled and mutilated to get it to do what you want, the less likely it is that it was ever a good match for you in the first place.

The more that the rules-as-written accommodate the campaign that you want to run, the more likely you are to ‘click’ with it. If they are flexible in the areas where you want to get original and creative, that’s a big tick. It’s not the sole criteria but it’s a very good start.

And that brings me back to contemplating “Old-school Gaming”.

Old-school Gaming

When AD&D was king, it was expected that GMs would modify and tweak the rules, especially to cover anything needed on which the rules weren’t clear. There was greater flexibility to make the game system dovetail with the intended campaign.

This gave rise to perennial water-cooler discussions about House Rules and their inclusion – discussions that continue to this day to some degree.

As game systems became more advanced, there were less and less things that weren’t addressed within the game mechanics, and less and less scope for adjusting the mechanics to fit the campaign. Some even advocated changing campaign concepts to better fit the mechanics.

Old-school gaming opposes all of that. Simpler mechanics that get enhanced in the areas where a given campaign demands enhancement, mechanics that get out of the way when you need them to – that’s one of the strongest attractions of these systems.

And that just ‘clicks’ with some GMs.

For Balance: Criticism

Getting back to the base narrative of this article, I have to admit that in his championship-winning days, I wasn’t a huge Schumacher fan. I had massive respect for his abilities as a driver, but those abilities seemed to be married to a win-at-any-cost attitude that – to my eyes – severely damaged his abilities as a driver. Like most Australians, I advocate a hard-but-fair ethos on the sporting field – that’s why Sandpaper-gate aroused such animosity in the general public here. This wasn’t how we wanted our team to win, it wasn’t how we wanted to be represented on the sporting field.

There were persistent suggestions of cheating by the team in the 1994 season, and when it was proven that they had the capability of doing so, those suggestions became outright suspicions.

In the British Grand Prix of 1994, Schumacher was penalized for overtaking Damon Hill on the formation lap. He and Benetton then ignored the penalty and the subsequent black flag, which indicates that the driver must immediately return to the pits. He was disqualified and banned for two races.

By the time of the season-ending Australian Grand Prix, Hill and Schumacher were separated by just a single point. Whoever finished in front of the other, assuming both scored points, would be the Champion. During the race, Schumacher made a mistake and hit the wall; he then appeared to deliberately steer his car into the middle of the track so that when Hill rounded the blind corner, the pair collided. With neither scoring points, Schumacher was Champion. Even today, there is no clear consensus as to whether or not this appearance of impropriety was reality.

In my eyes, Schumacher had the talent and ability to win championships without the need for such ‘tactics’.

In the 1997 season, Schumacher – now driving for Ferrari – was again leading by a single point going into the final race, and was again leading the field. Towards the end of the race, Schumacher’s Ferrari developed a coolant leak and loss of performance indicating he might not finish the race. As his rival that year, Jacques Villeneuve, approached to pass the stricken Ferrari, Schumacher deliberately turned in on his rival. Villeneuve limped back to the pits for repairs and subsequently finished fourth, enough to claim the title. Schumacher was given no penalty at the time despite public outcry, but two weeks later was stripped of his second place and disqualified for the entire season.

I have to admit to not agreeing with this late penalty. I would rather have seen Schumacher relegated to a last-place start for the two or three races at the start of the 1998 season; if he was good enough to win from that position (and he had done so in the past), so be it. But an after-though penalty exacted no real pain and would taught the driver nothing – but that’s just my opinion.

There were numerous other incidents along the way, some caused by Schumacher, and some by the team. But the cumulative effect was to sour me on the undoubtedly-brilliant German, both as a person and as a racing driver.

The Second Coming

At the end of 2006, Schumacher retired from Formula 1. In 2009, a freak accident caused serious injury to his former Ferrari team-mate Felipe Massa and Schumacher came close to filling in for the popular Brazilian driver; a neck injury sustained earlier in the year ultimately proved too tall a handicap to overcome, and the ‘unretirement’ never eventuated. Schumacher later described this as his ‘toughest moment’.

The possibility clearly whetted his appetite, and at the end of the year it was announced that in 2010, he would drive for the Mercedes team. This was the team’s first season back in the sport since 1955.

But this wasn’t the Schumacher of old. With nothing to prove to anyone, he had loosened up, and seemed to have become a genuinely nice guy with a fun sense of humor. He seemed to have shed the ‘win at any cost’ mentality I spoke of earlier, and seemed a much better person for the change.

It was during this period that I became aware that in 1994, following the deaths of Ayrton Senna and Roland Ratzenburger, Schumacher had relaunched the Formula 1 Driver’s Association, a representative body enabling the drivers to collectively negotiate with the heads of the sport over safety matters, serving as its president until his retirement. I gave him belated kudos for that initiative.

In later life, he displayed commendable philanthropy, serving as a special ambassador to UNESCO and giving millions to charitable causes. He was also an active participant in many road safety campaigns.

The Sad Final Chapter

On December 29 of 2013, he was skiing with his 14-year-old son when there was an accident leading him to fall and hit his head on a rock, causing critical injuries despite wearing a ski helmet. According to the doctors who examined him, had he not been wearing a helmet, he would almost certainly have died immediately.

Although reports on his condition have been zealously guarded by his family, it is known that he suffered serious brain damage, and is at least partially paralyzed.

There have been statements made that he does not want his current condition to mar the fans memories of him at his best. As a result, he has completely withdrawn from the limelight, preserving his legacy as one of if not the greatest racing driver of all time. Personally, and again this is just an opinion, if he did not have the oft-reported trouble communicating, I think that he would have turned the injury into a powerful advocacy for disabled rights, securing an additional legacy. It’s an ignoble ending to a spectacularly noteworthy career.

Even his enemies and fiercest rivals will concede that he deserved better. That sad, there was a report at the time (still unverified) that he sustained his injury as a result of preventing his son from a serious fall. So there may be a touch of heroism about the ending of his story, too.

But RPGs are not F1

I’ve included the last two sections in an attempt to present a complete and balanced picture of Schumacher as both a person and a sporting legend. They hold no direct relevance to the main theme of this article. Having done so, let me now return to that theme.

Schumacher had no control over the rules and restrictions under which he raced. Those were always the domain of others and outside his control. Were that not the case, could he have ‘tweaked’ those parts of the driving environment that held him back?

When it comes to RPG mechanics, we – as GMs – are not so hamstrung. That gives us great power to reshape the rules as necessary to achieve that ‘best fit’ between our personalities and skills that is an ideal world. We can reshape game systems to play to our strengths and shore up our weaknesses.

But there are limits to this power. In fact, there are three of them that are noteworthy restrictions.

1. Player resistance to rules changes – I’ve touched on this already. Most players have no problem with additional mechanics to cover situations not envisaged by the writers of the game system, especially if they are rooted in established mechanisms; it’s when you start changing the rules-as-written that resistance can begin to mount. If the players can see that the RAW are not working, they can be tolerant of changes that are clear improvements – but the less this is the case, the stronger their resistance will be.
2. Correct identification of the aspects of the rules that clash with our styles or campaign intentions – This can be trickier than it might seem. It’s easy to focus on an obvious problem and miss the possibility that it’s only a problem as a consequence of some more subtle and more deeply-rooted issue. RPG mechanics are often a conceptual spiderweb, with many different strands conflating to produce a singular point of intersection in the playing experience; superficial changes can thus look promising without correcting the underlying issue. For example, the problem might appear to be “attacks succeed too often”; is this a problem with the attack mechanics, with the bonuses, with the weapons, with the interpretation of tactics into mechanics, with the magic system, or with several of these things? Is the problem actually “PC attacks succeed too often” or is it “All attacks succeed too often”? And is a more realistic game balance actually desirable or is it better to make things more dramatic? Is the problem that attacks are too easy, or that defenses are too weak, or is it better addressed by restricting the damage done by attacks? What seems like a simple issue can be anything but – and only correctly identifying the problem permits a correct solution.
3. Limits to our imagination which restrict our ability to find viable solutions to the problems we do identify – Even if you correctly identify the problem, and it’s something that the players will support fixing (or will at least tolerate it), the hard limits of a failure of imagination can still bring you unstuck. Ultimately, many astronauts felt that this was the true cause of the Apollo 1 fire – no-one thought the test was dangerous, no-one had adequately tested egress from the capsule under the conditions experienced, and no-one realized that Velcro could burst explosively into flame in a pure oxygen environment. Way back in 2009, I identified the Piety subsystem that I introduced as one of my greatest mistakes as a GM – what I didn’t realize until just a few minutes ago was that there was nothing really wrong with the system itself, the problem was that there were no limits to how much Piety a character could accumulate. Adding such a hard limit (and permitting some narrow exceptions) would have solved all the problems and preserved the good things that the system was trying to promulgate within the rules that applied to that particular campaign. It’s too late now, of course!

We have the capacity to rewrite the way the world works in support of our genre and campaign visions. It’s a power that’s easily abused, and often difficult to use correctly – and that feeds back directly into player reluctance to accept anything but Rules As Written.

That power, and past abuses of it, feed directly into both Edition Wars and the basic appeal of Old-School Gaming in my opinion. That’s the reality, within which we must all operate. And I think that’s the reason for the reluctance to embrace AD&D as the system of choice for the original Fumanor campaign.

Wrap-up

We want the PCs, by and large, to be Schumachers within our campaigns, rising above the worst adversity that we can throw at them. We want our campaigns to be hard but fair.

The more effortless our integration of game-play and game-mechanics, the more of our attention we can turn to the other elements that make a campaign compelling, entertaining, and generally-wonderful. Until you experience the natural harmonizing that is possible when everything just ‘clicks’, you don’t realize just how big a difference it can make.

GMs should never change things for the sake of changing them. The more clearly we can distill the reasons for a mooted change, the more likely we are to get that change ‘right’, i.e. to the betterment of our games.

That’s what we can learn from the remarkable record in Formula One of Michael Schumacher.

Readers may be surprised to see another Time Out post – especially given the two-part guest post that preceded this one – instead of the next installment of Trade In Fantasy. Work on the series continues – so far, I have over 13K words done for the next part – but its’ not yet at a suitable break-point. It’s getting there,. but it’s not quite there yet.

It may be ready for next week, but I’m anticipating throwing another filler post up instead – a game setting that I thought up last night, inspired by a TV advert of all things.

I can only say that I think it will be worth waiting for!

This is part 2 of the guest article on Wars in TTRPGs by Alexander Atoz. Wars are inevitable in most RPGs, sooner or later, but GMs often struggle to walk the fine line between making the conflict seem realistically big enough and keeping the experience personal to the players.

Vast armies lend themselves to Roll-playing, not role-playing. But there is a path through the thicket, and Alexander is here to show it to you. As usual, I’ll chime in every now and then with my own two cent’s worth. In particular, I want to focus my attention mostly on sci-fi and future wars, having noticed some trends and patterns over the years.

— Mike

How to Run a TTRPG War (reprised from Part 1)

In most TTRPG adventures, the player characters are the story. The villain’s forces are usually small enough that the heroes can take them down personally, over the course of a campaign. Even when allies appear, they’re often just background dressing – advisors, informants, or reinforcements waiting offstage. The PCs are the ones who make the difference.

But what happens when the enemy is too vast to defeat with swords and spells alone? What do you do when the battlefield holds thousands of combatants – too many to count, let alone control? How do you keep your players in the spotlight when the scale of conflict threatens to swallow them?

In this article, we’re tackling the largest kind of conflict you can run in an RPG: war.

The article is divided into two major sections. The first covered ancient warfare – where armies fought for supremacy in a single, decisive battle. This part will explore modern warfare, where front lines stretch across continents, and no one skirmish can decide the outcome alone.

Modern War

Modern war, unlike its ancient counterpart, involves armies spread across vast distances. For example, during World War I, the Western Front’s trench system covered a length equivalent to one and a half times the width of Europe — due to its many curves and turns — and that was just one front of the war.

WWI also introduced air combat. While doing so ignores the consequences of victory in an Air War – something I’m sire Alexander will cover along the way – It can often be helpful to think of such things as an entirely separate ‘front’ within the larger conflict. Ditto surface fleets, submarines, satellite weapons, ICBMs, you name it. Ultimately, victory in any conflict is either political or a crushing defeat for one side that permits the victor to dictate terms – and even then, the politics post-war needs to be a strongly-considered factor, or you are simply sewing the seeds of another one down the line.

In terms of control, it comes from boots on the ground. Everything else is there to enable those land forces (including mechanized infantry) to travel as fast as they can, as successfully as they can, while protecting them as much as you can. By considering each of these variant types of conflict as separate fronts that in and of themselves are not decisive to the outcome, the consequences of success in one of them (and the cost of doing so) can be reduced to tactical advantages being given to the ground troops, greatly simplifying the whole war into a more manageable whole.

Even in Sci-fi campaigns like Star Wars, where the capital ships are capable of annihilating a population from orbit (or even the entire planet, in the case of a Death Star), military conflicts can be simplified into this simpler form. Threatening to destroy the population gains you nothing; threatening to use your superiority of position to land ground forces after wiping out all opposition is a whole different story. Ultimately, it may not even be necessary to land ground forces until after the surrender, but it’s the threat of doing so that dictates who’s the winner and who’s the loser.

Oh, and destroying the planet? It makes you look tough and scary, and that can be a benefit in itself as Moff Tarkin pointed out – but it costs you any resources that the planet may have contained. You can’t wipe out everywhere or you’ll rule an empire of ashes – cutting off your nose to spite your face. That’s why nuclear deterrence didn’t end war in the 20th century. Keep this things in mind as you read on.

— Mike

In fiction, stories about modern warfare often focus on isolated operations or small-scale missions. The sheer scale of the conflict makes it impossible to tell a personal story that encompasses the whole war. The same is true in RPGs: even if the campaign weren’t centered on player characters, it would be infeasible to portray the entire war. Instead, the GM will typically run individual missions set within the broader conflict.

Modern wars offer fertile ground for high-stakes, small-team operations, especially those carried out by special forces. These missions are often pivotal and intense, and they’re perfect for RPGs. Smaller unit sizes also make it easier to ensure the PCs play meaningful roles rather than being just another squad in a vast army.

It’s implied rather than stated, so let me make it clear: Do Not make the PCs the Generals. If the generals on both sides are NPCs, it gives you far greater control over the conflict, enabling you to shape it in a way that best delivers adventure to the campaign.

Mission Types for the Start of a War

As with ancient wars, I’ll begin by breaking modern warfare into its component parts — starting, though not limited to, mission types. At the end, I’ll explore how to structure a full campaign around these elements.

1. Surprise Attacks

These are especially effective in the early days of war, when the enemy is not yet on full alert. The attack on Pearl Harbor is one of the most famous examples, designed to cripple the U.S. Navy before it could fully engage. At the same time, Japan launched additional strikes to seize critical resources before embargoes could take effect.

This doesn’t have to be before war is declared. Earlier in history, the Confederacy used rapid assaults at the start of the American Civil War, exploiting the fact that Union forces hadn’t yet mobilized.

In RPG terms, these missions give the players the thrill of hitting hard before the war really starts, with high stakes and limited intelligence.

2. Preemptive Strikes

Sometimes a nation strikes first to avoid being overwhelmed later. The Six-Day War began with Israel launching a surprise airstrike to destroy enemy air power before it could be used against them. Had they waited, the combined armies of neighboring Arab states would have been unstoppable.

This type of mission suits a campaign kickoff: your players must act decisively to buy breathing room for their side — because if they don’t, the next battle may be unwinnable.

3. Defensive Positions

Elite units are sometimes tasked with holding the line to buy time for the main force to regroup. The U.S. Airborne Division did exactly this in the Battle of the Bulge, slowing Germany’s last major offensive.

While that wasn’t the start of the war, it’s still a great framework for an opening mission. For instance, at the start of the American Civil War, Washington D.C. was essentially undefended for weeks — Confederate forces could have marched right in.

A defensive stand can serve as a tense opening scenario: outnumbered and outgunned, the PCs must hold out until help arrives — or doesn’t.

4. Covering the Retreat

Tactical withdrawals are sometimes the only option, especially in the early stages of a war. During the Korean War (1950-1953), American troops conducted a fighting retreat to delay enemy forces and buy time for reinforcements. In World War I, the Allies executed what became known as The Great Retreat, falling back toward Paris while reorganizing for a counterattack.

In World War II, when France fell with unexpected speed, the British army found itself trapped at the coastal town of Dunkirk. In one of the great miracles of the war, the Nazis were slow to press their advantage, and Britain seized the opportunity to evacuate over 300,000 soldiers — using everything from naval destroyers to privately owned fishing boats. To protect the evacuation, British and French forces launched fierce rearguard actions, holding the perimeter and delaying the German advance.

These scenarios are perfect for running battles, escort missions, or desperate last stands with shifting objectives and time pressure.

5. Capturing the Leadership

Wars sometimes begin with an attempt to decapitate the enemy leadership. The American Revolution unofficially began with the British trying to arrest rebel leaders — foiled by Paul Revere’s midnight ride. In World War II, there were several high-risk attempts (some successful) to kill or capture enemy leaders.

This type of mission combines stealth, speed, and political weight — whether the players are sent to capture enemy leaders or to thwart a strike against their own.

Active Countermeasures Missions

These next mission types are best suited for the middle of a war, when front lines have stabilized and the fighting has escalated into a prolonged conflict.

6. Raids for Information

Some of the most valuable operations during wartime aren’t about firepower — they’re about intelligence. During World War II, Allied special forces raided a German radar facility and captured a scientist to assess how far the Axis radar program had progressed. In another case, they sank a submarine and retrieved vital code-books from inside, keeping the retrieval operation secret so the Germans wouldn’t realize their codes had been compromised.

During World War I, a German diplomat was forced to disembark from a seized ship and reportedly complained about having to leave his luggage behind. A British officer heard this, had the luggage searched, and discovered valuable code-books. (That’s the official version. An alternative version is that British agents illegally raided a German embassy and the first story was invented as a cover).

Capturing enemy staff officers has occasionally yielded useful intel through interrogation, though deliberate raids to do so are mostly the stuff of movies — realistically, pulling it off is a matter of luck, and almost impossible to plan for.

Still, in a game, it can be a tense, low-combat mission with high payoff if the players succeed — or a framing device for enemy forces to try the same against them.

Don’t neglect the value of an Intelligence mission prior to the opening of hostilities. Usually, the PCs aren’t tasked with developing the Intelligence themselves, they are tasked with retrieval of an Asset and what he or she knows, from territory that is unfriendly if not yet openly hostile. The opposition comes from enemy counter-intelligence.

In the Adventurer’s Club campaign, we had militants in Japan preparing a surprise attack against China with demonic support in the mid-1930s, then placed the PCs in a position to become aware of this through contact with a Yakuza member who thought it just a skirmish between two criminal organizations at first. The PCs were blackmailed into performing a preemptive strike against the enemy Yakuza, leading them to discover the truth. Using this discovery, they were able to transform the Yakuza blackmailing them into an ally and with his resources, led a raid that banished the supernatural forces being assembled. They knew full well that this would not end the impending war, but it weakened the enemy of their ally and delayed it for several years while they regrouped, and preserving the shock value of Pearl Harbor.

From their point of view, it started as a Gang War plotline, became an Intelligence Mission, and then a Raid for Sabotage.

— Mike

7. Raids for Sabotage

A famous example of wartime sabotage is the Norwegian special forces attack on the Vemork heavy water plant, to slow German nuclear bomb research. There were many others: British commandos destroyed a dry dock to prevent repairs to the German battleship Tirpitz, and additional missions targeted dams, prisons, bridges, and industrial infrastructure.

More recently, Ukraine carried out a drone strike that reportedly destroyed around 40 Russian aircraft — an estimated $7 billion in damage.

Depends who you ask – I’ve heard $17 billion.

— Mike

Before the era of aircraft and rapid deployment, sabotage was usually the realm of partisans and spies. You can send your players on espionage missions too — after all, one of Britain’s top officers during the American Revolutionary War was captured while coordinating with American Major General Benedict Arnold, and executed as a spy.

8. Raids for Morale

Morale is a battlefield factor that often outweighs logistics or tactics. Napoleon famously stated “In war, moral forces are to physical as three to one.” In other words, a force with high morale can fight like an army three times its size.

Washington’s famous crossing of the Delaware was intended to boost morale after a string of defeats — motivating his demoralized troops to reenlist and striking a vulnerable enemy at just the right moment.

In World War II, President Roosevelt ordered an expensive raid on Japan’s home islands of absolutely no military value, purely to rally American morale in the wake of Pearl Harbor.

Morale raids can also work in reverse. During the War of 1812, British forces burned Washington D.C. — not for strategic gain, but to shatter American morale and humiliate the young nation on the world stage.

In your game, a morale mission may not turn the tide of war directly — but it can inspire allies, demoralize enemies, or shift political dynamics in powerful ways.

Advance Tactical Missions: Small Units, Big Impact

Small elite units are often used to lead an army’s advance, gaining ground or setting the stage for larger operations.

These mission types are designed to give allied forces a tactical advantage, either immediately or at some point in the near future. They enmesh those conducting them in the ‘mechanics’ of the war and are only suitable once fighting has actually broken out..

9. Seizing Bridges, Mountain Passes, or Similar Objectives

While made famous by World War II paratroopers, this tactic predates them by centuries. Paratroopers could simply go farther and faster than earlier forces. Sending elite units ahead to secure key choke-points — bridges, passes, crossroads — prevented the enemy from moving their full forces into position or created bottlenecks the main army could exploit.

This makes for a classic “hold until relieved” mission, or a stealth approach that turns into a pitched defense once the enemy realizes what’s happening.

10. Achieving Surprise

The original German Stormtroopers (not to be confused with their later Nazi namesakes) were developed during World War I. These troops moved just ahead of the main army, capturing trenches and sowing chaos in the enemy’s lines. Then the rest of the force would move in behind them to consolidate gains. Many nations across many wars have used similar tactics to establish momentum or collapse fragile defenses.

Your players can be the spearhead, tasked with punching a hole just wide enough for the rest of the army to pour through.

11. Diversionary Tactics

Small forces are often used to mislead the enemy. A few examples:

• ?Raids from one direction to distract from a flanking maneuver.
• Attacks on bridges to mask river crossings elsewhere.
• Sabotage of railway lines or infrastructure to force enemy redeployment.
• Dummy columns, fake encampments, or extra campfires to disguise the army’s true location.

These kinds of missions are ideal for clever groups who like deception, misdirection, and asymmetric warfare. Done right, the players might win without ever engaging the main force directly.

Other Factors of War

In addition to direct missions, modern warfare includes many peripheral elements that still make great RPG material. Most of these aren’t typically handled by frontline troops — special forces or otherwise — but with the right framing, they can still impact your players. After all, in good storytelling, everything revolves around the protagonists.

These mission types are rarely sufficient unto themselves for an adventure. But they can serve as a gateway into one.

— Mike

12. Scouting

Reconnaissance units are often sent ahead of the main force to scout terrain, identify enemy movements, or evaluate defensive positions. While pure stealth missions can sometimes lack gameplay variety, things get interesting when the plan goes sideways — maybe the players are spotted, or maybe they uncover something urgent that demands fast decision-making.

You can also give the players the job of evaluating the information, and making the decision of what to do next. Usually, scouts don’t choose the battle plan — they just report. But if your players are operating with limited backup, radio silence, or surrounded by indecisive (or dead) commanders, they might end up making the call themselves.

Let them shape what happens next, even if it’s not technically their job.

13. Propaganda

Wartime heroes are often used to inspire the public, encourage enlistment, and promote national unity. Sometimes this involves staged appearances or interviews. But what happens when a nosy reporter or an anti-war protester starts asking questions that your players aren’t prepared to answer — especially if they know something classified?

This is a great opportunity for a social challenge under pressure. Public image matters — and your players may not all agree on what to say.

14. Diplomatic Visits

Keeping other nations neutral — or better, bringing them to your side — is a major strategic concern. In World War I, Germany tried to lure Mexico into attacking the U.S in order to keep the U.S. tied up elsewhere and not available to join the Allies. This move backfired when Britain intercepted their Telegram to Mexico and passed it on to the U.S.

During World War II, the Allies worked hard to keep Spain neutral — a critical goal, since Spain joining the Axis could have allowed Germany to seize Gibraltar, a vital area that controls ship traffic into and out of the Mediterranean.

These events rarely involve field soldiers — but this is an RPG, and the rules of story apply. Maybe a neutral nation’s leader wants to meet the heroes they’ve heard so much about. Maybe your players rescue a missing VIP from that country. Either way, you can run a high-stakes diplomatic encounter disguised as a social quest, or a quest disguised as diplomacy.

Field soldiers can be used as security for diplomats, however. And if things subsequently go sideways, they may have to step up to the plate in ways they were never expected to have to function.

–Mike

Use politics as a pressure cooker. Even hardened soldiers can sweat under the weight of global consequences.

15. Escape

Sometimes the players are captured. Sometimes they’re just cut off behind enemy lines. Either way, getting home turns into its own adventure.

A capture scenario should come with a valid in-world reason — it should never feel like the GM is punishing the players for succeeding. Done properly, though, it can make for great story. Just make it clear that it’s happening through no fault of their own, so that they can accept it as plot device.

Escape stories naturally blend survival, navigation, stealth, and discovery. They also give you an excuse to plant intelligence they weren’t supposed to find.

It can be really effective to combine this with an intelligence mission – “get yourselves captured (deliberately) in such a way that you are certain to be housed at X. Identify the prisoner in X who has been sending us Intel under the code-name Y. Break him out before the enemy realize that the prisoner is actually Y.””

— Mike

Mission Complications

The following aren’t mission types — they’re complications you can layer onto almost any scenario to raise tension, create drama, or challenge assumptions.

Incomplete Information

This is one of the most common — and realistic — issues in military operations. Reinforcements don’t arrive. Promised firepower turns out to be a fraction of what was expected. Intel on enemy positions or capabilities turns out to be dead wrong.

Used sparingly, misinformation can be devastating. One small error in the mission brief is often worse than a completely false picture — because what’s correct gives players a false sense of confidence.

Use this to undermine certainty and force on-the-fly adaptation. Just don’t overdo it, or your players will stop trusting anything.

Something that’s happened more than once is that the perfect equipment turns up – for six months ago. The processing of the request has taken so long to be complete that by the time it arrives, the seasons have turned.

Again, it’s easy to overdo this.

I once saw, in a book, an analysis of humor (it comes from Robert Heinlein’s The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, if you must know). Some jokes are funny once – but any repeats or variations thereafter just fall flat. Other jokes are funny just about forever. This is an example of the first category – so save it for when you have a really good one to offer.

— Mike

Incompetent Leadership

Another staple of wartime storytelling: the officer in charge gives an order that’s tactically foolish — or outright suicidal. If the players disobey, they may not be able to prove they were right afterwards. And even if they are right, it still might not matter to the chain of command.

The best-case outcome is they find a way to “reinterpret” the order and still succeed. If not, they might face a court martial or earn a recurring enemy in the form of a petty, vindictive superior.

This isn’t just a story challenge — it’s a roleplaying dilemma. Following orders versus doing what’s right? Classic drama.

Again, this is easy to overdo – and the more often it’s repeated, the more it strains credibility. Why has the incompetent officer not been replaced already?

There’s a difference between Incompetent and Green, just as there is a difference between theory and reality. A Green officer may be full of theory and short of practicality; that has exactly the same effect as an incompetent officer giving orders, but it’s far more credible.

But even better is when an Officer has a legitimate tactical priority that can be honestly disagreed with but that isn’t actually wrong – just expensive in equipment and personnel. Almost-impossible objectives can be set and have to be attempted, even at great cost, if the resulting benefits are great enough. Sometimes, commands can’t afford to be conservative and pragmatic, they have to be bold.

Finally, before moving on, I want to mention the Charge Of The Light Brigade, in which orders were misinterpreted that led a bunch of light cavalry to charge down a valley against virtually the whole artillery of the Russian Army. Orders can be tossed off in haste, with no time to check them, incorporating vagueness and contradictions, that then have to be interpreted by the forces receiving those orders – the PCs. If time were not critical, clarification would be requested – but if that’s not an option, it’s up to the unit getting the orders to make the best of it.

Communications and Control are one of the biggest differences between modern warfare and that of ancient times, as was pointed out in Part 1. This is one area where it can make a palpable difference on the battlefield.

— Mike

New Technology

Necessity breeds invention, and nothing breeds necessity like war. The American Civil War introduced the telegraph, rifles, ironclads, and (rudimentary) land mines and machine guns. World War I brought tanks, bombers, gas masks, and modern helmets. WWII added radar, ballistic missiles, jet aircraft, synthetic rubber, computers (sort of), duct tape, the atomic bomb, and more.

Of course, not every new invention works as intended.

• You can give players prototype gear to field-test — complete with buggy mechanics.
• You can give those breakthroughs to the enemy, justifying a sudden difficulty spike.
• Or you can use material shortages to take away gear your players have grown reliant on.

Nothing keeps players on their toes like realizing they’re beta testing the future of warfare — in a live combat zone.

When it comes to Science Fiction campaigns, it’s important to remember the difference between “new to the players” and “untested equipment”. No matter how strange the gear is to the first, if it’s been around for a while and tested competently, the expectation should be that it will be used competently, and have a battlefield role that justifies its inclusion in the standard kit – or even in the non-standard kit of specialist units.

It is beholden on you to fill the gap in knowledge that is created when you retroactively introduce new military technologies. What’s the in-the-field experience with the equipment? How was it intended to be used, and what is it actually used for? Thing about these things in advance, and include any relevant information when first describing the equipment to the players.

And if it should be technology that isn’t in existence (and might never be in existence in reality), so that there isn’t any real-world reference to draw on, Make it up. There’s no-one can say you’re wrong under those circumstances, after all.

— Mike

The Role of Allies in a Battle

When it comes to military missions, my first choice is usually to have the PCs represent the entire squad. This keeps the mechanics clean and the narrative focused.

If that’s not feasible, I recommend giving the players one distinct area of the battlefield to handle, while other allied forces tackle separate zones.

In which case, spend some time thinking about the neighboring units, who’s in charge, their style and reputation, etc. In particular, whether or not they are weak and might need sudden reinforcing or reliable and strong, freeing up reserves that might be held back from that task for something else.

— Mike

You can have background troops active elsewhere, but I suggest referencing them only occasionally. Mentioning them too often risks pulling attention away from the PCs and creating narrative clutter.

In my own blog, dragonencounters.com, I’ve experimented with a scenario where allied and enemy forces occasionally spill over into the players’ area — adding dynamic pressure without turning the spotlight away. That approach worked well for a single battle, but I wouldn’t recommend using it repeatedly across an entire campaign. It has the potential to get frustrating fast.

(It also needs adjusting for the mechanics of the ally in question, which is why I didn’t include it here.)

If you do include allied NPCs in combat, simplify their mechanics aggressively.

I typically:

• Let them roll to hit but deal average damage.
• Roll once to determine how many hit, then assign the hits as dramatically appropriate.
• Use the same simplified method for enemies attacking allies.

Only when player characters are involved — either attacking or being attacked — do I use full rules.

And, as pointed out in part 1, it’s often advantageous even then to use a cut-down set of mechanics.

— Mike

There are few things as stupid as forcing your players to sit there watching you roll dice against yourself.

I would give each of the players a facet of the NPC game mechanics to handle die rolls for before I went down the ‘roll-dice-against-yourself’ rabbit-hole for more than a single set of rolls.

— Mike

Playing Through a Modern War

The scale of modern war makes it challenging to structure a story around specific heroes. Unlike ancient warfare — where a single figure could believably shape the tide of battle — modern conflict spans continents, dozens of fronts, and millions of troops. But there are still ways to focus the lens on the player characters. Here are several narrative models that work well.

Option 1: Local Story, Global Stakes (Inglorious Bastards, Rogue One)

Focus the players’ efforts on a single operation or subplot within the larger war. Maybe they’re racing to recover a crucial prototype before the enemy gets it. Maybe they’re the only ones who uncover a major threat, and have to stop it — even if that means going rogue.

This approach works well whether the characters are elite agents with a defined mission, or ordinary soldiers or civilians who stumble into something massive.

If you want them to visit multiple fronts or factions, the classic RPG solution applies: their commanders won’t help them save the world until they complete “Quest X” first.

Option 2: The Tipping Point (The Dirty Dozen, Valkyrie)

The players take part in a series of elite missions. Over time, their actions accumulate into a pivotal blow that changes the course of the war. They may not win the war outright, but they tilt the balance.

(When taking this approach, you’ll need to give the players access to information that most frontline soldiers wouldn’t normally have. There are a few ways to justify this in-game:

• Their commander might trust them enough to share sensitive intelligence, encouraging them to watch for unexpected opportunities.
• They could stumble onto captured documents or prisoners that reveal the enemy’s broader strategy.
• Or you could simply grant them a wider, near-omniscient view of the battle –without explanation — leaning into cinematic convention rather than strict realism).

Historical examples:

• During the American Revolution, Washington’s surprise victories (including crossing the Delaware) convinced France to join the war, changing everything.
• In WWI, Allied interception of the Zimmermann Telegram helped bring the U.S. into the war.
• In WWII, the Soviet victory at Stalingrad reversed the German advance — though this would be hard for players to replicate directly, (it’s from the battles involving tens of thousands of troops), they might be assigned an all important part, such as sabotaging the supply lines or baiting the trap (not actual historical parts).

Option 3: A Slice of the War (Band of Brothers, Black Hawk Down)

This is the most grounded approach: the players are just one squad in a much larger conflict. They won’t win the war — but they’ll survive parts of it, shape their own legacy, and maybe walk away with a few turning points of their own.

To make this format engaging, two things help:

1. Player Choice in Missions ? This breaks realism, but enhances player agency. Even if they’re “assigned” missions, give them options whenever you can.
2. Recurring Threads ? Introduce persistent elements: a rival enemy unit, a half-finished mission, a mysterious commanding officer, or a long-running secret project. Revisit the ones that resonate with the players, and quietly retire the ones that don’t catch on.

(This technique works in any campaign, war-based or not).

Military Climaxes

One challenge in telling stories set during modern wars is how they end. Real wars often conclude with one side collapsing under the weight of attrition, logistics, or political instability — not exactly the high-stakes, cathartic finale that fiction demands.

Fortunately, history offers inspiration for more dramatic campaign climaxes. Here are a few you can adapt.

A Final Push

As World War I drew to a close, Germany launched a desperate offensive before American forces could fully arrive — an all-or-nothing gamble to win the war.

Similarly, in World War II, the Germans tried one last offensive in the Battle of the Bulge, hoping to turn the tide in the west. That attempt had almost no real chance of success, but it still created immense drama.

You can mirror this with an enemy surge that the players help stop just in time. Afterward, you can narrate reinforcements sweeping the field, the enemy surrendering, or collapsing in retreat.

Historical footnote: After D-Day, as the Allies advanced through France, German forces began fleeing in chaos. Had the Allies not run out of gasoline, they might have rolled straight into Germany. But logistics stalled them, giving the Germans time to regroup — delaying the end of the war by nearly a year.

This structure gives you a final battle that feels earned: the enemy’s last desperate charge, with the players right in the middle.

Capture the Leader

At the end of World War II, Allied forces raced to capture Hitler’s bunker before he could flee to the mountains and wage a long-term guerrilla campaign. He lacked the resources to do it — but history is full of leaders who escape, regroup, and reignite conflict.

Napoleon escaped from actual exile, returned to France, reclaimed power, and fought another war before finally being defeated for good.

In your campaign, a dramatic final mission could involve intercepting the fleeing enemy commander, either to prevent a resurgence — or to eliminate the last thread of resistance.

An old favorite is to find a way to raise the stakes at 59 minutes into the 11th hour. If New Development [X] is not stopped by a desperate, potentially suicidal mission, the all-but-defeated enemy can stage a comeback and the exhausted allies would lack the means to stop them – creating a pivot point at the climax. The forces charged with this desperate mission are, of course, the PCs.

In superhero and fantasy games, this is easy – the villain simply does a deal with some supernatural being for massively increased personal power. Who cares if the price is 10,000 souls – if they can be taken from the enemy!

In Science Fiction games, it’s a little harder – you generally need to have pre-established some race that’s keeping out of the conflict and sitting on the sidelines, a neutral party. The enemy leader does a deal with them to give them something they really want – desire, in fact, badly enough to risk allying with a losing side.

A variation is an 11-hour alliance forming to keep some technology out of the hands of the victorious allies, not because the third party explicitly wants it for themselves. Especially if you can drench this is a things-science-is-not-meant-to-know vibe, though that tends to be bringing in the supernatural again. Still, there are ways to make it work.

The great advantage of this sort of approach is the it makes the focal point of the entire war smaller and drops it squarely on the PCs shoulders. In real life, it would almost certainly never happen that way – but who cares?

— Mike

Defuse the Bomb

Some leaders, when they know they’ve lost, try to take everything down with them.

During the 2003 Iraq War, Saddam Hussein ordered his own oil fields set ablaze, causing billions in damage. That same spiteful logic could easily extend to nuclear or magical destruction in a fictional setting.

While not part of any formal nuclear doctrine, it’s not hard to imagine a fallen regime choosing to destroy its own territory out of vengeance — or to make a final stand. In a fictional setting, this kind of scorched-earth scenario makes for a powerful, terrifying climax.

Your players might:

• Infiltrate ahead of advancing troops to disable launch systems.
• Smuggle in covert operatives before the collapse.
• Race against the clock to stop a “scorched-earth” protocol.

This is the ultimate ticking time bomb. It’s not just about winning — it’s about stopping the world from ending when you do.

Two words of warning:

When this works, it works very well. When it doesn’t work, it can fail dismally. A lot of the difference comes down to the credibility of the ‘final solution’ and how you have foreshadowed it.

The other major factor is race-against-the-clock fatigue. If you’ve used time pressure a lot in the buildup to this finale, it is at least as likely to fall flat because players have become used to the ticking clock; it has become ho-hum to them.

So if you intend to go down this route, (1) do your groundwork carefully and in advance, and (2) go easy on the against-the-clock pressures leading up to the Big Finish.

— Mike

Turning Ancient into Modern — and Modern into Ancient

While this article draws a clear line between ancient and modern warfare, that line is far from absolute. With the right technologies — or magical equivalents — an ancient war can take on modern dynamics, while a futuristic battlefield can suddenly resemble something far older.

Technology Has Unexpected Impacts

Technology often reshapes society in ways that are hard to predict. As one example out of many: The invention of the record player transformed music from something ephemeral and live to something reproducible and commercial. Then the internet and musical piracy upended that model again — causing a return to live performances as revenue sources and shifting artists toward sponsored content.

And it’s not just a modern phenomenon. In the ancient world, innovations like aqueducts and chariots were equally transformative, reshaping military logistics, social structure, and empire-building in unforeseen ways.

In the same spirit, I firmly believe that any spell, magical item, or monster — no matter how minor — would drastically alter the world it exists in. Its influence on warfare would be inevitable, and often surprising.

Making Ancient War Feel Modern

Even in a low-tech fantasy world, magic and monsters can introduce elements we associate with modern warfare:

1. Instant Communication and Logistics

Spells like Message or Sending, or fast-flying mounts, function like radios or long-range comms. Create Food and Water or magical transportation removes the need to keep armies close to supply lines.

Result: Armies can split up, coordinate across vast distances, and move more freely — just like modern forces.

2. Area-of-Effect Spells Reshape Formations

Eisenhower once predicted that future armies would have to spread out due to the threat of nuclear weapons. In fantasy, Fireball, Earthquake, or Hurricane spells serve a similar purpose. Grouping troops too tightly invites catastrophic losses.

Result: Massed infantry formations become a liability. You start seeing fire-teams instead of phalanxes.

3. Magical “Territory” Creates Strategic Spread

A magic-rich zone, ley-line nexus, or divine relic site may be too important to ignore — forcing armies to spread thin across terrain to control them. Similarly, if the enemy can summon monsters or Undead behind your lines, you need rear defenses.

Result:Armies stop behaving like medieval blocks and start acting like dispersed, multi-front networks.

Making Modern War Feel Ancient

On the flip side, futuristic warfare can be pulled back toward ancient-style structure under the right conditions:

1. Teleportation Creates Local Vulnerability

In settings with teleportation or sci-fi equivalents (“Beam me up, Scotty”), a spread-out army is a sitting duck. The enemy can isolate and destroy units before reinforcements arrive.

Result: Massing troops in tight formations becomes a survival tactic again.

2. Area Shields and Psychic Threats

Some sci-fi settings feature massive mental manipulation or battlefield-scale energy attacks. Protecting troops might require grouping them under overlapping shield generators or psionic defense fields.

Result: The safest place becomes within the protective bubble — just like in ancient shield walls or tortoise formations.

3. World-Shaking McGuffins

Some stories center on a single object that defines the war: the One Ring, the Death Star, the Tesseract. In worlds like that, controlling or destroying the McGuffin is the only objective that matters.

Result: All strategy collapses into one point: protect the artifact or destroy it — just like a pitched battle over the sacred banner or the king himself.

Final Thoughts

Modern warfare is vast, messy, and logistically overwhelming — but with the right tools, it can become the backdrop for powerful, focused stories.

Whether you’re highlighting elite special ops, moral dilemmas, collapsing regimes, or magical terrain-shifting chaos, the key is always the same: keep the spotlight on the players. Use what war offers — scale, danger, invention, and desperation — but twist it until the drama hits home.

If that means bending realism to make the campaign work, do it. After all, war may be hell — but your campaign should be unforgettable.

Honorable Mentions

There are several other aspects of war that deserve attention — but each one could fill an article on its own. Here’s a quick roundup of major factors that can shape a war, a battlefield, or your campaign:

Navies

Naval forces play a critical role in warfare, even if they’re often overlooked in RPGs. Fleets are essential for maintaining supply lines, transporting troops, and blockading enemy ports. Cutting off a nation’s access to food, weapons, or raw materials can win a war without firing a shot inland. That’s how the Union crippled the Confederacy in the American Civil War, and how the Allies tightened the noose in both World Wars.

Ship-to-ship combat does exist — but it’s often just the visible tip of a logistical iceberg. Whoever controls the seas usually controls the flow of the war.

You can draw a line connecting the Blockade Of Berlin and more recent conflicts such as Desert Storm, and say, ‘somewhere along that line, air transport equaled or overhauled naval transport’. You wouldn’t be entirely wrong to do so.

In general, what happens is that freighters carry the material and troops to somewhere where they might be needed in the near future (there’s always somewhere). These are conveyed, a few at a time, to Aircraft Carriers and loaded upon aircraft, which deliver them to the target zone.

This means a much faster delivery of material to the focal point than going all the way home, restocking, and taking off again. The “Op-tempo” is much higher. So the point Alexander has made is not invalidated by the mass transport of men and material by air.

— Mike

Disease

Until very recently, disease — not combat — was the number one killer in most wars. Marching and camping in unsanitary conditions makes armies ideal breeding grounds for outbreaks. Throughout history, disease has cut forces to half-strength or worse, often deciding the outcome before the next battle was even fought.

Up until the late 19th / early 20th century, a scratch that drew blood had a 40% chance of leaving a soldier permanently unfit for service and 40% of those, dead, or so I’ve read (I suspect some exaggeration in specifics but not in principle). Now throw in the penchant for armies to provide boots that are too small or too large…

Modern medicine has made people complacent, insufficiently cognizant of how deadly and dangerous things used to be.

In the US Civil War, surgeons became so adept that they could amputate an arm in under 60 seconds and a leg in less than 2 minutes – and keep it up for hour after hour. Think about that for a minute. It was the standard treatment for wounds – even wounds that might have healed were given the treatment because they might not heal, and it took far more resources to care for an infected invalid than an amputee. Brutal, but that was the reality.

Alexander has used the heading “Disease”. I think it could equally have been “Medicine”.

— Mike

Don’t overlook [Disease] as a campaign complication. Quarantine, supply shortages, or moral dilemmas about infected allies can create serious tension.

Weather

If weather can hinder a single traveler, imagine what it does to an army. Mud can bog down wagons, cold can freeze weapons, and rain can ruin supply chains. Weather worsens morale and often worsens disease, too.

Ancient armies usually turned back for winter. Modern forces dig in — unless they’re desperate. Germany’s final offensives in both World Wars (1918’s spring offensive and 1944’s Battle of the Bulge) were launched in winter, precisely because time was running out.

I strongly recommend the highly simplified and abstracted systems discussed in Trade In Fantasy Ch. 5: Land Travel, Pt 2 – I would go with a three- or five-result set of results:

1. Strongly advantageous to you
2. Advantageous to you
3. Neutral
4. Disadvantage to you
5. Strongly disadvantageous to you

Note that these are Net positions – if conditions are advantageous for you and disadvantage the enemy, the net result is “strongly advantageous to you”.

— Mike

Guerrilla Warfare (As a Companion to Conventional War)

Used in tandem with regular military forces, guerrilla tactics are extremely effective. Strikes on convoys, supply depots, or rail lines can bleed the enemy dry — especially when they can’t catch the attackers. The risk is high (guerrilla fighters are rarely taken prisoner), but the impact is undeniable.

Guerrilla warfare is also highly romanticized in fiction. Think Lawrence of Arabia, the French Resistance, or The Great Locomotive Chase. (All of them real, by the way). The image of a small, determined band harassing a massive invader is powerful — and very gameable.

Guerrilla Warfare (On Its Own)

Guerrilla tactics alone usually can’t eject a determined occupier. Without a regular army to back them up, insurgents aim not to win by force, but to wear down the invader through exhaustion and attrition. They rely on the support of the local population and often require outside supply lines to stay viable.

Still, when guerrilla warfare is paired with political resistance, public backlash, and external allies — as in Vietnam — it becomes a nearly impossible challenge to defeat outright.

A great article, Alexander – thanks for offering it! I want to close up with a couple of points about wars in Sci-Fi and in the near future.

Near-Future Conflict

The existing trend is, and has been for some time, destruction from an ever-greater distance. Missiles, Rockets, Drones. The early race was to miniaturize radar enough to fit them to aircraft – fire and forget. Alternatives used heat-sensors (jet engines put out a lot of heat). The response was to develop decoys and the like, to which there were two counter-responses: Either increasing the kill-zone caused by detonation (so that even a near-miss was good enough) or making the missiles themselves smarter / more discriminate. Countermoves to that led to Stealth technology, reaching the point where on-board Radar was all but useless; this led to aircraft with more powerful indirect radar systems, which led to a new crop of missiles designed purely to hunt and kill such aircraft. Which led designers to put the radar-guiding aircraft at ever-greater altitudes and even to play games with the radars themselves, using sneak peeks and smart systems to reduce vulnerabilities. And on and on it goes. These days, the fire-and-forget range is something like eight-to-eighty miles, I think. But ultimately, it’s detection – identification – target – attack. And trying to prevent one or more steps in the chain from being successful, on the other side of the hostilities.

The same concepts are now beginning to show up in terms of ground forces. Projecting power is the name of the game, and rapid-deployment mobility to exploit the damage done.

I can foresee this leading to a return to the trenches of World War I – defensive structures shielding highly mobile forces on both sides from attack for long periods of time until one side achieves a lucky strike that is more successful than normal. Long periods in which nothing changes and no-one advances, punctuated by sudden breakthroughs and breakouts where the whole landscape of the battle changes abruptly – before settling back into another period of ‘stagnation’ and attrition.

Far-Future / Sci-Fi conflict

This is all about command and control over interplanetary distances. If you have the communications and sensory capability to achieve this, the warfare will look modern; if there is any sort of significant delay, the shape of the war will migrate backwards in time to match. If it takes minutes or hours, you’re back in early WWII or late WWI. If it takes several hours, you’re in the 19th century. If days, you’re even earlier, and more than likely looking at Ancient Warfare as your basic model.

War in Star Wars is basically modeled on the age of Sail. You can have fleet actions, you can have bombardment from space – if you can get through the screening force of defensive ships – and so on.

War in Traveler is more akin to Imperial Rome, with a bit of the Phoenicians and early age of sail thrown in – and a fair smattering of the East India Company and some Viking Raiders to boot. Command and communications are even less sophisticated than in Star Wars – messages have to be carried by ships or drones, and even a neighboring star system can be a week away. Which means a lot of emphasis on local initiative and less on grand unified strategies.

If C&C is so powerful a need, the obvious thing to do is to move the commanders closer to the action so that they can exert greater control – but there’s always a compromise: the closer to the front they are, the more vulnerable they are. This road leads to insanely big ships like Imperial Dreadnoughts and Star Destroyers – ships designed to protect the commanders while carrying them close enough to the front lines to be effective. Think of them as combined Battleship, Aircraft Carrier, Troopship, and Mobile Command Bunker.

If you analyze the technology that’s available to the armed forces within your campaign in terms of how close to the action the commanders have to get, how long it takes for situations to be analyzed and orders issued for strategic responses, etc, you can narrow any given conflict down to be analogous to some time frame in either the near future or the past – either modern or ancient – and that gives you the analogy you need to analyze the military situation, the options, and the consequences.

Star Wars may look ultra-modern with its fleet engagements etc – but when you dig beneath the surface, it’s all about one decisive conflict dictating the course of a war (until the next one). In other words, it’s more akin to ancient wars than modern ones, those spectacular space battles between fleets notwithstanding.

— Mike

About The Author: Alexander Atoz

Alexander Atoz is the writer behind DragonEncounters.com, a blog dedicated to helping GMs make the most of the monsters in the D&D Monster Manual. So far, he’s covered over 120 monsters in depth – including all fourteen demons, all eleven devils, and all forty dragons.

Each dragon type has been given four separate articles, one for each of the four age categories, offering at least one unique combat scenario that reflects that dragon’s changing tactics and personality. None of the encounters repeat, meaning a GM who runs multiple dragon fights will always be giving players something new.

While combat encounters are the blog’s foundation, Alexander goes well beyond the battlefield. He frequently explores how to use monsters in story-driving or support roles – especially underutilized good-aligned creatures. Rather than simply turning them into villains or quest-givers, he offers ways to integrate them into the campaign in subtle and satisfying ways.

For example, his article on aarakocra shows how they can serve as long-range messengers, helping expand the scope of your campaign world. In his couatl write-up, he suggests ways to use its disguise abilities to guide players unobtrusively, streamlining plot progression without railroading.

His young and adult bronze dragon articles explore how to position powerful allies so they contribute meaningfully to the story – in ways that have them fighting both alongside the players and elsewhere in the game world, and either way without overshadowing the players.

In addition, every article involving good-aligned creatures includes guidance on how to prevent the inevitable player attempts to “recruit them for the party”.

The blog also digs into social trickery, deception, and narrative roleplay. His glabrezu article explores how such a fiend might earn the party’s trust, while his guide to doppelgangers offers a trove of infiltration and manipulation ideas beyond the standard “evil shapeshifter”.

Beyond individual monsters, Alexander has written system-neutral advice as part of a number of his articles that are applicable to a wide range of games. Topics include how to run horror, designing chase encounters, handling powerful neutral third-parties, and more – all aimed at making sessions more dynamic, more surprising, and more memorable.

Today I bring you a guest article on Wars in TTRPGs by Alexander Atoz, in two parts. Wars are inevitable in most RPGs, sooner or later, but GMs often struggle to walk the fine line between making the conflict seem realistically big enough and keeping the experience personal to the players.

Vast armies lend themselves to Roll-playing, not role-playing. But there is a path through the thicket, and Alexander is here to show it to you. I’ll chime in every now and then with my own two cent’s worth.

— Mike

How to Run a TTRPG War

In most TTRPG adventures, the player characters are the story. The villain’s forces are usually small enough that the heroes can take them down personally, over the course of a campaign. Even when allies appear, they’re often just background dressing – advisors, informants, or reinforcements waiting offstage. The PCs are the ones who make the difference.

But what happens when the enemy is too vast to defeat with swords and spells alone? What do you do when the battlefield holds thousands of combatants – too many to count, let alone control? How do you keep your players in the spotlight when the scale of conflict threatens to swallow them?

In this article, we’ll tackle the largest kind of conflict you can run in an RPG: full-scale war.

The article is divided into two major sections. The first covers ancient warfare – where armies fought for supremacy in a single, decisive battle. The second explores modern warfare, where front lines stretch across continents, and no one skirmish can decide the outcome alone.

Each section is further divided in two parts:

1. A breakdown of major elements that define that type of war – and how they affect your game.
2. A set of structures and strategies for building an entire war-based campaign.

Along the way, we’ll also cover:

• How to run large-scale battles
• How to use allies without stealing the spotlight
• How to decide whether your war should follow an ancient or modern model, and,
• The ways that magic, monsters, or advanced tech might blur the line between them.

Let’s begin.

Ancient Wars: What Makes Them Different

Before diving into the ways a TTRPG campaign can use war as a central theme, it’s helpful to look at the different types of war – starting with the ancient world – and what sets them apart.

Smaller in Scale, Bigger in Impact

Ancient wars were typically much smaller in scale than their modern counterparts. Many such conflicts were decided by just one or two significant battles. In the case of famous campaigns that lasted years, many of them consisted of no more a few big battles every year.

Contrast that with WWI, where both sides maintained a line of trenches, all occupied, that covered 440 miles, and maintained that position for about four years straight.

The smaller scale of ancient wars wasn’t due to a lack of ambition, but rather a series of practical limitations that affected logistics, leadership, and long-term campaigning.

Let’s unpack those constraints – especially as they shape both soldier experience and command structure – because understanding them can give you all sorts of tools when building your game.

Communication: The Fog of Antiquity

In an era without telegraphs, radios, or reliable messengers, ancient armies couldn’t coordinate across distances. Splitting your forces meant each group was essentially on its own, unable to reinforce or support each other.

Armies did employ horsemen messengers, signal flags, and occasionally carrier pigeons, but the information they carried was unreliable, often blocked or intercepted, and in any case not timely.

Compare this with modern tactics, which routinely divide forces to flank, encircle, or control terrain – because coordination is possible. In antiquity, that just wasn’t an option.

In your game: Player characters in an ancient setting may have broader authority and looser objectives. But the information they receive will often be outdated, garbled, or wrong, even when the information is about their own sides’ capabilities. Planning around fog-of-war becomes a significant challenge, and sending messages to ask for help is downright unreliable, or its own quest if the players are the ones sent.

Command Structure: Independent but Vulnerable

In modern warfare, the generals are often hundreds or thousands of miles from the front. But in ancient wars, the high command was right there in the field.

The lack of modern communications meant that ancient generals couldn’t micromanage from a distance, they had to be there in the field. Also, it gave individual commanders much more autonomy.

This also helps explain why discipline varied wildly. Medieval knights, for example, often pursued their own glory rather than obeying orders – a nightmare for coordination, but gold for storytelling.

(Historical note: The Roman army is a well-known exception. It maintained tight discipline and deliberately included a surplus of officers to ensure leadership continuity in battle.)

In your game: This limitation means commanders in ancient campaigns had to stick together. Orders from high command were either delivered in person or not at all – which made frontline leadership far more autonomous.

This creates rich opportunities. Want your players to earn a commander’s favor? Resent their interference? Carry out a politically motivated assassination? All of that’s on the table when the leaders are riding with the troops.

In addition, your players will have much more authority to disobey orders, which might be already infeasible when they arrive. Granted, this is something your players would do, regardless of your permission, in any setting, but any soldiers on their side will be much more ready to listen to them.

Supplies and the Cost of War

Ancient armies often carried a large share of their supplies with them – but almost never enough. Supply lines existed, especially for large empires like Rome or Persia, but they were difficult to maintain. Poor communication, hostile terrain, and raiders made it risky to count on deliveries from the rear – especially for smaller or less organized forces. Even Rome couldn’t guarantee consistent resupply deep in enemy territory.

And that’s just the logistics. One of the most overlooked realities of ancient and medieval warfare is the staggering cost of it all. We imagine royal treasuries overflowing with gold, but outfitting, feeding, and paying even 10,000 soldiers was a national-scale expense – something few kings could cover from personal wealth.

Historically, this was handled through emergency taxes, levies on the church, forced loans, and high-interest borrowing from merchants or early banks (Yes, really). Campaigns were often cut short not by strategy or weather – but by empty coffers.

For TTRPGs, this adds rich flavor and decision pressure. You don’t need to count every coin, but the consequences of limited supply are a great narrative lever.

• Time pressure builds as the army runs out of food or funding.
• Players can’t just ?send word to the rear? and expect a rare item to arrive – they’re part of a force that may be struggling to feed itself.
• NPC commanders may be forced into risky engagements, not because it’s wise – but because they can’t afford to wait.

Optional Guideline for Tracking Costs

If you want numbers:

• A basic soldier might cost 1-2 gold per day, including food, pay, and gear upkeep.
• An elite warrior or magically supported unit might run 5-10 gold daily.
  

  Not counting the cost of any magical equipment. Even giving every member of the unit a 5GP potion each is a big outlay – if you’ve hundreds or thousands of combatants.
  — Mike

• A modest force of 500 could cost 15,000 gp/month or more – and that’s before siege engines or mounted troops.

You don’t need to tally it all – but knowing the pressure is there gives both players and GMs an extra axis to build on. After all, war isn’t just about bravery. It’s about whether you can keep your army alive until the end.

Smaller Populations

Ancient armies were constrained by the simple fact that there weren’t that many people to recruit. Archaeologists and historians estimate that most field armies in antiquity topped out in the tens of thousands, with only a few exceptional cases – like the Roman army at Cannae or the mythical numbers claimed for Xerxes – reaching low six digits. And even those often included non-combatants or support personnel.

By contrast, World War I saw over 70 million soldiers mobilized, spread across multiple fronts and nations. Ancient states lacked the population, economic base, and administrative capacity to sustain fighting on multiple large-scale fronts at once. Most had to put everything they had into a single army – and that made every battle count.

Consequences

Because ancient wars were often fought with a single main army per side, a major battle could decide the outcome of an entire war. There were rarely reinforcements or second chances. If the army broke, so did the campaign – and often the state behind it.

This also means that underhanded tactics – the kind that feel far-fetched in modern military fiction – can seem surprisingly plausible in this context. A well-placed trap (a rigged dam, a poisoned grain store, a fire in the enemy camp) might not destroy an entire army, but it could weaken it enough to tip the scales in the next engagement.

To be clear: most of these tricks almost certainly wouldn’t work as written. But in a fictional setting where a bit of plausibility is all you need, they’re fair game – especially since real ancient armies have been wiped out by a single ambush, disastrous terrain choice, or freak weather event.

Weapon-Related Tactics

In the pre-gunpowder era, virtually all battlefield weapons were either melee (spears, swords, axes) or short-ranged (javelins, slings, bows). While some ranged weapons – like composite bows or ballistae – had decent range, they weren’t decisive on their own.

The dominant battlefield strategy in most open-field engagements was to mass troops into dense formations – phalanxes, shield walls, testudos – and attempt to break the enemy’s line by brute force or disruption.

Even if you think you know what a Phalanx is, Phalanx | Wikipedia is worth reading. There’s a link at the bottom to Shield Wall as well as Pike Square, Schiltron, and Tercio.

“Testudo” was new to me, and surprisingly isn’t listed amongst those comparable formations. So if you need to brush up on the Tortoise Formation, the page to consult is Testudo Formation | Wikipedia.

— Mike

Once an enemy force began to break and flee, they were highly vulnerable; at that point, cavalry and light infantry would pursue and rout them before they could regroup.

Consequences

In terms of running a TTRPG campaign, this section doesn’t introduce many new constraints – but it will matter when we talk about how battles are structured mechanically.

One key consequence is that training mattered more in ancient warfare than in many modern conflicts, adding to the reasons why losing an army was so decisive.

Another implication is in security and stealth: guards couldn’t simply shoot a fleeing thief from across the courtyard. Archery was useful, but slow to reload, hard to aim in chaos, and ineffective against armor.

I feel that this is the most contentious claim in the entire article. I was always taught in history that the English Longbow was the reason plate mail went out of fashion, and bows in most RPGs fire more quickly than swords can swing.

But those are numbers for Skilled Bowmen – most weren’t that good.

Using a bow involves the development of significant physical strength in specific muscle groups that weren’t used for anything else. This requires not only hundreds of hours of training but years of practice, frequently starting at a very young age with smaller and lighter bows.

Medieval longbows had a pull force ranging from 80 to 150 pounds. This wasn’t just about pulling the string back once; it was about being able to shoot effectively for extended periods under battle conditions. Skeletons of medieval longbowmen often show distinct physical adaptations like enlarged left arms and bone spurs.

If the pull strength of the bow wasn’t great enough, penetration of armor became impossible. While bows at the upper end could penetrate plate mail, the chances of doing so declined rapidly with reduce pull force – one source suggested that it was as much as half the square of the percentage below 150 for full plate, so 135 lb = -10% -> 100/2 = 50% chance of penetration. That sounds a little high to me – I’d maybe use 1/3 of the square or even 1/4 – but it gets the idea across.

Bows were even less effective against chain-mail, which was cheaper to supply, anyway, because plate was rigid, while the chain gave way, reducing the effective power of the arrow up to 20%, and distributing the force of impact over a wider area, further reducing it’s effectiveness.

And that’s just to use the bow at all. At the same time, you had to work on Accuracy and Rate Of Fire. While the basics of shooting could be learned relatively quickly, achieving the accuracy and speed needed for military effectiveness took years.

Archers had to master a rapid rate of fire (10-15 arrows per minute was expected for a skilled archer) and be able to hit targets at considerable distances (minimum of 200 yards for practice, with war ranges up to 400 yards).

The English longbow was particularly feared for two reasons: One, it developed a greater pull strength than any other non-compound bow, giving it greater range and penetrating power; and two, English children spent hours practicing bowmanship every Sunday. It was part of the culture.

In practice, archery’s primary power was to force the enemy to adopt a defensive position with raised shields, something incompatible with fast maneuvering; this pinned them down long enough for your infantry to close. Avoiding friendly fire then required the archers to stop what they were doing, so it was a tactical advantage but not a decisive one.

Of course, the other side knew this, and so their bowmen targeted yours. You can’t do much with a bow while cowering behind a shield. Only about 10% could actually fire on the enemy infantry / cavalry; the rest had to take out the enemy’s archers, first.

— Mike

If someone slipped away into the dark, the only way to stop them was to run them down.

You probably already knew this. But it’s worth noting how these constraints shaped both the tactics of war and the feel of personal combat in a pre-firearm world.

I now move on to outlining what a campaign built around an ancient era war might look like.

Part 1 – Assembly

Given the structure of ancient warfare, the opening act of your story will often be assembling the army. This isn’t just a matter of raising troops – it’s a chance to create a web of political, logistical, and interpersonal challenges for the players to solve.

Rallying the Troops

Different quests can focus on calling in favors from allies and reluctant vassals, persuading them to send soldiers or support. Depending on the era and setting, the monarch may have near-total power over his lords … or almost none at all.

In history, vassals usually did respond when called – especially under feudal obligation – but they might do so half-heartedly, late, or with excuses. Modern RPG players are so familiar with the “do X for me first” quest structure that you can easily justify delays or conditions without raising eyebrows.

If that feels too artificial, you can frame the delays as rallying aid from neighboring kingdoms rather than formal vassals – or just play up internal politics: rival generals, cowardly nobles, or ambitious clergy getting in the way.

As mentioned above, raising money was also a major factor of getting a war together. That said, this one might be best omitted. While it actually is highly realistic, it won’t feel that way.

It is to have your fund-raising cake and eat it too – make the actual raising of the funds easy and behind-the-scenes, but detail the PCs (and other similar groups) to escort the wealth back to the King, and from there, to wherever else it had to go. Enmesh the players in the logistics of currency transportation; it gives you a chance to show off the impact that the war preparations are having on the society and provides first-hand experience of the overcoming of the difficulties involved.

— Mike

Then there’s the matter of securing passage. In many historical campaigns, armies had to negotiate with local rulers, city-states, or even neutral powers to pass through their territory. Sometimes this meant diplomatic agreements or bribes; other times it meant fighting for every mile.

And of course, this being a fantasy game, players might need to gather intelligence or prepare magical countermeasures to deal with supernatural threats the army could face.

Delays, Sabotage, and Disease

Once assembly begins, complications are likely. In real history, armies were often delayed by disease outbreaks, poor roads, or political foot-dragging. You may prefer something more dramatic: enemy spies, assassinations, or magical sabotage. Fantasy makes such actions more plausible – and more fun.

In fact, it’s entirely believable that a fantasy army might employ necromancy, curses, or magically-induced plagues. Even in real-world warfare, sabotage has always played a role, from the guerrilla tactics of ancient rebels to the industrial espionage of the 20th century.

As for biological warfare: real-world nations haven’t used artificial plagues on a major scale – most likely only because a sufficiently large war hasn’t demanded it since it became practical. WWI saw treaties against poison gas ignored, and WWII gave us strategic terror bombings of civilian populations (carried out by both sides). It’s not hard to imagine fantasy nations crossing similar lines under pressure.

GM Advice: Use Sabotage Sparingly

If you include enemy action delaying army assembly, do it once – maybe twice, tops. Players want to feel like they’re progressing, not treading water. One good way to handle this is a minor act of sabotage that turns out to be a distraction from a larger threat – giving you tension and misdirection without repetition.

Consider having acts of sabotage come from a third party, either a known ally of your enemy or someone looking to curry favor with them. A relatively small outlay can gift an ally significant advantages, even turning the outcome of a war. This raises the prospect of reciprocal countermeasures – i.e. sending the PCs into the enemy’s allied nation to persuade them not to do that any more, or else.

— Mike

Part 2 – On the March

Once the army is ready, the next stage of your campaign will be traveling with it. This is a rich opportunity for adventure – not every battle happens on the battlefield.

Depending on your GM style, you have two broad approaches here:

• Side Quests Along The Route
• Strategic Decisions with Tactical Fallout

Option 1: Side Quests Along the Route

The players can be sent on small missions in support of the army’s advance. These might include:

• Scouting out a fortified position ahead
• Negotiating with a neutral faction (although this may have been a major theme earlier in the campaign)
• Securing a bridge, ford, or mountain pass
• Investigating a nearby abandoned temple or dungeon the army must pass close to.

These quests help maintain the party’s traditional adventuring rhythm, while still contributing meaningfully to the larger war effort.

Look for ways to highlight how the military venture impacts on the ‘standard adventure’, for example adding time-pressure. The PCs might not have as far to go for logistical support eg healing – but what support is available may be more restrictive. And it’s possible that clearing a dungeon under orders means that you don’t get to keep the loot, or part of it.

One other thing to mention, in terms of scouting out a forward position: Surprises. Every war should have surprises, on both sides. Such scouting expeditions are a great way to spring these surprises on the army the PCs are part of. Having the PCs discover that the enemy has an elite unit consisting of pilots and archers mounted on Wyverns, or are summoning a Demon to molest the army, for example.

The PCs don’t necessarily have to be the ones to solve these problems (but someone is going to have to) – it’s enough for them to discover the problem.

— Mike

Option 2: Strategic Decisions with Tactical Fallout

Alternatively – or in addition – you can give the players strategic choices that shape the army’s march:

• Which route to take (faster but riskier? longer but safer?)
• Whether to prioritize speed or reconnaissance
• How to handle a diplomatic incident or skirmish with locals
• What to do about brewing dissent, plummeting morale, or captured spies

Because you don’t want to burden the players with micromanaging the entire army, it helps to frame these decisions as reactions to new information or consequences of earlier choices, not as a general “what should the army do?”

When presenting decisions, avoid vague “What do you do?” prompts. Instead, offer two or three concrete, contrasting choices. And if your players come up with something unexpected but plausible, go with it – as long as it moves the game forward, it’s gold.

Best Practice: Mix Both Styles

Personally, I recommend combining the two approaches. Let the players make meaningful decisions about the army’s course – and then have those choices lead to small, one-session quests.

For example:

• Choosing to march through the desert might require an expedition to secure or purify water sources.
• Choosing the mountains could require clearing or defending bridges and passes.
• If the army skirts a haunted temple, the players might have to delve into it and exorcise its spirits – before half the camp is too sleep-deprived to function and morale collapses.

This way, the army’s journey becomes both strategic and personal – and the players never feel like passengers.

Part 3 – Climactic Army Battle

After all the buildup – gathering forces, marching with the army, facing minor threats – your players will expect (and deserve) a major battle as a payoff. Even if the campaign is character-focused, the war needs its battlefield moment.

But how do you run a massive army-on-army clash in a player-character RPG without bogging everything down in new mechanics?

Use Familiar Combat Mechanics, Lightly Adjusted

My recommendation is to stick with the core combat rules of your RPG system, adjusted slightly to accommodate army-scale action.

That means each unit of the army should have:

• HP (representing cohesion / morale – more on this in a moment),
• Movement rules,
• Damage output,
• Any other necessary stats – all in the same language your players already know.

This saves everyone the trouble of learning a one-off mass combat system that will be used once or twice and never again.

Let Players Help Design Their Units

In most RPGs, characters have unique powers or features that don’t map cleanly onto groups of soldiers. Instead of trying to force a direct conversion, invite your players to design army units inspired by their characters:

• Let each player pick 2Â?3 of their own abilities or tactics.
• Apply those to one or a few units under their character’s leadership.
• These units can fight “in the style of” the player – archery-focused, berserker-style, healing support, whatever fits.

This gives players a sense of personal investment in the battle, ensures they understand the rules of the units they’re controlling, and saves you a lot of prep time. It also makes sense, if their characters had a hand in training or simply served as inspiration.

I’ll also mention that in my experience, players are often much more fair-minded when building rules collaboratively than they are when trying to argue for a specific combat edge to a specific situation.

(And if they do push boundaries a bit? Just adjust the enemies to match. It works, and I wouldn’t even call it cheating. The rules have just been finalized, and now you have to implement them via the other side as well.)

One Key Change: What HP Means

Here’s the one place you do need to change something: what HP represents.

In character combat, HP usually means how much damage a character can take before collapsing. But with units, players naturally assume that losing 10% HP = losing 10% of the soldiers – which creates two problems:

1. By the time one side “wins,” they’re reduced to a handful of exhausted survivors.
2. An army unit that’s lost 50% of its soldiers shouldn’t logically be fighting at full power.

You could try scaling damage output based on remaining HP, but that’s a terrible idea. It bogs down play in math, and worse, it kills the pacing. Instead of a climactic finish, you get a slow, grinding war of attrition – death by a thousand dribbles of damage.

Instead: HP = Morale and Cohesion

Make it clear – both before and during the battle – that a unit’s HP reflects how much punishment it can take before morale crumbles and the soldiers scatter. That’s how many real-world battles were decided anyway: not total annihilation, but a rout.

If you want to make the numbers feel more epic without changing the outcome, you can multiply HP and damage by 10 or even 1,000. The math stays simple, but the visuals become more satisfying: “The line held with 2,400 HP … barely.”

Optional: A Preliminary Battle with the Vanguard

If you (or your players) want more than one large battle, a good solution is to start with a smaller clash involving the vanguard.

The vanguard is a forward detachment of the army – often tasked with scouting, defending against ambushes, and keeping the main force from being caught unaware. It makes sense for the PCs to be traveling with them, given their capabilities and autonomy.

If the players made strategic decisions in Part 2, an enemy attack on the vanguard can be presented as a consequence of those choices – good or bad. It creates a natural escalation.

Just be careful not to stack too many large-scale battles back-to-back. Before the final clash, it’s best to include a small, one-session quest – securing a pass, sabotaging the enemy, protecting an injured scout – to preserve the rhythm of the campaign as a character-driven RPG, not a wargame.

The closer you get to the Big Battle, the greater the danger that you, as the GM, have to overcome – the danger of part of the lead-up overshadowing that climactic battle. Because it’s far more likely to be run using the normal combat mechanics and the ‘major armies’ variant proposed earlier, the clash of Vanguards presents this danger at it’s most acute.

“Very well,” some will think. “I’ll take it just a little easier on the players in the penultimate battle and so avoid that problem completely.” And that is a great way of avoiding turning the climax into an anticlimax – but it introduces a new risk or two.

Specifically, it gives a false impression as to the strength of the enemy. “I didn’t think they would be such wimps” is the feedback that results, and right away your big finish has one foot in a bucket and one hand tied behind its back.

And then, when the climactic battle does eventuate, you can be accused of beefing up the enemy. Or of trying to lull the players into a false sense of security. Of being unfair in general – just to make matters worse.

All this hassle can be avoided by being more intelligent about a pre-Climax one-session quest. It should not be divorced from the war but should play into it, enhancing the excitement of the climax and not distracting from it; but at the same time, the primary antagonists should be chosen so as to give minimal impression as to the enemy strength and abilities.

One approach that works, but can often be over-used as a result, is a “Common Enemy” to appear between the two armies, causing the Vanguards – or a scouting group even in advance of the Vanguards – to have to work together to defeat it. Because of the in-game circumstances, this can acquire all sorts of overtones –

• is this really an 11th-hour last chance at Peace (no, it isn’t)?
• Is it exploring what might have been had the war not arisen (well maybe)?
• Is it informing the players as to the motivations of the enemy (it’s a very good opportunity to do so, at the very least)?
• Or, is it foreshadowing the end of the war and the subsequent peace? (Again, maybe, maybe not).

But above all, what it is is NOT undercutting the climactic battle.

It would also be easy for the enemy to come across as too ready to make peace or implement a detente, or as too bloody-minded to do so when it’s in their own best interests.

For those reasons, it can actually be much better to have the war provide nothing more than the backdrop and some time pressure, and have the opponent be completely unrelated to the major enemy. These issues may seem melodramatic to the reader, but I would advise the GM to take them very seriously.

Oh, and one more piece of advice that I may as well drop in here – when dealing with / describing ancient armies, put heavy emphasis on color as a narrative trait. Back then, it was common for standards to be used to distinguish and identify one group from another on the battlefield, perhaps with tunics in matching color schemes. Large collections of fighting men (and presumably, in a Fantasy campaign), women, can frequently become a riot of color as a result. In more modern warfare, the dominant color is going to be “bland” – chamo or khaki or whatever. So contrast strongly with that to emphasize that this is a war in a Fantasy milieu.

— Mike

Part 4 – Climactic Character-Based RPG Battle

Readers of fantasy may be surprised that I’ve placed the players on the offensive side of the war. After all, in most fantasy novels, the protagonists are almost always on the defensive. It’s the villain who commands the massive army, and the heroes must rally a last stand or sabotage the threat from afar.

This makes sense for fiction – but not always for RPGs.

Why Traditional Fantasy Structures Don’t Work in RPGs

In many fantasy stories, the protagonists spend the war on a side quest: slaying the Lich?s phylactery, destroying the artifact, or assassinating the dark general – all while the main battle rages elsewhere.

That kind of structure is hard to replicate in TTRPGs, because it keeps the players removed from the central conflict. If they’ve helped gather armies, made strategic decisions, and marched with the troops, they’re going to want to see it through – not watch the ending from a side room.

And unlike fiction, where the villain almost always survives until the last page, TTRPG villains can absolutely be destroyed mid-campaign – sometimes earlier than expected. That makes it harder to rely on a looming, external threat to carry dramatic tension all the way through.

Solution: A Fortified Villain and a Final Assault

To preserve the feel of a classic RPG climax, I suggest placing the villain in a fortified city or stronghold – either retreating there after the army’s defeat, or never leaving it in the first place.

The natural medieval response would be a siege. But sieges are long, static, and not suited to a final session or emotional high point. Instead, make the siege unfeasible – either because:

• The villain has reinforcements en route, meaning time is running out (classic epic fantasy), or
• The villain has begun an apocalyptic ritual that must be stopped before it completes (classic D&D adventure).

Either way, the party must infiltrate the city, overcome obstacles and defenders, and confront the villain in his lair – giving them the kind of personal, high-stakes battle that best suits the medium of roleplaying games.

UPDATE:

Alexander has provided some additional commentary about the inserts that I dropped into his article that are worth making a permanent part of this post:

I especially enjoyed your point about the extra vanguard encounter and the dangers that it represents. I did not think of that.

(I don’t think I’d have them ally with the main villain, though. That is a legitimate plot move, and I have enjoyed it, but it doesn’t feel like the right fit for a war campaign. I would instead have them face a small group of allies of the villain, or a different villain that might be associated with the main villain (think Saruman), without having the main villain make an appearance. That said, I already stated that it is now your article … Treat this email as a comment made by a reader who enjoyed the post.)

That about wraps up Part 1. In part 2, Modern warfare.
— Mike

About The Author: Alexander Atoz

I used a screen capture of Alexander’s site to create these banners. Unfortunately, I’m not all that happy with either of them – the subtext is just too hard to read either way. It says, “Combat scenarios for every monster, allowing them to utilize their combat potential to the fullest for the first time ever.”

Alexander Atoz is the writer behind DragonEncounters.com, a blog dedicated to helping GMs make the most of the monsters in the D&D Monster Manual. So far, he’s covered over 120 monsters in depth – including all fourteen demons, all eleven devils, and all forty dragons.

Each dragon type has been given four separate articles, one for each of the four age categories, offering at least one unique combat scenario that reflects that dragon’s changing tactics and personality. None of the encounters repeat, meaning a GM who runs multiple dragon fights will always be giving players something new.

While combat encounters are the blog’s foundation, Alexander goes well beyond the battlefield. He frequently explores how to use monsters in story-driving or support roles – especially underutilized good-aligned creatures. Rather than simply turning them into villains or quest-givers, he offers ways to integrate them into the campaign in subtle and satisfying ways.

For example, his article on aarakocra shows how they can serve as long-range messengers, helping expand the scope of your campaign world. In his couatl write-up, he suggests ways to use its disguise abilities to guide players unobtrusively, streamlining plot progression without railroading.

His young and adult bronze dragon articles explore how to position powerful allies so they contribute meaningfully to the story – in ways that have them fighting both alongside the players and elsewhere in the game world, and either way without overshadowing the players.

In addition, every article involving good-aligned creatures includes guidance on how to prevent the inevitable player attempts to “recruit them for the party”.

The blog also digs into social trickery, deception, and narrative roleplay. His glabrezu article explores how such a fiend might earn the party’s trust, while his guide to doppelgangers offers a trove of infiltration and manipulation ideas beyond the standard “evil shapeshifter”.

Beyond individual monsters, Alexander has written system-neutral advice as part of a number of his articles that are applicable to a wide range of games. Topics include how to run horror, designing chase encounters, handling powerful neutral third-parties, and more – all aimed at making sessions more dynamic, more surprising, and more memorable.

An observed pattern sheds surprising light on how RPG styles differ from one nation to another.

This is the latest in my series of time-out posts in between the Trade In Fantasy series.

The YouTube viewer that I use most often displays, at the end of a video, thumbnails of other videos that you might like to watch, based on what you’ve watched recently and what’s popular at the moment. Out of 12, there are usually 2 or 3 that intrigue me enough to write them down for later viewing.

Today (as I write these words, a few days in advance of my next post), I saw one that connected with other things that I’ve seen to reveal a rather profound thought, and that’s what I’m writing about today.

Not Supermen

A lot of Americans seem to think we Australians are a breed of supermen and women, or at least born with something extra that lets us… ‘ignore’ is not quite the right word, but it will do for now – ignore danger.

It’s a well-known trope that everything in Australia is trying to kill you, it’s just that some critters aren’t very good at it. We’ve:

• 145 varieties of venomous snake including 21 of the 25 most venomous varieties,
• deadly spiders,
• huge spiders that aren’t deadly that we all but welcome into our homes,
• saltwater crocodiles,
• sharks,
• deadly octopi,
• killer wasps,
• venomous marsupials,
• kangaroos, and
• emus,
• and don’t get me started on the cane toads.

There are also

• spiders with allegedly necrotic venom – it causes a wasting disease where the flesh just rots away,
• killer sunshine,
• deadly bushfires
• and droughts
• and floods (we’re still cleaning up after the last one)
• and hurricanes (called tropical cyclones here because they rotate in the opposite direction),

…and more besides – and we take it all in our stride.

In part, we do so because we’ve grown up with these dangers all around us, and learned that if we’re calm and sensible and behave accordingly, we can usually get through without trouble. I was always taught as a child not to make any sudden moves when you see a black snake, because it’s generally more scared of you than you are of it – but to be very wary of brown snakes, because they’ll attack because a blade of grass is bent the wrong way; that male funnel-web spiders are especially aggressive in the heat when they are out searching for mates, especially after heavy rain or in high humidity but they were all to be treated as dangerous, and so on; that you are far less likely to encounter anything dangerous on patrolled beaches, always to swim between the flags, and if the flags aren’t up there’s usually a good reason for that, and so on.

In contrast, while there are some dangerous fauna in the US, it’s encountered a lot less frequently. They have

• rattlesnakes in the desert but few deadly reptiles elsewhere;
• there are brown bears, but they aren’t aggressive unless surprised, threatened, or protecting young;
• grizzly bears may attack, but are far less frequently encountered;
• there are sharks in some waters,
• and alligators in the everglades (but again, this threat is localized);
• there are black widows in some places;
• and there are mountain lions (cougars), but they are, and, like the brown bear, less likely to attack if you don’t do anything stupid.

Compared to Australia, the wilderness is as safe as houses, most of the time – unless you’re in a swamp.

The ten most dangerous animals (to man) in the US are 1. Deer 2. Cows 3. Dogs 4. Black Widows and recluse spiders 5. Venomous Snakes 6 Cougars 7. Horses 8. Black Bears & Grizzly Bears 9. Alligators and 10. Sharks.

Profound Thought

So here’s the profound insight: These differences in environmental hazards filter through to our gaming experiences and the way we react to dangers in various game environments.

Because Americans see dangerous wildlife as exotic and especially perilous, they treat these with a great deal of respect and even apprehension; to Australians, being surrounded by the deadliest native creatures 24/7 is the normal state of affairs. We want to understand what makes them tick, so that we know what to avoid doing to upset them, but in general, we’ll leave them alone if they’ll leave us alone.

Americans are also conditioned by their culture to be suspicious of authority and lone shooters. It’s a danger they face daily, at least it sometimes see that way. Political intrigue is simply a fact of life, to be ignored until it poses a direct threat to the individual. So these things tend to generate less interest as a general rule, and be viewed as less threatening (most of the time).

While Australian politicians have had their fair share of political scandals, we tend to be a pretty unforgiving lot when there’s even a whiff of impropriety. Because we aren’t used to them, conspiracies and corrupt administrations and alien societies that seem threatening are more apt to be of compelling interest to us, and are viewed as far more dangerous even if they don’t yet threaten us directly. They threaten us more, so we tend to be both fascinated and more prone to take action against them.

For this reason, our political attacks are often more directed at creating a scare narrative with the political opposition at its heart.

Both sides, then, feel more threatened by the unfamiliar, and this causes them to evaluate different types of threat in different ways.

If you’re an American GM prepping a game for an American group of players, and an Australian happens to sit in, they won’t have the same triggers and priorities as the rest of the group – trying to push their buttons will elicit different reactions to those that might be expected. And the same is true of the converse position.

A Third Perspective

Let’s see what this principle can tell us about a third group, European gamers (excluding the English, whose experiences have been quite different).

This was ground zero for two world wars and the communist takeover post WWII. There were puppet regimes, corrupt administrations, incompetent governments and some who just seemed impotent to alter the course of events. But these taught the Europeans that they were stronger together than they were apart; with American hegemony as the common touchstone in the west, this led to the formation of the EU.

Individual nations had different experiences, but the totality meant that they had no need to imagine darker times – they were used to them. And they had little reason to trust most authorities, at least early on.

As a result, European TTRPG tend to be darker and earthier than those of the more optimistic Brits and Americans. See, for example, Looking into The Dark Eye, a guest article by Lena Richter, which reviews and introduces the Dark Eye, an RPG system that was (and probably still is) more popular in Germany than D&D.

Then, there’s the nations of Eastern Europe, who had their own nightmares to survive until the fall of the Soviet Union. In Poland, Warhammer is King, especially 2nd Edition, according to some; others put Call Of Cthulhu on top, with WRPG and 5e fighting it out for second spot. Still others put 5e on top with one of the others in second. But D&D 5e permits a wide range of tones and styles; the others are more definitive. I would expect their local D&D to be a little more Dystopian with the PCs representing what little hope can be found in the extant game world, according to this theory.

One commentator makes the sharply relevant point that those over 30 tend to go for CoC and WRPG over D&D; that it is only those with markedly different life experiences – the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, 34 years ago; you would expect a more optimistic outlook from younger gamers.

The people of Ukraine are, sadly, too busy with a real-world nightmare to worry about gaming these days. Back in the day, it was Pathfinder and D&D slugging it out. I get the impression the two were more evenly matched than was the experience in the US, which seemed to migrate constantly to whatever was newest and shiniest. I hope that you can soon game again, my friends!

Of course, D&D is popular all over; if not in first place, it’s usually not far away. But there are a heap of local games and those, in aggregate, tend to be more illuminating as to the ‘local flavor’.

The perspective Anglaise

Britain’s experience with governments deemed untrustworthy tends to be more recent. Thatcher’s England seems to be where most of it started, a new rebelliousness being in the air (hence Punk). Before that, there was Churchill’s fall from glory, though he is still reverenced as the leader who brought them through World War 2, battered and bruised but unbroken. “Staunch” is the word that comes most evocatively to mind.

During the Punk era, it was not uncommon to diss the Royal Family, but that didn’t seem to last very long beyond that point; I suspect the major grievance was that they didn’t reign Thatcher in (because that’s not the way that Queen Elizabeth operated). From the royalty perspective, there were several stumbles that marred their popularity through the 80s – the messy divorce of Charles, now King Charles, and Princess Diana; her death and the failure by the Royals to recognize the popularity that she had amongst the general public; Scandals involving Prince Andrew. But each time, they bounced back, and by the time of her passing, Queen Elizabeth was as popular as she had ever been.

This creates a disconnect between temporal government and the underlying “British Ideals” that they are supposed to manifest, and that the Royals embody. Hope and idealism are always present, but those in charge of delivering on them are frequently seen to have feet of clay. There are times when exceptional circumstances demand that they rise to the occasion, and sometimes they do so (Churchill), and sometimes when they don’t (Chamberlain, in the modern popular perspective – though I think he’s judged over-harshly; I think he was playing for time, for Britain was desperately unready to fight WW2, and the ‘Peace In Our Time’ speech designed to tell Hitler what he wanted to hear. But that’s just my opinion.)

So, what would Brits most fear, and how would that play into their gaming? I think the process of collapsing into Dystopia is preeminent, the failure of those elected to safeguard them, the abdication of responsibility. The situation currently being experienced in the US is probably perceived as far worse than it actually is, because from this perspective, they are living through the British ‘worst nightmare’.

Accepting that D&D / Pathfinder is almost certainly dominant, we must look lower down the rankings for clues as to the dominant style. My research says that Free League Publishing (from Sweden) have become a significant player in the marketplace, adapting their “Year Zero” system to a variety of popular franchises. Call Of Cthulhu remains popular, unsurprisingly, and games from ‘small’ publishers like Steve Jackson Games on down have splintered and dug out toeholds in the market. Another significant game is obviously going to be the science fiction of Cubicle 7’s Doctor Who franchise.

From all of the above, Staunch Defense against “The Darkness” in an environment where temporal authorities can’t protect the population for any of multiple reasons would seem to be the dominant characteristic. That, of course, is the overriding theme of the Harry Potter series, too – small wonder that it is perceived as quintessentially English / British (depending on who’s doing the looking). And that seems to fit.

A look Eastward

To close out this examination of the principle, let’s look at Japan.

Japan is the world market in which D&D / Pathfinder is weakest, at best being equal number 1. Call Of Cthulhu is equal number 1 in some respects, perhaps the similarities between the country’s respective experiences in World War 2 creating resonance. But I can also see CoC tapping into the Anime zeitgeist of the country. More obviously anime-based games and games reflecting the Samurai traditions and history are also popular.

Eyes Forward

I am deliberately avoiding offending anyone by trying to apply this principle to the extant changes occurring in the US right now. I’m not sure that I could avoid coloring the results with my personal opinions. Suffice it to say that polarization is going to impact the popularity of certain styles of RPG, certain game systems, differently. I’ll leave the contemplation of specifics to individuals who can make their own assessments of how the current political and social environment is going to influence the next decade of gaming there.

What can be said is that, at the end of the day, no matter which game and which themes are the most popular amongst those around you, we are all playing RPGs, and that alone should create a bond that can bridge and transcend the divisions. At least, that’s my hope for the future.

If all goes according to plan, next week I’ll have part 1 of a 2-part guest article for everyone, while I continue to work on the next couple of parts of the Trade In Fantasy series (over 7K words written so far). These are going to be monster posts – the first thing that happened when I started on them was adding another 24 sub-sections to section 5.7! Those 7,000+ words carry me through 5.7.1.4 – I still have 5.7.1.5 – 5.7.1.18 to go, plus 5.7.2 and 5.7.3 at the very least. If they are of similar length to what’s already done (and I hope they are much shorter), that will be another 10K words – and the following installment (if it’s not cut in two) is likely to be 2-3 times that total length! I’ve got my work cut out for me…

Why splitting the party is a natural development, learning to handle it, and techniques that it opens up for the GM. Plus a writing tip or 2! That’s today’s prescription.

This is the latest in my series of time-out posts in between the Trade In Fantasy series.

Phases Of Experience

“Don’t Split The Party” is advice that is still offered to RPG players on a regular basis. For a group of new players, it’s sound advice, and for a new GM as well, because it simplifies the narrative structure and makes the tales of adventures more coherent – and when you’re new to all this, those are things you still need to learn to achieve.

Level 2

There’s a second stage when you have a bit more experience under your belt, in either capacity, in which players feel confident enough to have their characters go off alone to do things that logically don’t require the whole party, like attending worship services or shopping. These low-key activities help teach the GM how to handle richer, more complex narratives with multiple threads running simultaneously.

There can also be a sub-stage in which the players feel ready but the GM does not, in which excuses to keep the party together are contrived by the GM. That can last until a player complains.

Level 3

But eventually, the GM learns how to handle this and everything that takes place gets split into group action and individual action. The key to success in this is to pay extra attention to making sure that everyone gets their own fair share of the spotlight, so you spend a bit of time with one player and then move on to the player next to them at the table.

Because the ‘action’ is overlapping, possibly even simultaneous, these solo narratives consume far more table time relative to game time than when everyone is in a group. This introduces a counter-force that can lead to GMs trying to push the ‘buddy system’ where PCs go around in pairs. I’ve even heard of cases where GMs added an extra player (or worse yet, ejected an existing player) just so that they had even numbers with which to make this work. I think most will agree that’s going too far.

Level 4

Once they start to get used to it – and it generally doesn’t take too long – most GMs learn how to handle split parties when there’s nothing major going on. As soon as that happens, they start finding ways to use it to their advantage. After all, if one character buys into the plot on offer and then pulls in the rest of the group, that can be a far easier ‘sell’ than getting everyone on board for that adventure.

You can start using events in a solo encounter to preload players with critical briefing notes. You can use solo encounters as preludes and prologues and plot hook delivery systems. It’s only a matter of time before an NPC that the PCs don’t like or trust saunters up to one of them in a crowded marketplace and warns them not to stick their noses into X – where X is exactly what the GM wants the party to stick their collective noses into. Hook, baited, cast, and swallowed.

Level 5

After a while, GMs realize that there’s no more problem doing theater-of-the-mind combat sequences for each PC on their own at the same time than there is running a larger combat sequence for the whole group. Combat Time is a whole other issue – think about how long a typical battle takes, as a ratio of real time to game time, and it’s usually a very different ratio to what happens in roleplay, where large swathes of time can be hand-waved to keep things moving along.

Instead of simply warning off the PCs, an enemy now targets each of them as a preemptive strike to prevent them interfering (presuming that the PCs are growing famous enough to justify such action).

Level 6

At about the same time – and it can even swap with the ‘Level 5’ described above – GMs start coming up with solo plot threads for each PC in addition to the main plotline that affects the whole group (the metaphor starts getting a little blurry around at this point).

And, after a while, as the players grow still more adept at treating their characters like real people that they are ‘inhabiting’ within the game world, these plotlines will start interacting, and richer and more complex constructions enter the picture.

Level 7

The natural outgrowth of Level 5 is a streamlined combat system in which, for the sake of gameplay, the GM simplifies game mechanics so that a combat sequence involving one PC can proceed at the same time as non-combat sequences occupy the others. This, at least partially, addresses the problem of Combat Time.

They soon learn that it’s incumbent upon them to make these combat sequences less consequential than whole-group battles, because the player will have a justifiable complaint if they perceive that they lost an important battle because of the streamlining. If the only consequences are plot oriented, there are no such causes of complaint.

Level 8

The last barrier having fallen, once the GM and players get good enough at their respective crafts, it becomes natural to have two or three or even more plot threads running per character in addition to the main group plot. Entire game sessions can consist of solo activities that advance some of these plots, and the ‘quiet spots’ in one plot thread can be distracted from with the greater heat in another.

The GM is now weaving complex tapestries of stories, and even crafting narratives in which a story flows from one solo PC to another, or represents two sides of the same coin, or solo tales explore side-issues tangential to, but stemming from, the main plot. It’s no biggie to have the whole group (minus one PC) engaged in the main plot while the absent PC is dealing with a plot thread that’s related to it, or foreshadows a future group plotline, or is a complete side-issue that’s no less important to them than the main plot.

Level 9

It doesn’t take too long for GMs to realize that of-camera side-plot engagement is a great way of handling player absences, at least some of the time – if you ended on a cliffhanger with Character Y present, it’s harder to write that character out of the ongoing group narrative .if the player has to miss the next session. But, at the start of adventures, it’s a lot easier, because the action starts in down-time for the group, and it’s sometimes possible even in the middle of a plotline.

If he hasn’t already, the GM starts curating a list of plot seeds that can justify a PCs sudden absence and the adventures that he writes start evolving – different end-of-play points getting chosen in a multi-session plot to facilitate PCs coming and going, should it be necessary.

This was actually forced on me prematurely, when one of my players – completely without warning – announced that he’d signed up for a stint in the army and his appearances would be sporadic for a while. But any job that occasionally forces players to work during your normal game time can have the same effect.

Level 10

Congratulations – when you get here, you have achieved mastery over the fine art of splitting the party. Group Unity of action is now purely plot-driven; if a plot requires engagement by a particular PC at a particular point, they are advancing that plot, and if not, they can be advancing a narrative in which they alone hold the spotlight. The players have reached the point where they see nothing strange about this, and view it as making sure that each of them gets a more complete adventuring experience from a session’s play.

There are teething problems from time to time – you never stop getting better at this – but it’s all nuance and recovering from the occasional fumble.

Previous posts on this topic:

• Ask The GMs: “Let’s Split Up.” – “Good Idea, we can do more damage that way!”
• Ensemble or Star Vehicle – Which is Your RPG Campaign?
• The Wandering Spotlight Part One of Two: Plot Prologues
• The Wandering Spotlight Part Two of Two: Shared Stories
• Engagement vs Involvement: The forgotten balance (a sequel to Ensemble or Star Vehicle)

Writing for an RPG is different

Why am I bringing all this up? Because I wanted to show how splitting the party is a natural progression of skill on the part of GMs and players. This sequence of development can be stopped at any point by a collective decision, but the results are deliberately artificial.

I’ve mentioned in a recent post (The Momentum Of Breadcrumbs) about the Dr Who books that I’ve been reading lately. One of them had, towards the end, a complete breakdown of an individual episode, and as I read it, I realized that it would never work in this structure within the confines of an RPG.

Why? Because critical scenes were shown to the audience, as a way to build tension, excitement, and interest, and there was not a single protagonist of the series in any of those scenes. Instead, the antagonists were having their own narrative thread in which context for the main action to follow was explored and displayed for the entertainment of the audience.

Yes, there are ways in which such sequences can occasionally be presented to the players – warnings from deities, dream sequences, prophecies, and what-have-you – but these often fall flat and don’t have the desired impact, and they are really easy to over-use.

Get your fingers burned in this way once too often, and it’s normal and natural to restrict yourself to slightly more linear plots.

RPGs are the only medium in which non-protagonist scenes can be dropped in as required. TV, Movies, Books, Short Stories, Comics, Plays, Radio Plays – they get to do it whenever they want. RPGs, not so much.

That’s what today’s article is really all about – I have a way in which these scenes can be dropped into an RPG from time to time to offer a little later, but first, and for the heart of the article, I want to explore the ramifications, and why they mean that GMs and players should actively pursue the split-the-party line of self-development described.

Splitting The Party as a Tool For Complex Narratives

So, most of the time (it would be all of the time except for the technique I’ll describe later, which can’t be used all the time), you have to keep the focus on the protagonists at all times. That means that you need some alternative methods for getting backstory developments to the attention of the ‘audience’.

The thing is that playing an RPG is a participative act, not a passive one. So you need a way to get the PCs to participate in that backstory, most of the time.

Two options immediately spring to mind: Active roles and Inactive roles.

Active Roles

An active role means that PCs are present to witness the development, but not forced to actually intervene immediately – they can go away, think about their options, and make plans before throwing their hat into the ring.

This is a lot easier to arrange, and a lot more likely to result, when it’s one lone PC becoming aware through happenstance of a problem too big for one PC to handle. Especially if your narrative feeds those cues to the player in question.

And if they don’t take the hint, make sure to capture them, not kill them – rescuing a friend and ally is a great motivator. Of course, the other PCs are starting a bit behind the eight-ball; not only are they missing the expertise and contacts of the captured player, but all they know is that he or she went somewhere and didn’t come back. It will take time for the seriousness of the situation to become apparent, and all the while, the enemy’s plots are maturing and becoming that much harder to counter.

The question naturally arises, what to do with the player whose character has been captured? Well, there are three possibilities: A substitute or an active engagement, or a combination of both.

A Substitute

Give the player an NPC to run in the interim. One that is a lot weaker than the PC that he usually plays. A great choice is often a turncoat or spy from within the enemy’s organization, one not privy to everything that’s going on, but one who knows that the PC has been captured. But this isn’t something that can be done all the time.

You want the player to have something to do, but at the same time, you want to teach that player a lesson – not to bite off more than they can chew when you’ve explicitly warned the player this was what they were doing.

Another option is a character with a short-term story arc that will occupy the player until the other PCs decide to investigate the disappearance of their missing ally.

In this circumstance, I once had a mage accidentally disconnect from his body and become a disembodied spirit, and able to ‘escape’ in that form; not only was he able to sound the warning about what the bad guys were up to, and participate somewhat vicariously in his own rescue, he then brought in a whole other plotline about how to get his spirit back into the body from whence it came.

There’s a lot you can do in this line with a little creativity.

One word of warning, though; this worked out so well that the player in question then concocted a hair-brained scheme to let himself get captured by an enemy as a way to gather intelligence. Suffice it to say that things did not work out for him so well the second time around; his released Spirit was captured in a phylactery and tortured, watching the Cannibalistic bad guy literally eat his body in front of him. The other PCs eventually rescued him and got him stuffed in a Golem body – one about 4′ tall….

Active Engagement

This is trickier to arrange, it needs just the right kind of villain. Someone with the arrogance – or the legitimacy – to think that he can turn the PC to “the dark side” (or his side, whichever works). Or who is so arrogant that he considers the PC to be helpless, and decides to show off, James-Bond-Villain-style.

This can’t be done at the game table where all the other players can hear what’s going on. In fact, it’s better handled in a completely separate solo game session, if that can be arranged – and the PC then spends as long as it takes waiting for the plot (and his friends) to catch up with him.

And what if the villain has not miscalculated and the PC really does turn coat? Have a plan ready for this eventuality!

A Combination

Perhaps the best answer is to blend the two. Most of the time, the player runs a temporary PC – one with a definite in-game shelf life – but, every now and then, take the player aside for a brief contact with what his real PC’s situation is.

Inactive Roles

An inactive role doesn’t put the PC’s head in a noose. Someone comes to the PC and tells him a story. It may be incomplete, it may be full of holes, it may be legitimate or it may be a plant – but the goal is to have the NPC offer up the backstory development as news to the PC, who then decides what to do about it.

There’s a lot you can do with this.

The warning may be legitimate.

The NPC may be the villain looking to use the PCs as cat’s paws to do his dirty work for him – with fake scenes being enacted by minions for the PC’s benefit. The more convincing he can be, the bigger the eventual payoff.

The NPC may be a villain, out to have the PCs take down a rival who is just as bad.

Or, the NPC may be a villain who simply wants the PCs out of the way so that he can get on with “business”.

Unfortunately, you can rarely use all of these options in the one campaign. But if you mix them up to avoid getting predictable, you can have great fun.

The Players as Audience

Okay, so what’s this big technique, then?

I call it the Retroactive Flashback.

It works best at the start of the second session in a multi-session adventure, or in the session after the PCs become aware of the menace posed by the villain at the center of the plot, and his identity.

At the start of that session, you describe the flashback sequence to the PCs without explanation until the very end. You conclude with, “over the last [in-game time-period elapsed since the last session], you’ve all imagined something like this taking place. Whether or not it’s what actually happened, you don’t know.”

You can willfully distort this flashback to hide planned plot twists. You can leave plot holes, and introduce errors of logic. You can put this “imaginary sequence” into the head of one PC or all of them. Or an NPC who has just related it to a PC.

To construct it, you need to make sure that it doesn’t contain anything the PCs don’t know and cant infer as a reasonable supposition. So it’s inherently going to be incomplete – plug most of the gaps with stuff you’ve invented out of whole cloth.

Use it to get the players into the proper mindset for carrying the adventure forward.

Look, it’s a technique that could easily be overused or abused. It’s not a justification for weak storytelling. But it’s a way to insert the antagonist-focused scene without the PC scrying it, or dreaming it, or learning of it through a deus-ex-machina.

You can actively guard against abuse by ensuring that each time you sue it, you have some opportunity for the story to be ‘corrected’ further down the track. If you can’t come up with a good way of doing that, don’t use the technique. But that’s up to you.

And, Speaking Of Writing…. (Bonus Content)

I got taken in by a piece of spam the other day – it doesn’t happen often, but I’m human and have my lapses just like everyone else.

I got an email from a seemingly-legitimate source through the Campaign Mastery feedback page. It read,

First off I want to say awesome blog! I had a quick question which I’d
like to ask if you don’t mind.

I was curious to know how you center yourself and clear your head prior to writing.

I have had a tough time clearing my mind in getting my ideas out there. I truly do take pleasure in writing however it just seems like the first 10 to 15 minutes tend to be wasted simply just trying to figure out how to begin.

Any ideas or hints? Cheers!

————————-
Time: May 26, 2025 at 3:16 pm

I dashed off a quickish reply a few days later when I had a spare moment and thought nothing more of it – until the email came back as “undeliverable – no such address”.

Well, I think that my advice is sound, and deserves to be out there. And it might just be beneficial to other GMs. So I’ve decided to toss it in as some extra content to this (relatively short) article:

I find that the notion that you need to center yourself before writing is actually a myth. Instead, you need to direct yourself so that the thoughts crowding into your head are productive and beneficial to the end product.

Writing starts with a moment of inspiration, an idea, something to say or discuss.

I immediately create a file with an appropriate name in which the development of the written piece will take place, and summarize as briefly and succinctly as possible that idea at the start of it.

I then break down the discussion plan as a bullet-point outline of what the content of the piece will be, from an introduction through to the logical conclusion of the original thought or idea. This -road map’ is not fixed; I will add, subtract, and amend it as I write, but it’s a foundation. Enthusiasm for the idea is usually enough to carry me this far, no matter what the distractions, and it takes little enough time that I can interrupt other tasks long enough to carry it out. I will often also include a single sentence summarizing the intended content or point of each section, because there’s nothing worse than coming to a bullet point and not remembering what you meant by it.

Save the document and set it aside for when you have time to develop it.

Writing session 1: I start with the introduction, which is usually about what has inspired the article or recent events in life. These require little or no pre-planning, it’s just stream-of-consciousness, but it clears the mind. I then turn to the first of my bullet points, and start writing. When I’ve finished with that one, I move on to the next, and so on.

If it’s a short piece, or the words flow especially well, and there’s little or no research required, I may finish the item in one sitting. More commonly, though, I’ll get just a fraction of the way there.

Writing session 2+: I re-read the introduction. This helps connect me back to the original inspiration. I’ll then skim the last completed section, which helps me get back into the flow of writing the article. That brings me to the next of my bullet points, which gives my writing and thoughts direction. The first two steps clear out the cobwebs and get you ready to focus.

If I’m dealing with a larger work, a multipart post or book chapter, there may be subdivisions within each bullet point – the top level ones become chapters and the subordinate ones sections within the chapter.

I know this approach doesn’t work for everyone, but I find it works for me.

Have fun out there, and I’ll see you all next time!

Yet another post talking about the weather – but this time, from the perspective of what detail to throw away.

Table Of Contents

In part 1:

Chapter 5: Land Transport

5.1 Distance, Time, & Detriments

5.1.1 Time Vs Distance
5.1.2 Defining a terrain / region / locality

     5.1.2.1 Road Quality: An introductory mention

5.2 Terrain

5.2.0 Terrain Factor
5.2.1 % Distance
5.2.2 Good Roads
5.2.3 Bad Roads
5.2.4 Even Ground
5.2.5 Broken Ground
5.2.5 Marshlands
5.2.7 Swamplands
5.2.8 Woodlands
5.2.9 Forests
5.2.10 Rolling Hills
5.2.11 Mountain Slopes
5.2.12 Mountain Passes
5.2.13 Deserts
5.2.14 Exotic Terrain
5.2.15 Road Quality
     5.2.15.1 The four-tier system
     5.2.15.2 The five-tier system
     5.2.15.3 The eight-tier system
     5.2.15.4 The ten-tier system

5.2.16 Rivers & Other Waterways
     5.2.16.1 Fords
     5.2.16.2 Bridges
     5.2.16.3 Tolls
     5.2.16.4 Ferries
     5.2.16.5 Portage & Other Solutions

Today:

5.3 Weather

5.3.1 Seasonal Trend
5.3.2 Broad Variations
5.3.3 Narrow Variations
     5.3.3.1 Every 2nd month?
     5.3.3.2 Transition Months
     5.3.3.3 Adding a little randomness: 1/2 length variations
     5.3.3.4 Adding a little randomness: 1 1./2-, 2-, and 2 1/2-length variations

5.3.4 Maintaining The Average
     5.3.4.1 Correction Timing
          5.3.4.1.1 Off-cycle corrections
          5.3.4.1.2 Oppositional corrections
          5.3.4.1.3 Adjacent corrections
          5.3.4.1.4 Hangover corrections

     5.3.4.2 Correction Duration
          5.3.4.2.1 Distributed corrections: 12 months
               5.3.4.2.1.1 Even Distribution
               5.3.4.2.1.2 Random Distribution
               5.3.4.2.1.3 Weighted Random Distribution

          5.3.4.2.2 Distributed corrections: 6 months
          5.3.4.2.3 Distributed corrections: 3 months
          5.3.4.2.4 Slow Corrections (2 months)
          5.3.4.2.5 Normal corrections: 1 month
          5.3.4.2.6 Fast corrections: 1/2 month (2 weeks)
          5.3.4.2.7 Catastrophic corrections 1/4 month (1 week)

     5.4.4.3 Maintaining Synchronization
     5.4.4.4 Multiple Correction Layers

5.4 Losses & Hazards
5.5 Expenses – as Terrain Factors
5.6 Expenses – as aspects of Politics

In parts to come:

5.7 Inns, Castles, & Strongholds

5.7.1 Strongholds
5.7.2 Castles
5.7.3 Inns

5.8 Villages, Towns, & Cities

5.8.1 Villages
     5.8.1.1 Village Frequency
     5.8.1.2 Village Initial Size
     5.8.1.3 The Generic Village

5.8.2 Towns
     5.8.2.1 Towns Frequency
     5.8.2.2 Town Initial Size
     5.8.2.3 The Generic Town

5.8.3 Cities
     5.8.2.2 Small City Frequency
     5.8.2.3 Small City Size
     5.8.2.4 Size Of The Capital
     5.8.2.5 Large City Frequency
     5.8.2.6 Large City Size

5.8.4 Economic Factors, Simplified
     5.8.4.1 Trade Routes & Connections
     5.8.4.2 Local Industry
     5.8.4.3 Military Significance
     5.8.4.4 Scenery & History
     5.8.4.5 Other Economic Modifiers
     5.8.4.6 Upscaled Villages
     5.8.4.7 Upscaled Towns
     5.8.4.8 Upscaled Small Cities
     5.8.4.9 Upscaling The Capital & Large Cities

5.8.5 Overall Population
     5.8.5.1 Realm Size
     5.8.5.2 % Wilderness
     5.8.5.3 % Fertile
     5.8.5.4 % Good
     5.8.5.5 % Mediocre
     5.8.5.6 % Poor
     5.8.5.7 % Dire
     5.8.5.8 % Wasteland
     5.8.5.9 Net Agricultural Capacity

     5.8.5.10 Misadventures, Disasters, and Calamities
     5.8.5.11 Birth Rate per year
     5.8.5.12 Mortality
          5.8.5.12.1 Infant Mortality
          5.8.5.12.2 Child Mortality
          5.8.5.12.3 Teen Mortality
          5.8.5.12.4 Youth Mortality
          5.8.5.12.5 Adult Mortality
          5.8.5.12.6 Senior Mortality
          5.8.5.12.7 Elderly Mortality
          5.8.5.12.8 Venerable Mortality
          5.8.5.12.9 Net Mortality

     5.8.5.13 Net Population

5.8.6 Population Distribution
     5.8.6.1 The Roaming Population
     5.8.6.2 The Capital
     5.8.6.3 The Cities
     5.8.6.4 Number of Towns
     5.8.6.5 Number of Villages
     5.8.6.6 Hypothetical Population
     5.8.6.7 The Realm Factor
     5.8.6.8 True Village Size
     5.8.6.9 True Town Size
     5.8.6.10 Adjusted City Size
     5.8.6.11 Adjusted Capital Size

5.8.7 Population Centers On The Fly
     5.8.7.1 Total Population Centers
     5.8.7.2 The Distribution Table
     5.8.7.3 The Cities
     5.8.7.4 Village or Town?
     5.8.7.5 Size Bias
          5.8.7.5.1 Economic Bias
          5.8.7.5.2 Fertility Bias
          5.8.7.5.3 Military Personnel
          5.8.7.5.4 The Net Bias

     5.8.7.6 The Die Roll
     5.8.7.7 Applying Net Bias
     5.8.7.8 Applying The Realm Factor
     5.8.7.9 The True Size
          5.8.7.9.1 Justifying The Size
          5.8.7.9.2 The Implications

5.9 Compiled Trade Routes

5.9.1 National Legs
5.9.2 Sub-Legs
5.9.3 Compounding Terrain Factors
5.9.4 Compounding Weather Factors
5.9.5 Compounding Expenses
5.9.6 Compounding Losses
5.9.7 Compounding Profits
5.9.8 Other Expenses
5.9.9 Net Profit

5.10 Time
5.11 Exotic Transport

And, In future chapters:

6. Waterborne Transport
7. Spoilage
8. Key Personnel
9. The Journey
10. Arrival
11. Journey’s End
12. Adventures En Route

5.3 Weather

In a previous part of this series I spent an entire post detailing a very rich weather system because ships at sea are utterly dependent on the weather and on very precise details. On land, such specificity is a burden, not a luxury, and so this chapter includes a much simpler weather system. I very strongly want to let it be shaped by the previous one, though, so that if further detail is needed – and from time to time it will be – you can simply drop in whatever part of the previous system is relevant, use it for as long as you need it, and then put it away again.

5.3.1 Seasonal Trend

The place to start, therefore, is with a seasonal trend. How much hotter or colder does it get, each day, on average? And how much does the daily minimum change?

How much does the daily chance of precipitation in some form increase or decrease each day?

How much does the average amount of such precipitation rise or fall?

Is this region or area known for strong winds, and what times of year do they arrive?

These five facts define a seasonal weather pattern. You can specify it in months if you want, on the assumption that a season can be subdivided into three parts – early, middle, and late – or into 6-week spans (so a season of two halves) – or you can even do seasonal spans (4 weeks late of one season and 4 weeks early of the next as one long trend, then four weeks at the height of the new season, then start again – dividing the year into eight unequal portions).

Tropical climates don’t even need that much variation – they have two seasons, wet and dry. And there isn’t so much a transition as a catastrophic changeover.

As readers will have seen in my series, The Diversity Of Seasons, I like to model game weather in my campaigns on a real location as much as I can, for two reasons: first, there may be historical weather records that I can access, ensuring a realism that simply can’t be achieved any other way; and secondly, because an annual weather summary makes it a lot easier to boil a specific climate down into exactly the sort of trends described above.

But, for this system, I think even this is more richly detailed than necessary. So instead, let’s start here:

For a major location or a region, write down a one-line answer to each of the following questions:

1. What’s a good-weather day in summer like?
2. What’s a bad-weather day in summer like?
3. What’s a good-weather day in autumn like?
4. What’s a bad-weather day in autumn like?
5. What’s a good-weather day in winter like?
6. What’s a bad-weather day in winter like?
7. What’s a good-weather day in spring like?
8. What’s a bad-weather day in spring like?

Now, we’ve reduced those 5 parameters down to just one or two: How much more or less likely are bad weather days? How much more or less likely are good weather days?

The assumption, of course, is that most days are going to be somewhere in between.

If that’s all you’re ever going to need, that’s it, you can move on to the next section. Sadly, it probably isn’t, and you’re back to looking at those 5 numeric parameters.

So let’s pick somewhere and set them, just as an example. For no reason in particular, let’s pick a place I know nothing about aside from general perceptions: Brensbach, Germany. No, that doesn’t work, no weather data. All right, Bonn. There’s probably lots of climate info on Bonn.

Wikipedia tells me Bonn is in one of Germany’s warmest regions, so I’ll take that on board.

Looking at the climate chart, there are three values to pick between for daily maximum temperature – Record High, Mean Maximum, and Mean Daily Maximum. The first is the most extreme ever recorded, not useful in this context; the second is the average of the highest in any given month over a number of years, so that’s a contender; the third is the average of all maximum temperatures in the month over those many years. What’s the difference?

Here are three (invented) weather records in graph form for June for Bonn:



In the fictional-2022, there were some highs and some lows and a slight drop in average temperature over the month (the black line). In fictional-2023, there is a slightly more extreme drop in maximum temperature but it’s still fairly consistent. In fictional-2024, there are four major warm periods separated by colder ones and the overall temperature has declined noticeably by the end of the month.

Note the days circled in yellow – those are the individually-hottest days in the course of the month. In two cases out of three, they occur early in the month.

The figure supplied by Wikipedia for the Mean Maximum is the mean of all the individually hottest days for all the Junes on record in Bonn. In terms of forecasting the weather, not very useful. Averaging the maximum temperatures for every June day on record gives the Mean Dally Maximum. That’s the one we want.

But the difference to the other one is also useful – we can write the daily June average as (in this case) 22.5°C ± 9°.

The numbers for July are 24.1°C ± 8.8°.

The difference from June to July is +1.6°C ± 8.9°C

Notice that I’ve averaged the ± values for each month.

Over 30 days, that’s +0.0533333°C – too low to be useful – or 1°C every 18.75 days. Fahrenheit, because the size of a degree is smaller, might appear to be more useful for this, but here’s a though to consider: it’s my contention that 1°C is the smallest temperature change that we humans notice. If it’s 22°C right now, and an hour from now it’s going to be 23°C, we will actually notice the difference.

In some places, Summer will be May-June-July. In other places, it might be mid-May-June-July-mid-August.

I don’t care about any of that. It’s too detailed, too fussy. I want to compare the middle months of each season with the middle month of the next season, and those distinctions mostly get washed away in the process. So the process for setting the post-midsummer change is to compare June (midsummer) with September (mid-Autumn).

June numbers again: 22.5°C ± 9°.
September: 20.0°C ± 7.4°.

Ignoring mid-season, that means that late summer and early autumn in total (about 60 days) yield -2.5°, &PlusMinus 8.2°. And, 2.5 / 60 = 0.0416667, or -1° every 24 days.

I can do the same for the minimum daily temperatures:

June: 11.8°C ± 5.1°
September: 10.3°C ± 5.5°.

60-day change: -0.025°/day or 1° every 40 days, ± 5.3°C.

Average Precipitation is per month. In June it was 81.5mm (3.21 inches). But the row after next gives the average number of rainy days as 14.1 – so divide one by the other to get an average daily rainfall on wet days of 81.5/14.1 = 5.78mm / rainy day, or about 0.2276 inches. That’s more than a shower, it’s a light rain over several hours or a shorter, more intense, rain, like in a thunderstorm. 14.1 out of 30 = 47% chance of rain each day.

The September numbers: 62.5mm over 13.6 days = 4.59mm / rainy day; and 13.6/30 = 45.333% chance of rain each day.

Over 60 days, we go from 47% chance of rain to 45.333% chance of rain, so the overall chance is 47% -1% every 36 days.

The amount of rain on a rainy day goes from 5.78 to 4.59 mm, a change of -1.19mm, or 0.0198 mm/day or -1 mm every 50.42 days, or -0.1 mm every 5 days. That last isn’t bad, in terms of usefulness, but it might be even better to calculate it over rainy days and not all days.

Same change of -1.19mm; but instead of 60 days, we’re looking at the average of 47 and 45.333% times that sixty days, or 46.1665% x 60 = 27.7 rainy days.

-1.19mm / 27.7 rainy days = -0.04296 mm / rainy day or 23.277 rainy days per -1 mm or 2.327 rainy days per -0.1 mm.

Once a weather profile for an area has been calculated, it will never change absent some extraordinary geographic interference. The only remaining question before we can move on is how far does this climate representation extend?

This is a far more rubbery question. There are no good answers, because climate is just too complicated, and impacted by all sorts of factors. To offer some sense of the complexities involved: Africa and Australia are about as far apart as you can get and still be in the same hemisphere – except for South America, which is further from Australia..



This map was produced in 1961 by the Central Intelligence Agency of the USA and is available in raster form from the US Library Of Congress. As a work-product of the United States Government, it is considered to be in the Public Domain in the United States. Image courtesy of’ Wikimedia Commons. Cropped by me with notations moved inboard and contrast / color-depth increased.

When inland Australia has a relatively wet year, there is usually drought in Africa. When it rains there, we have drought here, and heightened bushfire dangers. You might expect that all that ocean in between had a decisive role to play, but no. Is it our weather that changes theirs, or their weather that changes ours, or is the relationship still more complicated than that? I would bet on the latter. It’s my understanding that it’s a question of whether or not the potential rain falls from the atmosphere there, or stays up there until it gets to here, but I have low levels of confidence in that understanding.

The fact that weather is so complicated is both a good and a bad thing, from an RPG systems perspective. It means that almost any output from a game mechanic can be rationalized and interpreted plausibly; but it also means that any decent system gets easily bogged down because there are so many aspects of the weather to pin down..

5.3.2 Broad Variations

In Australia, we are very familiar with El Nino and La Nina phenomena and the Southern Oscillation Index, and the impact that they have on our weather, and are slowly becoming more aware generally of the impact of the Indian Ocean Dipole on our weather. To quote from Wikipedia:

Across most of the continent, El Nino and La Nina have more impact on climate variability than any other factor. There is a strong correlation between the strength of La Nina and rainfall: the greater the sea surface temperature and Southern Oscillation difference from normal, the larger the rainfall change.

During El Nino events, the shift in rainfall away from the Western Pacific may mean that rainfall across Australia is reduced. Over the southern part of the continent, warmer than average temperatures can be recorded as weather systems are more mobile and fewer blocking areas of high pressure occur. The onset of the Indo-Australian Monsoon in tropical Australia is delayed by two to six weeks, which as a consequence means that rainfall is reduced over the northern tropics. The risk of a significant bushfire season in south-eastern Australia is higher following an El Nino event, especially when it is combined with a positive Indian Ocean Dipole event.

… Australia … experiences extensive droughts alongside considerable wet periods that cause major floods. There exist three phases – El Nino, La Nina, and Neutral… Since 1900, there have been 28 El Nino and 19 La Nina events in Australia including the current 2023 El Nino event. The[se] events usually last for 9 to 12 months, but some can persist for two years [or more], though the ENSO cycle generally operates over a time period from one to eight years.

What this means is that there are multiyear long-term cycles of varying duration and intensity, which compound with the typical climatic pattern. It’s the same everywhere, though the intensity of such effects can vary. As a general rule, you cycle from hotter-dryer to cooler-wetter, but there’s enough variability to cause complications.

I propose getting around these implications and complications by applying separate cycles for rainfall and temperature, even though that’s not actually accurate.

Any of the values recorded in the previous section can be affected. One combination of factors might mean warmer nights and cooler days; another might not affect night-time temperatures at all but could push daytime maximums up or down.

Ultimately, these boil down to two factors: how much, and for how long?

How much: roll d-something (based on the level of variability of the season and rounding down) and divide by 2. When the current phase of the cycle ends, make the same roll and apply it in the opposite direction – so if you’re getting +3.5°C on the daily maximums, and you roll 2.5°C, then the modifier drops to +1°C. And, since that’s still a positive number, the next roll will also subtract from it.

How long: 6+d12 months, but if you roll a 12, subtract 2 and add a d6 and another d12.

11/12ths of the time, you’ll get a flat 7-18 months, average 12 months. One time in 12, you’ll get a 16+d6+d12 pattern, which looks like this:



Each time you generate the weather, you simply add this modifier to the result and take it off the variability.

5.3.3 Narrow Variations

That leaves only the more frequent and common daily cycles. There are two phenomena that these have to replicate: one off-events where the system ‘clears its throat’ and protracted events that impact weather over multiple days.

This is rather trickier, because long-range events are rare, but get more likely the shorter they are; while short-term events last a day or two, three at the most, and the shorter the duration, the more likely they are. So we have two completely distinct probability curves, in terms of duration.

That requires, generally speaking, two die rolls. And, given the shapes involved, divided die rolls at that.

Roll 1: 2d8 / (d4+3), minimum result 1
Results > 2, use Roll #2 instead: [(3d8+4) / 2d4] +2



When you plot these, this is what you get: 93% of the time, you’re talking a 1-2 day event, with 1 happening 64% of the time. But on the remaining 7%, there’s a peak probability of 3-to-8 days, but an outside chance of an event lasting up to 12 days – and an extremely remote probability of another 4 days beyond that (amounting to just over 1% of the 7%).

Intensity of event follows the same basic curve as the second results roll without the +2, divided by 2 instead:

Roll3: [(3d8+4) / 2d4] /2, round down.

So instead of 4-5, the answers are 1-1.5. For practical purposes anything more than 4.5 is going to be 1% or less.

If you really want to, you can divide the result by 4.5 and multiply by double the variation determined after the long-term weather patterns are taken into account. I don’t think it’s worth the effort myself – but I would probably have stopped at the “% chance good days” in the first place.

5.3.3.1 Every 2nd month?

There are all sorts of things that can be done to make the system more robust. I don’t think they are necessary, either, with one possible exception.

The first is to divide the year up a little differently. Say that seasonal transitions take a little less time and are more abrupt, and that the mid-season period is longer and more consistent therefore. This is less realistic but makes the changes more dramatic, and hence, more impactful in game terms. It also means that you can ignore all the complicated stuff more of the time and just run off the core season.

Another approach is to ignore the seasons entirely, and let them emerge naturally from the weather. This approach means that you are always transitioning from the previous month to the next month and ignoring what’s recorded for the in-between.

So:
January = the average of December & February.
February = the average of January & March.
March = the average of February & April.
…. and so on.

This ‘second month’ approach smooths over the maths quite a lot. You’re no longer worried about trends; instead, you take the average that you calculate and that is the base weather. Apply the long-term cycles and short term variations as usual.

5.3.3.2 Transition Months

Another technique is to say that the seasons are 2 1/2 months long, and average the relevant months to get a base weather for the entire season. That leaves transitions taking 1 week of the end of the season and the first week of the next, which you get by averaging the two months.

Shortening the transition months like this makes weather transitions so sharp as to be unrealistic, but you are going to be counting on random variations to hide that fact. If that doesn’t seem enough, weight the outcomes of the random rolls to favor the results that should be trending – if you’re heading into summer and the dice indicate a cool day (down 4 degrees on the average), flip the result to make it 4 degrees warmer than the indicated average.

5.3.3.3 Adding a little randomness: 1/2 length variations

This is the one that might be worthwhile – it halves the length of random variations by making the results the number of “half-days” instead of “whole days”. You can then roll a random number for exactly when the change comes through – I would suggest adding or subtracting up to 6 hours, in other words, d12-6 hours. That means that you can get evening shifts, dawn shifts, and noon shifts as well as midnight shifts in the weather.

I would further simplify: if the indicated duration is 1/2 day or less, it counts for zero against the pattern; if it’s more than 1/2 a day, then it counts as a full day.

5.3.3.4 Adding a little randomness: 1 1./2-, 2-, and 2 1/2-length variations

I was talking about these general principles to someone once, and they suggested expanding the half-day variation principle to longer durations, effectively compensating for the /2 by multiplying a d5 by the duration, or maybe a d6. Presented here for the sake of completeness, this is not something I would recommend..

5.3.4 Maintaining The Average

Ever have a time when a series of die rolls for the same thing came up high all the time, even when rolled days apart? I’ve seen it happen. In the extremely long run, it all averages out of course, but the fact of the matter is that simple weather generation systems are necessarily poorly granular – there’s often quite a lot of variation and not a lot of subtlety to the results. So there’s one further refinement that’s worth considering, no matter how you roll for your weather.

If you only generate results when you need them, this lack of granularity gets amplified.

But there is a relatively simple solution: keep track of your results, I mean the end numbers not the bits in between. How hot did it get? How cool at night? How many rainy days were there, and how much rain fell?

From these, you can set yet another correction factor to bring the overall average back to whatever it’s supposed to be.

There are three factors to consider: when to calculate and apply a modifier, how long it needs to last, and how big of an adjustment?

If the weather system tells you there’s five days of heavy rain, you can expect floods. That much rain ruins the fit to the average expectation – the solution is to compensate for the greater rainfall by making other rainfall lighter or shorter or nothing more than threatening clouds, until the overall average is back where it’s supposed to be.

5.3.4.1 Correction Timing

Because you want as much of the correction to take place ‘naturally’, i.e. through daily variations and general weather patterns, these corrections shouldn’t happen all that frequently. For that reason, the timing of them should be linked to the long-term weather cycles and not to anything shorter.

There are four basic options. Which one should you choose? I would roll randomly, they are all as likely as each other.

5.3.4.1.1 Off-cycle corrections

Off-cycle means that as soon as the cycle ends you make the calculation and use the correction instead of rolling for a new long-tern cycle result. Once you’re back to average, you roll a new long-term cycle result to take it’s place and carry on your merry way.

5.3.4.1.2 Oppositional corrections

Oppositional Correction means that when the long term cycle indicates the opposite of what it did when the accumulated error took place, this additional modifier will compound with that long-term trend to make matters better – or worse.

You’re supposed to have a dry season but you roll a lot of rain? Compensate by making the following wet season trend drier than usual.

5.3.4.1.3 Adjacent corrections

This divides the compensation in two and applies them to both the next cycle phase and the one after that. In effect, it spreads the adjustment out over a longer period, making it less noticeable.

5.4.4.1.4 Hangover corrections

Finally, you can keep hold of any required adjustments until there’s a long-term trend in the indicated direction and then apply them. This means that long dry periods get (eventually) balanced by floods, and long wet periods get (eventually) balanced by droughts. The redress might not happen next year, or even the year after – it’s longer term than that.

This can mean that you end up with several such modifiers / corrections taking hold all at once. That happens in reality, too – a long run of medium-to-good years followed not just by a drought or cold snap, but by a massive drought – the kind that affects parts of Africa every now and then – or little ice age, like the ones reported in England in 1650, 1770, and 1850, each separated by intervals of slight warming. Modern climatology conflates all three into something referred to as the Little Ice Age.

Between 1649 and 1666, for four successive winters, the Thames froze over – something that only generally happened one year in ten even in the Little Ice Age. The most severe freezing of England ever recorded was during the Great Frost Of 1683-84 when the Thames froze for months at a time, and the ice reached as much as 11 inches thick (See River Thames Frost Fairs for more information).

That’s what an accumulation of corrections can look like.

5.3.4.2 Correction Duration

The next factor to consider is duration. There are five patterns, each roughly twice as likely as the one that follows it, and with the largest one subdivided along similar probability lines. When you map that onto a d% roll, you get:

01-29 Normal Correction (1 month)
30-44 Slow Correction (2 months)
45-52 Distributed Correction 3 months
52-77 Distributed Correction 6 months
78-90 Distributed Correction 12 months
91-97 Fast Correction (1/2 month)
98-00 Catastrophic Correction (1.4 month = 1 week)

The above takes into account two factors: that most errors will cancel out, leaving a relatively small net correction; and a lot of weather events are like a cascade of dominoes, or a chain reaction – something builds up until it can no longer be contained and then lets go – but it doesn’t happen all at once.

5.3.4.2.1 Distributed corrections: 12 months

I’m going to deal with these in sequence of decreasing length rather than a sequence derived from the probability shown above. A 12-month distribution is as long as a correction gets, and is one of the more improbable outcomes.

It does not mean that an adjustment is applied daily for 365 days. Rather, the size of the total adjustment required dictates the number of days.

The minimum adjustment is generally 0.5°C if your source measurements are to 0.1°, 1° otherwise if they are in °C, and 2° if they are in °F.’

For every 2 of this size, there will be one of twice as long. The pattern is A, BB, CCCC, DDDD DDDD, and so on.

You want the largest such pattern that is less than the total adjustment.

1 A = 1
2 B = 2 (+1 = 3)
3 C = 3 (+3 = 6)
4 D = 4 (+6 = 10)
5 E = 5 (+10 = 15)
6 F = 6 (+15 = 21)
7 G = 7 (+ 21 = 28)
8 H = 8 (+ 28 = 36)
9 I = 9 (+ 36 = 45)
10 J = 10 (+ 45 = 55)
11 K = 11 (+55 = 66)
12 L = 12 (+66 = 78)
13 M = 13 (+78 = 91)
14 N = 14 (+91 = 105)
15 O = 15 (+105 = 120)
16 P = 16 (+120 = 136)
17 Q = 17 (+136 = 153)
18 R = 18 (+153 = 171)
19 S = 19 (+171 = 190)
20 T = 20 (+190 = 210)

That should be far enough! In fact, it almost certainly goes too far, but that’s better than the alternative.

So let’s walk our way through the table and then I’ll explain the process of using it. the first number is the number multiplied by the minimum adjustment to get the actual adjustment for a specific scale. Those scales are labeled A, B, C, and so on. The third number is the weight of the adjustment, which I’ll explain in a moment, while the fourth number (in the brackets) is the cumulative weight.

The presence of a given level of adjustment – M, say – implies that there’s at least one adjustment of each smaller size also required. So the number to compare with the total is the cumulative.

Allocate the largest single adjustment and subtract it from the total correction. Divide the result by the cumulative value of the next lowest score – you’re only interested in whole numbers, so it’s not too difficult a calculation. That’s how many adjustments there are of that next smaller scale. So allocate them, deduct their total correction from the goal, and repeat until you know how many A events there are going to be.

An example: Let’s say that we need a total of 84mm of additional rainfall.

▪ 78 is less than 84, and gives an L adjustment. 91 is too high.
▪ So there is 1 L adjustment of 12 x the base. Let’s use 1 mm as the base. So on on day, there will be +12mm of rain.
▪ Subtract 12 from the total required: 84 – 12 = 72.

▪ The next lowest rating, K, has a cumulative weight of 66. There’s only room for one of those in 72.
▪ Subtract the value of K from the new target of 72: 72-11 = 61.

▪ The next lowest rating, J, has a cumulative weight of 55. There’s still only room for 1. So far, we have three events: L, K, J.
▪ Subtract the value of J from the target total: 61 – 10 = 51.

▪ The I rating scores 9 and has a total weight of 45. Still only 1 event.
▪ Subtract the value of I from the target total: 51-9=42.

▪ The H rating scores 8 and has a total weight of 36. Still only 1 event.
▪ Subtract the value of H from the target total: 42-8=34.

▪ The G rating scores 7 and has a total weight of 28. Still only one event. So far we have 1 each of L, K, J, H, and G.
▪ Subtract the value of G from the target total: 34-7=27.

▪ In the same way, we add a single F and a single E event, accounting for another 11 of the total adjustment and leaving 16 to get.

▪ And then we add a D event with a weight of 5, leaving 11.

▪ You can see that we’re close to a multiple higher than 1, but C doesn’t quite get us there; it has a total weight of 6. Add one C event.
▪ Subtract the C value from the target: 11-3=8.

▪ The weight of a B event is 3. So there are TWO b events in this adjustment, with a total value of 6.
▪ Subtract the 2xB value from the target: 8-6=2.

▪ There are two A events, worth 1 each.
▪ The total sequence is AA, BB, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L.

if the scale of the proposed adjustment seems too high for you – it should be less than the total variability if you know it – the solution is to allocate more of the top level events, retreating steps down the table until you get a daily adjustment you can live with.

SECOND EXAMPLE:
We need a total adjustment after a long cold spell of +120°C. If we’re using 1/2 degrees, that’s a total requirement of 120 / 0.5 = 240 units if adjustment. Our daily capacity is no more than 4°C, or 8 of those adjustments. That’s an H event.

▪ H events have a total weight of 36. 240 / 36 = 6 and a remainder. So there are going to be 6 H events for a total adjustment of 6 x 8 = 48. This leaves 192 to go.

▪ G events have a total weight of 28. Divide the target of 192 by 28 and you get 6 and a remainder. So there are 6 G events, for a net correction of 6×7 = 42 units. This leaves 192-42=150 to go.

▪ F events have a value of 6 and a total weight of 21. Divide the target of 150 by the total weight and you get 7 and a remainder. There are 7 F events of total value 7×6 = 42. 108 to go.

▪ E events have a value of 5 and a total weight of 15 each. Divide the target of 108 by 15 and you get 7 and a remainder. 7 E events are a total correction of 35 units. 73 to go.

▪ D events have a value of 4 and a total weight of 10 each. 73 / 10 = 7 and a remainder. There are 7 D events, worth a total correction of 28. 45 to go.

▪ C events have a value of 3 and a total weight of 6 each. 45 / 6 = 7 and a remainder (what a surprise!) There are 7 C events which are a total correction of 21. That leaves just 24.

▪  events have a value of 2 and a weight each of 3. 24/3=8. There are 8 B events accounting for 16 units of adjustment and leaving 8.

▪ Which obviously means that there are 8 A events.

▪ 8 + 8 + 7×6 = 58 events in total.

Having broken the correction up into individual adjustments, the next step is to determine the distribution of those adjustments.

There are three basic models for doing so: Even distribution is the simplest, randomly even is the next most complicated, and weighted is the most realistic.

5.3.4.2.1.1 Even Distribution

The number of events of a given scale can either be lumped together to form a single longer event, or kept separate to form more events. Group them as you see fit.

EXAMPLE 1 CONTINUED:
▪ A, A, B, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L = 14 events. That’s a workable number – no grouping.

EXAMPLE 2 CONTINUED:
▪ 8xA, 8xB, 7xC, 7xD, 7xE, 7xF, 7xG, 7xH – that’s a total of 58 events, as noted earlier. That’s a bit unwieldy. I’ll break each of the lower “7x” into a 3x, a 2x, and two 1x events (C through E)., and the higher ones into a 3x and a 4x grouping. So I end up with:

▪ 8xA, 8xB, C, C. CC, CCC, D, D, DD, DDD, E, E, EE, EEE, FFF, FFFF, GGG, GGGG, HHH, HHHH = 8 + 8 + 3+ 3×3 + 3×2 = 16+3+9+6 = 34 events.

For those events that have a compound duration, add 1 to the total duration of the adjustment and then subtract the total length of those events.

EXAMPLE 1 CONTINUED:
▪ There are no compound-length events.

EXAMPLE 2 CONTINUED:
▪ There are 12 compound length events – CC, CCC, DD, DDD, and so on. They total 2+3 + 2+3 + 2+3 + 3+4+ 3+4 + 3+4 = 15 + 21 = 36 days. 12 months = 365 days so 365+12-36 = 377-36 = 341 days.

Divide the result by the total number of correction event groups. Round down to (user’s choice) whole days, half days, or quarter days. That’s the interval between the end of one correction event and the start of the next.

EXAMPLE 1 CONTINUED:
▪ 365 days / 14 = 26 days. So every 26 days, there’s a correction event lasting a day.

EXAMPLE 2 CONTINUED:
▪ 341 / 34 = 10. So there are 10 whole days between correction events.

The final consideration is event sequence. For this, you need to actually list them without compression in 8xA and the like. Distribute them as evenly as possible. Then take a die of the next smaller size than the number of events and roll; count along the list to find the first event. List it in sequence, cross it out, and roll again, counting ‘1’ as the next listed entry. If you get to the end of the list, go back to the start and keep counting. When the number of events gets low enough, choose a smaller dice.

EXAMPLE 1 CONTINUED:
▪ A, A, B, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, 14 events in total, so use a d12.
▪ Distributed: A, B, C, D, K, G, H, A, B, E, F, I, J, L.
▪ Roll #1 is a 9. The 9th item in the list – A, B, C, D, K, G, H, A, B – is B. List it and cross it off the Distributed list (WordPress doesn’t make that very easy so I’ll put them in brackets instead).
▪ Roll #2 is an 11. E, F, I, J, L. gets me to 5. so A is 6, then B, C, D, K, G. The second event is G.
▪ Roll #3 is an 8. H, A, (B), E, F, I, J, L is 7, so A is 8. The third event is A.
I started with 14 events, now I’m down to 11, so a d12 is now too cumbersome and gets reduced to a d10.
▪ Roll #4 is another 8. B, C, D, K, (G), H, A, (B), E, F – the fourth event is F.
▪ Roll #5 is a 6. I, J, L gets me to three, so B is 4, C, 5, and D is 6. The fifth event is D.

▪ And so on – ultimately, my sequence list is B, G, A, F, D, K, B, L, J, H, C, E, A, I.

EXAMPLE 2 CONTINUED:
▪ 8xA, 8xB, C, C. CC, CCC, D, D, DD, DDD, E, E, EE, EEE, FFF, FFFF, GGG, GGGG, HHH, HHHH , 34 events in total.
▪ Distributed: A, FFF, B, E, C, A, B, DDD, A, GGG, B, C, A, HHHH, B, EEE, A, B, D, CC, A, FFFF, B, E, DD, A, GGGG, B, CCC, A, HHH, B, D, EEE.
▪ 34 events, so start with a d20: Roll#1 is a 3, so B.
▪ Roll #2 is 19, so FFFF.
▪ Roll #3 is 5, so GGGG.
▪ Roll #4 is 11, so C.
▪ Roll #5 is 19, so DD.
▪ Roll #6 is 8, so EEE.
▪ Roll #7 is 17, so D.
▪ Roll #8 is 15, so A.
▪ Roll #9 is 11, so A again.
▪ Roll #10 is 17, so DDD.
▪ Roll #11 is 7, so B.
▪ Roll #12 is 7 again, so A.
… and so on.

5.3.4.2.1.2 Random Distribution

Random distribution is not that much more difficult. Instead of a fixed number of days between events, double the number and choose the next smaller die size.

If there is a large size dice indicated, halve the number to get a more practical alternative and roll two of them.

EXAMPLE 1 CONTINUED:
▪ 26 days calculated between events. 26×2 = 52. I could rig up a d52 simulator using a deck of playing cards. Or I could use a function that I rarely need at AnyDice and get it to roll a string of d52s for me. But none of those are convenient enough.
▪ So halve it again. Now I’m back to a 26. I could use d20. But I actually have in my unusual dice collection a d24. So 2d24 will work just fine.
▪ In fact, my first 10 rolls are 18, 30, 10 ,36, 15, 15, 39, 20, 27, 36. Continue until you run out of events to schedule.

EXAMPLE 2 CONTINUED:
▪ 10 days calculated between events, double it to 20, and it’s tailor made for a d20.

The goal is to have a random roll that averages the gap between correction events that you calculated previously. It doesn’t hurt for it to be a dumbbell curve, either; in fact that’s probably preferable to a flat roll.

5.3.4.2.1.3 Weighted Random Distribution

In this model, half the events are to take place in the season most appropriate for them to do so, at half the base interval. One quarter of the events are to take place in the season most unusual for them to do so, at 3/4 the base interval. The rest occupy the rest of the total time-frame.

1. Calculate 1/2 the total events, round down. Multiply by 1/2 the base interval (rounded down).
2. Calculate 1/4 of the total events, round down. Multiply by 3/4 of the base interval (rounded up)
3 Subtract these two subtotals from the total correction time.
4. Subtract the two event count subtotals from the total number of events.
5. Calculate the rest-of-the-year average by dividing the remaining correct time by the remaining number of events. Round down.
6. Split these non-adjacent season events in two as evenly as possible.

EXAMPLE 1 CONTINUED:
14 events. Base interval 26 days. Total time allowed = 365 days.
1. 1/2×14 = 7. No rounding needed. So 7 events 13 days apart = 91 days.
2. 1/4×14 = 3.5, round down to 3. Calculate 3/4 x 26 days = 19.5 days, round up to to 20. So 3 events 20 days apart = 60 days.
3. 365 – 81 – 60 = 224 days.
4. 14 events – 7 – 3 = 4 events.
5. 224 days / 4 events = 56 days. So 4 events 56 days apart.
6. Over two non-adjacent seasons = 2 events per non-adjacent season.

EXAMPLE 2 CONTINUED:
34 events. Base Interval 10 days. Total time allowed = 341 days.
1. 1/2×34 = 17, no rounding needed. So 17 events 5 days apart = 85 days.
2. 1/4×34 = 8.5, round down to 8. 3/4 x 10 = 7.5, round up to 8. So 8 events 8 days apart = 64 days.
3. 341 – 85 – 64 = 192 days.
4. 34 – 17 – 8 = 9 events.
5. 192 days / 9 events = 21.33 days, rounds down to 21. So 9 events 21 days apart.
6. Over 2 non-adjacent seasons, one will have 4 events and one will have 5. Choose randomly.

5.3.4.2.2 Distributed corrections: 6 months

Having established the basic methods, I don’t need to repeat them. Instead of full seasons, though, we’re now talking about 1/2 seasons.

5.3.4.2.3 Distributed corrections: 3 months

It’s a similar story here, but three months is a season. So weighted adjustments are no longer necessary or possible, unless you want to break the 12-week season into sub-seasons of 3 weeks each.

5.3.4.2.4 Slow Corrections (2 months)

Two months is less than a season. Note that the shorter the time interval in which to make the corrections, the more frequent the corrections have to be and the more extreme they might need to be.

5.3.4.2.5 Normal corrections: 1 month

Sydney recently experienced a series of rain events lasting about 3 1/2 weeks. While there were one or two days without rain, and perhaps half-a-dozen in which part of a day had good weather, most of the time, it was dark and gray all day and raining for at least part of the day. This produced short-term flooding in some vulnerable areas and more serious flooding in one region.

Four weeks is unusually long for an intense heat-wave, but there have definitely been times when I have experienced a long “warm wave”. It’s also long for a “Cold Snap” but an appropriate duration for a period of “chilly weather”.

5.3.4.2.6 Fast corrections: 1/2 month (2 weeks)

Regionally catastrophic and generally uncomfortable one way or another. I have experienced deluges, heat-waves and chilly periods of this length before. By the time you get to this rapidity of correction, it’s not so much about intervals between days, it’s about how much on any given day.

If you have to, assign each day an adjustment and then use the interval / random systems (your choice) to either top up or mitigate the adjustment accordingly.

5.3.4.2.7 Catastrophic corrections 1/4 month (1 week)

This doesn’t happen very often. Maybe one year in ten or eleven, something like this will happen. Remember that “errors”” needing correction have built up over a 6-30 month time frame – so having all of that readjustment to average take place in just 1/4 of a month can’t be considered anything less than catastrophic. Weather events of 24-120 times the usual intensity. Monsoonal downpours (171mm is the record for my neck of the woods) – in One Day. That’s 6.7 inches. But, in actual fact, that happened in one HOUR.

I’ve experienced a week of 50°C+ (122°F) peak temperatures – measured, as always, in the shade. From memory, the unofficial “in the sun” number was more like 67°C (152°F). It didn’t cool off much at night, either. That year, it reached the point where we couldn’t concentrate enough to game – all you could do was sit and pant and melt (metaphorically). Roads were melting. Metal in street signs became fatigued. People died.

I’ve experienced a week or so of darn-near subzero temperatures, again unusual for this part of the world. Five layers and a heater and still cold (but part of that was too many layers, causing sweating, which made me even colder. I know better, now).

5.3.4.3 Maintaining Synchronization

Something else to watch for, with all these levels and layers of adjustment is when seasons actually turn. For many years now, it has seemed like the seasons have changed in Sydney a week or two sooner than expected.

Certain landmark dates spring to mind. The second weekend in October is one. That’s the weekend of the Bathurst 1000 motor race, probably the premium such event in the southern hemisphere and certainly the biggest in Australia. The weather has generally just started to turn warm, though the nights are still a bit chilly.

One such weekend, about twenty years ago, it was so hot that the local (to where I was living then) Mr Whippy van ran out of ice-cream and had to phone his wife to get more out of the storeroom and drive it to him. it was 40-something degrees (C) in the shade, and I was acutely uncomfortable because at the time I didn’t own a fan.

For the last decade or so, that race has taken place against a backdrop of what felt like the lingering depths of winter. In a phrase, it’s been “bloody cold”. So the onset of winter seems early, the onset of summer seems late, and the summer itself seems a lot milder overall, with fewer really hot days.

These are all within the scope of random variation. But they are also patterns.

People perceive patterns very readily – even patterns that are just coincidence or otherwise aren’t really there. The problem is that randomly-generated weather sometimes doesn’t exhibit those patterns, or doesn’t do so consistently.

You could ague that the long-cycle variations and extended corrections are the system’s attempts to create those patterns, ready for the players and PCs to recognize, and you would not be altogether incorrect. The problem is that those long-term cycles have been through multiple cycle periods and these patterns have persisted even in the face of them changing. So this is something even deeper and more long-term in its stability.

It’s not something that these mechanics, as presented so far, take into account. Instead, the system lays the onus of creating and accommodating these patterns on the GM. For some people, that’s not good enough. So for them, I recommend yet another layer of adjustments (and these do need to feed into the system for later average corrections). Pick two or three milestone weather events and schedule them through your campaign calendar year.

Suggested examples include:
★ The first long soaking rain of spring;
★ The first big thunderstorm of summer;
★ The first really hot day of summer;
★ The first night of frost on the ground;
★ The first snowfall of the year.
★ The commencement of the harvest.

Make whatever adjustment is necessary on that date each year to achieve that milestone. And half of it for the 2 days that follow, and 1/3 of it for the three days after that, and 1/4 of it for the four days after that.

And leave those adjustments there, for year after year. This effectively overrides the system’s randomness to synchronize the seasons with the calendar.

5.3.4.4 Multiple Correction Layers

I can’t recommend letting a spreadsheet do all the math for you, highly enough. You will have to input base values and the various layers of adjustment, but let it put everything together.

But, unless the PCs are mostly staying in one place for a really long period of time, they will never notice. Therefore, I would only worry about the multiple correction layers and detailed adjustments for the current Base Of Operations and maybe the nearest big city (if the two are not the same).

Maybe for the capital of the Kingdom.

Whenever the PCs venture away from this fixed point in the geography of the campaign, use the simplest possible system – the chance of good weather / chance of bad weather.

If it looks like it might be important, use the more detailed system to generate the weather experienced historically wherever the PCs are now. But the rest of the time, forget it. They will.

5.4 Losses & Hazards

In keeping with that principle, have a PC-owned or operated business experience losses and climatic hazards as seems appropriate. There will be some such almost every year. Use the detailed system as a guide to what could happen and invent the numbers out of whole cloth as you need them. Use the detailed system to justify whatever you come up with.

“As you know, when Skyrym is full in August, flooding of the plains is never far away.”

Is it reality? Is it superstition? is there a causal connection? You don’t care – the weather is what it is, never mind what caused it to be that way. So invent numbers that can be justified and that seem reasonable and that enhance the plot and make the background seem more real, and forget the simulationist reality as much as you can.

5.5 Expenses – as Terrain Factors

Okay, this is now edging it’s way back to where the subject of discussion left off last time. It’s also a part of the subject that has been touched on previously, but it’s time to integrate it into the overall conversation about land travel.

If you have a choice of two routes, both of the same length and difficulty, the better one to choose is the one that has the lower expenses, yes? Obvious.

It’s when things stop being equal that they get more complicated. Route X is shorter but steeper than Route Y, and that increases the overheads from using that route – but Route Y has a fee or charge that has to be paid. Now which one is better?

One way to decide is to arbitrarily set a terrain factor to represent the overheads and expenses that will be incurred.

Every route will have some cost attached to it. Some of those costs will happen every trip, some may be amortized over many trips, averaged out.

There’s also a relative factor to take into account – when you don’t have much money, every expense looms three times as large. When you have the luxury of being able to afford a faster but more expensive route, you can often get longer to sell your wares or a better marketplace in which to do so – higher demand and people willing to pay more. Handle such matters correctly, and make additional profits; handle them poorly and remain relegated to struggle-street.

There is a lot to be said for the notion of making the tale of the business’ success a narrative thread in it’s own right. Two steps forward, one step back, two steps forward, a challenge that has to be overcome… weave that into your background and you can get most of the benefits of a hands-on business operation run by the players through their PCs without actually bogging down with the minutia. The principle of ‘expenses as a terrain factor’ offers a method of creating the narrative that surrounds these events, justifying and explaining them. “Until now, we couldn’t afford X – but now we can.”

5.6 Expenses – as aspects of Politics

By far the bigger expenses, though, are not the relatively fixed and stable ones, they are the soft costs that derive from politics and the political winds that are blowing. Bribes and Taxes and Commissions and Levies and Surcharges – the whole nine yards.

Most rulers are rational; they won’t strangle the operations that are (or could) make their domains richer, because they will get to skim some of that cream off the top.

Rather than looking at this sort of expense as an aspect of a business operation, I recommend regarding it as a plot development that attaches significance and relevance to the campaign by means of the business operation. Use the profitability of the business as a delivery system to make the politics around them matter to the PCs.

Treat the overland business operation as a plot development delivery system.

Overland transport is uniquely positioned for this purpose, when you thin about it.

River travel leaves you no choice but to go where the river takes you. What are choices and options and variables for overland travel are relatively fixed and simplified on a river.

Maritime transport is mostly over the free-for-all seas and oceans. It’s only really when you put into port, or come across another vessel, that there’s any real chance for social or political engagement.

Overland travel means choices. And choices are both levers to be pulled and storytelling opportunities. Go out of your way to create them, manipulate them, and use them.

The more you bottleneck the choices open to the PCs, the less opportunity there is for engagement.

But, on the other hand, to a certain extent, you don’t want the players to be so actively engaged in the business operations. So there is a fine line to be trodden here. Always keep it in mind – but don’t waste the opportunities that land travel offers you; save them for when you need them.

Next week, while I gird my loins for the big posts to come in this chapter, I’ll take a time out with one of a pair of smallish posts that came to mind today. I think.

The difference between the level of detail that you want when a PC is actually present and what is needed when it’s all NPCs and should happen purely in the background is almost total. Earlier treatment of the subject within this series focused on paring back and simplifying to the level of detail required for the first; this time, I’ll be far more abstract and simple in my approach, as befits the latter.

Table Of Contents

At this point, I’m not sure of how far I will get in today’s post. I’m anticipating that this chapter will break into at least three parts, however.

In today’s post:

Chapter 5: Land Transport

5.1 Distance, Time, & Detriments

5.1.1 Time Vs Distance
5.1.2 Defining a terrain / region / locality

     5.1.2.1 Road Quality: An introductory mention

5.2 Terrain

5.2.0 Terrain Factor
5.2.1 % Distance
5.2.2 Good Roads
5.2.3 Bad Roads
5.2.4 Even Ground
5.2.5 Broken Ground
5.2.5 Marshlands
5.2.7 Swamplands
5.2.8 Woodlands
5.2.9 Forests
5.2.10 Rolling Hills
5.2.11 Mountain Slopes
5.2.12 Mountain Passes
5.2.13 Deserts
5.2.14 Exotic Terrain
5.2.15 Road Quality
     5.2.15.1 The four-tier system
     5.2.15.2 The five-tier system
     5.2.15.3 The eight-tier system
     5.2.15.4 The ten-tier system

5.2.16 Rivers & Other Waterways
     5.2.16.1 Fords
     5.2.16.2 Bridges
     5.2.16.3 Tolls
     5.2.16.4 Ferries
     5.2.16.5 Portage & Other Solutions

And in the weeks ahead:

5.3 Weather

5.3.1 Seasonal Trend
5.3.2 Broad Variations
5.3.3 Narrow Variations
     5.3.3.1 Every 2nd month?
     5.3.3.2 Transition Months
     5.3.3.3 Adding a little randomness: 1/2 length variations
     5.3.3.4 Adding a little randomness: 1 1./2-, 2-, and 2 1/2-length variations

5.3.4 Maintaining The Average
     5.3.4.1 Correction Timing
     5.3.4.1.1 Off-cycle corrections
     5.3.4.1.2 Oppositional corrections
     5.3.4.1.3 Adjacent corrections
     5.4.4.1.4 Hangover corrections

     5.3.4.2 Correction Duration
          5.3.4.2.1 Distributed corrections: 12 months
          5.3.4.2.2 Distributed corrections: 6 months
          5.3.4.2.3 Distributed corrections: 3 months
          5.3.4.2.4 Slow Corrections (2 months)
          5.3.4.2.5 Normal corrections: 1 month
          5.3.4.2.6 Fast corrections: 1/2 month (2 weeks)
          5.3.4.2.7 Catastrophic corrections 1/4 month (1 week)

     5.4.4.3 Maintaining Synchronization
     5.4.4.4 Multiple Correction Layers

5.4 Losses & Hazards
5.5 Expenses – as Terrain Factors
5.6 Expenses – as aspects of Politics
5.7 Inns, Castles, & Strongholds

5.7.1 Strongholds
5.7.2 Castles
5.7.3 Inns

5.8 Villages, Towns, & Cities

5.8.1 Villages
     5.8.1.1 Village Frequency
     5.8.1.2 Village Initial Size
     5.8.1.3 The Generic Village

5.8.2 Towns
     5.8.2.1 Towns Frequency
     5.8.2.2 Town Initial Size
     5.8.2.3 The Generic Town

5.8.3 Cities
     5.8.2.2 Small City Frequency
     5.8.2.3 Small City Size
     5.8.2.4 Size Of The Capital
     5.8.2.5 Large City Frequency
     5.8.2.6 Large City Size

5.8.4 Economic Factors, Simplified
     5.8.4.1 Trade Routes & Connections
     5.8.4.2 Local Industry
     5.8.4.3 Military Significance
     5.8.4.4 Scenery & History
     5.8.4.5 Other Economic Modifiers
     5.8.4.6 Upscaled Villages
     5.8.4.7 Upscaled Towns
     5.8.4.8 Upscaled Small Cities
     5.8.4.9 Upscaling The Capital & Large Cities

5.8.5 Overall Population
     5.8.5.1 Realm Size
     5.8.5.2 % Wilderness
     5.8.5.3 % Fertile
     5.8.5.4 % Good
     5.8.5.5 % Mediocre
     5.8.5.6 % Poor
     5.8.5.7 % Dire
     5.8.5.8 % Wasteland
     5.8.5.9 Net Agricultural Capacity

     5.8.5.10 Misadventures, Disasters, and Calamities
     5.8.5.11 Birth Rate per year
     5.8.5.12 Mortality
          5.8.5.12.1 Infant Mortality
          5.8.5.12.2 Child Mortality
          5.8.5.12.3 Teen Mortality
          5.8.5.12.4 Youth Mortality
          5.8.5.12.5 Adult Mortality
          5.8.5.12.6 Senior Mortality
          5.8.5.12.7 Elderly Mortality
          5.8.5.12.8 Venerable Mortality
          5.8.5.12.9 Net Mortality

     5.8.5.13 Net Population

5.8.6 Population Distribution
     5.8.6.1 The Roaming Population
     5.8.6.2 The Capital
     5.8.6.3 The Cities
     5.8.6.4 Number of Towns
     5.8.6.5 Number of Villages
     5.8.6.6 Hypothetical Population
     5.8.6.7 The Realm Factor
     5.8.6.8 True Village Size
     5.8.6.9 True Town Size
     5.8.6.10 Adjusted City Size
     5.8.6.11 Adjusted Capital Size

5.8.7 Population Centers On The Fly
     5.8.7.1 Total Population Centers
     5.8.7.2 The Distribution Table
     5.8.7.3 The Cities
     5.8.7.4 Village or Town?
     5.8.7.5 Size Bias
          5.8.7.5.1 Economic Bias
          5.8.7.5.2 Fertility Bias
          5.8.7.5.3 Military Personnel
          5.8.7.5.4 The Net Bias

     5.8.7.6 The Die Roll
     5.8.7.7 Applying Net Bias
     5.8.7.8 Applying The Realm Factor
     5.8.7.9 The True Size
          5.8.7.9.1 Justifying The Size
          5.8.7.9.2 The Implications

5.9 Compiled Trade Routes

5.9.1 National Legs
5.9.2 Sub-Legs
5.9.3 Compounding Terrain Factors
5.9.4 Compounding Weather Factors
5.9.5 Compounding Expenses
5.9.6 Compounding Losses
5.9.7 Compounding Profits
5.9.8 Other Expenses
5.9.9 Net Profit

5.10 Time
5.11 Exotic Transport

And, In future chapters:

6. Waterborne Transport
7. Spoilage
8. Key Personnel
9. The Journey
10. Arrival
11. Journey’s End
12. Adventures En Route

Chapter 5: Land Transport

As usual (because it’s best practice in my view), I am going to start with an overview of this chapter’s content as plans currently stand.

It’s not worth putting into a formal sidebar with section number, but I thought it worth mentioning the process used in generating what follows. I started with a broad chapter title, and listed as many subheadings as I could think of, while considering what the subject needed to provide the reader / user.

From that, an overview of the game processes to be contained began to emerge; as it did so, subheadings within the major sections were defined. These served to further define the process, creating even more subheadings, and so I cycled back and forth between further defining and enhancing the mental overview and listing explicit subjects and topics in the table of contents that was emerging. This cycle continued until every factor that I could think of was incorporated into the process.

In an ideal world, and if the table of contents is done properly, it should be possible to then abandon, ignore, and forget the conceptual framework and re-create it from scratch from the section and sub-section titles alone (plus the occasional explanatory note along the way). Doing so has the huge benefit of a second chance to discover things that have been overlooked or left out, producing another set of refinements to the TOC.

Next, narrative flow needs to be considered. I try to follow an internally-logical path from one topic to another in these chapters because that makes the content easier for the reader to assimilate and understand, and if there’s something in the systems and sub-systems provided that a reader doesn’t like for whatever reason or wants to tweak / change, the surrounding content places those changes into context. So I spent quite a bit of time moving content around until the narrative flow seems most useful.

Then the overall process needs to be rebuilt from the section titles all over again, because those have changed. This involves summarizing the narrative flow – which is what follows this panel – and then revising the TOC to make sure that everything is covered.

It’s a lot of work, and practicality sometimes means that place-markers are left for later definition and development – the entire weather system and discussion of navigation in the previous chapter started as such placeholders. You can actually track the evolution of the content by comparing the TOC within a chapter as it changes from one post to another.

In this particular chapter, there’s only one such placeholder, as noted above and currently labeled as section 5.11, “Exotic Transport”. I have only vague memories and a single explanatory note as to what was going to be included under that heading, and I’ve said most of what needs to be written on the subject already, I think. So that section might end up being nothing but a reference back to that earlier posted content, or it might turn into a vast and sprawling tranch of content within this chapter. I won’t know for sure until I get there.

I think of the TOC as a road-map to what I have to write about. Actually doing that writing, and breaking sections down into smaller bodies of text if they grow too large, requires amending the TOC as I go to keep it a true reflection of the content.

That means that the TOC you see above has been amended after writing the chapter introduction below, tweaking the work order of the chapter as a whole.

Let’s make this as simple as possible. Overland travel needs to take into account terrain, weather, losses, expenses, and profitability per average load.

• Terrain – one of the biggest and most complicated of details. Longer trips will usually have to cross several different terrains. About 1/3 of this chapter will focus on terrain, it’s that important.
  • Road quality is a constituent factor under the general heading of terrain. It’s what distinguishes one example of a particular terrain type from another, well one of the main things.
• Weather – Weather is another complicated subject but when you boil it down to its essence it amounts to a seasonal trend and a random variation over that trend for individual trips, and just the seasonal trend when looking at several trips in aggregate, perhaps with a smaller degree of variation. Having assembled a fairly comprehensive weather sub-system for the sea transport chapter, again from the perspective of a PC being present to have to deal with the daily, even hourly, fluctuations, the goal this time around is to get as broad, simple, and general as possible. What might not be as immediately obvious is that – ultimately – this can be treated as just another component of terrain.
• Losses – Hazards to be overcome are important features of a specific area of terrain. A the ultimate in abstraction, we don’t care what the hazards actually are, so we can divorce them from the terrain factors, and simply deal with the % of cargoes that are going to be lost over a year’s worth of trips – most of the time. Weather fluctuations can increase or decrease the losses percentage a little, so if that’s to be treated as an aspect of terrain, the divorce can’t be complete.
• Expenses – Wear and tear on equipment, wear and tear and replacement of NPCs – these are so heavily associated with terrain that they might as well be considered accounted for as another sub-item within that general heading. That leaves human expenses – and those tend to revolve around a new subject, politics. But if we distinguish terrain of a given type within Political Realm A from terrain of the same type within Political Realm B, we can also add political landscapes into the terrain calculation. However, because of the world-building that can derive from it, I am resistant to doing so; it should be an average cost per trip over a year, and measured in currency.
• Profitability – The ultimate bottom line, this is the average per load that is left over after cargoes have been sold and money set aside for the next trip’s expenses. It doesn’t generally take into account other overheads at the point of sale – warehouse rental, sales outlets and staff, and so on, but I’m not going to let that stop me. Seasonal variations in availability (and the demand for transport that results) and weather trends over a season can be complicating factors, so I want a mechanism to take specific weather rolls from earlier items in the list and factor them in along with seasonal trends including growing patterns to get a monthly or quarterly series of profit numbers that the GM simply has to add up, deducting those expenses mentioned earlier, to get a single number over whatever time-span is appropriate – usually a year. This also needs to incorporate a factor for business growth or contraction.

Terrain isn’t the only factor, but population distribution and communities tend to follow trade and other factors as well as influencing those factors by their presence. So some systematic approach to the relevant aspects of world-building needs to be provided, and that’s a huge second tranch of subject matter for this chapter. Ideally, this should support a high level of sandboxing, such that a particular community can be generated on the fly when a PC approaches it and ignored until it becomes significant in that way. So I’m dedicating a subsection of the Population section of the chapter to the subject, and deliberately keeping it in mind when constructing that simple world-building approach.

There are so many other factors and elements that impact the size of population centers that properly dealing with that subject also means at least taking those factors into account along the way – so, more world-building.

A single trading trip through multiple different terrains and terrain variations as described above can be compounded into a trade route, but ultimately, that’s more detail than a truly generalized system needs – it simply means choosing the route that yields the most profitable outcome by minimizing the negative impacts of the factors already listed. These again come back to the terrain specifications – but some practical example of doing so also needs to be demonstrated.

5.1 Distance, Time, & Detriments

Any commercial operation in a game environment comes down to either performing a service for someone or moving something from one place to another for profit. This entire series / supplement focuses on the latter, because there’s not much nuance to the first.

So, moving something from one place to another – that in turn comes down to how far it has to go, how long that’s going to take, how much it’s going to cost, how much you’ll make at the end of the trip, and what difficulties will have to be overcome between the start and the finish.

But if you then take PCs out of the equation, things get even simpler, because you don’t need to attach specific details to specific trips; so long as the system employed maintains plausibility, you can aggregate much of the experience and average it over multiple individual trips, ignoring specifics (almost) completely.

It’s a completely different mindset to have to get your head around, so the game mechanics need to do as much of the work for you, as simply and cleanly as possible. Explaining those game mechanics and how the complexities get fed into them and stripped away to stark simplicity creates the credibility that enables the GM to show plausibility within the system and creates the confidence to simply accept the numbers that spit out as an end result as being ‘fair’ and ‘justified’.

It has to be understood that you can always interpret the system as containing specific incidents if they are desired or needed. The narrative with which the trading operation and its current status can be as richly detailed as you want or need it to be – the important thing is not to provide any unnecessary or unwanted detail along the way.

So, the simplest description of the process of moving something from one place to another completely ignores what that something is, how big it is, how heavy, and so on. It’s a generic and generalized commodity as soon as it gets put on the wagon or whatever mode of transport is to be used. All you need to know is distance, time, and speed – and, in fact, you only need to know two of those, because that’s enough to give you the third.

Everything else falls under the general heading of detriments – things that slow the speed, or increase the time or distance. You start with a best-case scenario – perfect roads through flat, solid, stable terrain; passing seamlessly from one checkpoint or settlement to another until that trip is complete.

Time Vs Distance

How can this be simplified further? Well, if the variable of speed is taken out of the equation by equating any losses to additional ‘time taken’, you can simply set an idealized speed for the particular mode of transport and describe everything else that happens in the same way.

Or you could do it in terms of additional distance. Which, then, of these two approaches is the better choice for simplicity?

The human experience is generally to think about most such things in terms of extra time. If I have to go to another suburb for shopping or medical treatment or whatever, I don’t care about how far away it is, I care about how long it’s going to take, and what time I have to leave in order to reach the designated place at the designated time. But that’s a very modern perspective, framed around the reliability and accessibility of transport; back in more olden times, distance was the critical factor because you had to walk that distance.

I’ve told the story before, of how – when I was very much younger – I couldn’t afford busses and trains both to and from gaming, not if I wanted to eat at all during the day. So I would travel to gaming using public transport, and eat, and then walk home, a distance of around 11 kilometers (7 miles). On a good night, with a light load, it would take three or four hours – but I rarely had a light load, and sometimes didn’t have a good night, and – especially when first setting out to do this trip – it could easily take a couple of extra hours. Over time, I found a few nuances and shortcuts which saved maybe 1/4 of a mile – which doesn’t sound like a lot, but with a heavy backpack, and on a rainy night, every step was zealously guarded.

I think the fastest I ever managed was 2 1/4 hours for the trip – giving me an idealized speed over the shorter distance of 4.7 km/h (exactly 3 mph). With 100-120# of books in my backpack – I used one of those large school-cases, full to the brim, and carried it in a backpack, with the top protruding above my head, and wearing some comfortable running shoes.

I have thought a lot about this choice, and ultimately decided that distance is the more easily-handled measure. Time means the complication of multiple units – weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds – while distance can be reduced to a single unit, either kilometers or miles.

There are 1000 meters in a kilometer, 5278 feet in a mile – but the latter becomes 1055.6 ‘five-feet lengths’, so describing everything as being a ratio of 1000:1 involves an error of about +5.56%. That’s not ideal, but if there are five factors compounding to give an adjusted distance and those factors average just 1.09% high, it completely wipes out that error. In fact, if there’s a rounding error of 2.5% on average, IE measurements to the nearest 5%, that adds up to a maximum possible error of a whopping 27.5%, completely annihilating the significance of that error.

I intend to keep the rounding errors to 0.5%, i.e. numbers in whole percentage points. That gives a maximum possible error over 5 factors of 2.525%, over 10 of 5.11%, over 20 of 10.5%, and over 25 of 13.3%.

But the numbers will be a lot more reliable than that; sometimes, the rounding error will be one way, and sometimes the other. If half (round down) of the factors are low and the rest high, the accuracy of results becomes: 5 factors (2 low, 3 high) = -0.78%; ten factors (5, 5) = -0.0125%; twenty factors (10, 10) = -0.025%; and over 25 factors (12, 13) = +0.47%.

So there are three rules of thumb that GMs need to apply:

▪ Long distances are 1000 units of the usual shorter distance;

▪ Factors should be measured to the nearest % and rounded off;

▪ Unless you’re using imperial measurements (miles) in which case, the first 5-10 should always be rounded down.

That should compensate completely for the error inherent in the first rule.

5.1.2 Defining a terrain / region / locality

Let’s imagine, for a moment, a perfectly rectangular Realm or region. Reality will be more complicated but let’s start there.

The shortest distance from one side to the other will be parallel to the shortest side – it doesn’t matter what the units are, just call it length a.

The longest distance will be corner to corner, a distance defined as c^2 = a^2 + b^2.

The average will be in the middle of those two values: 2c^2 = 2a^2 + b^2.

The number of values for which c > b makes for an interesting question.

2c^2 > 2b^2
2b^2 < 2a^2 + b^2 b^2 < 2a^2 b < 1.414 a. In other words, the more square the shape is, the greater the difference going corner to corner relative to the long side. Once you hit a long side 1.414 times the length of the short side, the average length will be somewhere less than the long side's distance. That makes for a convenient ready-reckoner. If you have an odd shaped region to cross, put it in a (mental) box. If the long side is less than 1.414 times the length of the short side, the average length across your shape will be closer to the length of the long side; if it's less, the average will be closer to 1.5 times the short side. It's not the sort of rule of thumb that I personally would use if I had any other choice, but it's worth having in your back pocket, just in case.

When you define a region on a map, there are two things that are critically important: terrain boundaries and political boundaries. It’s fairly rare for the two to overlap; something like what’s below would be far more common:



There are a couple of regions down on the southern coast where a political boundary exists for reasons of physical geography (lack of land) and that this coincides with a terrain boundary (lack of land), but for the rest of it – no. Terrain boundaries cross political boundaries with gay abandon and vice versa.

Viewed as separate maps, you can more or less make sense of what’s going on.

Putting the two together, even having deliberately planned symbology to make that possible, is just confusing.

The dominant aspect of any region, so far as the GM is concerned, is always going to be political. A number of those boundaries are going to follow natural terrain features, and politics is always going to dictate differing policies and practices when it comes to the treatment of even identical terrain, so that’s the most convenient umbrella under which to organize information.

In the forests of Kingdom A, hunting is permitted; in the same forest in Kingdom B, it is not; and Kingdom C, which has a small piece of the same forest permits hunting of some animals and not others, after purchase of an appropriate license, which – as a practical measure – is restricted to certain group in favor with the government of C – just as one example.

So, for each Realm or kingdom, you need some idea of the roads, and some idea of the terrain that it passes through. Don’t worry too much about population levels and communities just yet; focus on the Realm as a conceptual entity. What makes it culturally and socially distinct from its neighbors?

But we’re actually not interested in that; it’s the roads and the terrain that they cross that we’re interested in.

Unless your map is huge, you aren’t going to show all the roads, anyway – but, skirting any political trouble-spots, the roads that do get shown are going to be the best, anyway, and that generally means the most useful – if they are going where you want to go.

Beneath the terrain map, you need to list each of the major terrains that are found within the kingdom in question.

For now, that’s all that we need to do – have somewhere to record specifics.

5.1.2.1 Road Quality: An introductory mention

I’m going to discuss this in greater detail later on, but the mention of ‘the best roads’ being the ones present on any high-level map has brought the subject up, so I thought a brief mention of it was worth going into, since it very strongly relates to what follows (and what has been discussed already).

We’ve done more work on the subject of roads and road quality for the Pulp Campaign that I co-GM than I’ve ever done for one of my campaigns before, and it’s changed the way that I look at the subject fairly fundamentally.

Roads are categorized in terms of their quality and given a percentage rating. This percentage gets used in all sorts of ways – likelihood of the road causing a breakdown (most frequently, a flat tire) for example – that I’m not going to go into in this discussion. But one of the key purposes is “safe top speed” for different classes of vehicle. A poor quality road might only permit 30 or 40% of top speed with normal levels of safety and twice that, maximum. The details and specifics don’t matter here, I’ll go into those later.

In effect, road quality alters safe speed, which alters travel time, which is the equivalent of imposing a greater distance at normal running speeds. if a road permits only 40% of normal top (safe) speed, then in effect, all distances along that road are 100/40=2.5 times as long.

But here’s the thing: Terrain is a factor that’s only semi-divorced from road quality. A great road through a swamp might not mean the same thing as a great road through flat farmland, which might not mean the same thing as a great road through rolling hills which is not the same thing as a great road through mountains which… well, you get the idea. But, at the same time, good roads mitigate the effects of terrain, while bad roads amplify any negatives. So it’s a little complicated.

Our usual practice is to take whatever the rating is and average it with 100; then multiply by a terrain factor to get a score that is no longer relative to the terrain type but which can be applied as an absolute value.

The reason for the averaging with 100 is that we think that there would be a lot of overlap between the two values – terrain would impact road quality, in other words, and not to do so would be to count those commonalities twice.

In this case, I’m going to take simplification a step further and include that ‘averaging with 100’ in the actual determination of what the rating should be. And I’m going to generalize and apply the one value to all kinds of traffic, not vehicles by any sort of class or weight system.

Another determinant that we use is distance from a major city, population 100K or more. This is a campaign set in the 1930s, in a world in which (for various reasons) the Great Depression was not as bad as the version of that event that our history experienced. This means that some of the social and political changes that resulted were not as strong, or didn’t happen at all, and not everything that was put in place by FDR to deal with the recession was as well-funded, as far-reaching, or as popular.

One of the big employment programs used by FDR to stimulate the economy was building up the American highway network. We figure that where there’s enough traffic to justify it, those works would still have gone ahead; it’s the in-between bits that would not receive as much love from officialdom.

50 miles away from a major population center, the roads noticeably worsen. 75 miles away, and they seriously deteriorate. 100 miles away, and they stop being paved, even if they are a major highway in modern times. 125 miles away, and we’re talking about the quality of the goat-track.

While some of this principle will still be a factor, it won’t be quite as cut and dried in a fantasy environment. Standards will be different and priorities will reflect that. Some roads will even receive more care and attention than they would in the 1930s Pulp World. A ‘good’ road will mean something completely different in this new context.

The final thing to mention before I move on is weather. Whatever a road condition is, any weather other than dry and at least partially sunny automatically makes it worse. As a simple rule of thumb, rather than getting too technical, we ruled that road condition drops one step when it’s wet or foggy, and a second step in snow or heavy rain. This poses a problem for ‘poor’ roads, or whatever the bottom rating is – they can’t go any lower and still be there. So, again, the rule of thumb is that one step below the minimum halves whatever it’s normal rating value is (if positive) or doubles the loss (if negative), two steps and it effectively isn’t there any more. I intend for that particular ruling to carry over into the version of the road-quality sub-system presented in this chapter.

5.2 Terrain

Terrain, for these purposes, is defined as a geographic or geological condition affecting a region or area generally. With geographic changes come ecological and environmental changes, so those get taken into consideration as well.

5.2.0 Terrain Factor

In terms of game mechanics, different terrains are accorded a Terrain Factor. These assume an average standard road quality, neither good nor bad, and define three values: low impact, typical impact, and high impact.

Low and high impact are presented as a ‘normal range’ of effect for the terrain type. When the GM notes a particular terrain as occurring in a particular location in his game world, he gets to pick any value within that range that he feels appropriate. Some swamps are wetter and marshier than others, in other words.

Typical values are as much informative as they are a fall-back option; they will often not be in the exact middle of a defined low-to-high range. If most examples will tend to be closer in impact to the low effect, the typical value will be closer to that lower value – which means that a specific example has to be a whole lot better than usual to get into the higher values, and vice-versa (that’s why the term ‘typical’ was chosen instead of ‘average’ or ‘normal’).

There are also a couple of anomalies presented within the system. Good and Bad roads have a general modifier in addition to the overall road quality system, so they get entries in the discussions below.

5.2.1 % Distance

I prefer to work in legs of around 100 km / 100 miles, because that makes everything easier. After a rough breakdown, I’ll look at how much left over there is going to be, and whether or not there is a continuous terrain segment crossed by the path of about that length. If so, I’ll put the leftovers in the middle.

But I hardly ever get to do so. Length divisions of 20 km / 20 miles are far more common, as shown below. These still make it relatively easy to estimate the % distance that any given terrain holds sway, and that’s the important thing right now.



Welcome to the Kingdom of Zomania, which I hope to use for several (if not all) examples in this chapter. It’s a Kingdom with a slice of mainland, a large island, a reef and some volcanic islands, and a variety of terrains.

Ignoring those islands and focusing on the mainland, a rectangle roughly 190 by 95 whatevers in size (miles or kilometers, choose for yourself). That’s 2-to-1, way more than the 1.414 critical value, so the corner to corner in a straight line is going to be 212.4 and the estimated average straight-line across is going to be about 116.

Roads rarely run in straight lines point-to-point, and the roads I’ve drawn are no exception – note the huge diversion around that epic bay, which would be perfect for fishing. In fact, when I measured it out (as you can see on the map), I got a little under 240 miles – which is going the long way, corner to corner, and off to both sides of that line.

Let’s break it down:

▪ 0-20 forested mountains, tall peaks
▪ 20-25 same with only medium peaks
▪ 25-35 dense forest, rolling hills
▪ 35-47 light forest, rolling hills
▪ 48-54 lightly wooded low hills
▪ 60-80 marsh
▪ 80-140 farmland, presume at least one big city
▪ 140-160 medium-density woods
▪ 160-215 farmland, rolling hills
▪ 215-220 medium-density forest, hills
▪ 220-238 dense forest, low mountains

That’s ten different terrains. But, if you wanted a more general estimate, let’s look at 0-80, 80-160, and 160-238:

▪ 0-80 = 60% forested, same 60% hills/mountains, 25% marsh, 15% farms
▪ 80-160 = 25% woodland, 75% farms, presume at least one big city
▪ 160-238 = 25% forested, 25% low mountains, 75% hills & farmland

which could be simplified to

▪ 0-80 = forested hills/mountains or marsh, some farmland
▪ 80-160 = farms with some woodland
▪ 160-238 = hilly farmland, some forest/mountains

The keyword “some” indicates a direction for adjusting an average – farmland is easy going (generally), so less impact from the ‘forested hills/mountains or marsh’, and greater (negative) impact on the farmland on 80-238.

The more precise you are – the ten-terrain breakdown – the more precise your results but the more work you have to do. If you anticipate the PCs ever traveling along this road, the full 10-terrain version is probably more useful in the long run, but if not, go with the simplified 3-terrain model and it will be good enough.

5.2.2 Good Roads

▪ Good roads reduce negative impacts from terrain by / 2.

Since the baseline is average roads through ideal flat, firm, terrain, every impact of terrain is a negative.

5.2.3 Bad Roads

▪ Bad roads increase negative impacts from terrain by 25%.

Again, because the baseline is average roads through perfect terrain, every terrain impact is a negative.

5.2.4 Even Ground

▪ Range: +0 – +25%
▪ Typical: +5%

This is the baseline.

5.2.5 Broken Ground

▪ Range: +5% – +25%
▪ Typical +15%.

When the ground gets rocky, you slow down and have to occasionally maneuver.

5.2.5 Marshlands

▪ Range: +25% – +100%
▪ Typical: +50%.

When the ground gets sticky, you get slowed down a lot. Road builders will prefer to go around such features, but sometimes that’s not a feasible option.

5.2.7 Swamplands

▪ Range: +50% – +200%
▪ Typical: +150%

When the ground goes underwater on a regular basis, you slow to a crawl, and it’s more likely to be worse than better. Road builders are prepared to go more than twice as far if they can avoid this terrain, and it will still be faster most of the time.

5.2.8 Woodlands

▪ Range: +5% – +20%
▪ Typical: +10%

Diversions around the occasional stand of trees are no big deal, but they can add up.

5.2.9 Forests

▪ Range: +10% – +100%
▪ Typical: +25%

Denser woodlands tend to be seriously detrimental to progress unless there has been a road cut through the middle of the trees. Because this weakens a naturally defensive terrain, some Kingdoms may choose not to do so, but for most, the effort is worthwhile for major roads; smaller roads will wend and wind this way and that, and be far less cleared.

5.2.10 Rolling Hills

▪ Overall downhill: Range: +6% – +20%
▪ Overall downhill: Typical: +8%
▪ Overall uphill: Range: +9% – +22%
▪ Overall uphill: Typical:+15%
▪ Overall balanced: Range: +5% – +18%
▪ Overall balanced: Typical: +10%

Going uphill takes a lot longer than going downhill, but it’s rare that you can make up all the lost time. More often, you need to deliberately slow downhill progress to maintain control. So both legs are bad, but one is worse than the other.

Note that good road quality has only half the usual impact – most of the factor for this terrain results from elevation change, and there’s only so much that is usually done about that until the advent of heavy machinery and explosives.

HOWEVER, if your fantasy realm permits the use of magic to achieve the same results, apply the full effect good roads.

5.2.11 Mountain Slopes

▪ Overall descending: Range: +125% – +350%
▪ Overall descending: Typical: +225%
▪ Overall climbing: Range: +175% – +450%
▪ Overall climbing: Typical:+350%
▪ Overall balanced: Range: +150% – +400%
▪ Overall balanced: Typical: +250%

There’s little that’s more inconvenient than having to go up the sides of a mountain, but if there’s no pass then a way has to be found – usually one involving a lot of strep slopes and switchbacks. Both have a seriously detrimental effect on progress in the actual direction you want to travel. As noted on Rolling Hills, above, even going in a generally downhill direction is not all that good – there will be times when you have to use a block and tackle and part of your animal team to slow-walk down, just as there will be times when you might need to do so to climb (especially if you have a heavy load).

There’s even less that good roads can do to help you in this situation, while bad roads make things worse all round.

▪ Good Roads: x 1/4 normal benefit
▪ Bad Roads: x 1.25 normal penalty

For the record, a bad road in this case is the sort of thing you can see in South America, where the edges are crumbling and there are impossibly steep slopes and rockfalls to contend with and the road is often only wide enough for a single vehicle when you encounter someone coming the other way – meaning that one of you has to back up until you reach a passing point.

Ever seen someone trying to back up a horse-drawn carriage when they can’t simply put animals on the other side and pull? At best it’s 1/20th speed and the animals will be extremely unhappy, it doesn’t come naturally to them (If you haven’t seen it, take whatever nightmares you envisage and double them).

5.2.12 Mountain Passes

▪ With Valley: Range: +25% – +135%
▪ With Valley: Typical: +75%
▪ Naked Pass (no Valley) Range: +75% – +150%
▪ Naked Pass (no Valley) Typical: +110%

As a general rule of thumb, mountain passes involve 1/3 the climb to reach and then 1/6th the descent through the flat of any valley, then 1/6th the ascent and 1/3 the descent, of going up the slope and then down it.

As previously, road quality doesn’t help much.

▪ Good Roads: x 1/4 normal benefit
▪ Bad Roads: x 1.25 normal penalty

5.2.13 Deserts

▪ Range: +15% – +75%
▪ Typical: +25%

Sand doesn’t stick together very well and wheels can easily get bogged down, as can any creatures not specifically adapted to sand travel. Rocky deserts are half these values. Note that some extreme places in the world have sand dunes that are even more catastrophically monumental – these locations can involve triple the penalty range shown, and will have ‘typical’ values far closer to the extreme end of the results. They can quite literally be a mountainous climb and/or descent with the equivalent of bad roads AND the penalty for insecure footing, combined.

5.2.14 Exotic Terrain

I’m afraid I can’t help too much with exotic terrains – and there are some examples here on earth, such as the famous Pendine Sands, and beaches, and so on. Just pick whatever terrain seems most analogous to you and tweak it to fit whatever you have in mind. Here’s what little guidance I can provide:

Pendine Sands: A dry salt lake-bed – but underneath, just an inch or two down, it’s like glue. There are also some similar terrains in Africa such as the Makgadikgadi Pan.

▪ If your vehicle, with load, is enough to sink more than an inch or so into sand (which will almost always happen), use Desert Sand. If your animal’s weights divided by the minimum number of legs they have on the ground at once (usually 1/2 of however many they have), are enough to sink more than an inch into the sand, apply the desert modifier a second time. How much weight are we talking? About 3,000 pounds per square foot. But most animals won’t have feet that are anywhere near to a square foot – 3″ diameter gives 0.05 square feet, so multiply the weight divided by the number of limbs (as discussed) by 20, and hope that your answer is less than 3,000.

▪ Areas such as Hawaii will often combine steep mountains with lava flows. Use mountains and favor more extreme results.

▪ Icy lakes are much firmer (if the ice is thick enough) than a swamp – but that’s not necessarily a good thing when it gets slippery, because it’s very easy to slip and break bones. Compacted snow negates this problem for the most part. Otherwise, treat it as Swamp.

▪ Compacted snow – loose, freshly-fallen snow will compact underfoot (and under wheels) to about 1/6th of it’s depth, 1/10th in a snowdrift. It will compact if more than 3-5 days old to about 1/3rd of the initial fall – which means that the depth underfoot will only compact to 1/2 its current depth.

Let’s run a quick example or two to see how that last, works:

3′ of snow. Compacts to 1/6 = 6 inches depth. So walking / driving through it puts the bottom of your feet / the vehicle 2’6″ below the surface.

3′ of snow fell a week ago. Another foot has fallen since. 3′ compacts naturally to 1/3 depth, or 1′. Add another 1′ of fresh snow, and the surface is 2′ thick. When this compacts, the bottom 1′ will halve in thickness to 6 inches and the top foot to 1/6th or another 2 inches – so your feet and wheels will sink about 8″ into the snow.

10′ of snow in a snowdrift which you can’t see because it’s mostly in a gully, has fallen in the last couple of days. It will compact to 1/6th of it’s depth when you put weight on it unless that weight is distributed using snowshoes and sled bottoms/runners – so that’s 10/6 = 1 2/3 feet = 1 foot 8 inches, or 20 inches total. Which means you plunge such that the bottom of your feet / wheels is 10′-20″ = 8′ 4″ beneath the surface. If you (or your vehicle) are only 6′ in height, that’s a problem.

5.2.15 Road Quality

Road quality is a factor that multiplies by the terrain factors given above. There are four different models (though I don’t expect the last one to be of much value in straight fantasy campaigns – it’s been included for two reasons: one, universality, and two, to accommodate Steampunk).

The major difference between the models tends to be at the higher end; each step up introduces better road quality than was previously available. Some of the labels may be the same, but standards may have evolved – what was once a poor road is now nothing more than a good track; what was a good road is now fairly average, and so on. That means that the defined quality represented by a narrative label usually improves with successive models.

The other factor that often occurs with a step up in models is that roads are often improved or upgraded. What was once a back road may become a major road when the old roads get upgraded into highways.

What this system doesn’t really take into account is any form if infrastructure decay. It assumes roads are being actively maintained to whatever standard they are set. If that’s not the case, you should feel free to downgrade the road quality accordingly. As a rule of thumb, 5 years without maintenance drops a road half-way to the next category down, another 10 years takes it all the way down, 15 years drops it into the next worst category, 20 years into the category below that, then 25 years, 30 years, and so on.

Environmental effects – rain, fog, strong winds, snow – drop the quality 1-2 steps.

Classifications below minimum: If decay or climatic effect drops a road below zero, take whatever it’s rating normally is and double it (if it’s a negative impact) or halve it (if it’s a positive impact). A third downward step means that the road is effectively not there until conditions improve – if there is a trailblazing standard or ‘none’, that’s as good as you get under those conditions.

5.2.15.1 The four-tier system

The four-tier system allocates all roads into one of four categories – none, track, backroad, and road. It’s appropriate for simulating Roman Empire -level Kingdoms – which are generally well below the standards of most Fantasy campaigns. Prior to the Roman Empire, simply use this system without the ‘road’ option; anything that would normally be a ‘road’ is now a backroad, anything that was a backroad is now a track, and anything that was a track is either still a track or simply doesn’t exist.

Roman roads are like spines – they run from a central point as far as they can go, in as straight a line as possible. Anything running off that central spine is a backroad. The main difference is that Roads are paved, possibly with nothing more than gravel and some sort of binding agent like clay – but this is still a vast improvement over bare earth.

▪ None = 1.5
▪ Track = 1.2
▪ Backroad = 1 (the standard)
▪ Road = 0.8

For example, if a terrain section is heavily forested rolling hills, 20 units long:
Heavily Forested: +50%
Rolling Hills, overall balanced: +10%
Combination:
     Bad Roads = +60% x 1.25 = +75%
     Good Roads = +60% / 2 = +30%
Road quality:
     None = 1.5 x +75 = +112%
     Track = 1.2 x +75 = +90%
     Backroad = +60 = +60%
     Road – base = +30 x 0.8 = +24%
but only half impact against the hills:
     +50 / 2, +10 / 2 =
     +25 x 0.8, +5 x 0.9 =
     +20% + 4.8% = +25%.
So, the 20 units are the equivalent of:
     None = +112%= 20+22.4 = 42.4 units
     Track = +90% = 20+18 = 38 units
     Backroad = +60% = 20+12 = 32 units
     Road – base = +25% = 20+5 = 25 units.

5.2.15.2 The five-tier system

The five-tier system upgrades roads to highways with better paving and adds cross-roads to form a secondary spine across a country, turning some former backroads into major roads. Backroads not so upgraded aren’t a lot different and neither are tracks.

It’s also possible that secondary roads more or less parallel to the highways will be added to supplement them – these will also be major roads.

Backroads remain the ‘standard’ with none and tracks being ‘bad roads’ and major roads and highways being ‘good roads’.

For the first time, in other words, it becomes possible to talk about a road network.

▪ None = 1.5
▪ Track = 1.2
▪ Backroad = 1 (the standard)
▪ Major Road = 0.75
▪ Highway = 0.7

5.2.15.3 The eight-tier system
This is effectively the version of the system that we use for the Pulp version of the 1930s. But it’s also appropriate for some old Kingdoms to use, at least in their central regions. And any Realm that defines itself in terms of Trade will encourage this standard throughout.

There are two primary justifications for the upgrades represented here – commerce and military. And while the military might want better roads in order to be able to move troops around more efficiently, there’s almost always something to do with the money that has an even higher priority in their eyes – so, really, commerce is where it’s at.

▪ None = 1.5
▪ Poor track = 1.2
▪ Track = 1.1
▪ Poor backroad = 1 (the standard)
▪ Good backroad = 0.9
▪ Major road = 0.75
▪ Poor highway = 0.7
▪ Good highway = 0.6

5.2.15.4 The ten-tier system

As I said earlier, ten tiers really requires industrial capabilities of some sort – heavy machinery, explosives, and so on, or equivalents thereof. It’s not strictly applicable to a pure fantasy campaign, but it’s relevant to sub-genres like steampunk that meet the requirement, and of course, for any non-fantasy genre that you want to apply this content to.

Most of the categories get an upgrade in this tier.

▪ Trailblazing = 2.25
▪ None = 1.7
▪ Poor Track = 1.3
▪ Track = 1.1
▪ Poor Backroad = 1 (the standard)
▪ Good Backroad = 0.85
▪ Major Road = 0.7
▪ Poor Highway = 0.6
▪ Good Highway = 0.5
▪ Freeways & Superhighways = 0.4

5.2.15 Rivers & Other Waterways

The thing about waterways is that they have to be crossed if you aren’t using them as your mode of transport. And there are 5 basic ways of doing so – Fords, bridges, Tolls, Ferries, and Other (especially Portage).

5.2.15.1 Fords

A ford is a place in the waterway where the water is shallower and, usually, where the river bed is firmer, rockier, and less muddy, so that there is less chance of getting stuck. But it still consists of forcing your way through the river.

A lot of GMs (and other people, to be fair) have the impression that fords are straight across. While they can be, it’s a lot more common for a curved or even a recurved course:



If you’re lucky, someone has driven in flags to march the channel, but most of the time that doesn’t happen, because they get swept away frequently. So the only solution is to gingerly feel your way.

And that takes time. Not a lot of time, but time. For each ford, add 0.05 to the road quality value.

5.2.15.2 Bridges

Option number two is to use a bridge. These are normally straight, and most of the time, don’t add anything to the time – but there’s an exception if you have to stop and pay a toll. The other circumstance that can be relevant is if the bridge is too narrow for passage both ways at the same time, and there’s someone coming the other way.

If there’s a delay of this type, add 0.02 ti the road quality value.

5.2.15.3 Tolls

Of course, if there’s a toll, that has to get added to the expenses for this (and every other trip along this route). Bridges are not cheap and require regular maintenance and occasional replacement..

5.2.15.4 Ferries

Another type of river crossing that is never free* is to take a ferry. This is especially relevant for broader waterways.

* Okay, so there is a free version – it’s essentially a raft connected to trees on either side by long ropes. You drive your vehicle onto the raft and then pull it across the river yourself using the ropes. As you do so, the rope that connects to where you came from unspools and you have to spool the rope that no longer is needed to reach the far shore.

Ferries are slow, especially in an era before motorized engines. On top of that, you may have to wait until enough traffic accumulates to justify the ferry crossing. And when you arrive, it may well be on the opposite shore, so you may have to wait for there to be sufficient demand built up on that side, as well.

For each ferry crossing, add 0.3-0.5 to the road quality value.

Ferries are often relatively expensive, to boot – so that needs to be listed in the expenses section.

5.2.15.5 Portage & Other Solutions
Portage is, the term used for when a boat has to unload its cargo and be carried overland to a point further up or down stream before it can continue – so what’s the relevance here?

Well, it occurred to me that in a fantasy environment there might well be a land-based equivalent where some creature carries the wagon and its load across the watercourse – for a fee, of course.

I could have chosen to invent a new term to describe that, but I thought that adding another meaning to the existing term would be more understandable.

So, how fast would it be? Well, have you ever been to the beach or a swimming pool and tried to walk while even only half-submerged? It’s SLOW – and that’s without factoring in a heavy load, which might even have to be carried across in stages. You could spend hours getting across.

If your usual travel speed is 10 mph – just for the sake of argument – you would take 2 hours to cover 20 miles. Adding two more hours to that would be the equivalent of dropping your average speed from 10 to 5 miles an hour – halving it.

So Portage would add +1 to the road quality factor, +0.25 for each trip required after the first.

I’m sure there are things that I haven’t thought of – parting the ‘red river’ as it were for example. As with the exotic terrains, find the nearest equivalent and adjust as necessary – bearing in mind that an extra 5% can be quite significant when coupled with a slower terrain.

Okay, so I got here – despite still suffering from the lingering effects of the head cold that I mentioned last week. I read somewhere that colds are only supposed to last 7 days, but I can’t remember the last time I experienced one that was gone that quickly. 2-3 weeks is more often the norm that I experienced.

I had originally intended / desired to include the weather subsections in this post, but decided even while writing the chapter outline that doing so in my current mental condition wasn’t going to happen – given the time, i think that decision has been borne out.

Next time, I hope to get down to the population subsystem (sections 5.7 & 5.8). So I would anticipate the next part in this chapter to be even shorter than this one, and for that to be followed by a longer one that will take more than one week to write, probably with one or two time-out posts in between. Then there will be another relatively short post to round out the chapter.

Today I’m going to walk you through the design of a divided die roll, one of my favorite RPG tools.

Dividing one die roll by another creates a large low-result probability and a long tail of low-probability high results. I’ve written about them before in The Physics Of Uncertainty, and used them in Oddities Of Values: Recalculating the price of valuables as well as in the Trade In Fantasy mechanics.

I was doing final revision of the structure of the next chapter of Trade In Fantasy when I realized that I would need just such a die roll. Normally, I would throw an extremely condensed explanation into a sidebar and that would be that, but the more I worked on prepping for the article, the less confident I became that I would have it anywhere near finished in time for publication.

You see, last Tuesday I got caught by the rain and since Tuesday night I’ve had a massive head cold. Symptoms are now starting to moderate, but my thinking is still fuzzy and wrapped in marshmallow and cotton wool. It is literally taking me a lot longer to do anything, and anything that I would normally knock off in a couple of days is now more likely to take three or four.

So I decided that it would be better to take a really small topic that I could explain in detail in the time available rather than the big article that I probably wouldn’t finish in time – and, since I was going to need to design this die roll anyway, it seemed like an obvious choice.

I’m not going to go into the specifics of what it’s for, or why I need it; that would steal too much from the Trade In Fantasy chapter.

That’s why we are where we are. Let’s get on with it!

Divided Die Roll Characteristics

Divided Die Rolls can be specified by defining four values – the minimum, the maximum, the average, and the interval.

In this case, I want an average of 1, a minimum of 0, a maximum of around 4 or 5 but I can be a little flexible in that area, and an interval of 0.1.

The format of a divided die roll is [(AdX + B) x C + D / (EdY + F)] / C.

The C and D variables

In this case, D is a modifier that’s going to come from other mechanics, so I can presume that it’s zero at the moment and come back to it as the very last thing. C is the reciprocal of the interval – so if I want results to be every 0.1, then C is 10.

So I can simplify the above to [(AdX + B) x 10 / (EdY + F)] / 10.

But there are alternate configurations that need to be considered before settling on this. The /10, that’s settled, absolutely essential – that’s how you go from while number results to results that are 1/10th apart. But the x 10 – I could make that “x d10” or “x d20” or “x (d10+5)” and all I’m going to be doing is changing the roll requirements for E, Y, and F.

In fact, it’s essential that I pick something other than x 10 because when you x10 and then /10, you end up with the same number.

Because this is not supposed to be the primary driver of the randomness within the roll, I like the notion of using “x (d10+4.5)” – a slight variation on the third option listed. That gives this part of the roll a range of 5.5 to 14.5 and an average result of exactly 10.

Those are important numbers because this defines the range over which the actual random die roll takes place.

On a low roll on the d10, the range is going to be about 1/2 of what it normally is (55% to be exact), on an average roll, the range will be present in full, and on a high roll, it will be 145% of normal – so that the randomness will occupy a wider range of results.

With those items specified, I can reformat the whole to f(1) x (d10+4.5)/10, which makes this effect a whole lot clearer and shifts everything that hasn’t been decided yet into the umbrella f(1) function.

Eliminating D

I can further simplify things by eliminating D altogether and specifying B as the additive from the game mechanics – which effectively eliminates it for the time being, too. So now we have f(1) = AdX / (EdY + F).

Adjusting Parameters

The next thing I have to do, having isolated and defined the C “value”, is to adjust the desired minimum, average, and maximum results, because those are the parameters that will define A, X, E, Y, and F.

Minimum:
f(0) x (1+4.5) / 10 = 0
f(0) x 5.5 / 10 = 0
f(0) x 5.5 = 0 x 10
f(0) = 0 x 10 / 5.5 = 0

Average:
f(1) x (5.5 + 4.5) / 10 = 1
f(1) x 10 / 10 = 1
f(1) = 1 x 10 / 10 = 1

Maximum:
Three possible values that are acceptable, this is something that is a bit flexible. But let’s work all three:
f(2) x (10 + 4.5) / 10 = 3
f(2) x 14.5 / 10 = 3
f(2) x 14.5 = 3 x 10 = 30
f(2) = 30 / 14.5 = 2.0689655172413793103448275862069 = 2.07

f(3) x 14.5 / 10 = 4
f(3) x 14.5 = 4 x 10 = 40
f(3) = 40 / 14.5 = 2.7586206896551724137931034482759 = 2.76

f(4) x 14.5 / 10 = 5
f(4) x 14.5 = 5 x 10 = 50
f(4) = 50 / 14.5 = 3.4482758620689655172413793103448 = 3.45

There’s one more useful set of values that can be derived at the moment – (f(n) – f(0)) / i.

Minimum – zero divided by anything is still zero.
Average:
f(5) = [f(1) – f(0)] / i = [1 – 0] / 0.1 = 10

Maximums:
f(6) = [f(2)-f(0)] / i = [2.07 – 0] / 0.1 = 20.7
f(7) = [f(3)]-f(0)] / i = [2.76 – 0] / 0.1 = 27.6
f(8) = [f(4)-f(0)] / i = [3.45 – 0] / 0.1 = 34.5

E, Y, and F

The way divided die rolls work is to pair a set of A and X with a set of E, Y, and F to give the correct results.

The width of the denominator makes a big difference. Below are several probability charts, all based on 6d10 / Ed6, and all to more-or-less the same scale:

At the top, the red curve is 610/d6. Note the hump before the curve finally flat-lines. Below that is 6d10/2d6. Notice how the probability is considerably higher for the average result. The purple graph is 6d10/3d6, and it’s higher again. The blue line on the right is 6d10/4d6, and the increase in probability of the 1 result is starting to get smaller. The light blue shows 6d10/5d6, and any result over 2 is now extremely unlikely. The dark and light green that start the bottom row are 6d10/6d6 and 6d10/7d6, respectively, and the probability of a 1 result peaks. That’s followed by yellow and gold, showing 6d10/8d6 and 6d10/9d6, respectively. Notice that the probability of a zero result is growing and has in fact started eating into the probability of a 1 result. With the last curve, in orange, the probability of a zero result is now higher than the probability of a 1.

AnyDice is very useful, but it’s a die rolling program and it expects integer outcomes. It doesn’t do fractions – it rounds.

Another trick that’s really useful is to add an ordinary NdZ die roll to the results.

For the next set of graphs, I’ve taken the maximum result and added 2d-something – for the first chart, 2d10; for the second, 2d8; for the third, 2d6; for the fourth and fifth, 2d4; for the rest, 2d3. These sizes have been chosen because they are roughly 1/4 of the maximum result on the divided die roll. Results and probabilities have been scaled to be the same, and the same colors have been used.

Wow, what a difference! The “+2dN”.clearly dominates the results at lower values, but the long tail continues to exist, low probability outcomes significantly greater than the base range.

So the combination of these techniques gives a huge level of control over the end probability curve, and the shape of that curve is dependent on what’s on either side of that division mark.

Maximum Over Minimum

The other thing to notice is the number of results. The maximum outcome occurs when the maximum is rolled above the division line and the minimum below it.

6d10 has a maximum outcome of 60. 1d6 has a minimum of 1, so the maximum result of dividing the first by the second is 60.

With 2d6 as the divisor, the minimum roll becomes 2, and the maximum result overall becomes 60/2=30.

With 3d6 as the divisor, the minimum roll becomes 3, and the maximum overall result becomes 60/3=20. We would get the same divisor minimum with 2d6+1, but the shape of the curve would be different – more like the 2d6 curve, but scrunched into 2/3 the size, a compromise between the two.

Relationship to Parameters

Our maximum parameter is 20.7, or 27.6, or 34.5 – or somewhere in that vicinity. So we want around 30 results. We could get there with 3d10, or 5d6, or even d10+d20. These are going to have the same maximum result, but different minimums – 3, 5, and 2, respectively. Another option is 3d12, with it’s peak of 36, or 2d12+d8, or 2d12+d6, with peaks of 32 and 30, respectively.

Every additional die or +1 in the denominator multiplies these options by the total +1, because we still want the same end result.

The problem is that lots of dice take time to add up when you roll them. d6 work well because it’s easy to group them into sets totaling 10. d8s and even d10s can be handled using the same technique, but because there are fewer of them, you’re less likely to get convenient sets. d12 and d20…. not so much. That means that the first group of possible rolls is preferable to the second.

Deciding The Denominator

Because of the multiplication factor, the smaller and simpler the denominator, the better. But using one dice produces strange interactions that produce a second peak in the probabilities. Here’s a look at 5d6/d6, stretched a little vertically to make the bulge that results a little more obvious:

Using 2 or more dice in the denominator eliminates this almost completely. Here’s 10d6 / 2d6 for comparison:

Using 3d4 instead of 2d6 would be even better, but d4s (the traditional tetrahedron design) don’t roll very well. Using d3s would solve that – at the price of added inconvenience.

So 2d6+0 is the denominator of choice, at least for the moment.

Peak probability

The other problem I have is with the average result. I very much want it to center around 1, with a range down to 0 and up to 2 being the dominant probability outcome. Taking the desired intervals into account, that’s 0 to 10 to 20. I can achieve that, no problem, just by adding 2d10, or 4d5, or maybe even 4d6-4.

But that maximum of 20 then has to come off our range of results from the divided part. So, instead of 20.7, or 27.6, or 34.5, or similar, we’re now talking 0.7 or 7.6 or 14.5.

The 0.7 is so small as to be trivial. There might as well not be a divided roll. The other two remain viable choices. The question is how to get to them?

Since the denominator is to be 2d6, I can go ahead and double these to 15.2 and 29. Two options immediately come to mind: d10+d6-1 and 3d10.

But these will shift the average result, so whatever the overall average works out to be, I have to deduct that from the roll.

d10+d6-1: average is 5.5+3.5 = 9. So the -1 has to become a -8.

The alternative is 3d10. Average is 5.5 x 3 = 16.5. So the +0 has to become a -16.5. Or add 4 and subtract 20. I don’t like this roll as much as the first.

The third alternative, not mentioned so far, is to apply the average divisor, and shift the adjustment modifier to the other part of the calculation, shown in the first paragraph. The average denominator roll of 2d6 is 7. 9/7 = 1.2857142857142857142857142857143 = 1.286. That’s a bit of a pain; it’s easy with a calculator but otherwise user-unfriendly.

16.5/7 = 2.3571428571428571428571428571429 = 2.36. That’s one decimal place less, which is a good thing, but it’s still not ideal.

But I have one more trick up my sleeve: multiplication-adjustment-division.

The perfect solution would be 7 x (added roll), apply 7 x modifier, divide result by 7. But 7 is a pain in the neck when it comes to multiplication and division. So let’s look at alternatives and see whether or not there’s something close enough to be more convenient.

9/7 first:

2 x 9/7 = 18/7 = 2.57 = 2.6. Better, but not good enough.
3 x 9/7 = 27/7 = 3.857 = 3.86. No.
4 x 9/7 = 36/7 = 5.143 = 5. A contender.
5 x 9/7 = 45/7 = 6.4286 = 6.43. No.
6 x 9/7 = 54/7 = 7.718 = 7.2. No.
7 x 9/7 = 9. Obvious.
8 x 9/7 = 72/7 = 10.286. Rounding to 10 – a contender, but marginal.
9 x 9/7 = 81/7 = 11.57. No.
10 x 9/7 = 90/7 = 12.86. No.
20 x 9/7 = 180/7 = 25.714. No.

No other multiplication looks easy enough. But one serious contender.

16.5/7 second:

2 x 16.5 / 7 = 33/7 = 4.714. No.
3 x 16.5 / 7 = 49.5/7 = 7.07 = 7? A contender.
4 x 16.5 / 7 = 66/7 = 9.423. No.
5 x 16.5 / 7 = 77.5 / 7 = 11.07 = 11? A contender.
6 x 16.5 / 7 = 99/7 = 14.143. No.
7 x 16.5 / 7 = 148.5 / 7 = 21.214. No.
10 x 16.5 / 7 = 165/7 = 23.57. No.
20 x 16.5 / 7 = 330/7 = 47.143. No.

I’ve rejected options with smaller rounding errors than the 8, 10 option based on 9/7, so I’m tempted to eliminate it – but subtracting ten is such an easy calculation that I think it has to stay in the mix. So I’ve now got four contenders.

Combinations

I’ve ended up with six combinations for the divided part and three for the added part, or 18 combinations in all.

Because I’ve already used A through F, in general definitions, as well as X and Y, I’ll label these elements starting with G.

1. G1+K(g1) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (4 x 2d10 -5) / 4
2. G1+L(g1) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (4 x 4d5 – 5) / 4
3. G1+M(g1) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (4 x 4d6 – 21) / 4
4. G2+K(g2) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (8 x 2d10 -5) / 8
5. G2+L(g2) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (8 x 4d5 -5) / 8
6. G3+M(g2) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (8 x 4d6 -37) / 8
7. H1+K(h1) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (3 x 2d10 -7) / 3
8. H1+L(h1) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (3 x 4d5 -7) / 3
9. H1+M(h1) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (3 x 4d6 -19) / 3
10. H2+K(h2) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (5 x 2d10 – 11) / 5
11. H2+L(h2) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (5 x 4d5 – 11) / 5
12. H2+M(h2) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (5 x 4d6 – 31) / 5
13. I+K = (d10+d6-8) / 2d6 + 2d10
14. I+L = (d10+d6-8) / 2d6 + 4d5
15. I+M = (d10+d6-8) / 2d6 + 4d6-4
16. J+K = (3d10 + 4 – 20) / 2d6 + 2d10
17. J+L = (3d10 + 4 – 20) / 2d6 + 4d5
18. J+M = (3d10 + 4 – 20) / 2d6 + 4d6-4

But I have one more trick up my sleeve – instead of multiplying the result, I can multiply the number of dice to be rolled. This produces an additional set of 12 options to consider:

19. G1+K(g1a) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (8d10 -5) / 4
20. G1+L(g1a) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (16d5 – 5) / 4
21. G1+M(g1a) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (16d6 – 21) / 4
22. G2+K(g2a) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (16d10 -5) / 8
23. G2+L(g2a) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (32d5 -5) / 8
24. G3+M(g2a) = (d10+d6-1) / 2d6 + (32d6 -37) / 8
25. H1+K(h1a) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (6d10 -7) / 3
26. H1+L(h1a) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (12d5 -7) / 3
27. H1+M(h1a) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (12d6 -19) / 3
28. H2+K(h2a) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (10d10 – 11) / 5
29. H2+L(h2a) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (20d5 – 11) / 5
30. H2+M(h2a) = 3d10 / 2d6 + (20d6 – 31) / 5

Thirty options. There’s no way to test them all at the same time, even using something like AnyDice. But, just looking at them, I have one clear favorite already: H1+K(h1a) is much simpler ad uses a lot less dice than any of the alternatives. I also have a clear alternate preference, I+K, for similar reasons. H2+K(h2), H2+L(h2), J+K and J+M are third choices. Most of the others involve too many dice to be convenient.

Time for another set of compounded graphs looking at those 6 choices. A mistake made through the fuzzy thinking mentioned earlier has put them in reverse order, but oh well.

Analysis

J+M (red)

1. The shape is more or less right.
2. The average is right.
3. The tail isn’t long enough.
4. The minimum comes up as -6. That can be easily corrected but doing so wrecks the average. That can also be fixed but doing so makes the tail – which would have been improved by the first fix – too short again.

Rejected.

J+K (purple)

1. The shape is dominated by the addition.
2. The average is right.
3. The tail isn’t long enough.
4. The minimum comes up as -4. That can be easily corrected but doing so wrecks the average. That can also be fixed but doing so makes the tail – which would have been improved by the first fix – too short again.

Rejected.

H2+L(h2) (green)

1. The shape is more or less right.
2. The average is right.
3. The tail is long enough; the maximum comes up as 32.
4. The minimum comes up as 1. Not perfect but close enough.

Consider Further.

H2+K(h2) (blue)

1. The shape is dominated by the addition. It’s less of a bell curve.
2. The average is right.
3. The tail is the longest of all the contenders; the maximum result is 33.
4. The minimum comes up as -1. The formula can be tweaked to fix that, but it would throw the average out. That can also be fixed, at the cost of a fiddly little bit of arithmetic – every time the roll has to be made.

Rejected, but only because I already have a better candidate.

I+K (yellow)

1. The shape is dominated by the addition, even more than the other examples where that was the case.
2. The average is right.
3. The tail isn’t anywhere near long enough.
4. The minimum comes up as -1. That can be easily corrected but doing so wrecks the average. That can also be fixed but doing so makes the tail – already too short – even shorter, and adds some fiddly maths to the roll.

Rejected.

H1+K(h1a) (orange)

1. The orange is very similar to the green in shape; the peak is a little steeper.
2. The average doesn’t quite look right – it’s closer to 10.3 or something like that, even though 10 is marginally higher in probability, 11 is almost as high. If they were equal, I’d list the average as 10.5; since they aren’t, it has to be a little less than that.
3. The tail is perfectly satisfactory, though a little flatter and lower in probability compared to some of the other options trialed.
4. The minimum is shown as 0.

Rejected because of the average being off.

The wash-up: while several of the choices came close, there was only one that passed every test – H2+L(h2) (green), better known as 3d10 / 2d6 + (5 x 4d5 – 11) / 5.

Further Tweaking?

The maximum result of 32 is a little on the low side. It can be boosted by increasing the size of the roll on the top of the divisor to 4 or 5 d10. This would take the average from 16.5/7 to 22/7 or 27.5/7, respectively. Compensating for this would require further adjustment of the addition part to bring the average back down.

The bigger any such change, the harder this is to do. Things are already at the point where I was contemplating applying the x 5 multiplier to the divided roll so that the division can be handled more easily.

There is still the interval adjustment to incorporate, a further division by 10 once the roll has rounded off to whole numbers.

To be honest, though, my inclination at the moment is to leave well-enough alone and live with the smaller-than-desired maximum.

The Ultimate Modifier I

This formula – a process really – was worked out after simplifying the question by leaving out B. That has to get put back into the process, as follows:

(3d10 + Bias Modifier) / 2d6 + (5 x 4d5 – 11) / 5.

I was thinking that this modifier would be something like plus or minus 10. It’s intended to bias the results based on external non-random factors. But I could easily boost it to a higher plus or minus. This matters a bit because 1/7th of it will add to the average result (desired and intentional) and the whole of it adds to the maximum (also desired and intentional).

This is a factor that I was taking into consideration when mooting no change to the current die roll.

But, at the end of the day, there is a further option to keep up my sleeve in case I need it.

The Ultimate Modifier II

As well as applying the modifier to the divided roll, I could also apply a fraction of it to the end result IF the roll is above a threshold. Or even universally, to all rolls. The latter would take some of the randomness out of the roll and increase the effect of the non-random factors.

I don’t have to decide right now; I can leave that choice for when working on the system mechanics.

A further option to keep in that back pocket is not to base this adjustment on the non-random factors, but on the roll as a whole – if it were >2.0, and the net maximum got up to around 4 or 4.5, adding 0.1 to the result for every 0.5 or part thereof would increase the maximum considerably, and would be a lot simpler in terms of the overall mechanics.

I can even have it both ways – if the bias is above a certain threshold (to be determined, but probably +10 or better), I could use the bias as the basis of the bonus; if not, increasing the significance of the random element by basing the bonus on the overall roll as described.

In fact, I like this option because the bias, if it’s really significant, should mitigate the randomness. It would be a closer simulation of the real world.

Closing out this article

I thought it might be worth going right back to the basics and pointing out that not all divided die rolls have to be this complicated. The best way to illustrate that is by considering a much simpler one or two, just for the heck of it.

2d6/d6

This is one of the simplest you can imagine. Three dice.

Minimum: 2 on the 2d6. If you get a 1 on the 1d6, that’s an overall roll of 2. If you get a 2 on the 1d6, that’s 1. If anything more, that’s 0 – if you round down..Rounding matters because it greatly simplifies the maths of the division, enough that you can generally do it in your head. If, for example, you chose to round off instead of down, then results of 2, 3, or 4 on the single d6 give you a net result of 1.

Average: 7 on the 2d6. If you get a 1 on the 1d6, that becomes a result of 7. If you roll a 6, it becomes a 1. If you roll the average (3.5), it becomes a 2. If you measure the probability, that says that the peak probability is a 2, and that the range 1 to 2 is equal in overall probability to the range 2 to 7 – so the low results are going to be roughly 5 times more frequent than the higher ones.

Maximum: This is always when divided die rolls get interesting. Maximum on the 2d6 is 12. If you roll a 1 on the single d6, that’s an absolute peak result of 12. If you roll a 2, the overall result is a 6. If you roll average (3.5), the answer is 12/3.5 = 3.4, which becomes a 3. If you roll maximum on the denominator die, the overall result falls back to 2.

A good way to think about what’s happening is that the shape of the die roll being divided is changing with each different outcome on the single d6.

4d6/d6

Minimum: 4 on the 4d6. A roll of 1 on the denominator d6 yields an overall result of 4; a roll of 2 gives 2; a roll of 3 or 4 gives 1; what happen on a 5 or 6 depends on what rounding you mandate.

Average: 14 on the 4d6. A roll of 1 on the denominator gives a result of 14; a roll of 2 gives 7; a roll of 3 gives 4 2/3, which might be 5 or 4 depending on rounding; a roll of 4 gives 3; a roll of 5 gives 2 or 3 (rounding again); a roll of 6 gives 2 1/3 which rounds to 2. Peak probability is 14/3.5 = 4.

Maximum: 24 on the 4d6. A roll of 1 on the denominator gives the absolute maximum result of 24, and this will happen once in 6^(4+1) rolls, once in 7776 rolls. A roll of 2 gets 12. A roll of 3 gets 8. A roll of 4 gets 6. A roll of 5 gets 4.8 which could round to either 4 or 5. A roll of 6 gets a result of 4. The average result if you have rolled a maximum on the 4d6 is 24/3.5 = 6..86, which either rounds to 6 or 8.

It’s like rolling a d6 that can sometimes explode into 2, 3, or even 4d6 – if that d6 were weighted to produce low rolls.

One more.

2d6/d3

These results will look very familiar.

Minimum: 2 on the 2d6. A roll of 1 on the denominator d3 yields an overall result of 2; a roll of 2 gives 1; and a roll of 3 gets either 0 or 1 depending on rounding.

Average: 7 on the 2d6. A roll of 1 on the denominator gives a result of 7; a roll of 2 gives 3 or 4; and a roll of 3 gives 2 1/3, which rounds to 2. Peak probability is 7/2 = 3.5.

Maximum: 12 on the 2d6. A roll of 1 on the denominator gives the absolute maximum result of 12, and this will happen once in 3×6^(2) rolls, once in 108 rolls. A roll of 2 gets 6. A roll of 3 gets 4.

In other words, the result is effectively a d6 that has a 1 in 3 chance of doing double effect, and a 1-in-3 chance of being a weighted-low d4 – and both results will come up often enough to be noticed.

And this scales – you can replace any d6 with this divided roll.

This option for rolling damage ups the excitement of combat no end. Or you could replace the 3d6 used to roll stats with this.

Let’s look at that last one. The odds are that you’ll have one of each of the possible denominators – so 2d6/1, 2d6/2, and 2d6/3. There are enough dice to make this a genuine dumbbell probability. Your overall average is probably 7+3.5+2 = 12-13. But, should the denominators smile upon you, you could get a stat of 36; and, should they frown, a stat of 2. Is the risk worth it? A stat of 36 is awfully tempting…

In effect, the stat roll is a 6d6/3d3 divided roll. But you can take some of the wildness out – use d6 + 4d6/2d3, or 2d6 + 2d6/d3. The latter gives you a chance of effectively getting to roll 4d6 (4-14-24) instead of 3 (3-10.5-18) – but at the price of possibly rolling 2d6+1 or 2 (3,4-8,9-13,14).

These options are always food for thought.

Well, I made it to the end – but it took three times as long to write this post as it should have. The good news is that my head cold is substantially improved over the way it was when I started on this post. I think taking this option was the right choice to make.

There are ways of imparting dynamic life to a background and to characters that are hard work and ways that are easy. This is one of the easy ways.

This is the latest in my series of time-out posts in between the Trade In Fantasy series.

I’m concurrently reading two books right now:

• Dr Who The Handbook: The Third Doctor (The Jon Pertwee Years 1970-1974) by David J Howe & Stephen James Walker; and
• The [Dr Who] Discontinuity Guide by Paul Cornell, Martin Day, and Keith Topping.

(links are top Amazon, I get a small commission if you buy).

Between them, they make one good reference book for the period they overlap. The first one is basically a detailed synopsis of the episodes broadcast in the years in question by the BBC, plus a couple of reviews of each plotline.

The Second has lists of production goofs, snatches of dialogue both prosaic and peerless, analysis of continuity flaws and logic holes, and so on. They will even sometimes correct one another, inadvertently giving you the full picture.

The first only covers the four production years in question, and it’s the only one in what is clearly a series of such books that I own. The second covers the entirety of the classic run of Doctor Who from the first season right through to the end of the 26th, so I had plenty of time to see what it was like as a standalone work. If you knew the episode in question, all well and good – but if not, you lacked essential context in which to place the detailed information being provided. What’s missing from the second book is a short episode synopsis. Even a few lines, the length of each of the other subsections devoted to a story-line, would make a huge difference.

Context matters.

So I’m reveling in the multi-page synopses provided by the first, for as long as they last. When they end, I may have to presage each entry by looking up the Wikipedia entry for the episode, if there is one.

In the middle of the discussion of the 6-part adventure The Green Death, the Discontinuity Guide describes the state of politics within the fictional government, showing how this has been dribbled out to viewers a little at a time as it became relevant to the plot in various adventures, combining to tell a slice of history that we experience only as a series of wave-fronts of relevance. An isolated snatch of dialogue here and there links the more substantial pieces together and those substantial pieces place those isolated mentions into context. Together they tell the story of what’s been going on in the background, almost completely unseen by the audience, in exactly the same way that the two books combine to make one great reference.

As soon as I read this summary, I saw the parallels, and it immediately got me to thinking about imparting dynamics to what are often extremely static backgrounds in RPGs.

The Creation Process

This consists of three simple steps.

Step 1: Three Stories plus stuff that just happens

You start by developing three background stories, typically quite different in tone.

• One should be a consequence of a PC action. Since the first adventure (presumably) hasn’t happened yet, this may have to be anticipated. Be careful NOT to monkey with player/character agency, pick something that will happen regardless of PC choices.
• One should be political
• One should be social or sporting
• A fourth list should be just a list of random stuff happening. You probably want this list to be twice as long as any of the others, maybe more. Half of it will be trivial in nature, much of what’s left will be gossip or rumor.

Step 2: Soundbite Sequencing

Break each of the first three “plotlines” into soundbites one sentence long, one to a line (and leave a half-inch or so of empty space before and a quarter-inch after). Between all four, aim to have two soundbites per anticipated game session in the campaign – and allow a bit of margin, because everyone always underestimates how many game sessions any given adventure will last, especially at this early point.

You want to tell the story arc of what happens in a set of lists of such soundbites, one per story.

Don’t be afraid to throw in the occasional random development out of the blue – such things happen in real life. And don’t be afraid to upset the status quo – but try to leave yourself a pathway back to something resembling the status quo over the medium-to-long-term.

Step 3: Calendar Notation

Before each soundbite, list a minimum number of in-game days before the next development in that story. In some cases, you may also need to note a maximum number of in-game days. I would do so by separating the two numbers with a slash (“/”), knowing that if there’s just one number on it’s own, that’s a minimum.

No minimum should be less than 1. And, to be realistic, no maximum should be more than 30 – if you have an event with a maximum higher than that, you need to insert one or two unrelated developments just to keep the story-line ticking over.

To ensure there’s room for those (and for any notes that the GM wants to make about reactions of the PCs), I would actually leave a blank line between soundbites if documenting them longhand. But, since I’d probably use a text file, I can insert lines as necessary, so that’s not an issue.

Choice Of Text Editor

Choice of text editor is probably worth considering. I use Kate for most of my text editing because (1) it’s free, (2) it works on almost every system – I’m not sure about Apple hardware, though; and (3) it has a number of useful tricks up its sleeve, one of which is aligned indents.



Here’s a quick screenshot to explain the relevant program features.

1 – the name of the current document. “Untitled” is the default, changed to the filename when you save it.

2. Shows that the left-hand tab contains the document “untitled”.

3. Shows that the right-hand tab has the working draft of this article.

4. The blue underline means that this is the tab whose contents are shown in the window below.

5. The lack of underline means that this tab’s contents are not currently shown. You can split the view to look at multiple documents at the same time, or even two different positions within the same document at the same time, which can be incredibly useful.

6. These icons – and the asterisk in (1) – indicate that there have been unsaved changes made. Always double-check this before closing the program or a tab.

7. The left hand wall of the text area, to which text will naturally align.

8. The cursor (flashing when you are able to actually edit / add text).

9. The current position of the cursor.

10. This is what happens when I hit the “Tab” button – “soft” means “add spaces, not a tab marker”, the “4” indicates how many, and the Insert means ‘don’t type over the top of existing text’. Note that the ‘soft tab’ still behaves like a tab at times – “shift tab” removes one, for example – but at other times, it’s four spaces, which can be individually deleted.

11. A paragraph of text, most of it nonsense words, automatically left-justified and aligned with the left-hand wall of the text area, as you would expect.



12. If I hit tab and then write a second paragraph – again, mostly nonsense – second and subsequent lines of the paragraph are aligned with the position indented 4 spaces from the left.

13. If I hit tab again and then enter a third paragraph, the alignment of text again shifts four spaces to the right.

14. Although it’s almost impossible to see, there is also a right-hand wall to the text area. I’ve added some green dots and a darkened enlargement to make it more visible. Any text that goes over this line wraps around to the next line of the paragraph, behavior you can turn on or off with F10.

15. Finally, there’s a document thumbnail panel to help you navigate. An Orange bar on the left shows where lines of text are that have been changed since the document was last saved; when you save it, these turn an aqua color. Everything that is displayed in the main text window is shaded so that in a much longer document, you can see where you’re at.

To the right are two more preview areas from different documents. The one on the left is from the draft text of this article as it was before I started writing this paragraph; the one to the right of it is the text document containing the last 4 entries in the Trade In Fantasy series, with the cursor on the last (and 24087th) line. The regular patterns that you can see are the effects of the HTML-coding of tables, and I make it a habit to put lots of white space (more than a screenful, in fact) in between different posts, creating a visual border between them. It’s important to note that paragraphs in the preview panel are never wrapped, they are a single line – as you can see in the example above.

So, why is this so useful in this context?

I can put the soundbites aligned left, with a gap to separate the different plot arcs. If I need additional commentary or notes, I can indent them. If I then need to note PC actions or reactions, I can indent those a second time. A single blank line at the bottom of each trio of lines to visually separate them and I can see where each is at with a glance.

It has other purposes as well, but that’s what’s relevant to this article.

Delivery

Each time the PCs are somewhere where they can get the news, check the number of days since the last soundbite in that story got ticked off your list. If it’s been long enough, the news contains the next element. If there’s nothing from one of the three main plots, tick off the next item from the fourth list instead (so that there’s always something).

Spend absolutely minimal time on this in-game – it’s a little bit of background color, no more important than the color of the castle bunting. It’s a way to have something for NPCs to talk about, nothing more – or so it seems.

Soft Time

News travels by the fastest available route, but in a Fantasy campaign, that can be pretty slow. Soft Time is time added to an event that represents how long it takes for news of the event to reach the PCs.

Obviously, the closer the PCs are to the scene of the event, the shorter the span of soft time.

Let’s look at a series of events to see how this works.

00 Event A
10 Event B
05 Event C

News of Event A reaches the PCs in the first game session and starts the clock ticking. If there was a minimum time here, it would be relative to one of the other plot arcs, whichever one had the shortest minimum time. The PCs are, at this point, located 3 weeks away from the scene, so the soft time of 21 days has to be taken into account – the actual event happened three weeks ago, on day -21, but word is just reaching the PCs now.

The PCs then go off and have adventure #1. It takes 3 days. As a consequence, they are certain to need to move to the regional capital for Adventure #2, and it’s a week away. In actual fact, the GM plans for Adventure #2 to happen en route, and Adventure #3 will be the one with the next opportunity for the PCs to hear news.

When the PCs set off on their journey, the news of Event A is 4 days old, and they are still 21 soft-time days away from it. Four days is less than the 10 days specified for Event B, so news of it has not yet arrived even though it took place 21-10=11 days ago. At the start of the game session, the GM should provide news of an event from the fourth list.

The PCs have Adventure #2 en route, adding 2 days to their journey (even though it actually consumes 3 or 4 game sessions). 4 + 7 (travel) + 2 = 13 days. But the soft time is reduced by 7 days because they have travelled 7 days closer to the location – from 21 to 14 days.

On day 13, the PCs reach the regional capital. It’s been more than 10 days, but Event B doesn’t happen exactly 10 days after event A – that 10 days is simply how soon it could have happened. But this is the first opportunity the GM has had for the news to reach them (unless he throws in a random encounter with a traveler), so news of Event B has only just reached the capital and it’s all anyone is talking about when the PCs arrive.

Subtracting the new soft time from the current date (Day 13 – 14 days = day -1), we find that Event B actually happened on day -1, a day before the PCs even set off on Adventure #1 – but the news has just caught up with them.

The earliest that Event C can happen is 5 days later, on Day 4 (at the same time as the PCs were just setting off), and the earliest that the PCs can hear about it is on Day 4+14=Day 18.

If Adventure #3 takes three days, that would take the PCs up to Day 17, and word of Event C will not have reached them yet. If it takes five days, that would take the PCs up to Day 19, and it is now possible for Event C to be the new talk of the town. But it didn’t happen 5 days after Event B, the timing says that it actually happened 6 days later.

In reality, the PCs would have passed through any number of small towns along the way, so news of events could have reached them much sooner – if they had stopped to talk with a local.

Events are not occurring in a fixed time interval, news of events is reaching the PCs every time there is an opportunity for them to hear about them, and the actual timing of the events is manipulated to allow for the soft time needed.

The result is that anytime they talk to someone heading away from the scene, or located closer to it, if the minimum time has elapsed, there will be news.

Immediate Impact

The immediate impact is that the game world and the NPCs that inhabit it will seem more vibrant, more real, and better able to interact with the PCs because they will always have something to talk about or react to.

From their personalities, you should be able to invent out of whole cloth how each NPC will react to the latest news. The soundbites are there to stimulate conversation.

If ever discussion of an Event seems to be getting a bit tired or overworked or that Event appears to be gaining significance in the eyes of the players, it’s time to change the subject and pop in a fresh bit of news.

Longer-term impact

As time passes, the players will start to notice the connections between one soundbite of the story and the next. If there are relevant consequences to the Event, they should be experienced by the PCs.

The result is that the players will become aware that the background is dynamic, changing over time – there’s a story unfolding that has nothing to do with them, though it may affect them, and it’s something that they may or may not choose to involve themselves in. If they don’t, it’s just evolution of the setting; it’s not intended to be a plot hook (though you can insert plot hooks into list four anytime you have one).

It’s quite possible, especially early on, that the PCs lack the capability to do anything about a situation even if they are so inclined. Any NPCs who are around should pointedly make the PCs aware of their limitations if they start to get all gung-ho.

More than anything else, the fact that there is always news – it could be one, two, three, or (more rarely) four items – marks the passage of time.

And the passage of time matters, as I pointed out in an early Lesson From The West Wing.

Campaign Interactivity

The players (courtesy of plot arc 1) will eventually notice dominoes falling in the background as a consequence of their actions.

This immediately makes them and their characters feel connected to the game world and lends gravitas to their decisions, because their may be consequences and they may be held to account for mistakes they make.

So they should (will?) tend to sharpen up and pay a bit more attention to what they are doing and what you are saying as GM – because there’s nothing worse than completely stuffing something up because you misheard a vital part of the GM’s briefing.

Intervention

At any point, the players may decide to intervene, to involve themselves. Your prepared plot arc will almost immediately go off the rails when they do so; that’s fine. The players have made the call to involve themselves in something more significant than another random dungeon.

They are Engaging with the plot.

You will have to create an adventure in which they make their attempt to intervene – you will need to expand on your plans to accommodate that intervention, or even rewrite them completely.

The results should be drama-filled and exciting, whether that’s what you had planned or not – and there should be a complication for the plot arc; these things should have immediate consequences and ramifications.

As soon as you have worked out what the changed plotline is going to be, you need to work up a replacement plot arc and list of news-bites to present in place of the one that has just been whisked onto center stage.

The more directly the PCs are impacted by events, the more likely that are to want to intervene.

You have to make sure that the players know that if their characters aren’t up to the job of dealing with whatever situation they are choosing to meddle in, those already involved will chew them up like dog meat. Use NPCs to sound appropriate warnings, and don’t forget to exaggerate the capabilities of anyone who has a whiff of the legendary or mythical about them – at least in the minds of the NPCs doing the talking. But if they insist, so be it.

Upping The Storytelling Quotient

From time to time, serendipity means that the background events can manifest in a more palpable difference to the course of events in the main plotline. Don’t go out of your way looking for these, but always be on the lookout for them when they present themselves.

For example, something happens that forces the government to spend money. They have some reserves to call on, but replenishing those reserves and funding further action demands an increase in taxes, initially of 10%, and a tithe of 100 GP anytime an object worth 1000 GP or more is bought or sold.

The people the PCs are trying to sell their loot to have to raise the money to pay their tax, so they will drop the price they are offering by 10% and cut 100gp off the top of the result. The magic item that was worth 5,000 GP? It’s now worth 4400 GP.

At the same time, princes on everything that the PCs buy have gone up 10%, plus 100 GP if the price-tag is high enough to trigger the tithe. That suit of fancier-than-usual plate mail that was 3000 GP? It’s now 3,400 GP.

Or, it might be that a curfew has been ordered, or a region placed under martial law, or prayers of thanks (and a donation to the temple of the PCs choice) might be ordered, or all sorts of other possibilities. We won the war, hooray! A day of celebration has been ordered, all businesses to close unless they are of a festive nature (apply for exemptions here by such-and-such a date and time).

Have you ever been in a city that’s home to a team who have just won a major sporting tournament (or progressed further than that team has ever gone before)? A kind of fever sweeps the populace. Decorations and team uniforms and souvenirs… okay, most won’t be able to afford non-mass-produced uniforms, but flags or something symbolic of the team like ribbons? They will be everywhere. And anyone not wearing one will be treated with suspicion and hostility.

Make the Background engage with the PCs, don’t wait for the PCs to engage with the Background – when and how that’s appropriate.

This simple technique can bring a dormant setting to life and make NPCs seem more real and more interesting. Keeping track of the Soft Time can be a bit of a pain, but it’s not all that complicated once you get used to it – and boy, are the results worth the effort.

An example

Summaries:

• Plot Arc 1: The PCs find a treasure
• Plot Arc 2: Political Shenanigans at Court
• Plot Arc 3: The Rounders – the most reviled team in the sport – come from nowhere in a dominant season.
• Plot “Arc” 4: Odds and Sods

Plot Arc 1: The PCs find a treasure (seeded into the loot from Adventure #1). NB: The events in this plot arc are not the primary binding agent of the campaign, they are a second plot thread that combines with or interacts with that narrative, whatever it is to be.

1. PCs recover a rare (magical) book in the course of adventure #1. None of them can read the text to know what they have. Identifying the book will require consulting a sage but there are none locally.
2. Unknown to the PCs, the book attracts monsters – anything within 1/2 mile per HD will be drawn to it, and will interact with the PCs as they normally would. They will describe it as a compulsion of some sort. Discovering this is the whole of Adventure #2.
3. In the regional capital, the book will summon thugs and thieves and cultists and dark priests and black wizards. The sage will put it behind wards to temporarily nullify the effect and ask for a week or two to study and research the tome. He can’t read the writing, either.
4. A cult (see above) kidnaps one of the PCs demanding the book be turned over to them. They believe it to be a holy work and a long-lost part of their faith, a lure to trap and kill the Gods. This will be a substantial part of Adventure #4.
5. Every Adventure until the book is dealt with will at some point involve contact with a higher-level monster as though they were still carrying the Book.
6. One of the most upright and virtuous Temples/Faiths will demand that the tome be handed over to them for destruction. They allege that it’s a Demon forced into this particular form by his superiors and designed to destroy virtue.
7. The PCs will discover that the siren call is interdimensional – it just takes longer to affect other-planar creatures.
8. The PCs will realize that possession of it has somehow tainted or cursed them. Attempting to get the curse lifted will reveal that it can corrupt the noble and pious, as the virtuous priest they consult about the curse attacks them instead of trying to lift the curse. This will be the focus of an adventure and mean that the PCs cannot trust the faith (see [6] above) to actually destroy it. The Sage will suggest that lifting the curse may require the book to be intact and in their presence, a second reason not to simply hand it over.
9. An order of Paladins will decree that failure to turn over the Tome for destruction as demanded (see [6] and [8] above) means that they are being corrupted by it and declare a crusade against them. In addition to [5] above, each adventure will also now involve an encounter with one or more members of this Order.
10. The sage completes his analysis but has been driven insane with a lust for power by overexposure to the Book despite his wards. The PCs have to attack and defeat him to acquire his notes. They reveal that both cultists and church are half-right and half-wrong, the book is designed to destroy anyone who possesses it, the creation of a nihilistic demon and bound by the Demon’s own flesh.
11. Dealing with the Book has to become the PCs top priority. But they are accused of the murder of the Sage and publicly listed as wanted criminals. It’s unsafe for them to remain anywhere near town as everyone resident there has started to become corrupted by its presence. This will be the focus of their next adventure.
12. The PCs have to decide where to go for help in dealing with the Book. They obviously can’t linger anywhere, and they will have to be careful in dealing with authority. They can choose (i) one of the mother Temples in the National Capital, (ii) a rumored Holy Ascetic who wandered into the mountains to pray 30 years ago and has not been seen since, or (iii) directly consulting the God of Knowledge on Plane [x] which means finding a way to reach Plane [x]. Travel to wherever they need to achieve the next step will be their next adventure.
13. Whoever they consult has to be forced to help them, unless it’s the God Of Knowledge himself. (i) they will be told of a way to destroy the book – casting it into the mouth of an active volcano which creates a river of fire that feeds into the Styx – in Hades. But that may not lift the Curse. (ii) The ascetic will tell them that their souls have been bound to the book, each of them now has their own page within its covers. Lifting the curse requires those pages (and only those pages) to be removed and the remaining book destroyed as above. He doesn’t trust the PCs to do this, and so attacks them. Nor does he know how the book can be destroyed. (iii) Whoever facilitates their journey to Plane [x] has to be forced to do so. The God Of Knowledge will provide both the answers of (i) and (ii).
14. The PCs have to consult a second source to get the rest of what they need to know. Either of the untapped sources can provide the missing puzzle piece (see above)
15. Before they can act on the knowledge just acquired, the PCs are attacked by a minor deity, ‘summoned’ by the Book. They can’t defeat an enemy of this power, but they can trick or deceive them or engage them in a battle with some other Deity long enough to flee.
16. Before the PCs can sneak into Hades in search of this Volcano, they will need a plan to deal with the Demon Princes / Arch-devils who the Book will compel. Whatever prep they decide to make will be another adventure in its own right.
17. AS PART OF THE SAME ADVENTURE, the PCs will be attacked by the Ghosts of the [NPCs] who were the last ones to possess the Tome and who travelled into the wilderness in a vastly remote location and committed suicide to hide it away forever, because they saw no other way to escape it’s taint. NB: These are not ordinary Ghosts, they are closer to intangible semi-Liches or Ringwraiths.
18. The PCs sneak into Hades in search of the Volcano and have to deal with a couple of the Demon Princes / Arch-devils as per their plans, above.
19. The PCs reach the Volcano only to be attacked by the creator of the book himself, who has acquired enough power by being back in Hades to manifest separately from it. He wants to seize the book from them and teleport it randomly to somewhere on the Prime Material Plane to start the process all over again. The only way to truly defeat him is to destroy the Book, but they will have to hold him off long enough to remove the last [n] pages with text on them, presuming these to be “their” pages. Cliffhanger ending leading to the second part which starts with the Destruction of the book.
20. The Book is destroyed but the volcano explodes as a result. The PCs and every resident of Hades not able to survive the wall of lava flowing downstream into the Styx has to flee, too busy to do anything but survive. These all now have a legitimate grievance against the PCs. Part 2 of the plot arc ‘finale’.
21. The PCs now need to force someone to remove the curses on the pages. To their horror, they discover that they have torn out one page too many, leaving a seed that will one day regenerate the entire book. Wherever they go for this treatment will be sacked / besieged by displaced residents of Hades seeking revenge. This forces whoever they have approached to set aside their natural enmity toward the PCs (because of the Curse and past events) long enough to relieve the Curse. They will be given a testiment by the High Priest absolving them of blame in the events surrounding the Book.
22. The PCs need to attend the King’s Court with the testament in order to get the civil charges against them dismissed. Plays into plot thread #2, below.
23. Every adventure thereafter, there is a 1-in-3 chance that a former Resident of Hades will try to destroy the PCs with whatever resources they have on hand.
24. Every adventure in which the above does not take place has a 1-in-2 chance that there will be some other spillover / consequences of the (temporary) destruction of Hades that impact the party.

Observations:
1. It can be harder to get started than once you get going.

2. It helps to have an idea going in, even if you remove or replace it. In the above example, I had the first two items and a vague idea about the third. Everything else was a logical consequence of those first two items, and world-building on the fly.

3. This plot is more immersive than it is supposed to be in terms of PC engagement, so it’s not a great example of what today’s article is all about, but it’s too interesting to discard. Whatever the main plotline of the campaign is going to be, it had better be pretty spectacular to keep this in the background!

4. After doing this one with a text editor, I would never attempt to do one with pen and paper – unless I had no other option. I lost count of the number of times something had to get moved up or down the list.

5. I didn’t do the step of setting the timetable because you need all four lists first.

Plot Arc 2: Court Intrigue starting small and growing more epicly melodramatic as it progresses, with a bit of inspiration from Robin Hood (amongst other sources) and a bit of international relations thrown in on the side.

1. A report sweeps the Kingdom when it alleges that quality Iron Ore is getting harder to find.
2. The Exchequer mints a new Gold Piece, worth the same as the old one but with different images sculpted onto it. But, in a bureaucratic stuff-up, there is a mispelling on the coins; they won’t be able to enter circulation for another month or so.
3. The Merchant’s Guild blocks a move by the Blacksmith’s Guild to increase the prices of steel products by forming an alliance of sorts with the Teamster’s Guild. This alliance wants to concentrate and coordinate supply so that ‘essentials’ get supplied first. Those out in the hinterlands will have to find a substitute, accept lower-grade ore, or do without.
4. There is a persistent rumor that the King’s Champion, Sir Lesley, has behaved inappropriately with the daughter of the Elvish Ambassador. Both parties deny any wrongdoing. Nevertheless, the Elvish Ambassador demands the removal of Sir Lesley from the court. He also sends his daughter back to the Elven Kingdom to remove her from temptation.
5. Sir Lesley is exiled to the fortress at Ispley on the Southern Border.
6. The Chancellor of the Exchequer increases tax rates 5%.
7. The Temples complain about the tax increases, fearing that the lack of reserves will impact donations to the Temples. As a result, many formerly-free services provided by the Temples will now have to attract a charge. This will be a hardship upon the people.
8. King Harold orders the Chancellor to justify the tax increases, and if capital is really needed, to look for some other way of raising the necessary revenue.

.

9. The Chancellor promises that the increases are only temporary, but are needed to establish a critical reserve of high-quality iron. This seems to confirm the rumor (see [1] above).
10. Positive news sweeps the Kingdom as it is announced that the Queen is with child for the first time. Soon, it is to be hoped, the Kingdom will have an heir!
11. The Elvish Ambassador advises the Court that Orcs have overrun the Dwarven stronghold at Kuzad. This blocks the roads between the Elvish and Human Kingdoms, and has displaced 5,000 Dwarves, who are in urgent need of resettlement. The Elves are doing their best despite the long antipathy between the two Kingdoms but if the pressure is not relieved quickly, matters may escalate out of control.
12. King Harold offers places in the Western Mines to the displaced Dwarves. This will take them far enough away from their lost stronghold that they will not throw lives away in a doomed attempt to recapture it, but keep them close enough that a joint expedition can be mounted if an opportunity exists.
13. The Chancellor increases the tax rate by another 5% to cover the cost of resettling the displaced Dwarves.
14. The temples announce a schedule of fees for previously free services. The smaller the service, the cheaper, but it is still going to cost money. It becomes policy to require clerics in the field to charge for the services they provide through faith on behalf of the temples. There is much grumbling.
15. The new Gold Pieces finally enter circulation. They are few and far between, and the rumor soon does the rounds that getting one in change means good luck.
16. Bandits sack the Red-gold Iron Mine. It will be months before it is again productive. A message left in the ruins of the barracks of the miners states that this is in protest at being forced to accommodate the Dwarves, and the taxes that doing so have imposed. Sir Duggan is sent to investigate.
17. Sir Duggan finds evidence that the ‘bandits’ were actually mine workers who over-reacted to a rumor that the Dwarves would take away their jobs.
18. The Temples offer to mediate between Dwarves and Locals, and to negotiate for the surrender of the ‘Bandits’ in return for a lighter sentence.
19. Orcs marching from the Kuzad Stronghold capture the Terrak Pass, blocking access to the Blue Fire Iron Mine. The Kingdom no longer has a source of high-quality iron. Prices of quality steel products immediately rise by 10% and smiths begin hoarding what high-quality steel they have.
20. King Harold announces a Quest to recapture the Terrak Pass, which he will lead personally (Quests are akin to Crusades but need not be religious in orientation). He accepts the offer of Temple mediation in the matter of the Red-gold Iron Mine Bandits.
21. King Harold leads an army of 2,000 men and 2,000 volunteer Dwarves out of the Capital, leaving his cousin Salin in charge. Salin is viewed as a weak ruler by the populace, but he is next in the line of succession and was a playmate of King Harold’s in his youth, so the King trusts him.
22. The Chancellor increases taxes another 10%, with Prince Salin’s blessing.
23. The Temples double the fees they have started to charge. It is made an excommunicatable offense for Clerics to provide faith-based services without charging the full fee demanded.
24. Small Bands of Bandits are reported to have sprung up in the region of the Lefthshares Forest.
25. It is reported that Orcish raiding parties have attacked the mills in four southern Duchies, capturing almost 1/3 of the yearly flour production. The price of flour, bread, and other baked goods doubles overnight.
26. Delegations of commoners complaining to Prince Salin are imprisoned on his orders to prevent the fomenting of unrest.
27. Delegations of commoners who want to protest the turn of events begin seeking audiences with the Queen instead of official channels.
28. There is a pitched battle at the Terrak Pass, costing the lives of 1/4 of the attackers without result. King Harold is wounded, and would have been killed were it not for the timely arrival of Sir Lesley and an additional 500 men.
29. The Temples report mounting unrest over taxes to the court. The leader of the Blacksmith’s Guild supplements the report with a blistering denunciation of the new taxes, and is immediately imprisoned for Treason by Prince Salin.
30. The Queen falls very ill. The Temples begin holding prayer vigils for her recovery, all over the Kingdom. Whatever the malady, it resists all their healing magic.
31. The young Price, hope of the nation, is stillborn. The Queen is also close to death. The Kingdom plunges into mourning without waiting.
32. An Orc Assassin attempts to kill King Roland but only scratches him. In the confusion, the assassin escapes, but a piece of Elvish jewelry is discovered where he was hiding.
33. A second attempt to recapture Terrak Pass costs the lives of 1/3 of the attackers. It came closer to success but still ultimately was unsuccessful. Sir Lesley blockades the roads leading to and from the Pass in an attempt to starve the Orcs out.
34. The King is suffering from a mysterious illness. Whatever the malady, it resists all magic healing. The temples put up a reward of 100,000 GP for anyone who can discover the nature of the illness and a cure in time. Descriptions of the Assassin, his tools and equipment, and the piece of Jewelry, are described in detail as the only clues. Every temple in the kingdom repeats the message, the reward, the symptoms, and the few clues available, every hour on the hour when the sun is up. It is certain that almost everyone in the Kingdom has heard about it after a couple of days.
35. The Queen dies from her illness.
36. Prince Salin, fearing the worst, begins making public plans for his own coronation.
37. In an attempt to make his accession to the throne more popular, Salin announces an amnesty for all crimes short of murder; hundreds will be released from Prison, including the ‘Bandits’ who sacked the Red-gold Iron Mine.
38. Sir Duggan brings one of the released prisoners to the PCs. He wants the PCs to chase down a clue that might lead to the reward being offered by the Temples – if so, then he wants an equal share of it. If the PCs agree, the prisoner reveals that the ‘bandits’ were paid to attack the mine workings by an odd duo – one was very tall and hardly spoke, while the other was shorter and seemed unable to speak louder than a whisper. The tall one dropped a piece of jewelry, but stopped to pick it up; the ‘Bandit’ saw it clearly. It matches the description of the one dropped by the Assassin. But the Red-gold Iron Mine is in the West Northwest, the fighting is all in the South southeast – a long distance apart – and there’s no way that either of the hooded and cloaked figures was an Orc, anyway; he was definitely human.
39. The slight wound at the hands of the assassin suggests some sort of poison. Everyone is tearing up every avenue of research into Orcs and their poisons, without success. The similarity of symptoms to the sickness that killed the Queen suggests a common cause, but she was nowhere near the fighting and there were no observed assassination attempts on her. If it was done at all, it had to be at Court in the Capital. The only humanoids of roughly human size but taller are Elves. There’s an Elvish Ambassador at Court. Maybe the Ambassador, or someone on his staff, are in a conspiracy to put Salin on the throne, and none of what’s happened is a coincidence. In which case, maybe the poison is an Elvish concoction. By sheer coincidence, the PCs are not far from the Kingdom of the Elves at the moment. Maybe if they nose around a bit, ask some careful questions, they might get somewhere.
40. If the PCs choose to investigate the Elves, they will learn (roleplay the investigation) that there is an infamous Drow poison whose symptoms match those described. It’s exceptionally rare, only someone very well connected in the Elvish Kingdom could get their hands on any. There is a reasonably common cure – mash up three seed pods of a Yellowbulb Tree, boil them, add the contents of an egg, mix well, and wait for it to solidify and float to the surface. With a cup, draw off the egg and discard it (and the poisons from the seed pods with it), leaving a clear bluish liquid. Three drops every three hours for a day will cure the poisoning, if the Drow poison was the cause.
41. Make the cure and a mad dash to where the King lies in his camp. Get put in the queue which contains every faith healer, folk healer, and medicine man in the Kingdom, each of whom has their own ‘sure-fire’ cure. By the time the PCs work their way to the front of the line, it may be too late – they have to find some way of jumping the queue.
42. The PCs cure works, but the King will be very weak for months. He might never fully recover, he was so close to death. The implications begin dawning on the PCs if they hadn’t done so already: Rare poison to which the Elvish Ambassador would have access. Same rare poison used by an Orc on the King. The Orcish military action to place the king in a vulnerable position. A mysterious Elf and a human partner stirring up unrest to draw off loyal members of the court. Sir Lesley, another loyal member of the court, exiled on the word of the same Ambassador. This whole situation has been engineered by the Elves for some reason. Perhaps the Assassin escaped because of other gifts of the Elves – cloaks and boots and what-have-you. But the Orcs have to know some of what’s going on – they wouldn’t be part of the conspiracy, just cat’s paws. Negotiating some sort of truce with them might permit details to slip out in conversation; they have suffered as much as the Quest in losses. The same thoughts have also been occurring to Sir Lesley; he can’t leave, he is now Commander in the Field. But he can send the PCs to negotiate a truce.
43. The PCs negotiations are successful, and in the process they learn that the Elves sent an Ambassador to the Orcs and made all sorts of promises if the Orcs would inconvenience the Dwarves and drive them out of the Stronghold at Kuzad. Once they had done so, the Elves reneged on the deal. The Orcs realized that they were vulnerable in the Stronghold unless they also controlled the major pass leading to it – Terrak Pass. They also needed food, being unequipped for a lengthy campaign, so they did what came naturally, and raided. They couldn’t go back home, through the Elvish Kingdom; they couldn’t move through the Human Kingdom; and they didn’t have the manpower to fight their way through the entire Dwarven Kingdom to get back home. They were trapped! If the PCs can guarantee safe passage, they will vacate the pass AND the citadel, handing them over to the Humans until the Dwarves that had been driven out can return. The Orc says that they were all paid in Gold to do what they did and shows a PC a Gold coin – one of the new designs, a design that wasn’t even in circulation when this bribe was paid – and this is the ultra-rare version with the spelling error that was never supposed to be circulated (though a few inevitably were). The only person with access to thousands of those coins was the Chancellor Of The Exchequer. The PCs can buy the gold coin (for two gold coins) to be able to prove their allegations.
44. The deal done, the Orcs vacate the field, watched closely by the army. When they are gone, Sir Lesley detaches a small force to hold the Citadel and the Pass, and instructs one of the men who is good at that sort of thing to draw up some better defensive structures for the Pass. He then takes the rest of the army – and the PCs, who he conscripts – to the Capital to put down the attempted coup and determine whether or not Salin is a figurehead or a conspirator. His plans are to assault the palace from the outside while the PCs sneak inside to discover what they can, and – once they know one way or another – to denounce the guilty in open court. Then fight their way out, if they have to.
45. Unless the PCs have a better idea, they have to attempt to carry out Sir Lesley’s plan. Investigation reveals Silas to be a barely-functioning idiot, in no way capable of this level of scheming, but very good at empty-headed formality. This is something that had been very carefully kept out of public knowledge. Nice dramatic moment at the court denouncing the Ambassador and Chancellor. One of the PCs notices that the head of the Merchant’s Guild looks very upset by these revelations and tries to edge his way out of the court without being noticed. He can choose to intercept him or stop him if he chooses. This draws attention to the attempted escape and prompts the Chancellor to accuse him of masterminding the whole thing. The Guild head counter-accuses the Chancellor and the whole accusation stands proven. Silas proves up to the job at least once – ordering the Defenders of the Castle to stand down and show the flag of surrender, and ordering the conspirators to be arrest for their crimes – including the murder of the Queen and the Heir of the Kingdom.

Observations:
1. Now, that’s more like it! 45 items means at least 45 game sessions, probably more if these events get spaced out. Some adventures will take only a game day, some could take a game week or more, after all.

2. The reputation that the PCs acquire over the early/mid campaign has to be enough that Sir Duggan will go to them at the right time; the fact that there are almost twice as many entries in this story as in the first means that there is plenty of time for such a reputation to be established, but the GM needs to make sure that Duggan’s move is justified, nevertheless.

3. Events start of small and… insignificant is the wrong term, but I can’t think of anything better at the moment. And slowly build in significance. And build, and build, until the PCs get pushed at the big finish to the plot arc – with an option to bail out and hear about the outcome from others. Assume that Sir Lesley assembles his own “spy force” to infiltrate if the PCs aren’t there.

4. Note however that some of those minor events early on become hugely significant by the end. The Ambassador sending his daughter home to get her out of the way, having used her to get Sir Lesley sent into exile; the bungled coin minting (if these had been circulated on schedule, there would be nothing provably significant in the orcs getting paid in them; it’s the delay that makes that damning).

5. Of course, the Elves using the Orcs as cat’s paws to interfere in the internal politics of another Kingdom is an act of War. The King is frail – so much so that he hasn’t even been told of the murder of his wife and son yet. There’s still plenty to unravel from this point – but that would be better handled in a new (and much shorter) plot arc that takes the place of this one, and again puts the narrative back into something to be followed in the ‘news’. There’s also the matter of rewards – I would think that noble titles from the King and the nice hunk of cash from the Temples should be enough, though. But that’s what I would probably build the next arc around – the domain(s) granted to the PCs as rewards, and the unexpected finds within them.

Plot Arc 3: The Rounders – the most reviled team in the sport – come from nowhere in a dominant season.

Roundball: An introduction

Roundball is the most popular sport in the Kingdom by several orders of magnitude. Amateur-league games are a weekly event for most of the year, there are semi-professional regional competitions, and there is an elite league of 64 teams. The sport is a basic get-the-ball-in-the-opposition’s-net game, but it’s the rules wrapped around this that make it distinctly different.

The game is divided into quarters. In one of these quarters, a team must have 5 players on the field, in another, 6, in a third, 8, and in a fourth, 10. Which order these occur in is decided at the start of a quarter by the team’s manager and strategist, but inevitably additional players will change the balance within the team – stronger defense, stronger attack, faster, more mobility in passing the ball, better able to stay upright when tackled and gain precious ground, and so on.

In addition, teams are allowed two substitutions per completed quarter, which they can use at any point in the game, and the number of times a team can be tackled before they have to hand over the ball to the other side changes with the number of players fielded – 8, 6, 5, 4, respectively. Tactics inevitably have to to change as a result – but you have no idea what configuration your opponents are going to use in the next quarter until both teams take the field. There is an instant scramble to adapt your game plan to counter theirs.

The game is fast-paced, tactically diverse, and wildly unpredictable. Better management of what resources you have on the field and using your substitutions strategically are the keys to success, but even well-laid plans still have to be executed successfully by the on-field players. There are lots of other rules, but the above are the heart and core of the game.

Series Structure of the Elite League

The competition is structured a bit like the world cup. Teams are placed by random draw into a series of pools. Each team has to play each other team in their pool twice, once at home and once at their home city or town. Victories earn points, scoring more than a certain threshold earns points, a higher score differential between the teams costs points, so the objectives of the game are for each one to be a tight contest; teams can lose the championship be being too dominant. There are all sorts of ways to earn bonus points (or give bonus points to the other side).

These points are then used to seed a second round and the tally board wiped clean. Again, teams are pooled, with all matches in pool A played first (those with the lowest accumulated points from the first round), then pool B, and so on. The top two teams from each pool get promoted into the next pool, and keep half their accumulated score from the previous pool, giving the worst teams an advantage that the better teams have to overcome. When the outcome of all pools is known, the teams are ranked according to the points earned. It is possible for the lowest-ranked team in pool A to fight its way into the next round of the series and even to go on to win the whole tournament. These games must be played in stadiums belonging to neither of the teams.

For the bottom half of the League, as scored this season, their seasons end here. The top half go into round 3 – which is a sudden death series. Actions which brought championship points in previous rounds now add to the scoreboard instead. Teams are seeded into the contest in order of their ranking in round 2, so the two teams with the lowest scores face off, and then the next two lowest scores, and so on. In rounds 3 and 4, the lower-ranked team gets the home-field advantage. Those who win their matches advance to round four, then round five, at which point the top four teams have survived and the rest culled.

The semifinals pit the weakest team against the second-best team and the second-weakest team against the strongest, with the stronger teams given a points handicap that they have to overcome in order to win the game. These handicaps are the average differential in points scored per game – so being dominant in the knockout rounds only makes it harder for you to win the championship and introduces an uncertainty that makes even one-sided contests exciting. Can the best team overcome their handicap, or will the underdog survive? These matches are always played at stadiums in the capital who have to secretly bid for the rights to host. The revenues from the winning bids fund the competition for the coming year and the administration of the sport. There is a reserve pool of money kept at a fixed 10,000 GP and a separate pool of 1,000 GP per player (cumulative) that is used to support families who lose a player through on-field accident. Any revenues in excess of these three amounts are payed into the prize pool.

The losers of the semifinals then play off for third and fourth place in the series, respectively. Once that outcome has been determined, the grand final pits the two winning teams against each other. But there is a catch: both these teams have to outscore the teams from the playoff match or they will be relegated to below those teams in the final competition result. This forces the teams in the grand final to go all out for a crushing victory. The more successful they are at that, the more they suppress the other team, the more likely that team will be relegated to third or perhaps even fourth place. But both teams are trying to achieve this at the same time, so it’s never that easy.

There are 64 teams in all. These are organized into pools of 8, so each team plays 14 games in round 1, a total of 64/2 x 14 = 448 games. 32 of those games occur on any given restday, so round 1 lasts 14 weeks.

Round 2 sees a new game played daily, There are 8 teams in Pool A, and will be 8+2 teams in Pools B through H. So there are 7 Pool A games and 9 games from each of the other pools for a total of 70 games in 70 days – another 10 weeks of Roundball, for a season length (so far) of 24 weeks.

Round 3 is the top 32 getting paired off, so there are 16 games played over 4 restdays (ie 4 weeks). Round 4 is the top 16 getting paired off, so there are 8 games played over 4 restdays (ie another 4 weeks). Round 5 is the top 8 being paired off so there are 4 games played over 2 restdays (another 2 weeks). So these rounds take a total of 10 more weeks, bringing the season length to 34 weeks.

There is traditionally a 2 week buildup to the semifinals, which are played on the same restday. These are then played on successive restdays, extending the season to 37 weeks.

That’s followed by another 2 week gap to the playoff match and a week later is the grand final, so the whole season is 41 weeks in length.

Prize money

Gambling on games is strongly regulated and restricted. Each registered bookie has a bespoke bookkeeper-accountant assigned to them by the Exchequer who monitors both money in and payouts. They have no control over the odds being set by the bookie, but ensure that the payout matches the odds accepted by the gambler. 5% of all profits made after the winners are paid out goes to the Crown (on top of any tax) to cover the expense of the bookkeeper-accountants, and another 5% is paid to the Roundball League to form the basis of the annual prize pool. 1 SP profit on 25000 gambles a week (kingdom-wide), average, = 25,000 SP; 5% of which is 1250 SP = 125 GP per week. In later parts of the series, the number of gambles gets smaller but the amount increases. The semi-finals and finals see an increase in gambles and a further increase in stakes, so these 4 games bring in 8x the revenue, or 1000 GP.

As a rough estimate, then the prize pool is 34 x 125 + 1000 = 5250 GP per year. The prize pool is divided into 4,447.92 shares.

Every participating team gets paid according to final rankings. The lowest-ranked team gets one share; each team higher up the ladder gets 1 1/10 the payout of the team placed below it. If two or more teams tie, their payouts are totaled and evenly divided so that the next team up the ladder gets the benefit of beating the extra teams. The top team therefore gets a payout 405.27 times that of the lowest ranked team, an average of 478.35 GP a year. Management and owners take 1/2, the rest is divided amongst the 20-30 players on each team; the methods vary from one team to another. So the average player on the top team can expect to earn around 9.56 GP per year.

This is obviously not enough – not when skilled labor earns a GP a week. Team sponsorship and paid-for public appearances provide the bulk of a team’s financing, and they also get 1/2 of the entry fees to the stadiums at which they are playing. The first earns about 10x as much as the prize pool and the latter twenty-five times. It is not uncommon for the wealthier teams to actually own their home stadiums, doubling the revenue the team gets from entry fees – but they then have to pay maintenance on the facility. By and large, these are proportionate to the revenue share from the prize money, because that’s based on the team’s ranking, but this equivalence is vague and approximate.

Theses sources boost the average pay per player per year to around 172 GP – on the top team – or 42 1/2 silver pieces for those on the bottom. But not all players are equal, and an elite player may earn 5-8 times this much – at the expense of their teammates.

Roundball teams are eternally agitating for a bigger share of the gambling revenues, but the League are determined to keep this a minor part of the income stream to the teams fearing corruption. Which brings us to the backstory of the Rounders.

The Rounders

Twenty-four years ago, the Rounders were the team to beat, Stronger, faster, more agile, more tactical – they had it all. And yet, this particular year, they didn’t seem to quite gel on the field, and many victories were far narrower than they should be. Half-way through the season, it was discovered that the three key players in the team, the play-makers, were cheating, deliberately setting the team up to narrowly fail to make the playoffs. This deliberately sacrificed almost 1/3 of what the club could expect to make, but these players had wagered thousands of GP at almost 10 to 1 odds that the team would fail.

One player had a little too much to drink, got rolled in a back alley by a footpad, and complained to the town watch about the theft – despite having spent up bigger than he could justify in anticipation of the payday to come. When the watch investigated, one rotten domino fell after another and the scandal enveloped the series.

The Rounders were treated harshly by the League, forfeiting all fees, fined all revenues earned for the year, and their every remaining game in the season declared a loss. The players involved all went to prison for long terms – the mastermind only being released 4 years ago – and the team became the most hated by fans throughout the Kingdom. Most of the remaining players quit the team at the end of the season; the team were forced to recruit an all-new lineup for the following year’s contest.

Strangely enough, this notoriety has been working in their favor, little by little, as it almost certainly brings the fans of whatever rival team they face out in droves, and this has enabled them to slowly rebuild. But it also means that their rivals go the extra mile to beat them, so year after year, they have struggled to get much beyond the third round.

Over the last five years, then-new manager Ryan Kempler has been strategically investing in up-and-coming players and this year he hopes that it will all come together. He has a master plan to take the series…

The Master Plan

Kembler has recruited and nurtured four players that he thinks are ready to become the best in the League at their own specialized roles – play-maker, scorer, driving fullback, and defender. He has been secretly training them to mesh tactics in combined plays.

He has divided the contest into teams that he thinks are likely to make the third round and teams that aren’t, plus a group in the middle.

Against the weaker teams, he will play 10 in the first quarter, 5, 6, and 8. The goal will be to establish a strong lead early and then defend it until it’s just enough. He will bring on one of his stars (but only one) at some point in the last three periods to control the pace of the game. His goal is to win 2/3 of these games; that alone should be enough to get them into the lower ranks of the 32.

Against the stronger teams and the more uncertain ones, he will adopt a 8, 5, 6/10, 10/6 strategy. One of his stars will play in the first half, and he may replace them with another in the second half. He doesn’t mind losing 2/3 of these games, but would prefer to win 1/2 of them without showing his full hand. If the team are ahead at the end of the first half, he will go with the 6 and then 10 configuration, if not, the 10 and then 6. Star Power will be employed as necessary.

That should be enough to lift the Rounders into the top 16, but not much better than that.

When the knockouts arrive, the strategies will change, and a reassessment of the profile of the opponents be made. You can’t afford to lose ANY of these games, but you also can’t afford to win by too much. So the strategy will be 5, 6, 8, 10, starting with one of his stars and adding a second in the second half. Which stars will depend on the tactics he expects from the other team.

All these strategies will be subject to refinement and change based on their opponents – if they have a habit of fielding their biggest team in the first quarter, for example, or play a really good game with few players early on. At this point, the pool draw has not yet been announced, so he can’t plan more specifically.

The goal will be to advance to the semifinals in 7th position and scrape into the finals in last – without showing off any of the coordinated tactics and combinations he’s been drilling into his star players. In the playoff game, it will be no-holds barred to set a score that will withstand both the more highly-placed teams in the grand final who will tear each other down enough that neither can overcome the benchmark set by the Rounders.

Will it work? That remains to be seen.

Delivering the rules / backstory

None of this will be known to the players at the start of the campaign. It will get broken up and fed to them when it becomes relevant. But it was necessary to get the concepts together in advance.

Final Decision

The final decision to be made is whether or not the Rounders are the team local to where the PCs start play or if they are based elsewhere. There are benefits to both options. If they are based elsewhere, are they part of the same pool as the local team this year?

Being able to introduce the Rounders early on lets their backstory get broken up and delivery of it to the players spread out a little more, so either they are in the local pool or they are the local team.

If they are the local team, the fans will start out supporting every other team out there and willing their team to lose; only as their campaign gathers momentum will they start to rebuild their local fan-base.

An on-field moment of some kind in which the Rounders refuse to take advantage of a rival’s mistake even though the rules say they can, because they don’t want to win in an unsportsmanlike manner will be a pivotal turning point in this respect, finally erasing some of the old taint.

If they aren’t the local team, then there will be lots of opportunity to get the players comfortable with the game itself before the historical element gets presented to the players; if they are, then it will be front and center from mention one. So I think they are not the local team, they are from somewhere some distance away.

Oh, and one more thought: teams should alternate between home games and away games.

With that sorted, I can begin mapping out the sequence of events, starting with the draw and introducing the format to the players.

Then there’s the pre-game 1 buildup as fans discuss their prospects for the coming year, and the other teams in the pool – giving the first hint of the old scandal.

For the next three or four games, the pattern will be the same: the outcome of the game, where it leaves the local team standing within the pool, and who their next game is against, and whether or not it’s a home game. The PCs can vicariously ride the roller-coaster of ups and downs inherent in a contest designed to make easy wins a disadvantage.

Then they will be scheduled to come up against the Rounders. Backstory time, which should build interest in the game. Note that by now, the PCs will have relocated to the regional capital at least temporarily, so ‘the local team’ may have changed.

Outcome of the match – the Rounders lose, but not by much. Celebrations all around, the local heroes having put everybody’s villains ‘in their place’. Next game will be against one of the strongest teams in the entire league.

Complete the round through until it is the Rounders turn to host the local team. This is the time to pull that ‘sportsmanlike’ event out of the hat. From that point on, there will be a slow growth of fans for the Rounders as their ‘second favorite team’ (after the locals, of course).

Finish the round, randomly roll results for the other pools, allowing for the relative strength of the teams, map out Round 2, and so on.

Unfortunately, I’m running out of time to get this article finished and ready for posting – which is why I’ve described what I would do instead of actually doing it – which would take four or five times longer, time that I just don’t have.

But that’s not necessarily a bad thing, as I’ve given readers everything they need to know to be able to do it as practice.

Jumping Into The Middle

While this approach would be at its best if introduced from the very start of a campaign, it’s almost never too late to add it to the mix. You’re just starting stories in the middle, usually with some of the groundwork already established, but if you need to start a new plot thread, so be it. Just make it a shorter one, to match the anticipated length of the campaign.

And The River Rolls On… Continuing Campaigns

Not all campaigns are designed with a predetermined end point. Some are cyclic, with characters coming and going regularly; others just carry on into Epic Levels if and when the players get that far.

This tool – and that’s what it is, a background enhancement tool, a background ‘animator’ if you will – can be just as effective; the second example plot arc shows the way. One plot arc ends, and another begins. That’s all there is to it.

Many authors have tried to explain how vast space, and the universe contained within it, really are, usually with less than total success, though with each attempt, some few are reached. This is both something that Sci-Fi GMs need to understand and yet, often hand-wave. I have thought of another approach, one that is strictly game-oriented. It may not work, but it’s worth a shot.

This is the latest in my series of time-out posts in between the Trade In Fantasy series.

There are three fundamental principles to my approach, and explaining them would be a good way to start. But I suspect that their meaning won’t be fully understood until we get into actual measurements, at which point hopefully it all becomes blindingly obvious.

1. A Nested Hierarchy Of Distance

Space is subdivided into a nested series of scales. Efficiency in transiting these scales requires new technologies each time the scale changes, though it is usually possible to employ a less-efficient transit technology – there is some overlap in principle.

The difficulties and hazards change as a new scale is reached, and these require navigational skills that match the engineering appropriate to that scale. I’m going to do my best to avoid actually spelling out the technologies concerned, leaving the system to be adapted to whatever sub-genre best fits the individual GM’s setting and campaign. This time around, for this particular GM, it might be some sort of interstellar Jump; next time, it might be Warp Drive; and so on.

2. A Fundamental Unit

The minimum distance of a scale is defined by the limit of the scale preceding it. Mastering the principles of this scale may or may not imply as a prerequisite the mastering of the preceding scale; different game systems will support different approaches to the question. Nor is it necessary or appropriate for this to be consistent; the greater the difference in technology required relative to what has gone before, the less transferable skills will be and the more likely a completely different approach required.

Fundamentally, each scale is measured in a new series of units, and the count of such units within the scale resets at ‘1’ each time.

3. Powers Of Five, or Two, or Three

The distances of a scale, measured in Units, require a technological / navigational improvement at regular intervals. each improvement level is known as a tech level or sub-level within the technology required for that particular scale. Each improvement permits maneuvering and transit at an exponential increase over the number of units.

CORRECTION: The following text, which originally followed the above, now needs to be taken with a grain of salt:

My default is going to be powers of five, because that’s what my instincts are telling me should work – but it may be necessary to employ other exponents along the way. I’ll do so as necessary.

In actual fact, i ended up using powers of 2, 3, and 4 a lot more than I did 5 – so much so that 3-exponent is probably best considered the default.

.

I don’t really want there to be more than a couple of handfuls of tech sub-levels within each scale, to keep the numbers manageable. My preference will be to introduce a new scale before ‘sub-level 21’ is reached – but, at the same time, I want each sub-level to achieve a noteworthy increase in the distances that can be transited.

All clear? I didn’t think so, but getting into the scales themselves should make everything fairly clear.

The Planetary Scale

Space starts at the Karman Line, defined as 100 km (62 miles) above sea level. This altitude defines the point at which aerodynamic lift can no longer be the primary means of flight and orbital mechanics takes over.

Anything short of this distance is a distance (vertically) on the Planetary Scale.

The unit at this scale is the Wright. One Wright is an altitude (powered flight) of 6.4m (21 feet).

Public domain image depicting the first flight by the Wright Brothers, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Aircraft 1 = 1 Wright

The Wright Brother’s first flights were about 0.5 Wrights in altitude. The presumption is made that they stayed relatively flat and level to maintain control of the aircraft and could have actually flown higher – with greater risk of control loss.

Aircraft 2 = 5 Wrights = 32m

Aircraft 3 = 25 Wrights = 160m

Between 1906 and 1908, the altitude record was officially just 4m, or 0.625 Wrights. In the latter year, piloting a biplane, Wilbur Wright dramatically raised the record to 110m (17.2 Wrights), and 7 months later, this record was improved again to 150m (23.5 Wrights). It seems likely that at some point in between, a limit of 5 wrights was reached but no-one actually undertook an attempt.

Aircraft 4 = 125 Wrights = 800m

Late in 1909, another dramatic step forward saw the altitude record for powered flight increased to 920m.

Aircraft 5 = 625 Wrights = 4 km (13000 feet)

In 1910 the record increased multiple times, ending the year at 3497m. The next time it was reset was in 1912, to 5610m, another massive step forward.

It’s at this point that air travel becomes commercially viable for both cargo and passengers. The early steps were halting stumbles, but improvements in the technology followed, notably the DC3 and beyond.

After the heady rush of the early flights, and the steady progression of records being set and broken, this sub-scale would hold sway for many years; the technology was improved and refined, becoming more efficient and successful. It also seems likely that interest in altitude records per se declined in favor of speed records.

Aircraft 6 = 3125 Wrights = 20 km (65, 600 feet)

It wasn’t until 1949 that an aircraft exceeded 3125 Wrights in altitude, when an experimental air-launched rocket plane, the Bell X-1, did so, setting an unofficial record. Two years later, another unofficial record extended the window; it was not until 1953 that this limit was officially breached, when an English Electric Canberra B 2 Turbojet got to 20,079m. By now, the unofficial record (set with rocket power) was 27,570m and before the next non-rocket record was set in 1958, at 23, 451m, the rocket-powered or assisted record stood at 38, 491m.

(Aircraft 7 = 15625 Wrights = 100km (62 miles))

Everything in aviation since the early 1950s, in terms of altitude limits, falls into this sub-scale. Records past this time tend to split hairs – horizontal flight, crewed or unmanned, propeller-driven, and so on. What becomes more important at this scale is not the record altitude, but the cruising altitude.



Image by Julian Herzog via Wikimedia Commons. Released under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license.

The Boeing 747 Jumbo cruised at between 35,000 and 40,000 feet. The 767 added another 1,000 feet to the top of that. These are both Aircraft-5 ratings.

The cruising altitude of an airbus A320 is 31,000 to 37,000 feet. It has a service ceiling of 39,100 feet, the absolute maximum altitude that it can achieve. The A380 cruises at 43,000 feet.

Even Concorde only approaches the limits of Aircraft 5 in this respect, with a cruising altitude of 55,000 to 60,000 feet.

Beyond Aircraft 5, greater altitude requires special designs that are not commercially viable. The SR-71 Blackbird cruises at 85,000 feet (25,908m) and is a true Aircraft 6 design. Getting to Aircraft 7 requires rockets, and they operate even more efficiently at even higher altitudes.

If atmospheric pressure were greater, lift could be increased and greater altitudes might become possible, but wind resistance would also increase, and, honestly, you’re looking at a gimmick or marketing exercise or different technology (non-commercial) for most of Aircraft 6.

Aircraft 7 is the upper limit of this scale, as we transition to the Orbital Scale.

The Orbital Scale

From 100km up, we’re talking about the orbital scale, the unit of which is the Oberth. 1 Oberth = 100 km. Oberths use exponential powers of 4, not 5.

There can be other limits used. The US defines the Orbital Scale as starting at 50m (80km), for example.

Orbital 1 = 100 km – 400 km (1-4 Oberths)

Up until 400 km, significant air resistance will cause rapid orbital decay if unchecked. These altitudes are considered “Transatmospheric“. They are of limited practical value because of the air resistance, but may be used as a stepping-stone to higher orbital types.

This sub-level also includes terms such as “Very Low Earth Orbit” and “Suborbital” flight paths. Anything below 160km is generally considered Suborbital; VLEO orbits (160km-400 km) are used for Earth observation, radar, infrared, weather, telecommunications, and rural internet.



Artwork by Russ Arasmith for NASA depicting Project Gemini spacecraft and astronaut, date unknown. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons, public domain.

Orbital 2 = 400 km – 1,600 km (4-16 Oberths)

Low Earth Orbit has a very precise definition in terms of period (128 minutes or less) and eccentricity (less than 0.25). Most satellites are in Low Earth Orbit, peaking at around 800km in altitude – but LEO is considered to extend up to 2000 km, putting the outer reaches of LEO into the Orbital 3 sub-level.

Starlink satellites orbit at approximately 550 km, and are amongst the lowest LEO orbits in use.

The inner Van Allen radiation belt starts at around 1000km (10 Oberths) and extends to about 12000km (well into the Orbital 4 sub-level).

Orbital 3 = 1,600 km – 6,400 km (16-64 Oberths)

2000 km marks the entirely arbitrary dividing line between LEO and Medium Earth Orbit. MEOs extend all the way up to Geostationary Orbit (35,786 km). They are defined as having orbital periods of between 2 hours and 24 hours – and yes, that does create a small overlap with LEOs.

This subcategory falls completely within the Van Allen Radiation Belts. Other names for this type of orbit are Mid-Earth Orbit and Intermediate Circular Orbit.

The primary distinction between LEOs and MEOs is that the dominant cause of non-gravitational perturbations of the orbits is solar radiation pressure in an MEO, while atmospheric traces are dominant in an LEO.

This sub-level describes the lower region of MEOs.

When satellites in this sub-level reach the end of their operational life, it is generally cheaper to de-orbit them, permitting them to burn up in the atmosphere. The expectation of this mission terminus plays a critical role in designing those satellites, forbidding such things as nuclear power supplies.

Orbital 4 = 6,400 km – 25,600 km (64-256 Oberths)

The upper region of MEOs is contained almost completely within this sub-level. As such, it is relatively sparsely populated by satellites in comparison to sub-level 3.

The design restrictions on upper MEO satellites are far less restrictive because these are orbits it which it becomes cheaper to put satellites at their end-of-life into a graveyard orbit rather than letting them fall back to earth after a de-orbital maneuver.

Orbital 5 = 25,600 km – 102,400 km (256-1024 Oberths)

Anything aimed at Geostationary orbit that doesn’t quite get there is in the lowest part of this sub-level. Geostationary orbit itself is roughly Orbital 5.133. No orbit above this is considered stable.

A few hundred km further out is a region designated as a Graveyard orbit for defunct satellites; the thrust required to reach these orbits is a lot less than than that required to completely de-orbit a satellite.

Anything with an orbital period of a day or more is defined as being in High Earth Orbit, which are subdivided into a number of complicated designations: Geostationary (GEO), Geosynchronous (GSO), Geostationary Transfer Orbits (GTO), Highly Elliptical Orbits (HEO), and Near-Rectilinear Halo Orbits (NRHO). You don’t have to know what any of these are, really, aside from the obvious and well-known Geostationary and Geosynchronous.

GEOs remain in orbit above a fixed position on the Earth. GSO orbits do not, but they cycle back around to the same fixed point each day.

Satellites in these orbits are used for communications, navigation, scientific research, and of course, military applications.

All Orbits above 357.68 Oberths are eccentric to some degree. That means that they have a significant difference between perihelion and aphelion, the lowest and highest points of their orbit. Which means that periodically, the sun and moon will exert more gravitational force on them at other times because the orbital path will align with those bodies; this creates the instability referred to.

The maximum altitude of High Earth Orbit is another purely-arbitrary number. As the peak aphelion increases, so does the instability – with exceptions resulting from the mass of the orbiting object. There’s no danger of the Moon suddenly wandering off.

Local Interplanetary Scale

I define one unit on this scale as what would be Orbital 6, if such a thing existed, i.e. 102,400 km. I have named the units Lunars.

This scale also uses 4-exponential scale (actually, ideally, it would use exponential-3.5, but that’s too messy and complicated). The midpoint of gravitational attraction between earth and the moon depends on the relative masses – about 80-to-1 in the Earth’s favor, so the midpoint is roughly 1/80th of the distance.

The moon’s orbit has a minimum distance of 363,300 km; 79/80ths of this is 358,758.75 km. And that’s almost exactly 3.5 Lunars.

Oh well.

Local Interplanetary 1: 1 Lunar (102.4 Kkm) – 4 Lunars (409.6 Kkm)

The minimum distance from the earth at which a gravitational field other than that of the planet becomes dominant is, as stated, 358,758.75 km. That happens at 3.5 Lunars.

The moon has a maximum distance from Earth of 405,696 km (3.96 Lunars); the average is 384,400, which is often rounded down to 384,000 or up to 385,000 (because 600km difference at this scale is almost trivial). Call it 3.754 Lunars.

This scale is all about traveling from one planetary body to another, and the entire history of manned spaceflight (so far) is 4 Lunars or less.



Footprint of Buzz Aldrin on the moon. Public domain courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Local Interplanetary 2: 4 Lunars (409.6 Kkm) – 16 Lunars (1638.4 Kkm)

Earth-grazing asteroids and dangerous comets.

Local Interplanetary 3: 16 Lunars (1638.4 Kkms) – 64 Lunars (6.5536×10^6 km)

Not very much at all.

Local Interplanetary 4: 64 Lunars (6.5536×10^6 km) – 256 Lunars (2.62144×10^7 km)

Not very much at all.



Image by Wikipedia user Brian0918, Public Domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons, rotated & reoriented by Mike

Local Interplanetary 5: 256 Lunars (2.62144×10^7 km) – 1024 Lunars (1.05×10^9 km)

Venus, at its closest to earth, is 390.6 Lunars away.
Mars, at its closest, is 537.1 Lunars away.
Mercury is, at best, 752 Lunars away.

Local Interplanetary 6: 1024 Lunars (1.05×10^9 km) – 4096 Lunars (4.2×10^9 km)

The sun is 1362.3 Lunars away (=1 AU).

The Asteroid Belt sort of fades in and then fades out, without clearly-defined limits. The Core of the belt starts about 2.06 AU out and ends 3.27 AU out, so it straddles the change of scale. 2.06 AU is about 2812.6 Lunars away.

The 4096 Lunars limit of this sub-level is equivalent to 3.0068 AU – call it 3AU.

That’s long enough to reach a counter-earth (if there really was one) without cooking ourselves along the way.

Outer Interplanetary Scale

The boundary between inner and outer solar system is generally considered to be Jupiter. But that doesn’t quite fit our scale, so 1 unit of this scale is 3 AU. I have named these units Bouvards after the mathematician who predicted the planet Neptune from orbital irregularities of Uranus – because I don’t think he gets enough credit for his role in exploring the outer solar system.

From this point on, it becomes less relevant to think of the distance from Earth to an object and more relevant to consider the distance from the sun; by definition, this adds an error rate of ±1 AU, or 0.33 Bouvards, to the measurements.

I have chosen to use 3-exponential for this scale.

Outer Interplanetary 1: 1 Bouvard (3 AU) – 3 Bouvards (9 AU)

The outer edge of the core of the asteroid belt is 3.27 AU from the Sun, or 1.09 Bouvards.



This is an excerpt from a public domain image showing the relative sizes of the planets. Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

Outer Interplanetary 2: 3 Bouvards (9 AU) – 9 Bouvards (27 AU)

At its most distant, Jupiter is 3.957 AU or 1.33 Bouvards away from the Earth.

Saturn’s most extreme position is 10.27 AU or 3.42 Bouvards from the Earth.

Uranus is about 20.5 AU, or 6.83 Bouvards away.

That’s three of the four gas giants.

Outer Interplanetary 3: 9 Bouvards (27 AU) – 27 Bouvards (81 AU)

Neptune is about 30.06 AU out, or 10.02 Bouvards.



Image of the Kuiper Belt by the European Southern Observatory released into the Public domain, courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

From that distance and out to 50 AU (16.7 Bouvards) is the Kuiper Belt, and home to comets and dwarf planets like Pluto.

Outer Interplanetary 4: 27 Bouvards (81 AU) – 81 Bouvards (243 AU)

Nothing known.

Outer Interplanetary 5: 81 Bouvards (243 AU) – 243 Bouvards (729 AU)

Nothing known.

Outer Interplanetary 6: 243 Bouvards (729 AU) – 729 Bouvards (2,187 AU)

The inner edge of the Oort Cloud is just barely inside this range at 667 Bouvards.

Outer Interplanetary 7: 729 Bouvards (2,187 AU) – 2,187 Bouvards (6,561 AU)

Oort Cloud.

Outer Interplanetary 8: 2,187 Bouvards (6,561 AU) – 6,561 Bouvards (19,683 AU)

More Oort Cloud.

Outer Interplanetary 9: 6,561 Bouvards (19,683 AU) – 19,683 Bouvards (59,049 AU)

Still more Oort Cloud.

Outer Interplanetary 10: 19, 683 Bouvards (59, 049 AU) – 59,049 Bouvards (177, 147 AU)

The outer edge of the Oort Cloud is roughly thought to be 100,000 AU out (33,333 Bouvards) – but some estimates double that. Nevertheless, the outer limit of this scale is big enough to encompass most, if not all, of it.

The inner limit of this sublevel is 0.9337 light-years from Earth, and the outer is 2.8 light-years from Earth. You may also hear or read the term parsec used from time to time; 2.8 light years is 0.858484 parsecs.

This is the outer edge of our solar system, so far as we know. If Alpha Centauri has an Oort Cloud the size of the Earths (and we have no real reason to assume otherwise), it’s outer edge also falls into this sublevel (just barely) at 2.62 light-years or 55,253 Bouvards. Our Oort Clouds would be only 1.04 light years apart.

Unless the 200,000 AU people are right, in which case our Oort cloud would be partially inside theirs and vice-versa….

Local Interstellar Scale

2.8 light-years is one Romer, named for the first person to calculate the Speed Of Light in a Vacuum; Romer’s value stood for 54 years as the best that science could do. Sub-levels on this scale are 2-exponent.

Local Interstellar 1: 1 Romer (2.8 ly) – 2 Romer (5.6 ly)

Alpha Centauri, the closest significant star to Earth, is 4.2 light years away, right in the sweet spot for this range.

Local Interstellar 2: 2 Romer (5.6 ly) – 4 Romer (11.2 ly)

Barnard’s Star, the second-closest star to Earth, is in this sub-level. But so are 13 other stars, including Wolf 359 (well-known to Star Trek fans), Epsilon Eridani, and Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky. Between them, those 13 stars have 14 known or possible planets – so far.

Local Interstellar 3: 4 Romer (11.2 ly) – 8 Romer (22.4 ly)



A spatial representation of every star within 14 light-years of Sol. Image by Inductiveload, released into the public domain, courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

Alpha Canis Minoris (aka Procyon) – 11.4 ly.
61 Cygni – 11.4 ly.
Epsilon Indi – 11.9 ly.
Tau Ceti – 11.9 ly.
70 Ophiuchi – 16.7 ly.
Altair – 16.7 ly.
Alsafi (Sigma Draconis) – 18.8 ly.
Eta Cassiopeiae – 19.33 ly.
G Eridani – 19.7 ly.
Delta Pavronis – 19.893 ly.

Plus another 68 solar systems within 20 ly of Earth. And another 34 beyond that, the most significant of which are HD219134 and Xi Bootis, at 21.3 and 22 ly, respectively..

Local Interstellar 4: 8 Romer (22.4 ly) – 16 Romer (44.8 ly)

Vega – 25 ly.
Fomalhaut – 25.1 ly.
Pollux – 33.7 ly.
Arcturus – 36.7 ly.
Capella 42.9 ly.
And hundreds more.

Local Interstellar 5: 16 Romer (44.8 ly) – 32 Romer (89.6 ly)

Castor – 51 ly.
Aldebaran – 65 ly.
Regulus – 79 ly.
Mizar – 83 ly.
And thousands more.

Local Interstellar 6: 32 Romer (89.6 ly) – 64 Romer (179.2 ly)

Algol – 93 ly.
K2-18b -120 ly
Markab – 140 ly.
And thousands more.

Radio was invented in 1896, but the power was quite until part of the 1936 Olympics in Berlin were transmitted using an early TV transmitter. That signal has now traveled some 89 light years and has just entered this sub-level. If the earlier signals were detectable (not impossible), they are now 129 light years away and approaching the mid-point of the sub-level.



This is an artist’s impression of the Milky Way Galaxy according to the latest information we have, which I have edited to (a) drop in an enlargement, and (b) mark on that enlargement just how minuscule 129 light years is. Original image by NASA (public domain) courtesy Wikimedia Commons. If you can’t find it, I assure you that it’s there – but that rather proves my point, don’t you think?

K2-18b is significant because, from earth, we have been able to detect gasses in its atmosphere that so far as we know are only produced by simple life forms. That means that from that far away, our equivalents could detect life on earth through its chemistry. They would currently be looking at the earth as it was 120 years ago, in 2025-120=1905, by which time significant pollution would be in the atmosphere; sometime over the next 50 years or so, it would become completely clear that the place was either (a) extraordinarily unlikely, or (b) home to a technological civilization.

And that’s what this scale is all about. I’ve erred on the side of caution by suggesting that the signs of intelligent life might be detectable from even further out – the limits of the scale below are 358.4 ly, which would mean anyone observing earth would now be looking at the year 1666. I think that would be pushing credibility beyond breaking point, but somewhere between that and the 32 Romer lower limit of this sub-level, it becomes possible.

Local Interstellar 7: 64 Romer (179.2 ly) – 128 Romer (358.4 ly)

Izar – 202 ly.
Spica – 250 ly.
Bellatrix – 250 ly.
Canopus – 310 ly.
Acrux – 320 ly.

And probably tens of thousands more.

Regional Interstellar Scale

358.4 light years is one Herschel, named after the astronomer who did more to establish the shape of the galaxy than any other (even if he did get some details wrong).

The major difference between Regional Interstellar distances and Local Interstellar Distances is that we are more interested in noteworthy and unusual stellar phenomena and not so much in ordinary stars.

For the RI scale, I’m going back to 2-exponential because the distances involved here grow really big really fast, but anything larger is too coarse a measurement at low levels..

Regional Interstellar 1: 1 Herschel (358.4 ly) – 2 Herschels (716.8 ly)

The closest known Pulsar to Earth is 398 ly away – a mere 1.11 Herschels. The next closest is just outside this sub-level.

Betelgeuse is 408-548 or maybe 640 light years away. Everything in that distance is securely in this sub-level.

The Pleiades, one of the closest star clusters to Earth, is only 444 light years away.

Polaris is at a distance of 430 light years, while Antares is 550 light years.

At a distance of 610 light years is another cluster, the Beehive Cluster, which contains an astonishing 1000 or so stars, far more than is usual. Other sources place it even closer at 520 light years, but the consensus is currently moving closer to 600 or so.. It’s only about 23 light years in diameter.

Regional Interstellar 2: 2 Herschels (716.8 ly) – 4 Herschels (1,443.6 ly)

At 727 ly from Earth, the second closest pulsar can be found. It is also the most massive discovered to date. Two more pulsars and a Neutron Star also lie within this sub-level.

Rigel is 848±65 light years from Earth. 860 is the usual approximation.

Mintaka, the third of the stars in Orion’s Belt, is a six-star system 1200 light years from Earth. In combination, it’s six stars are around 250,000 times as bright as the sun.

Alnitak, one of the systems that make up Orion’s Belt, is 1260 light years away. It is a triple-star with the more distant member orbiting the other pair once every 1500 years.



Image by Zegery, released under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license, courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

The Orion Nebula, a well-known interstellar nursery, is 1344 light years from Earth. It’s actually an astonishingly small object, only about 25 light-years across.

Regional Interstellar 3: 4 Herschels (1,443.6 ly) – 8 Herschels (2,867.2 ly)

The closest known Black Hole is 1560 light years away, part of a binary star system. Another such pair is 1840 light years from us.

Alnilam, the second star of Orion’s Belt, is 2000 light years away. It’s the 29th brightest star in the Earth sky despite being much farther away than the others in the Belt.

There are two known pulsars in this sub-level, at 2055 and 2316 ly respectively. The latter is also named Lich after the Undead monster.



Image of the Ring Nebula by NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope (public domain), courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

The Ring Nebula in the constellation of Lyra is 2567 light years away.

Deneb, one of the most distant stars visible to the naked eye, is not much further at 2600 light years.

Regional Interstellar 4: 8 Herschels (2,867.2 ly) – 16 Herschels (5,734.4 ly)

3400 light years away is a supernova remnant; the explosion was reported by the Chinese in 393 CE and the remnant is now known as the Wei Asterism – there doesn’t seem to be a great deal left.

There is another pulsar 1060 parsecs (3457 ly) away. Three others also lie within this sub-level, and one more – the black widow pulsar – that might be.

The width of the galactic arm containing the sun, the Orion Arm, is 3500 light-years across. However, the Sun is quite close to the inner rim of the arm. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find an estimate for how close the nearer edge was. Still, since 1 Herschel is only 10.24% of the greater distance, it seems likely that it is one Herschel or less to that near boundary.

3800 light years finds another binary-star black hole, as does 4700 light years. At 5150 light years, there is an isolated black hole, and at 5400 light years, another binary pairing. Right on the edge of this sub-level is one more binary pair which includes a black hole, 5720 light years away..

The distance to the next nearest galactic arm (Carina-Sagittarius) is estimated to be 1400 parsecs or 4566.2 light years.

Some of the closest super-massive stars to Earth can also be found in this sub-level. There’s HD229059 (69 Suns) at 3,000 light years, Trumpler 27-27 (81 Suns) at 3900, Trumpler 27-23 (64 suns) also at 3900, HR6187A (63 suns) at 4300, and 5 more. The most distant of them is 5400 light-years away, and it is considered a Runaway Star from Cygnus OB2, a very young star cluster that is one of the largest known (ten times more massive than the Orion Nebula), which at 5120 light years, is also to be found in this sub-level.

Regional Interstellar 5: 16 Herschels (5,734.4 ly) – 32 Herschels (11,470 ly)

At 5900, 6500, and 7500 light years, there are another 11 supermassive stars. There’s also HD190429A at 7800 ly, HD93160 at 8,000, WR22A at 8300, HD303308 at 9200, two more at 10,000, one at 10,400, and no less than four at 11,000 light-years.



A mosaic of multiple images taken by the Hubble Space Telescope (NASA, public domain) of the Crab Nebula. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

This sub-level also contains five more Pulsars, including the Crab Nebula Pulsar and Cosmic Cannonball, which is moving away from the supernova remnant at 672±115 km per second, making it one of the fastest-moving stars every found – though initial estimates of its speed were an even higher 1500 km/s. At the moment, our theories don’t explain how it’s possible for a supernova to induce such speed.

The closest galactic arm on the other side of the Orion arm (the Perseus Arm) is about 6400 light years away, down from older estimates of 13,000 light years.

At 7,300 light years, 7,800 light years, 8100 light years, 8800 light years, and 11000 light years there are binary systems with black holes. At 8150 and 9260 light years are isolated Black Holes. The 7,300 light-year system is perhaps the most famous of these, Cygnus X-1.

Regional Interstellar 6: 32 Herschels (11,470 ly) – 64 Herschels (22,940 ly)

The Orion Arm is relatively short at 20,000 light years in length. This distance is enough to go from one end of it to the other.

There are 5 known pulsars and neutron stars within this sub-level.

V762 is the most distant individual star that can be seen from Earth with the naked eye at 16000 light years removed. It’s an absolutely massive variable star that is about 100,000 times as luminous as the sun.

Intergalactic Scale

Even a galaxy or galactic object that is not so far away (as galaxies go) is a LONG way away from Earth. This scale encompasses the entirety of the Milky Way and the nearest such collections of objects. I have decided to name this unit the Messier. Once again, I’ve found it more useful to use 3-exponential for this scale.

I also think it worth quoting the caveats given on the Wikipedia page, List of Nearest Galaxies:

“….aims to reflect current knowledge: not all galaxies within the 3.8 Mpc radius have been discovered. Nearby dwarf galaxies are still being discovered, and galaxies located behind the central plane of the Milky Way are extremely difficult to discern. It is possible for any galaxy to mask another located beyond it. Intergalactic distance measurements are subject to large uncertainties. Figures listed are composites of many measurements, some of which may have had their individual error bars tightened to the point of no longer overlapping with each other.”

In other words, this is the best information we currently have but a lot of it remains uncertain and subject to change. Some galaxies currently thought to be part of the local group may be de-listed, others now thought to be part of a neighboring group may be welcomed to the neighborhood, and distances can be radically altered as better information comes in.

Most of all, the number of galactic objects at a given distance is subject to massive revision. Right now, we haven’t even identified all the phenomena that we should be listing!

It is also worth remembering when perusing the lists that follow that only four galaxies are visible to the naked eye from Earth. Four.

Intergalactic 1: 1 Messier (23K ly) – 3 Messiers (69K ly)

The Galactic Core is 26,000 light years from Earth.

The outer edge of the Milky Way is about 27,000 light years from Earth on the closer side.

Intergalactic 2: 3 Messiers (69K ly) – 9 Messiers (207K ly)

70,100 light years gets you to Draco II, one of the closest and dimmest known galaxies.

75,000 light years away is another close neighbor galaxy, Segue 1.

The outer edge of the far side of the Milky Way is about 77,000 light years away.

The Sagittarius Dwarf Spheroidal Galaxy is 78,000 light years from us.

The Dwarf Galaxy Hydrus I, is 90,000 light-years away. 90,700 light years in a different direction will take you to either the Carina III dwarf.

Travel 98,000 light years and you reach the Ursa Major II Dwarf Galaxy. Or the Triangulum II Dwarf Galaxy, if you go in that direction instead.

102,000 light years away is the Reticulum II Dwarf Galaxy.

The entire Milky Way galaxy is 106,000 light years across.

Between 107,000 light years and 157,000 light years are 9 other galaxies, of which the most notable is Willnan 1 at 124,000 light years, which is an ultra low0-luminosity galaxy – in other words, it’s much darker and dimmer than usual.



Image of the Tarantula Nebula taken by the James Webb Space Telescope (NASA, public domain) courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

The Large Magellanic Cloud is 163,000 light years away. The Tarantula Nebula forms the Southeastern corner of the cloud (from our perspective), and is home to a huge number of supermassive stars, including the largest single star ever discovered at 196 Suns.

Two more galaxies are located at 179K and 186K light years respectively. At 197K light years, you will find Bootes I, which used to be a dwarf galaxy but which appears to have been torn apart – “disrupted” is the official term – by the Milky Way. Intergalactic Road-kill.

The Small Magellanic Cloud is 205,000 light years away, as is the Ursa Minor Dwarf Galaxy.

Intergalactic 3: 9 Messiers (207K ly) – 27 Messiers (621K ly)

At distances ranging from 235K to 258K light years are 7 minor galaxies.

The Pisces Overdensity is a clump of stars of uncertain history – possibly a disrupted dwarf Galaxy, perhaps not. It’s 260,000 light years away.

Between 267K light years and 326 light years are 9 minor galaxies. 330,000 light years takes you to the Carina Dwarf Galaxy.

Between 333 and 466 light years distance are 10 more minor galaxies.

490,000 light years away from us is the Cenes Venatici II Dwarf Galaxy.

You find another 6 minor galaxies between 492K light years and 597K distance from Earth.

Intergalactic 4: 27 Messiers (621K ly) – 81 Messiers (1.863×10^6 ly)

From 682K light years to 820K light years are another 6 minor galaxies.

The Milky Way is surrounded by a dark matter halo at a distance from the galactic center of 952,000 light years.

Beyond that, another 7 minor galaxies can be located within this sub-level.

Intergalactic 5: 81 Messiers (1.863×10^6 ly) – 243 Messiers (5.59×10^6 ly)

This sub-level takes us into the more remote parts of the local group, and a few galaxies which are not part of that group. It was the latter that signaled that it was time to change scales once again.

The nearest such galaxy is Cassiopeia 1, an isolated galaxy located 5.19 M light years from earth. Between us and that distance are 58 other galaxies, including two of the three largest in the local group – the Andromeda Galaxy at 2.5 M light years and the Triangulum at 3.2 M light years.



Everyone’s seen pictures of the Andromeda Galaxy, so I thought I’d do something different. This is an image of the Triangulum Galaxy by Nielander and released to Wikimedia Commons under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.

Beyond Cassiopeia 1 but within this sub-level is one more galaxy, Leo P, a small star-forming irregular galaxy first discovered as an ultra-compact high velocity cloud of Hydrogen Gas.

Transgalactic Scale

While there are still some of the more distant members of the local group in the early sub-levels, increasingly this scale is about larger structures within the universe, which we are only just beginning to understand.

At this distance, we don’t yet know what’s interesting and what’s routine. Rather than populate the individual sub-levels with irrelevancies, I’ll just pop in a few landmarks.

For this scale, the units have been named Hubbles (one Hubble = 5.6 M ly) and 5-exponential is the progression.

Transgalactic 1: 1 Hubble (5.6 M ly) – 5 Hubbles (28 M ly)

97 galaxies lie between 1 and 2.2 Hubbles, which is as far as Wikipedia’s table took me. The most distant member of the Local Group is either Leo P (see above) or possibly IC5152 at 5.68 M light years.

This sub-level therefore contains the entire Local Group, less than 1.0143 Hubbles wide.

Transgalactic 2: 5 Hubbles (28 M ly) – 25 Hubbles (140 M ly)

53.8 M ly takes you to the center of the Virgo Cluster. The Cluster contains 1300+ galaxies, possibly as many as 2000. It is

“…an aggregate of at least three separate subclumps: Virgo A, centered on M87, a second centered on the galaxy M86, and Virgo B, centered on M49, with some authors including a Virgo C subcluster, centered on the galaxy M60 as well as a Low Velocity Cloud (LVC) subclump, centered on the large spiral galaxy NGC 4216.

M87 is a giant elliptical galaxy which contains a supermassive black hole. It’s subclump is the dominant one of the entire Cluster, and it is about ten times the mass of the others. The three subgroups are in the process of merging into a single cluster, and are surrounded by isolated galaxies and galactic groups that are gravitationally bound to (and therefore part of) the Cluster, and which are likely to be absorbed at some point in the future.

Our Local group is neighbors to the Virgo Cluster but not a part of it (and it took a lot of research to discover that, for reasons that will become obvious).

The Formax Cluster is 62 M ly from earth; the Antilia Cluster is 133 ly away.

75 M ly from earth is the possible center of the Local Void, a region that starts at the edge of the Local Group and extends for another 150 M or 490 M or 980 M light years (the far edge is a bit fuzzy in definition)! This region has significantly fewer galaxies than normal.

The Virgo Supercluster, which contains more than 100 galaxy groups including the Virgo Cluster and Earth’s Local Group, has a diameter of 110 M ly. This Supercluster is one of about 10 million in the observable universe.

Transgalactic 3: 25 Hubbles (140 M ly) – 125 Hubbles (700 M ly)

A 2014 study found that the Virgo Supercluster is itself a component of a still larger group, Laniakea, which is centered on the Great Attractor. Laniakea contains about 100,000 galaxies. The lowest estimate for the distance to the Great Attractor is 150 M ly, and the highest is 250, so it is definitely a feature of this sub-level.

In fact, the span of the Laniakea Supercluster is about 500 M ly along it’s longest axis, so it also fits comfortably, in it’s entirety, within this sub-level.

Laniakea is in turn part of a larger structure, the Pisces-Cetus Supercluster Complex, also known as a Galaxy Filament. It is adjacent to the Perseus-Pegasus Filament. The PC Supercluster Complex is about 150 M ly wide.

The Centaurus Cluster is 171 M light years away.

The Hydra Cluster is 190 M light years away.

Transgalactic 4: 125 Hubbles (700 M ly) – 625 Hubbles (3.5 B ly)

The PC Supercluster is long and thin in shape – so much so that you have to go to this entirely new sub-level to contain it. It has an estimated length of 1 B ly, making it one of the largest structures in the observable universe.

The Sloan Great Wall is 1.3 B ly in size and is basically a wall of galaxies. If you think of the universe as a whole heap of soap bubbles (voids) connecting to each other, walls and filaments are the soap of the bubble.

Clowes-Campusano LQG is 2 B ly in size – it’s a group of 34 quasars.

U1-11 LQG, another group of quasars is 2.5 B ly.

Only two structures in the observable universe are known to be larger than these.

Transgalactic 5: 625 Hubbles (3.5 B ly) – 3125 Hubbles (17.5 B ly)

The first of those larger structures is the Huge-LQG, a 4 B ly -across quasar group, with 73 quasars.

But the winner (at least at the moment) is the Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall, a Galaxy Filament that is 10 B ly in length, and 9.6-10.5 B light years away.

Transgalactic 6: 3125 Hubbles (17.5 B ly) – 15625 Hubbles (87.5 B ly)

Or maybe it’s 15-17.675 B light years – if you factor out the expansion of the universe.

Transgalactic 7: 15625 Hubbles (87.5 B ly) – 78125 Hubbles (437.5 B ly)

The Observable Universe is about 93 B light years (16,607 Hubbles) in diameter. Beyond that, science claims, it’s impossible to know anything about what’s there – it doesn’t exist so far as we’re concerned.

Summary

So there you have it.

• The Planetary Scale: Aircraft 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 from 1-16525 Wrights.
• The Orbital Scale: Orbital 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, from 1 to 1024 Oberths.
• The Local Interplanetary Scale: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6, from 1 to 4096 Lunars.
• The Outer Interplanetary Scale: 1,2 ,3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, from 1 to 59049 Bouvards.
• The Local Interstellar Scale: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7; from 1 to 128 Romer.
• The Regional Interstellar Scale: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6; from 1 to 64 Herschels.
• The Intergalactic Scale: 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, from 1 to 243 Messiers.
• The Transgalactic Scale: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7; from 1 to 78125 Hubbles.

6(+1)+5(+1)+6(+1)+10(+1)+7(+1)+6(+1)+5(+1)+7 = 59 exponential increases to define the observable universe and the distance to anything and everything within it.

If I had used 2-exponential throughout, that would be 2^59 = 576,460,752,303,423,488 times the original 1 Wright.

If I had used 3-exponential throughout, that would be 3^59 = 14,130,386,091,738,734,504,764,811,067 times 1 Wright.

But, in fact, I used 2 sometimes and 4 or 5 sometimes. Nevertheless, it’s a totally preposterous number that I refuse to have anything more to do with.

59 Skill or Tech levels to define the ability to navigate anywhere in space.

The universe is thought to be 4.35 x 10^17 seconds old. If I divide that by 2^59, the matching precision for time travel would be 0.7546 seconds being the equivalent of 1 wright. But that’s only the past – what about the totality?

27.0 seconds – based on the most pessimistic estimate of the remaining lifetime of the universe. It well could be longer.

Models of Skill

I would contend that navigating at the planetary scale is a completely different problem to navigating in space, and that navigating interstellar distances in any practical way is also a fundamentally different practice. You might disagree, but play along for a minute until you see where I’m going with this.

If your current technology is measured, say, in Romer – which is what I would consider to be the case in Traveler, to name one game system – then you have Interstellar Navigation and Interstellar Engineering as the basic skills. The next smallest scale, Bouvards, is considered a freebie, a simpler subset of the Romer skills.

Local Interplanetary Navigation and Engineering is a separate skill, and gives you the next smaller one – Orbital – as a freebie.

That takes you down to basic aerial navigation at the planetary scale.

Okay, but what if you’re more advanced than that? Let’s talk Star Wars, and Herschel-scale skills.

Regional Interstellar Engineering (better known in this case as Hyperspace Drive Engineering) and Navigation covers Herschels.

You get the next smaller scale, Romers, free. They are considered a subset of the skills already listed.

You have to Buy Bouvard-scale Engineering and Navigation, probably described as Planetary-system Navigation and Sub-light Drive engineering.

That gives you both Inner and Outer system skills, because you get the next smaller scale for free, as usual.

Orbital is the next one that’s not covered, so you have Thrusters Engineering and Orbital Astrogation skills. But they give you the next scale down for free, and that’s the planetary scale, and ordinary Navigation.

This basic methodology means that most campaigns will define two or three engineering skills (to cover the maintenance and repair of wildly differing technologies) and two or three navigational skills to let you plot a course to where you are going.

Throw in the following:

The tech level within a Scale defines how far you can safely transit without incurring systems damage. Experimental systems may permit one additional step or may act to increase the reliability of the existing systems. Navigational skills cannot exceed the tech level; any additional skill levels beyond this limit provide a +1 to skill checks without increasing the skill description that you have. So Warp Drive Engineering (for a Star Trek campaign) 3+3 means that you can navigate up to 8 Herschels, and get +3 on your chances to do so. Smaller trips also add bonuses – so if you’re only going 4 Herschels, you’re only using skill 2, leaving an extra +1 for your rolls.

…and what you have is a universally-adaptable skill subsystem for the maintenance and navigation of any distance throughout the universe. If a trip is longer than you can navigate, you have to break that trip into smaller chunks and plot new courses when you reach the end of each stage of the journey.

The exponential increases in distance mean that it isn’t and should not be easy to go from one tech sub-level to the next. It will take time and technological improvements. Going from one scale to another may involve whole new technologies, even if you’re measuring them on the same old scale – being able to go from Warp Factor 3 to Warp Factor 5 as a top speed, for example.

So let’s end with this: the defined units (not all of which will be used in every campaign).

1 Wright = 6.4 m (21 feet).
1 Oberth = 15625 Wrights= 100km.
1 Lunar = 1024 Oberths = 102,400 km.
1 Bouvard = 4096 Lunars = 3 AU
1 Romer = 59049 Bouvards = 177,147 AU = 2.8 ly.
1 Herschel = 128 Romer = 358.4 ly
1 Messier = 64 Herschels = 22, 940 ly
1 Hubble = 243 Messiers = 5.59 M ly
16,607 Hubbles = the observable universe.

9 units – ten, if you count the meter or the foot – to define reality. My work is done.