Updates from the Outlands. Writing and Creativity.
Hi there, it’s been a bit.
I have been keeping busy. The past year saw me teaching college students the wonders and merits of writing and composition, contributing extensively to my WorldAnvil (which I would love if you checked out), and running plenty of TTRPGs.
But I did not contribute too extensively to this blog— and when a year rolled around without a substantial update, I could not help but feel rather… slackerish… about it. After all, I’m paying for the damn domain, I should use it! Why did this happen? Honestly, it was a combination of depression (which working through and getting better), stress, and divided focus. I’m refocusing now, and I missed writing here. Another big factor was my contributions to my far-more-prolific WorldAnvil. Essentially, I didn’t want to feel like I was copy/pasting from there to here and vice-versa. I don’t know why I felt that way, and going forward you can expect most things written in WorldAnvil to show up here, starting with two smaller short stories.
Let’s talk about write-ups. No, not the disciplinary referrals from your least-favorite elementary school teacher— I’m talking about extra flavor for your TTRPG campaign. The flake to the gelatto, the parmesan to the noodles, the soy sauce to the nigiri, campaign write-ups are my newly-discovered favorite way of adding world-building, characterization, and depth.
The definition of what a write-up is will vary from DM to DM, and that’s okay. My version can be a bit different than how you would do things. As with all things TTRPG, the extra how-and-why of the way you handle things is based on the needs of you, your players, and your world. That being said, let me explain why I started doing this:
The Campaign Write-Up
I was on my third notebook for campaign writing. My former two Moleskins had been filled front-to-back in drawings, sentences, descriptions, etc. (seriously if you don’t use a physical notebook for campaign planning— get one). But even now, on my third notebook, I encountered a problem I was having ever since the first: player agency.
The “problem” of player agency— and don’t worry I know that seems weird— is that if you run a true sandbox game your players may tarnish 10 pages of pre-prepared plans, dungeons, monsters, etc. This is only a problem that exists for the DM— and I’m using the term “problem” loosely here. I define the “problem” here the same way it would be used in a phrase like “problem solving.”
DMs can obviously reorient their parties, the goals, the story. Those monsters that would fill the “Dark Hollow Crypt” can make an appearance in the “Sunken Magistrate’s Tomb” (fill in the words in quotes with your own locations) but I think there’s often something that goes overlooked in these discussions… the plot and machinations of the DM. I feel like (with absolutely no evidence to back it up— this is all anecdotal) there’s an expectation for the DM to let their work get thrown into the fire if that’s the agency they give their players. But there’s something that seems flawed in that— and I think every DM who’s done more than just a tutorial adventure has felt this feeling, especially if they pen their own campaigns. It’s way easier to let a designer’s paragraphs of hard-work go to the wayside, it’s harder to let your own do so.
Storytime.
The PCs had just returned to the metropolis of Dellwind— the biggest city on the continent. This is a place filled with politics, where officials need to walk on eggshells to keep tempetuous deals and contracts secured, where even concepts like warfare and the military have been deferred in favor of profits. The PCs, through over a year of campaigning, have a solid connection with the leader of Dellwind, known as the Lord Steward.
They were to have a meeting with both the Lord Steward about the recent concerns of an enemy nation, Aomia, preparing to invade Dellwind’s sovereign nation, the Assembled Trade States. But not only was the Lord Steward here— but so was every sub-official, the archmage, the overseer of the economy, the leader of a rival group, various mentors, military officials, and faction representatives. Needless to say, there were a lot of people in this meeting. And the DM (me) is ALL of them.
That can get overwhelming. Even if you have a script or prepared lines the fluid nature of conversation and your PC’s agency will, rightfully, shift the way you run encounters like this. And I would classify this meeting as an encounter, a social one. This was a meeting that determined the PCs next story arc, they were given a task by the military and the government! This meeting would shift and shape what that task would be, what they would be required to do and how much they’d get in return. That part (rightfully) was designed to be fluid.
But was wasn’t fluid, and the amazing part of TTRPGs, was when my Ranger PC blurted out his open criticisms at the highest military official in the land. It’s GOOD I wasn’t prepared, Lt. Gen. Malcolm Henry Wight wasn’t prepared. What wasn’t as good was that I skipped over roughly 30% of my lines because I was improving— and that’s really okay— that’s good! What I wasn’t as okay with was that, because I’m not an actor by trade, I really lost a lot of the characterization and, arguably more importantly, I failed to deliver a supplemental detail to the PCs. By the time I realized it, the PCs were out of the room, the meeting, and a were already a few hours forward in-game.
So, I decided I would do a write-up, starting from the moment the PCs closed the door of the Lord Steward’s office. This write up allowed my NPCs to start talking to each other, and in a way that wasn’t awkward because it was me trying (and somewhat failing) to shift between two distinctive voices and personalities over a Discord call. The write-up allowed these characters to emote, to interrupt each other, talk over each other, and show better emotion than, well, what I can show to myself from myself.
Not only that, I was able to let characters who got—- I dunno— half a line of dialogue to be heard. The golden dragonborn Meister in the meeting, which was a strange sight to the players due to the lack of dragonborn in that part of the world, was intriguing to the PCs. But they couldn’t really talk to this guy, they had an important meeting to listen to with, essentially, the president giving them orders. However, in the write-up, I let the dragonborn speak, have a reaction, let his opinion on everything be known. The PCs don’t know it, but the players who read the write-up do. This isn’t a spoiler, in my opinion, or metagaming, it’s a way to give your world life and to let the PCs also feel like real characters in the world. PCs that leave an impact, that can make NPCs laugh, or cry. PCs that may find a way to understand how different NPCs feel.
My players told me, afterwards, that they loved this meeting scene— but the write-up, they said, added even more to it.
Second story.
I’m enamored by the weirder races of D&D— things like Neogi, Thri-Kreen, Ixitxachitl, etc. One feature about Sonnerand is that these races all have pretty significant holdings in various locations of the world. The focus here was on the Ixitxachitl (which is the only of these '‘off-kilter” races they’ve encountered so far) which, for those uninitiated, are lovingly referred to as “Devil Rays” and are awesome sanguine stingrays with a decent intelligence.
Fans of the recent decade of D&D would recognize them from the adventure Out of the Abyss where they have quite a lovely scene between them and the similarly-wonderful Kuo-Toa. In other settings, the Rays are servants of Demogorgen and prolific slavers. But that’s not how they act in Sonnerand.
Remember, in your world, things can behave however you want.
I spent a lot of time thinking about their culture, society, leadership positions, structural considerations, etc. It was really fun, I might post about it here sometime! But one thing that wasn’t shifted was the Ixitxachitl aggressiveness, their sanguine hunger, and their reverence of their holy caste. For these reasons, it would always be hard for the PCs to get close enough to study all of these things I worked hard on. This was only doubly true after the PCs attacked an Ixitxachitl priestess.
This is how a write-up can help your worldbuilding. I created an entire dungeon, stat blocks, treasure, boss fights, and magic devices on the off-chance (and I really hoped there would be a chance) that the PCs would be daring enough to infiltrate their compound. But the carrot-on-a-stick wasn’t big enough, and while they got close my PCs did not go into the Ixitxachitl compound. They never got to meet the vampiric Ixitxachitl Consuls! They never got to try the aquascope that could let them scry the ocean for miles!
But those things are cool. And I worked hard to create them.
A write-up saved me here. I wrote a story, one where I could explore the current problems of this micro-society and give reasons for their aggression and their murderous ways. This story was from the point-of-view of the Ixitxachitl Consul, I got to explore his alien-mind, his paranoia, the distrust of his co-Consul yet their flashes of cooperation too. I loved writing this, it was totally different than what I usually write.
But best of all, it did two things. One, it let me introduce things like that aforementioned aquascope naturally. My biggest pet peeve in worldbuilding is lazy worldbuilding— which I define as worldbuilding where something is explicitily and dryly explained.
Like imagine if in something like Avatar: The Last Airbender the narrator said “And the reason the Fire Nation has more industrial ships is because their firebending allowed them to discover coal and steam power faster.” Snore, boring. Part of the magic of a magical world, for me, is discovering why things work differently. Discovery breeds curiosity, you need curious PCs to have a good campaign (I’ll argue that with anyone). Write-ups can help develop this sense of discovery and mysticism (if that’s a tonal goal, intrigue, mystery, or grittiness can all be pushed).
The second thing the write-up did was, quite simply, helped me be a better storyteller. And obviously this isn’t a night-and-day type shift, but writing is a muscle— or maybe a muscle group. If you want good looking arms, you don’t just do push-ups, you also do pull-ups. You gotta work out the tricep and the bicep. The same is true in TTRPG writing. If you’re only writing the technical campaign rules or purple-prose-laced descriptions, you’re neglecting the other side of writing. You’re missing dialogue, suspense (of course you can do this campaign writing but it lives easily in write-ups), intercharacter relationships, the stuff that helps your world feel less like a series of maps and hubs and more like a world. I’ve noticed that, as I’ve begun writing supplemental campaign write-ups, the quality of my campaign planning and session design has also vastly improved. You’ll find that, as you write scenes in your world, you’ll also begin to feel like it’s bigger— and that you know it, own it, and control it. That’s a great feeling.
