Breathing life into setting notes; or, Remembrances of Towns Passed

So Shannon was asking about how I came up with the town descriptions a few days back. I started just with single sentences, but then decided to expand them into paragraphs. I'm hoping this is what she wanted; if not, you know where to find me!

Townsville is a large dormitory town, Smogburg is a declining industrial city, Twaddlehampton is a village full of authors who fled the city and retired senior managers, and Mucking is a rural hamlet where people actually work on farms.

The longer descriptions I wrote are based on a mixture of personal experience, stereotypes and extrapolation. Let's have a look at that. This will get a bit long, because it takes much longer to try and explain the thought process than to just do it. To be clear, while all of the long descriptions are based heavily on places I've been, I didn't plan the sentences that way.

I think the key here is that there are strong relationships between what sort of town a place appears to be, and the social, political, financial and practical traits of that town. In fact, a town's description is mostly a summary of those traits. In a lot of cases, and particularly for use in games or fiction where tropes and generalisations are expected, you can trace many of the traits back to a small number of key determining factors. In the following meanderings I will try to expose the inner workings of my mind.

For reasons of my goodness I like the sound of my own voice, it turns out only Townsville will fit in this post.

Townsville

Disclaimer: Townsville for me is the easiest to do subjectively and the hardest to do objectively, because Townsville is basically where I grew up. So there is a much bigger dose of experience here, and less actual thought required.

Townsville probably has few local amenities. Everyone shops at the out-of-town supermarkets on the way home, drives the kids to school and either watches the telly at home or goes to the city of an evening. There'll be some takeaways, and bored teenagers kicking walls. Clubs, churches and libraries will be small and mostly empty; nobody feels part of a community. Most are probably here "temporarily", even if they have been for several decades. The people work in white-collar jobs, but not very well-paid ones. There are few buses, and they take long, inconvenient routes. Most people don't know their neighbours, let alone any local gossip, and they keep to themselves unless something really dramatic happens.

If something weird happened in a house last night, the people of Townsville won't know anything about it. The police are slow to respond in Townsville where urgent problems are rare... they are pretty matter-of-fact about the graffiti and stolen cars.

I've noted here that Townsville is a lowish to middle-income place. There are also more expensive dormitory towns (which tend to be smaller and have more amenities and be rather less like dormitory towns) and very cheap ones serving a lower-income pool of workers (which may have a stronger community due in part to lower turnover, since there's fewer options for the low-paid). Each type has its own character and atmosphere, but the broad sweep is similar. There are also factors like ethnic variation, employment rate and age demographics that can change the nature of a town. For now, let's assume that Townsville has a common demographic makeup for the UK: a large working population, a sizeable retired chunk, some young families, and overwhelmingly white.

About 90% of what you need to know about Townsville can be deduced from the simple fact that it's a dormitory town. Quite a lot is already summed up in the phrase "dormitory town".

The overriding feature of dormitory towns is that they're fundamentally mostly where people sleep. A feedback loop often leaves them feeling rather sterile. Almost anything commuters want can be got more easily, more cheaply, and later at night either where they work, or with a detour on their commute. Many aspects of the town wither under that pressure, while others are warped to suit only the handful of people who aren't in the commuter mould, simultaneously making them even less appealing to the working-age commuters. Residents may not intend to stay long, and feel little incentive to get involved in the community; they're also often working long hours and travelling, which means limited time or energy to get involved.

If the town is substantially different from this, it's unlikely to be considered a "dormitory town" at all.

Shops

Working a long way from home and travelling, it's far more convenient for commuters to shop at lunchtimes or as a detour on the commute than to try and use local shops that are only open 9-5. A high proportion of commuters in a town tends to leave businesses failing; commonly, a retiring shop owner simply can't sell the business as a going concern. The feedback loop here is: shop can't get enough business -> quality of stock and service declines -> people are less likely to use shop, even non-commuters -> repeat until foreclosure. The fact that they're often competing with larger shops in the city, with lower relative costs and better cashflow, contributes to this. Basically, you tend to be left with three main categories of shops.

Firstly, things that are needed locally, often by people who can't or won't travel far, like the retired or ill - your hairdressers, booze shops, medical centres, chemists, takeaways, legal or financial advisors, garages and undertakers. There's usually a pub or two left, and a betting shop; until recently, a video rental shop. Maybe a charity shop, but probably not one of the big names. There might be a Greggs or something, especially on main road routes where they can cater to passing trade. Poor areas often have pawnbrokers or moneylenders. Basic and emergency groceries are covered by the occasional convenience store and/or corner shop.

Secondly, estate agents, which are everywhere. They're tied to a specific geographical area, so don't have much choice about location. Customers go there during working hours because they don't have much choice, but nobody uses them that much so we put up with it. In a place with a fairly high turnover of people, like the cheaper and more uninspiring type of dormitory towns, there may be quite a lot of them.

Thirdly, specialist shops that cover a broader area and avoid the main street, either for practical reasons (like parking) or just because of the rents. These mostly offer things that are fairly essential but occasional buys, though you do get the odd niche shop that serves a whole county's needs and does a lot of remote orders. Examples are pet supplies, hardware, mid-market white goods and electronics, beds or windows - most of these aren't readily available from supermarkets, or only a very limited range. There might also be a travel agent. In upmarket dormitory towns, you'd see more luxury and consumer goods, and possibly the odd health food shop or Chinese supermarket. Towns with a diverse population may have international food shops regardless of their economic situation.

Most towns will also have one or two standout odd shops that you wouldn't really expect to survive here. Maybe a handbag shop, herbal medicine place, a musical instrument shop. They might change regularly as optimists come and go, or might somehow stagger on for years through reputation or demographic oddities. Perhaps a prominent music academy in a nearby city means a lot of keen musicians who couldn't quite make a career of it live in the area. Perhaps an unusual religious sect is centred here and increase the demand for particular services. Maybe it's a hobby for someone independently wealthy, or supported by a charity to give work experience and purpose to vulnerable people. There could be a fantastic restaurant that isn't on the media radar because it's not flashy and the town's so anonymous.

What you really don't tend to get are the kind of thing you generally think of as "shops". Grocers, bakers, butchers, candlestick makers and other purveyors of necessities are vanishingly rare, and you also don't tend to get clothes shops, bookshops, shoe shops, hobby shops, travel agents or anything else that's more of a leisure activity. In both cases, it's more convenient to commuters to shop where they work, or make a weekend trip to the city where there are loads of shops to choose from.

Social life

A consequence of the commuter lifestyle is that often you end up not particularly bothered about integrating, especially if you view it as a temporary step. It doesn't matter much when you're the only one, but if most of the local populace have the same attitude, none of you are making the effort to sustain a community. Commuters used to driving a long way to work are often happier socialising with colleagues after work, getting a taxi to a club, or driving to another town to meet with friends.

As a result, community groups tend to be in a bad way, if they exist at all. Libraries are often little-used and that mostly by the retired or parents of small children; their stock reflects that audience and has limited appeal for other groups, especially when they can just buy a book online, or at least get it in the large city library. Pubs have a core of regulars, plus a regular trickle of occasional visitors who don't want to mix. Societies are short of members, because people are reluctant to get involved; with fewer members to share the work, demands on leaders increase, making those positions unpopular and undermining the whole society. It's also difficult to start new societies in a place where people don't really even know their neighbours.

Clubs that do survive tend to be aimed either at small children (Mums & Toddlers groups, nurseries and so on) or at the retired. They are usually struggling along rather than thriving, and rely on a small core of very determined members who bear the burden of the work, probably having been members for years. Churches will close or combine due to shrinking and aging congregations; an Anglican parish church or Methodist chapel may still be open, as these are the preferred choice for many retired people, and feel nicely traditional to those wanting weddings, baptisms or funerals. If Townsville still has a minister at all, they are probably pretty ordinary, working part-time as a nurse or admin assistant as well as looking after churches in several nearby towns. Evangelical churches are incredibly rare: there's no audience of enthusiastic students, nor a large pool of poor and needy folks they can work with. The bulk of the Townsville population simply aren't interested and keep themselves to themselves - if they go to church, it's generally somewhere else. Similar patterns may apply to mosques or synagogues, but I have zero expertise there and won't pretend otherwise.

There's usually primary schools, but not a secondary school. Teenagers have to head to the bigger towns nearby for that. If there aren't really any, there'll be a secondary school somewhere in the middle of a few commuter towns.

Because people commute some distance, they tend not to work in the same place as their neighbours, so don't bond over that like working-class neighbourhoods often do. On the other hand, because they don't tend to get involved in anything locally, they don't feel much social connection there either. The result is that people tend to barely know their neighbours, and certainly not many other people around the area, unless they're retired or have been here since they had young children. With older children leaving town for school, they don't meet people that way either, at least not in the local area. So they can't usually tell you much about their neighbours, let alone anyone further away. Local "characters" are very rare because you need public notice to be a character; only the odd publican or shopkeeper qualifies.

Other stuff

Many of these towns began as small places or groups of villages, and had substantial numbers of houses added in the past couple of centuries. Often, the builders didn't incorporate much in the way of amenities; in other cases they were sold off later for one reason or another, and turned into more housing. You tend to end up with very sterile places consisting pretty much just of houses, where kids are left with the options of playing indoors, glaring sullenly at passers-by, or trying to get to the next town in the hope it's less boring. No playgrounds, very few youth clubs (the town probably wasn't originally big enough to need one), little spare land to mess about in, few parks. There may be groups like the Scouts, but not usually snooker halls or cinemas. Nowadays, with more cars about, the streets are often too dangerous to play in, and councils have got paranoid about playground safety and removed many of the facilities. Rare scraps of public land may be dominated by particular kids and unwelcoming to others. Some dormitory towns have nearby wilderness or farmland to hang about in, or kids may go to a shopping centre if one's nearby. Others are basically hemmed in by major roads, railways, industrial areas, topography and other obstacles.

Partly as a result, and partly because that's life, there's a moderate amount of antisocial behaviour like graffiti, shouting abuse at strangers, or getting drunk and stupid. Car crime and burglary are the most obvious crimes, due to houses left empty all day and lots of cars left outside at night, but the crime rate is relatively low because it's a middle-class area without much in the way of gangs or really valuable stuff to nick. Driving and parking offences are also likely because everyone drives all the time. These crimes aren't particularly urgent and tend to be dealt with methodically, with police focusing on more serious crime elsewhere. With few pubs and most people heading elsewhere or staying in for evening entertainment, there's rarely trouble on the streets at night apart from bored teenagers. If any trouble spots do emerge, usually a particular pub or takeaway, they're prime targets for "concerned citizens" and keen police officers and likely to be dealt with quickly. As with anywhere, it's pretty common for one local pub to have a dubious reputation.

However, the relative anonymity of the town, and its fairly respectable tone, makes it good cover for certain crimes. Drug-dealers may set up here, and even sell to the upper end of the market from their houses. Fences might decide they're unlikely to be searched by police here. Local newspapers often carry small adverts for dubious "massage" businesses whose addresses turn out to be houses. Domestic abuse, alcoholism and drug abuse can easily go undetected with community ties so weak, and victims have limited social support; however, they may find it easier to get help than poorer people elsewhere.

With neither very cheap nor very posh houses, dormitory towns are dominated by white-collar workers who earn enough to pay the mortgage on an unimposing semi-detached house with a small garden. People earning more tend to head somewhere a bit more interesting; people earning less can't afford to live here. There's usually a more expensive end (with bigger houses and double garages, and maybe a semi-gated feel) and a poorer end (with run-down wartime housing, either semis or terraces). Tower blocks and apartments are both highly unusual. There will be the odd cheap flat over a shop or takeaway, but shopkeepers often live there to save money, unlike more prosperous towns.

There may be the odd street-living homeless person in town, but they likely use it as a base because they've found somewhere convenient to doss down. You're unlikely to notice actual begging; with very little use of the shops and that mostly by the retired or unemployed, and most people driving around rather than walking, there's no good spots to wait and ask for change. You're unlikely to see a Big Issue seller, charity collectors or business touts in town for the same reason.

Depending when the town was absorbed into the commuter belt, there may be a core of old residents who remember it as an independent town or villages. Fiddling around with this and the progress of dormitorisation can vary the feel of the town so as to give it a unique atmosphere - different levels of community, different types of shops.

There is typically decent transport to the employment hubs, but not necessarily much else. Getting to other towns can be difficult, and public transport is often poor outside the rush hour band. Navigating the town can be confusing, because housing estates are built with awkward roads that mostly don't provide through routes, and often confusing name schemes. My favourite real-life example here is an estate that assigned only one road name to the whole place, making it impossible to navigate. Those built more than a few years ago also tend to have limited parking, so the streets are blocked with parked cars.

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If there's demand for it, I'll look at some more examples. Or apply the same idea to something else. I like inventing stuff. Just drop me a line.

Characters in Monitors, a first glance

So, making Monitors. Which is to say, PCs for the game.

My basic plan is something like this (in approximate order):

• Select Species. Now or at any future point, make fluff choices as necessary.
• Select Background.
• Allocate spare Attribute points, or choose a template.
• Select 2 Spells (note to self, design more spells!).
• Select any 3 of Spell, Enhancement or Relic.
• Select equipment.

Because they are fun, I will probably aim to create an alternate chargen system that uses background history to determine Attributes and some of the other options, but that's very much a nice-to-have.

While I think things like connections to other PCs, family and so on are nice in games, I'm not convinced they are necessary as mechanical or even obligatory-fluff aspects of Monitors, a game about being a cybernetic reptilian secret agent space warlock.

Background

Background offers some situational bonuses when your characters deals with things that should be familiar to them. I'm not sure yet whether I'd rather do this with loose and player-defined backgrounds, or with something more like Traits/Feats that offer specific advantages. Careers will probably be loose. Things like homeworld and upbringing could be "pick some stuff about your background", or could be "pick three traits from this list". Everything apart from career will be optional, because it's easy to say your upbringing was nondescript, whereas the job that got you into the Monitors seems a lot more significant.

Careers

Monitoring isn't like adventuring; nobody grows up as a Monitor, so you must have done something before you were admitted to the organisation. You might still do a bit of it. So what is your character's previous career? Common options might include:

• Private Eye
• Armed Forces (pick one)
• Law Enforcement
• Criminologist
• Doctor
• Academic
• Experimental Scientist
• Anthropologist
• Paranormal Investigator
• Programmer
• Diplomat
• Accountant
• Technician
• Performing Artist
• Librarian
• Engineer
• Naturalist

You can invoke your career for a +2 bonus when you're dealing with situations relevant to that career. For example, a Doctor has experience of how things are done in hospitals, knows how to socialise with other doctors, can probably clear a way through a crowd, and is at an advantage in impersonating a nurse or anaesthetist because they understand something of the role. A performing artist will know industry rumours and personalities, knows theatre layouts and procedures, understands what circus gear or lighting equipment is for, and has probably picked up a smattering of all kinds of skills from other performers that aren't directly modelled as Attributes. A technician has rapport with other mechanically-minded types, is used to getting into places where nobody recognises them, can probably invent plausible excuses for being somewhere, and may have a lot of experience of building layouts, naval procedures, city infrastructure, or whatever is suitable to their area of work.

Background should offer bonuses for familiar situations and background knowledge, not simply act as flat bonuses to Attributes. Being a Doctor does not grant an effective +2 to your Medicine rolls.

As a theme note, the Monitor Organisation is keen to keep its reputation clean, and that means a wary eye on recruiting policies. Criminal backgrounds should be avoided; if your character was a bit of a tearaway in their youth that's one thing, but actual career criminals are not going to make it into the Monitors without some seriously exceptional circumstances. In particular, serious crime will be an absolute no-no.

Homeworld

Homeworlds are an optional background step. A homeworld can be basically anything, from a lush jungle world to a dystopian colony ship to a freezing moon.

A homeworld with high or low gravity means characters are more used to those situations, and less likely to be inconvenienced. In the opposite gravity, though, they are more likely to struggle.

A homeworld with dense or thin atmosphere means characters are more practiced with respiratory gear and handling the effects of atmosphere sickness, but they are more vulnerable to the opposite atmosphere.

Traits like high or low temperature affect a character's competence with suitable survival gear, but don't affect their thermal capacity.

A planet's social traits, like being densely-populated, remote, low-tech or autocratic, give the character some insight into other planets with similar societies.

Upbringing

Upbringing is an optional background step. It relates to the circumstances of your childhood, the opportunities and connections you had, and your place in society. You might be from a privileged noble family, part of an egalitarian herding tribe, or brought up in a commune by anyone who was passing. Whatever your adult attitudes and career, you can't help picking up something from your childhood environment.

Templates

Templates are a quick and dirty way to create a particular type of character, by giving pre-spent blocks of skill points. I'll rustle up some basic archetypes like Infiltrator, Grease Monkey, Detective and Special Forces.

Spells

I already talked about spells a lot elsewhere. Most likely, if I can ever come up with a decent list of interesting ones, everyone will have about three.

Enhancements

Ah, cybernetics. All Monitors have a few minor implants that I've mentioned before. Enhancements are the real deal. Bionic limbs. Electonic eyes. Biomechanical organs. Expensive nanotech. Implanted weapon systems.

As yet I am not entirely sure how these will work.

Relics

You can't have a sorcerous game without arcane relics. At least, it seems less fun that way. Relics aren't compulsory because, while I want both science and magic to be core to the game, I feel like Spells already handle the magic thing, and making everyone have a relic and cybernetics and spells would make them just a little bit too copy-paste somehow.

Relics will cover things from magic rings and amulets to enchanted statuettes, mystical capes, boxes of mysterious powders, wands, staves and rods, magic boots, runic blades, ensorcelled shields, crystal balls and all that magical jazz.

As yet I am not entirely sure how these will work.

Equipment

Monitors is supposed to be more of an iconic than a dramatic game, so as with all those weekend cartoon shows and other inspirations, characters very rarely make significant changes to their equipment. This is not a loadout-of-the-week game. During character creation, you pick your character's favoured and habitual gadgets, clothing, weapons and other gear. Individual adventures might require things like atmosphere suits, diving gear, harpoon guns or experimental jetpacks, but those are specific to the plot.

For now, I'm going to keep it loose and say you pick "an amount of equipment that you reasonably expect to use, most of which you can reasonably carry simultaneously". I don't want people having loads of stuff because I think it'll water down the interestingness and fun of what you do pick. I also don't want the classic issue of people allegedly carrying six broadswords, a fusion rifle, four hundred arrows, a thousand gold pieces, the head of a manticore and six weeksworth of rations, despite being a scrawny 5'4" wizard with a knife sheath and a belt pouch.

I'm pretty happy to handwave outfits. Characters wear stuff, or not, if you prefer.

As yet I am not entirely sure how these will work.

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Hey, look at that well-defined game right there! ....sigh.

Monitors: making magic again

Revised spellmaking

So I've looked at skills again briefly, and finally had a little bit of time to consider spells. Let's see if I can nail down some of those sample spells a little better.

I still see three broad categories of spell. Instantaneous spells will take effect and then end. Concentration spells will continue as long as the wizard can devote some attention to them: they may end when the wizard falls unconscious, or when something else distracts the wizard, such as casting another spell or engaging in combat. Persistent spells will simply continue until their ending conditions are met.

Knocking out or killing a wizard is not usually sufficient to end their spells.

Wizards are unaffected by their own spells except where it suits them. Allies are usually subject to the spell's effects.

The precise area or number of targets affected by a spell is limited by the GM's discretion, and should be moderate to impressive, rather than epic. Similarly, spells provide general guidance as to their effects, and the GM should decide the precise results. These do not need to remain entirely consistent; consistency is less important than both fun and balance, and you can't think of every possible future situation when making a ruling. Magic is weird, after all.

Another rule I'm considering, but not yet sure of, is allowing wizards to expend additional heat points to increase the power of spells, such as the difficulty of rolls to resist their effects.

As a placeholder rule, non-poiks attempting to cast spells must roll Difficult Endurance. If they fail, they suffer a Wound. Regardless of the result, they gain a lingering injury that seems appropriate.

Onslaught of Wrathful Winds

A howling wind erupts around the wizard, rushing in whatever direction they desire. Nearby creatures must battle against the wind (roll Strength) or be slowed, dragged along or hurled off their feet. Small objects are blown around, and dust or other debris may choke and blind (1d4) those affected. This spell may stir or quench fires, drive away gases, ward against flames or sprays of liquid, and so on. It can counter the effects of existing winds, including another instance of this spell.

Roll Will (Difficult) to shield some potential targets from the wind's effects.

This spell can be maintained by concentration. It does not work in confined spaces, nor in a vacuum. At the GM's discretion it may work underwater by evoking a powerful current. It may also travel with the wizard, allowing its use to power a sailing vessel.

Let's consider some specific outcomes. In this case, a GM might let the result of Strength rolls determine whether targets are pushed back (with a close failure) or fall over (with a bad failure). Objects vulnerable to blowing over, like filing cabinets, may make a random roll. Creatures or objects rushing towards the wizard have their progress slowed. If the spell is cast in a sawmill, desert or decaying mansion, it may cause all targets to roll saves against Blinding 1d4, although except in the desert, the available dust is likely to be exhausted after the first round because the wind is blowing it steadily away.

This spell could be easily used to protect a group against a wildfire, the spray of a giant skunk, or fumes from a volcano.

Unchaining of the Wild

Vegetation erupts into furious growth, ensnaring creatures and enveloping structures in an area. Creatures may be trapped by the tangling plants, and objects or mechanisms immobilised. Under appropriate circumstances, the plants may hold together damaged buildings, cushion falls, slow down speeding objects, reduce visibility and so on.

This spell is limited to Medium range. It does not create plants from nothing, and its effect will vary with the quantity and nature of local vegetation. They may exceed the normal limits of growth for their species. Effects on fungi and bizarre extraterrestrial organisms are entirely at the GM's discretion. The wizard has no direct control over the plants but can guide their general growth towards particular ends. The growth is as permanent as any natural growth. Sentient plant creatures may ignore the usual effects of the spell and incur other effects at the GM's discretion.

Breaking free of bonds, like the plants in this spell, is generally a Strength roll. Freeing an object or another person may call for a set number of actions, or allow a roll to do it faster; for example, a successful Tech roll will allow you to free vital components of a device with a single action.

Casting this spell in an area of vicious thornbushes is likely to injure anyone caught in them, perhaps when they make a Strength roll to escape (Armour saves permitted). If local plants produce unusual chemicals or are carnivorous, these traits may be magnified as well.

In general a wizard shouldn't be able to specifically direct the growth of individual plants, but the GM should allow them to (for example) steer a tree towards an interesting window, or encourage vines to bind a fragile bridge rather than sprawling off in another direction. In short, the wizard should be able to use this spell to achieve something, rather than simply making some plants grow.

The disclaimer for sentient plants is really to avoid a situation where the PCs are horribly deforming and mutating a sentient race for their own convenience. It is, however, guidance.

Invocation of Primal Nightmares

Utter dread erupts in the mind of nearby creatures, their worst ancestral fears overwhelming them. Those unable to choke down their fear (Will) may freeze, flee, scream or otherwise react appropriately. They roll each following round to recover. While affected, they can still take actions the GM feels are reasonable.

This spell has Short range and is treated as a Blast. Mindless entities are unaffected by this spell. This spell persists until all targets succeed at a Will roll.

This spell immediately makes me cautious. So far, I've been assuming that creatures would tend to have attributes of about 2-5 for civilians, moving up to 8 for professionals and 12 for specialists. On that model, this spell will disable even competent opponents for about two rounds apiece, which potentially makes it far more effective than most weapons. On the other hand, I'm not particularly keen to have three special attributes which are higher than others and work differently, because then they're looking less and less like attributes. Arguably, the usefulness of this spell is limited because it doesn't necessarily stop people attacking you (terrified shooting is a valid response), can raise the alarm and so on, doesn't necessarily last that long, and because you don't actually get that many heat points to spend (in theory). Also, taking this spell will prevent you from taking another one, which is an issue worth noting.

Emerald Sigil of Splendour

The wizard draws a glorious symbol in lines of burning green, drawing the eyes of onlookers and transfixing their minds. Creatures able to see the symbol must roll Will each turn or stand transfixed in admiration.

This spell can be maintained by concentration. Mindless entities are unaffected by this spell.

Covenant with Night

Pure darkness roils through the air, blotting out sight and warmth alike. No light from infra-red to ultraviolet can penetrate it, and creatures within are unable to see at all. Navigation by sound and touch is possible. Other electromagnetic wavelengths, including radio, gamma and X-rays, can penetrate it. The darkness does not cause cooling, but blocks most sources of heat.

This spell affects a moderate area within Medium range. It persists for a few minutes before fading out, and cannot be moved once cast. As a rule of thumb, treat affected creatures as Blinded as well as any sensible consequences for total inability to see.

Very few rules needed here, except the guidance on how to model the effects of total darkness. These will probably appear elsewhere because they're handy in adventuring.

Call the Ashen Beast

Dust and smoke coalesce into a grey, predatory form. The beast is an elemental that defends the wizard, obeying simple commands. When the spell ends, the beast disperses into lifeless dust.

The beast has 2 Wounds, Armour 4, and 6 in Agility, Combat, Endurance, Perception, Stealth, Strength and Will. Any two of these attributes may be increased to 10 at the time of casting. It can't understand complex commands, spy, convey messages or manipulate objects. This spell persists until the beast reaches zero Wounds, or for around six hours.

In this case, we need to specify what the beast's abilities and attributes actually are. It needs to be basically competent, but not anything like as dangerous as a Monitor. I gave it two Wounds so it shouldn't be one-shotted but it's not very tough. The two higher attributes allow the caster to summon a particularly stealthy or ferocious beast for a bit of flavour; they could also roll randomly if they want a bit of excitement.

This is the sort of spell where variable casting cost might be interesting; you could, for example, have the stats set to 1d6 per thermal point expended, each point taking a round to expend, probably with a cap at three or four. This would allow a wizard

New stuff

Echoes of Eternity

Standing close to a person, place or object, the wizard taps into its temporal stream, dredging up echoes of the past.

The wizard gains a single impression of the GM's choice relating to their chosen target, and relevant to their goals. They must be very close or touching to manipulate the target's aura. The impression might be a brief vision, a fragment of speech, the last thing the victim saw, an emotion, the purpose of a machine, the function of a ruined building, a scrap of knowledge or whatever else seems appropriate. If the target is entirely unconnected to the wizard's current goals, they learn something irrelevant. If the spell is cast repeatedly, the GM determines whether any new insight is gained. A target creature does not automatically know they are being examined.

This spell is a bit like speak with dead and some of the WOD spells (such as Time), but I've deliberately limited it so it shouldn't block certain kinds of game like investigations. The spell can be used to help PCs to prepare for a mission, learn interesting background, provide passwords, offer additional clues to a mystery, and so on. It might also be used tactically, for example to get an idea of how well-defended a stronghold is, establish whether an alien creature is dangerous, or gain insight into an antagonist's mindset.

I think the overtness of spellcasting is going to vary by spell rather than anything else. Some are pretty obvious, while in other cases the casting itself might be noticed but there's no obvious external effect.

Scarlet Interdiction

The wizard traces a complex rune that flickers with red fire, flaring into agonising life if anyone is foolish enough to try and pass it.

The wizard can trace this rune on any solid surface with about a square foot of room, but not a creature. Anyone except the wizard approaching within two metres suffers a Wound unless they roll Will to resist the psychic flare of the ward. It can be disabled with an Occult roll within or just outside that range, or by damaging or altering the surface enough to disrupt the rune. Tracing the rune is usually impractical during combat.

Technicalities aside, "creature" includes things like robots, summoned shadow-beings and all that. It doesn't include non-sentient machines. There's a slight issue in that with the current injury system, it's not entirely clear how useful this is outside actual combat (Wounds heal between "scenes"). The idea is that this spell hinders pursuit, since a reasonable GM should have enemies tending to fall back from the rune when injured, rather than force their way past it.

Victory of the Worm

The wizard's touch unleashes writhing temporal energies, speeding decay and ruin until the substance crumbles away.

The spell allows a wizard to inflict damage on an object as if using a weapon. Organic tissue, most metals, stones and plastics are affected by the spell; some non-reactive minerals (especially precious metals) are immune. Liquids can be broken down by the spell, but gases are largely unaffected. A few square feet of matter can be affected in a turn.

The spell can inflict damage like any Melée attack, but affects many creatures and machines immune to other forms of damage. Some remain immune because of their substance. A successful attack inflicts 1d3 Wounds.

This spell looks pretty powerful at first glance, but actually I think not. Given Monitors routinely carry weapons around, being able to damage an object isn't much of a boost. The advantage is that doesn't require equipment, so it can be used with infiltration or when captured. You could use this spell to escape handcuffs, destroy doors and sabotage machinery.

The ability to attack with it is really just a matter of logic. I considered having it not affect living tissue, but then you couldn't use it on plants, which seems a shame because getting through undergrowth or escaping Unchaining of the Wild seem ideal uses for this spell. I didn't want to go with "sentient beings" because it felt awkwardly mechanical. Pragmatically though, you can already inflict a Wound by just punching someone, so letting you do exactly the same with a spell didn't seem a problem. I played around with a few fiddly systems to handle having to touch exposed skin, or gradually rotting through armour, but in the end they felt too clunky. I've avoided having complicated grappling rules so far, but that's what you'd be looking at for a spell where you cling on and gradually wither someone. Simple seemed better.

Miscasts

My magic system is supposed to be side-effecty but reliable. Casting is always succesful providing you have the heat to spare (and if not, you're unconscious and in no shape to cast spells). There will often be unwanted side-effects to magic, but these are not horrific, do not directly endanger the wizard, and should not be large or undesirable enough to deter spellcasting. The idea is really to create atmosphere, rather than any kind of mechanical effect. Whether I can pull this off is another question.

Sticking with the whole d20 thing, I think I'm going to go for rolling on a d20 chart for effects. The rough breakdown will be 1-10 No Effect, 11-17 Trivial Effect, and 18-20 Substantial Effect. These aren't formal categories or anything, I just think that's about the right sort of balance. Depending what kinds of trivial effects I come up with, I might increase the range of those later. Depending how I implement things, I might have specific types of spell modify die rolls to try and get flavoursome effects. For example, if I have a sub-table of "Manifestations" then Call the Ashen Beast might well add to the result roll on that if a side-effect does occur.

What sorts of effects do I want? Let's try some examples, in some rough order of severity.

• A chorus of voices whisper to the wizard.
• Visions of a strange landscape flash before the wizard's eyes.
• The acrid taste of bile fills the wizard's throat as the strange syllables of the spell are spoken.
• Frost forms on nearby surfaces and a skin of ice over liquids.
• Strange lines etch themselves into the wizard's skin, fading slowly over the coming days. They may carry some meaning or be simply disturbing.
• The wizard feels watched, as though ancient and inscrutable eyes were drawn to them in the casting. (the GM might make a side-plot out of this)
• A sinister and unearthly laugh echoes around the room.
• A heady and somehow dangerous scent fills the air, sending senses reeling and leaving a lingering clue to the wizard's presence.
• Metal objects resonate eerily to some unheard harmonic of the spell. Determine the volume of the resonance randomly.
• Something seems to squirm and boil into life in the shadows, darting out of sight before you can focus on it. (the GM might use this minor entity or ignore it)
• In their mind, the wizard can feel the heartbeat of every nearby creature. This ability is both useful and distracting; apply a +2/-2 modifier as appropriate. The ability fades after a short while.
• Winds from some alien gulf wash over the wizard, sending dust dancing uncannily into strange and near-intelligible patterns.
• Leaves wither and crackle, or burst into new and unexpected life.
• A flash of witchfire traces wild patterns across the floor, leaving behind scorched trails.
• A swarm of insects gathers around the focus of the spell, whirling and humming.
• Intangible glittering motes twinkle into existence and float through the air, casting a faint and unearthly light. (these might give away the wizard's presence, provide light in a dark room, distract or alarm NPCs)
• Ghostly figures and structures fade into view, intangible but haunting. (these might provide a distraction or cover)
• Skirling spirits whirl and dance through the air around the wizard. (the GM might have these interact with nearby objects, distract creatures, attract attention or even pose a mild threat)
• The spell does not fade away, but lingers on regardless of the wizard's wishes. Its effects continue for an additional 1d3 rounds, but otherwise remains in the wizard's control. (The GM determines whether this effect makes any sense in context).
• The spell breaks free of the wizard's control. It fulfils the wizard's initial purpose, but has additional effects as determined by the GM. A summoned creature may be more self-willed than usual, but retains an amiable attitude to the wizard unless provoked; it cannot be dismissed. A concentration spell may linger for 1d3 additional rounds. The effects may be beneficial, problematic or neutral but should not be actively harmful, and should make sense in terms of the original spell.

Broadly speaking I've got effects that creep out the wizard; effects that are noticeable to other characters; effects that might have minor consequences for the wizard; effects that leave evidence and may distract characters; effects that might have notable consequences; and effects that twist the original purpose of the spell.

It's fairly easy to come up with the lower-tier ones (nosebleeds, smells, cosmetic changes, thoughts, emotions) but the more significant the effect, the more thought is required. I may need to brainstorm this one. Suggestions are welcome!

I am tempted to have one where the wizard is locked into the spell and unable to do anything until they break free, but not quite sure if that's still on the fun side of the line. What are your thoughts on this?

I'm also considering changing the way spells work so that instead of rolling to resist their effects (with low resist rate) the wizard has to roll to succeed (with generally higher resist rate). One to think about as there are issues of finding sensible stats to use, and of one stat ending up dominant.

Feckless Wastrels

I was supposed to be doing all kinds of other things, but a random particle of inspiration has hit some part of my brain, and I must write.

The thought process for this started with listening to The Walking Eye reviewing/discussing They Became Flesh. Apparently it's a very rules-light game, and they were saying something about how the PCs failing a Miracle roll was the spur for the GM to implement one of their actions, or something. I don't really remember because at that point my brain went off on a train of thought something like:

• Failing rolls
• Failure is interesting
• What would happen if you had a game where you were trying to fail at things?
• What sort of game could possibly support that?
• Various flashes of idea that all seem more like a board game rather than an RPG - getting parents to leave you in a life of idleness, undermining plans as a disgruntled civil servant, avoiding housework as a feckless husband... but very one-dimensional sorts of games really. You'd just be totting up points or something.
• Sudden brain linkage to PG Wodehouse.

It struck me you could potentially have a game where you play affluent, idle rich characters in a slightly larger-than-life setting who are trying to combine several goals: having a jolly good time, achieving whatever goals have crossed your whimsical mind recently, and (most importantly) avoiding anything resembling hard work. This might be involved enough to actually be interesting as an RPG.

What is Feckless Wastrels?

In Feckless Wastrels, you play the scions of various wealthy and/or influential families in a pseudo-Edwardian British setting (although it could probably be transferred to equivalent settings elsewhere). You may be rich or poor, of ancient noble stock or a rising industrial lineage, but you mix in the Right Circles nowadays, going to races and drinking cocktails, throwing bread rolls and putting on amateur dramatics. Once in a while you hop across the Atlantic, or nip over to the south of France for a repairing lease. And this leisurely and enjoyable state of affairs must continue!

The life of a wastrel is not as simple as it might appear. Danger lurks on all corners. Aunts plot unwelcome marriages to strait-laced bores or the kind of girls who talk about Spinoza. Friends of the family declare it's high time you were settling down. Siblings, themselves resigned to domestic bliss, are determined to lug you into it as well, or at the very least to offload some of their own work on you. Uncles insist that hard work would make a new man of you; cousins that any respectable woman should be able to earn a living. Parents look aghast at bar tabs and mutter alarmingly about allowances. Wherever you turn, there are attempts to drag you into employment, demands to entertain nephews, Bonny Baby prizes to present, policemen accusing you of pinching umbrellas when it was merely an honest misunderstanding, blackmail attempts, unfortunate runs of luck followed by bailiffs, and all manner of difficulties. On the other side of the equation, one finds a constant stream of old pals experiencing romantic difficulties, sneering acquaintances needing a put-down, really good tips on dark horses, family mansions in danger of purchase by ghastly American plutocrats, beloved relatives menaced by overbearing Dukes, jewel thieves and enough other obligations to make a fellow quite faint - another one, please, and make it a double.

The successful wastrel must delicately balance their activities. Relatives must be convinced, regularly, that one is simply no use whatsoever; that it is hopeless to think of employment, dangerous to demand favours, and undesirable to seek out potential spouses. On the other hand, there are allowances to think of, reputations to keep sully-free, and a certain minimum level of family affection to maintain. One has one's pride. Moreover, while some obligations are deeply unwelcome, others are matters of honour and pride. It is one thing to wriggle free of a School Treat and evade the clutches of a fish-featured suitor; quite another to leave a pal in the lurch or allow a belligerent uncle to learn of mater's gambling debts. Thus, there is a balance to strike between ineptitude and brilliance.

Basically, the idea is that you're trying to either succeed or fail at things, with failure being prominent. The player, of course, may want rather more failures than the PC would, because it's more entertaining. Various factors influence your successs; for example, your Pride may sabotage your plans to crash out of a competition in the early stages, while conflicting demands from NPCs may interfere indirectly. You try to keep public success and failure within certain bounds, otherwise you're in danger: appear too competent and you'll risk being forced into a job or given additional onerous family duties, but complete ineptitude may leave you sent off to a stern relative for emergency coaching, cut off from the funds, socially stranded or otherwise in trouble. What happens in private, of course, is another matter - providing it stays private.

As your reputation rises and falls, you'd get different kinds of opportunities and challenges to deal with. You'd be trying to manage a small number of trackers to keep yourself comfortable and avoid work (though of course the player doesn't necessarily want to do that).

System

This would be basically a trait-based system, I think. You'd want background because the difference between a poor aristocrat and a wealthy industrialist are pretty substantial in the demands placed on you and your options. You'd want a few personality-type traits, probably at different levels, because I think things like managing your Pride should be relevant. And you'd have a handful of specific traits that highlight anything else important about your character.

Importantly, you'd also have a Reputation tracker that shifts according to what people know about you. Possibly, public failures/successes would influence your Reputation while private ones would influence Pride? Although I'm thinking you might want a stat to track your social/peer reputation and honour, a stat for personal pride, and a stat for how feckless you appear - being feckless but trustworthy is a perfectly reasonable option. So we'll think about that.

Traits and your current trackers would influence your success and failure, not always in the way you want. Pride might push you to do better at things regardless of whether you want to. A reputation for fecklessness might help out, or make it hard to get things done. Being trusted will place demands on you, but being untrusted will make it hard to learn secrets or get favours. I might do this with a GM intervention thing, where the GM can call in your trackers, or just with a modifier on rolls.

I'll probably play with this a bit and come back to it, but I wanted to get the idea down while I had it.

Nassan: bully for you

The group historian, Bisclavret, assesses the area and assures them that it is indeed a ruined temple complex, dating back several hundred years. It's difficult to say any more from a distance.

The group decide to go with the probabilities and head straight for the surviving building. They approach with some caution in case anyone's sneaking about, and decide to aim for a gap in the walls rather than trying the main door. As a result, they enter through the back of the structure.

This proves to be a good move, because within the building they hear the sounds of movement, and quickly take cover. Unfortunately, Adrik trips over a stone and sends it clattering along with a resounding echo. Twisted shapes emerge, hopping and shambling, from the murk. They are a hideous sight, a twisted combination of diseased toad and wizened ape, and their faces show only loathing. These sad, horrible creatures are bullywugs, thought by scholars to be incarnations of paradox. They croak revoltingly and bound towards the party, who quickly move to use a handy gap in the walls as a bottleneck, with Adrik and Bisclavret bearing the brunt of the combat. The creatures bound heedlessly over crumbling walls to flail at the adventurers with crude weapons, their apparently uncaring as to their own fates. After a tough fight, with the bullywugs are despatched, and their pitiful visages relax into a strange kind of peacefulness.

The building has long been empty and nothing of professional interest remains, though there are some nice botanical specimens around here. Weather and time, and encroaching nature, have eroded any sign of the temple's original purpose. Finding the trail of their quarry, they follow it to a side-chamber where a trapdoor can be easily seen; recent use has shifted the grime around it.

Acrid, rising smoke warns the party that something is alive down here, and they carefully traipse downwards, discovering a large room that was once a study of some kind. Huge shelves stand around the walls, though some have toppled and most are somewhat broken. The fallen shelves, and some other ancient furniture, jut like islands from the muddy ground. To nobody's surprise, there are several more bullywugs here, engaged in inexplicable behaviour that quickly turns to hostility. Myraneth's sharp eyes deduce that the centre of the room is very boggy, and rather than rushing in, they proceed cautiously. Though the bullywugs attempt to lure them into the deep mud, Myraneth and Raylin hurl bolts of energy to pin them down while the others try to leap across to engage them. Unfortunately, Adrik lands awkwardly and slips back into the quagmire, sinking up to his shoulders in rank mud. The bullywugs take immediate advantage and land some heavy blows, but are forced back long enough for the dwarf to extract himself and wreak vengeance on them. Bullywugs despatched to the bliss of non-existence, the party rest long enough to recover their breath.

Bringing Back The Funk(ing Investigators), part three

So in the last two posts I talked about why Investigators might leave an investigation (more broadly, why PCs might abandon a plot thread), and ways of reigniting it. But is it a good idea? That's very difficult to say generally, but I think there are significant genre factors at play here in terms of producing a satisfying experience for everyone.

In OlderNick’s original situation, the Investigators had fled the town of Dewsbury after an encounter with a Dark Young. Some of the suggestions for getting them involved again were (in roughly the same order as I discussed earlier):

• A friend or acquaintance went looking for them in Dewsbury and has disappeared.
• Kidnap one of the characters and have them implanted, without a clear memory of what's happened.
• Have one of the coven implanted with a Dark Young visit the Investigators and die.
• News articles about people disappearing, or even the whole village, cost the Investigators Sanity until they go off to deal with it.
• Nightmares, possibly inspired by ghosts of the dead.
• Let it fester for a while, maybe drop in anecdotes or news reports, until they feel the urge to tie up old loose ends.
• Fast-forward a couple of decades and have new Investigators, perhaps linking clues to the old ones.

These are all reasonable suggestions. Quite a few of them depend on the players keeping the same Investigators so they can be affected by these things. If you run a campaign-style group, that's straightforward enough, and it doesn't require any particular commitment to revisit the mystery. That setup would work well with drip-drip techniques where you keep playing other scenarios, while slowly drawing the Investigators and plot together again. If it turns out they all die, or would rather do something else, then you can go that way instead and drop the Dewsbury case, or revive it with new characters, as you prefer.

If you tend to play one-shots, things are potentially trickier; in particular, drip-feed methods won't work as such because there's no in-game time to exploit. It could be difficult to run that in a way that doesn't seem forced and predetermined; if you're running the first part of the scenario just to put in the events that drag the Investigators back in, it might not feel convincing and they will flail around for things to do in the meantime. If you can find something else for them to do for a session or two, and drop the clues or odd events around that, it might work better. Obviously, quick techniques like the missing friend above, or attacks on the Investigators, can be much simpler to handle in such cases.

Other considerations are the type of game and world you're running. In a campaign with many separate plot hooks, dropping one and moving on may not be a big deal. In a complex campaign with heavy metaplot, dropping a blossoming bit of plot before it's resolved* may complicate things for the GM and lead to lots of work to tie up loose ends and maintain consistency. Some genres (like low fantasy, or indeed low anything) tend to be forgiving of protagonists who shrug and move on to the next town, without too much trouble in terms of breaching expectations; success and interesting gameplay isn't just about defeating the antagonist. If you're just looking for a rich experience, then an interesting failure can be as good as an interesting success.

* Note that here I don't mean it's bad for the PCs not to stick through until the official end of Plot. However, if a major plot element gets introduced but doesn't see enough screen-time to resolve its implications in some way, things can get complicated. Perhaps the GM doesn't want to arbitrarily declare major consequences in one direction or another, and was expecting the PCs' actions to determine that. Perhaps it just raises questions about other parts of the setting, or undermines it. If the element is revealed but the PCs don't touch it for in-game ages, then perhaps it really should have had all kinds of consequences during that time.

I wouldn’t go back there for anything!

So why do I think that drawing the Investigators back into the Dewsbury mystery might not be the best of the options available?

In this case, there are a couple of main factors. One major point is that it seems to be a location-based scenario, and the other is that it's Call of Cthulhu.

Location-based

Plots centred around a particular location are especially prone to motivation problems (which is not to have a go at those plots). If the mystery is in Cultville, the Investigators must be brought back to Cultville by hook or by crook. However, it can be quite difficult to justify the Investigators doing it of their own accord, especially where motives are fairly trivial. D&D is vulnerable to this issue because of its heavy dungeoneering focus combined with a questy approach to motivation; it tends to get around it by encouraging the creation of PCs who are inclined to go and raid dungeons full of arbitary monsters. Mission-based games skip right over the problem. In games with a less focused playstyle, the question of why the PCs should go to X and do Y is always hovering.

The Haunting is a pretty good example of a scenario with this problem: the Investigators are usually very loosely involved, so if they get scared off they have little incentive to go back. In particular, their motivation is extrinsic rather than intrinsic. And given that the antagonist's sole motivation is to scare them off, those dovetail nicely into a problem.

So self-motivation is tricky. On the other hand, heavy-handed methods can seem implausible or even unreasonable. Using the Dewsbury examples, why should the cultists go to the lot of effort to hunt down and kidnap an Investigator for implantation when there’s plenty of unsuspecting easy prey closer to hand? There is nothing special about the Investigators, so far. Sanity-draining news reports could work very well, or it could seem like railroading. The same applies to dreams, as well as some other problems - do all the characters get awful dreams, which stretches plausibility? Are they all equally affected? If not, will one player feel like they’re being victimised? And will the others be convinced they need to return to their investigation just because Professor Smith is haunted by maddening dreams, or just send him to a psychiatrist? Do they share the dreams, or indeed the news reports, with each other, and why? That will probably only work if there’s a strong connection between them in the first place, which isn’t always the case.

Location-based scenarios aren't the only problem, though. If a plot involves moving from place to place, PCs may want to proceed with the journey rather than stay to meddle in things; this is particularly true if they have a good reason for pressing on with their journey, be it metaplot or personal goals. If the plot involves a particular person, the PCs may not want to keep monitoring her or socialising with her, especially if they think she's a wrong'un. If the plot's very intricate, they may not want to follow up the leads they have.

Call of Cthulhu expectations

As an investigative horror game, Call of Cthulhu doesn't have the same parameters for success as some other genres. The details will depend on the group's preferences, but generally speaking, a "successful" scenario might mean surviving, escaping, or even just encountering something weird. Plenty of groups have fun going mad and dying. The stories that inspire them very frequently feature protagonists discovering a hideous truth and running away from it: The Lurking Fear, The Whisperer in Darkness, The Nameless City and even The Call of Cthulhu itself have this structure. The nature of the game, and the material it draws on, lend themselves quite readily to scenarios ending with panic-stricken flight, so this kind of ending may be very satisfying to a group who appreciate this authentic Lovecraftian conclusion. Obviously, if you enjoy different parts of the game and the setting, that may not be the case.

Other dark games, like Unknown Armies may find it works similarly, and that leaving the horror firmly alone once you manage to get away from it is the most satisfying option, rather than trying to find justifications for the characters to keep prodding it.

More generally, I think this is most likely to be the case in game where the PCs are relatively weak, and where they are not part of a larger organisation that can support them. These factors encourage the idea that the game isn’t all about you. If you’re taking orders from an organisation, or even just part of an egalitarian Justice League or whatever, it’s relatively difficult to justify abandoning a problem that you’re genuinely worried about (as opposed to one you aren’t interested in). That being said, on the flipside, the group could decide that they would pass on their gen to the organisation and more senior members would take over, leaving them free to move on; the special forces move in, or top-rank secret agents begin investigating, or the King dispatches powerful mages to deal with the problem. This allows a situation to be dealt with (reducing metaplot problems and logical issues about wht happens next) without obliging the party to do it if that makes little sense in context. Of course, they might be brought in on the periphery of the operation to advise on the precise nature of the threat.

Let them cower

In the original thread, I recommended OlderNick (in his situation) to accept the Investigators’ decision. Allow them to drop the investigation and get on with their lives as best they can. The cultists have won - for now. I’ve already mentioned some of the new opportunities this can offer, but fundamentally I think there are two advantages.

The first is that it can support the roleplaying aspects of the game by encouraging players to go with what seems appropriate, rather than what the situation seems to demand. If giving up a fruitless search, or running away, are accepted as just as valid ways to respond to the story as sticking like glue to an investigation that offers madness, horrible death and the disbelief of anyone you tell about it, then everyone has more room to work with. It doesn’t necessarily matter what kind of game you’re playing here; a heroic fantasy game could be enriched by an impossible quest and its learning experiences, and a mission-based military game could get interesting when you deal with the fallout of abandoning your mission, although admittedly in some cases it would get you executed.

Secondly, if you decide to revisit the scenario with a new group, it adds layers to the story. The first group of PCs look into the mystery and give up. A second group appear, perhaps years later, and benefit from the actions and research of the original group; they may even appear as NPCs in this second investigation. A story that’s already driven off one set of well-meaning PCs may be more tantalising or ominous. In a broad sense, what this approach does is add depth to the story. Although it won’t always work, unexpected developments like PCs backing out offer some new opportunities, and might lead to some really novel scenarios. The sinister cult has overwhelmed Cultville and fulfilled their immediate aims, so what do they do next? The rune-carved monolith has hummed its strange song into the night for nine full moons, so what happens when the creature it’s calling arrives? The Shan have each found a body from the top brass of the ship, so what are their plans?

Depending on the circumstances, the PCs may have seriously disrupted the antagonists' plans before retreating, or alerted others to the fact that something is up, which might completely change the expected sequence of events. Some of the cult might be arrested if there’s been trouble (especially, given the period, if they’re foreigners). Items that cultists or creatures expected to use may have been removed or destroyed, so they need to track them down or think up a new plan. Some of their allies may have been killed, perhaps taking vital information with them and delaying for months their plan to summon Cthugha. If they think they’ve been compromised, certain adversaries will abandon their base and move elsewhere, which may require a completely different setup to achieve similar ends. Perhaps the Investigators opened a portal and fled after barely vanquishing the horror that emerged; what else might come through, or who else might find it? Or what happens to the powerful Mythos tome they abandoned in their hotel when they never return to pay their bills?

Looking again at some other genres, a more warlike setting like Pathfinder or Numenera is perhaps even more flexible here. Undefeated enemies can easily have grown in strength and expanded to take over a swathe of territory. The composition of their armies may change; any notables slain by the PCs may be replaced, or even raised as undead servants (or bionic servitors, or brains in jars). They might turn from banditry to diplomacy or even trade, depending if they're Evil or simply bad, because pragmatism is a thing.

In a more espionage-like game full of secrets, which might include social games, it may not really matter whether the PCs actually stopped their antagonists' plans. The mere fact of discovery may cause enormous headaches, changes of plan, changes in power balance, new alliances, covers-up and similar countermeasures that mean the situation changes greatly. You don't get far in subterfuge by not taking precautions. At the same time, if their manipulations have paid off, they may be in a very different position from where they started - which likely makes them stronger, but also leaves them adjusting to a new situation, and potentially off-balance.

Another point worth considering is that the PCs may have become relevant to the antagonists’ plans, in which case their disappearance is a huge pain for said antagonist. As a result, the new incarnation of the scenario might begin with the antagonists trying to capture the original PCs, providing a hook for for a new party. In The Call of Cthulhu, the original investigators were being hunted down by a cult decades after making their discoveries. In other stories, protagonists learn towards the end that they’ve been tainted or otherwise affected by their exposure to something weird, and this might be the basis for the new chapter.

This Is The End

Coming back to the beginning... the last option is, as I said, to just stop the whole thing right there. No follow-up, no sequels. Sometimes, just ending with a terror-stricken retreat is the best ending you could wish for. It’s certainly very appropriate for a horror game. It can produce a really strong and memorable story (which is a consummation devoutly to be wished), and allow some really compelling roleplaying. Quite a number of Lovecraft’s stories end with the protagonist surviving some nightmare event and living with the knowledge that Horror Is Still Among Us.

It also has some side benefits. Just letting things take their course will add a spice to future games. Players know that they can choose to run away, and that’s a choice you’ll support. They’ll know that they can actually just lose. They’ll know that the story actually isn’t all about their characters, that it’s an event they get swept up in and respond to however they do. They might know all that already, but it’s nice to be reminded of it.

However, there are definitely situations where it's not appropriate. The group might find that option frustrating and be desperately keen to come back to the mystery, in which case why punish yourselves? Some genres also really don't suit that kind of resolution; anything from Golden Age superheroes to Space Marines to Looney Toons doesn't really embrace the idea of the favoured protagonists walking away and leaving a problem unresolved, because that’s just not how those stories work.

---

So that’s my thoughts on resuming plot threads, and why I think trying to restart an abandoned investigation isn’t always the best option. However, there will be plenty of situations where it is, and can offer some interesting opportunities. In the end it’s a balancing act between metagame considerations, characterisation, genre and all that stuff.

Portraying Settings

A mildly less sleep-deprived and hopefully shorter return to the theme of rulebook content.

Specifically, I'll try to actually answer Shannon's question instead of rambling incoherently about other stuff.

So, what is useful in presenting a setting? I freely admit I'm not the best person to answer this because I've mostly played RPGs whose content I was already familiar with, from generic fantasy D&D to the metal insanity of Warhammer 40,000. But I'll give it a go.

Mood

One thing that I think is important, but not easy or straightforward to convey, is the general mood of the setting and its inhabitants. Although some settings may be played in multiple tones, in general they seem to lean towards particular tones because tone is partly a feature of setting mood and setting features.

For example, a setting based on early 20th century science fiction will tend to have an optimistic mood. Humanity is generally in a state of steady progress, even if they're at war. Problems are generally solvable. Enemies are fearsome, but will be overcome; often enemies aren't the traditional kind, but mistakes, problems or forces of nature that Science or Guts or Humanity will cope with. The population might be pessimistic about some major problem, but are usually not downtrodden, treacherous (on a species scale), every-man-for-himself or nihilistic.

In contrast, the default setting for 4E D&D is what you might call embattled heroism. The setting is explicitly "points of light in a dark world". Civilisations have come and crumbled. Savage monsters, bizarre magic and murderous evil creatures run rampant, while from the ranks of the remaining civilised races come not pioneering scientists and Aces of the Interstellar Guard, but thieves' guilds, sinister cults, self-interested nobles and other villains. While larger settlements and kingdoms might seem content, everyone is aware that invasion, monsters or disasters are always lurking on the horizon. Even the civilised kingdoms tend to feature deeply unequal societies, inter-species tensions and miscellaneous injustices. Powerful wizards stand coldly observing as orcs demolish the nearby town, unwilling to intervene. All too often, villages call in heroes for aid, only to demand payment for equipment vital to said salvation.

Mood can also include a general sense of things like how people feel about the government, how stringent laws are and how law-abinding people are, and how large-minded NPCs will be about unusual and unreasonable behaviour from the PCs. In Shannon's example, it's a wartime setting, and these can go either way. In some cases, extraordinary behaviour is expected because there's a war on. In other cases (such as when invasion is imminent) the populace are constantly suspicious of any departure from the norm, and the uniformed services are on the case like a shot if anything's reported. This kind of information can help illustrate the expected approaches, attitudes and behaviours of the PCs.

Daily life

Another useful thing is to outline the general hustle and bustle that surrounds the PCs. It's hard to demonstrate what's interesting and relevant if the players and GM aren't sure what's normal. This can vary from showing how NPCs tend to spend their time (which may also be what PCs do in downtime), to setting the boundaries of "ordinary". If an orc walks into your bar, is that utterly trivial (city full of orcs), mildly unusual (numerous friendly orcs), noteworthy (orcs are rare or hostile), unheard-of (orcs are hated or banned) or cause for panic (orcs are exclusively seen in rampaging hordes)? If something magical occurs, a rift in space-time opens or the ship receives a distress call, are those strange and noteworthy events, or par for the course?

Similarly, some general information on the type of economy and occupations common to the setting can be enlightening. Is it largely a subsistence economy, mercantile, capitalist? Do people tend to choose their occupations, or are they constrained by heredity, feudalism, government diktats, an all-seeing Computer or the visions of oracles? Even in a modern-day setting, specific regions and cities vary considerably in the major industries and occupations, and these have significant influences on everyday life. You can infer an awful lot from knowing that Townsville is a large dormitory town, Smogburg is a declining industrial city, Twaddlehampton is a village full of authors who fled the city and retired senior managers, and Mucking is a rural hamlet where people actually work on farms.

In fact, let me draw some inferences to demonstrate.

• Townsville probably has few local amenities. Everyone shops at the out-of-town supermarkets on the way home, drives the kids to school and either watches the telly at home or goes to the city of an evening. There'll be some takeaways, and bored teenagers kicking walls. Clubs, churches and libraries will be small and mostly empty; nobody feels part of a community. Most are probably here "temporarily", even if they have been for several decades. The people work in white-collar jobs, but not very well-paid ones. There are few buses, and they take long, inconvenient routes. Most people don't know their neighbours, let alone any local gossip, and they keep to themselves unless something really dramatic happens.
• Smogburg is mostly poor. There's heavy unemployment, decrepid buildings and a notable crime rate. Fine old buildings, built in the flush of the industrial revolution, are often boarded up or fire-damaged. Sixties concrete monstrosities are everywhere, held together by the fly-posters of decades. Cheap alchohol shops, takeaways, pound shops, charity shops and moneylenders are frequent; there is probably Marks and Spencer, but no Waitrose for miles. Despite this, community groups are stronger than in Townsville, as people feel part of something. The streets feature charity collectors, Big Issue sellers and evangelical preachers. Fat tower blocks loom sullenly over the horizon, some of them brightly coloured from recent renovations that seemed cheaper than knocking them down. There are interesting shops here, but not the quirky hipster kind; Smogburg is cheap enough that almost anything can stay open somewhere, often in a single room over a charity shop, even when they only make one sale a week. You can buy almost anything useful here, if you can only find it. People are often willing to talk, particularly in the town centre; some of the estates and tower blocks are a different matter unless they know you. Generally, neighbours know one another, even if they don't like each other, and plenty of people were born and bred here.
• Twaddlehampton has a number of thatched cottages, some of which weren't even originally thatched. Most of the houses have gardens, which are lovingly tended. There are wide pavements, and people stop to talk in the streets; few of them have lived here more than a decade. Life has a slow pace. People pride themselves on their community spirit; life is full of village halls, tea dances, policemen's balls, Scouts and Guides, National Trusts, the more traditional-sounding kind of churches (whose rather good associated schools are a non-negligible cause of their large congregations) and Best Kept Gardens. Everyone either prides themselves on not owning a car, drives something old and cinematic, or has a massive 4x4. Nobody wears tracksuits unless they're jogging. There are numerous village shops with tradition names like Jones and Son, several cafés, and pubs that serve both Yorkshire puddings and something with chorizo and jus. People are Pillars of the Community, but also gossip ferociously and harbour deep grievances. The surrounding region is rural, but in a mildly scenic way, and the roads are well-maintained and offer surprisingly quick access to the nearest city. There are no major roads through the village, and no wind farms nearby. Strangers will struggle to get plot-relevant information unless they seem like they "fit in".
• Mucking has houses that are generally in pretty good nick, but have clearly been patched and cobbled together repeatedly. Old extensions show where tiny farm cottages have turned into houses more or less acceptable for the modern era, with lots of outbuildings in strange places, now serving unexpected turns as motorbike storage or generator room. There might, possibly, be a post office. A major road runs at least nearby, and likely through the middle of the hamlet; it probably seemed like a good idea in the age of the mailcoach, but now it's almost impossible to get your car out of the garage, even with the mirrors stuck all over the place to spot oncoming vehicles. Everybody drives a 4x4, because the roads have a 45-degree incline and it snows a lot here. When the rains come, they paddle instead. A tiny village shop offers newspapers, a number of mundane items, and five or six really odd things for reasons you can't imagine; it's open sporadically and unpredictably. People will either talk to you for several hours without drawing breath, or clam up instantly when they hear a "foreign" accent. Intimate knowledge of their neighbours and local area is almost inevitable. Travelling around the region is nigh-impossible unless you have good maps or local knowledge; the roads are tiny, winding and occasionally terminate in the middle of a field.
• If something weird happened in a house last night, the people of Townsville won't know anything about it. Smogburg will have noticed something, and word will have gone around, but they might not want to discuss it with you (especially if you look like trouble). Mucking will probably know something but won't like to gossip unless they dislike that neighbour. Twaddlehampton will act like they don't want to gossip, but need very little prodding.
• You can believably pick up an occult book in both Smogburg (in a market or from a shoplet over a chippy) or Twaddlehampton (in a rather nice second-hand bookshop or church fair), but certainly not in Townsville. Mucking might have some, but not in the shops; they'll be old family things.
• The police will turn out quickly in Smogburg (because real trouble happens there) and Twaddlehampton (because the middle-class residents are very vocal), but are much less responsive in Townsville and Mucking where urgent problems are rare. Police visiting Twaddlehampton tend to be polite, appear to take things seriously, and don't; police visiting Smogburg are cautious, somewhat jaded and suspicious of accounts. In Townsville they are pretty matter-of-fact about the graffiti and stolen cars.
• The average minister in Smogburg is likely to be from a humble background, evangelical and has a good chance of being from an ethnic minority; they have a very good idea about the sad and seedy sides of life. Twaddlehampton has an Anglican vicar, of course, who went to Cambridge and is very good at the theological side. Mucking's little parish church features an ex-farmer with excellent knowledge of working life and a pragmatic outlook, who can help birth a cow, get a tractor out of a ditch, and has attended a fair number of nasty accidents. If Townsville still has a minister at all, they are probably Methodist, fairly cheerful, very ordinary, work part-time as a nurse as well as running three local churches

How educated (and/or misinformed) do people tend to be about the world, other people, science and magic? This will inform their opinions, their reactions to events and their openness to new ideas. Is this a setting where knowledge is free, a melting-pot of ideas, an ignorant hotbed of superstition, a jingoistic and xenophobic world, or under the sway of a despotic government that imposes ideas it finds convenient?

Other features of daily life might be the species and cultural make-up of a setting, the technological and magical prowess of the major civilisations, and where life falls on the scale from Galactic Harmony to There Is Only War.

Unusual features

Now that we know something about the ordinary, what is extraordinary? These (in most games) will indicate the sorts of things the PCs get involved in. It can be a mixture of "things that are unique about this setting" and "things that are particularly important in this setting". PC-centric features may be long-standing problems, interesting places, organisations, events and so on. Predatory monsters are one example; powerful psionic guilds are another. An array of unexplored worlds in a sci-fi setting indicates that PCs might usefully spend time exploring them; a network of monuments left by a vanished race tends to suggest that more on this topic can emerge. If bandits are constantly holed up around the countryside attacking merchants, PCs may be called on to act as guards or bounty hunters, whereas if supernatural beings are rumoured to turn up occasionally but not officially acknowledged to exist, it's more likely PCs are going to encounter them through accident or investigation. As such, to some extent the nature of these features will depend on the game genre, particularly in terms of how well-known the unusual features are.

D&D frequently features predatory monsters that need stopping, ancient ruins that need exploring, and unknown parts that need knowing. Deathwatch, by its nature, highlights alien incursions that must be stopped, but there are also wrecks to scour, monuments to investigate, heretics to hunt down and powerful Imperial emissaries to negotiate with. Traveller features anything from alien ruins to drifting spaceships, astronomical anomalies to trade disputes, but the Corporations are a relatively mundane feature that is nevertheless very prominent in shaping PC activities. Ravenloft's most notable features are the array of sinister rulers who empathically shape both their domains and their subjects, and the constant threat of the undead.

As best I can describe it, you're looking at the kind of things that players and PCs alike are expected to take notice of. These are departures from everyday life, and things that make the PCs want (or have) to do something, whether that's grab a blaster, hit the library or start planning a road trip. In some games, these overlap with hooks, although they may not be designed to introduce specific adventures in the way hooks are. In other games (investigative games may be a good example) these will tend to turn up sometime after the initial hook; the "letter from an old friend" draws you in, but the antediluvian artefacts and the dreams they're provoking are the meat of the scenario.

These are also likely to be the features that help to sell a setting. Where the daily grind details establish the broad sweep of the setting, it's the cool details that really bring it to life and inspire the GM with ideas. This is the sort of thing that has you imagining how you, personally, could use it.

...I don't feel like I'm explaining this very well, but I tried.

Coherence

Settings may be very focused or patchwork as anything, but either can be made to work. One of the important things here is establishing coherence. What I mean by that is giving a sense of how these things fit together in a single setting, both in a broad sense, and in a practical sense for the GM. The real world, for example, has wildly varying levels of technological sophistication in different places, even within the same country. In a game, though, where it's harder to convey the nuances and gradual shifts that create those real-life situations, disparities can seem unconvincing. Our recent Numenera game took place over a small area that encompassed a wilderness, a forest town besieged by animals, a spa town (which in my head is all Georgian, although I suspect Monte Cook has never been to Bath or Harrogate) and what felt like a Midwest frontier town. Especially for a first game, this didn't feel particularly coherent to me.

I can't really offer any specific advice here, because every instance has different features to integrate. Deathwatch mashes up astonishing feats of heroism, a brutal and oppressive culture, high technology and astonishing ignorance, in a way that allows for everything from primitive jungle planets to towering hive-cities, and lets PCs and NPCs alike pull off technological tricks while remaining suspicious and wilfully ignorant of unknown machinery. The setting allows for mysteries, brutal combats, oppression, NPCs interfering in the PCs' lives and missions, PCs exerting authority on those below them, paranoia, blind faith in authority figures and a range of moral approaches from stark black-and-white to flat grey.

If there are a lot of "yes, but why..." questions to be asked about the setting, substantial discrepancies, or dramatic gradients of some feature or other, then these either want to be sources of plot and interest for the characters (good in games where PCs don't understand much in-character, and where the world is odd) or need explaining.

I think to some extent it doesn't matter how cool the individual features of a setting are, if the GM (and thus the players) can't establish a coherent vision of the setting, they will struggle to run satisfactory games in it. It's like the difference between a vignette and a story. You can't improvise around a framework that isn't there; a pile of individual scaffolding bars isn't enough, no matter how shiny each one is. It's important to be able to make predictions, draw inferences, and otherwise play around the things that are made explicit, without finding yourself at a loss or contradicting important aspects of the setting.

Problems that aren't with Boxed Text

A post that doesn't really go anywhere, as usual.

Arthur pointed me to a post at Hack & Slash, which led to me various other posts including a rather good one from Critical Hits that includes the following quite fun example:

“Your trip through the Forest of Demise was uneventful. The chittering of forest animals and chirping of birds that serenaded you through the forest suddenly ends, as if the creatures of the natural world shun and fear this place. In the distance, you see a tower sticking out of the ground like an evil, twisted tree reaching up to the sky. As you approach the tower, the crunching of the dead leaves under your feet seems almost deafening in the otherwise silent clearing. As you get within 20 feet of the tower, you realize the place is surrounded by a nearly invisible noxious vapor. As you breathe it in, its stench burns your lungs and makes your eyes water. The hairs on your arms bristle with terror and your heart pounds as an anguished shriek cuts through the silence from within the tower. You can feel the palpable presence of evil. On the door to the tower you see four glowing runes.”

Now picture, if you will, a typical D&D party. For this example, the edition is really irrelevant. We have Pedritar the dragonborn paladin, Brark the grimlock barbarian, Clang the warforged cleric, Dirzzelda the Druid, and Rhuul the revenant rogue. The party is approaching the tower-lair of Lystrango the evil lich of doom. As they move forward, the DM begins to read the boxed text:

DM: Everyone ready? I have your marching order? Great, let’s start with the opening boxed text! “Your trip through the Forest of Demise was uneventful. The chittering of forest animals and chirping of birds that serenaded you through the forest suddenly ends, as if the creatures of the natural world shun and fears this place. In the—“
Drizzelda the Druid:: Why?
DM: Why what?
Drizzelda the Druid:: Why do they shun this place?
DM: [confused stare]
Drizzelda the Druid:: I’m a druid. I ask that squirrel over there why he stopped chittering.
DM: Um. He tells you that he and all the forest animals are afraid of the tower in the clearing ahead. Let me jumped ahead to that. “In the distance, you see a tower sticking out of—”
Brark the Barbarian: Nope.
DM: Nope what?
Brark the Barbarian: Nope I don’t see it. I’m a grimlock. Got no eyes.
DM: Right, ok. “Everyone but Brark sees a tower sticking out the ground like an evil, twisted tree reaching up to the sky.”
Drizzelda the Druid:: I talk to it. I can talk to plants too.
DM: Huh?
Drizzelda the Druid:: You said there was a tree sticking out of the ground.
DM: It’s not really a tree. It’s like a tree. “As you approach the tower, the crunching of the dead leaves under your feet seems almost deafening in the silence.”
Rhuul the Rogue:: I don’t walk on the dead leaves. I try to be silent.
DM: OK, I guess you can avoid the leaves. But it’s not really that imp—
Pedritar the Paladin:: I’m not walking. I’m flying. Remember I took that feat that gives me wings and a fly speed.
DM: Got it. Pedro is flying and Rhuul is tiptoeing around the leaves. Anyway, let’s continue. “As you get within 20 feet of the tower, you realize the place is surrounded by a nearly invisible noxious vapor. As you breathe it in, its stench burns your lungs and makes your eyes water.”
Clang the Cleric:: Technically, I don’t have lungs. I’m made of wood and stone.
DM: Yeah, I guess. The point is—
Brark the Barbarian: I still don’t have eyes. They can’t be watering.
DM: Right. I just mean—
Rhuul the Rogue:: As a revenant, I am undead. Technically, I don’t know if I need to breathe.
DM: OK, ok, I get it. There’s a mist that is burning the lungs of those of you with lungs and/or that breathe, irritating your eyes if you have eyes, and is generally unpleasant and mildly irritating to the rest of you. Let’s continue: “The hairs on your arms bristle with terror and your heart pounds as an anguished shriek cuts through the silence from within the tower. You can feel the palpable presence of evil.”
Pedritar the Paladin:: I can. They can’t.
DM: Who can’t what?
Pedritar the Paladin:: The rest of the party can’t Detect Evil. Only I can.
DM: It’s just a general presence of evil, not an actual specific evil.
Pedritar the Paladin:: Seems like only I would be able to feel it. It’s a class ability after all.
Clang the Cleric:: And I have no hair.
DM: Excuse me?
Clang the Cleric:: You said that the hairs on my arm stand up in terror. I’m hairless. Maybe I have some moss or something that stands up instead?
DM: Sounds good to me.
Rhuul the Rogue:: I’m not scared.
DM: What?!
Rhuul the Rogue:: Dude, I was once locked in a coffin with a vampire for a week. A little shrieking from some lich’s tower isn’t going to phase me. And also, I don’t know if my heart actually beats, so it couldn’t pound.
Clang the Cleric:: Yeah, I have no—
DM: Yes, I get it. Moving on. “On the door you see—”
Brark the Barbarian: I don’t—
DM: Yes, I get it. You have no eyes and cannot see. Let’s sum this up. “There is a tower in front of you.” What do you do?

This is quite entertaining, but it’s also mildly exasperating because I feel like it highlights exactly the wrong problems.

In the example, the problem is very clear: the GM is playing with a group of pedants who have no manners, zero impulse control, don’t understand the plural use of “you”, and are apparently unable to cope with the notion that at any point the entire game might not be primarily focused on their own precious character in particular. This is a fundamental mistake that no amount of GMing advice can overcome.

What the example shows us

Taking a less hard-line view, the problems showcased by the example are:

• Sometimes, a subset of the group (consisting of more than one but less than all) should notice or be affected by something in the environment. If it’s everyone, no problem. If it’s one person, you can easily use their name.
• It’s unwise to narrate a progression in space or time without giving players a chance to respond to the details, and especially to assume you can plan a series of events or observations that might be disrupted by player reactions.
• Players and GMs can visualise events in different ways, because they make different assumptions or remember different details.
• Players don’t always catch everything you’re saying (less charitably, players don’t always pay attention).
• Players can get precious about, over-hype or misunderstand their class abilities.
• Players may have ideas about what their character background can and should imply that the GM may not entirely share.

The article doesn’t really deal with, well, any of these, none of which are specific to boxed text. It also misses out on some of the other problems of boxed text, like assuming players will stand and watch something that nobody in their right mind would (be that boring nonsense or the king being assassinated), let alone a bunch of action heroes. What it seems to think is the problem with the boxed text example is that the text makes assumptions about “character feelings, movements and actions”, and while that’s true, I don’t think this is a great bad example of that; it assumes a certain amount of non-critical action, like ‘approaching the tower’, and otherwise makes general statements about the group as a whole perceiving certain things. It’s not unreasonable to state that a whole group “sees”, “feels” or even experiences an emotion as generic and primal as fear. The example doesn’t ascribe specific actions, past events or attitudes. There is no pulling of levers, nobody is forced to think or realise things their character shouldn’t, and nobody immediately trusts and likes the smarmy Larry Stu character. It doesn’t assume you already fought bandits X, have the crystal Y and intend to hunt down wizard Z.

That aside, the article has some interesting tips on writing “boxed text” that I broadly agree with. I think it’s inclined towards a minimalist writing style, whereas I think scenarios including some description that isn’t mechanically relevant can be useful, not just for helping convey a setting, but also in hinting at what else might be coming up soon or available to find. Leaving in “only those details about the environment that the PCs need to know about because they will have to interact with them” seems to assume you can accurately predict what the PCs want to interact with, which isn’t necessarily true. On the whole though, I think it’s a useful set of tips. And the example is quite funny. Go and read the post, if you haven't already.

Oh, while we’re nitpicking: if your party contains a dragonborn paladin, the edition is 4E. It’s just about possible that a 3rd edition party contains the grimlock and the warforged, but I don’t think it can be anything earlier. Moving on...

Issues with boxed text

I’d suggest the main narrative problems with boxed text are more like this (obviously all are “sometimes” issues):

• It ascribes attitudes, intentions or beliefs to the PCs
• It jars because of changes in tone
• It turns into uninspiring fiction rather than useful or interesting information
• It can focus player attention on trivia, leading them on red herrings if they assume these details must be important
• It assumes the players will follow one particular course of action, including:
  • It narrates the PCs standing idly by while interesting events occur or interesting things are seen
  • It narrates the PCs not taking sensible precautions
  • It narrates the players taking actions that are not obvious, or even counterintuitive
  • Worse, it narrates the players taking actions that endanger them or their interests
  • At worst, it ascribes attitudes, intentions or beliefs to the PCs that are unlikely, and then narrates them acting on those in ways that are counter to their own interests

There are plenty of cases of boxed text demanding PCs walk into obvious traps, trust obvious traitors, ignore their class or racial abilities, or act in ways that require a particular moral code or mindset.

There are also practical issues in terms of organisation of information. Depending on how boxed text and GM information are arranged, either the GM may miss some crucial information because they don’t remember or notice a detail mentioned elsewhere, or the GM may (through confusion or by mistake) read out more information than the players should have at the time. However, this is by no means limited to cases where some text is in a box and some other text isn’t; it’s just unclear layout.

Personally, if I was writing boxed text (which I don’t) I’d have gone for something like this:

“Your trip through the Forest of Demise was uneventful. The chittering of forest animals and chirping of birds that serenaded you through the forest suddenly ends, as if the creatures of the natural world shun and fear this place. In the distance, you see a tower sticking out of the ground like an evil, twisted tree reaching up to the sky."

Pause for PC questions, reactions, withdrawals to prepare spells, spending three days camped out observering the tower and environs, performing divinations, sending Animal Messengers to allies to get information about the tower, laying traps for possible dangers, scouting around through other parts of the forest, looking for animal remains to discern the nature of the danger in the tower by analysing toothmarks, magically talking to rocks and trees, and so on.

If the PCs approach the tower:

"As you approach the tower, the crunching of the dead leaves under your feet seems almost deafening in the otherwise silent clearing. "

Pause for PC reactions to this unexpected noise, which clearly presents a threat. PCs may suggest that their character would in such circumstances be flying, using elven magic, sneaking or what-have-you, in which case determine the results accordingly.

"As you get within 20 feet of the tower, you realize the place is surrounded by a nearly invisible noxious vapor. As you breathe it in, its stench burns your lungs and makes your eyes water. "

Pause for reactions to vapour, including withdrawal to prepare anti-acid, anti-poison and anti-breathing spells, or exhaustive empirical tests involving a variety of summoned creatures, collecting and alchemising the air, and so on. Reassure players that it has no mechanical effect (at least at this point) and is just unpleasant.

"The hairs on your arms bristle with terror and your heart pounds as an anguished shriek cuts through the silence from within the tower. You can feel the palpable presence of evil.

If necessary, reassure players that this is a primal instinct rather than an emotion as such; heroes don’t not feel fear, they just stand up to it.

If they get in sight of the door:

"On the door to the tower you see four glowing runes.”

What I don’t think are genuine problems with boxed text at all are the complaints in the original example. We get it, grimlock – you have no eyes. But expecting the GM to, every single time they want to describe a feature of an area, either substitute the word “perceive” or say “see, except the grimlock, who probably hears it by echolocation or something, I dunno” would be preposterous. It would probably work out like this:

DM: “In the distance, you see a tower sticking out of—”
Brark the Barbarian: Nope.
DM: Nope what?
Brark the Barbarian: Nope I don’t see it. I’m a grimlock. Got no eyes.
DM: Okay. Everyone but Brark sees a tower. Brark falls down a hole he didn’t see because he has no eyes, and takes 4d6 damage.

In fact, grimlocks have Blindsight, which suggests that they do technically “see” – they just see without eyes.

Similarly, saying that the foul air makes eyes water and lungs sting is a reasonable descriptive shorthand, though given the number of non-living PCs it could maybe have been modified a bit. I’d also note that all of these points would apply exactly as much if the GM was improvising this content, rather than reading something out. If they are problems at all, they are, oh, GM problems, in terms of how information is presented? But see above re: pedants. There is a line between having your character's nature feel important by playing it up, and being a pain in the neck about it. Certainly, I don't think it's reasonable to expect a module designer to anticipate that you might have a cracktastic party with really unusual racial traits, when giving guidance on what an average party will see - that's true whether it's boxed or not.

We can reasonably assume that in all circumstances where it would make any sense (and as informed by the player’s previous actions) the stealthy characters are being stealthy, without having to explicitly acknowledge it. The dragonborn player was right to point out that their character is flying, because the GM won’t know that (it wouldn’t make sense to fly all the time because it’d be ridiculously hard work) but it isn’t in any sense a problem at this stage. The fact that the druid player is either taking the mick or paying no attention is not a problem with boxed text. The fact that the paladin player thinks nobody else should at any time feel a sense of evil* is not a problem with boxed text.

*There is a spell Detect Animals and Plants. This does not mean that only druids and rangers are capable of perceiving the existence of animals or plants.

This feels a bit weird, because I don't disagree with Shawn's conclusions and suggestions, and I quite enjoyed the post; I just think the problem and solution presented have very little to do with one another. He's providing a solution to a problem that exists but he didn't demonstrate.