The smallest of the four peoples are the goblins who live in the trees. For their appearance, think of lemurs and raccoons. They're ambush hunters who imitate animal calls, lie in wait, then leap down in a burst of teeth and claws.
Their activity takes them all throughout the forest and occasionally into lands beyond, but the heart of goblin life is the tree. Up in a tree is safety, family, and home. It's where children are raised and it's where you rest at night.
Danger lies below.
Showing posts with label danger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label danger. Show all posts
Sunday, June 21, 2020
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
Monstrous and ordinary
Let's talk about how to make a new type of monster out of an ordinary creature.
Monster is a fuzzy concept, but for now, we could do worse than assuming a monster is:
(You might also enjoy an earlier post on generating random creatures.)
What are crows associated with? What do they feel like? What kinds of stories do people tell about them?
Monstrous versions of regular creatures should probably stick to the same theme, amplifying and extending what those creatures feel like. Using theme from the real world lets you build on your audience's preconceptions, on stories they've heard and ideas in the culture around them.
So what theme do crows go with? Night, death, and trickery come to mind. If you know stories about a creature, use them when you make a monstrous version of it.
Crows have two out of the three monstrous characteristics already: they're fairly intelligent animals, but they aren't really feared by anyone. Let's take a look at characteristics of crows and see what we find:
The best monsters don't just pop up out of nowhere. Tension and fear build up as protagonists stumble across signs of the monster's presence, signs that they too could become its prey.
Some signs of these monstrous crows: trinkets of the dead used to lure people in, cawing to call for the others once you're already alone and deep in the woods, footprints of scavengers that take the bones from crow kills, leftovers from previous prey (bones cracked open, possessions with all the shiny pieces stripped off).
Consider signs of a monster from its footprints, voice, remnants of its food, things it plays with.
Monsters also end up with rumors about them. The local people tell stories that are mostly true, or at least based on a kernel of truth, but with exaggerations and shortcomings. Rumors about a monster should probably stick to the themes of the creature.
Inaccurate rumors about monstrous crows: that they can see in the dark, that they're afraid of light, that the sound of creaking branches is actually them, that any small discarded item you find is bait by the crows.
Every monster is vulnerable in some way. It could be a single spot, like Smaug's missing scale (or Achilles' heel, I guess), or it could be something less substantial, like greed or self-loathing.
My favorite method is to draw the monster's vulnerability from the same characteristics that make it scary. Considering attributes of the crow, let's pick one or two as vulnerabilities:
Here are a few more monstrous versions of ordinary creatures you might enjoy:
Monster is a fuzzy concept, but for now, we could do worse than assuming a monster is:
- an animal — A virus or an earthquake might be scary, but they don't feel like monsters.
- somewhat intelligent — If you can ascribe malice to a creature's actions, its deeds become villainous, not merely dangerous.
- feared for a reason — It has to actually be harmful to people for it to be a monster, something that's dangerous and hard to defeat.
![]() |
| (Sue Coleman) |
Theme
What are crows associated with? What do they feel like? What kinds of stories do people tell about them?
Monstrous versions of regular creatures should probably stick to the same theme, amplifying and extending what those creatures feel like. Using theme from the real world lets you build on your audience's preconceptions, on stories they've heard and ideas in the culture around them.
So what theme do crows go with? Night, death, and trickery come to mind. If you know stories about a creature, use them when you make a monstrous version of it.
![]() |
| crow from Resident Evil concept art |
Characteristics
Crows have two out of the three monstrous characteristics already: they're fairly intelligent animals, but they aren't really feared by anyone. Let's take a look at characteristics of crows and see what we find:
- intelligent, good at solving problems and making simple tools
- raucous, noisy, calling out to each other
- collect trinkets and shiny things
- daring, stealing tail feathers from eagles just to show off
- skittish, quick to flee from unexpected danger
- feed on just about everything, from carrion to small animals to grain
![]() |
| Haida raven (Bill Reid) |
- The monstrous crow is intelligent, more so than any other animal. They know how to make tools, pick locks, get into doors and closed rooms.
- They make noise to call for their friends and coordinate their actions. They call for other dangerous creatures to arrive. Things that gnaw bone and sip blood show up when monstrous crows cry out.
- They collect...how is collecting things supposed to be scary? Maybe it's what they collect: skulls of creatures they've killed, deadly poisons, sharp blades. Maybe it's how they collect them: taken from their living victims, mementos of people they've killed. Maybe it's what they do with their trinkets: bait to lure in children, valuables to trade for...murderous stuff?
- They're not afraid of anyone. Make some noise and throw things, and they'll fly off for a while. But they're only tempted and angered when you chase them away. Throw rocks at them and they'll come back for you one day. Monstrous crows live for the daring assault on a prideful victim.
- They're always watchful. It's very hard to sneak up on them, as they're always looking over their shoulders and stopping to listen for sounds. At the first sign of danger, they flee to watch from a safe distance. (This isn't scary yet, so let's dial it up a bit further.) They listen for every sound, knowing when your heart is beating a bit faster, when you've cocked the hammer back on your gun. They pay attention to everything around and are constantly thinking about plans for escaping danger.
- They eat everything, but most importantly they eat people. Individual crows are pretty small and weak to take down a person, but we know these ones work as a team and use tools, so if they're hungry, they can certainly take down a human.
Signs
The best monsters don't just pop up out of nowhere. Tension and fear build up as protagonists stumble across signs of the monster's presence, signs that they too could become its prey.
Some signs of these monstrous crows: trinkets of the dead used to lure people in, cawing to call for the others once you're already alone and deep in the woods, footprints of scavengers that take the bones from crow kills, leftovers from previous prey (bones cracked open, possessions with all the shiny pieces stripped off).
Consider signs of a monster from its footprints, voice, remnants of its food, things it plays with.
Monsters also end up with rumors about them. The local people tell stories that are mostly true, or at least based on a kernel of truth, but with exaggerations and shortcomings. Rumors about a monster should probably stick to the themes of the creature.
Inaccurate rumors about monstrous crows: that they can see in the dark, that they're afraid of light, that the sound of creaking branches is actually them, that any small discarded item you find is bait by the crows.
Vulnerability
Every monster is vulnerable in some way. It could be a single spot, like Smaug's missing scale (or Achilles' heel, I guess), or it could be something less substantial, like greed or self-loathing.
My favorite method is to draw the monster's vulnerability from the same characteristics that make it scary. Considering attributes of the crow, let's pick one or two as vulnerabilities:
- collect trinkets
- daring
More monsters!
Here are a few more monstrous versions of ordinary creatures you might enjoy:
- Raccoons — They grab their prey with their dexterous hands, then drown their prey in streams. They're much larger than ordinary raccoons, strong enough to grab a person and hold them under the water. They ought to be more concerned by the presence of other creatures, but they're not.
- Skunks — They spray a terrible noxious fluid that causes sickness and death, and also stains your skin. They seem like they'd be cute and friendly, but they'll spray you, wait for you to die, then nibble on your corpse. They're overly reliant on their spray for defense, so any creature that's immune to it has a major advantage.
- Porcupines — They can shoot their barbed quills quite some distance. They can climb just about anywhere, waiting patiently to strike when people come too close. Their bellies are soft and vulnerable.
- Buffalo — Thundering giants of muscle and horn, they get together as a group and run through buildings and fields, trampling people to death and destroying their livelihood. They flatten whole villages that encroach on their territory. They're prone to panic, though, if too many buffalo in the group become frightened.
![]() |
| raccoon washing cell phone |
Wednesday, November 21, 2018
I wouldn't go there if I were you
Every settlement has something wrong with it, some reason why people would rather stay away. It might not be enough to keep the town completely isolated (if they find gold, people show up no matter how bad it is) but every inhabited place would be better off if something were different.
Choose two reasons why folks stay away from this place. The first reason has led to the second, in some fashion. (Feel free to tone these down or ramp them up as needed.)
Decide who (or what) folks are most afraid of around here. This might not be their enemy, just someone whose power they fear.
Let's try rolling up a few.
First we have a human town, some corn farmers who live in a valley. They've been attacked many times, so they've become violent and aggressive towards outsiders. They (along with the other humans in the area) are afraid of creatures rumored to exist in the surrounding woods.
Next is an elven mining settlement. This place has a history of unexplained disease, which has led the people to turn to a strange religious movement. Their cult-like devotion and rituals are strange enough that people don't like coming here anymore. They're afraid of their competitors in the mining business, who would probably use underhanded tactics to drive them out.
Now let's look at a scattered group of giants who gather once a year. They're very poor, desperately eking out an existence in the high country. As a result, they never have anything to trade, and have become inwardly-focused, not interested in the goings-on of the larger world. Starvation is a constant source of fear.
Here's a family group of goblins living in the deep woods. They're very inwardly-focused, refusing to interact with anyone else. As a result, they've ended up without medicines goblins normally get in trade, so they're always suffering from ailments. As suspicious as they are of outsiders, they're even more afraid of each other, constantly on the watch for treachery and attempts to seize power by their kin.
Lastly, let's consider one of the surviving elven cities. They're known as a den of thieves, a place you should never go if you value your coin more than your life. Pirates sail from their harbor and raid up and down the coast. As a result, they're always picking up plagues and diseases from one port or another. They're afraid of creatures that come out of the sea and drown sailors. These creatures may not exist, but they certainly believe in them.
Roll up some trouble for your own settlement:
![]() |
| Poor Village, Ast Ralf |
Choose two reasons why folks stay away from this place. The first reason has led to the second, in some fashion. (Feel free to tone these down or ramp them up as needed.)
| Why do folks stay away? (d10) | |
| 1 | under threat of attack |
| 2 | hard to get to, difficult terrain |
| 3 | dirt poor, nothing to offer |
| 4 | history of disease |
| 5 | violent and aggressive towards outsiders |
| 6 | swindlers and thieves prey on travelers |
| 7 | crop/mine/fishing has nearly run out |
| 8 | strange cult-like devotion |
| 9 | bad/dangerous things live around here |
| 10 | inwardly-focused, no care for the outside world |
![]() |
| Joseph Smith, CCA Christensen |
Decide who (or what) folks are most afraid of around here. This might not be their enemy, just someone whose power they fear.
| Who/what do they fear most? (d20) | |
| 1-5 | their rivals or competitors |
| 6-7 | the authorities, government, or the warlord who rules over these parts |
| 8-9 | a poorly-understood group of people on the other side of a river/mountain/swamp |
| 10 | far-off invaders rumored to exist |
| 11 | each other |
| 12-13 | starvation, running out of necessities |
| 14-15 | creatures that may or may not exist |
| 16-17 | the days to come, according to their understanding |
| 18-20 | whatever their neighbors/allies fear |
![]() |
| The Battle of Sitka, Louis Glanzman |
Let's try rolling up a few.
First we have a human town, some corn farmers who live in a valley. They've been attacked many times, so they've become violent and aggressive towards outsiders. They (along with the other humans in the area) are afraid of creatures rumored to exist in the surrounding woods.
Next is an elven mining settlement. This place has a history of unexplained disease, which has led the people to turn to a strange religious movement. Their cult-like devotion and rituals are strange enough that people don't like coming here anymore. They're afraid of their competitors in the mining business, who would probably use underhanded tactics to drive them out.
Now let's look at a scattered group of giants who gather once a year. They're very poor, desperately eking out an existence in the high country. As a result, they never have anything to trade, and have become inwardly-focused, not interested in the goings-on of the larger world. Starvation is a constant source of fear.
Here's a family group of goblins living in the deep woods. They're very inwardly-focused, refusing to interact with anyone else. As a result, they've ended up without medicines goblins normally get in trade, so they're always suffering from ailments. As suspicious as they are of outsiders, they're even more afraid of each other, constantly on the watch for treachery and attempts to seize power by their kin.
Lastly, let's consider one of the surviving elven cities. They're known as a den of thieves, a place you should never go if you value your coin more than your life. Pirates sail from their harbor and raid up and down the coast. As a result, they're always picking up plagues and diseases from one port or another. They're afraid of creatures that come out of the sea and drown sailors. These creatures may not exist, but they certainly believe in them.
Roll up some trouble for your own settlement:
| stay away from trouble | |
| first problem | |
| which has led to | |
| what they fear most | |
Saturday, November 17, 2018
Wilderness rules, a wishlist
I'm looking for a good set of wilderness travel rules. The setting of Signs in the Wilderness is a wide, poorly-explored country, where settlements are rare and scattered. Travel itself is the framework for adventure.
So far I've been using homebrew, hacked-up versions of other games' rules. For many years my usual group had some mix of AD&D 1e/2e rules, using whatever seemed to work well enough. For the last game I ran, we used a homebrew set of PbtA-style moves for overland journeys, and it worked surprisingly well. (Some rulesets, like the one from Avalon Hill's Outdoor Survival, I would be less likely to recommend.)
So what would a perfect set of wilderness travel rules look like? They would:
There's a long list of situations that I'd love to see covered. I imagine a ruleset that handles all of them would turn out to be far too cumbersome, with page after page of tables, endless die rolls and modifiers, and no one would really know the rules that well. But if I could have it my way, the rules would be great for:
There are other kinds of obstacles (portaging canoes, climbing a cliff, spelunking) so I'd enjoy seeing a general rule for crossing an obstacle to movement, but at the same time I appreciate having some of the consequences of danger spelled out for the GM.
Some of what I'm looking for is rules: concrete ways to decide what happens, to give the hard decisions to the dice and the tables, not the GM.
The other part I'm looking for is inspiration: ideas and suggestions to help describe this genre of adventure. When running a game, a list of possible results is often handy, not as a way to constrain what the GM does, but as suggestions and inspiration.
![]() |
| William Manly, Andy Thomas |
So far I've been using homebrew, hacked-up versions of other games' rules. For many years my usual group had some mix of AD&D 1e/2e rules, using whatever seemed to work well enough. For the last game I ran, we used a homebrew set of PbtA-style moves for overland journeys, and it worked surprisingly well. (Some rulesets, like the one from Avalon Hill's Outdoor Survival, I would be less likely to recommend.)
So what would a perfect set of wilderness travel rules look like? They would:
- cover the most typical situations for this genre of adventure,
- yet be flexible or general enough to apply to unexpected situations as needed,
- and not take too much time, brainpower, or paper.
![]() |
| Tough Decision, Jim Killen |
There's a long list of situations that I'd love to see covered. I imagine a ruleset that handles all of them would turn out to be far too cumbersome, with page after page of tables, endless die rolls and modifiers, and no one would really know the rules that well. But if I could have it my way, the rules would be great for:
Travel itself
Start with a day's travel:- How far do you get?
- Do you get lost?
- Do you get hurt/cold/sick/exhausted? Does your morale drop?
- How much food/water do you consume?
- How are you traveling (on foot, by canoe, etc.)?
- What kind of terrain are you traveling through?
- What's the weather like? (Getting lost in fog, drinking lots of water in the hot sun, etc.)
- How much are you carrying?
- How sick/injured are you?
Dealing with obstacles
I'd like rules for obstacles to be general purpose, but there's one particular obstacle that seems to show up all the time in this genre: crossing a creek. It presents a few particular dangers:- getting your powder wet
- losing your gear and having to search downstream
- being swept away yourself to be buffeted against rocks
- getting soaked from head to toe in winter and dying of cold
There are other kinds of obstacles (portaging canoes, climbing a cliff, spelunking) so I'd enjoy seeing a general rule for crossing an obstacle to movement, but at the same time I appreciate having some of the consequences of danger spelled out for the GM.
Doing things along the way
- foraging for food/water
- noticing things along the way: animal activity, smoke from distant campfires
- tracking, following a trail of footprints and other signs
- trying to cover your own tracks as you go
- setting an ambush, lying in wait
- noticing an ambush before it's sprung on you
Making camp
- rest, recovering health/morale, based on how good the camp conditions are
- who/what notices your encampment, based on how well concealed it is, fire, noise, etc.
- keeping watch, looking out for danger at night
![]() |
| Lewis and Clark, Mort Kunstler |
Some of what I'm looking for is rules: concrete ways to decide what happens, to give the hard decisions to the dice and the tables, not the GM.
The other part I'm looking for is inspiration: ideas and suggestions to help describe this genre of adventure. When running a game, a list of possible results is often handy, not as a way to constrain what the GM does, but as suggestions and inspiration.
Thursday, November 15, 2018
The Dead-Faces; or, how legendary Creatures drive adventure
Tall, shadowy figures that peer out of the woods at night, snatch up children, and stamp out fires. Just a local legend or a real danger of the North?
Dead-Faces (or yagira-skot) are one of the many rumored creatures of the Northern Lands. In any given campaign, they might exist or they might not. Spread rumors, but keep the truth lurking just out of sight.
Semi-legendary creatures like these are good for a number of reasons.
The Dead-Faces are only said to exist in the oak forests in the country west of the Flint Hills. It's a region of winding creeks and plenty of deer, a good place for hunting and traveling. The humans and goblins of the region believe in Dead-Faces and are careful not to cross them.
Down by the coast, the elves have recorded hundreds of rumors from the people indigenous to the North, but they don't believe most of them. The elves are sure that these creatures are just a story made up to frighten children and foolish travelers.
Legendary creatures can also lead to the thrill of discovery, if you manage to find them. The moment the party first finds proof that these creatures exist, they've been granted entry into a sanctum of secret knowledge, becoming more accomplished explorers, more knowledgable of the world they dwell in. Discovery is one of the many kinds of fun roleplaying games can provide.
They say the Dead-Faces are tall beings that sway in the wind, like robes draped over branches. They might be twenty feet tall, or they might be fifty (6-15 m). Their faces are blank and uniform, save for their sparkling eyes. Everyone agrees that you never see one of the Faces at a time, but that they huddle in groups, peering out of the trees. Then again, you never seem to find anyone who's actually seen them, but everybody seems to know someone who knows someone who has.
Dead-Faces leave footprints that are perfectly round and quite small, like the end of a staff pressed into the soil. They never speak to people, but they can sometimes be heard whispering to each other in the night.
The threat of danger, of course, is great at driving adventure. To make these legendary creatures truly matter, they're going to need to affect the party, and threatening their safety is a direct way to do that.
Dead-Faces don't like noise and light, so if you think they're nearby, you should quietly put out your fire and head the other way. People stay away from places they believe to be inhabited by them, leaving out gifts of pine nuts and acorn flour to appease them.
When people talk about how dangerous the Dead-Faces are, they don't talk of immediate danger. Fire at the Dead-Faces and they quickly slink away into the night, vanishing somewhere in the shadows. But their vengeance is certain (or so they say), coming when you're not watching to poison your food and watch quietly from the woods as your village starves to death. Children and livestock alike disappear into the woods when the Dead-Faces' anger has been aroused.
In many fantasy games, the players can look up all the monsters in the book and find out exactly what they're like. And there's no question as to whether they exist — when you hear about orcs causing trouble in the hills, you don't ask yourself if orcs are even real.
That's a fine way to play, but sometimes I'm looking for a bit more mystery in the world. Semi-legendary creatures might exist, but they might not. Rumors and legends certainly abound, just like in our own world, of creatures that probably aren't real. But if these creatures might actually be real, it's prudent to listen to the warnings and protect yourself the way the locals do.
The result is a bunch of superstitious PCs, tossing salt over their shoulder and closing umbrellas indoors, because even though the players know each rumor has a good chance of being false, it's better to be safe than sorry.
If the people around here tell stories of the Dead-Faces, roll for two rumors on the table below. The first is the truth. The second is a grave misunderstanding that's only partly true.
![]() |
| (Michael Morris, Watcher of the Forest) |
Dead-Faces (or yagira-skot) are one of the many rumored creatures of the Northern Lands. In any given campaign, they might exist or they might not. Spread rumors, but keep the truth lurking just out of sight.
Semi-legendary creatures like these are good for a number of reasons.
- journey
- discovery
- danger
- superstition
Journey
The Dead-Faces are only said to exist in the oak forests in the country west of the Flint Hills. It's a region of winding creeks and plenty of deer, a good place for hunting and traveling. The humans and goblins of the region believe in Dead-Faces and are careful not to cross them.
Down by the coast, the elves have recorded hundreds of rumors from the people indigenous to the North, but they don't believe most of them. The elves are sure that these creatures are just a story made up to frighten children and foolish travelers.
![]() |
| (Romi Volentino, Forest Ghost) |
Discovery
Legendary creatures can also lead to the thrill of discovery, if you manage to find them. The moment the party first finds proof that these creatures exist, they've been granted entry into a sanctum of secret knowledge, becoming more accomplished explorers, more knowledgable of the world they dwell in. Discovery is one of the many kinds of fun roleplaying games can provide.
They say the Dead-Faces are tall beings that sway in the wind, like robes draped over branches. They might be twenty feet tall, or they might be fifty (6-15 m). Their faces are blank and uniform, save for their sparkling eyes. Everyone agrees that you never see one of the Faces at a time, but that they huddle in groups, peering out of the trees. Then again, you never seem to find anyone who's actually seen them, but everybody seems to know someone who knows someone who has.
Dead-Faces leave footprints that are perfectly round and quite small, like the end of a staff pressed into the soil. They never speak to people, but they can sometimes be heard whispering to each other in the night.
![]() |
| (Lautrec Winifred, Enoch) |
Danger
The threat of danger, of course, is great at driving adventure. To make these legendary creatures truly matter, they're going to need to affect the party, and threatening their safety is a direct way to do that.
Dead-Faces don't like noise and light, so if you think they're nearby, you should quietly put out your fire and head the other way. People stay away from places they believe to be inhabited by them, leaving out gifts of pine nuts and acorn flour to appease them.
When people talk about how dangerous the Dead-Faces are, they don't talk of immediate danger. Fire at the Dead-Faces and they quickly slink away into the night, vanishing somewhere in the shadows. But their vengeance is certain (or so they say), coming when you're not watching to poison your food and watch quietly from the woods as your village starves to death. Children and livestock alike disappear into the woods when the Dead-Faces' anger has been aroused.
![]() |
| (Reddit u/Carlen67) |
Superstition
In many fantasy games, the players can look up all the monsters in the book and find out exactly what they're like. And there's no question as to whether they exist — when you hear about orcs causing trouble in the hills, you don't ask yourself if orcs are even real.
That's a fine way to play, but sometimes I'm looking for a bit more mystery in the world. Semi-legendary creatures might exist, but they might not. Rumors and legends certainly abound, just like in our own world, of creatures that probably aren't real. But if these creatures might actually be real, it's prudent to listen to the warnings and protect yourself the way the locals do.
The result is a bunch of superstitious PCs, tossing salt over their shoulder and closing umbrellas indoors, because even though the players know each rumor has a good chance of being false, it's better to be safe than sorry.
If the people around here tell stories of the Dead-Faces, roll for two rumors on the table below. The first is the truth. The second is a grave misunderstanding that's only partly true.
| Rumors (d20) | |
| 1 | Their appearance is a sign of hungry days ahead. They're mostly seen after the last harvest in the fall and before the snow melts in the spring. |
| 2 | They're creatures of shadow, without real bodies like yours and mine. They emerge from shadow at night and dissipate in the morning. |
| 3 | They're dead, made from the spirits of those who died alone in the woods. They can't be harmed, but they always stay near their old bones, hoping for proper funeral rites. |
| 4 | Before daylight comes they go down and fold up into holes in the ground. You do not want to wake them. |
| 5 | They won't cross human boundaries, like walls and fences, but you'd better not cross their boundaries in the woods. |
| 6 | They eat birds and bats that they pluck out of the air, crunching up their bones, but they never eat creatures from the ground. |
| 7 | They only come out on dark nights: during the new moon or under cloudy skies. |
| 8 | Their touch will leave you blind for days. |
| 9 | They leave food behind as a gift: nuts and broken birds. |
| 10 | Their eyes are glittering gems that the elves will pay handsomely for. |
| 11-20 | Dead-Faces aren't real, just misunderstood sightings of something benign. |
| rumors | |
| true | |
| grave misunderstanding | |
Monday, September 24, 2018
The danger of this place
If each place has its own danger, places matter.
As a GM, I like each location to have a single listed danger. There can be other dangers, like the regiment patrolling around or the spined coyotes the party just woke up, but I like to have one danger that's about the area itself, the danger of that place. A few examples:
Dangers like these are also helpful to give the players a sense of the world. The mine where explosive dust is a problem feels very different from the mine where all the timbers are about to collapse. The players get to learn about a problem that they can interact with, something that reacts to their actions and can be overcome by their ingenuity.
Each danger has some kind of clue, a sign of its presence. I don't like springing dangers on the party without any warning at all. When my adventurers all die, they'll be able to look back and see how it was allmy their fault. (Here's a more serious take on lethality in RPGs.)
Dangers could also happen in several steps. The old bridge across the chasm won't give way all at once (assuming no one does anything stupid). The first time you're on it, one of the crossbeams will break. The second time the whole thing will creak and dip (time for an agility check). The third time it'll crack and fall into the chasm.
What about places that don't seem to have an inherent danger? My first suggestion is to figure one out anyway, even if it's not that big of a danger. Places with no reward and no danger don't matter very much on the map. (And if a place doesn't matter at all, just skip over it with a "You travel for several miles, reaching your destination...".)
But if you'd like to have a certain place in the game, yet there's no immediate danger, try one of two options:
The director's office could easily hold danger (based on the party's standing with the company) but it's also a good place to show danger that's yet to come. The director could know about threats to the company, impending war, famine in a nearby country, and so on.
Signs in the Wilderness is about adventure driven by big opportunities, not looming threats. Danger is an obstacle on the way to your fame and fortune, not the driving feature of the adventure itself. In an upcoming post, I'll talk about how to craft dangers that relate to the particular opportunities in your game so far.
As a GM, I like each location to have a single listed danger. There can be other dangers, like the regiment patrolling around or the spined coyotes the party just woke up, but I like to have one danger that's about the area itself, the danger of that place. A few examples:
- In the coal mine, air that's thick with coal dust is likely to explode on contact with flame.
- Out on the bog, legs and wheels could get stuck in the mud.
- Near the fort, there are spiked pit traps to grievously wound unwary attackers.
Dangers like these are also helpful to give the players a sense of the world. The mine where explosive dust is a problem feels very different from the mine where all the timbers are about to collapse. The players get to learn about a problem that they can interact with, something that reacts to their actions and can be overcome by their ingenuity.
Each danger has some kind of clue, a sign of its presence. I don't like springing dangers on the party without any warning at all. When my adventurers all die, they'll be able to look back and see how it was all
- A sign at the entrance to the mine lists the mine company's regulations, including rules about wearing helmets, obeying the foreman's instructions, and only using safety lamps.
- There's an abandoned cart halfway sunken into the mud at the edge of the bog.
- A want ad is posted (with plenty of pictures) looking for giants to help dig pits around the fort.
Dangers could also happen in several steps. The old bridge across the chasm won't give way all at once (assuming no one does anything stupid). The first time you're on it, one of the crossbeams will break. The second time the whole thing will creak and dip (time for an agility check). The third time it'll crack and fall into the chasm.
What about places that don't seem to have an inherent danger? My first suggestion is to figure one out anyway, even if it's not that big of a danger. Places with no reward and no danger don't matter very much on the map. (And if a place doesn't matter at all, just skip over it with a "You travel for several miles, reaching your destination...".)
But if you'd like to have a certain place in the game, yet there's no immediate danger, try one of two options:
- Show evidence of a danger that already happened.
- Show signs of a danger that's yet to come.
The director's office could easily hold danger (based on the party's standing with the company) but it's also a good place to show danger that's yet to come. The director could know about threats to the company, impending war, famine in a nearby country, and so on.
Signs in the Wilderness is about adventure driven by big opportunities, not looming threats. Danger is an obstacle on the way to your fame and fortune, not the driving feature of the adventure itself. In an upcoming post, I'll talk about how to craft dangers that relate to the particular opportunities in your game so far.
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