Four-Way Wilderness Descriptions

David McGrogan recently requests:

People may already have done this, but providing DMs with handy, accessible and beautiful three-line descriptors of what the players can see as they traverse one hex or another, or go from one point to another on a pointcrawl, would I think be a very useful addition to wilderness campaigning. 

Without overdoing things, my suggestion for improvising these in play or writing would be: when breaking new ground, describe three aspects of background (down, sides, up), one of atmosphere (around), and add in "figures" where appropriate.

A 19th century Transcendentalist landscape by Jasper Francis Cropsey

The narrative should tell you what you see and hear from below (the ground on which you walk), to the side (the sightline or blockage of the vista), and above (the condition of the sky). The atmosphere covers the motion, feeling, and scent of the air immediately around you. Figures, then, are any specific landmarks, ships, throngs, or creatures that may be glimpsed among these backing elements, and it's wise to use them sparingly and only double up on special occasions.

One or two things from each of these lists with appropriate detail and maybe a bit of prose imagery should give a rich and narratable description to go on for any given stretch of travel. Then, part of the art is narrating change in the conditions when the terrain or weather themselves change.

Below. Is the ground ...? rising, falling, or level; flat, rolling, uneven, humped, jagged; solid, treacherous, shaky, slippery; muddy (deep, sticky, malodorous, water-washed); earthy (red clay, black loam, dry earth, silt); sandy (packed, drifting, red, pale); rocky (pebbles, shingle, boulders, fissures; slate, chalk, limestone, granite, volcanic); snowy (thin, drifting, deep, ice-crusted, melting); grassy (dry. lush, tall, grazed-down, sparse, weedy); brushy (thorns, berries, holly, chaparral); forest floor (dry leaves, dry needles, moist mulch, ivy). Is the path straight, curving, meandering, winding? If on water, is it salt or fresh, clear or clouded, fast or sluggish, smooth, wavy, or turbulent, strangely dead or teeming with plant and insect life?

To the sides. Is the view clear and unobstructed? On a curved Earth, the horizon stands at 5 km (3 miles) at ground level, but climbing just 300 meters (1000 feet) lets you see ten times that. If anything obstructs your view, what is it? Hills, cliffs, mountains, canyon walls, tall trees, fog, haze, dust. If nothing is in the way, what do you see?

Above. How much light in the sky - sun, moon, stars? How many clouds, what shape, how do they filter or reflect the light? Is it sunrise, sunset, high noon, dusk, night? If the sky is visible, is it clear or hazy? Does the moon show at day? Are there birds, sun dogs, a rainbow?

Atmosphere. Is the temperature bone-freezing cold, breath-clouding cold, chilly, warm, hot, dangerously hot? Is the air crisp, humid, misty, thin, oppressive? Is the air moving, is the wind steady or fitful, the direction constant or changeable? Are there mineral smells - sulfur, mineral oil, chalk dust - or vegetable smells - pine needles, moldering leaves, wild flowers, tree pollen - or, rarely, the scent of a passing animal, a corpse or some dung? Are there intangibles that can be summed up in a word - brilliant, harsh, eerie, serene?

A couple of examples that might have been applied in my current campaign, with an example "figure" in red:

1. The party, on horseback, is proceeding through a valley in an area of scrub and wooded hills, then mounting the end of the valley and descending to where there's a river and a ferry. It's late October.

"Dry fallen leaves and needles crunch under the horses' hooves as you make your way through the valley. The trail winds through low bushes, holly and others with a few quivering leaves in the wind, and to either side the ground rises, pine trees and yellow-leaved birches on the slopes and heights. The sky is deep blue and crisp with a few scudding clouds high up. A chilly wind blows from the west and sets the fallen leaves to dancing and flying with a dusty, papery scent."

2. The party, on a commercial boat, is traveling up-river between the wooded hills and a less covered highland, toward a town near a mountain lake. The season is similar, but the weather is still and overcast.

"The river is dotted with fallen leaves, yellow and brown against the dark water. The oarsmen move confidently against the weak and sluggish current with heaving, steady strokes. To your right, the rising land is masked by pine trees that emerge from a curtain of river willows with strings of sparse yellowing leaves. To your left, the hills are bare, sheer faces of dark granite with grassy shelves. The clouds above are stony and gray, at times letting distant shafts of light down into the still, ominous air. In the gaps ahead, when the river runs straight, rise the black snow-capped peaks of a tall mountain range."

No great poetic imagination is needed to follow this template more or less freely. Like all narrative devices it has to be applied with tact and moderation -- you don't need to lavish such description when going over the same ground a second time, for instance. However, much like the procedure of considering all five senses when describing a dungeon room, I think this down- sides - up - around procedure has good potentional to add weight and color to your outdoor description.

The Indefinite

There is one use of "appears" language, which I mostly panned in a previous post, that actually can be appropriate -- when the character has only an indefinite idea of how to call something they're experiencing.

"In the shadows at the back of the room you see a still figure that appears to be human-shaped" (approach closer and see it's a wooden effigy)

"The vial is full of a fine white grainy powder that looks kind of like salt" (you need to taste it or have alchemy knowledge to find out anything different).

The difficulties in describing this kind of situation are basic to the task of conveying visual information through language. To describe something efficiently you must categorize it. "You see a cylindrical form about two meters high, topped by a sphere, with one long cylinder hanging from each side." That's just a clunky, roundabout, parlor-game way to say "You see a human-shaped figure." But the problem with "human-shaped" is that it forces an interpretation too strongly, while "cylindrical form" doesn't capture the automatic leap to a conclusion that you might experience when you see this feature in silhouette:

For non-visual cues, using approximate metaphors seems fairer. "You hear a sound like a huge sleeping animal snoring" can be revealed as just waves resounding in a grotto. "You see a powder like salt" but when assayed it's actually the alchemists' compound zafronast. Fortunately, visual cues suggest their own method or resolution, transferring the characters' perceptions' to the players' themselves by means of illustrations.

When shown and not told, whether drawn on the spot or prepared ahead of time, the visually indefinite can be a powerful stimulus to conjecture and mystery. Consider the following glyph that recent adventurers in the Castle of the Mad Archmage found daubed on the wall in the south of the second level:

Its meaning was much debated -brains? snakes with wings? Looked sinister enough, anyway. Only when a more detailed amulet was found on the body of a cultist was the intent made clear:

To depict the twin heads and tentacles of the demon lord Demogorgon.

Apart from crude drawings, the visually indefinite can be achieved by holding a mask of random dots printed on an overhead projection over an illustration; else, by holding it up at a distance, as I did in the same adventure when the party glimpsed from afar the notorious fountain of serpents, which is illustrated in the Castle of the Mad Archmage illustrations booklet.

Clues first, then revelation, is a general principle that works wonders when running adventures. A wonder or hazard hinted at before provides a strong guide to play, and makes the final encounter that much more satisfying, than if it comes as a complete surprise.

Appears-Book-Isms

Here's how it probably starts.

There's a slip between the input and the output of the Gamemaster-In-The-Middle. The adventure writer communicating to the GM says "This appears to be a worn stone stairway leading down, but really is a sloping passage floored with the sticky illusion-casting tongue of a Deceptive Devourer, the rest of which lurks in wait in room 15 of the next level." The GM then communicates to players,  "You see what appears to be ... an old set of stone steps leading down into the darkness." Or consulting the "appears" synonym book, "seems," "looks like," "apparently is," et al.

Who knows why they do this, but two reasons come to mind. It could just be literal-mindedness, relying on the words in the description to craft a speech to the players. It could also be a reflex of honesty; the inner moral angel balking at saying there "is" a flight of stairs leading down when it just isn't true. Whatever the reason, it becomes immediately clear to the players that using "appears"-isms in this way is a giveaway that something funny is up.

Now, there's still time for you, the GM, to repent of your folly. Realize that your job is only to describe reality as it appears at any given time to the players. A successful deception will appear with the full force of reality;  "is," actually, is fully appropriate.

But in some games I've seen, the GM instead takes the left-hand path, doubling down on "appears"-ism by applying it as a decoy to things that aren't deceptive at all.

"What seem to be some mushrooms are growing from the dung heap." (They're just mushrooms.)
"There are some humanoids approaching. They appear to be orcs." (And they are.)
"A stream of what looks like clear water flows from the left wall to the right." (PSYCH! It's acid, save or take 4d6!!)

In any case, "appears"-ism usually gets left by the wayside when the players enter safe surroundings. Or at least imagine this:

You find what appears to be the same trail leading back to the village through superficially familiar birch and fir trees. After walking a distance that feels similar to the distance you took to get there, you see what may very well indeed be the buildings of the village. You go to a low house that looks very much like your inn. A hot meal for five is seemingly brought out within what feels like minutes by the self-styled innkeeper, who closely resembles the man you remember from this morning. Pewter-look plates apparently are sitting on what looks like a table, with a liquid having the appearance of ale in a ceramic-like pitcher. The "plates" are heaped with putative sausage and ostensible beans ...

This, I think you'll agree, is a Brechtian alienation effect gone too far; it turns the game into an exercise in Plato's Cave or radical philosophical solipsism. Whenever appears-speak is used, it will keep the players vaguely tipped-off and on guard, lending a hallucinatory aspect to the proceedings.

But I'm not sure it's necessary to use such a blunt instrument to get that effect -- shouldn't players naturally be wary in the dungeon? And more to the point, how do you really spring the classic "innkeeper-is-a-werewolf" surprise when you telegraph safe and dangerous areas so obviously?

In conclusion, there can only be one response to an environment described through "appears"-book-isms ...

"I DISBELIEVE!"

D&D Next's Analog Writing

Strangely, the one thing that I like most about the D&D Next playtest materials was not the mechanics, the nods to Old School play values, or the Caves of Chaos. It's the style of the monster write-ups, the way they fit so well with my liking for analog detail.

D&D monster writeups started minimal in Original, and ramped up fast to the bloated style seen in 2nd edition, with every fact of ecology, tactics and social structure spelled out across two back-to-back pages of small print looseleaf. The AD&D Monster Manual got it just about right, with enough tidbits and hooks to make monsters interesting, but not enough to leave no room for invention or mystery. Strangely, the Field Folio had the right average of detail but the wrong spread, with some monsters underdone, and others developed to the point where playing against them would be a little railroaded module all to itself.

Still no "weird hooting" though.

It's not just nostalgia for the nods to AD&D - the tribe names, the green-gray skin of the gnolls and the red-rimmed eyes of the owlbear. Really, the descriptive text of the D&D Next monsters comes in at just the right level of detail. If there's information about the creature's diet, organization, treasure "drops" (like the owlbear's eggs), or natural history, it doesn't feel like it's been forced into an encyclopedia entry. Rather, the haphazard information reads more like an almanac or bestiary, the kind of knowledge a well-informed adventurer would be likely to pick up from late tavern nights on the borderlands. The one constant is good physical description and a short paragraph of likely actions when confronted.

The digital stuff - boss feats, six stats for everyone - is easily enough ignored, simplified or fudged in play, as the notes recommend. It did inspire me to come up with a very simple way to determine monster ability scores and saves, which I'll share next time.

There's less of a wealth of analog detail in the Caves of Chaos adventure, though the format is nice: a short establishing paragraph, and specific notes on lights, smells and sounds that might reach the players before they enter the area. That's OK, though; while the writing style in this example sets the tone for adventures under these rules, it's something that can be easily changed by individual writers.

As I figure out which of the distasteful parts can be dropped or modified, I'm coming to like the Next approach more and more.

Iron God: The Pit, the Pole and the Point Dwarf

This post has spoilers for Black Blade's Tomb of the Iron God adventure module. But not any spoilers for my players who have marched through most of it. So be forewarned and see you on the other side of the cut.

Analog, Digital, Procedural

I haven't posted that much about my Tomb of the Iron God campaign - though I did share one memorable mini-game event. I have been reluctant because a) I'm not sure people want to read play reports, honestly and b) it's so tied into the Tomb that I really wanted to wait to the end to do a report.

That report is coming, but it will be more a review of the module and description of how I altered the Tomb for my playing style, than what the players did therein. And to get into that I need to talk about the three things I find useful in an adventure key, without the cliched and restricting terms "crunch" and "fluff".

Analog details: Descriptions in real-world language of the physical environment, serving three purposes: to set an atmosphere of immersion and discovery; to give hooks for player creativity as they interact with the surroundings, and to provide grounds for old-school rulings of the kind famously described in Finch's Primer. This can also extend to psychological descriptions of NPCs and their motivations.

"This room is a small domed natural cavern 10' high at its apex. Its walls are moist and caked with formations of off-white and beige limestone, while a layer of fine sand covers the floor. A crude gate of half-rotted oak logs lashed together with rope stands at the north exit, held closed by a twine latch on the inside. A patrol of 6 kobolds armed with clubs and throwing stones is resting here and telling stories. The troops are wary but led by a hothead, Kzitch."

Digital stats: Numbers and classifications in game terms, on which game procedures and rules can be based.

"The north door can be easily opened from the south side, but takes a door opening roll at -1 from the north side. There are 6 kobolds - a leader with 4 hp and five with 3,3,2,1 and 1 hp. Kobold: AC 13, +0 to hit, damage = club 1d6 or thrown rock 1d3 with 30' range, move 9, morale +2 if leader alive and present, -2 otherwise."

Procedural instructions:Directions for running the adventure in an if-then format.

"In this room are 6 kobolds including a leader. If they detect the party first, the leader will take 1 combat round to rally his wary troops, and then charge headlong. If surprised by the party, they will rush behind the gate and attempt to hold it against the party. If the gate is pushed by those on one side it will start to topple forward to crush those on the other side, possibly creating a shoving contest."

So, at one end of the descriptiveness scale is the minimalist kind of description found in the Stonehell or Castle of the Mad Archmage megadungeons. Statblocks are often dispensed with, you are lucky if you get hit points for the creatures, and the DM is usually left to provide details about the physical surroundings and play out the logic of the encounter.

At the other end is the maximal style of, say, Ruins of Undermountain, where everything and every contingency is described along all three dimensions in great detail, you get to know every hobgoblin's government name (I'm hardly exaggerating) and one room description takes up half a page to two pages.

I actually find all three of these elements useful, in the appropriate doses. It's good not to have to flip through a rulebook to find an armor class, and good to have some idea of the monster strategy. But there has to be some compromise, because I want the written material to be manageable and not stretch over multiple pages. Of these three, the one I can most easily come up with myself on the fly is the procedural, and the one thing I would most like to see is the analog.

You see, in Old School play ... fluff is crunch. The sandy floor, moist walls made of soft stone, composition of the gate, and disposition of the kobolds all can feed into the players' improvised plans and the DM's improvised rulings. Critics of "fluff" in adventure writing, already prejudiced by that term, call it unnecessary. Indeed, the prose need not be purple. But basic material facts about the structure of things are something I'd rather not have to improvise, even though I have done so many times running both Tomb of the Iron God and Castle of the Mad Archmage.

The Inviolable Fortress of the Player's Emotions

I hate boxed text in an adventure. I know a lot of you do. Others don't. But there's something special a writer can do with boxed text that's worse than pulling toenails. Sadly, I was reminded of that while reading the otherwise excellent Wheel of Evil adventure by Jeff Sparks. Let me explain.

I know a lot of DMs and adventure writers take seriously the commandment to engage as many of the reader/listener's senses as possible. Thus, in addition to seeing walls and ceilings with precise measurements in feet, the players should be led to hear the whistle of the dungeon wind, feel the dungeon sands underfoot, smell the dungeon dung and taste the dungeon luncheon.

Well, sensations are feelings, right? And feelings are emotions, right? So why shouldn't we describe the characters' rising gorge, crawling skin, or sense of peace and serenity? Why shouldn't it be OK to chase a short description of disgusting stuff with "A feeling of revulsion fills you as you view the scene"? To specify that you feel the malevolence of an area "deep down in your bones"? Or just write something like "this room smells foul and repulses you with its slimy aspect"? (All examples from Wheel of Evil, by the way.)

I'll tell you why not.

This has so many other uses than telling players how they feel.

Firstly ... The first thing you learn in Serious Writer Boot Camp is to show, not tell. Instead of writing "He felt disgusted" say "He wrinkled his nose" or "He turned away, holding his mouth." Or better yet - just describe the scene, subtly tweaking the descriptive language to communicate the point-of-view character's emotions. This is so easy to do with disgust in particular that there is absolutely no need to say anything about the player's or character's reaction. "A pulsing, ridged coil of glistening ochre paste, stinking faintly of sweaty feet, snakes forth with a gaseous hiss from the chapped orifice atop a slivered nipple of bone-white plastic..." Put you off your Easy-Cheese there, but you get the point.

Secondly ... As Craig Heir forcefully and concisely argued here, second person presumes the sort of emotional, bodily or sensory reaction the addressed person is going to take. This violates the mind and soul of your player-listeners, and doesn't respect their characters' special senses or reactions.

Shawn Merwin's excellent advice: use third person when writing descriptive text. This leaves it to the DM to translate this into second person, which is great in many ways. It lets the DM adjust for the special abilities, states or knowledge of the characters. And, basic presentation skills only improve when you go from reading text off a page to improvising from notes. Boxed text enables the stereotypical awkward middle-school dungeon master, monotonously reciting from behind the screen without eye contact. It's okay as training wheels, but fatal to any sense of spontaneity.

I don't mean to single out Wheel of Evil, which is otherwise a very cool, varied and inventive adventure. A while back I bought a CD including Bits of Darkness: Caverns, a play aid filled with creative and well-researched ideas about natural underground caverns. But then there's that encounter ... the one where your players are reminded of the horror of being so deep underground and the horror then invades the characters' minds (no magic, just spontaneous claustrophobia and boxed text) ... and they actually have to make a Will save to avoid running around like decapitated chickens.

What a blemish on an otherwise fine product! Make the players scared, I say. Have them lose their way, blow out their light, make them think the ceiling is about to cave in. Do anything, but leave alone the inviolable fortress of their minds!