Worldcrafting

Author: Andrzej Stój

English version: Jakub Erpegis Osiejewski, Andy Slack
Additional material: Andy Slack, Tomasz Z. Majkowski, Michał Puszon
Stachyra, Artur Ganszyniec
Editing: Andy Slack, Piotr Korys

Cover: Tomek Tworek

Art: Ania Jarmołowska, Bartek Fedyczak

For my Father,
Andrzej Stój.

This game references the Savage Worlds game system, available from
Pinnacle Entertainment Group at www.peginc.com. Savage Worlds
and all associated logos and trademarks are copyrights of Pinnacle
Entertainment Group. Used with permission. Pinnacle makes no
representation or warranty as to the quality, viability, or suitability for
purpose of this product.
 Table of Contents
1. The Idea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

2. The Goal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

3. The Basics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

4. Beta Testing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

5. Organizations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

6.   History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33

7. Geography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

8. Religions and beliefs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

9. Plot point campaign . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53

10. Mechanical Modifications . . . . . . . . . 59

11. System Modifications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

12. The Final Touches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73

13. Appendix: Guest Speakers . . . . . . . . . . . . 77

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4
 1. The Idea
Difficult Beginnings
Worldcrafting is a cycle of essays intended for all roleplayers who would like to create a
campaign setting of their own. It’s divided into 12 sections discussing each element of
a complete campaign book – from the modifications of the rules, through geography
and history to the idea for the plot point campaign. The cycle is, to an extent, based on
Savage Worlds gaming system (and most mechanical references concern that game), but
it’s written to serve as help for everyone regardless of the gaming ruleset you’re using.

The theory is best supported by examples. And that’s why boxes

such as this use the SF horror setting Nemezis as an example, a
setting written initially with a d20-based system in mind, which
was ultimately published as a Savage Worlds setting in Polish,
English, and Italian.

Start
Let’s look at an average gamer sitting at his desk starting to create his world. A
computer monitor flickers in front of him – few people would work with text without
an electronic device. At his left hand – some paper, pencils and erasers waiting for the
idea of the map. On his right – speakers playing some gentle music to put the author
in an inspired mood. Our gamer has prepared in advance: in his mind, he has a plan
for the setting, its history, inklings of geography and names, he’s read some guides to
creating fantasy worlds as well. He knows a lot of PnP and video game settings, has
browsed the websites of complex alternate worlds, and by reading forums he’s learned
how experienced authors create worlds of their own. He sips his beverage of choice,
reaches for the paper and begins to draw an outline of the continent, which…

Stop!
He shouldn’t start with the map? Very well, so he opens a text editor, lets his imagination
go wild, and starts to create his original and innovative world. The header of the first
chapter reads “History”…

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Stop!
Starting with the history is senseless? Okay, so our would-be author starts with
describing mechanical differences which will give the setting unique…

Wait!
Starting with gaming mechanics is wrong as well? So what should he start with?
Geography? Monsters? Art? Iconic characters? Perhaps with a description of daily life
or the major power groups of the setting?

No, creating the world is best started at the very beginning – with the idea. All the chapters
in the document are specific facets of the world. These should be tackled when the author has
created the most important thing: the ideas that give the world the potential to be developed
into a full-fledged campaign setting.

If our average gamer really wants to create his own world, it’s probably best to turn the
computer off for a while, drink his tea or coffee, put the pencil and paper down, and then start
to think about the idea behind the world. The music can play on.

Very well, then, let’s start at the beginning.

The Beginning
The most important step during the creation of a roleplaying setting is simply to realize
what kind of world you want to create. Sometimes the alleged settings are merely ideas
for adventures or small campaigns. Other times they’re merely inspired by some great
show, for a gamer who just wants to play as her favorite hero. Sometimes a setting
is simply a modification of the existing universe – it doesn’t need a new book to be
introduced.

The setting needs first and foremost an idea to drive it – which would be potent enough
for you, the author, to expand it into an entire book. Of course, fresh, exotic ideas are
the best, being easily expanded into a unique world – but that’s not essential. Not every
setting is written to succeed commercially. You can use Worldcrafting to create “a world
by my group for my group”. There’s nothing wrong with that – but you need to be aware
that yet another “heartbreaker” setting has little chance to get through and reach a larger
number of readers, and so, might be attractive only to the authors.

The idea for Nemezis emerged while I was browsing graphics

inspired by the creations of H. P. Lovecraft. I started to wonder
what a world where the Great Old Ones have actually awakened
would look like. Would humankind be eradicated? Would they
be able to ally themselves with some of these abominations?
And if we started to fight back, what would the war look like?

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I realized that humanity would have a chance to fight these

powerful creatures only if they obtained some powerful,
science-fiction technology. Therefore, the idea behind Nemezis
is the clash of ancient, inhuman powers with humankind as it
conquers and settles the Galaxy.

Such a “core” idea could be anything. A movie, a book, an anime, TV show, work of art
or even the RPG campaign of another GM could give you an inspiration for a created
world. And even though I have said before that many settings boil down to simply “an
idea for a campaign”, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t create these. However, you should
first consider how large the end product will be. You could be aiming at a 200-page
book, a world with its own geography and history, but a twenty-page-long campaign
for a couple of sessions can also be very entertaining. This book, however, focuses rather
on the creation of the full-fledged settings with well-described worlds, mechanical
modifications and a multitude of ideas to use in your sessions.

This initial core idea needs to be cleansed of “impurities” – various fragments of books
or movies that you might associate with the theme. These might look like inspirations,
but in reality, they’re just pollution, smoke settling on the pane through which the
author examines the newborn idea. If you don’t wipe this dirt off the glass, the setting
will be blurred and unfocused.

As I mentioned before, the first inspirations for Nemezis were

illustrations. While thinking about the new setting, I also
remembered other works which could fit this world well. I
made a short list of such movies and books to remember them
later, and also to limit myself in looking for inspirations.
I assumed that good ideas could always find a place in my
setting, but I didn’t want them to dominate it. Among the works
which have influenced the final form of Nemezis are the Aliens
saga, Starship Troopers, Event Horizon, Star Wars, Terminator,
Cowboy Bebop, Blade Runner and stories by H. P. Lovecraft and
Phillip K. Dick.

When you have a pure idea ready which will guide you through the further work, you
need to think about the most important goal: the players. Even the most brilliant ideas
could disintegrate when someone asks a simple question: “What will the players do in
your game?” Some worlds, seemingly massive and complex, are actually already complete
– without enough space to accommodate the heroes of the players. They can work out
well as a backdrop for stories, novels or movies – but may work poorly as a setting for
open role-playing games. If you, the author of the new setting, can’t make room for
potential PCs, you should rethink your idea… or scrap the project completely. There’s
no point in creating a complete world if problems arise so early in the work.

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The more potential PC roles you can manage to churn out, the better. Time spent on
resolving the question above won’t ever be lost, that’s why I recommend you spend quite
a lot of time thinking about the roles for PCs. If you’re coming up with a lot of ideas,
start jotting them down. If you determine who the players are going to play and how
they’ll fight the opposition, you’re already starting to plan out the final book – you’ll know
whether to focus on geography or history or whether to change the game mechanics.

The answer to the question “What will the player characters do?” is really important. If
you start creating your own setting and hesitate whether to think about it over an entire
week, stop hesitating. Devote an entire month to it. It’s really worth it.

It might turn out that you come up with so many example roles for characters, that you go
back and rethink your core setting idea. This might mean that you have neglected to filter
out impurities, and fragments of recently enjoyed movies and books are still circulating in
your mind. If possible, rethink the secondary ideas, keeping in mind the core one, rather
than forcing the whole setting concept to change just to accommodate some new roles.

In the case of Nemezis I assumed a wide array of roles available

to the players: bounty hunters, soldiers, politicians, star
traders – an interesting campaign could be built around any
of these concepts. It would be far easier to create a world for
a single specific archetype (“You are all space marines”), but I
decided to leave the choice to the parties.

After shaping out the idea and determining the role of characters the author needs to
determine one minor detail to end the concept stage of the idea, namely determine the
general genre for the setting. Can you explain it with a single word? There’s nothing
wrong with describing it as simply “heroic fantasy” or “horror”. Or maybe you need to
create a new idea (but be wary of phrases like “technofantasy with elements of horror
and mythicpunk”)? Would an average gamer after reading the short description of setting
place it in the same genre as the author? If not, what would their genre be? You could
simply write this description and ask your friends around what do they think of it. After
determining the genre, you should be able to have the initial image of the setting. Now
you can forge it into words… But to be on the safe side you should wait a couple of days,
so that the idea takes form. If no new brilliant ideas pop up, dominating your main idea
and you still want to write, you can safely open the notebook or start the text editor.

You can wait a while to decide the title of your game.

For Nemezis the case is quite simple. The game is a space opera
with horror elements – but these can be safely shifted into
background, depending on the mood of the GM and the players.

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 2. The Goal
What is Your Game About?

Introduction
Most role-playing games to a lesser or greater degree specify the roles of player
characters. These assumptions can be very specific (“You are all conspirators trying to
overthrow a tyrant”) or quite broad (“You are all nobles”). Seemingly, they matter little
for gameplay, but in reality, they’re one of the major factors determining what the game
sessions look like.

The awareness of who the heroes are and what do they do will help the players understand
your world, but it’s not enough for them to create specific, believable characters. The
players should also know the heroes’ motivations, what makes them take the decisions
they take, and what tools they can use to achieve their goals. Without this knowledge, a
Game Master won’t be able to design a single adventure for a campaign.

The Goals
Though one might think otherwise, the motivations of heroes don’t need to be very
specific. If the author of the setting wants the parties to undertake missions that get
more and more dangerous and rewarding, on behalf of employers or taken willingly
– very well, this works in many “dungeon crawlers”. In such a game, the goal of the
characters is simply to get rich, improve their skills and fulfill their private goals. This
idea is used by probably the largest number of role-playing games. Its advantages are
obvious: simplicity and the multitude of threads it is possible to introduce. Of course,
this loose assumption can be a flaw as well – if the players in the party have different
expectations and views of the general campaign, the Game Master might have trouble
creating tales tailored for a particular hero.

The choice for the world designer, therefore, boils down to generic vs. specific. In theory,
the more universal settings are more popular, but this does not always mean that they’re
well written; they have access to great marketing, a large player base and great design
(colorful, glossy books with full-color illustrations by great artists to draw the attention

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of the players). If you can’t afford to commission at least a nice cover image, it’s quite
likely that the readers will ignore your hard work, leaving it to rot on the store or virtual
shelves.

Nemezis was initially my submission to the infamous Polish

competition for a d20-based setting, and from the beginning
it was supposed to be a very open world, appealing to a wide
variety of players. The setting book would contain many
archetypes as options the players could use. The description
of roles for the heroes would be necessary, even if only to
ensure the players would have a good starting point for their
character creation. According to the initial assumptions,
the characters could have been soldiers, commanders, nobles,
free merchants, bounty hunters, police officers, duelists,
psionicists or corporate agents.

Of course, narrowing down the goals of player characters does not necessarily mean
that your setting will improve. It should inspire the players and GMs, not force them to
make weird or self-contradictory choices (“collect memories”, “interview supervillains”)
– then, the readers will probably think that strange motivations are art for art’s sake,
and change them or – if this would require too much work – discard your game entirely.
RPGs are an open, sandbox form of entertainment; if you limit characters’ choices, you
should have concrete justifications and be able to enrich the game with elements not
found in more generic settings. For instance, if you determine that “all characters are
master villains wanting to rule the world”, all you do is introduce a limit, not offering
the players anything in return. In this case, you simply force the background and many
character traits upon the player characters, compelling them to follow a specific goal.
Such a campaign can easily be played in virtually any setting – all it takes is asking the
players to create evil characters whose main goal will be a power grab.

There’s a simple trick you can use to determine the goals of characters. When you pick
a specific goal, ask yourself whether it’s usable in other settings, and if so – how much
effort it would take to work in another world. If the idea for a goal is merely a limitation,
it should be discarded. What’s worth retaining are the ideas that allow new ways to play
out a campaign, and force you to focus on elements of the world and game mechanics
usually neglected in other campaigns.

One exception is settings based on direct, strong assumptions, with a Plot Point campaign
ready, where all heroes have clearly determined roles. In such a case you should really
consider the specifics of the world and introduce certain limitations. For instance, if you
want to write a setting about humans fighting a massive war with robots, such a world
would certainly have people not tied to the military – but if you want to create a massive
campaign where the characters are leading humanity to victory, it would be a pity to
waste its potential by allowing players to create smugglers or wanderers.

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When planning the possible goals for player characters, you should also consider not
just the world but also the gaming system. Savage Worlds by design is about adventurers,
brave explorers ready to defeat mere mooks. Most SW adventures include spectacular
duels, exciting chases, massive battles and journeys through unusual locations –
regardless of the setting. To create your own world, you should consider whether this
style fits it, or whether to offer some alternative. Most players will probably assume that
a Savage Worlds game would be similar to a pulp novel or an adventure film.

One way to change the gameplay, reducing the emphasis on combat, is to change the
reward system, giving out XP and bennies for specific goals. For instance, if the players are
supposed to be members of ancient noble houses trying to gain power, the system should
reward not just fights and adventuring, but gaining allies and triumphing over rivals. This
requires a lot of work, though, not just when designing further chapters but also when
introducing new rules. These mechanical modifications are discussed in later chapters.

The Tools and Means

Now that we’ve determined who the player characters are going to be and what their
goals are, we need to describe how they’re going to achieve them. Maybe their main arena
will be the battlefield, and the most frequently used tools will be axes, spears, swords and
other pointy bits of metal? Or possibly the heroes will follow the rule that the pen is
mightier than a sword and will focus on politics, sending their underlings to battle? In
most games the answer to the question “What tools and means do the PCs use?” is not
directly answered, it depends mostly on the campaign and the players’ expectations.

If you want a more generic, open world, you don’t have to worry about creating a
multitude of tools for heroes to use. What you should do is to consider whether your
world allows the characters to use some very surprising, different method of solving
problems. If so, you should focus on it – all distinctive, memorable traits of the system
make it more interesting. For instance, if one of the assumptions of the setting is that
the material world and the world of dreams overlap, you could focus on shaping dreams
as one of possible campaign ideas.

The more specific settings require more exact approach. Your first step should be
determining what ways and means are impossible to use in a given setting. Sometimes
this is obvious: in most games based on the real world, the “kick in the door” tactics
will inevitably draw the heroes into a conflict with the law, ending up with an arrest
and a prison sentence. Full frontal assaults in such a setting would be an exception
rather than a rule. Sometimes a setting does not make certain tactics impossible, but
merely very difficult or rare; if the heroes in a contemporary world are members of a
secret government organization, combat is still an option. Determine the absolutely
impossible approaches, and make notes of the rare methods the heroes still could
employ after fulfilling special conditions.

The more ideas you’ve put as “unavailable” or “restricted”, the more you should focus on
creating your own methods, tied to the specifics and unique tools of your world. If the

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player characters can’t fight, perhaps they can travel into the spirit world, teleport, or
change shape? A world that merely limits the heroes can easily get boring.

Nemezis is not a game where the characters should be afraid

to open plasma fire, fearing the law and other consequences.
A typical adventure should be like a Sci-Fi action movie,
with shootouts, chases, and battles. That’s why on a lot
of our planets the law is a dead idea – they’re governed by
corporations, mobs, cults, or simply no one. Therefore, a PC
bounty hunter or agent does not have to worry about cameras
or that the assault on a cult’s temple will be treated as robbery.

The simplest way to determine the typical means employed by the heroes is analyzing
their role in society. If your setting is all about thieves, burglars, and assassins, probably
they’ll prefer confidence scams, perfectly arranged stings, and quick combats based on
surprise attacks. The heroes, probably tied to some thieves’ guild, will have to confront
the agents of the law, the competition and the rich – both as employers and victims. In
such a campaign operating openly and killing won’t be welcome (bribes and blackmail
might not be enough to protect the killer of a merchant prince). What might be
restricted is the “road movie” campaign, where the adventure locations change rapidly.
Still, it’s not impossible, for instance, if the players create a troupe of circus artists who
are also master burglars.

Notes
When determining the possible motivations and methods of solving problems for
player characters, you’ll likely make a lot of notes. The more you write at this point, the
easier it will be to work on your setting and the less effort you’ll spend to prepare further
fragments. You should start with the main PC archetypes, planning their possible goals
and typical tools and methods. If the setting, regardless of the roles for PCs, supports
a certain style of play you should focus on it more specifically. If you want to, you can
ease some of your future workload by describing some sample adventure ideas and their
theoretical plots.

You should also start focusing on ideas requiring mechanical changes. Many GMs
assume that the system does not matter; it’s just a background, and the story should
take the helm. However, it often turns out that without a modification of the system –
especially without altering the XP, bennies or in-world rewards like gold and fame – the
group falls back into a dungeon-crawling rut. If you want to abandon this style, you
should at least suggest some changes. At this point, you don’t have to know what exactly
the changes should be. The game mechanics should be adjusted to the chosen genre and
setting – and that’s why all additional rules should be created when your vision of the
world is mostly settled.

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The main motifs of Nemezis

are opposing the vile gods,
the Horde and their human
servants, but that doesn’t
have to be the only possible
theme of the campaign. The
setting offers some SF with
elements of space opera and
cyberpunk, so it should
be attractive both for
would-be monster hunters
and for the players who’d
like to capture criminals,
fight corporations, travel
through space, discover new
worlds or engage in politics.

While I was writing the basic

assumptions for Nemezis
(which took me over a
month) I wrote a few dozen
pages. I jotted down all
sorts of ideas: interesting
NPCs, organizations, sample
campaign encounters,
equipment elements, various
ways to use FTL drives, sample
archetypes, psionic powers,
and info on dark gods and
their dark magic. These notes
proved invaluable further
on.

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 3. The Basics
How to Prepare for Your First Session

The third stage requires more work from you, the author. Now you’ll need not only to
rethink some further issues but also write more materials: writing the basics of your game –
creating the pillars on which the game will be based. This stage concerns the creation of the
groundwork – the bare bones of the setting, which will allow you to run your first sessions.

The Introduction
The previous stages of the project were supposed to help you create a consistent idea for
the setting. But an idea alone is not enough to help you run the actual campaign. The
players need concrete facts which will help them place their heroes in the world, select
appropriate roles and create the general mood of the campaign. This does not mean that
the setting should be complete before the first session. Your task before the first test
session is to determine the most important matters and to present the general situation
in the place where the adventure is set. The party should know only things important to
the scenario they will play out.

What specifically you should have ready? What descriptions are crucial, and which
could be left for later? How much free rein should the players have so that the world
makes sense? These questions – and many more – will be answered in this chapter.

The Cornerstone
The initial steps aren’t difficult, to be fair. You’re quite likely to know your genre, know
the roles of your heroes, their advantages and disadvantages, and the main goals of the
characters. You know the distinctive elements of your setting, making it different from
other people’s creations. All you need to do is to commit your ideas to paper.

The first matter is to determine the daily life of an average inhabitant of your setting. Is your
game world based on some historical period? If so, how strongly? How many elements of
the world resemble this age, and which should be modified – and how? The simplest way
of creating the basic groundwork for the world is drawing upon history and other fictional

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settings from movies, books, and video games; this saves you a lot of effort, but it can also
introduce some gaps in the verisimilitude of the world. Introducing supernatural powers
or fantastical monsters into a historical setting requires some adjustments if you want your
world to make sense. If there are people who can fly, will it change architecture or warfare?
On the other hand, making the fantastical elements interact with the realistic ones doesn’t
always have to be your highest priority. If the game is all about flashy duels, or maybe
tactical gameplay (so that in general a lot of the “fun” is based on the game mechanics),
the consistency of your setting is not your main concern.

When designing the general outlook of the world, there’s only one rule you need to
remember: It is for playing. If an element of the world is merely a piece of window dressing,
and won’t influence gameplay at all, it should be discarded. If an element could power an
entire campaign – but requires some modifications – you could devote time to building
upon it. For instance, if in your world mortals are judged after death and later reincarnated
in a new body, that itself isn’t terribly important for the players. But if you alter the idea
slightly, and allow the characters to draw power from past lives (preferably by using the
game mechanics, giving the heroes tangible knowledge or skills), this is something that
should be included in the setting. Of course, this requires some writing and consideration
– consider that in such a world people would be almost sure of the existence of the afterlife
and supernatural powers – but it does not mean you’ll waste your time.

The History of Nemezis

The history of the setting encompasses millennia of

colonization, the rise and fall of multi-stellar federations,
and dark times of war. Had I prepared a massive timeline of
dates with the exact history of the game world, it could give
the Game Masters a lot of interesting information, but it
would be utterly boring for the players. In a SF game, the party
would rather be interested in the here and now: the tech level,
the major political players, the dark gods and their followers.
That’s why the history of the universe, until the awakening of
the dark gods, has been described in a couple of paragraphs, so
that the readers would be aware that the humankind has been
settling the Galaxy for millennia, but consider that from the
point of view of their characters that’s just the way things are,
and only the most recent events matter.

Planets of the Galaxy

The Milky Way, according to some estimates, is composed

of around four hundred billion stars. If only one star in a

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thousand has planets exploitable by humans (not necessarily

suitable for terraforming), and one in a thousand of these
planets is colonized, this means four hundred thousand
planets. Each planet differs from every other in its year
length, number of moons, presence of continents, mass, length
of day, gravity, background radiation… so describing them all
is pointless. What has a point, though is describing the special
traits of a given world. That’s why although our description
of the Galaxy is very broad, the game world focuses on a single
specific star system, and later on, it expands on other planets
that could be interesting for player characters.

Of course, describing the complete daily life of all the inhabitants of the setting would
end up in either a complete failure or hundreds of pages of illegible notes, so you really
should focus on matters important to your game. The characters are the leaders of
great noble houses? Then the players should know how to negotiate with allies and
enemies, make alliances and, when they run out of peaceful solutions, how to assassinate
enemies and conquer their lands. What’s always worth thinking out is the tech level, the
influence of magic and some other supernatural forces, and the religion.

The party is a squad of the guild of thieves, and adventures mean burglaries and
assassinations performed for this organization? You need to think about the lifestyle
of an average town dweller, the legal system, how the town guards operate, and how
efficient criminology (or its magical equivalents) are. Usually, regardless of the basic idea
of the created setting, the biggest place will be taken up by the supernatural – magic,
psionics, divine influence, fantastical beasts, mysterious places and relics of the past. In
short, everything which has no place in the normal, mundane world.

There are topics worth rethinking, and there are also issues you shouldn’t start on now,
regardless of the specifics of the setting. The bulk of it is usually numbers: things like
life expectancies, statistics on social makeup, class divisions. Don’t bother yourself with
irrelevant details like the number of the days in a year, the diet of ordinary people or
major holidays. Naturally, they’re very important in adding color to your games, but they
should be left for later.

The Pillars
Very rarely, a single idea can influence all the lives of the inhabitants of the world. But
if a single event, organization or supernatural phenomenon would make the life of our
characters significantly different from life on Earth, it probably deserves your major focus.
If you want to place your game in a setting where summoned monstrosities have scoured
the land, you’ll change the entire world. Most people will live in constant fear (if you
remember to make the beasts really powerful), and gang up in small, hidden communities.
All travel becomes risky, and the simplest punishment would be being exiled from the
settlement. In such a case, a single element is enough to change the entire world.

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Such pillars, spines for the groundwork of a setting could be phenomena (periodical
earthquakes creating Crevices™ as gates to other worlds), organizations (a powerful guild
of mages, controlling the world and ruthlessly eliminating other supernatural practitioners
who refuse to join) or even particular personalities (a group of people from the future
trying to stop the disaster which has ruined their world). Perhaps your setting needs
some of these elements, but their lack is better than their forced presence – especially in
the more grounded, modern settings. If your world is all about the adventures of people
who can see spirits and fight them, perhaps introducing a secretive mega-corporation
possessing futuristic technologies and wanting to rule the world would be a bad idea. To
put it simply: it’s important for your world to lie on several pillars – but if you intend to
carve them out of ice, it’s best to invest in a single, thick column.

Shields, Implants, and Psionics

In theory, Nemezis did not require a multitude of new rules. The

core Savage Worlds rules included practically all the rules
for science-fiction games, and its spellcasting rules would be
enough for the dark spells of the cultists.

Still, I decided to rewrite some of the rules and add more

detailed ones, tied to the unique aspects of the world. The
first areas I focused on were the plasma weaponry and
energy shields. The former could always use the rules tied to
energy weapons from the core book, but the 3 or 4 weapons
described there weren’t enough for a game where the main
edge of humans would be powerful weaponry. Likewise, energy
shields needed more complex rules and maybe even redesign
from the ground up. Cybertechnology was also similar – I
needed rules ensuring that implants would be useful, but not
so useful that gaining more implants would be the main goal
of the characters. The most difficult task would be altering
the psionic rules and introducing new rules for black magic.
Supernatural powers in Nemezis are very different from typical
magic powers and many psionic rules needed to be added,
including psionic schools or rules for psionic echoes.

Of course, there were more modifications, like new Edges and

Hindrances, but they emerged slowly, during the tests and
playtests of new rules.

Another good idea is to introduce elements directly tied to player characters. By making
them stand out from ordinary mortals with amazing abilities or who perform specific
quests, you are narrowing down the characters’ role in the world. The readers – whether

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GMs or players – will use these elements to imagine sample games and the opportunities
for campaigns. Common archetypes for heroes are worth presenting even if they’re just
a handful out of many options available. Your initial playtest sessions will probably focus
on a small fraction of the described world. The better this fragment is presented, the less
ambiguity will there be in the party’s mind. The players won’t ask about major details
and will focus on playing the game.

You need to remember to try to read your setting as an average reader would. Remember,
the only things readers will know about your setting will be what you write down, and
they won’t have access to the ideas you left out. That’s why when describing the pillars
of your setting you should take care to avoid any ambiguities.

This should refer to the game mechanics as well. When designing specific elements of the
world you can’t allow yourself to ignore their influence on the system. Of course, some
ideas don’t require any modifications nor introducing any extra rules – but this will be an
exception rather than the rule. If you neglect the gaming mechanics and focus on the fluff,
you might cause some disparity between the world and the system, and therefore frustrate
the readers, forcing them to introduce house rules. A lot of authors neglect this – and as
a result, the market is full of games few people run using the RAW (Rules As Written).
Lack of consistency between the world and the rules can also alter the general reception of
the system – two Game Masters can‘t discuss their experiences if each of them is running
their own version of the game. Any authors of fan material are forced to either discard
their own house rules (which can be a problem for them) or create their ideas based on
their own version of the setting (which might reduce the accessibility of their work).

What rules modifications should you think over at this point of the project? Well, all
that supplant an element of the original ruleset or require additions to the core rules. The
“element of ruleset” does not necessarily mean an individual item like a new Edge, race
or equipment list, but a ready segment of rules – for example, a system for determining
side effects of magical elixirs, or a rule describing how many magical abilities you’ll lose
when you start using cybernetic implants. For instance, if you’re working on a “thieves’
guild” setting, you will probably have to create some fun new Edges later, but at this
point you’d better think over whether you want to change how poisons work, change the
armor system by introducing armor penalties to damage dealt, or add new maneuvers in
chases. In general, these elements of game mechanics can be divided into three groups:

<< Fundamental – when you want to change these, you really should think it through
in detail. These are the core of the game – how you roll tests, what maneuvers are
available in combat, or how a character can die. A fundamental modification would be,
for example, replacing the Savage Worlds system of Shaken/Wounds with hit points.
<< Major – these are the “contextual” rules – regarding character creation and
improvement, or rules on natural hazards or supernormal powers. If you change
how damage from falling is calculated, it’s a major change.
<< Specific – these are particular Edges, Hindrances, racial abilities, gear or new spells.
They are very visible in your sessions, but not necessarily in the world. In a generic
fantasy universe an example would be removing all spellcasters and introducing
psionicists who replace wizards and clerics.

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Right now obviously you shouldn’t be much concerned with specific rules, and definitely
think over the fundamental rules changes. And what about the major rules changes?
Well, there’s no clear-cut answer. If you neglect to work on such rules, playtests might
be difficult or even impossible. And if you focus too much on such major rules, some
elements of the system or the world would be absurd – you’ll have to abandon them
or modify the major rules again. It’s best to look at this setting from the players’ point
of view: which elements are actual pillars of the game? Only the key elements require
detailed rules: the pillars, which make the world complete and gaming possible.

The Background
For the first session, the players and the GM usually don’t need detailed knowledge
about the game setting. It’s enough to prepare some major recent historical events,
a vague geographical and political description of the area the adventure is set, and
mechanical descriptions of opponents and challenges in the scenario. Sometimes,
however, the specifics of the setting force upon the GM (and sometimes even the
players) more knowledge about the world – especially about the events, phenomena and
places that will appear in the game. At this point, you shouldn’t worry about the general
image of the world (if the setting is consistent enough). What is key for now is the
descriptions relevant to the player characters and the inhabitants of the region where
the first sessions are going to play out, even if they won’t matter much for the entire
setting. Various flavorful bits aren’t required (especially at this early stage) but could be
fun for the session. Writing up the elements of the world so far that are relevant only for
the players – but not for characters – is really impractical at this point. So what exactly
should your basics be about?

Well, the answer is simple: anything and everything needed to play. This really depends
on the specifics of the setting, its core idea and the ideas of the heroes. Sometimes
interesting NPCs and locations will matter the most. Sometimes the past, legends and
tales of ancient days will be the most important. If you want to use the game mechanics
in some unusual ways, focus on the new rules. Even if you want to focus on a single
aspect of gameplay, don’t totally neglect the others. The detailed and well-thought-out
system of creating giant robots and piloting them could be great on your own, but if
you include some interesting NPC rivals, some fluff related to the subculture of mecha
pilots, and references to the Clanker Wars of the past, the games will only be more
attractive. This extra information is important especially for third party groups who
can’t contact you, the author. The more material they have to create to fill in the gaps,
the more likely it is that there will be differences between their experiences and what
you intended.

You probably want the final book to serve various parties enjoying various play styles. If
you write exclusively for your own players, you’re only making it difficult for the gamers
who play differently to enjoy your game. Avoid narrow specialization and making the
game fit only a single group. What’s also worth avoiding is withholding major plot
details from the Game Master. If you want to describe a terrifying monster wreaking
havoc in a major city (quite likely a starting point of your test campaign), you really

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should tell the referee what exactly the monster is, who controls it, how it was created,
and what exactly can it do. If you skip these details and force the poor Game Masters to
fill in the blanks themselves, you’ll create disparities between your vision and the games
of other GMs, which in turn will cause many ideas useless without changes (discarding
the official version and modifying their own campaigns).

Summary
The third stage of your project will require a lot of effort. It’s not enough to provide a
write-up for random world elements, add interesting flavor fluff, and draw up the general
gist of rule changes. Everything you’re putting down during creates the groundwork
and should be well thought out. These ideas will be the foundation of the setting, which
will prove difficult to change in the future. If you don’t consider them now, later on
you’ll have to adjust, change and even correct some threads or even remodel the entire
project. It’s worth noting that these initial drafts of the game won’t usually be the text
of the final book – their task is to concisely present what you consider important in the
world and game rules. Style, archaic language, all kinds of quotes or first-person stories
can make the text difficult to read, that’s why you should use them wisely or abandon
them completely.

Only one question remains: how much you should write at this stage? There’s no one
clear answer. Everything depends on the volume and specificity of the setting, your
capabilities, and eagerness. I think that the absolute minimum would be 2 or 3 pages,
(6-10K characters), though a more reasonable and sensible option would be creating a
longer, 6 or 8-page long document (15-20 thousand characters).

Dream Vacations

The first playtest sessions were supposed to check whether the

combat rules would work, so instead of describing the entire
world or design a specific rule, I decided to create a small
snippet of the universe and zoom down on the rules which
were supposed to be playtested in the first session. That’s why
I designed the “Dream Vacations” adventure, set on a resort
on Cor attacked by the terrible Horde. The adventure gave the
heroes a chance to use their plasma weapons in a large-scale
combat, in a fight with a massive monster, and to confront
soldiers equipped with energy shields. More fragments of the
setting book, including new rules on supernatural powers
and implants, were to be written when the write-ups of plasma
weapons and energy shields were complete.

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22
 4. Beta Testing
Let’s Play!

The fourth stage is playtesting – you will create the basics of game mechanics and the
most important elements of the world to play out the first adventures, solve problems
caused by how the players’ preferences influence the perception of the setting, and
correct mistakes not spotted when writing the first sections of the book.

This stage, even though it doesn’t require a lot of labor (not writing effort, at least) is
very important. Playtesting is when the author’s vision confronts the expectations of
the players; if you don’t prepare for the first adventures, all your efforts can go to waste.

Introduction
Every Game Master has his or her own style. Some focus on the narratives, complex
NPC personalities and tangled webs of intrigue. Others are great with the tactical
side of gaming, preparing difficult challenges and offering great possibilities to create
and build up characters. Others yet try to combine these two styles or invest in the
social aspects of the game – they prepare handouts, choose music, draw maps, plans or
portraits of the encountered characters.

Some GMs come to the session totally unprepared, improvising, and tossing around
the threads and events made up on the fly. In general, there’s no ‘wrong way’ to roleplay,
if the players enjoy the game – but playtesting requires a specific approach. If you need
to test out the game mechanics of your new setting, you need to follow its specifics and
abandon your usual play style to follow the assumptions of the game’s authors.

The Party
Usually, the first groups to enjoy the new setting could be your usual party, a group of
friends regularly playing with you, the author. And that’s part of the problem – with
normal campaign your familiarity with your usual players and their preferences is a
great advantage, but it could be a massive problem in playtests. If you focus on your
friends’ preferences, you might lose sight of the main ideas behind the setting, and

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make it effectively a game written for you and your friends. Even if you don’t want
to seek players outside your gaming circle, you should at least create characters for
your players yourself. They should be relatively broad, so that the players could roleplay
the personality they choose themselves, but their profession and capability should be
predetermined.

For instance, let’s imagine you’re writing up a game set on a post-apocalyptic world
where the greatest dream of humans – the descendants of ancient colonists who have
survived the war waged by their ancestors – is to find the mythical way out, ferries which
could carry them off this ruined planet. In such a case you need only some limitations
– in theory, you could swap skills, add some Edges and Hindrances, and alter gear so
that the players could create their own characters. At this point, a better option would
be to create a party together and determine the reason for its creation. For instance,
in this sample world, the party could be refugees from a settlement overwhelmed by a
disease, a group of bounty hunters fighting bandits, or mutants wanting to survive in a
world where everyone wants them dead. When creating the idea for the party you can.
of course. include your players’ preferences, but you should never set them as your main
priority.

Regardless of other circumstances, you really should focus on certain main rules you
should obey when testing. Game rules should be your main priority – many games
advocate that “Rules are secondary to fun/GM’s fiat” but the playtests are organized
in the first place in order to see how the rules work. Players who simply want to have
fun will ignore the annoying rules and houserule the game either way. But in the case
of beta testing, you need to make things clear: you’re now trying things out to see how
well your mechanical changes work in practice, and not to simplify them, change them
or abandon them altogether.

Powergamers
Regardless of what you privately think of powergamers, you shouldn’t overregulate
minmaxing attempts among players. In fact, you should encourage them to create the
most powerful characters imaginable and spot loopholes in the system which would
allow them unintended superhuman feats. The best way to spot mistakes in the rules
is to allow fans of OP builds to dig through extra rules and pull off spectacular, broken
combos.

Playtests can take a long time, and eventually you’ll have to start preparing your materials
for editing, proofreading, and the final publication. Apart from typical playtest games
you need to find people willing to test only the combat-related rules, without any plot
or sense. If the new rules don’t alter the combat system seriously (new racial abilities or
new gear), such sparring doesn’t take a lot more time. However, if you want to change
the cornerstones of the system (like new spellcasting rules or changes to the damage
and Wounds rules) you’d need hundreds, maybe even thousands of sparring matches.
Here, the powergamers can also be useful, to determine what is overpowered or not fun
enough.

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The Adventures
The most important question related to beta testing is: what to run? How to design
specific adventures to make your sessions contribute to the design of your setting?
The answer is simple – you need to write adventures featuring the rules to test, and
using elements not present in the basic core rules. What’s to be avoided is calm, loose,
narrative stories, where you use dice maybe once or twice per session. While these can
be fascinating and great fun, they aren’t much use in testing. On the other hand, don’t
force too much combat upon players – these are still RPG settings, not arenas for war
gaming. If the players want to play out a lot of combats, you can still use them in
sparring duels.

The betatests, apart from the discovery of mechanical loopholes and errors, serve another
purpose – together with your players you create more elements of the world. You can
even use the events that happened during the playtests, and place them in the book, at
least in sidebars. You can use the PCs as major background characters; their deeds can
become part of history of the world or a specific region. This method saves you some
writing, and honors the playtesters. If you tell the players that their heroes could be
“official” figures in the game world, they will certainly be motivated to work with you
to spot any rule flaws. Practically every player wants to make his character immortal.

You need to watch yourself – if you are determined to put the PCs and their achievements
in your book, just remember what the characters usually do in a typical session and
whether you’d really like to read about it. If you want to put events from a session
directly into the game world, remember to look at them from reader’s perspective. Do
they have a place in another campaign? Would you introduce such NPCs into your
adventures and how? And wouldn’t you consider these elements as unnecessary, forcibly
placed to celebrate the testers?

The Game Mechanics

When you start testing the setting you don’t have to have the complete “New Rules”
chapter prepared – you just need the general gist of intended changes and at least a
handful of specific ideas (new Edges, for instance). The first games should focus on
testing these new elements. When you add new rules and new materials, new ideas,
tactical opportunities and character options will become available. Sometimes, of
course, you’ll need to remake your characters or even start a new campaign. Remember
to announce this to your players beforehand – if they have invested a lot of points in
magic abilities you’re replacing with skills they can feel cheated, so take care to remind
them before the tests start that the rules can suddenly change.

Game world (“fluff ”) issues require at least some discussion, while the system (“crunch”)
needs solid testing. You can start crafting your setting using only the fluff ideas and
world building, but sometimes these elements might not fit the rules, and you’ll have
to either alter your world to fit the rules, or introduce new rules, anyway. What’s more,
leaving the design of the crunch for later will give you less time for testing, which

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can cause a situation where the players
will design their own house rules. And so,
while you can base the ideas for the world
on various plot-based ideas and making
notes while testing the setting, such as the
heroes and major factions and their mutual
relationships, it’s best to start your book
with the game system components.

Summary
Playtesting is not a major problem. If you
follow these simple rules, even the first
adventures can bring you success. It’s best
to start playing as early as possible and run
additional sessions as you work on specific
rules, more materials on the world and
new subjects. Actual play is the best way
to check whether a specific element of
the world fits the rest, whether the rules
modification will disturb the game balance,
and what the players think about your ideas.
What’s important is not to give up – even if
ideas you thought crucial and excellent are
criticized, you need to discuss this, change
them accordingly, alter them, or even
discard them altogether.

You might assume that the playtests

are best run by you for a single group –
but that’s really a mistake. More people
involved with the setting, more playtesters,
and test games mean more well-thought-
out rules. And yes, while more testers also
mean more contradictory opinions, you will
have to learn for yourself how to pick out
constructive criticism and avoid personal
preferences.

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 5. Organizations
The Movers and Shakers

The fifth stage begins the second part of this cycle – one that presents how to actually
write basics of the world to be eventually published. The following chapters will tell
you how to work on, describe and modify the specific elements of the universes created.
You’ll learn which elements to describe in a sentence or two and which to put in the
foreground. The fifth chapter of Worldcrafting is devoted to organizations, the element
of the world that’s often responsible for most conflicts and changes in the setting.

The Introduction
Many experienced authors suggest a choice of one of two schools when writing fluff
to the outline of the created world. According to the first one, you should focus on all
the major points of the entire setting and put down the fundamental, global issues first
(like drawing the map). The second one proposes to start with a small, but very detailed
area, which should be expanded on as necessary. Each of these schools has some good
and bad points – but there’s also one trait which makes them useless when creating a
universe you want to publish later. Namely, both of these force the author to create a
multitude of materials an average player is never going to use.

The “global” method requires fanatical devotion and discipline. It works only when the
author has thought out all the elements of the setting before writing the setting book.
And the “focused” method forces the players to start the game in a single, specific place.
If there are no materials on the rest of the world (like the pantheon of gods) this forces
the potential player to “play where the author told me to or not play at all”.

Truth be told, there’s no single universal method to create a game setting. This isn’t
cooking, you can’t throw a given amount of files, maps, and topics into the pot to make
a good game. Each setting requires a customized approach, focusing on major elements,
and avoiding these which won’t enrich it. In practice, you’ll have to mix the “global” and
the “focused” approach. That’s why the best way is using the “mixed” school.

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The “Mixed” School in Theory

As you can probably guess, our way of filling out the setting
with fluff and crunch details will use a combination of
“global” and “focused” approach. What this means is to use
the previously determined ideas in practice: focus on those
elements of the setting which deserve detailed description.
That’s how you’ll present your vision, focus on the major
issues and know which elements can safely be pushed to the
sidelines. The potential player should learn what to expect in
the game and how, with minimal effort, she could modify the
assumptions and play in a completely different one.

Writing Up Organizations
When presenting a specific organization, you need to watch yourself. When writing
more and more text the author can easily lose focus, and instead of presenting the
information needed by the Game Master, start to create unnecessary materials. For
instance, when writing up the profile of a brotherhood of mercenaries, it’s not a bad idea
to present a couple of its most famous members. But there’s no point in creating a list of
all the battles fought by the mercs. Don’t even bother to present the exact description of
their uniforms, the profiles of the dead commanders or the favorite wine of their current
leader. These details can provide flavor (though not all readers will welcome it), but they
work better as mentions in sidebars or boxes, not within the basic text.

So what should the writeup of an organization contain? First of all, its goal. The end
goal of the members of this group or guild should be clearly determined. It also should
fulfill some other conditions: The goal should create conflicts (with the PCs, NPCs, and
other organizations), be possible to achieve (and trying should provoke conflicts with
some other group) and tied to the setting’s main theme. Second, the writeup should
also present the ways and means of the organization, as well as its resources. You need
to clearly determine where and how the PCs can encounter the members of the guild,
whether they will fight or ally with them, and what the result of any confrontation with
them will be. And third, you also need some elements that are specific to a given group:
major NPCs which can be encountered by the heroes, major locations controlled by the
organization and other elements which the GM can actively use in his campaign.

Avoid clichés like plague. Even the greatest fan of heroic fantasy will be bored by yet another
guild of assassins, evil knightly order, or circle of dark archmages. Somewhere around the fifth
guild of bounty hunters or thirteenth band of space pirates you can be certain that no one will ever
read these descriptions. The first and the most important rule is moderation and self-restraint.
If creating an organization will take you a dozen or so minutes – that means even a slow GM
will be able to create a similar brotherhood in an hour. This, in turn, leads us to acknowledge that
similar brotherhoods aren’t that interesting and only serve to take up space. And so our ultimate
condition is that the setting book should only contain interesting, well-thought-out groups. In
short, you can’t turn it into a phonebook of guilds that exist just for the sake of existing.

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You should definitely focus on the groups which will influence the events in game sessions
(especially if you plan to build a Plot Point Campaign around them). In fact, any flavor
details should be tied to elements GMs could introduce into their games. For instance, you
might want to create a world focusing on religion and belief. In such a world, a small group of
bounty hunters might deserve only a paragraph or two – but what if one of their “bounties”,
during the campaign, turns out to be a prophet and an oracle, whose followers will change
the world? While the methods and resources of our bounty hunters’ guild won’t require a lot
of space in the book, the profiles of its members might – there is a large chance that the PCs
(or their enemies) will want to save the mark, and fight the hunters. Otherwise, for the less
significant groups, the style of description matters more. If you prefer more specific, robust
write-ups, the shorter groups can be presented in boxes or even in a different chapter of the
book. Groups of bandits, merchant guilds or charity funds can be placed in the chapter on
geography, while the various holy orders and cults go in the chapter on religion.

Of course, not every setting is written for a wide range of readers or buyers. Games
aiming at a group of your friends might be a bit different – you don’t have to save space,
and can afford to describe even the less important organizations. If you want to, you
can create a multitude of various guilds and a network of their mutual relations. And
likewise, if you want to write a setting for less experienced gamers, you might also add
many “generic” thieves’ guilds, robber bands or sects of dark cultists – for inexperienced
GMs every such organization will be very helpful to create their own adventures.

The Ghosts of Nemezis

In Nemezis organizations are very important – they drive the

majority of conflicts, often forcing the players to choose a
side. The most important ones, like the Syndicate, the megacorp
Infinity Inc., or the noble houses of Bariz received pages of
details, but beyond them, I also had to present lesser groups
and circles, which don’t directly impact the entire setting.
One of them was the Ghosts – the elite scouts of the Corisian
military. This is the entirety of their description in the book:

Predicting the actions of the Horde is the key to victory. The

Cor Army possesses advanced technology allowing them to
detect major groups of these creatures, but to predict small,
fast-moving raids it must use more traditional methods. The
Ghosts are soldiers, scouts and hunters of beasts – they’re able
to survive in the jungles of Cor for months without any support.
Their task is observing monsters, estimating their numbers and
predicting attacks on human positions. Not many people dream
of becoming one of the Ghosts – fame and glory are useless after
death, the destiny of every member of this unit. To this day, every
Ghost has died painfully.

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Ties to the World

Every organization you write up should have its place in your world. When starting to
describe a group, you need to consider how exactly it will improve play and whether
it’ll be a good inspiration for the GM. If the setting is supposed to be fairly wide,
allowing various styles of play, you really shouldn’t focus on the exact people joining
the organization, or what kinds of PCs the guild will interfere with. What matters is
variety – GMs should be able to use the chapter on organizations regardless of who
the player characters are. On the other hand, if the setting is focused on a specific
type of gaming, you’ll need to focus only on groups player characters will encounter.
If you’re writing a Sci-Fi setting that focuses on interstellar travel, there’s probably a
place for a fraternal group of questing pilots, trying to rediscover the lost colonies, and a
powerful interstellar guild of bounty hunters – but unless ground wars are a big part of
the setting, a knightly order of mech pilots might be only mentioned on the sidelines,
as potential passengers or enforcers. On the other hand, if you focus and place the most
important parts of the setting in a single system destroyed by a total war, and the PCs
are vagabonds looting ruins of ancient civilization, you shouldn’t devote much space to
describing a secret pan-galactic network of spies – even if there might be an agent or
two on the planet.

Even if you tie the organization to the setting, that doesn’t mean that its existence
makes a lot of sense. Each group should have its own goal, territory, influence zones
– and, importantly, rivals and competitors. If an entire town is effectively ruled by a
powerful thieves’ guild, this might be very colorful, but there’s little conflict to drive
the game (other than robbed/very principled PCs fighting the thieves). In such a case,
you can introduce another layer of conflicts – here, it could mean a small cult of an evil
deity, one requiring human sacrifices. The cultists could kidnap and kill the inhabitants
of the city – and the blame would fall on the thieves. How would the leaders of the guild
react? Would they let the cultists work, or start waging a war – siding with the people
they rob?

Presentation
The style is a fairly major matter when presenting the organizations (and many other
elements of the world). Often, authors want to show off and decide to present an “in-
character” description – based on the perception of the organization by the inhabitants
of the world, filtered by errors and misconceptions. And this has some advantages – if
written well, such stylized fragments can be entertaining, they can draw in the reader
and present the general atmosphere of the setting. However, often presenting the
information in such style is perceived negatively, as form dominates function. This also
makes the interpretation of the “reality” of the setting difficult – such “in-character”
passages can often be interpreted differently by different GMs, which leads to hundreds
of “private worlds”, not necessarily in tune with your vision.

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An Example of a ‘Bad’ Description

We are the night hunters, the predators all mortals fear. We

have defeated death itself, our only enemy; now no-one and
nothing can stop us from achieving eternity. Ours is blood,
ours is gold, ours is power. The few that dare to oppose us are
fools, convinced of their greatness, unaware of the gifts we
received by going across the veil. We break their brittle bones,
tear their weak flesh, and spill their unclean blood. And you,
my friend, are out of luck, for tonight we’ll spill your blood…

The best solution seems to be adopting a more formal style and a more neutral and
objective point of view. Of course, any description could contain “in-game” descriptions,
like quotes from the average peasant or even very short stories – but they shouldn’t
dominate the write-up. It’s worth remembering that the descriptions of organizations
aren’t supposed to be pages upon pages long, describing uniforms or heraldry, but concise
paragraphs presenting important information in a clear and easily understood form.

An Example of a ‘Good’ Description

Insomni is a secret organization of vampires who have discarded

their human nature. They view mortals as cattle that can be
traded in, butchered, and consumed. They appreciate money
and valuable items, as well as political power, but they never
act openly, preferring to stay in the shadows. They can be
encountered at royal courts, where they serve as advisors,
spymasters or mages – but in reality, they’re the ones who pull
the strings. Some of them try to create their own organizations,
usually brotherhoods of thieves or assassins, or occult sects of
sorcerers. Other vampires view the Insomni as a threat and often
employ unaware adventurers to dispose of them.

Metaplot and the Living World

Sometimes the author places one of his favorite NPCs (or his friend’s PC) as a key figure in the
setting, as an unbeatable badass opponent. And, yes, while organizations should be commanded
by a powerful, influential figure (and since confronting her or him should be memorable, she
should have fairly high stats), they shouldn’t be just another mechanical combo. The “face” of
an organization should be an interesting character on their own, have their own ideas on how
the guild should work, or maybe even personal goals, not necessarily agreeing with the group’s
means and desires. If you decide to honor a PC in this way, you might waste the potential
of the group – especially if they don’t have any other traits that the readers could enjoy and

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 GMs could be inspired by. There’s nothing
wrong with including PCs from playtests in
the setting, but it’s probably best for them to
remain in the background.

Creating your own world not only allows you

to freely design all the details you wish, but also
to create the future of your setting, and direct
future events. Control over the fate of a created
world is sometimes seen as an advantage,
while others see it as a flaw. There are many
GMs who would like to see the setting book
as a source of mechanical changes and initial
background – expecting to be the only ones
allowed to drive it. An official plotline can
make their own campaigns difficult, especially
if it radically changes the nature of the world.
On the flipside, an interesting storyline, full
of surprising, well-thought-out events can
interest referees to staying with the “official”
list of changes. A possible solution could be a
section describing the probable development of
events. The GMs will be aware of forthcoming
changes and will be able to adjust their
campaigns to any changes in the world.

Summary
Designing and presenting organizations in
the created world may seem simple, but ‘seem’
is the crucial word here. Of course, churning
out thieves’ guild after thieves’ guild, another
knightly order or generic dark doomsday cult
is banal enough – but the real crux is to create
a group which would inspire the reader. In
theory, you only need to follow a few simple
rules to avoid common mistakes. But in
practice, it means you need to spend hours
thinking about goals, structure, methods and
connections with other organizations – which
will result in good, long fragments of the
guidebook. You only need to compare long
descriptions of well-thought out guilds and
cults with bad, quickly written ones to be sure
that the time devoted to creating believable
organizations is not time lost.

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 6. History
The Chronicles of Boredom

The Introduction
Fantasy role-playing settings can be divided into a couple of groups. The largest one
is probably the one where antiquity was the Golden Age of the world, and due to
various circumstances the vaguely defined Great Evil shall return soon, and mess stuff
up again. There is a multitude of options for creating the story of the world without
a forthcoming apocalypse, but still, there are probably many more settings based on
this scheme than all the others. The differences between them are marginal – in one
the Great Evil is the dark goddess, in another – dragons, in yet others the mysterious
Shadows. All in all, your stereotypical fantasy world adores ancient ages, lives in fear
of another cataclysm, and places the player characters in the role of the heroes who are
about to fight the emanations of evil.

This belief that unique, interesting history can interest the reader so that he would
play this game (and hopefully spend money on it) is one of the gravest sins of the
authors of the settings. There’s nothing duller than yet another heroic fantasy setting
based on the conflict between good and evil, where the main draw is just mechanical
modifications or great iconic characters. Even if you introduce dozens of original races,
alter the advancement system, add hundreds of new Edges and Hindrances, create a
new system of magic or psionics – it is still just another generic fantasy system where
heroes kill Eeevil monsters, and will be probably perceived as “repetitive” and “avoid;
nothing special”.

An interesting history can strengthen the core ideas of the setting, but it can’t be the
basis by itself – the idea that drives the entire setting. You should remember one thing,
which can help you avoid many mistakes of other authors: the past of the world should
be determined by its present state. In practice it means writing down history after you
have completed the general gist of the setting (having determined the idea behind the
game, the roles of characters, determining the major forces of the world, and other
elements important in the present day), and do it so that no fragment of the book
would be modified by past events. It is simple enough – but many authors have trouble
following this rule. Their history lives with its own life, it unfurls on its own, trying to

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liberate itself and envelop everything. If you don’t watch yourself and stop the desire to
change the chapter on the past into a massive fantasy saga, you can end with a text that’s
staggeringly impractical and changes the entire concept of the world.

For convenience, it’s best to divide your history into three periods: prehistory, antiquity,
and recent events. And sure, it implies the “stereotypical Golden Age and forthcoming
return of Evil” division – but it is nevertheless a way to focus on major events. Read on.

Myths, Legends and Other Delusions

It seems that every RPG author is a demiurge. There’s hardly a person who could resist
describing, even in just a couple of words, the very moment of creation of the universe
– at least not among fantasy authors. Hours spent deliberating on the first moments of
the world inevitably result in pages upon pages chronicling Darkness locked in eternal
war with the Light, an Elder God shaping Chaos into Order, or a group of gods trying
to create a paradise, which, after a betrayal or a mistake becomes tainted with evil and
turns into an arena of combat. Ninety-nine out of every hundred fantasy heartbreakers
originate in a similar way – the creator or creators want to make a real paradise, but
somehow, due to betrayal, bad luck or trickery, it results in yet another generic fantasy
universe. While the window dressing might change, all these tales are incredibly similar
– and very, very boring. The brutal truth you need to realize is that most of such creation
myths are repetitive – and you don’t have many options to rectify that.

And it’s not just fantasy that suffers from it. Consider space opera: almost always there’s
some kind of massive, decadent Empire, once the greatest work of mankind, now a
decaying ruin. Humankind has been lost in a new Dark Age, driven by wise priests of
a strange, fanatical faith. And while a good writer might spin a good story in such a
universe, it, too, is staggeringly repetitive. In fact, it’s just another version of the fantasy
scheme, with the age of colonization replacing the golden age of antiquity, and the new
Dark Age the times of return of the Great Evil.

Truth or Myths?

Many fantasy settings include a creation myth – but in many

cases, they present it not just as a legend, but as an objective
truth, written by the gods themselves or some nameless
chronicles. Not only do the characters in the world accept
the world as being the child of the Sun god and Moon goddess
as an objective fact, but players and GMs should as well. But
what if you describe a host of various, very different myths
of creation – and note that some or all of them might be
false? And even if the game world was indeed created by divine
beings and there are people who know the truth about the

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origins of the universe, these facts can always drown under

the propaganda of priests of various religions or madmen
confusing their own hallucinations with divine visions.
Multiple creation myths, of which any one can turn out to be
true, can give the GM a choice – doubly so if the origins of the
world really matter in his campaign.

You can always rely on mythology. Reading the origin myths of Aztecs, Hittites, or
inhabitants of Siberia can give you several interesting ideas and help you get rid of
overused clichés. You should also decide whether the creation of the world is actually an
important event in its history, or whether it’s just a convenient starting point. In the first
case, the only way is to devote some time to researching ancient myths and legends, or
in case of other genres, classical stories, and novels, both to find inspirations and spaces
you can occupy. If you want to only mention it, it’s best to pick a major historical event
to start with (such as the first civilizations, the invention of magic etc), and mention the
creation in a paragraph or two.

Another common mistake of designers is their unwarranted love of the antiquity. Things
were better in the past – perhaps gods used to talk to mortals, wise and powerful wizards
ruled, dragons were friendly and cities were paved with gold. Even outside fantasy,
the “Golden Age” often implies powerful equipment, fast starships, safer streets or a
demon-free astral plane. Most ancient and lost civilizations were far more developed
than the PC’s contemporaries. Today’s scientists, mages, priests or shamans can only
dream of the power and knowledge wielded by their predecessors. But usually, all that’s
left of this powerful Golden Age is dreams, dungeons, and ruins, and some ancient
relics lost here and there, whose owners often start massive wars and sometimes force
the heroes to undertake great quests.

And usually these relics – whether ruins of ancient cities buried in sand, rings of power,
massive starships, or remnants of the army of a rebel AI – are the reason why the world
is designed this way. The easiest way to create a powerful magic item is to declare that
its maker was a genius of antiquity, and now the knowledge to create it is lost. That’s
why so many fantasy authors make the PCs throw Rings of Power into active volcanos
or find amazing swords in the middle of nowhere. The author can break his own rules
– this allows him to create an object the heroes would never be able to duplicate. And
while it’s not a bad arrangement – the world is still consistent, the GM can invent his
own powerful toys, and the players can still find them – it’s still clichéd, and instead of
an original, interesting world, you create another iteration of the same story.

So when designing the history of the world you should ask yourself a very important
question: does my world need the Golden Age? And the answer should be easy. If all the
world will gain is dozens of system-bending relics buried in ancient ruins somewhere,
you really shouldn’t present antiquity as an idealized, wonderful time. However, there
are genres and settings that might justify this approach, because there, the modern age
is shaped by the past. These are all kinds of post-apocalyptic settings, both the futuristic

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(like an alternate history where the Cold War ended in a nuclear conflict), or fantasy
(where due to overexploiting natural resources a great magic-using empire fell).

Barbaric Antiquity

A simple trick allows you to abandon the stereotypical

“Golden Age” – turn the past into an age of backwardness,
barbarism, bloody war and human sacrifice. It doesn’t reduce
the number of interesting game elements related to the
past. For instance, instead of cultists trying to summon a
powerful dragon of the past, they might instead try to summon
the spirit of a barbaric king dubbed Blood-drinker by his
contemporaries. And a unique artifact, a suit of powerful
psionic armor created by a forgotten psi-order, can simply
be the newest invention created by modern gadgeteers. This
actually offers you more GMing options – the players might
not only try to get this item, whether to destroy it, use it or
simply sell it, but can also try and contact its creators.

There are, in general, two methods of creating the recent history of the setting – they
are very different and they are both wrong. The first method tries to create the world as
shaped by playtesting, including the ideas and suggestions of the players. The second one
is based on the contemporary state of organizations and focuses on conflicts between
them that happened recently. Both tend to create dull, boring fragments, exciting only
for the author and his friends.

And the reason why they’re wrong, is that the history created in these ways is static – the
balance between various forces doesn’t really change, what changes is the individuals,
or smaller, non-relevant organizations that rise and fall, being unable to reach for real
power. The wars are driven almost always by individuals – powerful warriors, wizards,
and kings, who are often stopped by great heroes (often badly disguised PCs). History
is reduced to a series of revolutions, battles, random magical disasters that despite their
potential for change ultimately turn out to be a small inconvenience, forcing the heroes
to use powerful magic, kill the bad guy, and ride off into the sunset.

There’s nothing worse than a world where no meaningful change is possible.

When designing the recent history of your setting you certainly need to consider what
changes occurred there recently, what has been forgotten, and what will soon be the hot
news topic in the media or in tavern gossip. In theory, you could create a stagnant world
(one where the development of science, magic, or psionics has halted), but in practice, it
makes the world improbable and uninteresting. It’s easy for you to write something like
“development of technology and application of magic in practical ways is impossible

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due to divine interdiction”, but many readers will feel cheated. It’s artificial and feels
forced.

Again, when creating recent history it’s best to determine the current political situation,
using purely gameable criteria (and so as not to confuse the GM with recent changes
and shifts) – an interesting setting should be full of conflicts, caused by the political,
economic and technological situation. A recent discovery of a teleporter able to transfer
a man to any place on Earth for little to no cost should have repercussions far greater
than massive settlement in warm climes. Wars would almost immediately break out,
and this technology would be desired by all. Perfect assassins would teleport into leaders’
bedrooms, thieves into bank vaults and hackers into mainframes. Counter-technologies
blocking teleporting would inevitably be developed.

The Reader’s Point of View

While writing this chapter on history (and all the others), you need to keep in mind
another question: how will you narrate it so as not to bore the reader with the history of
the world? Try to put yourself in the average gamer’s shoes, to sense what could interest
her in the past of the given world, and how the info on the past can inspire her to act
today. Note that the chapter on history doesn’t have to be particularly long – its main
role is to inspire the reader and to provide some background for the GM.

The players won’t be interested in the board-level politics of a great megacorp – even if
it is the most powerful force in the world. But certainly, they would be more interested
in the exploits of the corp’s elite commandos, or where and how they tried to provoke
a global war on a lesser planet of the galaxy. Likewise, most of the time the readers
won’t be interested in a fragment describing a massive battle with the undead horde
that happened ages ago – but if you move it forward in time, so that it happened only
recently, mention that several major NPCs participated in it, and describe a magic item
or two that were used during the battle… things might be different. The history should
serve as a source of inspiration for the both the players and GMs – well, maybe the
GMs are a bit privileged here, as the people making the main campaign decisions.

For example, let’s think of another plot element which, depending on the GM, could
become one of the major elements of the world – prehistoric legends, by definition
coming from an age where no sentient race had written their history yet. There might
be tales of powerful shamans using the souls of voluntary sacrifices to gain the favor of
powerful beings, and make their tribe stronger – and these might be tall tales but also
an actual, forgotten form of magic. The GM has now a simple choice – to introduce
characters wanting to rediscover these mysteries and awaken the soul devourers, or
not – but these could also be deluded fools, believing in everything that sounds like an
“ancient mystery”.

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Legends

You can hide other plot threads GMs could use to build their
campaigns, or use as the tall tales of wandering minstrels,
simply by placing legends and tales about the past in boxes
or sidebars in the book. These should be at best a couple of
sentences long and only affect the story – so that GMs can
develop them on their own as major campaign features.

Sidebars
Many authors think that readers like story elements devoted to less important episodes of
the history of the world placed in boxes or sidebars. For instance, the description of the fall
of the great empire could be supplemented by a story of its last battle – won by the forces
of a barbaric overlord whose descendants rule the world today. The players could use this
story to create their characters (“I’m a descendant of the last emperor”) or during the game,
discussing the battle over dinner at an inn. There’s nothing wrong in adding these flavorful
bits, but remember they’re supposed to flesh out the history, not to totally overshadow it.
That’s why it’s best to limit their volume and place them in the sidebars, not in the main text.

Such short, meaty fragments showing the world, not just its history, from the inside
perspective, can make the setting a much more enjoyable read. In particular, when
describing a lot of mechanical elements, using dry, technical language it might be worth
it to write a short box containing a plot element – a quote from an iconic character or
from an average representative of a given class or race. And conversely, in the chapters
on history, geography, and politics, you can place boxes with some mechanical oddities
– for instance, if a famous monarch is known for his enchanted blade, you can give its
stats in the sidebar, or describe a psionic power invented by an infamous supervillain.
These sidebars need to be short, concise and above all – entertaining.

Summary
History can be a tough nut to crack. It’s easy for it to become a sack where you toss
various untested ideas, and often becomes just window dressing. Without practical
elements GMs can use in their games it’s just another fantasy story – and seldom a
good one, fitting the concept of the setting. And it’s rare enough that the author decides
to prune the unnecessary elements.

When describing the past of the given setting, in theory, you should follow a few simple
rules – but often keeping yourself restrained is impossible. Letting yourself go almost
always ends badly – you lose the main idea of the setting, starting to change the basic
assumptions of the game. In such a situation you can do only one thing: delete the
history file and start writing it down from page one, remembering that in role-playing
games the past is subject to the present – never other way around.

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 7. Geography
What, Where and How:
How it Doesn’t Always Pay to be Realistic

In the seventh chapter, we describe the matter of geography – how to describe various
lands, avoid too much focus on maps, and introducing a sense of realism (both from the
real-world and fantastical perspectives). This chapter presents the most common errors
of authors, which can be avoided with a bit of thought and attention. And finally, we’ll
talk about key locations – headquarters of major organizations, places famous all over
the world, and adventuring locales (including “dungeons” and other strange locations).

Introduction
Any detailed reading of RPG books – particularly the setting ones – will let you make
an interesting observation about the specific chapters. In the majority of cases, the
parts on game mechanics and geography are the longest ones. There are many ways to
present interesting countries, cities or other locations, but usually, the authors use a tried
and sure method. They divide the world into smaller regions (like countries) and use a
certain specific characteristic to describe them.

In a lot of cases the description is opened by statistical data – presenting a number of

inhabitants, larger cities or the system of government, and then follows the introduction
presenting the most characteristic traits of the land. The author goes on to present
religion, daily life, history and any trivia on the selected area. The description closes with
a listing of major cities, NPCs, and adventure seeds. This description seems complete,
providing all sorts of information you might need during the game. And indeed, it can
be so – provided that the author is talented enough, can resist focusing on irrelevant
information, and has enough ideas so that every country described is interesting.
However, it often happens that the chapters on geography are devoid of any useful
information – and incredibly boring.

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The Clichés
Let’s reiterate: the most important rule for you as the author of the setting is always
(regardless of what you’re working on at the moment) to focus on the materials useful
in a session. The focus should be on the events, places, people and organizations tied to
the game’s theme – the idea on which you based these materials. For instance, if your
setting is an epic space opera, set in a galaxy full of planets inhabited by sentient races,
there’s little point in describing every single inhabited world. A far better idea would
be to concentrate only on the major planets, describing the gist of the general play
area, and detailing only the exceptional locations like the main bases of interplanetary
organizations, unique planets, or historically important areas. On the other side, if the
PCs will be limited to a small area – for instance, a metropolis which, after a massive
cataclysm, is the only place inhabited by humankind. In such a situation an exact and
complete description of each district – perhaps even important buildings – as well as
major NPCs and various local organizations would be necessary. How detailed the
descriptions have to be is a matter of personal preference. The authors usually give a
lot of leeway to the GMs here, adding more detail in forthcoming supplements. This
method is still worth recommending – it allows the GM enough material to run their
campaign, and allows the more free-form GMs a lot of gaps to fill themselves.

What’s also important is the template for the specific writeup of the given area – as is
the exact content of the description. Usually, the description contains universal data: the
history of the region, the political situation, the interesting places and characters, often
supplemented by statistical data and trivia on the life of inhabitants. The fragments
directly tied to the geography are usually just the lay of the land and some specific
locations. The usual proportion of these sections can vary, but usually, the history,
politics, and major places take up the bulk of the space. That does not mean that this
description is universal, and should be used regardless of the main idea and genre of
the setting. You’ll eventually work out your own scheme for the geographic write-up,
focusing on the most frequently appearing elements. In general, the smaller the area to
be explored by heroes, the more focus there should be on specific places, people, and
organizations – and if it’s large, you should focus more on history, global politics and the
lifestyle of the inhabitants. This is not a strict rule – if your setting is based on groups
of individuals traversing the multiverse, politics, despite the wide range of countries and
governments visited, is probably not the right focus.

Maps
A good map is worth tens of thousands of words, and allows you to describe how a
country treats its allies and neighbors – and therefore you should draw it quite early. The
first map doesn’t have to be exact – it should be an aid for you, the writer, but sooner or
later you’ll have to draw a better map with a decent scale, marking down geographical
features like mountains, forests, rivers etc., major cities and other important locations.
A map is worth having regardless of genre – the galactic map in space opera would be
useful for determining main trade routes, the distances of FTL jumps or determining
the influence of interstellar organizations.

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Maps and Realism

The persistent problem of fantasy worldbuilders is to create

a map that seems realistic. How many gamers have degrees in
climatology or geography? Rivers flowing uphill, deserts
next to icebergs, or massive cities hidden in dense woods all
cause the setting to be unbelievable. So think before you place
a massive mountain chain, lake or an archipelago – but don’t
overthink it, especially if it’s a fantasy world. After all, there
are some holes that could be patched up with magic or will of
the gods.

Three Schools
There are a couple of ways to turn the map of symbols and strange place names into a
living world full of adventures for intrepid PCs. You can choose one of these approaches
or experiment with them all:

<< Wide Presentation – this is based on detailed descriptions of every major region. The
more important the area is for the setting as a whole, the more detailed and longer
the description should be. Each should also involve some interesting places where
the players could discover new adventures.
<< Detailed Presentation – the opposite of the above. Instead of giving exact descriptions
of each country, the author presents only the most interesting places. Authors using
this approach reason that it’s better to give the Game Masters a few dozen ready-
to-run adventure locales than to spend time on preparing “useless” descriptions.
<< Single Detail – Instead of describing dozens of interesting places, the author
focuses instead on a single description of a singular place – a city or a state –
almost completely neglecting the rest of the world. It’s usually used for specific
purposes (the only city still standing after the apocalypse, surrounded by radioactive
wasteland), but it can also work well in campaigns focusing on “everyday life”,
where the Player Characters don’t aim to alter the entire world.

Adventure Locales
What defines an interesting adventure locale? It usually depends on the role of the
heroes in the setting, the idea behind the game, and any connections between the place
and organizations, influential NPCs, and the history of the world. A small, run-down
chapel next to a minor trading route might not even be worth mentioning – but if it’s
one of a handful of places where the clerics of the forgotten gods (including the player
characters) might commune with their deities, it might deserve as much focus as the
other holy places. On the other hand, a massive metropolis, the capital of the emperor
who has taken over the Earth, deserves a mention – but not necessarily a detailed one,

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if the game is supposed to focus on the war between the imperial forces and guerillas
in the asteroid belt.

Accordingly, the less important the locales are to the entire world, the more they appear
in the game sessions: these are often set in temples, inns, ruins and dungeons inhabited
by level-appropriate monster tribes, and the GMs often like to create them themselves
or take an inn and use it in their campaign. If they enjoy “official” cities, space stations,
or wizard schools, the GMs will often have to work to fit them into their campaigns or
describe details not mentioned by the author of the setting. What you, as the author,
need to remember, is to retain a balance between the interesting places that don’t matter
to the wider plot and legendary locales known by almost every inhabitant of the game
world. A cool idea might be presenting “nesting” locations: if you devote a couple of
pages to the ancient dwarven fortress, you might within the description present floor
plans of the most famous inn, catacombs haunted by orc wights, or describe the master
crafters smithing the best armor and weapons in the world.

Speaking of floor plans, these are always welcomed by the GM who needs them. More
Game Masters might decide to use these dwarven catacombs haunted by orc wights
and dastardly necromancers if they have a plan and at least some layout. It saves them
work and time. These don’t have to be especially exact – they need to present the layout
of the rooms and their sizes, and the most important details (traps, obstacles).

Geography for the Players’ Sake

When creating the chapter on geography it’s worth thinking

about players – describe various nations and locations so that
the players can use them when creating their characters. Many
players like to use the setting’s geography as the basis for
their character creation – figuring that the mother country
of the hero will at least partially define his or her character.
They also like to include major events from the country’s
past into character’s background, use the described NPCs, or
establish goals conflicting with national politics. It’s worth
including these players. If you introduce more conflicts,
you will allow the party to, for instance, choose sides in the
forthcoming war (or allow them to become diplomats wanting
to stop the savagery).

Do Dungeons Matter?
A lot of gamers are fervently opposed to the idea of “dungeons” – underground
complexes with monsters and traps. For them, these locales have no reason to exist in
the first place. The beings inhabiting them should die out or escape, and the ancient
ruins should eventually crumble. Even erecting them would be madness – instead

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of a massive horrific tomb for an ancient wizard, he should expend his fortune on a
laboratory or tower, while the clan of evil dwarves should probably smith their weapons
of destruction in an actual workshop rather than an underground maze full of traps.
And sure, if you want to approach it from the angle of verisimilitude – dungeons make
no sense. But that doesn’t mean they’re not necessary for the players.

Isolated, encounter-based locations are a great way to give the players some mechanical
challenges. The Game Master can populate them with monsters, fantastic places, and
traps to threaten the heroes and make them use their abilities. Don’t worry about
verisimilitude – the players have fun in the dungeons not because they’re realistic, but
because they can fight monsters, solve puzzles, avoid traps, save and negotiate with
NPCs, and this is probably more exciting than realism. Remember not to overdo it – if
your world has little justification for such “adventuring complexes” their presence can
discourage many players from reading your setting.

Star Wrecks

In many ways a space opera is closer to heroic fantasy than

to realistic science fiction. Nemezis is a space opera, and so
the existence of a “dungeon” (an underground complex) is
not unlikely. A “dungeon crawl” could also take place on a
forgotten starbase, containing archives of Earth lore, or
starship wrecks infected by the Horde. There are only two
limits for these kinds of adventures – first, don’t overuse them.
And second, double-check with your players. A party that likes
dungeon crawling in fantasy might hate it in science-fiction.

Geography 101
The easiest trick to remember when writing the chapter on geography is to recall your
school days, when you browsed your geography textbook. Perhaps you were forced
to learn the numbers by heart; dozens of statistics or information on major exports,
imports or trading routes – and you were bored to death by it. And so, if you want to
create an interesting description, try to avoid the style of school textbooks, and focus on
inspiring, interesting elements.

One of the rules you can follow when writing the text directly for the guidebook is to
concentrate on the elements that matter to the game. If your fancy location just “looks
cool” but there’s nothing important going on, you could mention it in one or two places.
With this, the GM will have a general idea about the place and will be free to alter it
in her campaign. For instance, you might mention “an ancient forest, once inhabited by
elves” – as long as it’s an ordinary wood, you don’t have to focus too much on it. And if
the GM wants to introduce an undead elf lord who wants to reawaken the glory of his
people – now she knows where to place him.

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Summary
The chapter on geography is probably one
of the hardest tasks to complete. You need
patience, determination, and organization to
work out exact and interesting descriptions
of major lands and locales. Remember not to
be overburdened by details – the geography
is more prone to boring the readers than
the game mechanics or the description
of the religion in the setting. And a well-
written description of the world can be a
selling point, attracting masses of fans who
will populate the world with hundreds of
heroes living out amazing adventures. Your
countries, lands, interesting places should
always be useable in the game and be tied
to its main topic. As long as you follow this
rule – and other rules of correct writing –
and think things over, you should be able to
avoid the mistakes of high school textbooks,
and with luck, using familiarity with players’
needs and tying the world to other game
elements, you can create something great.

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 8. Religions and beliefs
Different Worlds, Same Gods

The eighth chapter is devoted to faith, mythologies and their structure. I will describe
the most prevalent kinds of religion in RPGs, the roles priests have in societies and any
supernatural powers gods send their followers. Also, some tips and hints are presented
on how to design a pantheon, describe its deities and use their faiths to make the
game more attractive. As usual, you might learn something about mistakes made by
inexperienced authors while writing the descriptions of their religions.

Introduction
Dozens of descriptions of powerful deities, a handful of dogmas, a couple of write-ups
of the structure of religion and some pages on how opposing gods fight each other –
that’s what a description of a generic pantheon of a generic fantasy world looks like.
Take any setting book for a fantasy dungeon crawler and open the “religion” chapter on
any page – you’re almost sure to find descriptions of a wise goddess of justice, a vile god
of murders and the knightly patron of law and good. And sure, most of the time the
descriptions or window dressing varies – gender, holy symbols, dogmas and relationship
with other gods might change. But the general idea stays the same – giving players
some names and styles tied in with divine domains and the powers to pick when they
choose the cleric “class” or Edge. Thanks to this the players can easily take on the role of
a priest without studying the details of his or her faith. Everyone knows that a priest of
St. Godwin, god of honor and righteousness, is basically a knight casting curative spells,
while a cultist of Sarush, goddess of assassins, is basically a murderous thug…

Boring, isn’t it?

Religion – especially in settings where the gods bestow supernatural powers upon their
followers – can be a force powering conflicts, even global wars. It should be something
more than a background for the game mechanics, but to do this you need good, original
ideas, and not hundreds of names tied to divine domains. You need some more unique
ideas, perhaps reaching beyond generic polytheism, and making gods different from
humans. This chapter presents various advice on how to make religion another major
aspect of your setting.

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The Pantheon
Your first decision when starting the write-up of religions is to determine who the deities
of your universe are – where do they come from, what powers do they have, how many are
there and what will happen to them in the future. It can seem that at this stage it’s enough
to draw an outline of a particular religion (after all, if you have a new idea during further
work on the setting it’ll be easier to introduce changes). In practice, however, especially in
fantasy settings, religion is a major element of the world and changing its basics will also
result in major changes in politics or relationships, often also the game mechanics.

The most important matter seems to be determining the number of the gods, the basic design
of the pantheon shepherding mortals – or trying to destroy their rebellious children. This is
indeed relevant but first of all, you need to determine the power of the immortals. Are they
truly immortal beings who can’t be destroyed (any conflict between them would probably be
resolved by their followers fighting each other) or powerful beings beyond humans, but still
able to be defeated? How are the gods born and can they die? Are they personifications of
ideas, elements of reality devoid of personalities – or powerful emotional beings not unlike
mortals? How do they manifest in the material world – through dreams, visions or prophetic
trances, or can they literally descend from the heavens? What do divine wars look like – are
they impressive titanic clashes, do they resemble magical duels, clashes of mortal armies – or
are they silent, invisible conflicts resulting in minor magical effects? There are many answers
to these questions – and each answer can cause further questions. It might be useful if you
try to answer all of these – this will make further work easier and will allow you to avoid any
incongruities. Remember also not to limit yourself to a vaguely Greco-Roman pantheon.

A definite help when creating pantheons is to try to tie the gods to the major ideas behind
the setting and with the leading motifs of the world. For instance, if your theme is “magic-
using civilizations clash in a conflict of empires”, you could step down the power level
of “classic” gods and make them weaker – able to grant powers to their followers and
materialize, but not being able to shape reality. Such gods could be dependent on empires
following them, and some of the deities might have been destroyed already. Some of
the kingdoms might be theocracies ruled by priests or demigods themselves. If you start
placing the gods in the political conflicts, it’s easy to add another layer of complexity –
relationships between particular deities (some might be evil conquerors, others might
wish to end the war). Based on this, your campaign might focus on mysteries, conspiracies,
and the exploration of church-based organizations as well as “mage wars.”

When creating the powers of divine figures you also need to determine another matter
– how numerous the pantheon is. The most common is usually some kind of chaotic
pantheon with groups of gods forming alliances or fighting each other, or a dualist
approach, based on basic conflict of Good vs Evil where these forces can be conscious
deities or elemental forces of the universe who have called forth the weaker deities. A lot
of writers decide to assume that Good is as powerful as Evil, but in the time and area of
the setting, the Light is the winning side. In many settings using this assumption, Evil
seems to have an inexhaustible supply of powerful, world-destroying monstrosities (and
thus Evil is theoretically stronger than Good) – but the heroes are always able to thwart
their efforts. This is a simple division, and it works – especially in settings where the player

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characters are adventurers, murderhobos or famous heroes traveling the world or planes,
ruling various states, or fighting evil. But if you want to give your setting a different spin,
and the parties have a different purpose, a religion based on a conflict of Good and Evil
might be simply a background element that can be avoided entirely.

If you don’t want to set up the player characters as warriors in the great battle with Evil
– or at least not to make them unambiguously Good – the gods of such a world should
also come in various shades of grey. A god of war and warriors in such a more complex
world will almost certainly require bloodshed or human sacrifice, a goddess of justice will
enforce caste divisions and suppression of slaves, and the deity of death will be portrayed
as a hungry monster devouring the souls of these who do not show obedience to the
immortals. An alternative is a world without gods – religions are based on reincarnation,
or arcane magic or science could take their niche, and people would simply be convinced
of nothingness after death. Of course, this does not preclude the existence of religions and
cults – but the objects of worship would simply stay silent and ignore any prayers.

In a world where gods are a certainty and interfere with the material world it’s fairly difficult
for different, competing religions to appear, but if you discard these assumptions, various
cultures should approach their faith in various ways. A pantheon of gods – though, in this
case, they should be more disembodied ideas rather than powerful human-like beings –
could be interpreted differently by each race or nation. Holy wars between groups following
the same gods but worshipping them in a different way could be a major selling point of the
setting – and definitely more interesting than the usual “vile cults of ancient evil”

The exact number of gods is, in general, a secondary matter, as long as you avoid populating
your heavenly planes with dozens of deities of similar alignments and domains, which will
not improve the gameplay. After all, you can have one, three or thirty gods – as long as
every deity stands out from the rest, your pantheon can’t be too large.

A Matter of Right and Wrong

One of the major problems when role-playing a cleric is the

difference between the concepts of good and evil deeds held
by the PC and her character. There are some deeds that the
priest of a fantasy god would find repugnant, but many players
would see as perfectly acceptable, and vice versa – some deeds
seen as good might be seen as stupid, immoral or outright
evil in an abstract moral code. If you decide to write up a set
of guidelines for a church, don’t make it impossible for an
average player to enjoy a “divine” character.

Description
Much as in other chapters on the description of the world, in describing the deities, you
first need to answer a simple question: “How should I describe the deity so it will be

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as useful as possible for the GM and the players?” With geography and history, that’s
more difficult – you never know what your players will focus on, especially if you cover
a large area. But religion is a bit different – you should have a clear vision on how it
connects with the main themes of the game, how much you should focus on it, and
what elements of the divine will be placed in games. Some elements, like the names the
gods are referred to by, available supernatural powers, holy symbols or a general gist of
a faith’s dogma should be present in most cases, but the exact amount of description of
matters like structure of the faith, how powers are used in the setting or the relationship
between various faiths depends on system specifics.

The simple rule is this: the more focused your setting is on relationships of PCs with
NPCs, the more significance religion should have in the world – and the gods should
only rarely exert power directly on mortals. Political connections, church hierarchy,
main tenets of the faith and actions undertaken by the clergy (usually global ones, like
holy wars or great deeds) are the things you should focus on. If the player characters are
closer to epic heroes who seek great adventures or defeat evil (or some other enemy)
you should also make clear what powers the gods do wield directly, what are the limits
of their followers and what do the high priests want to achieve.

The Churches
Most fantasy universes have two common varieties of church organizations: the
acknowledged ones, with a strict priestly hierarchy, temples in major cities, and chapels
or shrines spread around the country – and the secretive cults, usually worshipping
evil gods or demons, hidden from the world using mysteries, lies, and dark magic. The
churches usually have some martial support, whether you call them templars, paladins
or holy knights, and some sects also use assassins – usually fanatics who hope to gain
happiness and a better life after death. It is a simple scheme that works – the player
characters can cooperate with the “good” religions, and the evil ones will be opponents
of the party. This dualism and clear division between the “good” and “evil” faiths – who
usually accept other faiths as long as they’re similar – is good enough for most gaming
purposes, but sometimes the world forces you to design it otherwise. If you assume a
small pantheon of conflicting gods or a monotheistic religion, you need to clearly think
over the structure of the church and modify it accordingly.

Gods Beyond Fantasy

This chapter deals with faith in a fantasy setting – but you

can also use it when designing universes in other genres.
Religion is not tied to the level of technology, the themes
of humanity or the role of the heroes – it’s a matter of faith,
inner convictions, or – if the gods do indeed influence the
world –divine power. In a setting where religion is mostly a
matter of background, you can omit the chapter on religion
entirely, and instead devote a couple of boxes or sidebars

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describing various cults or faiths, like Nemezis’ Unification

Church. However, if beliefs have a lot of significance, for
instance, the churches have great power or the godhead
influences the world, you could write up a chapter describing
religions. And you can always simply include the churches in
the write-ups of organizations, especially if the priests don’t
have supernatural powers.

An important question is determining what sacrifices the deities prefer – do they need
some incense, songs or prayers, or living sacrifices – of animals or perhaps even sentient
creatures? If the priests are required to spill the blood of the unfaithful, the other faiths
will be cautious towards them at best. This church will have few compunctions about
using violence against enemies, or other cruel actions considered as ‘evil’ by most of the
players. In a world where the goddess of life forces her followers to sacrifice animals to
end the drought or to kill a sentient creature to heal another one, ‘good’ and ‘evil’ will not
correspond to the ideas the majority of players would understand.

Such a requirement for sacrifices – or maybe even taking aggressive action against other
faiths – will cause conflicts between various churches – especially if the divine “portfolios”
of the deities are similar. This will in turn cause a massive escalation of religious conflicts
(like crusades) unless another force stops mortals from fighting. The groups most likely
to exert such influence are probably wizards or nature priests (shamans or druids). They
could limit the influence of bloodthirsty priests and establish peace in some areas – but
conversely, in areas controlled by the clergy, sorcery and nature magic might be persecuted.

In the game, apart from the proper ceremonies or relationships between deities, other
details might matter: how the church hierarchy is organized, how the “division of divine
powers” works, what happens when you die, or how the gods can perish – the deities
don’t have to be immortal, after all.

Usually, the basic structure of a pyramid can be applied to most cults: at the bottom are
the novices, rank and file clerics and/or paladins, in its middle high priests, masters of
orders and special divinely favored ones, and near the top – advisors, great clerics, and
the arch-priest himself. But there are other models you can consider when working on
a cult: the most popular seem to be linear structures. First is relative equality, each priest
has one or more students on whom he bestows knowledge and skills. When the novice
receives his or her first supernatural powers, he becomes a full-fledged cleric of his own
temple. Another approach is the “circle of chosen” – they could be old and experienced
priests, but they can also be a collection of various people of different backgrounds, age,
and social status. The only thing that they might have in common is divine grace – the
ability to work miracles or see the future. Together, this circle makes decisions and
issues commands to the lesser priests – those without mystical powers. Another popular
solution is a point-based structure: there are several, often competing or conflicted
groups, each with its own organization. There could be different Supreme Priests of the
same deity in a town, each with his or her own circle of followers.

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The ultimate image of a cult also depends on the presence of gods in the world. If they
often manifest their power, their existence is not a matter of faith, it’s a fact – and any
atheists in this world would be madmen or frauds, perhaps supporting some nefarious
goals. If there’s less proof of the existence of gods, or limits to their power – if, for instance,
it’s relatively easy for a mortal to destroy gods – the force of faith and its popularity might
be lesser. Another way to reinforce the faith is the certainty of the existence of life after
death, especially some sort of paradise for these whose faith is strong.

Taboos

Some topics don’t belong in sessions of role-playing games,

regardless of how interesting they are; and one of them is
probably existing religions – if you use the actual beliefs of
someone else when designing your faith, you might hurt your
players and readers, so it’s best to avoid this topic, at least
directly. Faith is too personal a matter to use it as a selling
point when designing your game.

What are the Gods Like?

A common method for describing gods, often enabling the players to understand them
better, is to bestow them with human character traits. A god of war is often aggressive
and simple-minded, a patron of learning and art – wise and calm, while the goddess
of magic is so neutral it hurts. If you project these traits onto the clerics, it’s easy to fall
into clichéd roleplaying archetypes. So the question is – what happens if the gods don’t
have this “human” aura?

Amazing, incomprehensible dimensional intelligences, working beyond mortal logic, will

probably behave differently from your classical Greco-Roman deities. Their decisions can
be hard to understand or even seemingly absurd – and will gain meaning only centuries
later. Mortals don’t have to be the “beloved children” of the divinities – the gods can view
humans as worms hiding in dark places, or as slaves created just to follow divine orders.
Perhaps the priests serving this kind of gods won’t do it of their own volition. Gods might
strip the souls from their favorites, changing them into semi-sentient automatons who
are only able to follow the divine will. Physically they would be ordinary humans, elves or
Martians – but all their actions could only serve the cause. A priest could be able to speak,
for instance – but all his words could be only orders for his followers or prayers worshipping
his patron. They would have none of the motivations that rule ordinary mortals, would
feel no needs, and the only pleasure they’d feel would be that of serving their master. Of
course, this would make the classic fantasy cleric unplayable, and mechanically wizards or
other adepts should have access to curative and protective magic as well.

Another problem is the intelligence of the deities. Such powerful beings, able to see the
future (or possible future), or bestow great powers on mortals, should still matter in the
world and be able to compete with great powers of the setting. In a setting where gods often

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express interest in the material world, religion should have a major role in daily life – after all,
the gods have hold not just over the life of humans but also the fate of eternal souls.

If you want to give a god a specific personality, you should bear in mind the role of
religion in your setting. If you want the generic fantasy vibe of dungeon crawling and
adventuring, go ahead with a basic polytheism with human-like competing deities, but
be wary of the consequences. Most players in such a setting will do what they do in
other games – ignore the religion, pushing it into the background fluff. Of course, this
might be exactly what you want, especially if religion is not a major point of interest of
your world, and the heroes aren’t preoccupied with faith.

Religious Wars

If the existence of the gods is a fact, the setting should have

plenty of religious wars. Of course, not every deity will demand
her followers to kill or die for her – but there should be
enough conflicting deities that mortal politicians, fanatics or
mercenaries benefit from the religion-based struggle.

The Player Character Cleric

Usually the “cleric” class, archetype or Edge boils down to healing companions and a
religious ceremony once in a while. Most of the time, limitations on priestly duties aren’t
in conflict with the party profile (fight evil, protect communities, wander the world), so
there’s little actual limitation on priestly powers. The player who plays the cleric in effect
receives great power with few limits.

A way to make your setting stand out is to bestow more specific duties and limitations.
Clerics might be banned from using arcane magic (even magic items), be forced to
make vows of poverty or purity, or be forced to solve any conflict via non-violent means
(though, of course, this does not mean that they should parley with bloodthirsty pirates
or zombie hordes). This might discourage some players from selecting the Miracles
Edge, but would also remind them that the archetype of the cleric is connected to the
world. Of course, you should not limit yourself to the fluff penalties – there should be
not only mechanical penalties for clerics that fail to follow these tenets but also rewards
for upholding them.

These limits depend on specifics of the pantheon, the gods and the ways the divines
manifest themselves. Some might be merely traditional, resulting from customs of the
past. Others might be sacred tenets revealed by the prophets, and their breaking might
result in removing the blessings (or supernatural powers) and bestowing a curse. This
will give the GMs a lot of interesting hooks when designing adventures – the priest will
have to choose between siding with the party or with his faith, provoking some moral
conflicts and discussion on whether the party is doing “right” things.

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A Pantheon of Liars

The source of “divine” power

don’t have to be gods. In a
world that has no “wizards”,
and the greatest mystery
might be the source of power
of priests (like magic), gods
can be only a lie, invented
to keep the peasants calm
and limit the imperialist
drives of the nobles. In such
a setting the access to the
priestly caste should be
far harder, (for instance
requiring another Edge
before selecting the Arcane
Background). You could
spin it further, planning
a campaign affecting the
entire world – letting
society learn the truth
about the gods, possibly
thanks to the player
characters. How would the
rest of the world react?

Summary
Writing about religion isn’t an easy matter.
You can easily fall into a rut, especially in
fantasy worlds. You also need to be very
wary not to break actual real-world taboos
on personal faith and organized religion.
Usually, it’s best to work the spiritual side
of the setting, working the pantheon,
mythology and other elements tied to
religion so they will underline the main
themes of the world and complete it. Each
major deity in your faith should have its
role and place in the setting – nothing’s
more boring than wading through dozens
of descriptions of the gods which differ
only in their symbols and goals.

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 9. Plot point campaign
How to Bring the World to Life

Many Savage Worlds are supplemented by their own story line. Almost every setting
has its own chapter containing a campaign describing major, dramatic events that will
change the world forever. The player characters get to participate in this history and alter
the world with their deeds. The ninth chapter of Worldcrafting is devoted to designing
these campaigns.

Ending and Beginning

Many players find it hard to accept that their campaign sooner or later will come to an
end. They consider it obvious that they will play the same characters for years, until they
all die, the GM burns out or the party splits.

Such campaigns usually have a slow, steady pace. Even if the GM introduces some
threat, the PCs will eventually solve it – the world will return to its initial shape, and the
only trace of the characters’ adventures will be the player’s memories.

When designing a setting for Savage Worlds it’s worth thinking about it as of the world
where you will play just a single campaign. It can be very long, take dozens if not
hundreds of sessions, but when it ends, the world should look different. Consider this –
if you accept that the players will eventually play a different game than yours (regardless
of whether you have a plot point campaign or not), it’ll be easier to introduce riskier
ideas and change the assumptions of your setting upside down.

Sad But True

There are dozens of parties who keep to their boxed sets for dozens of years, or decades.
When their characters die, they create new ones, setting them in the same universe.
They’re not interested in new systems, new settings, new adventures – they’re perfectly
content with their own game. Perhaps such parties are even the majority, but are they
really the target audience of your new setting? How likely it is that they will be interested
in your world, while they’re stuck in their beloved rut and not exploring the market?

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It’s far better to assume that the readers (and prospective fans) of the setting will be the
people who actually do buy a new RPG product once in a while, and enjoy exploring it.
Perhaps they won’t use it for long, and it will be a place for a few dozen adventures; but
if the setting has enough potential and the campaign promises the heroes the chance to
change events, it will keep the players involved longer. In time there’ll be a need for new
materials, more scenarios, another Plot Point Campaign – the setting might still live,
but after the last adventure practically every piece of official material will be out of date.

The Web
The first part of designing a campaign is to create the outline of events that should
happen in the play sessions. You should take care that the player characters will be able
to influence at least some of them, but you shouldn’t hesitate to assume that at least a
couple will be inevitable – after all the player characters can’t be in many places at once.
The finale can be problematic – you can guess what form will it take, but details will still
be dependent on the actions of the PCs and the key background characters.

The structure of the campaign at this stage should resemble a spider’s web, with a couple
of thick lines – the main threads – and a dozen or so thinner ones, able to be torn
easily – the side events. The places where the threads meet are Plot Points – scenarios
on whose outcome how the heroes are going to reach the finale will depend. The exact
details of these adventures should be left for later – until the outline of the campaign is
not completed, stave off the details.

The Plot Points are now best described in a few words, describing the most important
event that would take place during the adventure. For example, in a spy game, we could
have “sabotage by a double agent” – assuming that one of the NPCs will reveal him or
herself as the traitor. The characters will be able to stop them – and if not, the spy will
destroy a major invention and flee with crucial documents.

Regardless of the system specifics, the outline of events should be complex – you
shouldn’t follow a single plot line. You need to introduce enough places for the heroes
to make their own decisions, to feel that their characters control something more than
minor details. In a war campaign the heroes can choose which side of the conflict to
support, whether to offer battle or disperse and try to start a guerilla warfare or perhaps
assassinate one of the major villains and thus take the initiative and change the course
of the war. Remember though, that a single mistake should not end the entire campaign
– it should only make the goal less realistic. For instance, if a PC commander decides to
start a battle with an opposing force and loses the bulk of her forces, this does not have
to mean a complete failure. The enemy can take over a city or two, or start the siege of
a fortress blocking access to another province, but the party can still try to defeat them,
whether by using diplomacy (visiting other countries to persuade them to join in the
war), manipulation (buying off enemy mercenaries), or adventuring actions (trying to
assassinate the main commander).

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War Never Changes

One of the simplest and more obvious ideas of inexperienced

authors is a campaign that’s all about an invasion by the Evil
Empire – the heroes are supposed to gather an army to oppose
the Dark Queen, barbarians, necromancers etc. The fate of the
world is at stake – success will mean the triumph of the Light
and a new golden age, while failure leads to the Darkness
conquering or even destroying the world.

The campaign doesn’t have to determine the future of the

entire world, though. Alien invasion, world wars, wars between
gods and other global conflicts are bound to become boring
sooner or later. Consider that you can end your campaign in
many other ways beyond a final battle where the entire world
is at stake. Perhaps both sides of the conflict could be “good
guys” – but with a different philosophy? Imagine a conflict
between the technology and magic – one side wants the
modernization of the world, another wants to increase the
miraculous powers of sorcery and divine abilities. Or maybe,
if everyone in your setting uses magic, the magic suddenly
weakens and might even disappear? If the player characters are
all kings of their own lands, maybe the theme of the campaign
is simply the appearance of a new player with unique resources
or capabilities (like supernatural powers previously unknown
to the world).

The heroes shouldn’t be subject to blind chance. The events in a session should have a
cause and it’ll be the iconic NPCs and PCs who will influence the future of the world.
A good idea is to introduce new threads based on the relationships of heroes and NPCs.
A mistreated, humiliated ally can join the enemy if he doesn’t receive enough support
from our heroes. A mercenary working for the opposition can join the characters for a
price. And even the guy everyone thought was the main Big Bad can join the party if
faced with a powerful new threat that could wipe them both out… unless they unite.
Avoid placing plot twists that are based on accidents (the heroes just stumble upon the
ruins of forgotten city hiding the artifact they need), natural phenomena (the main fleet
of the heroes sinks during a massive storm), or supernatural forces (the god of death
sends a disease that kills everyone in the PCs’ base). Mortals and normal events should
be the sole drivers of the plot.

Plot Points
With a complete outline of the campaign, you now have the hardest task – creating the
most important scenarios which will influence the finale. Such an adventure is usually

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4-5 pages of text describing the events, plus some space for characteristics, maps of
locations etc. If we assume that the campaign consists of at least eight such adventures
it comes to around fifty pages of text (including introduction and summary). That’s a
lot of work – few people could manage to write it. But you could at least try, starting
with the summary. Even if you don’t complete the entire campaign, the setting book can
contain the outline, and the adventures could be published on their own (for instance
as serialized PDFs).

Death of a Hero

The death of one of the major stars can be a problem for the
referee, especially in the last few adventures. Sometimes other
heroes can replace the deceased PC, but that’s not always
possible. You can just suggest a deal between the GM and the
players – if a character dies and can’t be replaced, the GM can
save her, but only until the most convenient moment. Then, the
character can die when his destiny is fulfilled – probably in
the finale, as befits a true hero.

The summary can present the campaign beyond the Plot Points – there’s nothing wrong
with this, and in fact, many GMs will be pleased with guidelines to create their own
adventures and direct their threads. But you must remember that the adventures need
not only to present cool action but also be a good read.

Savage Tales
While a campaign is shaped by the major events, there are also less important adventures,
which allow the heroes to pursue their own personal stories, build interaction with the
NPCs and allow immersion in the world. When creating the outline of the campaign
allow enough place for side stories – personal threads for player characters or simple
one-shots that can fill the times when some players aren’t present. You can place a
couple of such episodes in the setting book – they can be useful for the GMs when the
party gets sidetracked or decides to explore a thread that’s not relevant to the end result
of the conflict.

A Savage Tale can be anything – a final reckoning with old enemies, a mission from
a patron, or a journey to gain important information, treasure or allies which will be
useful in the forthcoming combat. These adventures shouldn’t be particularly complex –
it’s enough to present the main scenes, give the stats of the characters taking part in the
scenario, and a couple of sentences on the introduction and finale – the GM can always
adjust the events to his party.

A good idea could be designing these episodes so that they are always useful in the final
confrontation. In a campaign that’s based on the war between Good and Evil, such an
episode could be looking for a veteran of old battles who, tired after years of service,

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settled down in the wilderness, or maybe a quest for a magical blade – according to
legends the one thing which can kill a powerful leader of Darkness. While the success
or failure in these episodes doesn’t mean a direct success in the final battle, the heroes
can help in many other ways (for instance save a character that would have perished
otherwise).

Tour De Galaxy

It’s very easy to introduce a side story in Nemezis – it’s enough

for the heroes to have their own space ship. The party can
visit an old friend, discover a trap laid by old enemies, decide
to rest or even go off course by accident. The planet visited
this week should be very different from these they have
visited before. If the heroes serve as diplomats, they could
visit a primitive, forgotten world, inhabited by a barbaric
offshoot of humankind. A group of soldiers could encounter
a very civilized world where all weaponry is elegant. New
situations, atypical challenges, and new opponents should
make the players think – and this can make the side episode as
interesting as the most exciting plot point.

Summary
There’s no single best way to write a campaign. Good ones usually fit the specifics of the
setting, place the heroes in key roles, or introduce surprising plot twists and interesting
subplots. There are only some crucial rules you need to keep in mind – the main one is
that the heroes will have to make their own decisions, and not always simple ones. If the
players feel that the finale of the campaign depends not just upon the fancy of the GM
or author, but that their heroes can influence the fate of the world, it’s quite likely that
their experience with the setting won’t end with the reading of the book and a couple of
sessions. The main strengths of Savage Worlds’ settings are their Plot Point Campaigns
– so it’s worth remembering that the prospective fan will not only have an interesting
background but also a living world she or he could shape.

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 10. Mechanical
Modifications
How to Meddle with the Rules

Modification of the original game mechanics, allowing adjustment of the crunch

for the specifics of the setting, is not just welcome but even expected. Among other
things, it allows you to enforce a specific style of gameplay, add some distinctive traits
to the world, or simply ensure that the players have more options when creating their
characters or design interesting opponents. System modifications are usually welcome
– as long as they’re well thought out, well-written, and well-tested before adding them
to the setting. Rules that do not support the genre, disturb the balance of the game or
are simply burdensome to use can often lead fans to change their opinion of the setting
and convince them to look for another game world. If you want to modify the game
mechanics, be aware that even the smallest change requires exacting and patient testing.

When designing your own rules it’s good to start with a list of potential changes,
elements you want to remove and options expanding the existing lists. The top of your
list should be made up of fundamental rules changing the system – alternate ways of
making tests, new Traits or modifications of magic or combat rules. Somewhat less
important are the character rules – changes in the skills list, new effects of Bennies, or
limitations of supernatural powers. Finally, take a look at adding or modifying options
available during character generation – new races, Edges, changes to available weapons
or armor.

Why?
Before introducing any rules change, no matter how minor, first ask yourself the question
“Is it necessary?” Quite often it turns out that a new rule is the result of a whimsy or a
recently watched film, a TV show, a new book, or suggestions from your friends on an
RPG forum. In such a case authors tend to ignore their initial assumptions and discard
the genre conventions they have planned from the beginning. For example, imagine that
you’ve just read a great blog post about “realistic combat”. This inspires you to remove
spectacular maneuvers allowing the martial heroes to accomplish supernatural wonders
– and instead introduce new rules on bleeding and fatigue, change the Wound system

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and introduce gritty damage… Blithely ignoring the fact that initially your game was
supposed to concern children of the gods fighting over dominance in the multiverse,
and the keywords you initially assumed were “action”, “world-changing magic” and
“spectacular duels”. The first snags will appear during the early playtest sessions. A few
combats and opinions from the reviewers will be enough to show that such unnecessary
changes destroy the genre of the setting instead of strengthening it. The only way to fix
your error will be to remove those rules clashing with the world.

When taking decisions on changing the game mechanics the most important thing is
consistency. If you need to introduce a new rule, don’t hesitate! If, however, signs point
to the fact that to introduce a single change you also need to change another element
of game mechanics, you should think hard about whether this modification is really
necessary. If your main motivation is simply because you’ve read another setting with
a great rule you want to steal (even if it’s brilliant and many players consider it a great
point of the book) – if you import it wholesale without thinking, you can distort your
own setting and many players will consider it irrelevant and forced on them. Many
games, even very popular ones, were based on the idea of combining elements from
many different genres – and their worlds became so weird and complicated that their
authors lost their main idea and created a gonzo, unplayable mix.

Even many professional authors lose their consistency – they’re afraid to take brave
decisions, want to reuse their ideas or lack decisiveness during character creation.
They often create unplayable games with mechanics working against the genre they’re
supposed to emulate. So if you want to create a game about demigods in a world
resembling ancient Greece, don’t hesitate to give the players twice the usual Trait points,
allow them to start as Legendary characters or modify the damage system so that the
player characters will be almost invulnerable. A bad idea would be to strengthen poisons
or to slow down the XP progression.

Don’t Force It
Before you even start considering any changes in game mechanics, you need to answer
one simple question: “Is my basic ruleset appropriate for it?” Many game designers claim
that their systems are universal – but really, there’s no single set of game mechanics
which could be used for every setting, genre or style. Different gaming groups have
different priorities – some want realism, others – simplicity, and others still a cinematic
feel – that’s why you should choose your tools carefully. Even if you like bell curves
there’s no need to completely redo 3/4 of a system just because you enjoy a particular
game mechanic. If you want a setting that’s all about Prohibition, and is very realistic
(which does not just mean internal consistency but also the influence of hit location on
damage results or detailed varieties of ammo), and focuses on gritty investigation where
using weapons is the final resort – perhaps you shouldn’t use Savage Worlds; out there,
you can find game systems that’d fit this vision better.

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The Heart of the System

The heart of the rules is how to make tests. Usually, you take the attribute die, roll it,
and compare it with a basic or modified target number of 4. Wild Cards roll an extra
d6 and choose the better result. The modifiers are usually based on taking extra actions,
Wounds, external conditions etc. Changing these mechanics can prove risky.

The simplest modification you can apply if you want a grittier, darker world is to remove
the Wild Die. Regardless of who the PCs are and who their enemies are, all tests are
made with a single die. This will make the characters’ odds of hitting high results far
lower (especially at lower Ranks), discourage them from taking risky actions, and will
make the heroes less like stars of their show and more like any other background
character.

Another modification could be changing the Wild Die and make it depend on the tested
Trait – so a Wild Card with Fighting d8 would make attacks using two eight-sided dice
and choose the higher result. This would basically reward narrow specialization (once
you hit d12, it’s practically a guaranteed success and a raise or two), but would make it
all but impossible to pass a test using a skill you’re not trained in.

Regardless of the specifics of your world, avoiding modifying the core rule – “dice vs
4”. For instance, you might want to make the players roll the skill and Trait die, add
the result together and compare it with difficulty (with 7 being the average). This rule
wouldn’t change much; sure, it would tie the attributes to skills, but it would be very
problematic: you’d need to recalculate a lot of modifiers and introduce new rules for
tests not tied to a specific skill.

Combat System Modifications

The basic rules assume that the game mechanics should be quick, unobtrusive and
flashy, allowing the heroes to take spectacular, heroic actions. The rules give at least a
token nod to common-sense realism, but allow the players to live out plots similar to
those in adventure movies. If you replace these rules with other systems, you can alter
the gameplay – make it more dangerous, forcing the heroes to quickly heal all their
Wounds, or conversely make the clashes more epic to make the characters resemble
superheroes.

If you modify the combat rules be careful not to cause over-complication and create
unplayable variants of the rules, incompatible with the core version of the mechanics.
Most roleplaying systems focus on combat and introduce so many rules, options,
maneuvers or various actions that to change one fundamental rule you need to rewrite
dozens of pages of text. If you want to make such a change (like introducing hit points
to make combats longer) maybe you should design all the combat mechanics from
scratch or abandon Savage Worlds totally. When you change a fundamental rule, you
don’t only change the related mechanics – you’ll need to rewrite Edges, Hindrances,
racial traits or powers as well.

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Of course, simpler modifications, often aesthetic ones, can be introduced without

problems – for instance, playing with the open deck – instead of counting down from
Aces to Deuces, the players see each other’s and GMC’s initiative cards and act from the
highest to the lowest. This affects tactics since the players know who acts after whom,
but combat becomes faster.

Damage mechanics could have a more serious impact. Some players dislike rolling
damage, claiming that it slows combat down and is inconsistent with other rolls, so
they might introduce a simpler system. Instead of a roll, an attack deals average damage
(so an attack which would normally deal 2d8 damage would now have a basic value of
9, 3d6 would be 11, etc.), plus one per point above the TN to hit the enemy (Parry or
4 for ranged attacks). This means that very effective hits would deal a lot of damage –
but damage significantly higher than average would become less likely, and as a result,
enemies with high Toughness would be practically invincible. This modification might,
in theory, make combat faster, but it would also force the author to redesign many
elements of the system: arms and armor, Edges, spells or other options (Size, AP…).
Despite its temptation, such a rule might speed up combat only in worlds where the
PCs fight unarmored normal human (or humanoid) beings.

A cool option might be additional rules for special sorts of conflicts – for instance,
honor duels for musketeers or wizardly battles in a world of powerful sorcerers. You
might use already existing rules (for instance using the Mass Battle rules, with battle
tokens replaced by Mana Power) unless these modifications are simple and you can
introduce them without rewriting other elements of mechanics (for instance, give out a
benny to the PC when a swashbuckling duel starts). You might also introduce elements
different from the rest of the system – e.g. card-based combat. However, you should
remember that for an average player it’ll be about as hard to master the new rules as it
was for you to create them. That’s why you need to confront your ideas with your friends
while you create them, and not “when they’re all ready”.

When You Could Modify the Combat Rules

• When your setting is very much focused on a specific genre
(swashbuckling, westerns, tough space marines) modifying the
rules might force the players to take specific tactics – discard
armor, use revolvers, or rely on their powered armor.
• When the specificity of the world demands additional
rules. For instance, if you want a world of samurai, it would
be interesting to have iaijutsu duels use different rules
than regular combats.
• If the world is somewhat removed from pulpy heroism.
If you think that adding Lingering Wounds or limiting
bennies to one per session would make your game grittier,
maybe you should go for it.

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When Not to Modify the Combat Rules

• When you want to “improve the system”. Really, there’s
little chance that your rule will make the system faster
or better rather than more complicated and clunky. Most
systems were tested for a long time by larger groups of
players than your average author can muster. Yes, it’s
possible that you’ve spotted a loophole in the rules or
found the perfect solution to make combat faster, but
it’s far more likely that you just introduced another
extraneous rule to remember and follow.
• When the modification helps the system to follow pulp
adventure rules. Most of Savage Worlds’ rules are already
focused on cinematic action – you’d just be changing the
rules for the sake of change.

General Changes
There are only a handful of assumptions on which the Savage Worlds system works. It
really has quite simple core rules and a lot of optional modules you can add. One of the
fundamentals of the system is the concept of Ranks and character development “from
zero to hero”, which try to balance the game, making two characters with a similar
amount of XP have similar capabilities, regardless of their choices during character
creation and advancement. If you meddle with these assumptions you can change the
feel of the game – sometimes to such an extent that putting the Savage Worlds logo on
the cover seems meaningless.

Savage Worlds has a simple system of advancement – each session the heroes receive XP,
usually enough to gain an advance every two sessions. They can use these advances to
gain new Edges or increase skills. Initially, they’re not particularly powerful, but with
time they can become living legends. Changing these assumptions can underscore the
specifics of the setting, but you can also shoot yourself in the foot – especially if the
players know and like this RPG cliché.

You might completely discard the “character advancement” system (for instance, to
emulate static characters in wrestling or comics), but most players would think of this
as downright foolish. Are there even any players who consider “no experience points”
nor any other system for character customization to be an advantage? Perhaps your
targets are players who only play one-shot characters, but from their point of view lack
of experience system wouldn’t be much of an advantage – more like a neutral point.

On the other hand, if you want to focus on power struggles and politics where the PCs
are important players in the game of thrones, a good idea might be a modification of
the character development system so as to promote pursuing your own goals. In such a
case you might want every player to list, or choose from a list, their own goals, and the
GM could reward the players for pursuing or achieving those goals. For instance, for
directing the plot in the right direction, a player could receive a Benny, and achieving

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the goal would be rewarded with one or two XP. If this is the only way to gain XP, it
would slow down the development of characters – so the PCs should start at a higher
Rank than normally.

If the players have a definite role or a precise place in the world, this might require you
to introduce extra stats or modify existing ones. In a world dealing with a brutal war
between mages who want to rule the world, you might introduce a Willpower stat that
would work like Parry in magical combat and increase the difficulty of casting a spell
on someone. Note that this might make Spirit (if Willpower is based on Spirit) more
important, change the existing magic system a little, and would force you to introduce
new Edges, Hindrances and gear influencing this stat.

Adding new statistics requires you to playtest extensively – including during character
creation, so as to avoid overpowered characters. Sometimes it’s the only way to introduce
a world element into your game, especially when this trait changes the available character
concepts. If the players are nobles fighting to control a decadent empire, each should
have great wealth and influence. You can describe it on a narrative level, use Edges like
Noble, or skills to describe them – but you can also introduce Status, which would work
similarly to Charisma when determining the position of the character, their wealth, and
support.

Sanity

When working on Nemezis, one of the core aims was to

determine the effect of inhuman monstrosities on mortal
minds. In many games based on Lovecraft’s writings,
encountering alien gods is such a terrifying experience it
can drive you insane. However, this would have required me to
create a completely new system determining how often you
should make Sanity rolls or the results of losing Sanity. After
some deliberation I decided not to introduce such a solution –
Savage Worlds’ core Fear rules are enough for Nemezis.

Summary
Modification of basic mechanical rules is a greater challenge than one might think.
Usually, the core elements of the system are tied to each other so closely that replacing
one with a different rule can require you to rewrite half of the core book. Your major
tenet when changing the system and presenting alternative rules should be balance
– abandon the modifications that are there just to make you feel better, fix things
you consider mistakes or impress the readers with changes that do not influence the
gameplay, or merely present the same issue in a different light. Each change has to be
well-thought-out and well-tested – and introduced only if it really works.

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11. System Modifications
Hacking the Game

Introduction
Modifications to the game mechanics needn’t mean a change in the way of rolling
the dice, replacing entire system modules with others, or rewriting the rules for
PCs’ advancement. More often, to adjust the rules to the specifics of the world,
you need to make some changes not related to the core mechanics – replacing the
generic spellcasting system with an alternate one, changing the rules on damage and
Toughness, or introducing a new stage into character creation. Rather than change the
core elements of the system, you would more often modify its subsystems, or add new
Edges or Hindrances, which are usually easier to conceive of, playtest and write down.
Such changes will also be more player-friendly – the closer you stay to the original SW
mechanics, the fewer new elements they have to learn. The eleventh chapter is devoted
to these changes – modifications that impact game mechanics but are fairly easy to
introduce.

Simple Yet Efficient

It isn’t hard to change the system to reflect the setting – often you can simply remove a
couple of major rules and replace them with others, add new magic and psionic systems,
modify the damage rolls so that the players have an alternative to the original rules.
What’s hard is to design the new rules so that they aren’t problematic, and people
deciding to play in your setting are able to learn them after a couple of sessions at worst.

The two core tenets to follow during the entire process of setting creation are simplicity
and consistency – but they are especially important when regarding any mechanical
alterations. The main rule is simplicity: the modifications must be easy to understand and not
slow the game down. They also need to fit the rest of the game, support the atmosphere
and the style of the setting – and that means consistency. You need to remember that
even the most interesting ruleset can be ignored if the players find it hard to learn
and actually use. For instance, you might come up with a fantastic magic system using
“words of power” where the hero uses various options to build any spell on the spot…

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but if the player isn’t able to create a simple, useful magical effect in a couple of seconds,
this system will slow down the game and could even make it impossible.

The easiest way to recognize whether introducing a new rule makes sense is to answer
the question “Does this rule approach the problem from a different perspective or does
it provide new solutions?” If the goal of the new rule is simply to provide a “new way of
doing X” different from the existing rules (new chase rules, a new approach to Tracking)
it’s perhaps best to leave it out of the final draft. However, if the new rule is devoted to
elements not mentioned in the core book (creating custom mounts for dragon riders) or
approaches something in a new way (skills dependent on PCs’ backgrounds), the change
is the right choice.

Simple Rules, Many Exceptions

The creators of the Savage Worlds follow the rule that the best
way to master their game is a simple basic system (check what dice
to roll, and compare the result with 4) supplemented by various
modular rules which can be optionally used by the players (if
you play dungeon-crawling fantasy, it’s likely you won’t see much
use of social conflicts or vehicles). You should follow this
logic when creating your own rule systems – the basic mechanics
should be simple, and the additional elements (new Edges, magic
duels) should allow you to use the rules in specific situations
tied to the exceptional elements of your game world.

Magic Modifications
A lot of young authors seem to think that modification of the magic system is an
absolute must-have for any self-respecting world-builder. They introduce a host of
unnecessary rules, in theory, to create a unique, unforgettable magic system fitting their
world – but in practice only to show the readers that their world is Totally Original Do
Not Steal. But let’s be clear – an alternate magic system is not enough to make the game
stand out on its own if the modifications are introduced without any reasonable goal in
mind or any balancing factors. Such games will inevitably end up among hundreds of
settings played only by a handful of groups.

There are a couple of common changes to the magic system – some replace the open
power list with a series of very specific spells, others weaken or empower wizards,
some introduce a system allowing mages to create spells on the fly, or introduce a more
complicated kind of critical failures. While they can mark the specificity of the setting,
they can also turn out to be an unnecessary complication for the players.

The basic Savage Worlds magic or spellcasting system is actually fairly hard to modify
– because it’s relatively simple. The generic list of “powers” is meant to be customizable
thanks to trappings, and each party can change the generic “mage” into a “fire incantatrix”

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by changing the trappings of offensive powers, introducing a minor rule like “targets can
catch fire”. While it doesn’t fit every magic system in fiction, it’s nevertheless simple
and fast. If you want to totally change the magic system, you need to come up with
something very well thought-out and thoroughly playtested.

Many authors want to create a low-magic world, where magic exists and is available to
the player characters but is much less potent than in the core rules. The simplest solution
is to limit access to the more powerful spells, and decrease the number of spells known
and/or Power Points available to the player characters. You might even go a step further
beyond the usual Rank requirements and make the limitations of spells function in the
world – the character who wants to obtain a specific strong spell will have to sacrifice
some money (perhaps for experiments), need to learn it from another caster, or even
select a special Edge as well as New Power (only Dread Necromancers can select a
zombie power or a puppet power that affects undead). If you want to introduce more
spellcasting risk you could even force damage (whether Wounds or Fatigue) that affects
the mage for each spell they cast or just failed to cast. It’s really easy to test this kind
of rule – compare the heroes at each Rank (based on available powers, their efficiency,
power points) and run a few dozen sample combats. Remember not to weaken the
magicians too much – if they are too weak, no one will choose such a character.

If you want to give some extra power to magicians, you can follow similar steps –
increase the number of available spells and power points, make resisting magic harder,
forgo the backlash rules altogether, or introduce new, very powerful forms of magic (for
instance, allowing the characters to pick powers regardless of Rank). These changes
don’t require too much preparation, but also should be thoroughly playtested – giving
players too much magical power is even worse than not giving them enough. The best
way to check these rules is to give them to powergamers – if they are able to use the new
rules to create unbeatable heroes, the new system deserves a rewrite.

Backlash and its Consequences

Many designers decide to balance the versatility of magic

with “failure” rules, like Backlash or Brainburn from the
core rules. That makes sense if you want magic to be risky and
unpredictable, but you need also to consider the plot-related
consequences of these rules. Sooner or later the player will
roll a 1 or snake eyes on his dice – and if he suffers serious,
long-term consequences (Wounds, serious Hindrances like
Blindness), this can cause a serious discrepancy between the
world and the rules. If using magic is potentially harmful, most
wizards would either study magic only theoretically or spend
the majority of their lives struggling with side effects of spells.
If you decide to introduce such a rule, you should at least
introduce some mitigating factors for PCs and NPCs – even as
simple as being able to spend a Benny to avoid backlash.

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Changing the Character Sheet

In many ways, the character sheet is the best summary of the system – it presents
major gameplay elements important for the player, and describes all the mechanical
elements of a character. Usually, any changes to the basic system can be spotted on the
new character sheet – extra Stat points, new or deleted skills, or alternate spellcasting
systems.

Removing rules is usually very easy (although sometimes you should also consider
removing some related Edges or powers) – the elements unnecessary in a given setting
can be simply deleted or combined with others, thus simplifying the rules. For instance,
in a medieval setting Piloting skill can be removed, while Driving carts can safely be
incorporated into Riding. In other games, you can substitute an attribute for a skill, like
Smarts instead of Gambling, outside, say, the Wild West. Removing skills works best
in two cases. Either if the skill is not very relevant in the setting and its use would be
limited to once per session; for instance, in an urban world Tracking can be rolled into
Survival and/or Notice. Or conversely, if this is a skill common to all heroes, and the
game would be impossible if someone failed to invest in the skill. Previous editions of
Savage Worlds used the Guts skill, representing bravery – which was later merged into
Spirit, because in horror settings everyone took it, and no one did outside of them. If you
create a pulp setting patterning itself after pilot comics like Enemy Ace, perhaps Piloting
could be folded into Agility, and the differences between pilots could be reflected by
various Edges and Hindrances (with a Major Hindrance, Grounded, representing a
total lack of piloting skill).

Another simplification – especially for beginning players – is abandoning Hindrances

altogether. Many new players often hesitate when choosing them – these who prefer
strong heroes often try to min-max the disadvantages, and if they like plot-based
character creation, it’s hard for them to change the character concept to accommodate
the rules. To select Hindrances (and other abilities) a player needs a copy of his book
– which makes character creation even longer. If you decide to abandon Hindrances,
remember to balance it out with at least one extra Attribute point, since the players
won’t be able to boost their skills or Edges.

Practically every setting contains a chapter of new skills, Edges and Hindrances.
Indeed, most players – especially those familiar with the system – expect new options to
customize their heroes. A larger selection of Edges allows a player to create the new hero
they want, concentrating on the most important elements and making them a specialist
in a given area. Indeed, adding new Hindrances or Edges tailored to the setting is
usually a good choice – especially if tied to existing archetypes. In Beasts & Barbarians,
for instance, we introduced a Damsel in Distress Hindrance and some Edges reflecting
the combat styles common in the Bronze Age, like Hoplite. Of course, many Edges and
Hindrances from the core book can simply be reskinned – but nevertheless, you can
spend a couple of days designing new abilities. You need to balance them with the core
abilities, and so you should compare your Edges to existing ones – for instance Edges
that grant extra attacks (like Frenzy or Sweep) usually require Seasoned Rank, so if you

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want to allow a magical Edge to cast an extra spell in round, you should start playtests
assuming it also requires Seasoned heroes.

One thing is worth mentioning: if new mechanical elements boil down to a +2 bonus
in given circumstances, they’re best ignored. The readers usually dislike new Edges and
Hindrances that are merely plot-related justifications backed by a +2/-2 to Charisma or
skill rolls. Any Game Master can invent such an Edge in a couple of seconds, and she
doesn’t need to pay for a new setting full of them.

Due to how Savage Worlds works, a +2 bonus practically guarantees a success on an

average roll (since a 1 on both dice is a failure anyway). While mechanical bonuses are
important, the Edge should confer other benefits – in a Celtic-inspired world, Bard
should not mean +2 Charisma, but also a degree of immunity, claim to hospitality or
the ability to use a power or two with musical trappings.

Gear
Creating new kinds of armor and equipment, magic items or other kinds of gear is one
of the simplest stages of new setting creation. The core Savage Worlds book contains
enough guidelines for the author to introduce new gear. The basic solution is to avoid
introducing gear that’s only cosmetically different from (or a slightly better version of )
the equipment described in the main book, and you can usually avoid playtesting the
new equipment.

Many fantasy or modern settings rarely need a detailed section on new gear. Usually,
the weapons, armor and ordinary equipment in the core book is enough to play –
maybe except for magical artifacts or unusual vehicles. However, in science-fiction or
spy games, especially in very flashy ones like cyberpunk or space opera, gear is king.
Cybernetic implants, futuristic weaponry, cyborgs, spaceships, power armor, mecha – if
it has a place in the setting, it needs to be described.

It’s usually easy to add futuristic weapons and armor by basing them on existing ones.
Cyborgs can be treated like monsters – instead of giving each body type a list of
bonuses, the author can give them simply a specific set of Edges and Traits that each
body provides. That’s the way we went with the artificial bodies of Nemezis cyborgs.
You can treat giant robots similarly – but if they’re a major part of the setting, perhaps
you should create specific rules for giant robot combat. In such a case, using the regular
rules might be problematic – Savage Worlds focuses on human capabilities, and so a
building-sized mecha would have to roll dozens of dice for damage to beat Toughness
in the mid-thirties. You could modify the Mass Battle system, base the rules on the
Super Powers Companion, or create your own ruleset.

Probably the greatest headache is the system of cybernetic implants. You need to decide
how implants work in game – are they just cosmetic changes or whether should they
work similarly to magic items by giving bonuses to specific rolls? You can always use
the trappings system to reflect cybernetics – high Notice or the Alertness Edge might

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represent cybernetic eyes, and high Strength a mechanical hand. Most designers,
however, decide to introduce a new system for cybernetics, rewarding the players with
new implants as you would with new magic items.

However, while magic items are usually awarded by the GM (found in ancient tombs,
given out by elven queens), cybernetic implants are often simply bought by the characters.
Many authors balance this by limiting the number of implants – the hero who modifies
his body too much can go insane, get sick, or be weakened by them in other ways. It’s a
bit played out these days – at least have an explanation of why too many implants make
your organism reject new changes or change you into an emotionless killing machine.
Remember also to warn the GMs about the dangers of a Monty Haul campaign, where
the drive to obtain new implants becomes the driving force behind new adventures.

Usually, implants should be comparable to magic items, Edges, or supernatural powers:

increase Traits, or other abilities (Pace, Toughness, damage dealt). Their capabilities
should also be tied to the power of the setting – in a post-apocalyptic future, an artificial
eye giving a +2 to Notice rolls could be a one-of-a-kind treasure, while in space opera it
could be a standard or even outdated model. Regardless of your game world, you need
to remember that the gear should not dominate the game. Implants, armor or weapons
should be just a supplement to the PCs’ skill and luck, and not vice-versa.

Bestiary
Creating a specific “monster manual” containing dozens of creatures is usually a waste
of time. From the characters’ point of view, it doesn’t matter whether a Corvacian Giant
Lizard uses the stats of an elephant, a dragon or a giant. (The players might even not
know this, if that’s the GM’s style.) Even if the beast differs by a point or two from the
monster described in Savage Worlds, usually the players won’t appreciate your efforts,
seeing it – rightly – as a waste of space.

The monster chapter should instead be treated as something to help GMs run games.
Describing sample opponents that are often encountered by the characters (for instance
bandits, cultists, mercenaries), creating foes not just for beginning characters but also
more elite ones, or even statting the iconic villains of the setting is also a plus. Few GMs
enjoy creating statblocks for goblins – instead, try to save their time and effort by doing
this for them.

This chapter does not have to be just a summary of stats – in fact, you can have just a
fluff-wise bestiary. Especially if your world is a fantasy one where typical monsters are
encountered, you can, instead of presenting stats for every single monster, just show the
tactics, history and behavior of your monsters, altering the stats if it’s necessary – for
instance writing something to the effect of: “elemental wanderers use normal orc stats,
but water wanderers have +1 Toughness”. This saves a lot of place for the more useful
materials.

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Summary
In theory, there is an infinite number of
modifications that can be made to the game
mechanics to reflect your world. This chapter
is dedicated to presenting such changes
– but it is also supposed to point out that
many apparently major modifications don’t
mean much from the players’ point of view.
The real difficulty is not to force the setting
to play your way, but to find compromises
between the world and the system, and
introduce new rules only when the specific
traits of the setting require this.

Even if you don’t introduce major

modifications, just by giving new Edges
or Hindrances, your setting can still be
awesome. A good plot, an interesting
campaign, juicy archetypes, interesting
iconic NPCs, and, above all, a book full
of adventure hooks means a lot more than
great mechanical solutions. Savage Worlds is
Fast, Furious and Fun – and it should stay
that way.

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 12. The Final Touches
The End of the Road

This last essay is a summary – it’s supposed to help you with the final touches, removing
elements which seemed crucial at the beginning but later proved to be superfluous,
and tell you how to add some fluff to the book, so it doesn’t look too dry. It also
contains some advice on the presentation of the text – the division into chapters, and
their order. When you reach this stage, you should have the entire text of your setting
ready. After all, it’s not worth summarizing something that’s not complete. It might,
however, turn out that after the final DTP edits, layout, and writing the last chapter
there are still some discrepancies between parts of the world or some elements of the
game mechanics are still internally conflicted.

The Author is the First Reader

Before anyone else reads the complete text of the setting book, the author should
himself read it at least once. And not just to correct any mistakes (though doubtless,
you’ll find numerous spelling mistakes), but also to check whether your initial
vision has been fully realized. This is a good time to return to your initial notes – to
remember the idea you had in the beginning and read about the initial roles of the
player characters. If you discover that you have deviated from the idea, maybe you
should think the consistency of your world over. Perhaps some issues need to be
deleted or rewritten.

What’s even more dangerous is the lack of consistency between the fluff and the
crunch. For example, if you have created a universe of powerful fantasy heroes, but
your rules suggest more realism (gritty damage, low magic, fewer Bennies) this will
cause serious problems for the players. If the world demands heroic deeds, but the
game increases the risk of death – your setting might be considered average at best,
if not poor. In this case you have two possibilities: either leave the setting unchanged
(and publish yet another mismatched setting) or rewrite some of your materials,
fitting it to the selected genre (use common sense, if the description of the world
takes up 3/4 of the complete book, it will be easier to change the mechanics).

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Hopefully, by this point the changes will be minimal – get rid of overly complicated
rules, adding a couple of paragraphs to the descriptions of racial abilities, giving
examples of the use of new rules, and double-checking the names of people and
places. The consistent spelling of proper names is worth remembering, by the way –
from the readers’ point of view constantly changing spelling is a major flaw.

Fluff Points
In the initial chapters of Worldcrafting I mentioned in-world fragments of lore – short
stories, quotes from the inhabitants of the world, or long descriptions of the places
and characters – often advising you to refrain from using these. Thanks to this, you can
focus on play-relevant elements of the setting, dry facts the readers need regardless of
their preferred playing style. Now, when the rules text is ready, and you are sure you
haven’t omitted anything that might turn out to be crucial, describing some “fluff ”
elements from the point of view of the inhabitants of the world might be fun.

When writing these down, you need to remember a couple of points.

First of all, every “quote” needs to be based upon a specific idea: show a major element
of the world, an interesting event, or reflect on a specific class or archetype.

Second, they can’t be too long – after all, nobody ever reads the introductory story at
the beginning. They are mostly treated as a tradition rather than a necessary fragment
of the setting book.

Third, they should be clearly separated from the main text– whether you decide to put
them at the beginning of chapters, as descriptions of each region, class, or deities, or
inside sidebars or boxes.

Fourth, take care not to overdo it – there shouldn’t be more “quotes” than the meat of
the setting, use one box every few pages.

Chapters
Usually, when you open a new splatbook, you are almost one hundred percent sure
that the first chapter will be titled Character Creation. It’s partly tradition, partly a
practical consideration. After all, the “players” are more numerous than GMs, and
when such a person gets the new book in their hands, they’re usually more interested
in the information on the heroes. Who are they, what do they do, what powers do
they get and who their opponent is going to be– these are very important factors,
influencing the reception of the book the most. And this, of course, includes the
mechanical elements – almost every setting needs at least a couple of pages on new
rules changing options during character creation.

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The rest of the chapters should also be ordered according to usability – usually the
second chapter is the description of the world, later ones present its history, its
geography, description of faiths and pantheons, and then the information for the
referee – secrets, a bestiary, descriptions of magic items, new rules, and a sample
adventure or campaign.

Even though it’s fairly intuitive, I’d propose a small change. The book should open
with a short chapter presenting general gist of the world. The players, who will read
this introduction, will probably have more ideas for characters – at least more than the
players who start every book by looking at new racial bonuses. This chapter shouldn’t
be too long – ten pages with a map is more than enough.

Later on follow the traditional scheme. The players should be able to learn about the
new races, Edges and Hindrances, changes to the skill list, and new rules tied to the
world. Later on, present the history, geographical features, pantheon and other plot-
related information.

The second half of the book should be devoted to information for the GM – monsters,
magic items or an introductory adventure. If you decided to include a Plot Point
Campaign, you have two ways of introducing it to the book – you can devote an entire
chapter to all the adventures, or you can place every adventure after the description
of the places where the scenario happens. This second method has a single flaw – the
players who look for details on the world can accidentally learn the plot of some
adventures.

This layout is of course not obligatory, but it guarantees that everything will be in
place and the readers won’t have to look up the fragments that interest them in the
index. You should focus on convenience and intuitiveness.

The Summary of the Summary

And so, all I have left to do is to wish you good luck when trying to publish the
setting. While determining the order of the chapters is probably not the last thing
you should do, the others – like DTP, layout, placing the illustrations, and writing the
copyright, index or table of contents – don’t require any specific advice. The twelve
chapters of Worldcrafting were supposed to show how to change a simple idea into
a full-fledged setting, help you create your own world and avoid common mistakes
(often committed even by professionals who have written dozens of books).

You might have considered a lot of this advice to be redundant, and many parts you
probably found ridiculous and followed what you thought to be correct. It’s your choice
– as long as you have a vision and follow your own plan (made before completing the
book). There are no universal setting books which can foresee every eventuality, so it
would be something of a miracle if at least one setting was created exactly step by step,
according to the guidelines in this book.

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I hope that you found this book fun. I am sure that the every reader and would-be author
found here some elements he or she completely disagrees with or considers utter balderdash
or unnecessary truisms. You might have expected more details, more advice, more examples.
I don’t think that Worldcrafting is completely universal (a good guidebook on creating
settings would be hundreds of pages long to aspire to universality). It is mostly an offer – a
complex example on what to do to create your own world. However, I think my initial
goal – writing a guidebook which would allow beginning authors to avoid mistakes often
appearing even in professionally released settings – is complete.

And so, at this point, I can only wish you luck as the author. May your work receive the
warm welcome from readers, numerous players who enjoy the setting and live out many
adventures in it, and the support of fans and perhaps other authors willing to fill out the
setting with additional materials.

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 13. Appendix:
Guest Speakers
The Garnek Files
Artur Ganszyniec is one of the main creators of the award-nominated
steampulp RPG Wolsung. He has worked on various video games,
including The Witcher and its sequels, Call of Juarez: The Cartel and
mobile games like Puzzle Craft and Another Case Solved. Artur teaches
Story Design in Video Games at the University of Lodz.

1. The Concept
If you’re creating your own world, even as a non-commercial exercise, you’re still creating
a product. The result of your labor should always be a complete book, able to interest,
attract and keep players. It’s meant to compete with dozens, even hundreds of other
gaming settings, and many factors decide how well it will fare. Luckily, even at the
onset, you can increase the odds of your setting making it through.

First of all, always think in terms of a finished product. Sure, the creation process is
exciting, but you always need to take a critical look at the complete material and imagine
how, exactly, people would play this. Think about specific sessions, specific adventures
– consider what characters your friends could create and what would interest them the
most. Think how other players you’ve been gaming with would react to the setting. You
can try writing outlines of one or two sample campaigns set in this world. All of this
will help you decide whether your idea has potential and whether it would work as an
open-ended setting like Deadlands or more structured campaign, like Evernight.

Second, you need conflict. Most, if not all, RPGs are based on a simple scheme
– the player characters defeat various obstacles, while the GM creates and runs the
opposition. A perfect, balanced world is boring. A world at the brink of doom, torn by
war, unexplored and full of dark mysteries, is a place you wouldn’t want to live in, but
certainly, it’d be great to adventure in. The conflict does not have to mean a single “Big

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Bad” - but you should definitely know what the main threats are for the people living
in your world.

Third, learn how to write and present your ideas efficiently. Remember, if you want to
write a setting and not just tell players about it, the players will draw its image only from
the text you’ve written. Start from the beginning, by writing the idea for your setting
in a single sentence, then expand it to a single paragraph. Show these to your friends,
preferably by e-mail, so that the text speaks for itself. Ask them about ideas and notes –
this is one of the key moments in the project. If their reaction isn’t as enthusiastic as you
expected, it means that the text requires further work. Think over the most attractive
part of your setting and write it down. Repeat this two or three times, and finally, you
might create a text which will engross the reader and promise some adventure.

And then, print your sentence and paragraph and hang it near your computer. It’s a
starting point you’ll often refer to.

2. The Goal
Rule #1: Games are for playing, not for reading. That’s why planning the role of heroes
in your setting is so important. In other words, you need to create a world where the
players would want to invest their precious free time – and the best way to ensure that
is to prepare an environment full of exciting adventures.

Andrzej starts by designing the role of player characters – but sometimes it might be
easier to consider the roles for PCs based on the setting itself. Think over everything you
already know about the setting: interesting places, opponents, the mood, organizations,
all your ideas and motifs… and then ask yourself a question: “Whose life in this world
would be the most interesting?”

Try to find the social group, profession, nationality, whose members have the most
opportunity to travel the world, fight opponents, influence the story. These will be your
heroes.

Consider how varied the group’s members would be, think about strategies players would
use. Think about whether all your players would be comfortable with these limitations.

The results could be surprising, so double-check whether these character concepts

fit your initial sentence and paragraph for the setting idea. If not, maybe it’s worth
rethinking your assumptions? And if everything fits, develop your paragraph to an
entire page, focusing on the role of the heroes in the world. Try to quickly introduce
possible specializations or “character archetypes” for the heroes, and describe the
possible challenges they face.

When you’re finished, show the text to your friends. Improve it constantly – until they
start asking when you’re going to run the first game!

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3. The Basics
The fact is that no game design can survive its first confrontation with the reality. Or, to
put it more optimistically, every idea has a chance to be improved if one tries actually
using it. That’s why sooner or later you’ll have to play in the setting you create.

Your first session will allow you and your party to see the world from the player
characters’ perspective, and see whether all these ideas which look great on paper work
out in actual play. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to improve your product, so
use it to the fullest.

It’s easy to get bogged down in details, so let’s start with determining the major goals
you want to achieve. One of the best ways to do it is a simple list, where you enumerate
the crucial, iconic elements of the setting, from the most to the least important: places,
races, opponents, organizations, treasure, vehicles – everything you will be using in your
games.

The topmost positions should be the first to appear in the sessions. It’s best to base
these on the roles of PCs and main threads of adventures. After all, these will be the key
elements that will draw other players to your setting, and so it’s best to check whether
they are as interesting as you think.

After each game, take some time to talk about what you liked and what you didn’t.
If some elements of it seemingly don’t “click” with your games, it means that they’re
probably best discarded. And likewise – if a great idea appeared during your session,
think about whether not to make it an official part of the game world. In taking these
decisions it’s worth having your sentence, paragraph, and page with game concepts at
hand, even if only to know when and why you’re moving away from your basic idea.

Don’t bother yourself with game mechanics at this point. Use the standard rules, adding
house rules as needed. If you notice that one of them works out well, there’s a candidate
for a specific setting rule.

Iterative writing works well here. Write down your first ideas as soon as possible and
run games based on this text – you’ll notice quickly which fragments are to be rewritten
or completed.

4. Playtesting
You and your group will be quite likely the first testers of the world you’ve built.
Eventually, though, you’ll have to show your work to other players.

When should you start the beta testing? As soon as possible – so as soon as you have
enough text to allow others to create their own characters and adventures.

How should you test? At the very least, you’ll have to run a couple of adventures for
more than one group yourself – preferably for people you haven’t played with. This is a

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good way to see how the players – and the future users – will react to your product. Even
better is to ask your friends who are also GMs to run a game or two for their players
based on your materials – not only will you gain feedback on your ideas, but you’ll also
know how your text is perceived.

You’re bound to suffer at least one bit of criticism, and I can tell you it’s hard to accept it
calmly. It’s really worthwhile, however, to closely examine every remark. Complaints –
even if they directly concern the ideas – are more often than not a sign that something’s
wrong with the text. They usually show that the readers didn’t find in the materials
what you wanted to give them. Try to understand what the problem is, ask them some
additional questions to find the problematic fragments of text or the places where some
key information is missing. If you also happen to explain it well to the tester, make a
note of how you did it: it might be the best way to sell your idea in the complete book.

And, of course, it’s still possible that even in the umpteenth test game something just
doesn’t work. This is a time for difficult questions: Why is this element necessary? What’s
so cool about it? How would the setting change if this segment were totally removed?
Always ask the testers – two heads are better than one. With help from others, you’re
bound to find a satisfactory answer to the problem far quicker.

Is it worth running playtests in the first place? Of course. You’re writing for other
people, after all, and they are bound to use your setting in ways you never intended. It’s
probably best then, to introduce your game to the world in a controlled environment,
while you can still rewrite it.

5. Organisations
Ken Rolston, writer for Paranoia, WFRP, and video games like The Elder Scrolls
or Kingdoms of Amalur, has said that every major world element needs two major
organizations with opposing goals. If they’re interesting enough, the players will side
with one of them and will fight their opponents – and the GMs will have enough
material for great sessions.

Even if you don’t want to take this advice literally, it’s worth remembering one crucial
thing – the organizations you write about exist only to serve the players. They’re the
opponents, employers, unreliable allies or simply groups of origin for the heroes. In
every case, they have a clear reason to appear in the session. When you have an idea for
a new guild/corporation/cult ask yourself “why would the PCs interact with this group?”
– place the groups with the most reasons for interacting with it in the setting book.

The second rule is sponsored by Friar Ockham and his razor: don’t create plurality
beyond necessity. If you have two organizations with the same goals, the same methods,
and only cosmetic differences, it means that one of them is redundant and should go.
The world does not need two guilds of fire elementalists or three sisterhoods of elven
rangers. There’s only one exception to this rule: if the difference is so great that it defines
the entire organization, is tied to a setting and could result in an entire campaign –

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perhaps one guild of fire elementalists accepts only men, while the other accepts only
women, and the conflict between them is just another layer of a conflict between a
patriarchal human empire and the influential matriarchal elven nomads.

At the end, list a couple of characters from a given organization. The more interesting
figures you can you introduce, the better. If you can’t derive more than one or two ideas
from the organization, maybe you should work a little bit more on it.

6. History
History portrayed as a string of dates and events is totally useless in sessions. If you plan
to write it like this, you can simply skip this chapter altogether. This does not mean that
the history is irrelevant – but you need to know how to use it.

Focus on the issues usable during the game. Use the historical events to create the
interesting background for various artifacts strewn across the world, give the context
for dungeons and ruins explored by the heroes, justify the existence of monsters, or give
some verisimilitude to the racial or national conflicts. When writing history, start with
the needs of the game sessions. Focus on how past events would influence the deeds of
the heroes.

Even a random skeleton will gain in the players’ eyes if instead of just another chain
hauberk it’s wearing armor made of boars’ tusks from the days of the Second Orcish
Empire.

If you can’t avoid clichés, you can always use a simple, proven trick – reverse them. Take
a major fact from the history of the world and ask yourself – what would happen if it
didn’t go like this? What if history took an opposite turn? What happens if the Dark
Lord wins? What happens if the heroes fail to save the world? Don’t be afraid to change
the history if it makes the game more interesting.

7. Geography
To describe the game world, you need a lot of hard, solid work. Luckily there are a
couple of tricks you can use to obtain an interesting, useful and distinctive description.

First of all, remember about diversity. Make every land stand out, be different from the
other. Assume that your world needs only one desert, only one island kingdom, only one
jungle. It doesn’t mean that it needs to be oversimplified, but there’s no need to describe
similar realms in great detail.

Second, be concise. Be specific, write only about the major issues, elements relevant to
gaming sessions. It’s no use spending a paragraph on the atmospheric precipitation in
the Duchy of Dingledongle if during the actual play the only benefit for the GM is so
that she can say “It’s raining today, what do you do?”

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Third, think like postcards. People like beautiful sights and remember the most
characteristic, unique locations. Make sure that each region has something you’d like
to see as a tourist in the real world – a picturesque waterfall, ruins of an ancient city
overgrown with a jungle, flying islands, the tallest tower in the world. And then, place
something interesting in these locations – a great monster, the headquarters of an
organization, a legendary treasure. After all, the heroes want fun adventures, so it’s best
to place them in the most attractive places of your world.

Fourth, remember it’s a game. Every description needs as many interesting ideas as
possible. Unique monsters, powerful treasures, and conflicts attract PCs. Each such
element will be an additional point for the players to appreciate your world.

Remember, this isn’t a geography textbook – it’s a world full of adventure, where the
players would like to invest their time.

8. Religion
In your standard fantasy world, the role of a cleric is to be a healbot. It’s a cliché, but a
cliché that works. So before you start writing your holy tenets, try to consider what you
need.

Remember that to create a unique world you really need a single amazing idea – and
it’s enough if the rest of the setting is merely good. Sometimes there’s nothing wrong
with choosing a well-played out idea, changing the divine names and save yourself extra
labor. On the other hand, if it’s the religion that’s going to be a crucial element of your
setting, you need some extra work.

I personally think that the social aspects of religion have the greatest gaming potential.
A very monotheistic society where the priests are the only judges will work differently
than one where omnipresent atheism is interlaced with sudden attacks of religious
hysteria fanned by various fanatical sects… or a polytheistic empire which steals gods
from conquered lands and includes them in its pantheon.

In each of these examples, you have to decide whether this means that gods are real or
not, and whether the PCs know it for a fact or can only have faith in a superior being or
beings. Each of the three examples from the paragraph above can have a totally different
moral spin according to whether gods are real and people know it, whether gods exist
and people aren’t sure, or whether gods don’t exist despite religions flourishing. Each of
these combinations offers new ideas for characters and adventures, and each can be the
basis of a fascinating Plot Point Campaign.

And if you want inspiration – reach for the mythologies and collections of legends. The
more exotic, the better.

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9. Plot Point Campaigns

It’s hard to give any advice regarding a campaign – it’s your setting and it’s up to you to
decide what story is best told in it. While I can’t tell you what to put on paper, I can give
you some tips on how to do it.

First, the campaign is for the players. Sensing a pattern here? When writing an
adventure, bear in mind who’s having the most things to do or having the most fun –
and ‘Player Characters’ is the correct answer here. If you see that the NPCs are having
more fun than the PCs it means you need to change the adventure ASAP.

Second, people need to have reasons. The heroes need to have clearly established goals
and easily understood motivations. If you want the party to save the world, take care
that they have reasons to do it – a hooded man in a tavern might not cut it.

Third, have a plan B. When you plan out the main outline of an adventure, analyze all
the crucial scenes and consider what could possibly go wrong. Can a main character die?
Can the characters refuse? Will the heroes push the big red button? Make note of those
points where unpredictable behavior can stop the campaign and prepare some backup
plans. Sometimes you will have to plan out an alternate ending or even prepare two
versions of the adventure, but usually, it’s enough to work on a smaller scale, introducing
simple scenes or events which will get the party back on track. Most of time it’s a matter
of changing one or two elements of an adventure to give the party real influence on the
story.

And the final, iron rule: Run this campaign. If you have less time, limit yourself to the
main thread. The campaign is a major element of the world, and you shouldn’t release
it without testing.

10. New Rules

If you want to change the game mechanics, do it in moderation, and keep in mind why
are you doing it.

This is crucial; changes in game mechanics always need a reason. Start playing using the
basic rules, and introduce major changes only if you’re sure that you need them to reflect
a major element of your world.

Each idea should be tested, in many sessions and using many players, keeping in mind
why you’re introducing the change. If the initial idea doesn’t work, cast it aside – there’s
more than one road to your goal. If you keep your final goal in mind, you will avoid
being fixated on a specific solution.

Make any major changes wisely and keep testing them.

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11. System Modifications

Savage Worlds offers you a playtested and flexible engine which works well enough for
many games. It gives you a lot of leeway when working on your own setting – you don’t
have to write down all the rules, and can focus on the coolest bits.

Use new rule elements as another way to show the players how interesting and colorful
your world is. Focus on unique elements, the most interesting organizations for the
characters, unusual races, Edges and Hindrances tied to the Plot Points, unusual
opponents. Perhaps you’ll need an extra system to present the nature of the world (like
Ship Edges for pirates, rules on High Noon Duels in Deadlands, or the artificial bodies
of Nemezis), but these modifications should be the last resort.

Usually, it’s enough to alter the rules found in the core book and give them interesting
names. Focus on how to best use the existing tools, not to create the new ones.

12. The Final Touches

Everyone has their own way to work with the text. Here’s how I do it:

I start with writing the idea in a single sentence, single paragraph, and single page. This
ritual helps me to order expectations on the product and to decide what’s the most
important about it. And when someone asks me what I’m working on, I have an answer
ready. These initial write-ups can guide me through the entire project. Besides, they’re
great when trying to write blurbs!

The second step is writing the table of contents. I always try to start actual work with
the table of contents – after all, you need to decide how many chapters you’ll have and
what will be in each of them. If I know exactly what I expect from a given fragment of
the book, I also put down the headers of sections and sub-sections. Then I try to fill it
out with the vague idea of contents – a paragraph per chapter. This text should work
well as part of the setting book, an introduction for the reader. This outline I present to
a couple of friends – who usually have their own ideas, worth noting as well.

The fourth step is to fill this skeleton with meat. I try to fill each section with notes
showing the most important information; ideas for characters, short descriptions of
places and the like. This is also a good time to start testing. I try to use the organizations,
places, and new opponents during my games. Often, new ideas emerge or we discover
how to introduce corrections. I try to finish this stage as soon as possible.

The fourth step is writing. Everyone has their own techniques – I find it best to write
early in the morning or late at night. This is the least spectacular stage; you need to
write, write and write. As each fragment is ready, you should find a test reader who will
rate it and introduce some changes. Tests must also take place, and any changes should
influence the created text.

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The last step is editing. Everyone reads the texts and has their own comments. If I can
afford it, it’s best to find someone else to do it, while I take a rest and avoid contact
with the text. After the editing, if I have time, I read the text one last time to make final
alterations.

The reward is amazing satisfaction from a work well done. Try it yourself !

On the Shoulders of Giants

Dr. Tomasz Z. Majkowski is a lecturer in cultural studies at the Jagiellonian University, also
teaching the theory and practice of game design. He’s been a constant contributor to the original
run of Magia i Miecz, Poland’s first RPG magazine. He’s worked on too many board and
role-playing games to mention here; most notably he designed the setting of the Polish fantasy
game Crystalicum, inspired by anime and JRPGs, and contributed to English-language
editions of Nemezis, Deadlands, and Evernight.

Translator’s Note: Tomasz, as a philologist, uses a motif well-known in Eastern Europe

from Russian fairytales (such as these compiled by Alexander Nikolayevich Afanasyev) – a
simple, naive everyman called Ivan stands before a crossroads. A road sign presents him with
alternatives: turn right and you will become mighty, turn left and you will become rich, go
straight and you will find your death. Ivan always goes straight.

At the Crossroads
Let’s assume that my player character – let’s call him Ivan the Fool – reaches the
crossroads. The GM tells me that I can go right, where, according to the road sign,
riches and good health await me – or left where danger and adventure waits. Since my
Ivan is not an actual character from a Russian fairy tale, I don’t have to submit to the
tyranny of the crossroads. I can turn back and return to where I came from. I can leave
the trail and wade across the wilderness to march on straight ahead. The nature of a
roleplaying game gives me this wide variety of options.

There are, however, a number of declarations I can’t really make. It’s impossible – or at
least completely inefficient – to declare that Ivan jumps up high and then soars into
the air, to bypass the crossroads and the road entirely. Or that he stops and digs into
the ground. Or maybe reaches for his trusty plasma pistol and burns his road across the
wilderness. Or perhaps even that he reaches for his pocket, getting out a third road,
rolling it out right next to the other two.

Of course, each of these declarations of intent would be somewhat possible if we had

made some earlier assumptions, giving my Ivan some capabilities not available to
ordinary mortals. Flight or digging through soil would be acceptable if I had some
gear making my character superhuman – whether a magical ring or a jetpack. A plasma
pistol implies some science-fictional imagery, while a rolled up road shows even more
fairytale implications… or perhaps zany cartoons with rabbits and coyotes.

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And regardless of these, my decision on the crossroads is charged even in the base
version. When Ivan takes a good look at the road signs, I will know exactly what I
should do. If my character doesn’t turn left, to danger and adventure, I will make this
decision solely to annoy and harass the Game Master. I know well what the situation
and its consequences are, and if I want to play out a Russian fairytale, the crossroads
are a false alternative. To play an RPG, I need to go left, to seek danger and dice rolls.

Let’s look at this example once again. First of all, the GM didn’t even have to tell me
what the ‘correct’ decision is here (nor did I have to tell you). I just defined the name
of the hero, mentioned the crossroads – and you recognized the stylization in Russian
folklore. And so, we can recognize how the scene looks like or what’s the most desired
and likely behavior. Furthermore, this excluded a lot of possible behaviors: flying,
spontaneous transformation of the hero into a giant snake, or throwing a coin into
a coin slot so that the crossroads would start working. I knew what I could do in the
scene, what I should do, and what would be impossible. And so I can safely make the
decision where my Ivan will go. There’s only one problem: how on Earth did I know all
of this?

Well, there is a possible “literary” explanation, possibly mentioning Baudrillard or

Umberto Eco. But for most of the gamers, there’s a simple, direct explanation: thanks
to the setting.

Three Kinds of Consistency

We have been calling the settings, the places where our RPGs are set, “game worlds”
– and we have certain expectations about their space and time. The world should have
geography: rivers, mountains, cities, forests, and all sorts of things – and history, both
as a timeline and as current political events, independent or only partially dependent
on players’ actions. Which is fine and dandy, since this is what the final product usually
contains.

But of course, it’s an illusion – we all know well that the worlds of RPGs do not exist.
They’re made just out of data. Words, words, words.

So what’s the main task of this strange creation, a constructed world filled to brim with
details? The conventional answer is: to give inspiration for adventures and to describe
the details defining their genre and exceptional traits. But these lead us to a more general
declaration: the world actually decides what’s possible in the given game, determining
the details of any encounter my Ivan will face on the crossroads. It’s crucial since many
people play the same game, and they all have different expectations towards the play
and different understanding of its basics. So if I have a party of players totally unfamiliar
with Russian fairy tales – they’d be baffled by this scene on the crossroads. That’s why
they need the mediation of the setting, which states in the book something along the
lines of “There are numerous crossroads, leading towards adventure or comfort – and
the first option leads to successful games”. Thanks to this declaration, the assumptions

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of all participants are consistent, and we all can play a fun game instead of arguing what
is and what isn’t possible.

On the basic level, this consistency defines how exactly the game world is like reality.
In general, what happens in-game is a reflection of what we consider real – a thrown
stone will eventually fall down, a man falls down and breaks his legs. If an author
wants to break this verisimilitude, he or she must signify it clearly. We don’t assume
on our own that the world has magic or interstellar travel – it’s the setting book that
explains that. And things not described in the book work like they do in daily life. No
one has to explain that people need food and if you stab them with a sword they die –
that is blatantly obvious. Pointing out the differences is a basic task of the setting – if
something unusual appears in the game, everyone must be aware of it so that the game
runs smoothly and without conflict. In this way, a range of the impossible emerges – a
set of declarations that simply can’t be made.

And simultaneously, a range of the probable is born. When describing various

geographical, historical or political phenomena, the authors of the game show the
similarity between the game world and the one we all live in. They point out that the
game world does not abandon the laws of nature – except in places where it’s plainly
stated. Since the description is consistent, the players demand consistency from the
game: all the situations at the table must play out accordingly to the real world, and
the unrealistic elements should work according to the description in the book. So in a
fantasy game magic must influence the culture and politics – for instance, by giving an
explanation why the near-omnipotent wizards don’t rule the world. And in horror, the
“strange” elements must be incidental, offering an encounter with a frightening, unusual
interference of the supernatural in a daily life. If you break this convention as a GM,
it’s almost certain that the players will say something to the effect of “It’s unrealistic!”

And another kind of consistency is defining the player characters. And we don’t just
mean the races and classes, but how do they manage to overcome difficulties. Very few
games focus on the personality traits of the player characters, leaving the players to
determine those on their own. However, almost every game presents archetypes like
“your specialty is sword-fighting”, “you are a fearless vampire hunter”, or “the Force is
with you”. And in effect, this catalogues the possible behaviors of the heroes. It’s not as
restrictive as the set of impossible declarations – the players can always make a clever
plan, instead of kicking in the door and smashing and stabbing orcs – or decide that
orc-fighting is not for them and start a cabbage farm. But the setting prepares some
core assumptions, which need to work as the groundwork for a shared game. And so, to
have fun, we all have to make these assumptions together – we all know that all it takes
to ruin the fun is one player playing a different game.

And there’s also a genre consistency, which determines what items and places can appear
during play. It determines whether the world is vaguely medieval and can’t accommodate
blasters and tanks, or whether humankind explores the stars. And on a gameplay level,
it determines how the heroes tend to look, whether the innkeeper should have tattoos
or what can you order to drink in his inn. It seems less relevant but can be a deciding
factor in the quality of the gameplay. Again, a shared vision of the reality of the PCs

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gives the setting – which is, after all only a shared consistency – a sort of tangibility. The
genre is the glue that connects the arbitrary motifs on a fictional map, allowing them
to function in the same world. And so it excludes elements that don’t have a place in
the aesthetics of the setting, banning my Ivan the Fool from using a plasma pistol – but
allowing enchanted bellows that can blow a deadly, white-hot flame.

This aesthetic consistency creates an impression that all the elements of the game
fit together, and can exist in the same world. It’s the aesthetic that makes the setting
believable and ready to explore.

In the Land of References

If we interpret the setting as a set of rules which says what can and cannot happen
during the game, that keeps the freedom of choice enjoyed by the participants from
devolving into anarchy, we also have to accept another consequence. If we have a choice
between various choices acceptable for the setting, there must be a set of choices that
can’t or shouldn’t be made. And it is so because, in fact, every idea appearing in a game
session is drawn from somewhere else.

This shouldn’t be disheartening – even if something like creative originality exists, it’s
a privilege of the few. And there’s little place for it during the game – what’s more, it’s
even undesirable. Role-playing games are an exchange of information, which needs
to be understandable – and so they need to refer to ideas known by the other gamers.
If you introduce something totally original, you’ll be speaking in a language nobody
understands. You don’t want to monopolize the time of other gamers, because what
happens during the session should be understood instantly. That’s why RPGs are games
of references.

That’s why you need the setting – thanks to the game world, all the players know what
elements of the sea of cultural references need to be included in the current session. The
players can draw upon Japanese or Greek mythology, action movies or Lord of the Rings,
and this helps them imagine themselves in a given situation, so they know how to act
and what to expect. Thanks to this they can fully enjoy the fun.

But this leads us to another question: if the setting is just a bundle of rules and references,
why don’t we simply give them straight to the readers? Why don’t we simply say where to
draw inspiration from, why even include the descriptions of fictional worlds, imaginary
histories, maps, people and situations if they’re all “stolen” from the real world? Well,
this approach reveals the fourth consistency, the one best hidden, but not the least
important: the consistency of the group.

Let’s assume that my party includes a professional Russian literary theorist, an adult
historical reconstructionist, and a fourteen-year-old. They play in a setting based on
Russian fairytales, which determines that the main frame of reference is the Russian
literary tradition and Russian fairytale. If this was the only information available to
them, the Russian philologist is in the winning position – because if the others aren’t

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Russian nor fans of Pushkin or Afanasyev, they have access to a lot fewer options or plot
choices. At least until a combat breaks out – then our reconstructionist might use his
practical experience and knowledge of medieval Russian weaponry, which might not be
known by the literary theorist.

And the fourteen-year-old kid is going to sit there, clueless and bored.

Unless we introduce a fictional world as a medium between the players and the cultural
references they know. This fictional simulation of reality is a world every player can
draw from. The main city in the world might resemble tenth-century Kiev, but it’s the
rulebook that determines exactly what it looks like and what it’s called. References are
altered and changed so that the players don’t have to learn Russian to play. It’s enough
to read the setting book to play the game. Regardless of their actual competences, now
everyone can enjoy the game equally, and when the expert on Slavic mythology or
weapons starts a long rant, they can be shut up effectively by saying: “But we play in the
world described in the book, not in medieval Russia”.

And this is the core rule that should determine the direction of world-building: your
goal should be to create a description of the world which, thanks to a good selection of
cultural references, seems aesthetically consistent, informs the players what they can or
can’t do, and informs what is possible in the setting. While we might refer to outside
sources, including the inspiration for the setting, the perfect setting only alludes to them
so as not to alienate people not familiar with the source of ideas – after all, this is only a
game. And it limits the number of original ideas which aren’t based on any inspiration
– they are hard to understand and make playing the game more difficult.

A game designer is a dwarf who sees farther because they’re perched on the shoulders
of a giant of culture.

My Failures in Worldbuilding
Michał ‘Puszon’ Stachyra has created over two dozen board games and contributed to the
Magia i Miecz magazine. Now he publishes its new edition, and as he says in the essay, has
had some input to published Wolsung supplements.

I think that absolutely every gamer reaches a point where he or she wants to create his
or her own – fantastic and original – system. Or at least a setting.

I did it three times.

My first attempt was somewhere around 1995, when after a couple of months of play
in the first RPGs released in Poland – namely Warhammer and the Polish Kryształy
Czasu, my friend Jerzy ‘Irbis’ Gorczyca and I tried to create a system with a short but
simple name: Orn. I’ve ransacked my hard drive for any traces of this “work”, but luckily
I failed. It was another fantasy universe, though not a particularly generic one – we

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included dark-skinned dwarves and albino snakemen. Luckily for the history of RPGs,
we lost our enthusiasm quickly.

My second attempt happened when I was a more experienced gamer – and d20 and its
OGL started to tempt designers. We gathered a great team of award-winning players
and writers – Wojtek Rzadek, Kamil Bachmiński, Paweł “Szept” Furman and the
undersigned – and created a draft of a setting called Margamos. We even had a subtitle:
The City Beyond the Gate – and the eponymous city was a fantasy version of Hong
Kong, ruled by the dwarves (yes, I happen to like dwarves, why do you ask?). The city
was the Gate to the strange empire of “China”, and Margamos was its only gateway to
the world – or a barrier...

When browsing our notes, I’m constantly surprised: dwarven conspirators trying to
overthrow the open-minded Emperor, followers of the volcano (which was a fake
religion), a hobbit ghetto full of small houses, a guild of diving thieves, smugglers, an
exotic city council... And nobody expected the dwarven inquisition which persecuted
the overly creative engineers. We had a lot of good ideas, but no one to make us work
– and well, it ended as usual. Though some of our ideas have been posted (in Polish) on
Szept’s blog.

But when I became a publisher and started to release board and card games, I started
– despite all logic – to think of releasing my own RPG. And these earlier experiences
meant I knew my own capabilities as a worldbuilder, and so for my first release, I picked
an existing game – namely Wolsung.

To the creation of Artur “Garnek” Ganszyniec and Maciek “Lucek” Sabat I added a
couple of tidbits. Usually, these are notes when creating new add-ons, minor points
about which only Artur and I know. But still, I’m proud of them. Even though I have
more fun coordinating, editing and gathering material together than writing.

So... I’ve accepted that even though I can create cool board games, I will probably never
be a productive and creative RPG author. Happens.

And so, this is the history of my worldbuilding. I probably won’t create a complete
setting, mostly because I’m too lazy, not creative enough – and I didn’t have advice like
the stuff in this book.

But you still have an entire career as a creator of worlds ahead of you. Good luck!

Writer’s Tips and Tricks

Jakub Osiejewski has translated this book and thus does not feel comfortable writing about
himself… er, myself. I’ve written for Savage Worlds, Wolsung, Mutants and Masterminds,
Icons and some other games.

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The Ideas
Before writing down your idea, think about whether you really need to write it down.
Does the world need yet another fantasy heartbreaker, post-apocalypse, zombie invasion?
There are plenty of settings out there – and maybe instead of writing one you simply
need a new game. Perhaps what you’re looking for already exists, somewhere out there.

The first question you need to ask yourself is “What is my game about?” And I don’t
mean whether it’s dungeon-crawling fantasy, space opera, or strange science fantasy. This
is often only window-dressing. Try to find a short, concise answer – “about robots and
what it means to be human”, “about the power of hatred”, “about knights and honor”.
You might start with a broad premise – “An alliance of elves, humans and dwarves has
defeated the orcs – and now what?”, but you can narrow down this premise, deciding
that the main motif would be “war is hell”, adding other motifs like “prophecies”,
“mutual distrust”, “fragile alliances”. Ideally, these motifs should echo through your
setting. If you focus on “mutual hatred”, it’s easier for you to describe organizations,
specific magical gifts and magic items, strange religions and noble souls who want to
end the conflict. Remember to place these ideas in the context of the world – if your
answer is “about the conflict between magic and technology” you first need to define
what “magic” and “technology” mean, and why are they conflicted.

You don’t need to adhere to a single motif – you should provide a couple of different
dramatic poles. If your cyberpunk setting is all about “haves vs have-nots”, don’t be
afraid to add another motif – though, in this case, another social division might overlap
with the previous one. You could add “no control over science” or “Mother Nature
strikes back”, relying on external factors.

This idea can force some roles upon the player characters; if your setting is all about
“honor”, they need to belong to the samurai or knightly caste… or be victims of it. If
it’s about exploring an unknown world, they will be the explorers. Once you have your
vision ready, you might want to narrow it down. I like to have a list of sample archetypes
that come to my mind when I’m thinking of the world: if I’m writing a B-movie based
setting, I might list Mad Scientist, Engineer, Teenager, Wanderer, Rocker, Luchador…
Mechanically, I might now start thinking about new Edges or Hindrances, and since a
pilot, for instance, does not appear on my list, I know I won’t be focusing on air combat.

Speaking of Edges, you might also want to go backwards – look at the list of “general”
advantages and disadvantages, and consider how well would they work in your setting.
Who are the Outsiders in your world? Elves, half-elves, elves from Sandwood? How
would Blind people be treated? How can you become a psion? This is also a way to
attract the players – Edges and Hindrances will interest them from the onset.

Places, Times and People

When writing fluff elements, I love to give each major region, organization or faction a
human face. A host of persecuted wizards arrive in your town – and it might really hit
home for the PCs when they met a wizard that doesn’t have his spellbook, and can’t earn

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his living or feed his family, not knowing another trade. And when the setting does have
a Big Bad, who is the cause of all evil – it’s so satisfying to finally defeat her.

Of course, in more realistic settings sometimes the system is to blame – but it doesn’t
mean that the system should not have someone as a “face” so that the players can offload
all their hatred onto him. If your opponents are distant and inhuman, many players
will ignore them and start fighting the ones they can understand. That’s why even if
you have strange, barely understood gods, you should at least have cultists with some
motivation other than “he’s mad, you know”.

And sure, while the division between Good and Evil is shallow, someone should oppose
the player characters. If your setting is based on eight mysterious orders of monks trying
to dominate the church, each order should have its own enemies and allies. Opponents
should be human or humanized – in RPGs it’s hard to picture conflicts like man vs.
himself, or man vs. nature. There are games that manage to do it – for instance, there’s
nothing stopping you from giving a malicious streak to a storm.

Personally, I don’t focus much on available gear. I don’t get why one handgun has to have
3” more range or deal 2d6+1 damage instead of 2d6. I’d rather give special Edges to the
gear: “this is an executioner’s sword, it gives you +2 to Intimidate outside combat”, or
“this armor is worn by barbarians – you’ll be treated like a barbarian”.

How Could You Do It?

Well, each person writes in his or her own way. I personally like to eliminate all
distractions, so I write either late at night or in locations slightly out of my comfort
zone – libraries, cafes. This way I can focus on my work, and when I want to have a
break I relax my mind.

There are many great tools to help you write. Start with note-taking software like
Evernote or OneNote – they also help you organize your bibliography for research.
With a smartphone, you can take notes practically anywhere. Another app worth having
is a timer – I tend to work for 25 minutes and have a 5-minute break; and every fourth
break is longer. Psychologically, I like to reward myself for achievements – writing a
chapter, a section, or completing a milestone with (for instance) a bike trip to a store.

There’s also some computer software that can be a great help – though many programs
like yWriter and Scrivener work best with narratives, they can be also useful for
worldbuilding and fluff. You can use map-making programs like Campaign Cartographer,
and there are many tools for making dungeon maps, for instance (remember about the
IP rights, though!).

The wand does not a wizard make, though – even the best tools can’t replace good ideas
and hard work. If you can, don’t go it alone. I’ve co-operated with a lot of people, and
it’s always fun to write with a partner or have a good editor that delivers professional

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criticism. Because you will be criticized, and even an absolute tearing out is better than
an absolute lack of reaction.

The View from the Publisher

Andy Slack has been playing and running RPGs since the 1970s, and has worked on and off
for several publishers, both as a freelancer and full-time staff. He is best known for his work
on Traveller and 2300AD.

By now, you’ve read a lot of good advice on how to create a setting, and how to appeal
to your own group and other players; but if you plan to get your setting published,
your first customer is the publisher. Today, it’s perfectly possible to publish your setting
yourself, and sell it through an online download store or Print On Demand shop. In that
case you are the publisher as well as the author.

So let’s talk a little about the publisher’s view, because that brings in some extra
considerations that often have nothing to do with the setting itself. Your heartbreaker
can be exciting, well-written and thoroughly tested - and still fail because of something
you or the publisher have no control over. Let me share some of those things with you,
based on my work on existing franchises and for games publishers over the last four
decades.

The publisher has to consider a number of things before committing his time and
funding to your setting. It has to be similar enough to his other offerings to fit into his
product line, but different enough not to compete with them. It has to be a better use
of his resources than the other submissions in his mailbox, whether he measures that
financially or in some other way.

The publisher also has to be sure nobody is going to sue him; most gaming companies
are small and fragile by commercial standards, and even winning a lawsuit can kill
them. Some companies refuse to look at uninvited submissions, some insist you sign a
waiver before they will read your work, some have other ways of addressing the issue;
but they’ve all thought about it.

Mashing up games from multiple companies doesn’t work for a publisher, because
that exposes him to lawsuits and also means he is investing money in promoting a
competitor’s products. If you want to convert your favourite book or movie into a setting,
well, that starts with the publisher and the copyright owner negotiating a contract,
usually for a fixed duration, and then they will commission somebody they know and
trust to write the setting book. So, if your setting fits into one of those categories, it will
probably wind up as a free-to-download fan treatment; nothing wrong with that, and
most games companies are fairly relaxed about it these days so long as you have their
copyright disclaimers somewhere obvious.

Most publishers have a house style and preferred file format, and unless you asked for
that information up front, I can pretty much guarantee neither will be the one you used

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to write the setting. They will expect you to rewrite your setting using those, because
otherwise they have to pay someone else to do it. You may have to rewrite several times,
based on feedback from them or their playtest groups. This often has to be done in a
hurry to meet immovable deadlines; that is more likely if the publisher focuses on dead
tree editions, but everyone tries to have something new ready for major conventions like
GenCon. A reputation for doing rework cheerfully, without fuss and on time, helps if
you want to publish something else later, or be commissioned to do more work.

Publishers typically want settings to make use of the latest edition of the rules; do you
have that, or are you still playing a game they completely rewrote or discarded five years
ago? Some publishers are very focused on consistency across their product line; if you’re
aiming at one of those, do you have the entire product line, and are you intimately
familiar with all of it? If those are problems for you, consider self-publishing a system-
neutral version of your setting, or maybe a version for a retroclone ruleset.

Once the text is poured into the layout machine to be flowed around the illustrations
and mixed up with those pretty coloured backgrounds, you basically can’t unmix it or
unpour it; the publisher has neither the time nor the money to do that twice, so any
errors you’ve missed by that stage stay where they are. Layout can introduce errors of its
own, too, as can converting the finished file to PDF for download sales. The publisher
may, or may not, fix those in a later release; here, he needs to consider whether he will
offend fans who bought the initial version, and whether his time and money are better
spent reworking an existing product or releasing a new one - generally, the latter is a
better use of his resources as it will have a higher revenue to cost ratio.

Oh, and if the layout guy is in another time zone and working to a tight deadline, you
might get woken up in the middle of the night by a phone call asking you to clarify
something.

Finally, don’t expect to get rich doing this, or even make a precarious living. If you
follow famous RPG professionals of yesteryear on social media, notice how many of
their posts are requests for financial support to meet medical bills as they get older.
Don’t give up your day job just yet.

Have I put you off yet? No? Still determined to write the next great RPG setting?

Good. I look forward to seeing it on the shelves.

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