Tuesday 25 June 2024

Far, Vast and Lonely: Describing and Confronting the World

Cloud and mist abode ever in the south, and only the foot-hills showed of the great ranges beyond Bhavinan. But on the evening of the sixth day before Yule, it being the nineteenth of December when Betelgeuze stands at midnight on the meridian, a wind blew out of the north-west with changing fits of sleet and sunshine. Day was fading as they stood above the cliff. All the forest land was blue with shades of approaching night: the river was dull silver: the wooded heights afar mingled their outlines with the towers and banks of turbulent deep blue vapour that hurtled in ceaseless passage through the upper air. 
Suddenly a window opened in the clouds to a space of clean wan wind-swept sky high above the shaggy hills. Surely Juss caught his breath in that moment, to see those deathless ones where they shone pavilioned in the pellucid air, far, vast, and lonely, most like to creatures of unascended heaven, of wind and of fire all compact, too pure to have aught of the gross elements of earth or water. It was as if the rose-red light of sun-down had been frozen to crystal and these hewn from it to abide to everlasting, strong and unchangeable amid the welter of earthborn mists below and tumultuous sky above them. The rift ran wider, eastward and westward, opening on more peaks and sunset-kindled snows. And a rainbow leaning to the south was like a sword of glory across the vision.

- ER Eddison, The Worm Ouroboros

I have long been interested in the subject of how wilderness exploration can be perfected as an aspect of 'old school' play in the manner in which I think dungeoneering has been (almost) perfected as a playstyle conceptually by the OSR. I do not think we have achieved anything like as much in this regard despite our desperate graspings, gropings and gesticulations in that direction. And I think this is a failing. If we can think of old school D&D as an attempt to make fantasy literature gameable, then we neglect wilderness exploration only by doing great damage to this goal, since the making of epic journeys across mighty and wondrous landscapes goes so deep into the genre's blood. It is in Tolkien, it is in Eddison, it is in Howard, it is in Moorcock; it is in Vance; it is everywhere. Fantasy is impossible to conceive of as we understand it today without this emphasis on the mythopoeic world as something that exists to be explored and also grappled with as an entity in its own right. 

We ought then to think seriously about wilderness travel as a fundamental feature of what D&D should be about - and not only mechanically, but imaginatively or (dare I say it) spiritually. The landscape is something against which the PCs should be contending, and which should do justice to the attempt to engage with it in its own right, at the level precisely of landscape. It should not be something that is merely crossed to get between points A and B, or traversed so as to uncover pre-arranged or randomly generated contents (although both of those things will inevitably happen in a D&D campaign and are obviously important). It should have an independent existence that interests, entertains and entices the players as much as would the exploration of a dungeon.

We can mechanise this, of course, and there are systems that can be used for doing so (many of which are available online), but in the end there is only so much that mechanics can achieve. Fundamentally, what makes a landscape come alive is more intangible than that; it is how the physical space is described. To read the Eddison passage that begins this post is to be transported - one can not only see but feel oneself on that place on the cliff-top, looking out over the 'far, vast and lonely' mountains with the 'sword of glory' of a rainbow in the distance.

Not all of us (well, let's call a spade a spade, none of us) is capable of coming up with prose like that on the fly, let alone simply rattling it off such perfectly realised imagery in a description to the players of what the PCs happen to see at a given moment as they survey the landscape. But there are two practical things that we can do - whether as DMs or as game designers - to facilitate the creation of more immersive worlds.

The first is to actually go out and travel, explore and hike, and to pay careful attention to the landscape as one does so and what the actual 'lived experience' of overland travel is like - what what one can see, what one can hear and smell, what one can imagine happening there. A few years ago I wrote a post in which I put this into practice, describing a hike I had recently been on in rural Northumberland, and shared some photos. Here is just one of them, chosen deliberately because it is so ostensibly undramatic:


Look at it carefully and notice the way the landscape unfolds itself before the eye: the rough track that runs across the tussocky grass; the boggy pool that lines right across its path about a third of the way up the length of the photo; the patch of gorse to the right that might conceal a hidden predator; the higher grasses in the middle distance in which enemies might be lying flat against the ground; then the way the ground suddenly falls away so as to conceal a cleft in the landscape cutting across the image - there is obviously a body of water down there but what is it? how deep and sheer is the valley? - and beyond it the low rise to a clump of hillocks beyond; the semi-woodland of leafless trees that half-conceal the bracken around their feet; and behind a glimpse of buildings and of lush green farmland that hints at the closeness of something more civilised. This is an almost studiedly ordinary rural image, but it is not difficult to look at it, and think about it, in an engaged way so as to understand between the scale of natural landscapes and what can lie within them - and what the eye can actually take in (or not take in) during an overland journey.

Doing this will not provide you with an instantly accessible mental library of images that you can simply regurgitate to the players at the table but it will give you the stuff of mental conjuring - you will be better equipped to picture landscapes of your own and put them into words so as to better communicate to players a sense of place.

The second thing that can be done is that people who are writing adventure modules and campaign settings can get good at writing descriptions of landscapes themselves. People may already have done this, but providing DMs with handy, accessible and beautiful three-line descriptors of what the players can see as they traverse one hex or another, or go from one point to another on a pointcrawl, would I think be a very useful addition to wilderness campaigning. We have plenty of models for what good descriptive prose looks like with respect to fantasy landscapes in the form of Tolkien, Lewis, Eddison, et al - not to mention the great travel and nature writers: the Apsley Cherry-Garrards, Barry Lopezes, JA Bakers, and so on, who have tried their hardest to give accounts in prose (or poetry) of how the world looks and what is in it. Good writing can achieve great things - and can be put to useful purpose.

19 comments:

  1. Reading and hiking can both help a DM serve up better landscapes but there ARE mechanical solutions to this problem. Traditional systems have you roll each day for weather, probably 3 encounter checks, and navigation. That forces the DM into narrating "you travel through the woods for a day", "you travel through the woods for another day".

    If you have an alternate system where you make one or more rolls that tell you how much time passes between encounters, (could be anything between an hour and a week), how much time passes until the weather changes, etc. now you can actually narrate the travel like Tolkien, who can spend a single sentence on a boring week's worth, or pages on a single day

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    1. I REALLY like that idea of rolling the time elapsed until the next encounter, instead of rolling at regular intervals. I never realized it before, but that sort of narrative elasticity of time and space could help shift focus from mundane mechanics to scene and setting.

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    2. I also really like it. MIND = BLOWN.

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    3. One more voice saying this idea is awesome! - Jason Bradley Thompson

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    4. This proposal is obviously incompatible with hexcrawling, but yes, count me in the chorus of the impressed. A very clever way to flip things on their head!

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  2. Good imaginative description is obviously never to be despised, but to make it the foremost consideration is something I'm forced to regard as airy-fairy. We would all like to write better prose, but dungeoncraft has advanced to where it is because of concrete, replicable nuts-and-bolts principles and techniques, and deploying these competently is what allows for descriptive prose to shine. Many is the overwritten adventure with scads of flavourful text that's unusable at the table.

    In particular, description that's independent of "pre-arranged or randomly generated contents" - which is effectively to say, unsupported improvisation - cannot form a real basis of play or design. It's there to smooth over the gaps. A list of beautiful three-line descriptors would only, sooner or later, run out. To train yourself to be able to deliver Eddison-quality descriptions off the cuff is, as you say, impractical. There's plenty of space to improve here, but unless you have genius it will never be enough to carry a game for you.

    Actual design principles for wilderness exploration on the other hand are reasonably easily formulated, woefully lacking in published material (whether as instruction books or exemplars), could potentially improve your game significantly for a relatively small investment, and are much a less intimidating and nebulous undertaking than becoming a better writer.

    I won't bore you with my specific thoughts on wilderness design, since they mainly fall into the category of "hard-won experience that's obvious in retrospect" and have no doubt been discussed piecemeal online by cleverer people than I (except for perhaps one or two hypotheses that I haven't had an opportunity to playtest yet). But I'll make the general assertion, that a 'true' wilderness hex crawl should be designed with as much love, care and attention as any tentpole dungeon in any underworld exploration game, and for the same reasons - it's the framework and fabric to which everything else is just an adjunct. It's not simply (rather, it doesn't have to be) an interstitial space between dungeons or a rote navigational exercise. Almost all published wilderness adventures have this thinness to them; those that don't tend to blur the line between wilderness adventure and above-ground "dungeon" in a way I find unsatisfying. The proof of the pudding is that it should produce enjoyable long-term play without any dungeons in it whatsoever, and without constant reinvention or new material added by the DM. I don't believe that's achievable with good intentions and excellent writing skills, it requires methodical design.

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    1. That's me told! ;) But I take the point. I am by no means suggesting that all we need to do is turn ourselves into ER Eddison. I like your final paragraph a lot.

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    2. I agree that the reason the Dungeon Alphabet was a foundational text for the OSR was not so much that it led to better-described dungeon dressing as that it provided exemplars of the sorts of things one ought to be describing. I do not have those at all formulated for wilderness adventuring and have a sincere and keen interest in further design thoughts.

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    3. @noisms: I didn't mean to come off as aggressive, sorry. Just a spirited opinion.

      @Tavis: In regards to dressing, individual descriptive elements within the key, I actually think published adventures are fit for purpose. You can cannibalise them for all kinds of interesting content. The purely mechanical rules of travelling hex to hex are pretty straightforward and well-covered, and I don't think too terribly important in the petty details. What I think are underexamined and underutilised are the basic principles of wilderness map, key and encounter design and the holistic approach, despite being in many ways very similar to those of dungeon design. I'm happy to share some of my thoughts on that - if noisms agrees this is the place for it, since it's a sharpish tangent to his post about beautiful descriptions of travel.

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    4. @noisms: I didn't mean to come off as aggressive, sorry. Just a spirited opinion.

      @Tavis: In regards to dressing, individual descriptive elements within the key, I actually think published adventures are fit for purpose. You can cannibalise them for all kinds of interesting content. The purely mechanical rules of travelling hex to hex are pretty straightforward and well-covered, and I don't think too terribly important in the petty details. What I think are underexamined and underutilised are the basic principles of wilderness map, key and encounter design and the holistic approach, despite being in many ways very similar to those of dungeon design. I'm happy to share some of my thoughts on that - if noisms agrees this is the place for it, since it's a sharpish tangent to his post about beautiful descriptions of travel.

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  3. Good points! One more thing, perhaps, is to think carefully about landmarks that are visible in certain parts of the map and emphasise these to the players so they get a sense of their progress through the wilderness.

    And because this is fantasy, natural landmarks can be *heightened* - sometimes literally. And you can have unnatural landmarks too, like the carved mountains from The Sword of the Lictor, which presumably would just look like mountains if you were far enough away but would reveal their "shoulders" (and heads) when you were closer.

    In the Gloranthan segment of our long-running (and multi-world) D&D campaign, I found Kero-fin (the vast pinnacle of a mountain that dominates Dragon Pass) to be a huge help in marking travel; when the players crossed into Dragon Pass from Prax, the sight of Kero-fin served as a milestone. And their changing view of it as they moved towards Snakepipe Hollow gave them a good sense of place.

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    1. Definitely - this is a really useful thing to have in one's head. What can the PCs see from the position they are in on the map? If they are elevated, they'll be able to see for miles. The Who even wrote a song about it....

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    2. The best gamified exploration experience I've had is the video game Elden Ring, and it's a very good example of this exact thing.

      https://static1.srcdn.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/Liurnia-Elden-Ring.jpg

      There are a lot of landmarks vaguely visible from afar that immediately offer goals, a lot of potential routes immediately obvious (which sometimes turn out to be non-viable as you get closer), a lot of potential potential obstacles immediately obvious (which sometimes turn out to have ways to circumvent them as you get closer), a lot of gaps in your view as parts are hidden in mist or darkness or behind obstructions.

      A lot of verticality. Often a route leads you towards where you want to go, but leaves you at the bottom of a cliff with no way to get up. But of course there are cliffs with unexpected ways to get up, or down. Gigantic bridges and natural arches looping over other paths, offering new views and routes.

      A lot of contrast. Wide vistas like in the image alternate with claustrophobic environments like dense forests or caves or build up areas, that carefully funnel you towards a corner to round or a crest to clear that puts you in front of a new panoramic view to unfold.

      I don't really have an idea how that should translate in to pen & paper RPGs, but there are techniques, and designers are using them, so I think there's definitely something to be learned there.

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  4. The main issue with overland travel is that when exploring a dungeon where you can describe every room, you generally can't describe every hill when your players are tromping about in the woods. It can be non-obvious when to keep things general and when to zoom in on the specific and it can feel very unnatural, as if you're heading the Final Fantasy "encounter starting now" music starting to play in the background.

    One idea I had for a D&D sub-setting is a hilly mountainous area where the monsters live in the mists and the mists rise and fall with the time of day. So if the PCs want to travel around they have to keep track of the terrain and the time of day and really map out their travel otherwise they'll end up cut off by the rising mist during the night.

    "in the manner in which I think dungeoneering has been (almost) perfected as a playstyle conceptually by the OSR."

    Got any specific link for this? I'm sure I've seen a lot of the bits and pieces conceptualized but I've been out of the greater OSR loop for the last few years except for reading your blog.

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    1. Good point about overland travel versus dungeons.

      I don't think I do have a specific link actually that leaps to mind, sadly. It's more just out there in the air.

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  5. Running a wilderness session is perhaps the closest DM art to poetry, as it requires us to paint, in words of Julianne Moore, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them."

    I don't think the onus is on beautiful or awe-inspiring descriptions, but simply evocative. Which I think most of all means sensory; tactile.

    It's easy to see a wilderness trek from a bird's eye perspective. Not in the least because movies always fucking do that. It's how we are primed to visualise by now, I think.
    It takes some doing to not only go to the worm's eye view yourself, but have your descriptions drag the players down there as well. Basically, to visualise the same way you do in the dungeon.

    But this at least I think provides a baseline for descriptors.

    Weather as a felt sense rather than a forecast. Encumbrance and difficult terrain as something heavy. And sight, before anything else, should consider how *much* there is to actually see.

    The other challenge is pacing. How many hexes can you run through before it gets repetitive? A Unit of Interest must have some form of interest. At least most of them. I've got my own thoughts on this myself viz a viz pointcrawls that I am still digesting and might write on soon to clarify my thinking.

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    1. Yes - although it's not just films. It's also how we travel (by car, or plane, not on foot). I live on a neighbourhood that is built on the side of quite a prominent hill and I am always struck, walking around, how much the landscape conceals in such a small area. This is totally missed when driving through it down the high street.

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  6. Thing is, I don't see Eddison as a particularly strong model for prose writing, let alone description at the roleplaying table. The second paragraph in particular is turgid, loses grip on its descriptive mission, conjures up one of those Transcendentalist landscape paintings that forces a lapel-grabbing sense of WILDNESS!! It's not a good sign when you are so caught up in the moment that you forget to call a mountain a mountain.

    Anyway, I have some thoughts on how to approach the mission: https://rolesrules.blogspot.com/2024/06/four-way-wilderness-descriptions.html

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