Among my many sins, I once sat through the complete director's commentaries to the original Star Wars trilogy on DVD. In my defence, these are fascinating artefacts in their own right. Much of the commentary is, somewhat eccentrically, provided by the Ben Burtt - the sound engineer - and he goes into exquisite detail about how many of the sound effects were captured. In between George Lucas himself appears, to offer pearls of gnomic wisdom and litigate old disputes (for example: it was an outrage that they wouldn't accept Frank Oz as a nomination for Best Supporting Actor for his perfomance as Yoda in Empire), and every now and then up pops some other Star Wars luminary - Carrie Fisher, sounding like she's strung out on heroin; Lawrence Kasdan, hoping somebody realises who the fuck he is; Dennis Muren, talking about how it was that they made blaster shots look like they are moving; etc. The sheer amount of thought and effort that went into making the original Star Wars films is hereby revealed to have been extraordinary. It has been observed (I forget where) that the Big Hollywood Blockbuster circa 1980-2000 was a feat of human achievement akin to one of the ancient wonders of the world, marshalling huge amounts of energy, intelligence, craft and logistical energy over the course of years, and while this may be slightly hyperbolic, listening to Hollywood insiders talk about the process of film-making during that era makes you begin to see the point.
But I digress. What I wanted to talk about here was an observation George Lucas makes during the commentary on one of the films (possibly Return of the Jedi) in which he describes the trilogy as being dominated by three geographic themes - desert (Tattooine), forest (Endor), and ice (Hoth). I have always remembered this, as while it initially seemed a very banal point to make, its impact has grown on me. There is something archetypal about deserts, forests (particularly jungles) and icy wilderness. They function, at least to the civilised, developed-world mind, as exotic geographic 'others'. And we see them emerging a lot in fantasy literature and video games, where every setting seems to contain within it a deserty bit, a jungly bit, and an icy bit, alongside the typical, generic, bucolic temperate zone which tends to be where adventure begins.
(Indeed, while I can't think of an example right now, readers will be able to tell me about a raft of old platform games which even contained an 'ice level', a 'desert level', a 'jungle level', and so on.)
The OSR is quite light on straight up icy, deserty, or jungly settings. This is not to say that there are no products which are set in such environments, but they tend to be small-scale hexcrawls rather than deep, detailed settings-proper.
I think this is for two key reasons. The first is practical difficulty. Arctic, rainforest and desert landscapes are unfamiliar and there is a sense with each that the environment ought itself to be a major driver of adventure and danger. This is difficult to systematise and make interesting (although there have been attempts to do it - The Bitter Reach being an example that pops to mind).
The second is lack of familiarity. The Tolkienian tropes on which we still tend to rely do not seem to sit comfortably in non-Tolkienian environs. The furniture is just different. And therefore it feels as though the monsters, character classes, races, even magic systems ought to be different, too. This means extra work. 'My desert world is populated by desert orcs, desert dwarfs, desert elves and desert giants!' is boring - granted. So what is it populated by, then?
If I was to come up with such a setting, I think my approach would be to start with those issues in reverse order. What makes a setting really sing is its content, and the building blocks for that content would need to be gathered together first.
And Step One in that process would I think be to get together the crew - who are going to be the main inhabitants of this world I am making up, and what is the relationship between them going to be?
An initial exercise here would just be coming up with some lists and seeing what fell together. And you could do a lot worse than just looking at what's already there. If one were to create a jungle setting, for instance, what might one jot down as likely inhabitants while flicking through the Monstrous Manual?
A trawl through the 2nd edition Monstrous Manual contains the following, what I would call, exclusively 'jungly' creatures (not including those which can be found 'anywhere', or bog standard things like giant insects and big cats):
- Bullywug
- Catoblepas
- Coautl
- Black dragon
- Emerald dragon
- Ettercap
- Jungle giant
- Grippli
- Ixitxachitl
- Kirre
- Lizard man
- Locathah
- Weretiger
- Mold man
- Muckdweller
- Rakshasa
- Winged snake
- Tabaxi
- Tasloi
- Wyvern
- Yuan-ti
- Zaratan
I think I would start with plenty of reading from authors who live in such environments, or, perhaps better, from folks who grew up elsewhere but moved there. There are a lot of little details that you don't get unless you have some direct experience or the notes of someone who did and can pull those up for you. I lived in the subtropics for a couple of years, and there are just things there that I never would have thought of. I went to two rainforests and a reserve while I lived there, and if I were to design something today, I would draw heavily from that feast of experience.
ReplyDeleteGive us some examples of things you experienced but never would have thought of!
DeleteFor example, there were lizards everywhere. They get in your house, they are all along the road. The way we see birds in the temperate north I saw lizards in Benin.
DeleteYou can't just walk into a rainforest. Someone has to bushwhack, and it is non-trivial. One track into a rain forest that I considered but decided against had two giant orb webs spread across the entrance, easily a meter across by two high, with a fist-sized spider in the middle. Along the path a millipede a foot long trundled by.
The dust in the air from the Harmattan winds is ubiquitous during the dry season. You could sweep your house 10 times a day and there would still be a thin layer of dust on your floor. Most days the sun at noon is hazy from the dust. Though I spent a good deal of time at 9-degrees north, I only ONCE saw Polaris and the Southern Cross at the same time. The Southern Cross was easily seen most clear nights, but the dust in the sky made Polaris invisible most of the time.
During the rainy season, it storms every day in the late afternoon, which is not that different from a lot of places, but the heat-lightning show that accompanies it is quite spectacular.
In many places in the Sahel, there is no humus or decaying organic matter at the surface. During the dry season, if you get close to the ground and look under the plants, you can see clearly for yards. There is just brush coming up from the sand and gravel.
When I was living there, I was writing rules for a ttrpg based on what I was seeing. I had the notion that village life in the Sahel was probably similar to medieval life in England in many ways, particularly around economic and political patterns such as market days, the varieties of currency, the ubiquity of barter systems, and the conflicts between traditional and modern governments that coexist in much more significant ways than, say, modern England.
I still have a lot of this baked into my setting and I wonder how much richer I could make it if I had similar experiences in other climates. Maybe an argument for a collaborative world!
Very cool. Thanks for that!
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