So, I am starting up a campaign again after a few months of hiatus. It was Descent into Avernus and we had taken a short break that became a long break after the players got to Candlekeep. It was a good game, but the party was rogue heavy. That's alright, play what you want, right?
Anyhow, the Avernus hellscape was one I had been struggling with. I didn't know how to make it work. Or at least not how to make it compelling. Beyond this, the characters seemed more interested in personal goals than the written campaign ones. "I need to find my father, who is in hell and oh yeah, let's do something about that city while we are here. Maybe." That's fine.
Avernus as written seems like a really brutal place. That can work for some groups, but it's not going to work here. I needed a new angle. I needed an Avernus which is closer to Sigil than an unending battlefield. Or maybe a Casablanca: there is a war going on nearby, but...
So, we decided to really lean into the utter roguey nature of our party. Avernus is going to be a place of crossing and double crossing. Of stylish getaways, leaping recklessly out of the window on to moving warmachines. We're going pulp, baby. Get the big band jazz out.
This means that the narrative has become the ultimate heist to steal a city out of the clutches of an archdevil. That sentence alone is enough to make me say: "You son of a *****. I'm in."
This is a case study, I guess, in the importance of making written adventures click with you and your players. There is no crime in running an adventure flat, but if you can find that angle that makes it click then you have lightning in a bottle: pure magic.
There’s a “secret” city in HBO’s Westworld that was the model for a sort of open city I wrote up, for very similar reasons. Lots of smugglers, factions and just scum and villainy.
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So, I am starting up a campaign again after a few months of hiatus. It was Descent into Avernus and we had taken a short break that became a long break after the players got to Candlekeep. It was a good game, but the party was rogue heavy. That's alright, play what you want, right?
Anyhow, the Avernus hellscape was one I had been struggling with. I didn't know how to make it work. Or at least not how to make it compelling. Beyond this, the characters seemed more interested in personal goals than the written campaign ones. "I need to find my father, who is in hell and oh yeah, let's do something about that city while we are here. Maybe." That's fine.
Avernus as written seems like a really brutal place. That can work for some groups, but it's not going to work here. I needed a new angle. I needed an Avernus which is closer to Sigil than an unending battlefield. Or maybe a Casablanca: there is a war going on nearby, but...
So, we decided to really lean into the utter roguey nature of our party. Avernus is going to be a place of crossing and double crossing. Of stylish getaways, leaping recklessly out of the window on to moving warmachines. We're going pulp, baby. Get the big band jazz out.
This means that the narrative has become the ultimate heist to steal a city out of the clutches of an archdevil. That sentence alone is enough to make me say: "You son of a *****. I'm in."
This is a case study, I guess, in the importance of making written adventures click with you and your players. There is no crime in running an adventure flat, but if you can find that angle that makes it click then you have lightning in a bottle: pure magic.
“You son-of-a-*****, I’m in…”
Thats good DM’ing!
There’s a “secret” city in HBO’s Westworld that was the model for a sort of open city I wrote up, for very similar reasons. Lots of smugglers, factions and just scum and villainy.