I tend to plan out and write my campaigns as if they were books or short stories. At times with the players being the most important characters, sometimes they are merely cogs in a wheel. I've taken to doing this after years of DMing and having spent time reading the preludes and prologues of various prewritten campaigns and several adventure novels. I like their to be lore behind a campaign, a quest, a story, even IF the players don't find it (by luck or whim).
Ex. a dwarf employs a party of help clear out an old dwarven mining outpost because his goal is the city further in the mountains lost to his families history, he cares little for the gold and treasure of the outpost but it is filled with cursed undead. The party is likely unaware of how or why the city or the outpost fell into the state it is and some parties will actively want to find that out, others simply won't care.
To that end for major campaigns I feel it is best to highlight a bit of prologue, indicating what's happening behind the scenes if only to tantalize players into wondering what their role will eventually be and what mysteries their are to solve. So with that I give you the opening of my next campaign to peruse at your leisure for your entertainment and discussion.
tl;dr: The second post is the prologue of my next campaign, exposed before players begin their adventure. Please read it and criticize it if you will.
Edit: it might seem a bit long, nd I apologize for that.
Lightning flashes, momentarily illuminating the storm wracked sky. In its brief glow a rickety dock is revealed, rain-slashed and wind beaten. The masts of sailing ships sway in the violent gale and the sound of wind and thunder echo dolorously through the night. The rain comes down hard, almost painfully so, threatening to spear any living being fool enough to wander about, such as the three shadowy figures in heavy cloaks standing along the wooden pier. One of the figures raises a hand to the hood to their cloak, momentarily exposing their skin to the driving rain, wincing in irritation as the raindrops strike the back of their hand. Moving a portion of the hood from their vision the figure gazes through the darkness and the storm with slitted, golden eyes. The tempest and nightfall have done little to hinder the figures exceptional sight and their eyes scan the old wooden buildings of the storm battered port town called Shadowport.
Each of the buildings the figure gazes upon looks invariably similar, made of wood, likely from the hulls of ships, and worn by long years of residence along the coast. One such building however catches the figures eye, a large building that looks as though it were once a portion of a galleon which had been hurled onto the shore in some odd fashion and left lopsided. A gaudy sign adorns the building above its front door, depicting a cat and hawk chasing each other around the buildings title, “The Cat n’ Hawk”. It was a local inn and tavern. Letting go of their hood, which promptly fell to obscure much of the figures face, they waved the other two individuals with them forward. Slowly they forced themselves through the tangible sheet of air and water which stood between them and their destination. Once more lightning split the sky, drawing long shadows from the figures which gave them an air of mystery and purpose, but much like the fading light of the thunderbolt it was gone in a flash.
The storm winds rattled the glass pane windows of the dimly lit tavern. The boards creaked and water dripped from no small number of leaks in the ceiling. Still by the light of an oil lamp a man stood behind the bar, diligently wiping down the mugs that were recently used to supply ale to the taverns paying customers. It was deep into the night, the man thought; long enough that most of the regulars had gone home already. Only one individual lingered in the bar, seated in a shadowy corner of the establishment, a number of empty bottles of ale, wine, whiskey, and grog scattered on the wagon-wheel table on which the figure lay passed out. A single bottle of an unidentified liquor still gripped tightly in their hand and tipped dangerously close to pouring its remaining contents on their head. The man sighed at the sight and panned his view across the rest of the bar. A number of framed posters hung along the walls, each bearing a name, with each poster a piece of black cloth bearing a symbol or a fragment of carved and painted driftwood bearing a name of its own. Each item upon the wall of the tavern walls bore its own history; one that the man recalled with painful, bittersweet memories.
But his reminiscing was cut short, the door to the tavern opened suddenly, letting in a trio of heavily cloaked figures along with the cacophony of the storm, it’s wind and rain, which snapped the bartender back to reality. He looked at the three figures and sighed in exasperation.
“Bar’s Closed I’m afraid, it’s too far into the night to serve any more, if you’re looking for a room though…” the man began to say. The lamplight fell upon his pale beautiful features. He was no mere man, but an elf. His black hair and small black mustache gave him the perfect look for a bartender but gave away both the gallantness and weariness of a former life. However before he could finish his statement the first of the figures stepped forward and lowered their hood; the bartender’s eyes light up and the sight.
“I’m sure you can spare a drink for a few friends.” The man said. The beating rain had moistened his skin and long slick hair, causing both to glisten in the dim lamplight, but it was not the skin of a human, or perhaps it was. A slim being stood there, perhaps green in color, perhaps not, whose skin was in almost imperceptible ways mottled by tiny scales. his eyes, golden, and carrying the slits of reptiles. This man too carried with him the air of a life long-lived.
“Tsai! It’s been far too long old friend, come, sit, let’s chat, we haven’t seen each other in so long. Let me get you a drink, what’s your poison.” The elven bartender laughed, quickly busying their hands.
The man with golden eyes, Tsai, chuckled venomously at the remark; keenly aware that it was a jab at him made in jest. After all, he was a Yuan-ti, immune to any such thing. Still he took a seat on a barstool and without the bartenders notice motioned for the other two figures to sit at a wagon-wheel table nearby.
“So, Tsai, what brings you to my neck of the woods after so long?” the bartender asked, pouring a strong wine from a foreign land, one he keenly remembered his old friend having once enjoyed quite fondly.
“Business, Jack, I’ve been looking for you.” Tsai repeated a gleam in his eye.
“I haven’t gone far.” The bartender, Jack, said in return, passing the mug to Tsai with care.
“I never expected you’d take over his business. How long has it been?” Tsai said, changing the topic. There was an air of sadness in his voice, but it was hard to tell. His gaze fell upon one of the posters hung up behind the bar, centerfold with a handful of others.
“Too long.” Jack responded after a moment. He reached over and pulled from behind the bar a cheap bottle of grog and opened it for himself, he had long wanted to forget such memories.
“And what of the others?” Tsai asked, taking a refined swig of his wine, despite his rugged appearance. He referred to the individuals depicted in the remaining posters. It was now clear that a great many of the posters around the taverns, in addition to names and faces, bore small or large red “X”s, an grim indicator. One behind the bar bore the same symbol, the other three did not.
“Cat’s in the back, she handles the money.” Jack said swirling his grog, “and Angus is lying flat on the table in the corner.”
Jack motioned to the unconscious man wreathed in shadows and amongst the discarded bottles of hard liquor. A pitiful sadness hung in the air, but the two broke their gaze before they could dwell on it too long.
“I’d like to tell him to leave but he don’t got anywhere to go. His coin is as good as anyone’s and he basically pays for a good portion of the bar itself with his patronage. Even if he does get belligerent.” Jack said downing another gulp of his grog.
“It’s sad to see. That this is what has become of us.” Tsai remarked putting the mug of wine down, a frown adorning his slim face.
“And what of those two, will they be haunting my tavern like phantoms or will they be ordering as well. This is a business you know?” Jack responded with cheek.
“I thought it was after hours and the bar was closed.”
“I’m being generous.”
“In that case…” Tsai said before turning to his compatriots who stood from their tables, their cloaks still on, hoods still hiding their identities. They stood swiftly and walked up to the bar, but one of the individuals raised a hand, indicating a refusal of such an offer.
“On that note, what business do you have that brings you to Shadowport?” Jack said raising an eyebrow at the two.
“Oh, exciting business old friend. A benefactor of mine has a job for us.” Tsai said putting the mug too his lips to conceal the giddy smile he cracked. A light of childish excitement burned in his eyes.
“Sorry but I’m going to have to pass, got out of that business years ago.” Jack said, eyes narrowing at Tsai and his companions.
“I wouldn’t be so rash, Jack. You might want to hear what our mutual acquaintance has to say first.” Tsai said.
At that moment the taller of the two figures still wearing their cloak disrobed, their soaking outer layer peeling away to reveal the picture of refinement. Slicked back black hair and gorgeous youthful features paired with a gold buttoned vest and a fancy poet shirt. A lacquered black cane in hand came down, brass tip first, to strike the wooden floor. This was a man who looked as though he did not belong in a pirate dive bar, but rather in a stately courtyard at a regal mansion; and yet, Jack’s eyes fell upon the man with a mixture of feelings, contempt, hatred, scorn, recognition, relief, joy, mistrust, doubt, and confusion.
“Greetings Jack, it has been such a long time. Would you mind hearing what I have to say?” the man said with charisma of an oily salesman, a wry grin spreading across his face.
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I tend to plan out and write my campaigns as if they were books or short stories. At times with the players being the most important characters, sometimes they are merely cogs in a wheel. I've taken to doing this after years of DMing and having spent time reading the preludes and prologues of various prewritten campaigns and several adventure novels. I like their to be lore behind a campaign, a quest, a story, even IF the players don't find it (by luck or whim).
Ex. a dwarf employs a party of help clear out an old dwarven mining outpost because his goal is the city further in the mountains lost to his families history, he cares little for the gold and treasure of the outpost but it is filled with cursed undead. The party is likely unaware of how or why the city or the outpost fell into the state it is and some parties will actively want to find that out, others simply won't care.
To that end for major campaigns I feel it is best to highlight a bit of prologue, indicating what's happening behind the scenes if only to tantalize players into wondering what their role will eventually be and what mysteries their are to solve. So with that I give you the opening of my next campaign to peruse at your leisure for your entertainment and discussion.
tl;dr: The second post is the prologue of my next campaign, exposed before players begin their adventure. Please read it and criticize it if you will.
Edit: it might seem a bit long, nd I apologize for that.
Lightning flashes, momentarily illuminating the storm wracked sky. In its brief glow a rickety dock is revealed, rain-slashed and wind beaten. The masts of sailing ships sway in the violent gale and the sound of wind and thunder echo dolorously through the night. The rain comes down hard, almost painfully so, threatening to spear any living being fool enough to wander about, such as the three shadowy figures in heavy cloaks standing along the wooden pier. One of the figures raises a hand to the hood to their cloak, momentarily exposing their skin to the driving rain, wincing in irritation as the raindrops strike the back of their hand. Moving a portion of the hood from their vision the figure gazes through the darkness and the storm with slitted, golden eyes. The tempest and nightfall have done little to hinder the figures exceptional sight and their eyes scan the old wooden buildings of the storm battered port town called Shadowport.
Each of the buildings the figure gazes upon looks invariably similar, made of wood, likely from the hulls of ships, and worn by long years of residence along the coast. One such building however catches the figures eye, a large building that looks as though it were once a portion of a galleon which had been hurled onto the shore in some odd fashion and left lopsided. A gaudy sign adorns the building above its front door, depicting a cat and hawk chasing each other around the buildings title, “The Cat n’ Hawk”. It was a local inn and tavern. Letting go of their hood, which promptly fell to obscure much of the figures face, they waved the other two individuals with them forward. Slowly they forced themselves through the tangible sheet of air and water which stood between them and their destination. Once more lightning split the sky, drawing long shadows from the figures which gave them an air of mystery and purpose, but much like the fading light of the thunderbolt it was gone in a flash.
The storm winds rattled the glass pane windows of the dimly lit tavern. The boards creaked and water dripped from no small number of leaks in the ceiling. Still by the light of an oil lamp a man stood behind the bar, diligently wiping down the mugs that were recently used to supply ale to the taverns paying customers. It was deep into the night, the man thought; long enough that most of the regulars had gone home already. Only one individual lingered in the bar, seated in a shadowy corner of the establishment, a number of empty bottles of ale, wine, whiskey, and grog scattered on the wagon-wheel table on which the figure lay passed out. A single bottle of an unidentified liquor still gripped tightly in their hand and tipped dangerously close to pouring its remaining contents on their head. The man sighed at the sight and panned his view across the rest of the bar. A number of framed posters hung along the walls, each bearing a name, with each poster a piece of black cloth bearing a symbol or a fragment of carved and painted driftwood bearing a name of its own. Each item upon the wall of the tavern walls bore its own history; one that the man recalled with painful, bittersweet memories.
But his reminiscing was cut short, the door to the tavern opened suddenly, letting in a trio of heavily cloaked figures along with the cacophony of the storm, it’s wind and rain, which snapped the bartender back to reality. He looked at the three figures and sighed in exasperation.
“Bar’s Closed I’m afraid, it’s too far into the night to serve any more, if you’re looking for a room though…” the man began to say. The lamplight fell upon his pale beautiful features. He was no mere man, but an elf. His black hair and small black mustache gave him the perfect look for a bartender but gave away both the gallantness and weariness of a former life. However before he could finish his statement the first of the figures stepped forward and lowered their hood; the bartender’s eyes light up and the sight.
“I’m sure you can spare a drink for a few friends.” The man said. The beating rain had moistened his skin and long slick hair, causing both to glisten in the dim lamplight, but it was not the skin of a human, or perhaps it was. A slim being stood there, perhaps green in color, perhaps not, whose skin was in almost imperceptible ways mottled by tiny scales. his eyes, golden, and carrying the slits of reptiles. This man too carried with him the air of a life long-lived.
“Tsai! It’s been far too long old friend, come, sit, let’s chat, we haven’t seen each other in so long. Let me get you a drink, what’s your poison.” The elven bartender laughed, quickly busying their hands.
The man with golden eyes, Tsai, chuckled venomously at the remark; keenly aware that it was a jab at him made in jest. After all, he was a Yuan-ti, immune to any such thing. Still he took a seat on a barstool and without the bartenders notice motioned for the other two figures to sit at a wagon-wheel table nearby.
“So, Tsai, what brings you to my neck of the woods after so long?” the bartender asked, pouring a strong wine from a foreign land, one he keenly remembered his old friend having once enjoyed quite fondly.
“Business, Jack, I’ve been looking for you.” Tsai repeated a gleam in his eye.
“I haven’t gone far.” The bartender, Jack, said in return, passing the mug to Tsai with care.
“I never expected you’d take over his business. How long has it been?” Tsai said, changing the topic. There was an air of sadness in his voice, but it was hard to tell. His gaze fell upon one of the posters hung up behind the bar, centerfold with a handful of others.
“Too long.” Jack responded after a moment. He reached over and pulled from behind the bar a cheap bottle of grog and opened it for himself, he had long wanted to forget such memories.
“And what of the others?” Tsai asked, taking a refined swig of his wine, despite his rugged appearance. He referred to the individuals depicted in the remaining posters. It was now clear that a great many of the posters around the taverns, in addition to names and faces, bore small or large red “X”s, an grim indicator. One behind the bar bore the same symbol, the other three did not.
“Cat’s in the back, she handles the money.” Jack said swirling his grog, “and Angus is lying flat on the table in the corner.”
Jack motioned to the unconscious man wreathed in shadows and amongst the discarded bottles of hard liquor. A pitiful sadness hung in the air, but the two broke their gaze before they could dwell on it too long.
“I’d like to tell him to leave but he don’t got anywhere to go. His coin is as good as anyone’s and he basically pays for a good portion of the bar itself with his patronage. Even if he does get belligerent.” Jack said downing another gulp of his grog.
“It’s sad to see. That this is what has become of us.” Tsai remarked putting the mug of wine down, a frown adorning his slim face.
“And what of those two, will they be haunting my tavern like phantoms or will they be ordering as well. This is a business you know?” Jack responded with cheek.
“I thought it was after hours and the bar was closed.”
“I’m being generous.”
“In that case…” Tsai said before turning to his compatriots who stood from their tables, their cloaks still on, hoods still hiding their identities. They stood swiftly and walked up to the bar, but one of the individuals raised a hand, indicating a refusal of such an offer.
“On that note, what business do you have that brings you to Shadowport?” Jack said raising an eyebrow at the two.
“Oh, exciting business old friend. A benefactor of mine has a job for us.” Tsai said putting the mug too his lips to conceal the giddy smile he cracked. A light of childish excitement burned in his eyes.
“Sorry but I’m going to have to pass, got out of that business years ago.” Jack said, eyes narrowing at Tsai and his companions.
“I wouldn’t be so rash, Jack. You might want to hear what our mutual acquaintance has to say first.” Tsai said.
At that moment the taller of the two figures still wearing their cloak disrobed, their soaking outer layer peeling away to reveal the picture of refinement. Slicked back black hair and gorgeous youthful features paired with a gold buttoned vest and a fancy poet shirt. A lacquered black cane in hand came down, brass tip first, to strike the wooden floor. This was a man who looked as though he did not belong in a pirate dive bar, but rather in a stately courtyard at a regal mansion; and yet, Jack’s eyes fell upon the man with a mixture of feelings, contempt, hatred, scorn, recognition, relief, joy, mistrust, doubt, and confusion.
“Greetings Jack, it has been such a long time. Would you mind hearing what I have to say?” the man said with charisma of an oily salesman, a wry grin spreading across his face.