Go to Part 1

REFERENCE – TWIN CITIES 1925

NOTABLE NEWSPAPERS:

• Minneapolis Tribune (since 1867)
• Minneapolis Daily Star (since 1920)
• Minnesota Pioneer (since 1849, first daily newspaper in Minnesota, morning paper)
• Saint Paul Dispatch (since 1868, evening paper)

TRANSPORTATION: Twin Cities Rapid Transit operates 524 miles of electric trolley lines, laced between Minneapolis, St. Paul, and into the suburbs as far as Anoka and Lake Minnetonka. (Map above.)

UNIONS: Minneapolis’ reactionary, anti-labor employers organized into the Citizen’s Alliance. They blacklisted labor organizers, hired spies to keep tabs on “radicals”, crushed strikes, maintained scab registries, etc.

The Minneapolis CLA (Communist League of America) is led by Carl Skoglund, a Swedish socialist who immigrated to America in 1911, and Vincent Ray Dunne. These Trotskyists undermined the business-friendly leadership of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters (IBT). The first strikes would not actually happen until 1934, but the union-business espionage ran rampant through the ‘20s.

Source: Red Teamsters

FARMER-LABOR PARTY: Founded in 1918, by 1925 the Minnesota Farmer-Labor party – operating on a platform of farmer and labor union protection – was beginning to dominate statewide elections.

• J.E. Meyers is the mayor of Minneapolis. He ran as a member of the Loyalty Party, focusing on a patriotic platform of supporting America’s World War I veterans.
• Laurence C. Hodgson, a former newspaper reporter and poet, is the mayor of St. Paul.

GENERAL RESEARCH – HAMSA

Occult 1 / Library Use: The Hamsa symbol, also referred to as the Hand of Fatima and the Hand of Miriam, is a protective sigil or charm taking the figure of a hand with an eye in the center of its palm. It is supposed to guard against the “evil eye” and is widely recognized throughout the Middle East and North Africa, with some scholars believing it to have originated in Carthage.

GENERAL RESEARCH – TANIT PARASITES

Lab Analysis (Chemistry/Medicine): The purplish color in the whiskey / denatured ethanol is due to a contaminant. This appears to be bacteriological in nature.

• If analyzing raw ethanol, this will be remarkable because alcohol is generally antibacterial – it destroys cell membranes, penetrates the bacteria’s cytoplasm, denatures its proteins, coagulates the enzymes, binds water (dehydrating the cell), and dissolves fats, leading to massive cell dysfunction and death.
• Closer inspection of the bacteria reveals it to be disturbingly unusual: The cell envelope is shaped like a symmetric hexagon. Its internal structures are simplistic, similar to those of a prokaryote (the first form of life on Earth) and lacking anything suggestive of an internal nucleus. It’s possible that this is some atavistic remnant of an alternative evolutionary path.
• Chemistry 1 / Medicine 1: The hexagonal cells interact strongly with each other, forming honeycomb-like lattices and, due to their symmetrical nature, capable of forming tightly-packed, perfectly tiled structures similar to hexagonal crystals. Within these larger hexagonal bio-crystals, the individual cells appear to take on specialized functions – although its impossible to determine exactly what those functions are, it would seem they serve a function similar to organelles. Thus, in relation to the prokaryote-like individual cells, the bio-crystals are analog to more complex eukaryotic cells – although organized in a way seemingly completely alien to terrestial biology.
• Chemistry 2 / Medicine 2: The interactions between the cells within each bio-crystal seem to possess a neuronal character – perhaps synapse-like micro-structures could explain the coordination between the various “organelle cells” of the crystal, in a fashion similar to a nervous system or brain tissue.
• GM Note: If investigated in a later time period, researchers might detect electrical signals “disturbingly reminiscent of human brain activity”, but neither the equipment nor knowledge of the human mind necessary for this conjecture exists in the 1920’s.
• Organic Tissue: If exposed to organic tissue (whether human or not), the tanit parasites will swarm – forming a kind of purple halo around the tissue. (Investigation of this specific phenomenon with Chemistry or Medicine would suggest that this is stimulating biocrystal growth, as described above – and functionally reducing those point spends by 1 point each.)

Tophet Serum: If dosed with tophet serum, a character must make a 2 point Stability test each day. If they succeed on three tests in a row, the effects dissipate and no further tests are required. (During this time, they will begin to manifest hallucinations, motor apraxia, and alien hand syndrome.)

• If the character is Shaken by tophet serum, they begin to manifest symptoms of dissociate personality. (The bicameral division of their mind is breaking down, their perception of self is evaporating, and the Tanit consciouness is striving to take sole control of their body). This takes the form of a Driver that can impel actions (i.e., Tanit’s consciousness is taking control). As with any other Driver, obeying the driver restores Stability per the normal rules, but also prompts a 7 point Stability test (due to Possession).
• If the character is Blasted by tophet serum, in addition to permanent mental illness they also develop an Eye of Tanit on their left hand.
• A character who is rendered Incurably Insane by tophet serum has become a fully-realized host of Tanit.
• Non-Human Hosts: Unknown effects.
• GM Note: Those who observe the progression of tophet serum may realize that virtually everyone who drinks it will, in fact, be lost to the Tanit consciousness. Realizing that hundreds of serum-tainted whiskey bottles have been sold (and presumably drunk), they may make the intuitive leap that Barca has successfully created hundreds of fully-realized Tanit hosts. (Cthulhu Mythos could also provide a similar revelation.) Where are they? Some might be lost to insane asylums, but most are just quietly continuing the façade of their mortal lives – an invisible army of sleeper agents who will continue to pursue the eventual re-awakening of Tanit throughout the 20^th century.

Go to Part 3: Arrival at Hill House

I’ll be serializing this scenario for Trail of Cthulhu, set in the Twin Cities (Minnesota, USA) in the 1925 over the next few weeks. Originally run in an abridged format at Gen Con 2017, it will be presented here in its entirety for the first time. If you’re a member of my local gaming groups, you may want to steer clear of this one, even if you’ve played this scenario before: The background elements (discussed in depth in this first post) aren’t fully revealed in this scenario and may feature in future scenarios I design.

STARTING DATE
Friday, November 13^th, 1925

DAWN OF MAN

Tanit and Ra are both incomprehensible alien intellects which came to Earth (or perhaps arose on Earth) in a prehistoric era. Some legends speak of them as brother and sister, suggesting the possibility that they are both exemplars of a single species (or perhaps a single entity turned against itself). But it’s more likely that they are utterly unlike in nature except for their shared point of commonality in humanity.

Before the origin of the conscious mind, humans were simply very smart apes. In anatomically modern humans, tool use and even agriculture were more advanced than among other animals, but they did not possess true intellect.

THE HERDS: This made them ideal hosts for Tanit and Ra, both of whom infested the minds of man like viruses and turned them into extrusions of their will. The resulting herds created the first civilizations, although they still did not exist as individuals – they were merely tools wielded by Tanit or Ra; a physical host for a vast hive consciousness.

THE FIRST HUMANS: The First Humans came to exist when Tanit attempted to infect the herd of Ra (and vice versa). Human consciousness was born from the friction between them. The bicameral mind is, in fact, a manifestation of this conflict between Tanit and Ra – and in its asymmetry, human consciousness is given form in the discontinuity between the mind’s two halves.

THE REBELLION: The First Humans rebelled against the herds. In Egypt, there is some evidence that the ensuing rebellion may have even fractured the Ra consciousness (into Amun-Ra and Aten-Ra). Tanit endured in her last refuge of Carthage until the Punic Wars razed the city.

FUNDAMENTAL METAPHYSIC: To be clear, it is not the case that there is a human identity which is plagued by Tanit and Ra. Rather, all human identity is nothing more than a byproduct of the conflict between vast alien intelligences. The lateralization of brain function in each individual is merely the wavering frontlines of an ancient war. Your entire sense of self and all of your conscious thought is nothing more than a metaphysical fever boiling out of the trench warfare being fought in the sulcus of the cerebral cortex.

Note: Ra is primarily active in the left hemisphere of the brain. Tanit in the right.

TANIT

In a fully realized host (i.e., one in which the taint of Ra is not present), the parasite which is Tanit manifests as an eye in the palm of the left hand.

THE FASCICULUS: Tanit forms a cluster of nerve tissue within the hand, suborning the Ulnar nerve and altering the structure of Guyon’s canal. This cluster is the actual seat of the Tanit consciousness, with this “mind” or “eye” of Tanit remotely controlling the primary brain of the host. It is capable of operating the hand as an independent entity in the case of death (a “hand of Tanit”); and in some cases may even lend a semblance of motion to an otherwise brain dead host (as long as the brain stem is intact), creating a shambling, zombie-like thing.

INFECTION: Tanit is a parasite — microscopic and slightly purplish in color. When a host is infected by Tanit, the parasites cluster in the left hand, where they join together (in accordance to a biology utterly foreign to terrestial life) to form more complex structures.

Child Sacrifice: Tanit uses rituals of child sacrifice to create tophet serums of viral payload capable of overriding (or destroying) Ra’s presence in the host. This effectively kills the human “personality”, and creates a fully realized Tanit host.

FACE OF BAAL: Tanit is also referred to as the Face of Baal (a word meaning “Lord” or “master” in primal Semitic tongues). This suggests that perhaps the Tanit hive consciousness is nothing more than a representative or tool of some greater and even more inexplicable entity.

RA

Ra transmits itself to new hosts as a primarily memetic virus — it is written that Ra created man by “speaking their secret names” (proper verbal coding can actually alter the Broca area of the brain, effectively infecting the host; fortunately, the memetic payload must be customized to each victim). Direct transmission via liquid, however, is also possible — in another Egyptian tale, Ra weeps and from his tears man is given birth. In the Book of the Dead, Ra cuts himself and his blood transforms into the personifications of Hu and Sia.

HU/SIA: When fully realized, Ra’s hosts manifest in two forms — the Hu (authority) become central coordinators while the bulk of the host is made up of Sia (mind). (Hu is the deification of the first word, the word of creation, and was “companion to the pharaohs”.)

Hu-manifestations are at least somewhat resistant to the Tanit parasite. Those with a Hu-strain of Ra may experience this as an enlightened/mystical state. But the more a Hu-infected host opens itself to Ra, the more its own personality is destroyed.

Note: There could be fourteen different manifestations of Ra (in the “train of Ra”). In some translations of the Book of the Dead, Chapter XVII begins: “I am Tem in rising. I am the only One. I came into being in Nu. I am Ra who rose in the beginning… The pillars of Shu were not as yet created. It is Ra, the creator of the names of his limbs, which came into being in the form of the gods, who are in the train of Ra” (i.e., the gods who personify his phases) “– fourteen Spirits, seven dark and seven light…”

APEP SERPENTS: Hu-infected hosts can be particularly long-lived, with their bodies undergoing severe transformation which eventually leaves them in a form similar to a huge, misshapen, white wyrm.

Apeptosis: Apep serpents can sometimes undergo a bizarre fission, rapidly undergoing a clonal fragmentation in which their mass collapses in a multitude of small serpents — almost maggot-like in character, but incredibly fast. These small serpents can enter potential hosts through eyes, ears, or other orifices and rapidly infect them with Ra.

Replication Errors: Apeps are dangerous to Ra, however, because they can diverge from the parent-state and become independent entities. In a fully-realized Ra society, therefore, Apeps are often killed before this happens. In the modern world, Apeps are particularly dangerous because there is no guarantee that their apeptotic fission will maintain a state of equilibrium with Tanit (which could result in anyone being infected by them having their humanity destroyed).

EYE OF RA: Eyes of Ra were extensions of Ra’s will. They included Hathor, Sekhmet, Bast, Wadjet, and Mut.

SISTERHOOD OF FATIMA

A coven of witches who have passed the secrets of Tanit and Ra down through the ages. They are particularly focused on preventing outbreaks of the Tanit parasite.

The Virgin Mary, Miriam (sister to Moses), and Fatima (daughter of Muhammad) were all members.

The inner mystery of the Sisters of Fatima is that they are all Hu-manifestations of Ra. Their mystic rites are the result of opening themselves to Ra, and their interest in crushing Tanit is not entirely wholesome for mankind.

THE HANDS

HAMSA: Also referred to as the Hand of Fatima and the Hand of Miriam, the Hamsa is a protective sigil or charm taking the figure of a hand with an eye in the center of its palm. It is supposed to guard against the “evil eye” and is widely recognized throughout the Middle East and North Africa.

In mundane scholarship it is theorized to have originated in Carthage and to spring from Tanit worship. The reality is the inverse: True Hamsas are created by the Sisterhood of Fatima to both “warn and ward” against Tanit and her cultists.

MANO PANTEA: Also known as the Hand-of-the-All-Goddess. Known to Egyptians as the Two Fingers, with the fingers representing Isis and Osiris; the thumb, their child Horus. Used to invoke a protective spirit of parents over their child, it was later adopted (through Byzantine) by Catholicism as a sign of benediction, derived from a Roman symbol meaning “to speak” and eventually gaining a retconned meaning of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Mano Pantea was used by Tanit cultists to identify themselves to each other. The meaning inverted when agents of Ra began using the symbol to expose Tanit worshipers (by initiating false calls and returns; you give the sign and if the other person responds you know you’ve found a Tanit cultist), eventually eking into common Egyptian culture as a general ward against children Tanit infections.

Tanit cultists still use it as a ritualized greeting for each other. (The fact that a number of organized religions adopted it suggests Tanit cultists infiltrated them at very high levels.)

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Part 1: Revelation List
Part 2: Background & General Research
Part 3: Arrival at Hill House
Part 4: The Hill House Investigation

Node 1: The Black Cats
Node 2: Minnesota 13
Node 3: Alicia Corey’s Boarding House
Node 4: Harriet Tubman’s Asylum for Colored Orphans
Node 5: Fatima’s Shrine
Node 6: Davis Farm
Node 7: Harris Chemical Plant
Node 8: Minneapolis Federal Reserve
Proactive Nodes

Pregenerated Characters

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Patron PDF + Prop Pack

Go to Part 1

Conceptually, I think of most campaigns as being collections of scenarios. The ways in which those scenarios are organized can radically differ, but at least nine times out of ten everything still breaks down into very distinct scenarios. Ptolus: In the Shadow of the Spire is a node-based campaign, with each interconnected node being a separate scenario. In my OD&D hexcrawl each hex is basically a separate scenario. Even in my Castle Blackmoor megadungeon campaign, the castle dungeons and the tunnels surrounding those dungeons are studded with sub-levels that are designed and managed as separate scenarios.

None of these are necessarily distinctions that will be recognized by my players at the table, but they nonetheless exist in how I organize, prep, and think about the material. As a GM, I think you have to be able to compartmentalize the campaign world into these sorts of manageable chunks; in its totality, the campaign world would overwhelm you.

(For example, in my series on Hexcrawls I talk about how hexes are an abstraction for my convenience as a GM, but that they’re a player-unknown structure that’s inherently invisible to the players. This is true in other campaign structures, too: In Dragon Heist, for example, the players can obviously distinguish the difference between the Eyecatcher and the Zhentarim interrogation house, but they probably won’t see the Outpost / Response Team / Lair structure I’ve used to organize my notes.)

Once the game begins and the campaign world is set into motion, however, this can become a lot trickier. You separated the headquarters of the Black Lotus gang from Benny Hu’s mansion from the third eye dealers in Kowloon so that you could manage each of them conveniently, but if all of those separate scenarios are active simultaneously, how do you keep track of them? Each individual ball was easy to get a grip on, but now you’ve taken a dozen balls, tossed them into the air, and you’re trying to keep them all up at the same time.

How do you keep it all straight in your head?

The tool I use is a campaign status document.

Rather than keeping notes attached to a dozen different scenarios, I rope all the active elements of the campaign into this single document. In some ways you can think of this as a change log or diff file: The original scenario notes, by and large, remain untouched. Instead, the campaign status document records how those scenarios have changed. When the PCs re-engage with those scenarios, I can use my original scenario notes in combination with the campaign status document to run the updated version.

But the campaign status document is more than that. It’s a compilation of ALL the active components of the campaign (not just those arising from scenarios which have been ejected from the status quo). It’s the default repository for the evolving canon of the campaign. It’s arguably the single most important document I have at the table during play. It is always kept close to hand, and is ultimately the guide I use to keep the campaign on track.

It’s also kind of my secret weapon as a GM. How do I manage to run these huge, sprawling, complicated campaigns without getting lost? I have a road map. I use the campaign status document as a cheat sheet, offloading the mental load to my downtime so that at the actual table I can stay focused on execution and active play, rather than the logistics of continuity.

The campaign status document, however, is not a one-size-fits-all tool. Every single campaign is unique, and I’ve found that to be reflected in each campaign’s status document. It often takes me three or four sessions with a new campaign before I can really start grokking what the status document for that campaign is going to look like.

With that being said, there are three elements which form the core of my campaign status sheets: The timeline of bangs, the list of background events, and the scenario updates.

TIMELINE OF BANGS

“Bang” is a term of art from the Art of Pacing. Bangs are the explosive moments that you use to start a new scene. Stripping the jargon out of it, the timeline of bangs is basically a list of events that are going to happen to the PCs in the future; the places where the active campaign world is going to actively seek them out instead of waiting to react to them.

For example, here’s the timeline from one of the campaign status documents from my first Eternal Lies campaign:

• Wini receives a letter stating that Monte Jr. is getting sicker.
• Trigger Floating Scene 5: Bomb on Board.
• Waterlogged tome washes up next time they’re on a beach. (Particularly creepy if it’s a lake. Or the pond behind Allaghmore House.)
• Ulysses finds the mango he was given in Bangkok buried in one of his bags. Rotten and forgotten.

For Eternal Lies, my timeline of bangs was usually not tied to specific dates, but rather triggered by certain actions or as the result of reaching particular milestones. This worked well for Eternal Lies because often a globe-hopping character’s ability to receive a letter, for example, was tied more to them arriving at a place where the letter could reach them rather than some specific date.

In my Ptolus campaign, on the other hand, the timeline was tied to specific dates (and often times). Here’s an example from the Session 41 campaign status document:

• 09/22/790: Dominic scheduled to denounce Rehobath. (Backdrop 2)
• 09/22/790 (Evening): Chaos cultists identify Tee as being “Laurea.” They attack the Ghostly Minstrel. (Laurea’s Doom)
• 09/23/790: Tor’s Training.
• 09/23/790: Jevicca’s Briefing on the Pactlords.
• 09/23/790: Receive invitation from House Abanar for a cruise on the Vanished Dream. (Interlude 2)
• 09/24/790: Ranthir’s headband of intellect delivered.

The entries in parentheses indicate where the bang is coming from: Backdrop 2 and Interlude 2 were two specific scenarios. “Laurea’s Doom” referred to a later page of the campaign status document where I had summarized the retaliatory attacks aimed at Tee and the rest of the group as a result of their previous actions.

You can see from these entries that the nature of these bangs can vary wildly: Some are simple appointments the PCs have made. Others are ambushes. But, as I wrote in The Art of Pacing: Prepping Bangs, every single one of them is a bang waiting to happen: When the clock reaches that moment, we’re going to frame a new scene, set an agenda, and bang our way into it.

One other thing to note about these timeline entries, is that they generally aren’t fully-formed bangs. They’re more like bullets waiting to be fired. When the moment arrives, the actual bang will be customized to the circumstances of the PCs. These bangs will often act as interruptions or obstacles to other intentions: The PCs are trying to accomplish one thing, when the active campaign world interjects something else.

When these timeline bangs emerge from a scenario in motion, they’re also scenario hooks. And that’s true even if they’re for scenarios that the PCs have already engaged with.

BACKGROUND EVENTS

Background events are a second timeline of future events running in parallel with the timeline of bangs. These are the events which DON’T directly affect the PCs, but which are nevertheless taking place and moving the campaign world forward.

In my earliest campaign status documents, I didn’t separate these two timelines from each other: Stuff that would be directly experienced by the PCs and background headlines in the local newspapers would be freely mixed together in a single timeline of dates. This worked up to a certain point, but I eventually realized that:

• The two lists are actually used in distinct ways and at distinct times during play, so having them directly juxtaposed didn’t provide any meaningful utility.
• The timeline of bangs is, in many ways, a list of “things I don’t want to forget to have happen.” The background events, on the other hand, are factoids that the PCs usually have to seek out. Mixing them together on the same list sometimes resulted in the essential bangs getting lost amidst the reactive background events, thus degrading the utility of the list.

So although they’re superficially similar (insofar as both are a list of ongoing events that are likely to happen as the campaign world moves forward through time), they actually serve distinct purposes and work better when split apart.

For my Blades in the Dark campaign, I referred to this section of the sheet as “Word on the Street.” In the Ptolus campaign, it was “Newssheets” (i.e., what you might read about in the local papers) and would also include what was being publicly reported about the PCs. Here’s a sample from the Session 41 campaign status:

• 09/22/790: Sir Tor and his companions have rescued three of the most recently kidnapped children and freed more than a dozen slaves. Rehobath is proud of what the Church’s knights are accomplishing for the common citizens of Ptolus. “Let none doubt that the Gods will be true to those who keep faith with the True Church of Ptolus!”
• 09/23/790: What a Whopper! Stranded Jellyfish as Big as a House!
• 09/23/790: A priest was killed on the Columned Row in Oldtown. His head was ripped open, like the woman who was killed the night before on Flamemoth Way. (Thought Stalker)
• 09/24/790: It turns out that children have been disappearing from the Warrens for weeks, but no one has been reporting on it.
• 09/24/790: Three more people were killed in the middle of the night on the Columned Row. Their heads were ripped open. The murders are now referred to as the work of the “Columned Row Killer.” (Thought Stalker)

DEDICATED PAGES: Once again, the parenthetical reference to the “Thought Stalker” points to a dedicated page found later in the campaign status document that details the entire Thought Stalker situation (including its stat block). Dedicated pages serve as a singular reference point for ongoing threads in the campaign and make it easier to revise these sequences if the PCs intervene and cause them to take a different direction (which they absolutely will), allowing you to see all of the sequence’s events at once instead of digging through the larger timelines where they’ve been interwoven with other sequences.

Previous events can also remain archived on these dedicated pages, allowing you to reference them for context if you need to without clogging up the primary reference timelines.

BACKDROP FILES: As the complexity of the evolving world grew in my Ptolus campaign, I eventually expanded on the concept of the dedicated pages with separate Backdrop files: For example, Backdrop 2: Novarch in Exile is a very lengthy, sequential breakdown of the evolving religious conflict in the city. Backdrop 4: Cult Activities, on the other hand, lays out ten separate sequences of cult activity taking place in the city and then weaves them together to form a comprehensive timeline of cult activities.

These separate Backdrop files also allow me to offload some of this prep work so that the campaign status document can remain slimmer and more easily referenced during play. As time passes, I can periodically seed the campaign status document with material from the Backdrop files. For example, my current version of the Ptolus campaign status document reads:

NEWSSHEETS (Backdrops updated thru 10/27)

Which is a reminder to myself that, when we get close to the 27^th of Nocturdei in the campaign, I should go through my Backdrop files, pull out another 5-10 days of material from those timelines, and add it to the campaign status document.

DESIGNING BACKGROUND EVENTS: You want to make sure to include stuff evolving out of what the PCs have done AND foreshadow elements that you know are coming in future scenarios. You also want to spice the background events with entries that AREN’T directly related to the PCs’ activities or the scenarios of the campaign.

That can be purely random local color like the giant jellyfish. But it can also be whole “storylines” of unrelated events happening in the background of your campaign world, adding depth and verisimilitude to the world the PCs are living in.

(And you never know when those purely background elements may suddenly stop being background elements: The Novarch in Exile stuff in Ptolus, for example, was originally meant to just be a juicy story of local intrigue and conflict. But then two of the PCs independently pursued courses of action that thrust the whole group right into the middle of the religious schism and completely changed the course of the campaign. Great stuff.)

DIGGING IN: I also use a system of top-line summaries as bullet points combined with sub-bullets for additional details that the PCs can find out if they decide to dig deeper into a particular topic. (For example, the top-line might mention that a woman was found murdered in the Guildsman District. But the PCs will only discover that her body was covered in rat bites if they follow up on the story they read in the newssheets.) This is a hierarchy of reference, just like those described in the Art of the Key.

I use this technique sparingly. (It’s often just as easy to improvise the details on those occasions when the PCs decide to dig into a background event, and overthinking them isn’t smart prep.) But in specific circumstances, I sometimes find it useful, particularly if it’s additional information that has already been established as canon elsewhere in my notes.

SCENARIO UPDATES

The final core function of the campaign status document is the actual change logs for each individual scenario.

What you generally want to avoid doing is rewriting the entire scenario. There may be times when that is, in fact, necessary, but the entire goal of the campaign status document is basically to avoid doing that as often as possible. What you want is a set of tightly organized lists of updates/differences that you can combine with your original scenario notes on-the-fly.

I’m going to use location-based scenarios for my examples here, but these same basic principles can be used for any scenario type.

ADVERSARY ROSTERS: If you’re designing your scenarios with adversary rosters (which you should be doing anyway), they’ll help to streamline this process. During actual play you’ll have printed off a copy of the original adversary roster, and you’re likely annotating that adversary roster as you go. (The PCs killed these bad guys, etc.) When the session is over, simply copy-paste the adversary roster into your campaign status document and update it to reflect your annotations.

Adversary rosters also make it easy to handle situations like, “The bad guys have reorganized their defenses, or, “They’ve brought in reinforcements.” Modifying the roster is quick and easy.

UPDATED ROOM KEYS: As events evolve in a scenario, it’s likely that physical changes will be wrought in the complex. Some of these changes will be inflicted by the PCs themselves; others may be done by the NPCs. Once again your approach should be to keep your notes tight and confined to the changes that need to be made to the original key entries. Another example from my Ptolus campaign status sheet:

• Area 7: Emptied.
• Area 12: Alarm spell on throne. Door is arcane locked.
• Area 14: Emptied.
• Area 15: Emptied.
• Area 18: Huge pools of blood, streaked back all the way to the inner chamber (where it looks like the bodies were dragged down the wall to Level 3).
• Area 20: Frozen ash (left from immolated body).
• Area 23: 3 dead (partially eaten) Commissar’s Men. (These bodies remain unlooted.)

Often these changes are the result of things that happened during actual play. You don’t need to go into exhaustive detail; just provide a reminder to jog your memory.

TIMELINE OF CONTINUED EVENTS: If the disrupted scenario is in a highly agitated state, but you’re not sure exactly when the PCs will re-engage with that scenario, you may want to develop a timeline of how events develop within that scenario. I discuss this process at length in Don’t Prep Plots: Prepping Scenario Timelines.

The short version is basically indicating that at such-and-such a time the adversary roster and/or room key will be updated in this way. A simple example is when the bad guys have summoned reinforcements, but they won’t arrive for a little while and it’s possible the PCs will come back for a second assault before they get there. So you create an adversary roster without the reinforcements, and then use the timeline to indicate when they should be added to the adversary roster. If the PCs don’t come back, then the next time you’re updating your campaign status document, you can add the reinforcements and remove the timeline entry.

As you’re doing these timelines, an important skill to cultivate is identifying how far in advance you need to anticipate trajectories. Basically, this boils down to judgment call: How long is it before the PCs are likely to interact with this scenario again? Prepping a timeline for the next three weeks is a waste of time if the PCs are likely to be coming back within 48-72 hours. If the PCs are coming back to the scenario at the beginning of the next session, then you probably don’t need a timeline of future updates at all.

On the other hand, you don’t want to necessarily undershoot: Prepping only the next 6 hours of events and then being left to scramble when the PCs don’t come back for three days (but still arrive in the middle of next session) isn’t ideal, either.

CONTINUITY OF PAST EVENTS: In some cases I will leave prior entries in the timeline after I’ve executed the necessary change and only mark them with strikethrough text. Such entries can be useful as continuity notes, helping you to accurately describe how the scenario has altered over time without necessarily doing a fully updated room key for every small difference. For example, if the NPCs have dragged the temporal generator from Area 8 to Area 19, you don’t necessarily need to add an entry describing the drag tracks to every room in between; you just need to know the dragging occurred.

DON’T FEAR THE ENDING: As you begin embracing this “world in motion” concept and begin keeping multiple scenarios active simultaneously through your campaign status document, you may actually find yourself overcompensating in the opposite direction so that nothing is ever actually allowed to finish.

If the PCs have authoritatively completed a scenario (killing all the cultists in the Temple of the Ebon Hand, for example), scratch out that scenario and remove it from your campaign status document. You might still come back to that cult or that location and reincorporate those elements later, but let the moment of conclusion land first and give those elements some breathing room while giving other aspects of the campaign room to grow.

In other cases, you may discover that aspects of the campaign that weren’t definitively concluded are instead simply no longer in focus: The PCs didn’t wipe out all the goblins in Hex A9, but they don’t seem interested in going back there, either. It may make sense to “archive” that material: Advance that scenario to a new status quo, create an updated copy of your original scenario notes reflecting that status quo, and file it with the other scenarios that aren’t being actively engaged.

Your campaign status document will be most useful if you keep it short, focused, and easily referenced.

ADDING MORE TOOLS

Beyond these three core elements, my campaign status documents frequently feature other toolkits that facilitate running the campaign (and particularly running the active, evolving aspects of the campaign). As I mentioned above, every campaign status document is a special snowflake that’s customized for the needs of that specific campaign, and you’ll find that tools which were absolutely essential for one campaign are worthless for another (and vice versa).

In the future, I am likely to add addendums to this series discussing some of the tools I’ve developed for specific campaigns over the years.

MAINTAINING YOUR STATUS DOCUMENT

I used to just maintain a single file on my computer called “Campaign Status” and I would simply overwrite the information in that file between sessions as it got updated. What I quickly realized, however, is that I would sometimes make mistakes about what information I no longer needed to reference, and would regret having deleted the older information. So now I do a couple of things.

First, when it’s time to update the campaign status document I save it as a new copy of the file (“Campaign Status – Session 12”) and drop the previous version into an archival directory.

Second, I file the printed copy of the old campaign status document into a cheap accordion folder. (The Ptolus folder with 100+ campaign status documents is bulging.) I keep this nearby while actually running the game: I rarely need to reference the older documents, but if I do then I have them right there.

Over time you’ll get more skilled with figuring out what should and should not be removed from the campaign status document. But you just never know when the players are going to suddenly want to engage with minutia from 30 sessions ago.

All of this emphasizes the fact that the campaign status document is, above all, a living document. One which reflects not only where your campaign is, but where it’s been and where it’s going.

CAMPAIGN STATUS MODULES
Dungeon Status
Restocking Checklists
Event Fallout
Correspondence
Trackers
Continuity Notes
Supporting Cast

ADDITIONAL READING
Smart Prep: The Exposition Drip

Back in 2015, I shared Game Structure: Party Planning. This is an incredibly flexible scenario structure that GMs can use to design and run large, dynamic social events without being overwhelmed by their complexity.

In getting ready to run one of these social events — whether it’s a bounty hunter trade conference, a political fundraiser, the Ilvermorny debutante ball, or a pleasure cruise to the center of a Hollow Earth on a flying ship — a GM can certainly pour a lot of prep into them. And the scenario structure is a powerful one which will reward that prep.

But I also included a quick ‘n dirty version of the structure that GMs can use with about 5 minutes of prep when they don’t have a lot of time to pour into it: If a big social soirée crops up in the middle of a session, you can call for a quick break and rapidly get your social event set up.

That’s the situation I found myself in while running Dragon Heist last weekend, and I thought it might be illuminating to walk through how it played out at the table.

(This post will contain copious spoilers for Dragon Heist.  I will do my best to make it comprehensible to those not familiar with the campaign, but check out the Alexandrian Remix if you’re feeling lost. Part 1 of the Remix alone should give you enough context to fully grok the proceedings.)

PROLOGUE TO THE OMEN COMING ON

Before we dive in, let’s take a moment to briefly establish the given circumstances of the situation.

The PCs — Kittisoth, Pashar, Kora, Edana, and Theren — had aggressively pursued their investigations into the nimblewrights which were being sold throughout Waterdeep. As such, they had (a) identified Captain Zord, the leader of a small fleet of carnival vessels based out of Luskan, as the person selling them and (b) discovered that Zord, or the Luskans he was working for, had implanted clairvoyant crystals into the nimblewrights and were using them to spy on various noble families and organizations throughout the city. They’d also made contact with a young dragon, Zellifarn, who had also been spying on Captain Zord, and could tell them that the crystal ball the clairvoyant crystals were bound to was located in a submersible underneath Zord’s flagship.

The group had also recently become invested as agents of the Harpers, and therefore felt honor bound to shut down Zord’s operation. As such, they began planning a heist to seize the crystal ball from Zord.

Largely by chance, the night they chose for their operation was Ches 25th. As noted here, this is also the night of the Shipwrights’ Ball, an event that was once a guild celebration, but which has now turned into one of the biggest social events of the Fleetswake festival season.

This is important because, elsewhere in the campaign, Kittisoth had been relentlessly flirting with Renaer Neverember (the young noble that the PCs had saved several weeks earlier). And I had decided that Renaer was going to ask Kittisoth to attend the Shipwrights’ Ball with him.

This was a great complication for the planning of their heist, so I fully embraced it.

All of which leads us up to the current situation:

• Theren and Edana, using a stockpile of invisibility and waterbreathing potions that the group had used all their resources to acquire, would infiltrate Captain Zord’s ship and steal the crystal ball.
• Pashar and Kora would provide what support they could from the shore (and be ready to step in if the shit hit the fan).
• Kittisoth would simultaneously go on a date with Renaer to the Shipwrights’ Ball.

Only problem? At least in part because I was running the campaign in big, marathon sessions, all of this had developed over the course of a single session. I didn’t have the Shipwrights’ Ball fully prepped, and I knew that — particularly with it playing out simultaneously with the Eyecatcher heist — I needed a strong structure for everything to play out to best effect.

So that’s when I called a 10 minute break, grabbed a sheet of paper, and quickly sketched out the Shipwrights’ Ball.

SET UP

The quick ‘n dirty version of party planning looks like this:

• Make a list of 3-5 places people can congregate
• Make a list of 10 characters
• Make a list of 5 events
• Make a list of 5 topics of conversation

And I basically ran straight down this list.

LOCATIONS: The Shipwrights’ Ball takes place at Shipwrights’ House. I took a few minutes to dig through the existing lore for the Shipwrights’ House hoping there would be some material to pilfer, but there wasn’t much. The House had been briefly described, a century earlier, in the City of Splendors boxed set as:

D19 Guild Hall: Shipwright’s House
2-story Class B building
HQ: Order of Master Shipwrights

As a Class B building, it’s a “larger, more successful and elaborate building,” and most likely freestanding. Briefly looking into the Order of Master Shipwrights, I discovered that in the 14th century they had been rivals with the Master Mariners’ Guild. I decided that, at some point in the last century, the Master Mariners’ Guild had been wiped out, and the Order of Master Shipwrights had grown rich indeed with a near-monopoly of shipbuilding in Waterdeep.

I stuck some Post-It flags to mark the appropriate pages in case I needed to reference this scant reference material and moved on.

On my single prep sheet, I quickly sketched out a “map” that basically looked like this:

Except, of course, sketched in pencil and with my sloppy handwriting scrawled across it.

I knew that the Bigass Staircase went down to Dock Street near Asteril’s Way (based on the 2nd Edition and 3rd Edition maps), which it turned out was surprisingly near to where I had placed the Eyecatcher (Zord’s flagship) in the previous session.

The Ballroom and Dinner Wing kind of speak for themselves. (The latter were a “wing” because I knew there would be lots of small, private dining areas and bars jutting off from the main dining hall, just in case that would be useful.) Galleon Hall was so called because it had about a half-dozen full-sized ships inside it as installation pieces. (You know that scene in Moana with all the ships in the cave? That was my visual touchstone. Except in a giant room of marble-encrusted wealth instead of a cave.) Private Rooms off to one side of the ballroom because it would give me smaller spaces for conversations to move into as necessary. And the Garden Terraces were 4-5 huge terraces jutting off the back of the building with winding paths leading through them; bioluminiscent plants would give the terraces a “Pandora from Avatar” kind of feel, and the whole complex would be hemmed in from the rest of the city by a “wall” of huge, dark, old-growth pine trees.

I didn’t write any of that down: Too time-consuming. A quick sketch-map for reference and the rough images that had been conjured up in my head were all that I needed. I had the 3-5 locations.

CHARACTERS: As I mentioned in Party Planning, “If the social event is growing organically out of game play, then you’ve probably already got the NPCs…” And that was definitely true here. Basically I just flipped through Dragon Heist and wrote down this list:

• Rubino Caswell – Guildmaster
• Renaer
• Laeral (207)
• Vajra (216)
• Jalester Silvermane (20)
• Obaya Uday (20)
• Cassalanters
• Mirt (211)
• Remalia Haventree (215)

The numbers in parentheses were page references to their write-ups. Several of these characters had already appeared in the campaign (Renaer, Jalester, Mirt) and several others I had already planned on introducing in the near future (Vajra, the Cassalanters). The only new character was the guildmaster.

As the party progressed, I would simply place a check mark next to each name as Kittisoth had an interaction with them. (It’s not that she wouldn’t be able to continue having additional interactions with them, but this helped me keep an eye on which characters I hadn’t used yet so that I could make sure that everyone got brought “onstage” at some point during the evening.)

EVENTS: At this point in the campaign, I knew that the Cassalanters needed to make contact with the PCs and invite them to a meeting at their villa. I decided this was as good a time as any for that to happen, and I quickly included that in a list that largely consisted of the Ball’s social agenda:

• Grand Promenade
• Rubino’s Speech
• Cassalanter’s Approach
• Zero-G Dancing (Vajra & Laeral)
• Dinner

I’d indicated Vajra & Laeral in parentheses because I had an image of those characters being introduced to Kittisoth while she was dancing with Renaer. (The zero-g dancing is exactly what it sounded like: A cool magical effect where everyone could literally dance their partners off their feet.) As it turned out, this is it NOT how Kittisoth ended up meeting Vajra the Blackstaff and Laeral the Open Lord of Waterdeep.

Now, honest to god, while I was planning all of this, I completely forgot that Captain Zord’s carnival was scheduled to perform a parade from their ships to the Shipwrights’ Ball! It was only after returning to the table and beginning to review my notes for the heist portion of the evening that I realized that the two events were going to feature this dramatic and unexpected crossover event.

This is one of those incredible moments of serendipity that can only really happen when you have a truly robust scenario prepared and you’re actively playing it hard for all its worth. You keep setting things in motion, and the billiard balls inevitably start colliding in amazing patterns that you never anticipated and had no way of planning.

In any case, I reached back over to my list and added “Sea Maidens Faire Parade” as the first entry.

TOPICS OF CONVERSATION: “If the social event is growing organically out of game play, then you’ve probably already got the NPCs and the topics of conversation…” This was also basically true. I quickly jotted down:

• Embezzlement [meaning Lord Dagult’s embezzlement of 500,000 dragons]
• Explosion [meaning the fireball that the PCs were investigating]
• Black Viper robberies [this had not yet come up in the campaign, but was part of my prep]

This wasn’t quite enough, though. You really want to have a range of topics that you can cycle through to keep a party alive. Also, it would be more interesting to have more topics that the PCs weren’t already aware of. AND it would be good to have some topics that weren’t directly related to the plot of the campaign. So I added two more kind of out of left field:

• Misra Tesper eloped to Daggerford (with a half-orc) [this whole thing, including Misra Tesper, was made up out of whole cloth; I pulled her last name from a list of Waterdeep noble families and I pulled her first name from the list of fantasy names that I keep on hand as a GM tool]
• Black Gold in Moonshae (extrusion of the Feydark) [meaning that a new Black Gold rush had begun in the Moonshae Isles; I’d previously pulled this really obscure reference to MOON1-3: Black Gold, a 4th Edition Living Forgotten Realms scenario, as an explanation for why a house was abandoned in Part 2: Gralhund Villa, and here I was simply flipping through the binder containing my prep notes for inspiration, saw the reference and decided to foreshadow the later development if it ever came up… which it probably wouldn’t, but it doesn’t really matter]

And that was it. I now had everything I needed to run the Shipwrights’ Ball on a single sheet of paper. As I mentioned, the whole thing took me less than 10 minutes. In fact, I’ve spent far more time explaining the whole process here than I did actually jotting down my lists at the time.

Next: Run-Time

Go to Part 1

We’ve looked at the common mistakes that are made when using plotted/railroaded approaches. Now let’s look at the flip-side of the coin and look at the low-value prep pitfalls people can fall into when attempting to be open and flexible in their design.

Here’s a common one: You’ve prepped a bunch of elements for your sandbox campaign and now you believe that you need to keep all of those elements active and moving around.

For example, when I ran my OD&D sandbox I prepped a hexcrawl with 256 keyed hexes. Imagine running that hexcrawl and, between every session, trying to touch every single one of those hexes and saying, “Okay, here’s what’s happening in this hex right now. Here’s how the situation in this hex has evolved since the last session.”

Not only does this sound exhausting, but basically all of that prep is wasted. The players haven’t seen the previous situation in the vast majority of those hexes, and they likely won’t see the new situation you’re creating, either. So the players aren’t actually seeing any of this activity. You’re creating a ton of content of which your players have no awareness; no experience.

I’ve spoken to a large number of GMs who are intimidated at the idea of running a sandbox campaign specifically because this kind of prep work – this monumental task of keeping an entire fictional world “in motion” – is incredibly daunting to them. The reality, of course, is that this isn’t necessary. This low-value prep can be avoided through status quo design.

The truth is that status quo is generally the way the real world works: Imagine going to a diner. If you go there today, what do you see? You see some waitresses. They take your order. They deliver the food. If you went tomorrow instead of today, what would be different? Probably not a lot. Probably nothing. If you went next month would it be different? Probably not. Maybe the waitresses would be different; or the owner might have tweaked the menu a bit. But if you’d never been to that diner before, these changes would not really affect your experience.

Now, let’s say that you went to the diner today and fired a rocket launcher through the window. Then you go back tomorrow. Would the diner be different?

Yes.

And that’s basically the secret of status quo prep: You prep a chunk of the game world in a given state and then you don’t bother touching it again until the players’ actions interact with that state. But as soon as the players do agitate or change that status quo, that chunk of the game world becomes active.

It’s kind of an inverted quantum state: Until you observe a subatomic particle it’s impossible to know its current state. With status quo prep, on the other hand, you know precisely what the state of something is until you look at it.

THE ACTIVE QUO: It should be noted that status quo doesn’t mean “static.” It also doesn’t mean “boring.” The status quo of a pirate cove, for example, isn’t, “The pirates are all sitting around doing nothing.” The status quo of a pirate cove is a bunch of pirate ships constantly sailing out to pillage the high seas.

In fact, I’d argue that the best status quo design is usually more like a coiled spring: The lightest interaction from the PCs will cause an explosion of activity.

NON-LOCAL EFFECTS: And the actions that force a location (or organization or NPC) into “motion” doesn’t necessarily have to be direct. For example, what if the PCs unleash a horrible plague that kills goblins? They don’t actually need to visit the dungeon full of goblins on the other side of the map in order for those goblins to be affected by the plague and the status quo of that dungeon to be changed.

These non-local effects don’t require cataclysmic scenarios, either. A single NPC being knocked loose from another location can act as a free radical, banging around the campaign world and putting any number of other elements into motion. For example, when the Necromancer escapes from the PCs’ raid of Bleached Bone Gulley, maybe they end up slaying the goblin chief and enslaving the tribe.

RETURN TO THE STATUS QUO: With that being said, in the absence of continued PC interaction, elements of the campaign world will generally trend back towards a status quo again. (Note that I said a status quo; it’s usually not likely that things will go back to the same status quo. PCs tend to be more disruptive than that.)

For example, the PCs raid a terrorist compound, wreak a lot of havoc, and kill a couple of the cult’s leaders before being forced to retreat. Over the next week the cult calls in reinforcements from some of their other cells to guard against further incursions until they can finish packing up and moving their operations to a new location.

If the PCs don’t re-engage with the terrorists within a couple weeks of the original raid, then the new status quo features cyborg guards (the other cells were up to some wacky stuff), an abandoned terrorist compound, and a new operational center set up in the sub-basement of a parking garage.

DANGERS OF THE STATUS QUO: One danger of status quo design is that you can end up inadvertently stumbling into a sandbox setting where you’re not actively tracking the activity of anything in the game world and, as a result, there’s no activity for the PCs to observe, which translates into a lack of scenario hooks.

This is a problem I discuss at length in Juggling Scenario Hooks in the Sandbox, but basically the solution is just, “Make sure you have scenario hooks. And lots of them.” (Once the PCs are in motion, of course, this will usually take care of itself.)

Robust, default structures for delivering scenario hooks – like random encounters, rumor tables, or the default action of the hexcrawl structure itself – are one way of doing this. Another is to look around your setting and remember that status quo doesn’t mean nothing is happening: The pirate cove is raiding local shipping. The terrorists are blowing things up. The goblins are fighting werewolves in the forest. Some jackass is shooting rockets into local diners.

Those are all obvious sources for endless scenario hooks. And in status quo design, you can really think of a scenario hook as being a hook: A thing which jerks the PCs into motion towards an object. And once the PCs collide with that object, the ripples they create will spread fast and far.

At that point, the challenge won’t be putting the campaign into motion. It will be keeping on top of it.

Go to Part 4: Campaign Status Documents