Show me the setting (part two)
Hello again, honored readers. Assuming, of course, that someone is actually reading this other than myself and the accidental visitor who actually intended to click on “that other blog” about Llama bondage or whatever the hell it was you actually wanted to read about! It is October 17th, 2010.
Sorry for the long delay. Starting my new job sort of interfered with my witless rambling about RPG’s.
I know. It’s really inconsiderate of them, but… what can you do? :) At least they’re paying me well.
Okay, in our last episode, we were creating a new setting out of whole cloth. Because chiffon wrinkles too easily, we were instead focusing on one of the “dominant” cultures for the setting genesis. Which, I have yet to name, but I’ll be getting to that shortly.
This is called a “top-down” worldbuilding technique. Rather than starting out at “random village #24” and adding on in a (more-or-less) holistic fashion in accordance with the flow of the ongoing narrative of the game being played, we are building the “big picture” of the setting first before “drilling down” to the fine details. Top-down or bottom-up, worldbuilding is a personal preference.
Now, before we move on, I think we should name our happy little culture, don’t you? I like using random generators, since it comes up with all sorts of wacky crap I’d never consider. My personal preference for names is the “Everchanging Book Of Names,” known as “EBON” for short. Just google it, it’ll come up if anyone wants.
I’ll try something simple first. I have an EBON “chapter” for Scottish names. Clicking on the ‘Generate 5’ option, I get the following: Sanet, Hud, Ricolm, Jane, Janet.
Damnit, Janet, I don’t love you! (Yeah, I went Rocky Horror there just for a bad joke). These don’t fit my ‘image’ of this culture. I want something a bit more exotic, but still pronounceable by humans! Let’s try Celtic, shall we? I switch chapters to generic “Celtic” names and get the following: Devoni, Cevonus, Aurii, Casotomii, Tuci.
Hmm, for “Celtic” names, isn’t it interesting they all have the Roman habit of ending with the letter “i” or “ii” to indicate tribal or group affiliation? For example, “Devoni” would imply (If I recall my Latin correctly) “the people of Devon.” But, it’s all good, because I like these names. In fact, I’ll probably use several of them.
Men, women, and miscellaneous other-gendered individuals of the reading public, allow me to introduce you to our newest RPG culture: The D’evoni, citizens of D’evon, the City-That-Floats!
Okay, I modified it a bit. It gives it character without being too obnoxious. J
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Now, in the last blog post, it was determined the D’evoni were once merpeople, who were cursed to become air-breathing Humans, with the worst of the worst becoming Ogres. The city of D’evon, ripped from it’s once-stable home on the floor of the Mother-Ocean, now floats on her silvery surface due to exotic and dangerous D’evonian magic. Of course, you probably worked that out on your own, since it’s known as “the City-That-Floats.” Names like that doesn’t exactly suggest chinchilla breeding is an important and dominant factor in D’evonian society, now does it?
Let’s consider the logistics of a large city floating on the surface of a salt-water ocean for a minute. This city would make the odiferous olfactory insult that is Venice, Italy seem positively parched! Sewage, always a problem for a large city, would have a place to go (IE: into the ocean), but that much raw sewage wouldn’t just vanish instantly. The wide water ways of D’evon, the City-That-Floats would not be particularly pleasant to smell. Logically, the ‘vermin’ of the city would be crabs and other crustaceans, which would help ‘recycle’ some of the shit (literally) the city generates. Probably assisted by other ‘bottom-feeder’ fish. However, this would still result in large algae blooms, possibly with a seasonal ‘red-tide.’ This means the waters around the city would be oxygen-poor, most likely with periodic (if large) “fish kills” due to the algae blooms in the water.
So, the City-That-Floats is also the city-incapable-of-feeding-itself-using-strictly-local-resources. To say nothing of the problem of potable water sources in the ocean!
But, I have a plan! (surprisingly enough, it does not involve twice as much gunpowder as plan “A”)
I’ll incorporate this little region we’re flushing out here into the larger context of my Fourteen Worlds of Ta’ar setting. Yes, I’m actually going to give details about it now, if minimally. I’ll decide which of the Fourteen different planets (hence the name) our setting is on at a later date. But, for now, I’ve decided upon the following:
- The region is an inland sea, sheltered by a single continent all around. Although it is an Ocean in every sense of the word, most of it isn’t very deep. Like the continental shelf deep, at most.
- The “mainland” surrounding this inland sea (the Mother-Ocean, which is also the title or epithet of the primary Deity of this particular geographic feature), although lush and fertile, has become uninhabitable for the intelligent races like Humans and all the other races (like Dwarves, Elves, and crap like that) within recorded history, but beyond living memory.
- This “setting” is, for this reason, geographically isolated from the rest of the Fourteen Worlds of Ta’ar, and can be used as a ‘stand-alone’ setting for this reason, even though it is part of the larger continuity of the Fourteen Worlds.
The “Game” would be set on the communities living on the Mother-Ocean or its various islands. I’ll call this splatbook/worldbook “Men and Monsters of the Mother-Ocean” I’ll have this all converted into a PDF and available on some website or another eventually.
Obviously, people living on/near the ocean will need some source of fresh water, something to eat, and resources. I prefer a ‘low-magic’ setting, so any idea which includes “magically converting massive amounts of salt water to fresh water” will not be considered. It might be possible in small quantities, but a thoroughly non-magical means would be preferred. So, I’ll cheat and say the inhabitants of the Mother-Ocean have domesticated some form of aquatic plant that stores fresh water inside of it somehow, perhaps in some form of body cavity or the like.
Why do this? Because I like the idea. It’s consistent with the setting so far, qualifies as a ‘low-magic‘ but still fantasy solution, and I “see” a setting where the ‘farmers’ and ‘common laborers’ are actually on small boats, fishing and ‘farming’ the water-pod-plants or whatever we‘ll call them. And, since drinkable water would be a valuable commodity in this salt-water ocean setting, it isn’t a great stretch to imagine plot hooks involving “water raiders” in a world where a cup of water is more valuable than silver!
It’s getting late, and I’ve got to get ready for work on Monday, so I’ll flesh out more details next time. But, just for fun, here's a picture of the Mother-Ocean: