I often write boxed text for new in-game events and locations. I find it easier to think through the sights, smells, and other sensations during GM prep and write them out, rather than improv’ing when I’m trying to write a game. Here’s one such moment.
You are travelers in the Windwood Mountains, taking refuge in the small town of Duskfall on a warm spring night. The wind is crisp. Fireflies dance in the woods. All seems to be at peace here.
Duskfall is deep in an evergreen forest along one of the mountain roads that runs from the snowy Tolsak Peaks to the north–a land of dark, empty mines as the land has been stripped of its resources–to the Plains of Dalmora in the south, the breadbasket of the Kingdom.
Duskfall is a colorful place. Just up the road, the Mettler brothers operate a logging camp, the main industry in the area. A couple of miles to the southwest, down a series of rocky switchbacks, is the Sylvan Gorge, a druid grove where the veil between worlds is said to be thin. And occasionally stories from the distant Tolsaks filter down–tales of hardy miners still trying to eke out a living searching for coal and aetherstone, in vast, deep abandoned mines that some say are haunted.
Tonight, you are taking some rest in the Piney Woods Inn, the town’s only tavern. It is full of Duskfall’s strange and colorful local characters.
Stewart Mettler, after a falling out with his brother Lothan, has resolved to continue operating the logging camp with a new partner, Soran, a grizzled middle-aged transplant from up in the Tolsaks. They sit at a table in the corner over a pile of notes and maps, discussing how to feed their workers. On the heels of this year’s particularly harsh winter, hunters, foragers, and farmers just don’t have the stocks they usually do.
Mother Seda, the old elven wise woman, knits by the fire, nursing a glass of blackberry wine and making conversation with the locals, talking about local legends. Every now and again you note a look of concern on her face.
Galske, a tiefling druid who has come to visit the Sylvan Gorge, sits at the bar making conversation with the locals, getting stories about the forest surrounding the town. His hound has curled up by the fireplace.
What are you doing as you enter the common room?
After a little while, Galske’s hound perks up and begins pacing around his master. A tension fills the inn, something strange, everyone acting a bit nervous. You feel the frisson on your skin just before it happens–a shriek echoes through the woods from somewhere out in the night.