it wasn’t unearthed before now. If part of an adventure’s tension comes from the PCs slowly running out of food in the dead of winter, it obviously should not be set so close to civilization that the PCs can just dash back and buy more rations. (Unless, of course, the entire region is in the grip of famine, which is a whole different sort of alteration to the setting, but no less appropriate.) See Chapter 3: A Horror Campaign for more on the use of setting in a horror story. It’s practically impossible to have a horror adventure without some element of story involved. It doesn’t matter how terrible a villain might hypothetically be if she doesn’t do anything; it doesn’t matter how much a setting contributes to the mood if the PCs have no reason to be there. Some DMs prefer not to create overarching stories, instead simply presenting the PCs with the environment and allowing them to do as they will. This is certainly a viable style of gaming, but it’s perhaps less appropriate to horror games, simply because the what and why of horror are just as important as the who, how, and where. Even DMs who normally run freeform games should strongly consider developing a general storyline for their horror adventures, even if it’s only a bit more in-depth than what they’re accustomed to. At the same time, it’s very easy—especially in a horror game—for the DM to go too far, and become too rigid with his plot. Horror might be at least partly about fear and helplessness, but that does not mean that your players should be helpless to steer the game. Player choice must be as viable and important here as it is in any other game; if the DM designs a story so rigidly that the PCs can do nothing but follow from point A to B to C, without changing anything with their decisions, they might as well be reading a book or watching television. It’s a balancing act between the two extremes, and it takes practice and a working knowledge of a particular group’s preferences to get it exactly right. The best way to design a plot in a horror adventure (and many other types of adventure, for that matter) is for the DM to know the objectives and methods of the villains and NPCs fairly well, set them in motion, and determine how they will turn out if the PCs do not interfere. If he has a solid grasp on these factors, then it’s a simple matter to extrapolate what happens next after the presence of the PCs has thrown the original scheme to hell and gone. For instance, the DM has determined that a vampire lord seeks to kill a particular member of a small city’s populace, because prophecy claims this person’s daughter will eventually destroy the undead noble. He is making use of the city’s thieves guild to fi nd her, masquerading as a mortal who seeks her as part of a kidnapping scheme, whose profits he will share with the guild. If they are not stopped by outside factors (namely, the PCs), they will eventually succeed in locating her and turn her over to the vampire, who will doubtless slay her immediately. With this information, the DM is equipped to decide what happens after the PCs interfere. If they defeat or slay members of the guild, the organization will come after them, both to complete their original assignment
CHAPTER 2
PLOT AND STORY
DREAD ADVENTURES
advantage in familiar terrain: They know all the good hiding places and have easy access to aid and information. But by the same token, they have plenty of loved ones, friends, and allies who are suddenly in danger. They also have more to lose—they cannot simply turn tail and run if the going gets too tough. This fact can make the horror more immediate than an adventure that occurs in an exotic setting, because the game itself feels more real. The more clearly a player can picture the environment, the harder the horror hits home. And in most cases, it’s easier to envision a village or city than some foreign or even alien landscape. It’s important for a DM not to overuse the concept of exotic settings for horror adventures. If she only has one such adventure in an otherwise traditional campaign, an alien or foreign setting is just fine. If she intends to include multiple horror sessions scattered throughout the campaign, most of them should probably take place in more mundane settings, with the exotic environments used only to add spice. Otherwise, the players come to expect and prepare for horrific plots if they always find themselves in odd locations before one occurs, whereas fear is more potent when the players have no time to prepare for it. Any horror the DM concocts will have less impact if the players think of it as something that only happens to them outside the normal confi nes of the campaign. Enough horror occurs in the real world; surely any campaign has villains and monsters that can wreak their terror in even the most pristine and innocent regions of the setting. Mix and Match Environmental Elements: Chapter 1 offers suggestions on using the environment to create a sense of impending horror, with supply shortages, increasing weather hazards, and the like. Consider using a combination of these elements when running a horror adventure. A sense of urgency can develop when a series of environmental circumstances lead into or feed off one another. For instance, geographical isolation can be accompanied by extreme weather, which can lead to growing shortages of food and fuel. Alternatively, the PCs might be stalked by a foe they are just barely strong enough to fend off. Unfortunately, their food and water grow scarce as they try to find their way back to civilization. Each time they are attacked, they are just a bit hungrier, a bit more tired (and thus a bit weaker), and a little lower on expendable magic than the previous time. The precarious balance is slowly tilted out of their favor; if they cannot find some way to rest, replenish their supplies, or escape their pursuer(s), they will soon be unable to ward off their enemy at all. How Do the Plot and the Adversaries Mesh with the Environment? It can seem obvious to experienced DMs, but it’s still worth pointing out: The setting must enhance, or at least not interfere with, the plot of the adventure. If a story revolves around figuring out which member of a community is secretly a wererat who has been killing local leaders, the community must be large enough to present a reasonable range of suspects. If an adventure involves the discovery of a new trap-fi lled tomb, haunted by the spirits of an ancient race who died there ten thousand years ago, it most likely should be pretty distant from the nearest major community, or else someone’s going to wonder why
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