It’s May! Know what that means? It means it’s time to wrap this Simple Homebrew Campaign s$&% up. Finally. So, here we are. Penultimate lesson time. And much as I want to say how amazing it is to actually see the light at the end of a f$&%ing series for once, I know that’ll just jinx it.

So, without further Long, Rambling Ado…

Let’s Make an Adventure… Again

Welcome back to Let’s Start a Simple Homebrew Campaign. The semester’s almost over. I know you’re ready to graduate and get out into the real world of running pretend elf games. And I’m ready for you to get the hell out of my hair so I can enjoy my summer break. For two f$&%ing weeks. Then I’ve got to teach a class about Towns or some s$&% like that.

Anyway…

At this point, your players are bumbling through their first adventure. They’re probably close to wrapping that s$&% up. And you’ve got a Town ready for them. And that Town ain’t just floating in an unmapped, unrendered purgatory either. It’s got a region around it.

Good news? That Town’ll probably keep them distracted for a session. So, they won’t be heading off immediately on their next adventure.

Bad news? You can’t count on using that extra session’s worth of time to plan your next adventure.

You’ve got to be ready to launch that next adventure before the players hit the Town gates. It’s part of the whole campaign flow thing. Most of which I’ll cover in the last part of this series. But there’s a thing about campaign flow you’ve got to understand right now. And that’s The Adventure Building Cycle.

Planning Big and Small

Back in this series’ second lesson, I introduced this thing I called Just in Time GMing, right? The idea of planning and prepping no more than one session ahead of your players. Plan a session, run it, plan it, run it, and so on. Forever.

Guess what? I lied. Again. I’m lying a lot in this series, I know.

Thing is, sessions and adventures don’t always line up. Hell, they almost never do. Most adventures require two or three sessions to play through. And every so often — as I’ll explain in the last lesson — you also end up with these between adventure sessions every so often. But don’t worry about that s$&% yet.

Point is adventures usually fill multiple sessions. But you can’t build a three-session adventure one session at a time. And the reason’s pretty obvious. The adventure’s beginning has to set up the ending. If the heroes are hired by a bunch of animal rights activities to slay a princess and rescue an enslaved dragon, that’s how the adventure’s got to end. You can’t wait until your third planning session to decide what the goal is.

That said, if you know there’s no f$&%ing way the party’s getting there this week, you don’t need to stat up the princess and map her Rainbow Tower today, do you?

So, you end up doing big prep and little prep. When you realize you’re gonna need a new adventure soon — because the heroes are about to finish an adventure or they just finished one — you do big prep. You come up with the adventure’s premise, its major conflict, and figure out its structure. That way, you know what the adventure’s about and how it’ll probably play out. In broad strokes.

Then, you do the little prep. That’s where you build out the acts, fill in scenes and encounters, draw maps, stat s$&%, and so on. And you can mostly do that on a session-by-session basis. Do it as you need it.

But more important is doing s$&% as you have the time. If the party’s between adventures and you’ve got a bunch of spare hours that weekend, you can do the adventure’s big prep and then do the little prep for one, two, or even three sessions. That’s cool. Otherwise, you can do the big prep and then do one session worth of little prep. Then fill in the rest of the details as the party gets to them. That’s cool too.

I’ll talk more about this s$&% in the last lesson. And even more in a big, honkin’ future article that reveals all the secrets of RPG structure you’ll ever need to know.

If you actually want it.

For now, though, know you’ve got some big prep ahead of you. You’ve got to come up with a premise, major conflict, and act structure for your next adventure. And you’ve got some little prep to do too. You’ve got to prep the scenes and encounters for the adventure’s first session.

And you’ve got to do it before the party gets to Town. Why?

Let me explain, briefly, the Art of the Setup.

The Art of the Setup

This big-prep-little-prep s$%& ain’t just about making the homebrew campaign thing manageable. It’s also vital in making a campaign feel like a campaign.

Campaigns need continuity, right? We talked about that. And the stronger the continuity, the more campaigny the campaign feels. And also, the more the world feels like a world. You never want the players to think you’re just making s$&% up as you go. Even though you probably are. That doesn’t feel like a continuity. And the world doesn’t feel like a world.

Enter the Art of the Setup.

The Art of the Setup’s really simple. It just means that the things that happen in your game were already going to happen before they happened.

Basically, the Art of the Setup is what leaves the players saying, “wow, you must have planned this s$&% out months ago!” Or saying, “wow, this world feels like a real world that exists beyond our adventures.” It’s about planting seeds that come to fruition later. It’s not the same as making things predictable.

I can’t go into too much detail about this s$&% today. It’s the sort of thing that needs a whole article of its own…

Just know there’s two ways to pull off the Art of the Setup. And you need both. Because they feel different. And accomplish different things. First, there’s Planned Setups. That’s where you deliberately insert details into your game that set up future adventures. Second, there’s Improvisational Setups. That’s where you take random s$&% you already inserted into your game and build future events around them so it feels like you set that s$&% up in advance. Even though you didn’t.

Remember all those random facts you invented for your Town? Guess what the hell those are? Go on, guess! That’s right: they’re Improvisational Setups. S$&% you can build around later. They’re actually a well-implemented version of a gaming staple called The Rumormill.

Side Note: The Rumormill

Weird, discoverable facts floating around town ain’t anything new. They’re a staple of RPG Towns. Properly implemented — and the problem’s that no one ever explains this s$&% so no one implements them properly — properly implemented, they serve three purposes.

First, the random little rumors you’ve planted are a great source of adventure inspiration. If you’re coming up dry on ideas for your next adventure, you can just look back at your Rumormill and build an adventure around a rumor you planted.

Second, as I said, they’re Improvisational Setups. When things happen later that tie back to the Rumormill, you look like a planning genius. And your setting looks like a real, interconnected world and not just a backdrop for player-character adventures.

Third, random little rumors empower the players to tell you what adventures to build next. How? Well, if the players ignore a rumor completely, they probably ain’t interested in it for some reason. But if they get really into it? If they try to learn more? They’re telling you it interests them for some reason. So if that rumor turned into an adventure, they’d probably enjoy it. And they’d also feel a big sense of agency.

Agency, engagement, and consistency… where have I heard those three words before? I’m pretty sure they’re important…

Improvisational Setup’s easy to pull off. Just invent random s$&% and figure out what it means later. But you can’t live on Improvisational Setup alone. Which is why that big-prep-little-prep approach is so damned useful. It lets you include some Preplanned Setups. If you know the next adventure’s a dragon rescue before the heroes get back to Town, you can start planting details for them to trip over.

Just Another Adventure… Not!

But forget all that planning crap. Because, really, a second adventure’s just another adventure, right? And you already know how to write an adventure, don’t you? So, lesson over?

Get back in your seats. Lesson not over.

First, the patrons who keep this site online would never pay me for a 1500-word article. So, I’ll fill this out with 3500 words of busywork if I have to.

But second, the second adventure’s not just another adventure.

Except it is.

Because I lied.

Again.

See, it ain’t the second adventure that’s different. You write the second adventure the way you write the third, the fifth, and the thirtieth adventures in the campaign. From here on out, it’s the same s$&%. Over and over. Welcome to Campaign Hell.

Truth is, the first adventure’s the different one. That one’s not just another adventure. Just because you can write a first adventure doesn’t mean you can write a next adventure.

What’s the difference? Well, generally speaking, the difference is that the first adventure started with you thrusting a piece of paper at your players and saying, “this is the adventure, make characters to do this.” And then you pretty much just started the adventure. Cold. And you can never, ever do that again.

That means, the second adventure and all your future next adventures have to deal with some s$&% the first adventure didn’t.

Motivation

When you built that first adventure, you didn’t have to think much about why the characters would give a s$&% about it. Why the heroes would want to accept the adventure. I mean, sure, you thought a little about it. But you had some pretty strong advantages going into it. First, the players made their characters knowing that the first adventure was coming. So they were predisposed to take it on. And second?

Second, players are pretty tolerant of first adventures in new campaigns. They get that the first adventure’s going to be a railroad. It ain’t going to put up with a lot of agency and roleplaying bulls$&%. They get it intuitively if not explicitly. But they’re going to expect some kind of say in which adventures they do and which they skip from here on out.

At the very least, they want adventures that make sense for their characters.

Fortunately, you made each player commit a single motivation to paper. So you’ve got some good info to work with now. Further, every character has a few other preinstalled motivations. All characters want to survive, they want to advance, they want to protect what they care about, and they want to go on adventures with their buddies.

Side Note: Preinstalled Motivations

You made every player write down a character motivation. A reason why they do what they do. But those motivations ain’t the only reasons characters do what they do. There’s four basic motivations that’ll push players — and their characters — into an adventure. They vary in strength from character to character — and player to player — but they’re there. And they’re useful to know for reasons I’ll explain below.

First, every character wants to survive and every player wants their character to survive. That means they’ll respond to threats. But don’t forget that survival also means food, water, shelter, and health care. This means most PCs will take on any job that pays. Especially if they’re running low on food or need a disease cured or a curse lifted right quick.

Second, every player wants to see their character advance. To gain levels, magical items, new abilities, s$&% like that. Every adventure offers an opportunity to advance by way of experience points and magical items. But an adventure can also promise more. Even wizards whose motives aren’t about growing their magical power? They’ll still take the chance to explore an archmage’s abandoned tower if there’s the hint that some of the archmage’s spell library is intact.

Third, every character and every player wants to protect the s$&% they care about. So if you threaten something they care about, they’ll respond. Sure, some players — and some characters — care about very little. And the degree to which they’ll risk themselves for those they care about varies. But if you can identify s$&% the players or the characters care about, you can use them to motivate adventures.

Fourth, every player — and therefore every character — wants to go on adventures with their buddies. That’s why they’re playing the f$&%ing game. So if everyone else is going on an adventure, they’re going to come along. Unless they’re antisocial a$&holes who like to ruin the game in the name of roleplaying their characters. The longer the game goes on, the stronger this motivation gets.

Hook

When you built that first adventure, you didn’t have to worry too much about how it started. Because of that piece of paper you gave your players. Sure, you wrote a first scene. And that was good practice. But you could just as easily have given the players a piece of paper that said, “cave full of goblins; kill they a$&es” and started at the cave’s yawning maw.

From now on, your adventures need a hook. A scene in which the players find out what the hell they’re supposed to do and where the hell they should start doing it. An in-world, in-game scene. The scene could be a simple expository dump wherein the mysterious stranger gives the players the deets. Or it could be an interaction wherein the mayor mentions the goblins that just attacked are holed up in a nearby ruin.

Lure

No sane person just bites on a hook. They’re painful. And they’re hard to see. That’s why hooks need big, fat, juicy worms wriggling away on the end. Lures attract the players’ attention. And lures give the players a reason to bite.

Lures can be simple and obvious. And they can come stuck right on the hook. When the mysterious stranger approaches the party and says, “if you are looking to earn some coin, I have a job that needs doing.” That’s the lure. The hook comes when the players invite the stranger to sit and explain the job.

Lures can also entice the players to come to them. Sometimes, the mysterious stranger doesn’t approach the party. He sits in the corner, staring at them and being all mysterious.

You can also make complex, interactive lures that fill multiple scenes and encounters. Say, the party sees smoke on the horizon. Literal smoke. They’re curious. Check it out. They find a burnt homestead and a bunch of slaughtered peasants. And a bunch of wild dogs picking over the remains. There’s a fight. Then the party finds the humanoid footprints — orcs by the look of them — leading toward a distant, rocky hill. And it looks like they were dragging something.

The smoke? The burnt homestead? All part of the lure. The footprints? Those are the hook.

Preparation

You flung that first adventure right in your players’ faces. And, as I said, it wouldn’t have mattered if they’d started at the mouth of the cave. Or in the middle of the first fight. Point is that they didn’t have time to get ready. And they didn’t need any.

A good adventure, though? A good adventure rewards forward-thinking clever clogs who take the time to prepare for their next adventure. Gather information and resources. Come up with a plan. That kind of s$&%. Fortunately, most next adventures start in Town. Or near enough that the characters can swing by Town for info, supplies, and resources. You’ve got to be ready to reward that s$&% though.

Travel

Be honest, you didn’t make travel much of thing in that first adventure, did you? Of course not. The PCs didn’t have to walk far. And you probably just narrated away the hike. Faded out on the heroes setting out and faded up on them arriving. Right?

It’s okay. You didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t actually adjudicate the travel s$&% because you had no idea what the landscape was like. You hadn’t mapped it yet.

Well, you’ve got a map now so you’ve got no excuses. Good adventures involve actual travel. Travel that feels like a thing. Why? Well, there’s a bunch of reasons not to skimp on travel. There’s this gameplay loop thing and there’s this concept of the threshold I can’t explain right now and there’s this sense of the world thing I also can’t explain.

Point is good adventures involve actual travel. And why would you want to run any other kind of adventure?

Interwovenness

That first adventure was a pretty self-contained thing, wasn’t it? Of course. How could it not be? There wasn’t anything before it. So, naturally, it came out of the blue. And the rest of the world didn’t exist when you wrote it. So there was nothing to connect it to.

But your next adventures just can’t get away with that s$&%. Every adventure’s got to feel like another chapter in the same story. That’s what makes a campaign a campaign. And every adventurer’s got to feel like it’s happening in a real-ish world. Because you don’t want the players to think the world only exists as an excuse for them to have adventures. Even though it does.

That’s what all that big-prep-little-prep and Art of the Setup s$&% were all about.

Let’s Build a Next Adventure

It’s time to build your next adventure. And later, when it’s time to build another next adventure, you’ll do this s$&% again. Fortunately, building a next adventure works a lot like building a first adventure. All the s$&% I taught you? It all still works. So, come up with a premise, summarize the adventure, break it into acts, fill the acts with scenes and encounters, then plan and stat and map all the s$&% you need.

Except now, you’ll break this s$&% down into big prep and little prep. And you’ll fit it in when you need to and when you can.

And also except now, you’ve got some extra s$&% to worry about.

I’m not walking you through the entire adventure-building process again. But I’ll show you how to handle that extra s$&% next adventures need. The s$&% your first adventure didn’t need.

Why Are We Doing This?

After you’ve got a premise — maybe after you’ve got a summary too — ask yourself whether the adventure you’re building serves a few of the characters’ motivations.

Note, I said “a few” and not “all.” You don’t have to serve every character’s motivation with every adventure. In fact, you shouldn’t. Though you should make sure every character gets a motivational payoff every few adventures.

Anyway, ask yourself whether a few of the characters — say half of them — have a reason to pursue the adventure’s goal. Especially given there’s a big-a$& major conflict in the way. If the answer’s no, find a way to sweeten the deal. Pick a few motivations and change the adventure to pay them off.

PC in it for money? Add a chance to get paid. Or at least, add an explicit mention of valuable treasure. Maybe the evil princess stole the kingdom’s platinum crown when she ran off with her kidnapped dragon. Maybe Fantasy PETA’s offering to pay top dollar for the dragon’s rescue.

Got a PC who’s in it for glory? Or to test their skills? Play up the princess as an unbeatable powerhouse who slaughtered a dozen guards during her escape. Hell, have an NPC suggest the PCs are out of their league.

Got an explorer? Cool. Stick the princess’ Rainbow Tower in the heart of an untracked, unmapped faerie valley full of wonder.

Pick a few motivations and add some explicit payoffs. And don’t forget that every PC’s got a handful of preinstalled motivations too. Once in a while, you can base an entire adventure around them. Otherwise, they help motivate the characters who aren’t getting an explicit payoff this time around.

Bait and Set the Hook

Once you’ve got a premise and a summary and you’ve figured out the motivations in play — and maybe once you’ve figured out the act structure — it’s time to figure out how the adventure starts. So run through these four questions:

• How do the characters know their goal?
• How do the characters know where to start?
• How do the characters know the adventure exists?
• How do the characters know the adventure serves their motivations?

The first two questions are all about the hook. The scene that tells the PCs what they’re doing and how to start doing it. Could be an NPC interaction. Could be a mysterious location seen from a distance. Could be a treasure map. All those things offer a goal — do this job for me or explore that location or find the treasure — and a direction.

The third question’s all about how to get the players to the hook. What happens in the game world to catch their eye? Proactive NPCs and posted notices get the job done. Tripping over a murder scene does too. So does planting a treasure map in a previous adventure’s hoard. The more obvious you are, the less likely the idiot players will miss it. But the more subtle you are, the more your players will think they found the job and chose it for themselves. So, consider s$&% like overheard rumors, visible plumes of smoke, fights to break up, crying widows to comfort, or anything else that catches the characters’ eyes and says, “come, interact with me!”

This is where your Town prep really pays off. Remember that list of useful services you came up with? The s$&% you knew your players would be hunting for when they hit Town? Well, Bait and Set your Hook so the players will spot it when they go looking for one of those useful services. Or send the players in the right direction while they’re pursuing a useful service.

“Aye, I can mend your sword. But, meanwhile, could you deliver this to the Temple on Crying Widow Road? I’ll give you a discount.”

The right kind of bait can answer the fourth question. A crying widow offers a chance to help others. A treasure map promises a way to acquire wealth. But the bait alone usually won’t promise all the payoff. That’s what the hook’s for. Once you’ve got the help others cleric listening to the grieving widow, a swaggering braggadocio can push that test my mettle character along.

“Don’t listen to that crone. If you go to Breakhero Ridge, you’ll get killed. Even I wouldn’t go there and I’m obviously much more traveled than you. Better heroes than you have challenged the ridge. Every last one’s dead now. Just like that old bitty’s fool husband.”

Well Begun is Half Done

Got your premise? Summary? Act structure? Motivations? Hook? Lure? Great! If you want to be done, you’re done. Seriously. That’s good enough. Start doing the little prep s$&% and let the players have at it.

But…

Why stop at good enough? Want to pull off some big brain, next-level GMing s$&%? Of course you do.

Start by giving your players a chance to tip the odds in their favor with some prep work.

Come up with three things — information, resources, allies, whatever — that’d be really useful to bring along. Not s$&% the PCs need to succeed. Just s$&% that’ll give them an extra edge. Information about the big boss’ strengths and weaknesses, for example. Or information that’ll help them prep the right spells. Or information that’ll help them neutralize lesser encounters or find hidden passages. Or useful tools. Mundane tools, potions, scrolls, or bits of specialized gear. Or NPC companions. Hirelings, henchfolk, pets, whatever. Generally useful companions or companions with specific, useful skills.

Anything works. Just come up with three anythings.

Now, using the same method you used to Bait and Set the Hook, plant that s$&% in Town. Catch the PCs’ eyes and then invite them to discover helpful resources. Just don’t give the whole solution away. Make the players figure out that the thing they’ve noticed might be useful on their next adventure. Don’t stock a shop with fire resistance potions for the trip to Lavaplop Rift. Just show the players a potion maker and let them ask for fireproofing potables.

A good rule’s to make one of the three resources obvious and easy to find. Make the next harder to find. Make the players ask some questions. And don’t reveal the third. Make them hunt for it. Or show it to them, but make them overcome a challenge to earn it.

If You’re Going Out Anyway…

Speaking of big brain adventure design, how about a side quest? You know, an optional extra objective with a payoff of its own?

Just remember that a side quest has got to add some challenge. It can’t be something the players can do while they’re doing the adventure. It’s got to involve a detour, a search, a plan, or a resource expenditure. Or all the above. Or it’s got to up an existing challenge.

Think s$&% like protecting a vulnerable NPC tagalong. Or searching a dangerous swamp for a few hours for a rare plant. Or capturing a monster alive instead of killing it. Providing you don’t sap the extra challenge by following the standard D&D rules wherein the players can deal nonlethal damage just by saying, “I didn’t mean to kill it; I meant to subdue it” after it hits zero hit points.

F$&%ing D&D.

Once you come up with a good sidequest, drop it into Town the same way you Baited and Set your Hook and planted your Possible Preparatory Payoffs.

Getting There is Half the Trouble

Last thing to think about — and this isn’t really big brain, next-level GMing; it should be standard — last thing to think about is how to make travel a thing.

Once you know where the adventure takes place, plot it on your map. Now, look at the map. Look where the adventure site is. Look at the terrain around it. And the route the PCs will probably take to get there.

What might happen on the way?

Happenings on the way come in two flavors. First, there’s Planned Encounters. If a trip’s likely to take at least two days, plant at least one encounter along the route. Same as how you’d plant an encounter in a dungeon room between the entrance and the boss room. The longer the trip, the more Planned Encounters you want to set. Especially if you want travel to be an act unto itself and fill a session.

Now, come up with at least three Complications — wandering monsters, random strangers, hazards, weird events, and unlucky turns of fortune — that might arise on the road. Whenever possible, connect them to the terrain types on the map. Bandits haunt roads, hippogriffs hunt in hills, swamps have quicksand, humidity ruins equipment and spoils food, et cetera, and so on.

If you really want to do this s$&% right, come up with a list of three to five Complications for each terrain region on the map the players’ll be trekking through. Those lists will probably come up again and again.

When do you use these Complications? Well, make wandering monster rolls the way the DMG says you should, but use Complications instead of encounter tables. Simple.

…And So On

And that covers the big prep for your next adventure. Except for the wilderness encounters and Complications. Those are technically little prep.

Regardless, with the big prep done, now you can do the little prep for your adventure’s first session. And you can get a jump on future sessions if you have time. I’ll discuss that more in the next — and last — lesson.

Which is about doing all this s$&% over and over forever and ever.

Angry’s Example

I almost f$&%ing forgot. I’ve got to come up with a running example, don’t I?

Fine.

Look, I’m not doing all the adventure-building steps. I’m just gonna briefly talk about how I’d make the motivation, hook, prep, and side quest decisions, cool? I trust you to come up with encounters and Complications on your own.

Also, because this is just an example, I don’t have an actual PC party to work from. So, I’m just going to pull some motivations out of my a$&. Cool?

Premise first. I want flooded coastal ruins. I want a manticore. Why? Because that s$&% sounds cool. Fortunately, I’ve got a swampy region a few days downriver from Town on my map. But what are PCs going to do there?

My Town’s fun facts include a graverobber with a bronze medallion who died of a curse. And it’s flagged as untrue. So, obviously, he wasn’t a graverobber and he didn’t die of a curse. He was an explorer and he died of poison. And he’s survived by the girlfriend he meant to propose to with the ring he found.

Problem’s that he was forced to flee the Sunken Ruin on the Drowned Coast to escape the manticore. He took a poison barb to the knee. Somehow, despite all odds, he made it back home. But he succumbed to the poison soon thereafter.

And he left his backpack behind in his flight.

So, goal? Travel to the Sunken Ruin on the Drowned Coast and recover Mavel’s backpack for his girlfriend.

Motivations. Let’s pretend I’ve got a goody-goody who wants to help people. He’ll be happy to help Mavel’s distraught lover by recovering his gear. Let’s also pretend I’ve got a greedy guts who wants to acquire wealth. If there’s a promise of more treasure in the ruin, she’s in. And let’s also pretend I’ve got an explorer type. He’ll be happy to traipse through a distant swamp and explore a crumbling, mud-choked fortress.

How do the characters know their goal is to recover Mavel’s backpack for his girlfriend? What if Mavel’s tormented ghost asks the characters to? How’s that for an awesome hook?!

How do the characters know where to go? Did I mention the tormented ghost?

Anyway, there’s the hook.

How do the characters know the hook exists? What lures them in? Mavel’s ghost could just show up, but that seems lame. “Suddenly, a ghost appears and hands you a mission briefing.” That sucks. And there’s no agency in that.

I need a catalyst. Something that connects the players to the ghost. Maybe that medallion.

While the heroes are shopping in the market, the girlfriend’s trying to sell the medallion. The buyer’s not impressed. He tries to brush her off. Offers her a crappy deal. She’s getting agitated. Insisting it’s a treasure that her boyfriend discovered. She’s desperate for coin. The buyer sneers. He’s not interested in buying junk from graverobber’s girlfriend. So she starts scream-crying that he wasn’t a grave robber. He was a great explorer. They were going to be married. Maybe she gets violent. Throws something at the buyer.

If it has to, this fight’ll spill right into the characters’ laps.

Anyway…

Once the PCs talk to the girlfriend, she tells them how her boyfriend, Mavel, went off exploring and came home sick and feverish. He couldn’t even explain where he’d been. Just that he’d found something for her. And a bunch of other treasures too. He was going to go back for it all when he got well. But he didn’t. The healer his girlfriend hired couldn’t help him. He died.

Then, she shows the PCs the medallion. Says it’s all he had on him when he came back. She says she doesn’t want to sell it, but she can’t afford to live and needs the coin. Big sob story for the goody-goody. Anyway, she doesn’t want to part with it because it’s all she’s got left of him. And she can almost hear his voice when she touches it. She thought about taking it to the scholar in the tower — a thing that exists in Town, remember — to see what the symbols on the back mean. She hands it to a PC.

And when the PC takes it, he hears a voice whisper “I left in the ruins… on the sea… in the drowning land… must get it back to her…”

Hook, line, and sinker.

So what about prep? What three things might help the party?

First, it’d help to know about the venomous manticore. Especially if the party brings some antivenom.

Second, an NPC guide could help them through the swamp. Swamps are dangerous.

Third, traveling by boat downriver’s a lot quicker than walking.

How might they acquire this s$&%? Well, the ghost can’t tell the players everything. But if the PCs ask for details about how he died, they’ll learn the girlfriend had a healer treat Mavel. Try to, anyway. The healer can reveal she pulled a barb out of his leg. She suggests it was probably poison that killed Mavel and also suggests the scholar in the tower might be able to identify the barb if the PCs can’t. And he can.

Once the PCs know they’re dealing with a manticore, hopefully, they’ll think to visit the already established potion maker in the market for a counteragent.

As for the guide and the boat? Well, when the players are planning their trip, they’ll hopefully look at the map I gave them. They’ll see they’re going downriver and into a swamp. By way of tutorial, I’ll suggest either that a boat might be a really useful alternative to walking or that a knowledgeable guide can make trekking through the dangerous swamp less dangerous. But I won’t suggest both. They’ll have to think of asking around for the other on their own. Or go without.

As for a side quest? Well, given they’re hopefully checking in with the potion maker, he can ask why the party’s so interested in antivenom. If the players reveal their destination is the Drowned Coast, then I can use the “find the rare plant in the swamp” side quest I mentioned above. They’ll have to move off the river and inland from the salt marsh where the Sunken Ruin lies. But once inland, they can forage for the rare plant. The more they bring, the better the pay. But the more they forage, the more they risk Complications.

That covers my big prep. Now I can start my little prep and get ready for individual sessions. Except not. Because I ain’t actually running this game.