Bath Imaginable

Like many projects in the plane of Development Hell, the Forgotten Coast won’t be moving forward.

I titled the first session of my Electric Bastionland Deep Country campaign Pilot as an explicit nod to the way I view my TTRPG campaigns through the lens of a TV Showrunner. I’ve written about this framework before (see Baba Lasagna), but it helps me in two areas I think a lot of new GMs find challenging: pacing and prep.

Pacing. What goes into a satisfying session of an RPG is not so dissimilar from what makes for a satisfying episode of TV. I understand not everyone will approach RPGs this way, but when my friends give up their evenings to play pretend with me, I want to make sure I am at least offering something akin to a complete, satisfying meal. A session should have an arc, even if that arc is only discovered in retrospect. Every character should have a moment to shine, to do their thing. We should advance and complete an A Plot, while a spicy B Plot and maybe even a C Plot simmer in the background.

Prep. I only prep one session at a time. Sure, I might have a campaign document with some high level notes I can reference, but I always return to the proverbial “writer’s room” between sessions and look at everything with fresh eyes. I reorient myself to the characters and what they did last session and what they want to do next.

Maybe I’m rambling a bit here, but I think we can see how this TTRPG Campaign-as-TV show framing can be applied to campaigns that fizzle out or fall apart. It helps us understand that it’s no one’s fault, it was creative differences on set.

If the Producers (the Players) and the Showrunner (the GM) have different visions, the show will never go to series.

Even with a robust Session 0, there can be a mismatch of expectations.

With the Forgotten Coast, I was trying to run player driven, New Weird sandbox style game but I think my players wanted a more traditional, linear game. They fumbled looking for the invisible rails.

And that doesn’t make one of us morally superior.

Below is a Cold Opening for an Episode 3 that will never be, just for fun. One final glimpse of the Forgotten Coast before the screen went to static and then to black.

THE QUARRY
Father Abramo kneels deep in orange clay and inspects what is left of Grover’s jaw. Behind him, the Groundskeeper mounts a machine of black smoke and gnawing gears. It heaves the lumber lorry from the mud chain-link-tendrils. The Groundskeeper pats it on its hood.

“So I suppose you’ll be our Constable now,” Father Abramo rises from the quarry to meet a needle-necked young lawman with deep, recessed eyes, “Constable Hulbar.” His haircut is stiff, his armour a relic of the past.

“They’re all dead, Father,” Hulbar sniffs, his voice thin as wire. “Once the lorry is clear, we follow.”

“Look,” Father Abramo points north, where the tire-bent grass rises from the shingly marsh. “It’s the Banshee’s tracks. They’re gone.”

“A fine machine,” Hulbar kicks at a clod of clay. “Shame. This coast will tear her heart out.”

When the entrance is cleared, the pulling machine chokes twice and then collapses in the mud. The Groundskeeper steps off the hulk. He wipes a greasy rag against his forehead until it shines like brass.

“All clear,” the Groundskeeper announces.

The three men stand staring into the deep.

Come home. A whisper vibrates across the inside of their skull. Their hair stands on end. It’s maternal, welcoming.

“She’ll know what to do,” Father Abramo smiles, placing his hands on the others’ shoulders, “let’s go.”

They disappear into the earth.

COASTAL HWY
Cracked asphalt snakes through ancient bramble beneath a thick canopy of leaves and branches that block the early light of dawn; still, the last of the stars shine brightly against the pink-blue haze that peeks through gaps in the macerated forest. In the rearview mirror, the ivy-donned concrete battlements of the laboratory recede into the tree line.

“Hendenburgh. Three hexes,” Nika says. Her head follows the arc of the headlamps as they wash over a paint-peeled, overgrown sign. The Banshee groans and rattles–there’s an ache in the old girl’s bones.