Exploring Tone and Narrative

As the early stages of development move along and we find ourselves with awesome map and character generators, one of the things I was excited to explore is tone and narrative. Who are these folks, what are their backstories, how dangerous is this world and how does that reality impact their daily lives and attitudes? 

Much like Wildermyth, I imagine these guys generally being average folk that just want to live their lives, maybe even just survive. They'll rise to the occasion when it's demanded of them, and some will be very heroic! While their brief stories may only exist here, getting into these guys' heads has been a lot of fun, and in early game development, helpful to refining our story and setting. 

The following are four short character snapshots in Canyons early fiction:

-Renelle-

We found our own spot here in the canyons shortly after Freisen began talking. It was important to me that I be the one to control the narrative. My own childhood was filled with stories, unpleasant ones. Stories to stoke fear. Stories that serve as warnings. But I wasn’t a fearful kid, and warnings felt more like invitations. Only took once or twice, though, sending my parents into a panic, to realize I didn’t have the stomach for disobedience. So I stayed close, followed rules, and confined all wandering to my mind. It was a satisfying act of mini-rebellion: re-imagining the stories I had been told over and over again and crafting my own versions. They’re not void of unpleasantries, since for me, those were some of the most interesting parts. Storytelling has been a favorite activity for Freisen and I; we take turns continuing each other's cliffhangers. I love a good impossible moment, it sets Freisen up perfectly to see us rescued or escape in some totally absurd way. The boy definitely knows how to make me smile. Mean toxic mushrooms seem to be a favorite villain of his, funny how stubborn our imaginations can be.

It was Freisen that noticed it first, the bitter taste to the air. Kids and their judgmental palates. It’s been so long that we’ve been out here, I’d forgotten it. 

When he was younger, I’d say that our world’s unpredictable, and unpredictable is interesting. But parenting insists on a sense of humor: Freisen had the freedom I never did but is more than happy to sit by an ant colony outside our tent and watch the tiny workers for hours. “They always know what to do and where to go,” he’ll marvel. Easy to miss the scout. 

As someone that’s always felt a tug toward any type of boundary, I’ve become largely familiar with the outskirts of our homestead and beyond some. After Freisen’s observation, I have been closely monitoring the woodland edge for signs, for any evidence of change. The trees tell stories too, the warning kind. 

I know it was faulty logic, thinking that our homestead here, void of fear and worry, is somehow any safer than the one I grew up in. I suppose it’s time that Freisen learns about our world. We’ll need to make a choice, and he deserves to be prepared for whichever gamble we take. 

Mom: Renelle Aspenstone
Optimistic Wanderer, History: Strict Upbringing, Focus on the Big Picture, Sweet Tooth

Son: Freisen Aspenstone
Shy Animal Lover, Easily Entertains Self, Got Poison Ivy, Plays Instrument

***

-Mae-

From The Unsent Letters Collection, Whitton family 

Dear Shenley, 

I like to joke that I’m not sure we’re up for this, but really, I feel like Benigar and I can get things going here. At least to the point it needs to be to get the three of you out here. Dad’s been warning us about his impending demise since before you were born and ha- that was a whole eleven years ago! 

Under different conditions, I would have argued to bring you with us. I hope you know that. Another set of eyes would be huge, every bit of exploration would help as we assess our place in this canyon. You’ve always had the sharpest eyes of us three. Sorry to say though, but in the end, it was the right call. The path we carved to get here might have swallowed you. Keep your head down, keep moving. It became our march at one point, Benigar and I lockstep with each other for the last leg of the journey. 

It’s a weird thing, us being the ones to secure the new homestead, responsibility just flipped one day. Haven’t quite figured out if it’s a matter of Mom and Dad trusting us more or lacking trust in themselves. You’ll keep an eye on them, right?

We do make a competent duo though. Benigar can take one glance at the layout here and know, structurally, exactly where to place our tent and in which direction, but sometimes his confidence and hastiness misses details like nesting crabs and blooming shrubs that could easily provide next month’s supper. But you know me, I’m always thinking ahead when it comes to food. Nutty chanterelles under the ancient fir, fragrant sage on the breeze– brain’s already stewing for tomorrow. Just have to mind Benigar a bit, make sure he doesn’t build his workbench on top a bunch of fiddleheads. He’s a decent lookout though. Remember how annoying he’d be at night? Up for hours, stomping about… I appreciate it now, if you can believe it. Him being able to get by on only a few hours of sleep spares us both my morning grump. 

Still, will be good to get you all here, so I hope this spot works out. There’s a vulnerability to being a duo, which is not wasted on me. While chopping some wood earlier, I saw Benigar catch a rock with his toe as he carried a few logs to the woodshed. Sadly, we don’t have the luxury of clumsiness right now. 

I know I probably won’t get the chance to send this-- the path we traveled isn’t exactly one traversed by messengers at the moment– but in a weird way, it feels good to talk to you. I miss you, Shenley. Have a potato cake for me, Mom always did make the best ones. And take care of yourselves. We’re doing our best for you.  

With love, 

Mae

Sister: Mae Whitton
Cautious Wanderer, Sharp Eyes, Sensitive to Smells, Strong Moral Compass

Brother: Benigar Whitton
Fiery Builder, Self-Assured, Loves Starting a Job, History of Responsibility 

***

-Tulana-

Don’t know why I haven’t learned my lesson by now, when it comes to following Sonnya. She always makes the mundane sound like a grand adventure. And then it just ends up being mundane. She told me she heard Auntie Dorimina talking about the rise in attacks. Seems to think that there are too many of us here in one spot, that the wind chimes aren’t as effective as they used to be when our numbers were smaller. Honestly, that would be better than finding out the wind chimes are just not working the way they used to. So Sonnya said she’ll run a reconnaissance mission. Find a remote spot, set up camp, and “see what we can see.”

Thing with Sonnya, though– there’s always a mission behind the mission. Our last riveting expedition was supposed to be a foraging mission. Sonnya lured me with the promise of fresh juniper berries, pretty essential to making wild porcupig palatable, in my opinion. Damn things take so long to ripen, it made sense the location of the shrubs was recorded. At least Sonnya’s not a liar, I’ll give her that. She’s the perfect amount of a lot of things, and wickedly persuasive– it’s infuriating. So yeah, the berries were there, they were ripe, we’d harvest them and I’d look forward to a fine meal. Almost fantastic. Always just almost. Because it turns out, our other reason for being there was grave robbing. 

Turns out that the locations of old tombs are also recorded, and this one was right next to my patch of junipers.  A mellow morning hike and berry picking mission became fourteen hours of grueling excavation. Digging, moving stones– how did I not notice the shovel in her knapsack on our way in? Dirt and rock and rock and dirt until my back declined to continue. But every mission is a success for Sonnya, by her own assessment at least. Our skeletal friend had been waiting all these years to bestow upon her a small book, bound by a gamey hide, fur and all. I’m sure Sonnya purposely waited until she procured her prize to notice the look on my face, but once she did, the book went straight to her back pocket, she gathered her share of berries, and we traveled the path home to our beds. With great restraint, I only used a handful of our precious haul to season a single carafe of nighttime brew and saved the rest for pork. 

So this reconnaissance mission. Per usual, it sounded pretty good at first. Sonnya sold it as a culinary inspiration expedition. Forage for new herbs and spices, note their fragrance and locations. Brew them to see how they open up and change in profile. She knows me too well. We’ve been here for 11 days. Day 1, we found a nice vantage spot, set up camp and our perimeter of wind chimes. Day 2 and 3, she held up her end of the promise and we collected some interesting samples. Excited to experiment, I asked Sonnya what all she brought, to get some meal planning going. Turns out all the food for this trip was on me to pack because Sonnya’s knapsack was on a different mission. 

I’m hungry. Sliced root, boiled root, root paste… getting tired of caveroots. And still nothing of interest to report for this mission of hers. Sonnya sits by the campfire at night reading her furry little book and spends the days collecting resin, herbs, hardwoods. She seems to be crafting things. But then also burning them. I’m guessing she senses my mood, because she hasn’t bothered asking me to help with whatever weird thing she’s doing. Sonnya says we’ll head back next week if still nothing shows, which is fine by me. But not long after she said that, I felt the chill of a suspiciously quiet evening breeze…

Tulana Feldgold:
Grumpy Hearthkeeper, Likes High Quality, Bored Easily, History: Lonely Childhood

Sonnya Willendeep:
Fiery Lorekeeper, Likes a Gamble, Weird Ideas, Has Scar

***

-Thedigan-

From the Journal of Thedigan Pinyon, first entry: 

When Elder Raflin asked for volunteers to establish the next defensive outpost, there was no way I was going to hesitate– snatched the opportunity up immediately. Jemanna has been a little more wary though, keeps asking what my plan is. Plan is to find a promising spot! She’s got a way with plants, I’ve got a way with my hands– it’s not like we don’t know the recipe by now. Just the privacy alone– I thought that would be enough to get her on board with it, I know she wants that as much as I do. Abandoning the eastern meadow homestead was the right call, nobody doubted it, but it sure got crowded around here. Had to let Raflin’s nephew bunk with us a few weeks ago when the bug was going around and that was rough. Eight days felt like forty. 

I’m not against plans, and I want Jem to trust that we can do this together, but I’m also not sure what else there is to do or prepare. Once we find our spot, get set up, the next course of action should be pretty obvious, right?

And really, with what we’ve been living, I’m more concerned about the folks staying behind than I am about us. Raflin seems to think they can manage and that the new outpost will serve as one more front that buys the stronghold some relief. I sort of think it’s too far gone here. Hostility grows, goes unchecked, and Raflin responds with curfews. Used to be able to push back a bit, now it seems we barely maintain our perimeter. 

Still, I’m never one to kill a mood. Not gonna do it on my way out the door either. Me and Jem will set off tomorrow, find a cozy spot– one that hasn’t been twisted yet– and start work on the new outpost. I’m feeling good about it! I know Jem probably meant this notebook to be used in some practical way- sketching the area, documenting flora and fauna, making checklists and stuff like that, but I know she’s going to love reading back on our valiant endeavors one day and be happy I did it. She seems pretty comforted already to see me writing in this! So on the topic of my dear partner’s morale, I’m going to go find some extra odds and ends to add to my knapsack, while she’s watching of course.

Thedigan Pinyon:
Kind Crafter, Cool Under Pressure, Business Savvy, Hearty Appetite 

Jemanna Robiner:

Serious Plant Lover, Skeptical, Likes Kids, Has Vivid Dreams