On: Naming Things
Before I started this project, I had a pretty foolproof way to name fantasy stuff: string random syllables. I’m not going to lie, this strategy has merit. However, when faced with 13 gods, 10 towns, 5 countries, and a host of other people and places, I just couldn’t channel the babbling required to name all of them.
Instead, I abandoned originality all together. Mythologies and languages across the world already have a ton of gorgeous names and words just waiting to be used; there was no need for me to make any more. Some names were just so tasty that I had to use them. The Irish goddess “the Morrigan” is a great example. The Morrigan. Not Morrigan, not a Morrigan, the Morrigan. It just made sense to use that name for my own goddess of death and war. Other times I didn’t have the time to sift through stories and find the perfect names, so I relied on other languages. When I was naming the 10 city-states of Felis, I turned to the hottest, freshest language out there: Latin. All the names I used are Latin translations of words related to the city states (“Uva” is latin for grape, and is the name of the wine producing region of Felis). Overall, I feel like names should mean something, and whether it’s allusion or translation or something else, the names in your world should carry weight, even if just to you.
On: The Map
This one was way easier than I thought it was going to be. At first I wanted to draw my map from scratch, making the perfect coastline and region to hold my stories. Dumb idea. The same rules I used for names apply here: just use something that already exists. So, I grabbed a map of Western Europe (It’s not the U.S., but it still felt familiar to me) and I flipped it upside down. Full stop. Using a preexisting coastline and landmasses made everything that followed much easier.
In terms of what countries and locations I actually put into my world, I asked myself a question: What kind of stories did I want to tell? I wanted a diverse, fairly liberal region in which any generic story could take place. Enter the Felis Federation. I wanted a place for seafaring adventures and a wealthy metropolis, so I made Phoinike. I loved the idea of a spin on ancient Rome, and crossed it with elements of the crusades and 19th and 20th century Germany to make Bludeisen. The Sultanate exists because I have always been fascinated by the structure of the Ottoman empire, and because deserts are inherently magical and interesting in fantasy settings. I threw in Annwn and the Howling Spires because I needed some forests and mountains to make homes for elves and dwarves respectively. And Gehenna is there because I thought a theocracy ruled by an actual god was so interesting and impossible that I had to include it.
On: The Gods
Making Inatha’s pantheon was the very first part of the project that I did. Gods and their stories have always been the part of mythology that gripped me the strongest. In making my gods, I didn’t think in a vacuum. Instead, I thought about the origin of the world itself; what was Inatha’s creation myth? I like the Judeo-Christian image of a God that pulls itself from the void and creates everything, but I wanted to throw in the classical Hindu triumvirate of prime gods: one of each for creation, preservation, and destruction. I made Ymir in order to bridge these two ideas. Ymir both pulled themselves from the void and created the world’s cosmic triumvirate known as the Primal. Ymir also created the Essentia, four elementals that represent Fire, Earth, Air, and Water. With these pieces, I felt like I set up a solid cosmic order to begin fleshing out my universe.
The Primal felt great, but also way too large-scale for the average person to pray to. I wanted gods for mortals, deities that would permeate every aspect of my world. That’s how I made the Nine. They are a pretty standard pantheon, each god having his or her own domains, personality, and a little bit of backstory on their relationship with other gods. I didn’t worry about covering every little thing in existence; I have a god of blacksmiths and a goddess of war, but no god of storms or goddess of goblins. And that’s fine. A fantasy world and especially a DnD campaign setting doesn’t need to be all encompassing. Nor should it be. There’s a lot of fun to be had in letting other people fill in the holes that you left.
The last figure I want to touch on is my personal favorite, the Singer. A deity not from Inatha, but from another universe. A stranger-god that disrupts the natural equilibrium of the world. Like all my ideas, this one is stolen. There is a story of a Celtic God named Lugh, a man skilled in all weapons and artforms. He knocked on the hall of the gods and demanded to be let it, showcasing all of the talents he would bring to their pantheon should be allowed to do so. The prevailing theory of this warrior-god is that he was not an original member of the Celtic pantheon, and instead was a later addition due to a period of heavy warfare. I think that that premise is fascinating. A god that doesn’t really belong but forces their way into the world. I crossed this image with that of the trickster and spellcaster Odin, and added a lot of flavor from the DnD Bard class. Why you may ask? Well, Odin is badass, plain and simple. And I play a bard in my friend’s campaign and they are also quite badass.
That's all I got
Hopefully you found my ramblings to not be too ramble-y. Thank you so much for visiting the site and I hope you can find something here that’ll help you and your friends create adventures of your own.
-Vivek Nair