Exchange of Realities

There are no new stories, they tell us. And most of us nod and try to at least put a different spin on old ones. Coming up with something new and different, or at least new and interesting, is a hobby for many of us. And then we hit the book or the table with it, and the audience comes and sees the new twist—putting a race to uses for which it was not intended, a new take on a canonical NPC, or some other way of taking what’s expected, what’s typical, what’s boring, and turning it on its head.

And they start complaining.

I’m not going to tell you why; I’m not even entirely sure I understand it myself. What I am going to tell you, though, is how to placate them while not ending up with Cliché Dwarven Society #6427. The basic premise is simple. How do we defeat a stereotype? By making what it originally represented for us more than a stereotype, that may or may not happen to include the traits that the stereotype covers. But instead of trying to break a stereotype on one individual, we’re trying to break it on a whole society. Challenging? Probably. Fun? Most likely. The best way to reframe this is as a GM’s Iron Chef competition: we’re taking several expected traits that are supposed to be symbolic of our target, and making them into something new and different.

The catch, of course, is that if we’re going to do Iron Chef World-Builder, we’re going to need our ingredients list—and more specifically, we’re going to need to get our ingredients list from the people who rejected our last attempts to do something new and different. This, I think, is the hardest part, harder even than the worldbuilding in the first place: keeping cool and requesting that the people who shot down our image of, say, the dwarven pirate nation (yes, I’m picking on the dwarves again. They’ve been visiting too much; I can’t help it) explain to us exactly why it wasn’t good enough.

Several hours (and a certain amount of inward griping) later, you have your ingredients. These people want their dwarves to be cavedwellers. Forgemasters. Attraction to shiny objects from the earth. At least you managed to bargain them into not requiring the booze, right? And, of course (assuming a game), there’s the stuff required in the stats: Lawful Good society, strong constitutions, steady stances, that lot.

Remember last week? Let’s have some fun. We’ll start with the subterranean part; that’s going to have the most immediate impacts. They’ll probably have highly developed senses of hearing; for their vision, color is going to play second fiddle to intensity. They might have a good sense of picking up light, though. This might do interesting things to their aesthetics: Along with the requisite love of shiny earth-based objects (with light contrasts, carving that appeals as much to touch as vision, that sort of thing), it means they might have an aesthetic for pretty sounds. I’m getting ideas already—I’m likely going to be going into detail on art forms for them tomorrow, both visual and performing. (This is a particularly good place to start subverting the clichés, as it won’t necessarily mess with someone’s specific character concept—the usual reason for complaints.)

Other things—metal weapons, of course. Gives the forgemasters something to do. Much though I understand the honking big waraxes, are those really going to be useful in cramped tunnels? …for that matter, why are cavedwellers using axes in the first place? Shouldn’t their weapons be based on picks?

What about dwarven beards? Are we keeping them, or are we not? Granted, there are worse places to have a beard; it picks up dust like anything, but at least it isn’t getting caught on every little fiddly bit you pass. Does it have an original purpose, like protecting the face from rock chips or providing insulation against the cold? (The latter is highly probable; caves can be blasted chilly, and the dwarven short stocky frame does match something that on Earth has emerged as an adaptation to cold climates. It doesn’t explain the metal armor, and if anything makes it more improbable—brrr!—but it could explain the forges, which in turn could at least partially justify the existence of said armor….)

Speaking of forges, what are you burning? Do people bring in wood from outside? Did someone create a spell for creating fuel? Is there something flammable that occurs naturally in the cave system in question? And how do they manage not to fry their (very flammable) beards, if such exist?

Where else can we go with this? Tomorrow (assuming I’m in any condition to write; the Real World has rather firmly interfered with my mental well-being), I’ll show you some possible artistic adaptations of dwarven society.