Questions to Ask for World Building
For fiction writers, game masters and game designers inventing a setting from nothing, or filling in one that still feels thin. The questions run in the order the work tends to go: the premise and the central conflict first, then the land, its history, who holds power and money, belief and magic or technology, and daily life last. Only about a dozen of the answers are needed before a first chapter or a first session, and the others can stay blank until the story gets near them.
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The questions
Each question, and why to ask it
Premise
What is the one thing about this world that is not true of ours?
Why ask it
Answer in a single sentence before you draw a map or name a god. One large difference followed all the way through is easier for a reader to hold than twenty small ones, and most of the questions below are ways of asking what that one change did to everything else.
What does the story or campaign need this world to do?
Why ask it
A heist needs locks, guards and something worth stealing. A war story needs two sides that each have a case. List the three or four things the plot cannot work without, build those first, and treat the rest of this page as optional until a scene asks for it.
What do the people here fight over?
Why ask it
This one cannot wait, because a setting with nothing contested in it is a backdrop. Name the thing itself, whether land, water, a throne, a faith or a mine, and then at least two groups who each believe it is rightfully theirs.
Who benefits from the way things are, and who is waiting for it to break?
Why ask it
The first half gives you the people who will resist any change the plot brings. The second half gives you the ones who will help, and they are rarely doing it out of kindness, so write down what each expects to gain.
What is about to change when the story opens?
Why ask it
A world at rest has no reason to start a story today. Pick something already in motion that nobody on the page can stop: a ruler who is dying, a harvest that failed, a treaty that runs out in spring. Your characters then spend the opening reacting, which is easier to write than a calm.
What should it feel like to spend an evening in this world: wonder, dread, comfort, laughter?
Why ask it
Tone decides which of the later answers you can use. A plague is a tragedy in a bleak setting and a running joke in a comic one, so pick two or three words now and hold every later answer up to them. If this is for a campaign, ask the players as well, because the mood is theirs to sit in for months.
How much of this world will anyone see in the first chapter or the first session?
Why ask it
Usually it is a town, a ship or a single valley. Build that patch down to the names of its streets and give everywhere else one line. Detail is cheap to add as the story walks toward a place and expensive to throw away once you have grown fond of it.
Which real places, periods or stories are you borrowing from, and what are you changing?
Why ask it
Naming your sources lets you borrow on purpose. A setting lifted whole from one culture reads as a costume, so mix two or three and ask what your one big difference would have done to them. If a source is a living culture, read what people from it say about how they are usually written.
Land
What can be seen from the highest point near where the story begins?
Why ask it
A view is a better first map than a continent. Whatever is visible from that hill or tower, a river, a wall, smoke from a second town, the sea, is all the geography the opening needs. Sketch only that, and add to the map when someone travels off its edge.
Where does the water come from, and who controls it?
Why ask it
Rivers, wells, rain and snowmelt decide where towns can sit, so place the water before the settlements. Whoever holds the source holds leverage over everyone downstream. A city in a dry place needs an explanation that a visitor would hear within the hour.
What is the weather like through a year, and which season do people dread?
Why ask it
The dreaded season organizes everything else: when armies can march, when the passes close, when the stores run low. All you need at the start is the season the story opens in and how long until the bad one arrives.
What grows or is dug up here that cannot be had anywhere else?
Why ask it
One such thing is plenty. It tells you why outsiders come, why neighbors are envious and where the wealth sits. Decide next who carries it out of the country and who takes a cut along the way, because those are two more groups with something to lose.
How long does it take to cross this place, on foot and by the fastest means anyone has?
Why ask it
Travel time is the number you will reach for most often. It sets how quickly news, armies and your protagonist can arrive anywhere. Write the days between the three or four places that matter and keep the figures beside the map. Players in a campaign will ask in the first session.
Which animals, plants or creatures do people have to plan their lives around?
Why ask it
Skip the bestiary for now. Choose one creature or crop that changes how people behave, say a predator that empties the roads at dusk, then ask what was built because of it: a wall, a bell, a hunters' guild, a festival when it migrates.
Where is it dangerous to go, and why do people go anyway?
Why ask it
The danger is the easy half. The reason, salvage, a pilgrimage, a shortcut that saves a week, is what turns a hazard into a place stories happen. For a game master the answer is often the first adventure site, so give it a name people say with a wince.
What lies at the edge of the map, and what do people say about it?
Why ask it
You do not have to know what is really out there. The rumor is enough for now, and it tells you more about the people repeating it than about the place. Leaving this blank on purpose keeps somewhere for a sequel or a second campaign to go.
History
Which peoples share this land, and which of them got here first?
Why ask it
Whichever group was first tends to say the land is theirs, and the later arrivals have a story about why that stopped being true. For each people, add one thing they argue about among themselves, so you are not writing the proud ones and the sly ones. In a fantasy setting, ask the same of your elves or orcs before reaching for the stock version.
How did the people in charge come to be in charge?
Why ask it
Write the founding story twice, one sentence as the rulers tell it and one as the losing side does. The distance between the two versions is something a character can be punished for pointing out, and it shows whether the old grudge is about a conquest, a rigged vote or a broken bargain.
What happened a generation ago that people still do not bring up at dinner?
Why ask it
Everyone involved is still alive and took a side. Decide who did what, and then who now lives next door to whom. A story set in a small place needs this before it needs anything from a thousand years back.
What was here before, and what did it leave behind?
Why ask it
Ruins, straight roads, a dead language kept for law or prayer, machines nobody can repair. Leftovers give depth cheaply because a character can simply walk past them. Skip the fallen empire's full history and settle only what remains and who claims to own it.
Which war, plague or disaster does everyone date things from?
Why ask it
A phrase like 'before the flood' gives your characters a shared calendar and lets one line of dialogue carry the history. Fix how many years ago it was. If the number is under sixty, some of the old people in your cast saw it, and they will not all remember it alike.
What has changed in the last ten years that older people complain about?
Why ask it
Recent change proves the world was moving before the plot arrived. A new tax, a new faith or strangers settling by the harbor will do, as long as it is small enough to grumble about over a shop counter. It also hands a parent and a grown child something specific to disagree about.
What do people believe about their own past that is not true?
Why ask it
A false history is a secret the whole society keeps from itself. Work out who knows the real version and what it would cost them to say so. This can stay unanswered until you plan the middle of the story, where it makes a ready reveal for a mystery or a long campaign.
How far back do you have to go before history stops touching the plot?
Why ask it
Stop there. A timeline of a thousand years feels like progress and almost none of it reaches the page. Three dated events that a character might throw into an argument are enough to begin with, and you can add a fourth when a scene needs one.
Power and money
Who makes the decisions here, and who do they have to keep happy?
Why ask it
Nobody rules alone. There is an army to pay, priests to flatter, merchants who hold the debt or voters who can turn. Those are the people the plot can lean on to move a ruler. If politics stays in the background of your story, a name and a title will do.
How does power pass from one person to the next, and what happened the last time that went wrong?
Why ask it
Inheritance, election, single combat and the drawing of lots all fail in their own ways. Describing the last failure gives you a civil war or a purge within living memory and a rule that was rewritten afterward. Whoever lost under the old rule may still have heirs.
What is against the law here that would surprise a visitor?
Why ask it
An odd law shows what the place fears or holds sacred, so one is enough to start with and the full legal code can wait. Follow up by asking who enforces it and whether a fine or a favor makes it go away. A newcomer breaking it by accident is a reliable early scene.
What happens to someone who is caught breaking the law?
Why ask it
Settle who does the catching, a city watch, a clan or a temple, then who judges and what the usual sentence is: a fine, exile, a term of labor. A game master should have this ready before the first session, since players test it early. Keep the punishments within what your table agreed to.
What do people use for money, and what can money not buy?
Why ask it
Settle whether a market stall takes coin, credit, grain or favors, because the haggling sounds different in each case. Whatever cannot be bought, whether rank, citizenship or magic, shows where the real barrier in this society stands. For prices, fix three, a meal, a night's lodging and a good horse or its equivalent, and scale everything else from them.
What does this place have to buy from outside, and what does it send out to pay for it?
Why ask it
The thing it cannot make for itself is a pressure point that a blockade, a bad year or a rival can squeeze. The exchange also gives you a road or a sea lane with traffic on it, and a route with traffic is where travelers, tolls and trouble meet.
Who does the work nobody wants, and what do they get in return?
Why ask it
How a society treats the people at the bottom is the most accurate picture of it you will draw. If your answer involves forced labor, decide how the story regards that before you write a scene near it, so it does not sit in the background as decoration.
Who protects ordinary people when there is trouble, and what does the protection cost them?
Why ask it
It might be a standing army, a village militia, hired guards or no one at all. The price, whether tax, service or obedience, is how power looks from street level. Wherever the answer is 'no one' is where adventurers, bandits and local heroes find their work.
Who are the neighbors, and what does each one want from this place?
Why ask it
One line apiece will do: this one wants the port, that one wants a marriage alliance, the third wants to be left alone. That is enough to make a border feel real. Expand a neighbor only when the story is about to cross into it.
Belief and magic
What do most people here believe made the world, and are they right?
Why ask it
The second half is for your notes alone. A world where prayers are answered behaves very differently from one where faith is only faith, so choose, even if the choice is that nobody can ever find out. Your characters never need to learn which it is.
What does religion ask of an ordinary person in an ordinary week?
Why ask it
Start with what people do and leave what they are taught for later. A day of rest, a food that is not eaten, a coin left at a crossroads, a word said over a doorway: small duties like these turn up in scenes with no explaining. The theology behind them can wait until a priest has a speaking part.
Which stories does every child here know, and who are the heroes and monsters in them?
Why ask it
Folk tales give your characters a shared stock of comparisons, so one can call another by a legendary coward's name and be understood. Invent two: one with a hero the rulers approve of and one the grandmothers tell quietly. Then decide which of the monsters is real, an answer a game master can keep back for a long time.
Who speaks for the gods, and what do they own?
Why ask it
Priests with land, courts or schools are a second government. Find out whether temple and throne are allies, rivals or the same family. If they quarrel you have a plot, and if they never do, someone in the story should wonder aloud why not.
What do people believe happens after death, and what do they do with their dead?
Why ask it
Funeral customs are among the first details you will need, since stories tend to lose someone early. Choose burial, fire, water or sky and one thing the mourners do. If the dead can return or be spoken to in this world, fix those rules now, before a death has to matter.
What can magic or advanced technology do here, and what can it never do?
Why ask it
Spend longer on the 'never' list than on the powers, and write it before you start. Anything that can raise the dead, read minds or cross the map in a moment removes most of the losses and mysteries a plot runs on. A setting with neither can skip the next four questions.
What does using that power cost, and who pays?
Why ask it
Tiredness, years of life, a rare material, a debt to something that collects. The cost gets interesting when the person paying is not the one who used it. Make sure it bites in a scene early on, since a price that is only mentioned will be forgotten by the middle.
Who is allowed to use it, and who decides that?
Why ask it
Access can come by birth, training, license or purchase, and each makes a different kind of gatekeeper: a bloodline, a school, a guild, a seller. Ask what is done to a person who uses it without permission. That answer is your first outlaw.
If this power has existed for centuries, what has it already done to war, medicine, farming and travel?
Why ask it
Here is the step most often skipped. If healers can close a wound, battles look different. If a message can fly, nobody sends a rider. Follow each consequence through, or narrow the power until the honest answer is 'not much'. Either is fine, but pick before readers do it for you.
How do people without the power feel about those who have it?
Why ask it
This sets how a mage or an engineer is met on walking into a village: with fear, with reverence, or with no more interest than a plumber gets. You need it the first time such a character speaks to a stranger, which in most stories is quite soon.
What is the most advanced machine a small town has, and what is still done by hand?
Why ask it
The pair fixes a technology level more exactly than a label such as 'medieval' or 'steampunk'. A water mill next to hand-copied books tells you what is cheap, what is slow and what somebody is about to invent. Where magic exists, check whether it has left anyone a reason to build machines at all.
Daily life
What does a family eat on a normal day, and what goes on the table at a feast?
Why ask it
Food should follow from the Land answers and the Power and money answers, so check it against what grows here and what arrives by trade. A meal is the easiest way to show a culture inside a scene. Name one dish that a character misses when far from home, and homesickness takes a single line.
How can you tell at a glance who is rich and who is poor?
Why ask it
Pick two markers, such as the color of a coat or whether a window has glass, and make sure they follow from your earlier answers: a dye is only a luxury if it comes from far away. Clothes and houses then get described in passing, whenever a character sizes someone up. It also tells you what a person must borrow or steal to pass as someone else.
What work do most people do, and when does the working day end?
Why ask it
Unless your premise feeds people some other way, most of them farm, fish or herd, so start by asking who feeds the city. The end of the day matters as much: cheap lamp oil, a curfew or a night shift decides whether your evening scenes take place in a crowded tavern or behind barred doors.
Who counts as family here, and who has a say in whom a person marries?
Why ask it
A household might be a couple, a clan or a workshop of apprentices. Its shape sets who inherits and who can call in an obligation. A protagonist's freedom is mostly measured by what their family is entitled to demand, so answer this before you plan what they walk away from.
How are children taught, and at what age are they treated as adults?
Why ask it
This settles who can read, who was apprenticed and who learned everything in a field. The age of adulthood tells you how young a protagonist can be and still act alone. If there is a ceremony for it, you have a scene worth saving for an opening or a flashback.
How do people greet each other, and what counts as rude?
Why ask it
Manners let you put a stranger in a room and have them get it wrong, and the reader learns the rule by watching the room react. Choose a gesture or a set phrase and a rule about who speaks first. Two or three rules are enough, provided you apply them every time.
Which languages are spoken, and who cannot understand whom?
Why ask it
Inventing a language is optional. Knowing who needs a translator, and which tongue is kept for law, trade or prayer, is not. For names, give each language a few sound rules so that places and people from one region look as if they belong together on the map.
What do people do for fun, and what do they celebrate?
Why ask it
Festivals are a gift to a plot: crowds, masks, distracted guards and half the town away from home. Put one on the calendar close to your opening and decide what it commemorates, which sends you back to the History group. For quieter scenes, a dice game or a song everyone knows the words to is enough.
What happens when someone falls ill or gets hurt?
Why ask it
Who can afford which kind of care sets the stakes of every wound in the story, whether that is a village herbalist, a temple, a hospital or simply waiting it out. In a game, decide how this sits beside the system's healing rules, so that an injury in the fiction is not erased by a rule on the sheet.
How does news travel, and how old is it by the time it arrives?
Why ask it
A rider, a bell, a printed sheet, gossip at the well. The delay is the useful part, because characters acting on stale information make honest mistakes. Check the answer against your travel times and it will tell you how long a secret can stay ahead of pursuit.
What hits you first on arriving here: a smell, a sound, a sight?
Why ask it
Write this once for each place the story visits and you have the opening lines of every arrival. Use a different sense each time. A harbor known by its smell and a temple town known by its bells are easier to tell apart than two described by their skylines.
What does everyone here take for granted that an outsider would find strange?
Why ask it
Save this for last and use it as a test. If nothing comes to mind, the setting may still be our world under new names. Go back to your first answer on this page, follow the big difference into an ordinary household, and see what they have stopped noticing.
Building a world without building all of it
Practical guidance for the conversation itself
How much to build before you begin
Twelve answers are a start
A first chapter or a first session can run on about a dozen answers: the one big difference, what people fight over, what is about to change, the view from the starting point, the travel times, who is in charge, what the law does to people who break it, three prices, what the power can never do, and two or three habits of daily life. Everything else may stay blank without the opening suffering for it.
Work outward from where the story stands
Building from the top down, with continents and creation myths first, produces a handsome folder and a late start. Building from one village outward gets you writing sooner and sometimes leaves contradictions to patch. A workable middle is the village in detail and the wider world on a single page of one-line answers.
Leave room at a game table
For a campaign, an empty space is an invitation. When a player asks where their character comes from, let them fill one of the blank regions and answer a few of the Daily life questions for it. A world the players helped make is one they remember between sessions.
Go through the groups in order once
The groups build on each other. Land decides what can be grown and traded, which decides who is rich, which decides who rules and what the temples own. A quick first pass in order, one line per question, makes the later answers easier because the earlier ones have already narrowed them.
Making the answers lean on each other
Follow one answer through every group
Take a single fact and walk it down the page. Say the only pass through the mountains closes for four months. Then the town below it lives on storage and toll money, the family that owns the storehouses matters more than the mayor, the opening of the pass is the main festival, and news from the far side is always a season old. One fact has produced a politics, a calendar and a plot problem.
Ask what people did about it
Every answer about the world should be followed by a second one about people. There is a drought season, so what did they build? Magic is licensed, so who forges the licenses? A fact about the setting only becomes usable when someone has responded to it, because the response is something a character can meet in a scene.
Keep one sheet you can read at a glance
Put the answers you reach for mid-scene on a single page: travel days between the main places, three prices, the ruler's name, the greeting, the name of the bad season and the date everyone counts from. The long notes can live anywhere. This sheet is what keeps chapter twelve agreeing with chapter two.
Give every answer a dissenter
When you write that people here believe something or do something, add one person or group that does not. A faith has its doubters and a law has its smugglers. The exception takes one line and stops a culture from reading as a single character with a thousand faces.
Getting the world onto the page or the table
Show it through someone who lives there
A local does not explain their own world, they complain about it. The toll has gone up again, the bells were late, the bread is not what it was. Complaints carry history, money and belief in a line of dialogue, and nobody has to stop the scene to deliver a lecture.
One new fact per scene
Readers and players take in a setting a piece at a time. Choose the one answer a scene cannot work without and let it show in what someone does: paying with a stamped clay token, stepping around a shrine. Everything else you answered is still doing its job by keeping that one detail consistent.
Let the newcomer ask
A character who is new to the place, or a party of players who are, can ask the questions the audience has. Use this sparingly. Three explanations in a row turn a story into a tour, so let some customs go unexplained and trust the context to carry them.
At the table, answer with a choice
When players ask about the world, the most useful reply ends in something they can do. "The bridge toll is a silver each, or the ferryman downstream takes passengers who do not ask what else is in the boat." A fact that comes with a decision gets remembered, and a fact that comes alone gets written down and lost.
Where world building goes wrong
Building in place of writing
Answering these questions is pleasant and feels like work on the story. If you have filled in more than half the page and written no scenes, stop and draft one. The scene will tell you which three answers you were missing, and they are rarely the ones you were about to work on.
Our world with the names changed
A setting with kings, taverns and a church that match a familiar period exactly, plus dragons, has not yet absorbed its own premise. Return to the question about what the power has already changed and push harder. A kingdom with dragons in it would have built its castles differently.
A people with one trait
The warlike nation, the merchant nation, the wise forest folk. Real societies argue with themselves, so give each one an internal quarrel, a class that disagrees with the rulers and a few people who would much sooner be doing something else. This matters most when a group is modeled on a real culture.
Power with no edges
If the magic or the technology can do whatever the scene requires, readers stop worrying about the outcome. Any time a problem is solved with it, check the solution against your cost and your "never" list. Should it pass too easily, the list is too short.
Using every note
The trade history of a port you spent a weekend on will want to be in the book. Mostly it should not be. Notes earn their keep by making the visible details agree with each other, and a reader can feel that depth without being shown the folder.