Building a Hex System

For those of you who are not in the know, a hex crawl is a play style in tabletop RPGs (such as D&D), in which players navigate a world symbolically by moving a token representing their group around a large map. This map represents the world as a whole, and simultaneously acts as a game board as it is divided into a hexagonal grid. Individual spaces are coded in a variety of ways; using colors, patterns, symbols, letters, and numbers. These encodings are used by the DM to modify the consequences of the party's decisions as they navigate the world between adventures. In essence, travel becomes a gamble and a puzzle to be solved, while simultaneously giving the DM and players plenty of roleplay material to tell the tale of the heroes' epic adventure through the primitive world. Compared to other playstyles, such as Theater of the Mind, a Hex Crawl is an extremely gamist oriented playstyle, with a focus on tactile elements. As such, it often pairs well with other highly gamist/tactile playstyles, such as dungeon crawls, and tactical miniatures combat. However, it is also possible to run an entirely Theater of the Mind Hex Crawl, with the DM narrating environments and events, while the players attempt to map their own progress from this limited information. There are also all sorts of hybrid variant styles which blend elements of both.

Remember back when I wrote Planning A Hex Crawl? One of the first steps I mentioned was building a hex system. It occurs to me that most people probably have no idea what a hex system is, or, even if they do, they have no idea how to go about building one. So, I'm writing a whole article dedicated as a tutorial to building a hex system for RPGs!

The Basics.

Let me just start by saying that the hex-system presented in the 5e DMG is fucking trash. Read that sentence and know it to be truth. Got it? good. Now, let's talk hexmapping. We're going to be using a lot of convoluted terminology here today, so here's what you need to know:

1. "Hex" is short for "Hexagon". We are not talking about superstitious witchcraft nonsense. Often, when something is built from hexagons, "hex" will be applied to it as a prefix to form a single word. We are gamers, and we need to make things overly complicated like this! IT'S HEXTRADITION!

2. A "grid" is just a pattern of a repeating shape with no change in orientation. For example, a hexgrid is just a repeating pattern of consistently sized and proportioned hexagons, all aligned in the same way. A square grid is probably what you're most used to seeing. In addition to these, there's also isometric grids, triangular grids, and a whole host of others. Each of these generic forms have many variations as well. Today, we're only going to talk about hexgrids- and only the variants that matter in RPGs.

3. A hexmap is a map composed of a hexgrid. A hexagonal map is a map that IS a hexagon. A hexagonal hexmap is a hexagon-shaped-map filled with a hexgrid.

4. "orientation" means the direction a thing is facing on a surface. Because we are working with maps, the directions we will use are the standard orthogonal ones we see on traditional maps; North, East, South, and West. These will be abbreviated to their first letter in all cases from this point forward. We will do this because, as I will discuss again later, your paper is orthogonal, not hexagonal.

5. "Size" refers to the actual dimensions of a thing on paper. "Scale" is the symbolic distance that thing represents. For example, a hexagon with a size of 1 inch across could represent a mile of space in the game world, making the scale 1 in = 1 mi, and therefore, 1 hex = 1 mile.

Alright, so now I'll address the question some newbie is undoubtedly asking right now: Why do we use hexmaps for RPGs? The answer is stupid: "Because Gary Gygax was a wargamer." No, I'm serious, that really is the only reason this bizarre mode of play ever made its way into this hobby. Gygax played wargames which used hexmaps for movement and terrain and enjoyed them, so he implemented hexmaps in overland travel situations, and everyone else has been aping him ever since. That said, there's a reason people want to imitate this: When you do it right, it can be damn fun! Nobody understood this better than The Judges Guild, (a third party publisher) who took the hexmap thing and ran with it so hard, they built a campaign system which revolves around overland travel. Wilderlands of High Fantasy is a published campaign setting built in the early hex crawl playstyle, making hex crawls one of the earliest distinct playstyles to appear in D&D, alongside dungeon crawls.

But that doesn't make it any less weird. Let's dive into the weirdness now.

Using Hexagons.

Before you can go planning a hex crawl, you need to have a hex system to build your maps. A hex system is a method of producing maps of areas of your world using consistently scaling hexgrids, which coordinate evenly to higher and lower scales in a series. In other words: It's a system of scales for measuring distance and pinpointing character position. Surrounding that system of scales are a myriad of other properties which must be considered in order for it to work. In particular, for the purposes of organization, precise orientation and scaling, and location pinpointing, you also need a coordinate system, which will vary significantly depending on the size of your hexes and maps, relative scales, map shape, and hex orientation- to say nothing of various nesting techniques.

Orientation

First off, you need to understand that hexagons, unlike squares, have an orthogonal orientation. If you place a hexagon with two flat edges vertically oriented on a page, (What I'd call "portrait" orientation) you will notice that its horizontal direction will have two vertices instead of flat edges. This is called the flat orientation. Gygax and the Judges Guild preferred this orientation, so it is by and large the most popular orientation, but I don't think I will ever understand why, because it is terrible. The opposite orientation is one where the pointy ends are vertically oriented, (What I would call "landscape" orientation). This is called a pointy orientation, because apparently, we gamers are a bunch of fucking two-year-olds. I'd have gone with portrait and landscape myself, but fuck it, the tradition's already been set, so I'll use the more common terms instead.

Anyways, the reason I say you want pointy orientation: Unlike with a square grid, where orthogonal movement is done by crossing a boundary, and diagonal movement can be done by crossing a vertex, (corner/point/intersection) a hex-grid actually makes movement extremely complex and confusing if you take even a moment to begin thinking about it. In either orientation, a hexmap allows you to move any of the 4 diagonal directions, but only 2 orthogonal directions. Whether those two are up/down or left/right are determined by the orientation. (Flat orientation gives up/down and pointy orientation gives left/right) You can't reclaim those lost two orthogonal directions by crossing a vertex the way you would with a grid, because there's no hex on the opposite side of that corner! Instead, you have the edges of the surrounding tiles extending radially outward from the center of your starting space. Dammit!

You're making a map but don't know your cardinal directions?

In pointy orientation, you get your east/west orthogonal directions easy. I feel this is preferable for most mapping, particularly for hex crawls, because people do not generally walk over the top or underside of a spherical planet. Instead, we travel around the warm center strip. Because east/west travel is more common and more likely, it should receive preferential treatment. But now we hit a snag: north/south travel is extremely important, even if it is less common! We have a few options for what to do about it, but the only acceptable one in a hex crawl is to just stagger the party's movement left and right as they travel North. This introduces all kinds of problems if the players are mapping their own progress on a hex grid as well, but we'll get to that issue later. Maybe I'll make a blog entry about all of the different modified hex grids people have invented to try and resolve this issue, but sadly it will have to wait for another time.

It should be noted that non-spherical worlds don't follow this trend. If your world is flat, use whichever orientation you prefer!

One other thing I should mention about hexagonal orientation, is the "arrows" of a hexagon's vertices.

As an example, let's take a look at the 6-mile hex that the 5e DMG and most other gamers encourage. This here is a 6-hex hexagonal map. (Count the whole hexes across the middle) See how you wind up with 3 corners the party could "stand on", and three which act as the intersections between hexagonal maps? I, personally, dislike these proportions because they mean extra work for me when I'm writing up coordinates.

Staggered Cardinal Direction Travel.

So, here's the weird part about using hexagons to represent overland travel: It actually doesn't do a very good job of the task. In fact, hexagons are terrible at representing any kind of movement whatsoever. Seriously! Square grids are better suited to 8-directional grid-based movement, because you can write a rule to correct diagonal time-space relationships. (So you don't travel farther in the same time by taking diagonal steps) Such a rule simply is not possible in a hexgrid, because 6 of the 8 cardinal directions are not possible in a single step.

Looking at the above example, let's start with northward travel. Let's assume the players say they want to go "North". Which path would they take? The green one? The red one? Some mixture? How do the players know whether you tracked their movement as NNE or NNW? Unless they are filling in a blank hexmap as they go, the only way would be to tell them, and that's incredibly useless information without a hexmap in front of you to work with. Also, you're going to need to remember which way they went, because from now on, North will have to be the same direction for every hex on that row, otherwise N/S travel will be random and unpredictable. Another worthy point about pointward travel, is that compared to edgeward travel, it is extremely inefficient. Even though you are ostensibly travelling in a straight path, the actual geometry of the map can not represent that. As a consequence, you are arbitrarily penalized for it.

Now take a look at the true diagonal. What a wonky mess. As with pointward travel, diagonal travel requires you to remember the row's E/W orientation. On every other alternating row, going NW is the same as travelling W, or travelling N. This creates a bizarre world, where travelling W, N, and NW, could variably take you to the same damn place. This happens along all of the true diagonals, and it is a pain in the ass if you are trying to mix a hex crawl with a theater of the mind on the player's side.

All of this is why I favor pointy orientation: E/W travel is more likely and more frequent than N/S, so in the long-run, it has the lesser penalty to the players.

OK, now we need to talk about overall map shape. When making hexmaps, we are faced with a series of confounding problems. First and foremost is that your paper is a rectangle, not a hexagon. Secondly, because hexagons are staggered along an orthogonal direction, you will always have an edge of half-hexes somewhere on your map. Thirdly, you can not fit a series of hexagons flush along the diagonal edges of a larger hexagon.

Square Paper; Hexagonal Grid.

OK, this is probably going to seem blindingly stupid to you, but it's actually a massively frustrating issue when you're trying to build a standardized system of scaling hexmaps. Basically, hexagons are not rectangles, and making a hexmap on a rectangular piece of paper means there will be a clash between the geometry at the map's borders. The main way of resolving this is to make sure that you can fit an exact number of hexagons in a linear series (along their flat edges; rows in pointy orientation, and columns in flat orientation) between the two parallel orthogonal boundaries of your map. OK. You following me so far? Good, because I'm now going to make you immensely frustrated.

Let's say, hypothetically, you decide to start with your smallest scale, and draw just one big hexagon on a rectangular piece of paper. OK, that's fine. Now, let's say you want to make a bunch of these because there's a really big city that fills multiple hexes, and you want to map it out. All fine and dandy. Even if there's some overlap on the page corners, you can just draw everything inside the hexagon and leave the corners blank. And even if your city takes up a staggered area- say, two rows- you can always just stagger the sheets if you want to lay them out and look at the whole place at once. So far, so good! Now you decide to go up a scale, to a map which is 10 hexes wide, using the previous size as being equivalent. Alright, fine and dandy, you count out your ten hexes edge to edge and start drawing your map... Wait a minute. Every other row is staggered 50% to the side. That means along the column edge, about half of the hexes extend off the side of the page! Ugly! I mean, sure, you can draw the other half on the next map over, but now it's possible for a party to be on two different maps at the same time! And if you have coordinates drawn up, the party will actually be occupying two different coordinate positions on two different maps!

So what are the solutions? One is to go with a torn-edge map. In this system, you remove all of the partial hexes from the map edges. Next, you make sure that the two column edges are asymmetrically staggered, such that they fit together, like a puzzle. The resulting zigzag pattern looks like a tear, hence the name. The best thing about these is that you can us the zigzagging as a guide to remember the cardinal directions for each row, so that they stay consistent.

Torn-edge works fine if you are only working hexes on two scales. If your higher scales are just freehand drawn maps, it's a great solution. It can also work well if your higher scale maps are drawn in a grid, as long as your torn-edge hexmaps are square at their outer rows' farthest corners. However, if your upper scales are also hexmaps, and you want to be able to transcribe your torn-edge maps to it accurately, you are in for all sorts of problems, because squares and hexes do not mix well on the same map.

The next solution is best if you want a series of scaling hexagonal maps, which is standard for hex crawls: a hexagonal map. In this solution, you draw a big hexagon on your paper. This represents your map's borders. Then you draw a hex grid inside the large hexagon, representing the hexes of the next scale down. Now, you're going to run into the same problem that you had qith a square map: the staggering of the hex grid makes it impossible to have a flush-edged series of hexes along a straight map edge. This WILL interfere with coordinates for all of the partial hexes. In order to get around this, you can do a hexagonal torn-edge hexmap! Same idea as with the square one, just remove all of the partial hexes and make sure the overall maps can tile without overlaps or gaps. The staggering will make it kind of an awkward, lumpy-looking shape; not much of a hexagon, really.

Coordinates.

Now, we need to talk about your coordinates system, which I've already mentioned a couple of times. In a hex system, you have a series of scale maps representing different levels of magnification, with each lower scale encompassing less area either in the same space or a larger space. Larger scale maps are composed of a grid of the areas of lesser scale maps. In order to keep your place in this system, you need a key which will tell you where you are, and allow you to keep all of your maps organized in your notes. The coordinates system is that key. Now, if you have a very simple hex system, with only 2 scales and a very small world, say 10-25 sheets or so, you can probably get away with not using any coordinate system at all. However, if you are building a vast, planet-sized world with elaborate geography, you're going to be in for a ride.

The above image shows how point-edge coordinates are done. Notice how every other series corresponds to either the even or odd numbered system? Keep that in mind.

OK. Now that we have the Y coordinates in there, are you starting to see the problem? Every other series is using only even or only odd coordinates. There is a way around this. Take a look...

OK, so now what we're doing is have our coordinates zigzag with the map through the series. There's a billion ways to put coordinates on to hexmaps, and I'm going to be honest: None of them are perfect the way they would be on a square grid. You are all going to have this weird wiggling pattern running through everything you do. The following picture shows you how to use the coordinates to step through scales in-play.

Now that you understand how to do this stuff the rational way, go read this blog by some other guy. That blog entry talks about how everyone else has been doing this for years. If you look closely at how the corners and edges of his nested hexes work, you'll probably start to see why I have a problem with it and felt the need to write a whole article about how to make grids with hexagons.

You might also be wondering about this "6 mile hex" thing other hex crawlers talk about. Everyone loves the 6 mile hex. I hate it. If you want to know why people like it, see this blog entry by another other guy. Just so you know, while he makes a good case, his rationalization is just as arbitrary, opinion-based, and tribal as my own. The proportions of an even hexagon stay the same, regardless of the scale. Focusing on scales which divide evenly into 6 is only useful if you plan to do some kind of mathematics regarding geometry while exploring the wilderness. Also note, his "rule of thumb" for distance to the horizon uses a square root function, and is based on faulty knowledge. Your eye can see a galaxy 2.6 million light years away, because all that matters is how much light gets to your retina. We do not shoot "vision beams" from our pupils which would somehow limit our visual range. Anything which rises above the apparent curvature of the earth will be seen by our eyes.

Once you've read all that, come back and join me for a trip through bullshit land, while I try to build usable resources from the 5e mapping standards.

Example: The 5e Hex System.

OK, Let's go through an example. Let's try and build the hex system described in the 5th edition DMG on page 14. Feel free to use the maps I make, if you plan on using this system! (would not recommend it. There is a reason I use this one instead.) Now, remember how, at the start, I told you the 5e hex system is a steaming heap of horse excrement? That's why it makes such a good example. You would go insane trying to implement this system in your games. It is ambiguous, poorly defined, ill-conceived, and one of the scales is based on a factual error! It exemplifies why you should not mix grid geometries, why you should scale evenly and consistently, and why precise tessellation is a must! Let's begin.

I always try to work with hexagonal hexmaps, because they have minimal overlapping and can be used as the hexes for the next scale up, which is simpler than mixing grid geometries. I'm going to make standard hexmaps with overlapping partial hexagons at the edges. I have my own notation for these, so that they have common coordinates on both maps, despite the overlap. No, I'm not sharing that. You need to do some things yourself.

Local Scale Map.

Our first scale is going to be the local scale. They don't mention it in the book, but it's always handy to have a single-hex map for a local area, like city road maps and whatnot. This one is simple. Draw a big blank hexagon on the page and leave a space to write coordinates. Done! OK, I like to have a little more detail than that. Let's bust it up into a smaller grid so we can have some approximate distances to base our local maps off of. It took me a bit to find a measurement that broke up nicely, but this is what I got:

1 Mile = 5280 Feet
1 Squared Square Acre Edge = ~209 Feet
If you break down a 1 mile hex into 25 sub-hexes, each of those hexes will be approximately one acre, because they'll be ~209 feet across. OK, so that'll actually be way off, but it's closer than most players will ever check. As long as the system is internally consistent, nobody will notice or care. Even if someone does, just say your fantasy people use a different acre than we do.

This is an example of a really good hexagonal map. You can walk to and stand on each corner and the center of each edge from the center space. It tessellates perfectly on all axes. I would strongly recommend a grid ratio of 25 for pretty much any hexagonal map hex system. It works very well. 4 maps in a row makes 100 hexes, so figuring approximate distances at a glance at different scales is very intuitive. For those who like to kind of keep in mind the passage of time, even when characters are just wandering about town, it takes about 1 minute to travel across an acre hex, assuming they are travelling the same normal pace as overland travel. (30/25=1.2) So, while you might not have them crawl the map like with overworld travel, you might jot down the locations of various buildings and count the hexes on the paths between them as the players carouse about town, and use that to track the passage of time in-town.

Provincial Scale Map.

A provincial-scale map has 1-mile hexes. (That means each of those hexes can be represented by 1 of our local maps. In effect, the provincial map hexes are tiny local hexagonal maps tessellated together.) The radius of the map should be the distance a party can travel in one day at a normal pace from its center. Since adventurers move 2 miles (hexes) per hour, and they can walk 8 hours a day, the radius should be 16 hexes, for a diameter of 32 hexes, +1 for the center space. OK, no problem. I can build that. So far, so good!

As a point of reference, the Canadian city of Calgary is about 17 miles across, (Jan 11, 2017) so you could fit the whole city in one of these provincial maps. Now, that's a modern city, but it should give you some idea of how big a capital city would actually be, even at this scale. Even a medieval city would still be at least half that size; a good 8 miles across. That means you actually have a high enough degree of granularity at this scale to describe the general footprint of a city, AND plan for local-area roadmaps which coordinate to the provincial map! Good stuff!

As another point of reference, everything in Skyrim would fit into a 6-mile hex. Keep in mind though, those cities and towns are extremely simplified and miniaturized for the sake of playability. Whiterun, the capital city of one of the holds, has a population of only a few dozen. This is also a side-effect of all game content being hand-crafted; you just can't create and program the lives of several thousand people per settlement in a reasonable time and produce a fun game. Still though, as far as wilderness goes, it says a lot about the degree of geographical variety you can fit into a map like this.

Finally, if even that doesn't give you a clear idea of how big these spaces really are, I have one more picture for you. This is a 1-mile flat hex drawn around some dude's house. He spent a long time getting the math right, so I hope you appreciate it.

So, when your players are wandering around the overworld, mile by mile, remember just how much variety of terrain, how much stuff, they are wandering past on their way to their destination. Never tell me the wilderness is empty again. If you think it is, you've never been there.

OK. So, maybe not great stuff. I mean, as far as hexagonal maps go, this one is pretty funky. Take a look at how the down-arrow corners are actually the intersections between partial hexes. Weird. Also a pain for coordinates. On the bright side, it tesselates just fine, so if we make a scale up from this using provincial hexagonal maps as being equivalent to one hex, they'll correlate!

Alright, that's all fine-and-dandy, but WAIT! In 5e, players don't really move over land by distance, they move by time. Many other blogs about hex crawls and overland travel will tell you everything is based on time. And, you're right, in play that is true. But when we're designing our hex system, space is king. Don't trust me? Check out what happens when we try to replace the functional 1-mile hexes with 2-mile "hour-wide" hexes.

Yeesh! Look at this poor tessellation between maps! It's a broken mess!

And, to really drive this point home, the DMG itself states that the heroes will not necessarily always move the same distance per hour. They can travel at a fast or slow pace, altering the total linear miles traveled. They could be mounted on horses, or riding in a vehicle which travels much faster. They can use spells to alter their overland travel speed. Trying to measure space AS time only makes sense in quantum mechanics and astrophysics.

Kingdom Scale.

And now we come to Kingdom scale. This is where it all comes falling apart. Reading from DMG pp.14...

A kingdom-scale map has 6-mile scale hexes. That is really random and weird, because it doesn't divide into the 16 miles per day that the adventurers are capable of, like, at all! That means, from day to day, adventurers will be moving partial hexes on the next scale up. But, fine, whatever, you only NEED to track their hourly movement on one map anyways, right? All it means is that you can't draw the kingdom-scale hexes on top of the provincial scale maps to show their correlation, nor can your draw the perimeter of provincial maps on the kingdom map to give them meaningful coordinates. because nothing about them will line up!

Oh. Wait a minute. That's kind of a bad thing isn't it? That basically means you can not make a hex system off of this. Fuck.

It gets worse.

They go on to say that a Kingdom scale map should be "the size of Great Britain or half of California". How good are you at geography? You're terrible at it too, right? Don't worry, so is the nincompoop who wrote that sentence. End-to-end, Great Britain is 874 miles long, and California is 840. Yeah, they're almost the same size! In fact, Great Britain is a bit BIGGER than California!!! Not half the size of it!!! OK, fine, whatever, I'll go with the one which looks most like a kingdom, Great Britain, and assume they wanted the whole thing to fit on one map. The average between the two lengths is 857 miles. OK, 6 doesn't divide evenly into that, so our hexgrid isn't going to fit our map at all. No number games will make that work out.

OK, let's change our assumption. Let's assume they meant half of Great Britain or half of California. OK. So I fidget with the calculator and start fudging the numbers to find something close and round, that we can base an evenly gridded map off of. 450 miles is a bit larger than half of either of the example regions, but it evenly divides by 6-mile groups into 75. So, our kingdom-scale map is a 75-hex-wide hexagonal hexmap. That makes for a pretty fine grid,. In fact, it's so fine you can't even number the axes, it's just too damn small. You can't even meaningfully draw symbols on hexes, let alone utilize any sort of encoding! And it has that fugly corner tessellation the provincial map had, too. Eeyuck.

Here's your map, you masochist.

So, fine, we were able to make our kingdom scale map, even if we had to fudge the numbers and make up a bunch of stuff for ourselves, but let me just reiterate a massive issue with this system as presented: We can not draw out a nested hexmap of our provincial hexagonal maps such that they will fit on this map, and you cannot draw a nested hexmap of the kingdom scale hexes on the provincial scale such that they will fit on that map. This means it is impossible to precisely scale by coordinate position. At this point, you are left with two options:

1. Fuck it. Make up your own system that isn't obviously retarded.

2. Don't bother with nested tessellating grids. Just draw really massive 1-mile-hex hexmaps and one world map. Leave it at that. The intermediary scales have no further use.

Continent Scale.

Alright, let's stick a fork in this bastard and call it done. This is the final scale presented in the 5e hex system. We are first told that 1 hex is 60 miles. That means every 10 kingdom scale hexes compose a content scale hex. Cool! Sounds like these two can correlate, right? Wrong. Our kingdom map is 75 hexes wide, which means only 7 and a half continental hexes would fit across! That will not tessellate properly at all. Great. Another broken scale. In fact, you can't even draw it. That's fucking pathetic. I did promise you guys some usable content, so how's about this. I give you two 6-hex hexagonal maps, at a scale of 1:1mile. One is based on my method of measuring hexes, where you count across the center, and the other is based on the traditional method of counting outward from a central hex. There both awful, but hey, if that's what you like, go for it.

6 Hex Width

6 Hex Centered

OK. I have one last thing to say:

To quote the DMG:

"Whichever scale you start with, it's easy to zoom in or out on your maps. At continent scale, 1 hex represents the same area as 10 kingdom-scale hexes. Two cities that are 3 hexes (180 miles) apart on your continent map would be 30 hexes apart on your kingdom map, and might define the opposite ends of the region you're detailing. At kingdom scale, 1 hex equals 6 province scale hexes, so it's easy to put the region covered by your province-scale map into the center of a kingdom-scale map and create interesting areas around it."

Bullshit.

Alright, in return for all of your diligence in reading this whole thing, I will present you with one genuinely useful resource. A hexkey page. See, most maps have a symbol and terrain key drawn right on them. Since players will probably want to enter hexes that would be covered by a key, you can't do that. For the purposes of sustaining your sanity, instead of memorizing every encoding you've invented for a hex, just make a separate sheet and keep it handy as a reference if you forget what an encoded symbol, number, or terrain is supposed to represent.

Planning a Hex Crawl

This article is written with the assumption that the audience already knows what a hex crawl is, and simply explains the process of prepping materials for actual play. Don't know? No problem! Follow this link and come back when you're done.

Step 1: Draw a detailed world map. A hex map is an abstraction, and the hex system is a process of layered hexagonal abstraction. Having a detailed map to guide you as you build your world at various levels of magnification is necessary.

Step 2: Create a hex system. This is just a system of scales for your various scale maps. For example, a Township map could be a hexagon 6 hexes wide, with each hex representing 1 mile. A provincial map could be composed of 10 Township hex-maps. A kingdom scale map could be built from 10 provincial hex-maps, etc.

I'm using a hex system someone else invented. They based it on the rules for 5th edition, taken from the DMG, but added a scale so you could make unbelievably huge worlds. That suited my needs, and the printouts were really high quality.

At the world scale, transcribe your world map into the highest degree of abstraction. Because world maps are usually quite blocky, the hex version will likely lose some of the detail. This is why we need our detailed world map: it will help us restore that detail as we zoom in. You start at the highest scale of abstraction, because it requires the least work.

Step 3: Begin chunking. Draw the next scale down as a series of maps. Just transcribe the world map first. You want the next scale down to be big enough that you can draw the whole world at that scale in under 50 maps. You want the next scale to be small enough that you can just barely describe the world at world scale.

I was able to draw my world at continental scale in 28 maps. The continental hexes do not suit my standards. Since there is so little land on my world map, no single continental hex could be said to be land, so the whole map would have wound up just being water. As a result, I drew the kingdom scale hexes on the world scale map to describe everything. That's fine though, because there are thousands of kingdom scale hexes on my world map. Trying to do the whole world at that scale would be impossible, so the continental scale is still useful.

Step 4: Choose the map(s) at this scale that you are most likely to wind up playing in. Don't bother detailing any of the other continental scale maps unless you have to. They are available to you for the future when you run a campaign elsewhere in the world, or when someone travels a really long way. For now, we need to focus on prepping for play, and zoom in on our play area.

My hex system has a GARGANTUAN world, so the continental hex maps, composed of kingdom hex maps, are actually quite huge. Barring magic, there's basically no chance of anyone ever travelling across a map boundary at this scale over the course of a whole campaign, so I need to REALLY zoom in. You probably will not have this issue.

In the picture below, the page on the top-right is one of the continental maps prior to being detailed. The one on the bottom left is the same map after being given provincial scale hex detail. The three to the right are increasing scales of magnification, down to Township scale.

Step 5: At the finest level of detail, the maps you'll be tracking character movements on, put in all of your symbols. Towns, rivers, roads, terrain color coding, etc. If the next scale up is chunky enough for it to be clear, put as much of this information on that map as you can as well. (This will help you keep it consistent across adjacent maps) Draw as many of these maps as is necessary to cover the anticipated play area, plus a few half-finished maps out to a day's travel beyond those edges, just in case.

Step 6: Now that you have your play area for a couple of sessions built, it's time to make these hexes crawlable. For each generic terrain type, make a system of encounter charts to generate random events. If you want to go classic, these can all be combat encounters, but I like to have all types of adventure present in my games. I'm not taking a picture of my tables, because that would be boring, and my players could abuse the knowledge.

Step 7: Keep it organized and secure. Have an organization system. Best way is to use an alphanumeric coordinate system and sort them by scale and row, then add tabs to the pages you use as bookmarks or chapters. Make sure your maps are in a secure places that they cannot be damaged, stolen, or viewed by anyone you do not intend to see them. Players can metagame pretty crazy if they know the exact lay of the land.

14 Tips for Overland Travel

EDIT: This blog entry is a living document. As I learn and read other people's solutions, I update this page periodically. Although I may occasionally copy someone else's original text at the top as notes during that process, I am not claiming authorship of their work, and will delete it once I have parsed their ideas to work within the context of everything else I know about this topic. When people ask for this kind of help, I link to this page as my answer. /EDIT

OK, so like, I know 14 is kind of a weird number, but that's how many I got, so deal with it. A lot of players struggle with overland travel in RPGs. It seems like there's nothing to see or do, and travel just turns into a series of ambushes between important locations. Look, I know overland travel seems impossible to do right. Somehow, there's a fundamental ludonarrative dissonance between what we know an adventure is, and what the game winds up generating. It only took me around 14 years to figure out what the problem was. Fair warning for the TL;DR: like everything the DM is in charge of, it's your own fault for being uncreative and lazy. I've been noticing a trend with all of these things I used to be bad at that everyone else is also bad at...

(As an aside, if you want to explore the dissonance thing, you should check out gameplay and story segregation. Knowing this is a thing is the best way to stop yourself from doing it wrong.)

Before we go trying to make adventure fun again, I'm going to explicitly agree with Angry about something. If your idea of adventure has nothing to do with exploring the world, then you do not need to do this. Skip it. Hand wave it. Gloss over it. If your idea of adventure centers on actions or people, and you think of journeys as the mundane logistics of simply getting from place to place, just don't bother with it. Do a cutscene telling the players about their arduous journey, or just fade to black and say it happened off-screen, and move on to the part you actually care about. No amount of record keeping or creative encounter generation will make something you don't care about interesting. If you aren't having fun, your players most likely aren't either. You need to be in it for real for it to work. There. Now, everyone who wants a classic adventure, the kind where you venture into the unknown world, read on. 

The root of the problem has two branches:

Firstly. An unread DM is a starving DM. Read novels where characters go on long journeys by foot. Read how the author handles the experience. Read a lot of books like this. Absorb all of their techniques. Watch road trip movies- especially comedies. Watch survival movies. Watch nature shows and documentaries. Research historical methods of travel and Exploration. Beyond the literature though, practical research makes all the difference. Go for a hike. Go camping. Walk in the woods. Walk in the rain. Walk in the snow. Learn to ride a horse. Learn to row a boat. 

Far too often, we cocoon ourselves in modern comfort for years on end, experiencing nature in only the most distant and impersonal of ways. Go out there. Feel the earth under foot. Taste the humidity of a forest. Scrape your knees. Sleep under the stars. Experience this earth for what it truly is, in all its beauty and glory, for all its discomfort and danger. Appreciate the millennia of human labor which have provided us a world that is comfortable, reliable, and safe. Respect this vast and powerful world which, to this day, can simply choose to kill us in an instant if we do not prepare accordingly.

Secondly. A modern DM is a spoiled DM. Today, a 2 hour drive from one town to the next is a boring interruption to our day. We look out the window and see all the same; trees, hills, farm houses, stock animals, fences, and the ditch beside the road. It can be hard for a modern person to remember that just because this is the way the world has always been for your entire life, this is not the way the world has always been. In ages past, where now we see mild pastures and overpasses, there was naught but wild lands, untamed and unexplored, mysterious, perilous, and awesome. That two hour drive could take a whole day, even if there was a road. If there was a road, it was likely little more than wagon tracks in the mud. Travel was decided by weather, and meteorology involved talking to angels by throwing sheep knuckles in a bowl- and even that didn't work very well because God was ineffable anyways. Maps were expensive, hand-made practical art objects which took years to craft, and often got the details wrong. The world was a much more complicated place to travel back then- a place ripe for true adventure to happen.

For travel to be an adventure, it needs to involve exploration. There need to be good reasons to take the road less beaten, or to check out that odd landmark in the distance. Spending extra time in the wilderness is a risk, so it should be rewarded. Every time the players are going to cut a straight line across the world map, there need to be a myriad of twists, turns, threats, distractions, and surprises to take them off that path. The only things that really travel in straight lines are airplanes. 

Without further adieu, here are the tips on how to bring that adventure to fruition.

1. Track time. 

Describe how the aesthetics change as the day goes by. Both light and weather vary as the day goes on. It may start beautiful but end in a terrible storm, or be gloomy all day, or seem beautiful but turn out to be miserably hot, etc. It matters whether it is night or day, and how long the shadows get. The time of day should alter the types of wildlife you're likely to encounter. It should impact the weather. Light controls visibility, not only during combat, but also for exploration.

I generally run an immersive experience by the hour. If you travel by the day, the abstraction becomes too extreme, and forces you to abbreviate descriptions. When you describe everything that happens in a day, it stalls play by taking away any opportunity for the players to roleplay in that day. It steals player autonomy by never even giving them an option in the first place. Daily travel works better for a hex crawl, because it heats up the adventure's pace and reduces the number of encounters, (which are usually mostly combat in a crawl) making it more reasonable for the heroes to survive travel.

In 5th edition, you can use daily travel to award downtime days that players can spend on downtime activities during their travels. If you do this, limit the downtime activities to the kinds of things they can do away from civilization.

Pro-tip: When you want to emphasize the boring emptiness of a region, the dragging of time, there is a way to do it without being boring: When they state that they are doing nothing as they travel, stare at them in absolute silence, don't even respond to them, for exactly 45 seconds before continuing with the next hour or day of exploration. The silence and awkwardness will make their skin crawl. Don't use this too much, or it'll be truly boring, but it can be quite jarring if used to point out that their last decision is stalling play.

We'll come back to this, but routines are a powerful tool for marking and measuring the passage of time. The party wakes up, eats and drinks, camp teardown, they study and update maps and journals, prayers and spell preparation... As they travel, animals stop for rest and feed, distractions happen, lunch... As the light fades from the sky, they search for a good site, set up a camp, eat, rest, plan watches... and it all starts again the next morning. The farther they travel, the more days pass, and the more resources they burn through. Day after day. The moon goes through its cycles. The constellations creep across the sky. Weather drags or changes. (If it rains for a week, that's memorable- but so is that surprise hail storm in the middle of a month-long heatwave!) Holidays come and go. Seasons can pass. All various cycles, slowly measuring the passage of time.

Time is a resource, above all else. Remember, time is what consumes their other resources more than anything else. In effect, their supplies are just a really abstract method of buying time in the wilderness. As they travel, they slowly run out of survival time. If they stay in the wild for too long, especially in inhospitable places, the world will quickly begin to kill them. The real danger of running out of time gives a sense of urgency to play, and makes characters like rangers invaluable to long-term survival.

More than that though, the world should never stop turning, and should not revolve around the heroes alone. Things should keep happening in the world as the heroes travel and do things themselves. Unlike a Bethesda game, where the villain happily waits around for you to finish every side quest in the universe, a D&D villain should be actively working towards their goals. Wars should play out in the background. The consequences of past quests should manifest over time. Natural disasters happen in far-off places they've never been to. The local scandals and gossip shifts. The landscape changes in the decades since their map was drawn. Even the heroes' current goal should be a sort of moving target!

Did Lizardfolk kidnap a bunch of villagers to eat them? They have a limited time to save those people before the lizard men get the fires ready and start cooking! But do they take the easy/slow route to save combat resources, or do they try to hack their way through the dangerous/fast route? Or do the players have some other trick up their sleeve? And should they even bother with this when they know the real threat is the dragon the lizardfolk worship, and they only have so much time before it successfully marries the king's daughter?

Time introduces tension, and when you give the players conflicting goals which compete for limited time, it forces those players to make decisions and get creative. It forces them to play.

2. Track weather. 

Tell them if it's getting warmer or colder out. Tell them if there's a breeze. Mention environmental effects, like storms on the horizon, or seasonal effects like trees in blossom or losing their leaves. Mention any wildlife they see. (Someone might go hunting, or a player may be looking for an animal companion. If nothing else, it's texture.) Weather is the single biggest issue in ancient forms of travel. It affects everything. It decides when to travel and where to travel. It changes which route is fastest. It changes resource availability. It affects the difficulty of navigation and the speed of travel. It can kill you. It can save your life. In the wilderness, mother nature is empress, and the weather is her word.

Remember to include weather effects when encounters happen, too. Maybe a dragon flies overhead, but it's so overcast all they hear is the slow, melodramatic beating of its leathery wings through the clouds. Maybe they're beset by wolves, but howling wind interferes with their ability to hear each other, making it difficult to coordinate tactics. Maybe the rain has turned he road to mud and the whole battlefield is difficult terrain! Your weather effects are the first and easiest properties you can apply to any encounter to change the context, tactics, or difficulty.

Weather can also introduce new types of encounters. A road might turn into a shallow stream during a torrential downpour. A blizzard might force the players to seek shelter in a ruin. A drought might cause a river to dry up, becoming a treacherous ravine.

Angry has named this solution to random encounters the "genauein" solution. It's a contraction of German "genau ein" which means "exactly one".

3. Different types of encounters. 

Before I talk about the various types of encounters I run, I should give a word to the way a travel encounter should be played out. Remember, the players aren't playing if they aren't making decisions. While making tactical combat decisions does benefit the players, those decisions don't mean much. At the end of the day, combat only has 2 results: win or lose, and all of their decisions lead to one or the other. In other words, combat offers plenty of options, but few actual choices: breadth of an ocean, depth of a puddle. Because travel isn't an option, (they MUST get to B from A) the players aren't actually playing a game during that process, they're waiting. Every encounter is an opportunity to get them playing again by giving them choices to make. The  more engaging the choices are, the more engaged the players will be. For choices to be engaging, they need to make a difference and be relevant to the task at hand. Since the task is getting from A to B, their options need to affect travel resources, including time. Encounters which offer options to change course or go off route are also a good way to get players discussing what to do, getting them to focus on PLAYING the game again.

This is a vignette.

Also, the encounters need to have narrative value. They need to have a purpose, even if they are random. Don't just state the bare-bones minimum of what they stumble upon. Describe the who, what, where, when, why, and how of it! Give it details! Paint a picture in the mind of your audience, and paint them into that scene. You often hear people describe encounters as "vignettes", which are small scene paintings. That is exactly the advice I would give to you. Every encounter is a chance to deliver a plot hook. Every encounter is a chance to show the players some lore of the world. Every encounter is a chance to distract the players. We are here to immerse ourselves in the emergent product of our combined imaginations.

For each hour of travel, I first roll on a chart which tells me the type of encounter they run into. (Not whether there is an encounter at all) Combat encounters are generally rare, but some areas are weighted differently. Now, most people assume "encounter" means combat. That is not necessarily the case. Really, any time the players enter a scene, that scene is an encounter with the setting and system. That's where the word comes from! Some like to divide encounters into 3 types: exploration/interaction, roleplaying/socialization, and combat. I generally follow that model, but I find that the exact demands of travel requires rather specialized versions of those categories.

First: There are environmental encounters; such as... 

• obstacles in the path, (gorges, rivers, ruined roads, fallen trees, etc.) 
• hazardous terrain, (quicksand, tangling vines, falling rocks, sinkholes, rickety bridges, etc.) 
• hazardous weather and natural disasters, (storms, tornadoes, minor earthquakes, blinding fog, avalanches, floods, forest/brush fires, etc.) 
• civilization encounters, (an inn on the road, a farmer's home, a hunter's lodge, an old shrine, an abandoned hut, a logging camp, etc.) 
• and pretty things, (gorgeous rock formations, pleasant Meadows, foreboding woods, ancient ruins, huge flocks of birds, etc.)

Second: Then there are NPC encounters; wandering merchants, toll roads, con artists and criminals, highway patrol guards, hunters, wandering minstrels, other adventurers, funerary processions, nomads, pilgrims, mysterious strangers, farmers, road workers, beggars, people in distress, lost wanderers, guides, caravans, taxis, missionaries and evangelists, weirdos, etc.

A lot of times we have a habit of glossing over these people (or even pretending they don't exist) but it can be worthwhile to make all strangers potentially worth meeting. Give them a little backstory, some sort of goal, a secret. Let your party decide how they interact with the character, but give them enough juice that they have a choice of involvement. To make it worthwhile, simply record every NPC they encounter and how the encounter went. Then, keep every single NPC in a big toolbox. These characters are your tools to deliver new experiences in the game. Whenever one of your old NPCs could be useful, whip that character out and have the relationship pick up from where it left off! These little, "hey, aren't you that guy?" moments play on a form of human empathy known as sonder:

sondern. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

When you can have random NPC encounters, it pays to have a streamlined way of making up characters on the spot. Rory's story cubes are a powerful story-writing tool. Rolling 1-3 of them can generate inspiration for all sorts of interesting backgrounds for your NPCs to have had. There are also online NPC generators, and you could always go the old fashioned route by making randomized tables.

Third: Then we have your combat encounters;

• dangerous wild animals, (starving predators, diseased wildlife, territorial prey animals, breeding beasts, mothers/mares/does with infants, etc.) 
• actual monsters, (dragons, giant snakes, etc.)
• bandits, 
• enemy military incursions, 
• ravaging evil humanoids, etc. 

The main reason people hate travel is because most DMs run nothing but a series of random ambushes between A and B. It becomes a slog, with the party grinding on endless meaningless mooks. The DM is literally throwing monsters into a meat grinder. What a waste of time!

Every encounter should have a purpose, regardless how random. Having a purpose doesn't just happen though, YOU have to create that purpose and express it to your players. The random chart is not a destination, it is a direction for you to walk in. It is a means to an end. The meaning can be pretty much anything. You have the whole of your own infinite imagination to give it purpose. Maybe it means those wolves are starving hungry enough that a bunch of armed people look tasty- why are the wolves in this area starving? Maybe it means that random wyvern is actually actually major hazard in this local area and it can be used to foreshadow actually future side quest- how much would the local lord pay for its head? Maybe it means the guards are too busy with some other problem to properly control the highway men- are the players walking into more trouble than they bargained for? You can make it up. It's as easy actually asking "why" and giving yourself the most interesting answer you can think of. Just keep asking those why's until you feel satisfied with the story you've woven.

I could write a section on how to make the combat encounters more interesting in their own right, but a man could write a book about just that topic alone. To summarise the techniques though...
1. Varied and complex terrain. Hills. Obstructions.
2. Interactive environments and objects.
3. Unique monster combinations.
4. Creative tactics on your behalf. Surprise your players.
5. Environmental effects. (Generated for you by random charts!)
6. Customized or reskinned monsters.
7. Complex factioning. (A vs. B vs. C)
8. Goals in addition to, or other than, murder. (Save B from A! Help A defeat B! Grab A from B and skedaddle! Etc.)

Fourth: Finally, I have a whole separate chart for extremely rare supernatural encounters, like walking into a fey or fell crossing, encountering undead after dark, supernatural weather effects, magical scenery like a talking tree, a dragon/roc/wyvern flying overhead, all kinds of fanciful stuff.

4. Track their needs. 

They need food, water, and rest. Aside from the normal demands imposed by the PHB and DMG, consider the nature of the environment they've been travelling. If it's a gruelling trek through terrible weather across difficult terrain, they'll be exhausted and sore- probably miserable as well. It's OK to impose exhaustion early if the travel is hard. It's OK to increase their demand for water if the air is dry and hot or freezing. It's OK to show them that the world is unimaginably big and it can make them weak if they aren't ready for it.

Remember earlier when I was talking about time? A character's needs are the limiting factor of that resource. In the wilderness, people are frail little things, easily slain by so much as a few days of exposure. The supplies the heroes carry are their way of buying themselves time in the wilderness. Now, certainly there are characters who have various self-sufficiency skills, who can provide some needs for their allies, but nobody can find everything in every patch of brush. Sometimes there's just nothing to be had. Living off the land is risky business, not a lifestyle. At best, it's a way of buying bonus time at no supply cost. At worst, it's one extra day of life before death by exhaustion.

Do not forget about the needs of their NPCs. Every living creature in the party matters. Remember: a horse can outrun a man, but a man can walk a horse to death.

5. Be descriptive.

Tell them how the snow or sand on the wind cuts at them like a million tiny knives. Tell them how their clothes crawl with bugs from this environment. Tell them how their hair is matted against their skin, and their clothes cling to them from sweat. Tell them how the sun scorches, dry and hot upon their necks. Tell them how the rain chills them to the bone as though they are made of ice. Tell them how the mud clings to their boots in caked-on layers making their feet heavy as rocks. Tell them how they must fight against the dense tangle of vegetation as it tears at their garments and tangles around their ankles. Tell them how the storm's wind howls in their ears. Don't just tell them the base sensory information, tell them what it's like to travel through that environment. Even without mechanical effects, this kind of descriptive detail can change the way the players roleplay their activities, because it gives them material to work with.

Now, it's absolutely possible to become boring when being descriptive. There are 3 pitfalls to avoid during description.

1. Redundancy. Do not tell them the same details over and over again. Tell them what changes. They know they're outside. After you tell them the sky is clear, they will (mostly) remember that until you tell them otherwise.

2. Droning. Use as few words as possible to describe as clearly as possible what the characters are experiencing in as interesting a way as possible. You want a few words, the best words, and you want to say them in a way that is engaged- as if you are describing something you have experienced. Remember that each moment/hex/encounter is like a little scene, a verbal vignette. Think of your description like a haiku: as expressive as it is brief. Be efficient and elegant.

3. Stalling. Once you describe a scene, do not just suddenly stop or trail off. It leaves the players in a narrative limbo. Drop the scene in their laps. Put their hands on the reigns. Don't just say, "it is raining big, heavy rain drops which splash against you as you walk" and leave them hanging. Sometimes they can pick up from there, but not always. Make it personal. Give at least one character some detail specifically related to them. Always try to give the players options if you can. Always try to give your encounters a purpose. Maybe the scout finds tracks in the mud but can't make them out because of the rain. Maybe the rear guard is the first to notice a fog rolling in because he suddenly can't see the person at the front. Tell their story from their perspective!

I'm sure you've noticed a trend here, so I'm going to point it out: every step of the way, you want to prompt your players into doing something. Every time your players aren't doing something or start to stall out, you need to prompt them again. Feed them roleplaying situations. Give them dilemmas to mull over. Give them a chance to talk. Have them get in a fight or two. Lure them off the beaten path. Surprise them. You keep your players engaged by giving them a game to play. We will keep coming back to this, because it matters in every aspect of running a game, but it matters most in description, because every description you give should be made with the objective of delivering some kind of prompt for a response from the players. This technique of busting a stagnant plot by introducing new stimuli is called Chandler's Law, and while it doesn't necessarily make for good literature, it can generate some excellent roleplay.

Fancy Trick: Not feeling it? Writer's block? Uncreative? Inexperienced? Fumbling for words? Here's a shortcut to describing environments: as part of preparation, collect up a bunch of pictures of the types of environments the players can travel through. (Google and Deviantart make this easy for us modern DMs) Using whatever method you prefer, have these available for yourself. When the players enter a scene, pull up an appropriate picture and describe parts of it to them. The more stuff there is in a picture, the more material it has for you to mine. As you go, you can mix parts of different pictures together to get multiple uses out of each image's various elements. While I wouldn't recommend this as a crutch to actual descriptive play, it's a good ice-breaker to get into DMing, and a useful backup tool if you have a brain-fart mid-session. You could also just pass the pictures around if they enter an empty hex just so the players have something pretty to look at for a moment.

6. Interludes: Incorporating the players.

There is one other tool for description: the people at your table. You can enlist them to create content and entertain each other, freeing you to work on more stuff down the road. You do this by giving up some of your power as DM to a player to fill the world with a little bit of their own imagination. Such a deviation in authority is called an interlude, and the general idea is adapted from the Savage Worlds RPG, (though the original is a little more strictly defined than my usage here.).

Not all DMs like this one. For some, they simply cannot give such freedom to their players. To be certain: this method depends on trust.

How do you want to do this? When you arrive in a scene, give them a basic setting and ask the players "what happens now?" or "what do you see?" This gives the players the power of a DM for just a brief moment. I would only recommend this tactic if the players are responsible. If they'll just say something like, "a crazy merchant giving away free +10 greatswords!!!" you might want to avoid this one.

Part A and Part B. Another method of incorporating the players into the creation of the adventure is to get them to narrate the really long uneventful parts. You describe the scenery they travel through for a week or month or what-have-you, then you ask a player to describe something that went wrong, then you ask a player to describe how the party overcame the problem. Select players by some random process.

Breaking the ice. For each uneventful day of travel, come up with a character background question to ask, and have the players take turns answering said question in-character to represent what the characters learn about each other as they travel. That'll keep them busy while you come up with more interesting stuff for the next day.

Points of interest. For a long trip, show players their route on the map and ask each player to point to an interesting place on the way and make up something that they did or saw while there. If thre's a chance of failure, play it out as an activity.

Prompt. This one works best at camp. Anyone who reads my blog is probably aware of how much I like mixing games together, and how much I love playing cards. To be more in-line with the original idea of an interlude, you can randomly select a player to tell an in-character story. They can talk about their character's past. They can talk about minor history. They can make up folk tales. Whatever. But there's a catch. You draw a playing card and deal it to them. Describe the symbolic meanings of the card, (just look it up online, there's plenty of guides) and ask that the player's story be based on that card's theme. It isn't just an open invitation to be creative and flesh out the world- it's a problem to be solved!

7. Make navigation an activity. 

Navigation is an extremely complicated skill, both over land and sea. Today, with our detailed satellite-accurate maps, GPS, well documented traffic systems, detailed transportation network, and well-marked roadways, it can be hard for us to imagine getting deadly-lost on a three hour hike into town from the family farm. In the past though, most people lived without any of those things. The roads, where they existed, were almost always unnamed and unmarked. (Nobody can read anyways) Roads were rarely distinguishable from dried creek beds or game trails. (Nobody could afford to pave the countryside) Landmarks were few and arbitrary. Maps were rare, expensive, incomplete, and usually inaccurate. There were no weather networks to relay information about hazards on a route ahead. Navigation depended on extensive knowledge of natural phenomena to determine direction at any time, as well as an acute sense of time and pace. More important than anything was the quality of your directions and your ability to find your way with them. That means information gathering needs to matter.

The players shouldn't be exploring a pre-drawn and detailed map (or, at least, not an accurate one). They aren't omniscient gods who have already seen every nook and cranny of the planet. Unless they went to school, which is highly unlikely, they've probably never even seen a map of their kingdom. A geographically accurate map of the world probably doesn't even exist. Even if they have seen maps, it is unlikely that they have committed such to memory, or that they were even accurate and current. They should be mapping their own progress as they make it, while you track their true location out of view. 

The players shouldn't be able to telepathically know the fastest route every time. Part of preparation for a journey should involve learning the route(s) to a destination and the known hazards of the journey. They should be talking to people about their journey and picking up any rumors or advice from travelers on the way. Don't spoon-feed their adventure to them. Let them take the reigns. Let them make their mistakes and learn from them. Let them miss important details. Let them follow dead leads and misadvice. Let actual adventure happen!

Sure, use the simplified rules for getting lost and finding your way again, but play it out. Have the players draw their own map as they go. If they're lost or going the wrong way, help them by giving cues like, "the sun is setting ahead of you" (hinting that they are going west when they are supposed to be going north) Your main tool in getting the players lost, and their main tool in finding their way again, are landmarks. When people give directions, they are typically in the form of a series of Landmarks. "Follow the old road west to the abandoned keep and head north along the trail there. At the bridge, follow the riverbank west until you see the water mill." Some landmarks are easy to find. If you know there's a road or river ahead, you can just walk until you hit it, being a bit off-angle won't matter, because the target is so wide. However, if the landmark is a specific point on the map, it can be much harder to find your way. This varies, depending on how easy the landmark is to spot from a distance, and how far away it can be seen. For example, a black tower in the middle of a wasteland desert stands out a hell of a lot better than a broken tree off the roadside in the middle of a forest.

8. Track their characters' activities as they travel. 

Ask them what they talk about. If they aren't talking, ask them what they think about. Ask them if they do anything while they travel. If they are, ask them how they go about doing so. If they aren't, take advantage of this to set up something for later. 5e D&D has predefined travel activities which have mechanical effects in play- use them.

If you are the least bit creative in a game design perspective, take common activities during travel and make minigames out of them. Fishing, hunting, mapping, even make up small games the characters can play with each other on the road.

Speaking of minigames, you can borrow an idea from 4th edition D&D called skill challenges to represent complex scenes simply. Skill challenges are a really complex idea though, and I cannot do them justice. If you'd like to learn how to build skill challenges, I recommend you take a master course with Mr. Colville. Just adapt the skeleton of the system to play out individual scenarios on the road, or to completely represent a day's or week's worth of travel. You can even overlay a really big slow skill challenge over top of normal narrative roleplay for a long journey!

If you're playing 5e D&D, you have access to the downtime activities mechanic. For each day of successful travel ended with a long rest, reward the party with a free downtime day, lifestyle expenses paid. Then, even if the whole day was uneventful, the players got something out of it.

Chief among their travel activities is their reason for travelling. Unless the players are truly wandering for the sake of aimless meandering, travel always has a purpose. The players are going somewhere. Keep that goal in mind as they travel, and try to connect things back to it as they travel. All that random stuff they stumble upon doesn't just exist for the sake of finding random stuff, nor is it there to just arbitrarily fill the world with things for you. They are writing prompts and inspiration sources for you, the DM, to write a story.

It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyways: Every time the players actually roleplay or make a decision, record it. Keep detailed notes. You may need to use shorthand and abbreviations to save time during play, but when you have a chance, make a good copy. Remember what your characters remember, and build future events into and out of those memories. Weave your heroes into the tapestry of the world and the adventure.

9. Marching order. 

Know how they are traveling relative to one another. Anyone who's away from the group, (the lone wolf scouting ahead, the mule taking up rear-guard, whatever) can be separated from the group. They can get lost. They can get trapped. They can get attacked while alone. They can be swept away by bad weather. It varies based on where you are.

One key element of marching order is that it is a guide to who you should deliver personalized information to- especially if certain people are not marching with the main group. When a DM gives generic information to the whole party as though they are one person, they rob the characters of individuality and the players of autonomy. It is a damn lazy way of running a game. The characters generally do not share one mind. They are in different places and will be witness to different experiences. When you describe the environment, make your descriptions personal by describing the world through the lense of each character. This also gives the he players reason to communicate and coordinate in-character, because it is to their benefit to do so. An uneven distribution of knowledge stimulates play.

10. Play up resting. 

Describe the camp site. Have them describe how they set up their camp there. Ask them what activities they take part in while resting. If it's a long rest, and they've been traveling a whole day, give them a day of downtime to spend later on. Find out who's taking watch, or if the players are taking turns.

This is the best opportunity to call for an interlude. Take some time for campfire talk. Each time they set up for the night, have one player take the stage for a few minutes. Let them do whatever in-character. They could tell a bit of backstory. They could recite a poem they wrote. They could play a song (probably on their phone, but I'd definitely encourage true artistry any chance you get) that they think reminds them of he adventure. They could tell an actual story written from within game context. They could reminisce about a previous event in this campaign. They could show off a character illustration. They could pick up an old argument or discussion cut short during an adventure, like a debate over alignment, or a discussion about whether the king is actually a doppelganger. They could take some time for OOC chatter or rules discussion. They could play a quick card game! Whatever. Give them a chance to actually rest as human beings in real life. It becomes something to look forward to- and something to emphasize the impact when a fire is impossible and the camp sleeps in darkness without warm bellies or songs in their ears.

Always have the chance for an encounter at camp. Make it small, so players aren't strictly terrified of resting at all, and remember to do more than just combat encounters. Remember that, with the party sitting still, the encounters need to come to the players, they aren't stumbling across anything on their own. Present night encounters only to players who are awake. You can run the chances of players waking up too. If everyone's asleep, you can just play out whatever consequences an unchecked encounter would have. (Birds flying overhead would do nothing, but bandits might swipe anything not hidden and bagged, or possibly even take the players captive.)

11. Vary the terrain.

Sure, maybe they're travelling across plainsland. Have you ever walked a long distance in the wilderness? It is never regular. They may be climbing over a hill one hour, descending a valley the next, following a dried river bed for a few hours, come upon a forest-like thicket in the afternoon, and see mountains on the horizon by evening.

A good way of envisioning the structure of the travel portions of an adventure is to think of everything as a dungeon. Think of distance as if it were a barrier. Why can't they see what's 3 hexes away? Too far. Why can't they attack the enemies in the next hex over? Too far. Why can't they hear their ally 1 mile away scream for help? Too far. In every instance, distance can have the same effects as a dungeon wall separating rooms. In this regard, the outdoors is just a huge uniform grid of "rooms" painted to look open. It is the dungeon outside the dungeon. How far they can travel in a given time is set by the rules, so how many "rooms" you break that timespace into will determine how many things can happen, or at least how many opportunities there are for something to happen.

The main difference between a dungeon and exploration though: the heroes can see tall landmarks in the distance. A plume of smoke to the west, or the tops of a ruined elven tower can be powerful distractions or lures. Being able to see the horizon makes it easy to forget to search for threats nearby. You can't fish or ambush the PCs anywhere near as easily indoors.

12. How are the NPCs?

The party may have hirelings, a guide, a patron, animal companions, summoned creatures, etc. All kinds of people could be travelling with the party. Maybe they want to talk about something! What activities are they engaged in while travelling? Are they exhausted, hungry, or thirsty? Are they bored? Are they getting dissatisfied with the experience? Are they interacting with each other? Are they falling behind? Are some of them affected differently by the environment? (A hawk can't scout ahead in a snowstorm and might collapse in freezing weather; a frog goes into hibernation if it's too cold; a horse can't handle the heat the way we do and dogs have it even worse; etc.)

13. Road trips really are boring.

Have you ever been on a really long road trip? Remember how boring it got after the first few hours? Imagine it took ten times longer, there was no road, and you had to do it on foot. (And things kept trying to kill you) I'm going to say this right now: you want to minimize travel. Players shouldn't be forced to walk across a continent, wandering from town to town just to get to their next quest objective. Leave that kind of meandering to action video games that can play it out in real time. We don't have that luxury at the table. In real life, people traveled for one reason only: they absolutely had to. As such, people tried to travel as little as possible, and take the safest/fastest route they knew of every time.

Sometimes, it's OK to say, "You all climb the hill and see clouds gathering to the west. Anyone doing anything different or have anything to say or do?" and move on. It's OK to skip long tracts of empty wilderness when the party is truly inactive, jumping ahead to the next event, like the horse stopping because it's too tired, or bandits stopping the party on the road. It's OK to have their employer set them up with a cab or a boat ride if the destination is far away. Just because the characters are bored to death doesn't mean you need to make the players bored to death.

Remember that point earlier about describing everything as small scenes, little vignettes? If you run through a series of those rapid-fire, you can create a montage of vignettes, a travel montage of sorts. You'll see this technique a lot in literature that centers on travel. Just quickly describe all of the inconsequential stuff leading up to an actual moment of play.

And remember: if the players kill play, you can always creep them out with a 45-second thousand-mile stare.

14. Give them opportunities and reasons to roleplay. 

That's what the real purpose of overland travel is. If they can't get any real roleplay in, they aren't really travelling; they're playing a hex-crawl. And, while a hex-crawl can be fun in its own way, it's only fun as an extremely gamey sort of experience. If you're aiming for any sort of verisimilitude or immersion experience, the players need opportunities to roleplay, and that means you need to give them information to work with. Something to think about. Something to talk about. Something to interact with. Something to react to. It seems minor, but it's actually deeply important. A touch of subtlety makes all the difference. Also, if you're using things like RP experience, plot points, inspiration, or some other system that favors roleplay, make this an opportunity to earn or use that system.

There will some day be something inspiring here to close it off. Instead, here's a frolicking Frodo.