Right now, the rain is falling.

wow - great post, Pcat.
I agree that much more attention and concern could be placed on the role of weather in most campaigns.
Most players seem to me like "as long as he's not taking damage, than my PC's cool with the weather."

The deity in charge of the sky and weather in the campaign world has decided to punish a city for a perceived insult from the city's leader by denying them rain. As wells dry up and crops wither, the people cry out, but the town leaders are either unaware of the source of the problem, or are unwilling to make reparations with the deity (perhaps they are devoted to a rival god).

Finally, the local populace turns to the druidic order for aid. The druids, recognizing that this curse threatens the natural balance, begin to use their own magic, conducting huge rituals to cast what is essentially a beefed-up control weather spell. The priests of the sky-god, of course, move to enforce the will of their god.

No one in this situation is necessarily evil (unless you consider stubbornness to be evil ). But this sets up an environment with multiple levels of conflict; mortals vs the gods, rulers vs the common people, druids vs clerics. All set in a backdrop of wild, unpredictable, and perhaps even dangerous weather, as the forces of druidic magic and divine power interact.

I cannot imagine being in a place like Seattle (or apparently Boston) where drought is unimaginable.

Click to expand...

Well, this isn't entirely true for Boston. We've had our share of dry years previous to this. New England was on the edge of drought conditions for quite a while, due especially to low snowfall amounts. This spring has helped to even it out, but I know that in Maine (where I am originally from, and where my parents live) they got hit hard by water restrictions prior to this, to the point where I'm pretty sure the state was looking for federal help.

For weeks it's been raining on the city of [Insert City Here] and noone knows why. It started so lightly that nooned notivced, and has been getting worse and worse by miniscule increments. Now it's a downpour of awesome proportions. Druids and priests in the area don't know what's going on, only that the rain isn't natural. The highest level wizard in the area can't be found.

What happened? Said wizard was poking his nose into the elemental planes, and managed to steal a powerful magic item from a Water Elemental Prince, a magical staff that greatly enhances the wielders ties to the plane of water. The wizard managed to shut the gate he had opened, but realized the elemental could probably find him none-the-less. He's now hiding in a magically proteced bolt-hole somewhere near the city, trying to think of a more permanent solution. The Prince, meanwhile, is openeing up gates in the first source of water big enough to hold them, the clouds that were above the city. Without his staff, however, he is greatly weakened, and openeing the gates has been a long and tedious process. Soon the gates will be large enough to send smaller elementals through with the rain, and larger ones won't be far behind. The prince intends to tear up the city looking for his staff, and the humans living there are just speed-bumps. The PC's could hold off the water elementals, negotiate with the prince, or track down the missing wizard.

Call me crazy...

Maybe the Druid is like me, and loves the rain. He has lost his marbles a wee bit, and makes it rain because he likes it. His...mental issues have made him forget the environmental impact this is having, or just made him forget to 'turn off the water on his way out' ooohh! Toadstools!...

Imagine what a druid with weather controlling spells could do to Isengard.

The usual thing around here is the infamous June Gloom (a near constant overcast that can get quite thick). If this town was only a mile higher in altitude we'd get tons more rain. But most of what gets dropped our way ends up getting evaporated before it hits the ground. (This is known as, "virga.") But this year we're getting scattered showers along with the low clouds.

How low?

The peaks of 200 foot tall hills covered by fog. That's how low.

Overcast again today. Depending on the relative humidity some drizzle may get squeezed out.

So, PKitty, the weather's been unusual here too.

I once dealt with weather in RPGs in a bit I wrote for The Gaming Outpost some time ago. It's in the library, under Alan Kellogg (one of the first (oldest) bits, but danged if I can remember the exact date).

Now for a bit of campaign background.

The mist arose at Noon, GMT. A heavy mist, an obscuring mist. A mist that separated husband from wife, mother from child, master from dog. A mist that deadened sound, smell, touch. A mist that isolated and, finally, separated soul from body.

Not that anybody noticed, for the mist put all to sleep as well. A dreamless sleep, except for those few who had visions or heard things in their slumber. These would become priests and wizards in the new world they awoke to.

Few who awoke when the mist cleared could be called sapient as sapience is accounted. Fewer yet could be accounted human. Earth was changed. The scope of the change did not become fully apparent until the first dragon flew out of Rocky Mountains to visit the city of Billings, Montana.

End Campaign Background

The rain you are getting is the rain we had, now the streams and rivers run muddy and flow beyond their banks. What makes this bad is that we are now over a five year dought, by 20 odd inches. The gound is waterlogged, places where homes were built are now ponds! They say the rain will return next week but today it is a fantastic day, blue skys, nice temps.

Yep. Rain. I had been waffling over whether to go to Pandemonium (a Boston FLGS) yesterday or today. I'm glad I went yesterday, as I traded in my Junior Frogman Swim Fins some time ago.

I'll admit that I don't use weather as a plot point very often. I find, however, that as a flavor element, it can be key. When you've got a bunch of Deadlands greenhorns hold up in a church, waiting to face down some horror that's been doggin' their heels for months, whether it's dark, raining, or blizzarding outside makes a big difference in how the characters think, act, and feel...

Drizzle
A rumble, a low crackle, a thrum.
For the clouds here are children, mewling,
Like strangers speaking a strange tongue,
Their rainfall an empty spray.
But a stray wind briefly carries familiar gales
From a hurricane meant for the Gulf.
Migrated far, they play outside and above my window,
Recalling the pleasant storms of our homeland.

Back on the coastal plains of floodland Texas,
Open to sky and an ocean of endless horizon,
I’d smile in my bed, blinds open, staring
Upward into the clapping cloak of the storm.
My eyes would close to the rain falling on glass.
From the first light of memory, of my upgazing eye
Staring across the city’s unlit towers,
I recall this water-shrouded vision as
A childhood melody, a lullaby eager and swift
To pass my lips in moments of solitude.

My cousins overhead sing of more memories:
A faint whirlwind in the sunset, sending
Down onto the fields and streets and forests,
A cascade;
Walking home from school, singing
To no audience;
Dancing hip-deep in sea brine,
Having to leave because of others
Not reckless enough to stand in the storm.

At night, I murmur to my white-haired sister
In a shared conversation, of how
She will stay up late and dazzle at the lightning,
But as strokes of greeting lambence gleam
Summoning flashes of remembrance,
I lie back and feel the rhythm through the earth,
Through my skin, and I tell her
How I always preferred thunder.

Out of this foreign land, of sound-proof hills,
And rain-soaked peachtrees,
With tide-like farewells, the visiting stormclouds
Roar sonorously to me in my exile,
As their airy undertow carries them back,
Their blessings carried off by the gulf wind.

Far from Texas plains, I listen to the song I will write
Of this new home,
But when the rains greet me, swing by,
Thunder,
And travel on to fade to echoes,
I remember my homeland, in stormsong,
In the crash of lightning,
In the pleasant drizzle of reminiscence.