Weapons & Armour for 1HD Groups

When encountering Bandits¹ roll 1d10. This is the AC of their leader. Their lieutenants have 1 worse AC, and rank-and-file have 2 worse.

If you roll multiple dice to determine the number appearing, use the individual dice-values to give them equipment. Determine an order to the dice, and then pick from the list below as appropriate to their nature. I tend to assign these values left-to-right on the dice, but you could say the largest number is always the “default” of just using melee weapons if you prefer, and assign rarer results to the lower values.

• Equipped with swords, spears etc.
• Equipped with ranged weapons.
• Mounted.
• Mounted, with ranged weapons.
• Out on a adulthood ritual, their acceptance into society dependent on their first blooding. [+1 Morale, does not test Morale for first casualty.]
• Conscripts. [-2 Morale, this group tests Morale separate from the rest.] ²

e.g. If 3d10 bandits appear, the leftmost d10 is how many just have melee weapons, the middle how many have ranged weapons, and the rightmost how many are mounted.

With this, a wide spread in values and using surprise, reaction and distance you have pretty close to infinite encounters from like, 2d20 Bandits. Notably, this is a reason to not default to having 1d100 of everything appearing, although the total chaos of that spread is also very appealing.

Grand Unified Theory of Magic & Religion (for Fantastic Medieval Wargames)

Magic is the religion of the other.¹

Remove the Cleric class. Instead, you have a library of supernatural forces that can be called upon. To do so, make a Reaction roll.

A supernatural force has Disposition. The Disposition lists the base dice to roll against the Reaction Table.

In these early versions, the Disposition is 2d6. All of the results are available by default. Fire is ubiquitous, and often responds. The Toothed Wind listens to those it has marked.

Crom, Master of the Mountain.

A stranger to joy not purchased in the blood of others. Rarely does he stir - better a champion tries and fails than comes to rely upon another.

Disposition: 2d4.

Rather than relying upon modifiers to the roll, as with Fire, you can instead change the dice rolled based on the actions of the invoker. Crom is likely to be displeased or ignore you; but calling upon him in a life-or-death battle turns one of those d4’s into a d6. Doing so whilst discarding armour might do the same.

When calling upon Crom for aid in battle, roll for Reaction. Modify this roll accordingly:

• If aid is asked when the Champion is outnumbered at least 3-to-1, change a d4 to a d6.
• If the Champion removes all armour, change a d4 to a d6.

Offerings can be made to Crom, although only the highest is counted. ²

• Sacrificing a warhorse adds +1.
• Sacrificing a captured enemy warhorse adds +2.
• Sacrificing a weapon captured from an enemy leader adds +1.

On a Hostile result, Crom scorns the invoker as a weakling. They may never invoke his aid again.
On a Negative, Disinterested or Positive result, Crom offers no aid. A seat is prepared upon the mountain to welcome the dead champion.
On a Friendly result, Crom delivers aid indirectly: the arrival of allies, the discovery of a weapon or weakness, weather conditions favouring the Champion.

Minase of the Choked Word.

The language of a sorcery extinguished. The alphabet, force and personification unified into a single amalgam that requires death to be spoken. It is only invoked to learn those terrible spells deemed to awful to speak.

Disposition: 12 - (20d20).

When calling upon Minase for knowledge of sorcery, roll for Reaction. Modify this accordingly:

• For each human being strangled by the invoker during the ritual, roll 1 less d20.
  • Victims sworn against sorcery remove 2d20 instead.

On a Hostile result, a black tendril of Minase obliterates the invoker and any assistants.
On a Negative or Disinterested result, Minase deigns to respond; the caster may learn spells equal to the number rolled for Reaction from Minase.
On a Positive result, the invoker learns the entire Codex of Minase.
On a Friendly result, the invoker is chosen by Minase to carry a fragment of their burning alphabet within their mind. They learn the entire Codex, and when casting these spells all effects are doubled.

Fetch Spirit

The invisible force conjured through the Wind Quickening ritual. They are capricious, and often twist meanings; especially as their time of death grows near.

Disposition: 2d10.

When asked to do something, roll Reaction. After the action, the largest remaining dice in the Disposition reduces in size by one, following the chain below. d10 -> d8 -> d6 -> d4 -> 0. Once both are “size 0”, the Fetch disappears.

On a Hostile result, the Fetch wilfully misunderstands the command.
On a Negative result, the Fetch follows the command to the letter.
On a Disinterested result, the Fetch follows the command, understanding intention.
On a Positive or Friendly result, the Fetch follows the command and will pre-empt related tasks where possible.

The Patient Lord

A smile of stone or gold withstands the years. Through his suffering, the ability to ease the same in others is granted. Patron of healing and master of sutre.

Disposition: 0.

When calling upon the Patient Lord for aid in the healing of others, roll for Reaction. Modify this accordingly:

• For each of the following garments worn, add 1d4 to the Reaction roll: Nettle Sandals, Four-Pound-Iron Bead Necklace, Knucklebone Bracelet, Flower-dyed Robe.
• For each temple of the Patient Lord visited in the past month, add 1d4 to the Reaction roll.

On a Hostile result, the Patient Lord does not respond.
On a Negative or Disinterested result, those treated by the invoker heal at twice the normal rate.
On a Positive result, those treated by the invoker heal at three times the normal rate. Their wounds will never become infected.
On a Friendly result, those treated by the invoker are fully restored by their ministrations. The invoker is reduced to 1HP, and may not appeal to others for healing - magical or medical.

When calling upon the Patient Lord for protection against a foe, roll for Reaction.

• If the enemy outnumber the invoker’s party, add 1d6 to the roll.
• If the enemy are superior in arms to the party, add 1d6 to the roll.
• If the invoker’s party has drawn the blood of the foe, subtract 1d6 from the roll.
• If the invoker’s party have wronged the foe, subtract 1d6 from the roll.

On a Hostile, Negative or Disinterested result, the Patient Lord does not respond.
On a Positive result, the invoker’s party find a strong defensive position.
On a Friendly result, the invoker’s party find a hiding spot which the foe pass by unawares. Ambushes launched from this spot result in disaster.

Combining this with ritual magic (and here) gets pretty messy, but I think that’s okay. If anything, these things should feel messy - a big blob of diegetic religio-magical practices and beliefs.

Obligations

Characters improve in two ways; by taking on Obligations and by forcing others to break theirs.

An Obligation is an ongoing commitment to another group or entity. Once sworn, a character gains +1HD and +1 to-hit. A character failing to uphold their obligation loses this advancement. They may not take on further Obligations; this includes when being forced to choose between two mutually exclusive Obligations.

Characters with broken Obligations may seek revenge against whomever caused their Obligation to be broken. Succeeding in this allows them to take on future Obligations.

Causing another to fail in their Obligation means a character gains +1HD and +1 to-hit. They should expect them to seek revenge.

Killing someone with Obligations does not count as forcing them to fail in their Obligations.

Examples

Beowulf swears to protect King Hrothgar and his mead-hall. (Obligation made, +1HD & to-hit). Grendel destroys the mead-hall. (Obligation broken: Beowulf loses +1HD, +1 to-hit and the ability to take on Obligations; Grendel gains the same.) Beowulf seeks Grendel and kills him, taking revenge. (Ability to take on Obligations regained!)

If, instead, Grendel had killed Beowulf, the Obligation is not broken - Beowulf is just dead.

Thinking: a little more collaborative than Boasts. People can take on the same Obligations. I’d probably limit it to 1 Obligation gained per week. It also ties you to specific people, and limits the scope to an area, which might be interesting. More warrior aristocracy, less mercenary kill-squad.

The Beer Seller & The Bierkellar

Written by Luke Gearing & Dan Boyle

Somewhere in your Smoke…

A Wall runs through the city. The Wall is older than the buildings around it. Many lean against it like drunks, breath foul, eager to explain. Dogs piss on it. People piss on it. Within the Wall, rooms have been built over unknown centuries.

On one side of the wall, a district of the poor. At the ground level, a sign reads “The Beer Seller”, swinging above the thick wooden door. Above it, facing out the opposite side, towards clean streets and cleaner people, is the “Bierkellar”, known for its well-heeled clientele.

Both serve as a front, run by the same gang of criminals. Adjoining these drinking-houses are the secure rooms used to store illicit goods. Each item has a name, and each name a place in the ledger. As the names change, so does money change hands - with a consideration for the rental of space, of course.

Below all this, an entrance to the Midden. 6s to pass through one way.

The Beer Seller.

Clients pay 5s on entry, and nothing for the weak brew sold within. The air is thick with smoke, tall chairless tables emerging in the gloom like some heretofore unknown species of mushroom that mimics wood.

Through the smoke moves an unlikely pair. The first, clean-shaven still, eyes small, recites silent prayers. Brother Hunckyl, he ferries instructions to the back rooms, where the hidden market operates. He delivers the money - carrying 1d100s at any time. With him, carrying a huge pitcher of ale, is his putterer. She has forgone her names and titles, insisting all call her Samantha. They still call her Lady Sam. Both carry Mint Shivs. Brother Hunckyl knows how to use his.

Both expertly step over Berthold the Beerhound, the slumbering behemoth of the breweries. The dog appears to sleep, pacified by the tobacco smoke and copious puddles of beer. There is little he misses.

One chair stands in the befogged aleroom, supporting the last survivor of a People’s Militia that would have brought justice in the name of country, not king. Noll, who has not left in over a year, sustained on the calories in his drinks alone. He sees much of what happens through his frown of disapproval, but would never reveal it to the Watch.

Dirty Stephen antagonises Big Mary. Both have been set to watch for trouble, but drink more than they watch. Both have swords, and wear ratty leather coats.

At the far end, behind the bar, works Ratman the Tapman. He knows of the criminal enterprise hidden within and cares nothing for it; as long as he can work the handles and bring golden streams of frothing, numbing stuff forth he is happy. His moniker is a diminution of his given name, Ratthew.

1d10 Patrons

1. Small Paul, Fisherman. Claims he can speak to fish.
2. Stephen, Initiate. Recently joined the Horseman’s Word, a secret society. Desperate to talk about it.
3. A mixed group of architects and labourers, bemoaning their shared working conditions. A pair of republican agents watch on, waiting to insert themselves.
4. Berry Fries, Pornography Baron. His dogsbody, Horsemichael, attempts to sell soiled stock.
5. Ratthew’s Mum, Gail. Aghast if anyone calls him anything but his real name.
6. A heated meeting of the Scaffolders Guild.
7. A penal legionnaire, blackly drunk. He has forgotten his name but not his number - #9512
8. Your shit cousin.
9. Pegleg Steve, selling the peglegs he makes. They vary from fine to Fine.
10. A band of Swyvers with a thousand fathom stares.

1d6 Events

1. Storm the Castle District Championship Games. “Count” Morton will play all comers.
2. Meat Raffle.
3. Morris Dancer Turf War.
4. Trivia Night. Tonight’s theme is “Diseases of the Sheep.”
5. Half of the establishment has been rented out for a 10th birthday party. There’s cake; enough for you too.
6. Berthold has an undercover Watchman cornered.

The Bierkellar.

Above, tall windows cut into the Wall permit what light penetrates the pervasive clouds of the Smoke. A proliferation of candles subsidise these poor returns. Illiberally spread tables host fine meals and delicate glasses of sparkling cider. No beer, ale nor stout flows in this airy room.

Overseeing all, armoured behind a moustache of prodigious size and complexity, is Gastro. Beneath his crisp white shirt crawl tattoos, copied from the chest of a dying soldier to better add legitimacy to a previous fraud. After each meal, the monied guests peruse the laundered jewels and recast precious metals held in glass cases behind Gastro. He knows several have bought back items stolen from their fingers not less than a month prior.

Podriag and Jackie watch the patrons carefully, clearly not members of the same social class. Neither disguise the sword at their hip. They are paid enough to be quiet and unobtrusive otherwise.

Thick, soundproofed doors - fit for a crypt - hide the kitchen. Linden terrorises her cooks, oppresses her waiters, threatens her suppliers and delights her customers. Perfection is the minimum. She is unaware of the criminal nature of the operation, but would not care beyond increased access to rare spices, smuggled against Crown orders.

1d10 Patrons

1. The Warden of an adjoining district. He is ratarsed. His bodyguards are not.
2. Edith Chanter-Yawlsley, Grand Architect of the Cathedral. Here avoiding the latest disaster.
3. Dean Untbrogue of Handbridge University. Touching nothing. Swyvers pg. 36.
4. Mark Odinsson, Abbot of St. Cower. Loud and obnoxious.
5. A pair of Dentists, off-duty. They are discovering they have nothing in common but their work.
6. Heghburt Trubgh, spending his monthly retainer in a single night. Daddy always has more.
7. Frederick Oxide, Cheesemonger. Immaculate in all regards. He has exsanguinated men before.
8. Rodney, on a date with Ericka Glennfoster. She is an heiress to the Glennfoster fortune, and the Bierkellar is more expensive than Rodney can afford. He makes small, desperate sounds when she is distracted.
9. Arthur Blunt, Officer in the Penal Legion. An avid volunteer, his eyes burning when he speaks of the war.
10. Your shit cousin, again.

1d6 Events

1. Grand Local Lodge of Beat the Poor, Final Match. The decks are shuffled, and the players are ready to begin.
2. Demiannual Cider Tasting Night. On the menu: Gaxholm Gooseberry Cider, Swanberry Pear Cider, Auld Rosy, Reeking Abbott, Doeslow Chancery Cider.
3. Benefit Luncheon of the Military Wives & Widows Society of [District].
4. The Montague-Dedrick Engagement Dinner. It is not going well for the Montagues or the Dedricks.
5. Sir Rodney Templebey, signing copies of his work My Time With Duckmouth. You’d be the first to buy a copy, let alone have it signed.
6. A historic meeting between two otherwise insignificant noble houses. They shared, over drinks, their love of legal tender no longer in common utterance. Both admitted their ever-growing collection of rusted discs, shined shillings, and continental coinage. They posited they were not the only ones. They were not wrong. And so they sought a guild charter - the rest is history.

The Hole

Beneath the airy ’Kellar and dingy Seller is a hole in the earth and masonry and timber. This Hole leads to the Midden, a yet un-extinguished river moving sluggishly below. Along the waters drift corpses, horrors and wealth. Above this, perched on the thin lip of stable stone, is a shop. Thomas Bludgeon, the centre of the entire operation, tends to the stockpile of arms and armour illegal on the surface. These he sells to the Swyvers who plumb the Midden. He also buys what they find, whether pilfered from houses and transported through the tunnels or originating in the forgotten deeps of the cities that came before, and the cities before them.

Acting as a fence, he buys all goods at 20% value. Jewellery is bought at 30% value, whilst weapons he buys at 40%, if they are of Decent quality or higher.

Thomas Bludgeon refuses to sell a weapon he could not use to kill a prospective customer. All of his goods are at least Decent; many are Mint. He begrudgingly sells armour too, although there are no guarantees of quality on these goods.

He is always accompanied by his boys, each by a different mother. They are Elbert and Imran. Both wear shining maille hauberks, polished nightly. Elbert carries a net, Imran a billhook.

The Warehouse

A long narrow space, curving with the slow warp of the Wall around it. The single door, always locked, controls access. Gastro, Brother Hunckyl and Thomas Bludgeon have the only keys. Locked in, amongst the goods, is Tania. Her aged frame and crooked limbs give her the countenance of an insect crawling across the immense ledger that has become her entire life. She works without light, pores so familiar with each page that even her gentle marks stand out as if written in fire across a night sky.

Currently, the warehouse holds the following goods:

• An ancient stuffed moose, the fur rich with dust. The interior is rich with the hidden wealth of the gang: 22L 18s 7d.
• 6 sets of Watchmen’s uniforms, complete with badges. Worth 1L each to criminals. Use the Bribe chances to see if the stolen badges pass inspection with other Watchmen.
• A herd of 34 prize sheep. They make a lot of noise, and shit constantly. Each sheep is worth 10s.
• A stack of rugs, first stolen from overseas and then stolen from their captors. There are 20 in total, and each is worth 1L.
• Three barrels of paprika, each barrel stamped with the royal seal. The contents are worth 5L 15s each, but sold with the royal seal will only fetch 1L.
• The Turnip Unperishable. An unrotting root vegetable, stolen from its shrine. It is the size and weight of a four-year-old. A pair of roots grow outwards, like arms, open for an embrace. Worth 3L 19s 7d to the strange.
• An elderly gentleman’s calligraphy set. Embossed and set in a rich ebony wood. Worth 15s to the average man, worth 3L if you can find the original owner.
• A 7’ tall egg of stone, carved all about with the ancient tongue of the druids. One able to translate the runes would learn how to call down the lightning.
  • Call Lightning. ♦♥
    The caster speaks to the sky, and invites a piece of it down to rake the earth with her talons. A warning to the Sea, or invaders from shores distant and unseen.
    17-20: Lightning strikes in an area the size of a street d6 times. This causes devastation to structures, although people and animals have only a 10% chance of being struck unless up high, wearing metal etc. Those struck have a 1% chance of survival.
    21: The caster guides each bolt lightning exactly. Like limbs, each can curl around corners, through doors or windows.
    ♦: The strikes are guaranteed to cause a conflagration, sure to burn down a district if not stopped.
    ♥: A storm erupts around the lightning. A flash-flood occurs as the lightning pummels the earth.

Contacts Table for Swyvers

Written by Luke Gearing & Daniel Boyle.

You know… (Regular Swyvers roll 1d4 times at character creation.)

1. A Racing Horse Stable Owner.
2. A Butcher.
3. A Oarswoman.
4. A Ratcatcher.
5. A Rat.
6. A Talking Dog.
7. A Librarian.
8. A Watchman.
9. A Watchman, Honest.
10. A Pickpocket.
11. A Beggar.
12. A Priest.
13. A King of the Orphans.
14. A Poet (Terrible).
15. A Gardener.
16. A Soldier.
17. A Wise Woman.
18. A Tinker.
19. A Sausage Merchant.
20. A Wildman.
21. A Musician.
22. A “Musician”.
23. A Servant to lesser nobility.
24. A Noble who’s “going to get it all back this time.”
25. A Lamplighter.
26. A Used Horse Salesman.
27. Big Dave’s lackey.
28. A Shire Reeve.
29. A Long Lost Uncle.
30. A Barber Surgeon.
31. A Lawyer.
32. A Historian.
33. A Fortune Teller.
34. A Professional Reader.
35. A Professional Riter.
36. A Royal Whipping Boy, Retired.
37. A River Boat Captain.
38. A Bridge Warden.
39. An Abattoir Worker.
40. A Smart Person.
41. A Tanner.
42. The guy who boils horses into glue.
43. Pete.
44. A Innkeep.
45. A Barman.
46. A Mason.
47. A Carpenter.
48. A Pigeon Fancier.
49. A Pugilist.
50. A Veteran.
51. A Sea-Washed Man.
52. A Foundling.
53. A Continental … (Roll again.)
54. A Poacher.
55. A Falconer.
56. A Nightsoil Harvestman.
57. A Piss Merchant.
58. A Brewer.
59. A Porter, bad back.
60. A Porter, pint of.
61. A Gang Liutenant.
62. A Scarless Dog Trainer.
63. A Maitre de Chat.
64. A Winklepicker.
65. A Beachcomber.
66. A Pie Flogger.
67. A Warden’s Executioner.
68. A Seamstress.
69. A Woman of Great Respect and Fortitude.
70. Your Mum.
71. A Corpse Cart Driver.
72. A Plague Survivor.
73. A Thief, failed.
74. A Guy with terrible luck, just awful, like really.
75. A Carter.
76. A Guy who knows a guy - roll again.
77. A Cryer.
78. The Third fastest driver in the city.
79. The Second fastest driver in the city.
80. The slowest man alive.
81. A Blacksmith.
82. A Farrier.
83. A Stable boy.
84. A Stable man.
85. Old Tom
86. Real Old Tom.
87. Dead Tom.
88. A Deserter.
89. Somone in the Clink.
90. Yourself, truly.
91. Your spouse.
92. Your shitty little cousin.
93. A Clingy swyver.
94. A Locksmith.
95. A Perfumier.
96. A Republican Activist.
97. A Mummer.
98. A Ragpicker.
99. A Cobbler.
100. okay so there was this one night right, you know the type, getting a bit messy with the crew anyway there was this geezer who kept paying for the drinks but not saying much and you called him a right good lad the night carries on and things get a bit lairy but you save this blokes skin and basically it turns out he’s only the bloody crown prince and he says to you “i owe you a favour mate”, you can keep that one in your back pocket, later on right he nicks this horse and rides it about and you drag him off it before it careens into a whole block of coppers and he says to you again “i owe you a favour mate” anyway thats how I met the crown prince and thats why he owes you at least two favours maybe more you were drinking quite a lot that night so it gets a bit fuzzy around the middle bit

Writing Wages

In January, I quit my job to work at Tuesday Knight Games full-time. Wages of Sin (crowdfunding soon!) is my first book written whilst doing games full time. The core of the book is 100 Bounties, each a complete scenario. A major point of inspiration was 76 Patrons, which is still one of my personal favourite RPG books. The manuscript clocks in at around 80,000 words. I learnt a lot writing it, which I’ll summarise down below.

Rather than just trying to write 100 bounties, I worked through set of defined stages. They all began in a spreadsheet with the most high-level details: target, client and a one-liner pitch for any complications or setting notes. To help with this, I also created a big list of crimes. Whenever I was uncertain, I could scan the list for inspiration. Having a number of similar resources is essential when creating a large number of similar items. For the &Treasure project, I had a number of lists to pull from. At this phase of the project, I only allowed myself to work on the spreadsheet. By immersing myself in the process, I avoided context-switching, helping find a flow state to generate quality ideas at a good pace.

Once the spreadsheet was complete, I created ‘sketches’ of each bounty, working in batches of ten. This consisted of gathering the existing details and building on them, producing an outline with all the important details worked out. All of this writing happened longhand in a notebook, dedicated to Wages of Sin. For me, the utility of having a single place to put everything was huge, and is something I’ve started doing for everything going forwards. This phase was about generating more concrete ideas and finding the interesting elements within the one-liners in the spreadsheet. By splitting the tasks and focusing only on ideation-in-detail, I didn’t need to worry about presentation or legibility at this point. More on this later. Working longhand, I find myself much less distracted and able to produce better ideas - taking advantage of the flexibility by using lists, diagrams, or simply clustering text by topic. For stationary nerds: I used Mitsubishi 9850s and Hi-Unis in HB for most of the project, working in a Muji A5 30 page notebook.

The project book.

A bounty ‘sketch’.

Finally, it was time to write the bounties. At each stage of the process, they had become clearer and more complex. By doing each stage as a discrete unit of work, each piece was given more time to mature and evolve. Thinking on this, and seeing it happen across the whole project has made me consider the role of patience in writing. Ideas and their expression both need time to grow. Doing this deliberately and slowing yourself down reaps benefits in the quality of both. All this to stay, whilst typing up the text from my notes, things changed and developed. This happened freely and spontaneously as part of the natural writing flow, rather than requiring me to stop and context-switch to ideation mid-writing. The two tasks are deeply linked but are independent, and treating them as such allows better engagement with each part. For writing, this allows you to focus on the best possible expression of the already existing ideas - and any elaboration occurs easily and organically. Further, writing with the knowledge that you will revise the text allows for better writing. The work of revision is once again, an entirely different relationship to the text. Trying to edit your work as you write it will slow you down immensely, as well as producing weaker writing overall.

As mentioned before, the bounties were written in batches of ten, alternating with the idea-sketches. This meant the different phases were in communication with one another. After completing each batch, improvements and refinements for future batches were identified. For example, earlier idea-sketches didn’t include names for all NPCs, which slowed writing down. By batching this work, this flaw was spotted early and corrected going forwards.

The same bounty from before, in Vim.

For computer perverts: the initial writing was done in Vim, using my .vimrc which is a cludged-together mess. Beyond being some turbonerd shit, writing in an offline editor means you can turn off the internet whilst writing - removing a major distraction. Turning off the internet is another reason to do all your research beforehand!

Once all Bounties were complete, I read through all of them with a mind to revision. The process of revision is essential in producing quality process. The best approach for me is to consider it a form of play: “Does this sound better worded like this? Or like this? What if I delete these words?”. There are many approaches to this, but ultimately you are trying to make the words sound better. Taking the time to do this yourself, catching all the low-hanging fruit and giving it an initial tune-up, means your editors can focus on the improvements you will not be able to see in your own work. With this done, I combined all the individual bounties into a single document and uploaded it to Google Docs. As much as I love Vim, Google Doc comments and suggestions remain untouched for collaboration.

The approach (headlines -> sketch -> write) detailed above works for less structured writing too. Wages of Sin features a prison, written using the same process: an initial pitch was developed further using longhand notes into a sketch of each element, which was then typed up once iterated across several times. Rather than batching bounties, the prison was developed a component at a time: a section on prisoners, a section on guards, a section on defences. The batching technique wasn’t used here, as I felt it more useful to have the entire concrete idea mapped out before writing anything.

Much of this will seem fundamental. It is. Yet I have seen countless people jump into a Google Doc to start their project, writing their introduction before anything else. Then they will stop, think, delete a line or two, re-word it. Go back, change an idea. Approaching things a little more deliberately reaps huge benefits.