From Red Box to Port Kandrill: A Worldbuilder’s Journey

In the mid-1980s, something magical happened. My mother came home with a gift that would change the course of my creative life forever—the Dungeons & Dragons Red Box. It was a simple thing, just a boxed set of rulebooks and dice, but to me, it was a gateway to entire worlds. I spent countless hours reading those rules, pouring over the illustrations, and imagining the limitless possibilities.

D&D Red Box books

That small, red box ignited a lifelong passion for worldbuilding, for constructing places and stories that lived beyond the pages of any single book or set of rules. While many people find their joy in gameplay—rolling dice, leveling up characters, and running campaigns—I found mine in creating. It wasn’t the act of playing the game that fascinated me as much as it was the art of building worlds.

For about a year, I DM’d for a neighbor, guiding a handful of characters through dungeons and treacherous forests, but my real joy came from the preparation. I loved mapping out new regions, developing the cultures that inhabited them, and imagining the politics that shaped their worlds. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing a world take form—one that adhered to its own internal logic but could also surprise me in the way it evolved.

That one year of playing didn’t last, but my love of collecting and reading D&D books never waned. Over the years, my shelves filled with every edition I could get my hands on—from AD&D to 3.5e to the latest 5e books. I reveled in the way these books could lay the foundations for entire universes, each rule and stat block a building block for something greater. Each book opened a new door, and each monster entry or spell list offered a new dimension to my worlds. My collection became a kind of living library of ideas, a resource not just for gaming but for imagination itself.

And yet, in all those years, I didn’t really play the game much.

Worldbuilding for the Joy of It

I’m sure that sounds odd to many people, especially those who see Dungeons & Dragons as primarily a game to be played with friends. For me, though, it was more like crafting a novel—except I didn’t need readers. Creating worlds for the sake of it was enough. Building cities, kingdoms, and entire ecosystems, knowing that no one else might ever interact with them, felt right. There’s a kind of purity in creating something that exists simply because you want it to, without the expectation of sharing it.

I would sit for hours, sketching maps, drafting cultures, and fleshing out the histories of my worlds. And, like many of us in the D&D community, I continued to collect. I picked up half a dozen AD&D books, nearly two dozen 3e and 3.5e volumes, and dipped into Pathfinder for a new perspective. My shelves brimmed with guides and bestiaries, a treasury of endless inspiration.

It’s funny—people often ask what I’m going to do with all that. “When will you use all this stuff?” they say. The truth is, I already am. Each time I open a book and see a new mechanic or a different cultural element, it sparks something in my mind. I don’t need to play the game to make use of what’s in those pages. I just need to imagine.

I think that’s what a lot of us worldbuilders have in common—we’re creators first, collectors second, and players third (if at all). The worlds we make don’t need to see the light of day to be meaningful. They exist because we love them. And sometimes, that’s enough.

The Influence of Critical Role

For years, this worldbuilding was a personal, somewhat private endeavor. I built and rebuilt countless settings, expanding ideas that no one else would ever see. And then something changed. I stumbled upon Critical Role on YouTube.

I was an early watcher of this eclectic group of voice actors, quickly enchanted with the immersive storytelling and rich world building of Matt Mercer, and how this provided a stage for his friends, the players, to showcase their own characters and personalities.

Early Critical Role - Season 1

Is an early adopter of the streaming RPG wave I was self aware enough to see the absurdity of watching this group come together each week to play for 4 or 5 hours... and just watch, not taking part in any meaningful way. Over months I joined them each week through that first season, and then most of the second season, before other distractions took my time.

For a long time, I felt like an outsider looking in, watching from the sidelines as others jumped into this immersive new way of experiencing D&D. But there was something about watching Critical Role that reignited the fire in me. It wasn’t just the game mechanics or the rolling of dice—it was the storytelling. The way Matt Mercer and his players could create entire narratives in real-time, the way the characters developed through interaction, was fascinating to me. Here were people who were not just playing the game but truly living in the world they had built.

It reminded me of the joy I took in crafting my own worlds, of the way I had once guided my neighbor’s characters through dungeons and cities of my making. Watching Critical Role gave me the spark to dive back into my own creations, not because I wanted to start playing again, but because I wanted to explore what else my mind could conjure.

That’s when I started creating Port Kandrill.

The Birth of Port Kandrill

Port Kandrill began as a loose collection of ideas—districts with their own personalities, political intrigue woven into the fabric of the city, and a sense that this place was alive, always in motion. It was a world where no street was entirely safe, where secrets lurked in every shadow, and where characters—whether player characters or NPCs—could thrive or fall based on their choices.

At first, it was just for me. I built the city as I had built all my worlds, for the sheer joy of it. But the more I worked on it, the more I realized there was something special here. Port Kandrill wasn’t just another fantasy city—it was a living, breathing entity with a life of its own. Each district had its own culture, its own problems, and its own conflicts. The city wasn’t just a backdrop for adventurers; it was a character in its own right.

I found myself drawn into the details. What kind of economy did Port Kandrill have? How did the different factions interact? What was the history of the city, and how did that history influence the people living there? These questions led me deeper and deeper into the creation process, and before long, I had a fully realized city in front of me.

Worldbuilding Through Diversity

One of the things that really inspired me while creating Port Kandrill was the opportunity to explore diversity—not just in terms of race, but in terms of age, gender, and ability. Watching Critical Role made me realize just how powerful representation can be in storytelling. The city I was building had to reflect the real world in some way, even if it was a fantasy setting.

That’s when I started to focus on the idea of inclusivity. I wanted Port Kandrill to be a place where characters of all kinds could exist, where the city itself could offer opportunities for a diverse range of stories. I included NPCs of different backgrounds, genders, and ages, each with their own role to play in the city’s drama. Characters like Aldric Therovel, who uses a wheelchair but still commands respect as the Master of Diplomacy, or Esme “Mother Apple” Kadara, a seasoned herbalist, brought depth and richness to the city.

I also wanted to challenge traditional notions of what a city in an RPG setting could be. Instead of having a single, monolithic culture, I made sure that each district had its own identity, shaped by the people who lived there. Whether it’s the tension between the merchant elite in the inner city or the struggles of the laborers in the outer districts, Port Kandrill is a city where culture clashes shape the way people live.

The MidJourney Catalyst

As I was building Port Kandrill, something new came into my life—MidJourney. This AI-driven tool allowed me to bring my visions of the city to life in ways I hadn’t thought possible, or affordable. I have commissioned some artwork in the past, spending a few thousand dollars over a few years, but now for a monthly subscription I could generate new images as I thought of them.

Midjourney image of Murmer's Town

The ability to create visual representations of my world gave me a new way to explore. Suddenly, I wasn’t just writing about the city—I was seeing it. The bustling streets, the grimy docks, the high towers of the inner city all came to life in front of me. And this visual language helped me refine my ideas even further.

MidJourney was the catalyst that got me thinking about publishing. For years, I had been building worlds just for myself, but now I had the means to share those worlds with others. With the visuals in place and the city fully realized in my mind, I began to wonder if others might find joy in Port Kandrill as I had. Maybe, just maybe, this was a world worth sharing.

Port Kandrill’s Next Steps

That’s how Port Kandrill went from a personal project to something I could see living on tables around the world. It’s not just a city for adventurers—it’s a place where stories come alive, where diversity enriches every alleyway, and where each NPC, each district, offers something new.

As I move forward with publishing Port Kandrill, I’m excited to see how DMs and players alike will take this city and make it their own. Whether you’re looking for a place filled with political intrigue, a city alive with cultural tensions, or just a backdrop for epic adventures, I hope Port Kandrill can provide that.

For me, worldbuilding has always been about possibility. Whether anyone plays in the world or not, it exists. And that, I think, is the beauty of it. Port Kandrill is a world I built because I wanted to see what was possible. Now, I can’t wait to see what others will do with it.