One Faction, Five Peoples
How regional accents can make an adventure feel bigger than its map.
I’ve been reading through Hold Back the Dead on D&D Beyond.
The adventure casts the characters as defenders of Ironspine Keep, a fortress besieged by the undead legions of Szass Tam. Mechanically, it’s essentially D&D’s answer to a tower defense game—a combat-heavy, horde-mode adventure where the goal isn’t to explore a dungeon or unravel a mystery, but simply to survive wave after wave of attackers.
Combat has always been my least favorite of D&D’s three pillars. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy a good fight. But exploration and social interaction are where I find the game really comes alive. So, as I was reading, though, I found myself looking for ways to sneak the other two pillars back into the adventure.
One detail jumped out at me.
Ironspine Keep is defended by troops from across the Lords’ Alliance. Soldiers from Baldur’s Gate, Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Silverymoon, and Mithral Hall each man different sections of the fortress.
On paper, they’re all members of the same faction.
In practice?
They’re five different peoples.
These cities are separated by hundreds of miles across the Sword Coast of Faerûn. Some locations are weeks apart by road. They have different histories, different cultures, different economies, and different reputations. You don’t have to travel very far before accents, slang, and local attitudes begin to change.
So why would everyone at Ironspine Keep sound exactly the same?
Maybe the soldiers from rough-and-tumble Baldur’s Gate have a Cockney-inspired accent and speak in colorful street slang.
Perhaps the cosmopolitan Waterdhavians speak with the crisp, polished diction of an Oxford professor that sounds almost aristocratic.
The defenders from Silverymoon might sprinkle elegant turns of phrase into their speech—or, if you’re feeling brave, lean into a lightly Parisian accent.
Nobody would bat an eye if the dwarves of Mithral Hall rolled their R’s with a familiar Scottish or Irish brogue.
And Neverwinter?
That’s your table. Maybe they’re from Philly. Maybe Boston. Maybe they sound like the folks in your own hometown.
The point isn’t to become a voice actor.
The point is to give the players the feeling that they’ve stepped into a fortress where people from across the Sword Coast have gathered for one desperate stand.
You don’t need to perform a flawless accent. In fact, I’d argue you shouldn’t try. I’m fond of saying that even if you’re only doing “the voice” at ten percent, you’re still doing “the voice.”
A slight shift in cadence. A handful of regional expressions. One or two recurring colloquialisms. That’s often all it takes for players to start associating a particular way of speaking with a particular place.
Before long, the characters won’t just be talking to another guard. They’ll be talking to “that dwarf from Mithral Hall” or “that Waterdhavian captain.”
Sometimes all it takes to make a location feel lived in is the colorful way its inhabitants speak.