When I first started designing The Last City, I knew I wanted a sandbox where the story would move on its own. I didn’t want to push players from quest to quest or pretend their choices mattered when they didn’t. The idea was to create a world that kept breathing even when the players were somewhere else — and that’s where the factions came in.
I thought having friends and foes would help move the game and create conflict. Conflict is what moves a story, and in this case, it’s what moves the game. Factions make the world react. They give the players a reason to act and give the city a pulse even when the group is focused elsewhere. When factions clash, they create quests, diplomacy, shifting alliances, and unexpected opportunities. A city at war with itself doesn’t wait for heroes to decide what happens next — it happens on its own.
It’s not that you can’t run a campaign without factions, but in a sandbox like this one, they make everything more interesting. They create opportunities for tension, alliances, and consequences. Instead of having a single villain or goal, the players walk into a living ecosystem of groups with their own agendas, and every choice sends ripples through the rest of the setting.
For me, a faction isn’t just a group or ideology — it’s a piece of personality, morality, and chaos that helps the world evolve. A good faction has strong motivations, visible impact, and room for moral shades. Sometimes, I even adjust a faction’s morals based on how the party interacts with them. If the players seem to like them or share their values, that faction might lean toward being an ally. If not, maybe their darker side starts showing. Even something as simple as what species or classes are in the party can influence how a faction behaves.
For example, there’s a faction of cannibals composed of trolls, orcs, and ogres. If the party includes a half-orc or tends to sympathize with that culture, I might present them not as evil monsters who eat everyone, but as ritualistic cannibals — noble warriors who consume their fallen comrades to carry their spirits forward. Still dangerous, but in a way that feels honorable and even wholesome within their worldview. It all depends on how the players engage with them.
Another important thing is that the factions don’t revolve around the players all the time. They fight each other, make peace, or destroy one another as time passes in-game. When the players return to a part of the city, things might already have changed. Maybe a faction was wiped out while they were exploring somewhere else. Maybe a new alliance formed. This gives the world a sense of movement that doesn’t depend entirely on player action — and that’s crucial for a sandbox to feel real.
The most important part of factions is consequence. Not all consequences are bad; some are beneficial. If the players make friends with one faction, they might gain allies, resources, or protection. But by choosing those friends, they’re also choosing their enemies. That automatically gives structure to the campaign — freedom with direction. Players can go wherever they want, but the relationships they form shape what “freedom” really looks like.
I’ve seen this in action many times. In two campaigns, the players allied with the Ratfolk — once through diplomacy, and once because two PCs were Ratfolk themselves. But in another campaign, the Ratfolk became enemies, almost monstrous in the players’ eyes. In one run, they befriended a woman who abandoned her old faction after meeting them. In another, they allied with a faction of constructs to fight a stronger power — while in a later version, a different group wiped those same constructs out. The same starting point led to completely different stories. That’s the kind of variety you can only get when factions matter.
And yes, sometimes players completely surprise me — though at this point, I wouldn’t be shocked if they somehow managed to turn the big bad evil villain into a friend. The trick is, when one menace becomes an ally, another rises to take its place. That keeps the balance and tension alive.
Factions don’t make my prep easier, but they make the world more open. This isn’t the Lazy DM’s Guide — it’s the Freest Sandbox Possible guide. Factions don’t exist to save me work; they exist to give meaning to the players’ work. Still, you don’t need pages of lore to make it happen. As long as you know who the leaders are, what they want, and what they’re willing to do to get it, the rest can be improvised. The leaders reflect the morals and motivations of their faction, and that’s enough to keep the game moving.
Every time I run The Last City, the map ends up looking different. When the players ally with the Ratfolk, they become friendly neighbors who protect one flank of the district. If they choose the constructs, they gain an advantage over the enchanters. It’s all connected, and it feels natural — cause and effect rather than plot.
That’s the beauty of it. The setting feels different every time, which keeps it fresh even for me as the GM. I get to explore sides of NPCs that were ignored or killed in other runs, and that makes the world feel larger than any single campaign.
If I had to summarize my philosophy, I’d say this: factions are potential friends or foes that shape the course of the story and the feeling of the game. They’re the colors on the palette, and the players are the ones painting the picture. My job is just to set up the palette and watch what masterpiece — or disaster — they create.
