Every setting begins in silence. The silence of what’s already broken, already gone.
That’s why I say: start with the ruins. The toppled tower, the collapsed bridge, the cratered colony dome, the derelict starship. The ruin is implication made solid. It tells you history happened here, but refuses to explain. That refusal is powerful.
I learned the term, 'In Media Res' back in college during a film study course. I've used it to great effect since.
In short, skip the tavern. Skip the mission briefing. Skip the long setup where everyone politely introduces their character. Drop them straight into the storm instead.
The middle is where play lives. Start with the wagon overturned; the aliens bursting through the vault door; the chief of police already bleeding on the floor. Let the crisis define who the characters are. Their choices in that heat will say more than any “my name is…” monologue ever could.
Why? Because beginnings drag. Crisis forces decisions. And decisions build character faster than backstory.
You can still give context later - flashbacks, rumors, aftermath. But if you start in the middle, the players are already in motion, already hooked, already deciding what kind of story this will be.
Adventures don’t need to begin with a map spread across the table or a glowing quest marker hovering over the nearest dungeon. Sometimes the spark comes from something smaller. A rumor. A half-heard whisper. Local gossip.
Ideas are everywhere. They fall out of songs, headlines, idle conversations. They’re cheap - disposable sparks.
What matters is execution. Taking that spark and burning it into something complete. Anyone can say “post-apocalyptic wasteland.” The originality isn’t in naming the wasteland, it’s in the details: the tribes that rise, the rituals they keep, the broken thing they worship.
Gimmicks and novelty fade. What lasts is texture. The little contradictions and sharp edges that make your version stand apart from the hundred others.
So don’t hoard ideas. Don’t worship them. They’re easy. What’s hard - and worth doing - is the slow, stubborn work of shaping an idea into a world your players will want to play inside.