Larp Design Series (2 of Series): Writing for Location or Location to Match Narrative

One of the hardest logistical problems in running a LARP isn’t the rules, the story, or the mechanics. It’s the site and making the game actually happen. There’s a real difference between creating something that could be run and actually doing the work to run it. Writing a great world, crafting clever systems, and dreaming up immersive scenes is one thing. Booking port-a-potties, negotiating rental insurance, budgeting for 100 beds, and managing food safety? That’s something else entirely.

Part of the issue is that sometimes game design and development happens in a bubble without consideration for game implementation. This is the pitfall that makes so many people “have an idea for a larp” or “have a larp they have designed” but never actually made happen. The first big hurdle between design and implementation is the concept of site in regards to scope, game world, and operation.

Where your game happens shapes everything; how it feels, how it plays, and what’s even possible. In the United States, especially in the Northeast, finding a suitable site is one of the most expensive and limiting parts of the process. In Connecticut every history, outdoor, or pretty venue has become a destination wedding site for at least part of the year. It makes sense, given that for a wedding you can charge thousands for a single day of use. It’s like if you are asking for a wedding cake, or a sheet pan cake. What it’s being used for changes the price immeasurably.

That’s why you should consider starting your design with an honest conversation about location. If you already have a dependable site, consider building the game around it. If you are connected to a college campus and have access to use of their facilities maybe you need to start with the framework of running a lot of larps “at a school”. Use what you have. Let the layout, buildings, and natural features reinforce the world you’re creating.

Why do you want to design a larp?
Where is your experience happening?
Who is running your experience?
Who is your experience for?

Consider these questions when you are in the “lets make soup” brainstorm phase of your larp design. Starting with having a site in mind can also be a boon for the creative aspect of game design. When you’ve got a specific site in front of you, you’re no longer inventing in the abstract. You’re seeing paths, buildings, woods, dorms, basements—and your brain starts to fill in the gaps. That broken-down barn isn’t just a hazard on the property, it’s now an abandoned watch station, or a cursed chapel. That looped path isn’t just a walking trail—it’s a ritual route, a patrol circuit, or a border between factions. A bridge or a cliff changes the tone of a scene before you write a single line of dialogue.

Blank-slate worldbuilding can be overwhelming. You have infinite options, and with that comes the paralysis of too many choices. But when a site is in front of you, it becomes your co-writer. Its layout, aesthetics, and quirks all nudge your story in certain directions. You're no longer choosing from a universe of ideas—you're interpreting and shaping a world that’s already halfway built.

If you don’t have a site yet and are committed to a specific concept, you’ll need to stay flexible. You may have to scale or reshape your idea based on what’s actually available—and what you can afford. The decisions you make often times directly or indirectly create a need for infrastructure. That infrastructure comes at a cost, and it’s often where new designers hit a wall. A lot of the sites that provide these basics make their money hosting weddings and corporate retreats. That means a single-day rental can easily cost thousands. So the real work starts here: finding sites in off-seasons, building good relationships, staying flexible, and adjusting the scope of your design to fit what the real world makes available.

A good LARP site needs more than atmosphere. You need water, bathrooms, power, weather shelter, sleep space, parking, accessibility. If your game runs over multiple days, those aren’t optional. And most event sites that offer them are used to hosting weddings or corporate retreats that pay thousands for a single day. Your event will need to work with shoulder seasons, off-peak dates, and alternative setups to stay in budget. Part of being a LARP runner is always scouting. Keep an eye out for viable sites. Build good relationships. Stay respectful, professional, and easy to work with. Often, a game happens—or doesn’t—because of a handshake, a returned email, or a good impression you left six months ago. You’re not just designing a world. You’re navigating the real one it has to live in. The more honest you are about that relationship from the start, the more solid your foundation becomes.

If you're a writer without experience coordinating live events, there are key site factors you might overlook at first. Start with the basics: indoor shelter, potable water, bathrooms with working toilets, and reliable power. If the event runs overnight, confirm that there are enough safe, heated (or cooled) sleeping areas—indoors or out—and that those spaces are clearly segmented for privacy, rest, and safety.

Look at how people will move through the space. Are there good places for scenes or faction areas? Can players walk safely between them after dark? How much of the space is accessible for players with mobility challenges? Do you need to provide your own lighting or generators? Are there limitations on noise, occupancy, or activities due to local laws, proximity to neighborhoods, or park rules? Don’t forget logistical concerns: parking, trash removal, delivery access, medical emergency access, cell reception, and food storage. If you're running kitchen operations, you need working refrigeration and sanitary food prep areas—or a reliable plan to bring them. If you’re offering in-character spaces, know whether props can stay overnight, whether tents are allowed, and what insurance or permits the venue requires.

If you’re designing your game and treating logistics like a separate step that someone else will figure out later, you’re setting yourself up for problems. The most immersive scenes in the world fall flat when half your players are exhausted from cold sleeping arrangements or frustrated that they can’t find a bathroom. Every game element you create has a logistical footprint: where it happens, how it’s lit, how it sounds, what the physical safety concerns are, and what needs to be cleaned up or repaired afterward. That doesn’t mean you can’t be ambitious. It means your ambition has to include logistics as a design factor. If your story hinges on a dramatic late-night ritual in the woods, then part of writing that story is making sure you have safe paths, lighting, and shelter to support it. If your event has multiple factions with in-character spaces, then part of your creative process is making sure those spaces actually exist and function the way players expect.