A concept which you, the writer, can empathize is the base for every great character. Without that base, every detail you could hope to add, no matter how intriguing (in fact, especially how intriguing), will be let down by the lack of life you are capable of reflecting within this character’s actions.

However, if great concepts are the metaphorical base for each character, than enriching worlds are the ground upon which these bases lay.

I like this metaphor a lot, because it encompasses two primary concerns the writer must face when adapting their characters to fit within the world that they have placed them into.

First of all, you want to make sure there’s enough ground to support the character’s base. This requirement can be addressed simply enough: ensure that your storyworlds are expansive and detailed. Leave plenty of room for your characters to explore and develop. I could go on about ways in which to accomplish this, but this blog is about writing characters, not settings. Besides, I’m much better at the former than the latter.

The second requirement tends to be less of an obvious fix than the first, and it’s this requirement that I’ll be mainly focusing on today. Beyond wanting to provide enough ground to support the base, you also want to make sure that the ground and the base are compatible.

Just as an example, imagine your character as a stone structure. That structure wouldn’t fare too well upon a plateau of mud or water, now would it?

The same idea applies to your characters. You need to ensure that your characters complement the world and the people within it. This is a necessity to imbuing any sort of meaning within what your characters say and do. Why should I care about the grand speech you’ve written for the unassuming geek in the story, if I’ve been given no context on how he’s influenced the state of the world and of the people around him?

Ask yourself this whenever you introduce a new character to your story:

What purpose does this character serve? Towards their environment? Towards the people around them?

All that being said, however, most writers are unlikely to let this become big enough of an issue to ruin their stories. In fact, if you follow the technique of creating characters who you can empathize with, you’ll likely satisfy the need of making said characters compatible with your storyworld.

Putting yourself in the role of every one of your character prods you to ask what role those characters perform. “Why am I important? How can I contribute?” — these questions should come naturally when visualizing your characters, and the aforementioned level of detail you dedicate to the world you’ve created will act as your toolkit towards enhancing each character’s purpose.

To put this approach into practice, let’s take a look at another character I’ve written (yes, for Dungeons & Dragons again). Vikk Redwind is a 132-year-old private detective belonging to a race of forest-dwelling, blue-skinned pseudo-giants known as firbolgs. After being driven away from his clan and his woodland home by a drunken troupe of firebreathers, he dedicated his life towards maintaining a lawful equilibrium within the fantastical city of Waterdeep.

Immediately, you can see how the simple concept of “peaceful giant turned jaded urban investigator” extended into a strong, meaningful connection with Waterdeep and the world around it. By conceptualizing Vikk within this elaborate storyworld, I drew a connection between him and his environment. You might notice that I took a similar approach with Welvtel in my previous post; his entire existence within the time period of that campaign is tied to his connection with his environment.

Despite my confidence in both of these characters’ purposes on a broader scale, however, they still felt empty at first — especially Vikk, who I admittedly had trouble with when first playing as him. This is because, beyond a broad purpose towards their settings, all characters require a purpose in their personal, social lives.

Vikk entered this story with no one in his life. No friends, no enemies. Even Welvtel had a major foe he had to stop from gaining power when he traveled back in time.

It took me a while to realize that this wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, should you write a similarly isolated character, you should embrace that feeling of emptiness, because that’s what will drive you to give your character a social purpose. For every character you write, take hold of the gaps in their lives — their secret desires — and tie that to their social purpose.

Vikk had his clan torn away from him at a young age, and lived on his own for over a century. When he finally found himself accompanied by a band of adventurers, he remained reticent at first, only cooperating with them for safety within the sprawling dungeons beneath Waterdeep. However, as time went on, he soon came to embrace his hidden desire to protect others — to shield them from the same feelings of loss that he had once endured.

Filling out these broad and narrow purposes contributes towards the widely sought-after quality of complexity within fantasy characters. By actively causing your characters and your world to influence each other, you cause both to feel alive.

Keep this in mind when you begin to build those proud and intricate structures for your characters. All those quirks, beliefs, achievements, and struggles you wrote will hardly be appreciated if your structure is sinking beneath the ground.