Beige walls. Red roof. Green tree. Blue door. We took one perfectly ordinary house and built it at every scale we work in — from a thing the size of a fingertip to a thing that wouldn't fit through a doorway. This is the resulting field guide.
Before any brick goes down, a builder chooses what conversation to have. Six sizes, six completely different things a brick can say. The same subject becomes a silhouette, a planner's diagram, a sculpture, a small-figure diorama, a dollhouse you can sit beside — and finally a monumental piece bigger than the thing it depicts.
The bricks change. The rules of attention change. The house, somehow, stays the same.
Two of the six plates are still being shot. The framework is shown in full; the placeholder plates will be replaced as the photos come off the bench.
Nano is the long view, in miniature. A whole house in roughly six bricks. A whole street in eighty. At this scale a roof tile is the entire roof; a single green plate is "tree." You stop drawing the house and start drawing the idea of one — composition and silhouette do everything detail can't.
Nano scales both ways: smaller still, and larger. A city block, a town, a coastline. It's where anything massive gets dragged back into a size a person can actually look at.
At the table, a nano-scale model of the whole castle sits beside the battlemap. Players crawl one room at minifig scale; the nano build, in one hand, keeps the whole keep in view. Nano carries the world; the larger scales carry the moment.
Micro is the scale of architecture. A roof recognisable as a roof. Windows that imply rooms. A road wide enough to mean "street," not "stripe." This is where the brick starts behaving like an urban planner — corners, blocks, a whole town centre read the way a model in a planning office reads.
Not to be confused with microfigure scale below. Micro is a measure of how big the build is. Microfigure is a measure of how big the figure standing in it is.
Paired with nano at the table to give players the architecture they cannot see from inside a room. A micro-build of the castle's whole upper ward sits between the players and the minifig battlemap — close enough to point at, big enough to read at a glance.
Trophy scale takes its measure from the LEGO® trophy figure — the small one-piece statuette, present as an ornament rather than an inhabitant. The build is single-subject, fully detailed, designed to be looked at rather than played with. The chimney has weight, the antenna a thin grey leg, the garden is real shrubbery.
This is the scale of architectural portraits — the bread and butter of commissioned work. Big enough to honour the subject; small enough to sit on a shelf.
Trophy is the outcall scale. When a game travels — to a venue, a school, a convention table — characters are represented by trophy figures on a micro-scale battlemap. The whole kit packs into a single case. Portable, durable, no piece worth losing.
Microfigure scale takes its measure from the small one-piece LEGO® figures used in sets like Heroica and Fortaan. A microfigure is roughly half the height of a minifigure — and a build sized to suit it lands roughly half the footprint of a minifig diorama. Less interior detail; more portability; a real play scale, just a quieter one.
At this scale a corridor is one stud wide. A door is a tile. A whole tower fits between your wrist and your elbow. The figures are quick to set down, quick to pack away, and forgiving on a venue table where a knocked-over minifig would be a small tragedy.
Under exploration as the Travel Dungeon range — a scale between trophy-outcall and minifig-studio play. Built, but not yet photographed for the field guide. Plate forthcoming.
Regular LEGO® scale — the one the brick was designed around. At minifig scale the house is no longer a model of something. It is a place. The porch has its own structure. The garden has a working fence. The roof lifts off and inside is an actual interior — rooms with right-angles you could sit down in, if you were the right size.
This is where the brick crosses over from sculpture to architecture. A minifigure can credibly say "I live here." A tabletop session can credibly be set inside. You stop looking at the build and start looking through it.
The home scale. Every in-studio Everplenty dungeon is built at minifig. The battlemap on the table is a single level of the keep your party is crawling — rendered floor-by-floor in full minifig detail, with the nano keep beside it for context. This is the long, slow, satisfying scale.
A genuine domestic floor plan: kitchen, living room, bathroom, bedroom, side garden, back deck. Every wall and fitting is a LEGO® part — the same plan a small architect's office would draw for the real house. The walkaround clip on the left plays on tap.
Macro inverts everything else on this page. Instead of shrinking a building into a brick, it blows a small subject up into a building — a housefly the size of a kitchen table, a single cell the size of a wardrobe, a leaf the size of a doorway. The build is bigger than the thing it depicts, sometimes by orders of magnitude.
It's the centrepiece scale — sculpture, statement piece, lobby commission, civic build, exhibition object. A subject worth that much brick. A perfectly ordinary suburban house would be a strange thing to render at macro, precisely because the scale wants a subject the eye has never had at this size before.
Under consideration for a Bestiary at Scale exhibition series — a single creature, a single relic, a single fragment of the world rendered at room-filling size. Plate forthcoming.
Every Everplenty session uses more than one scale on purpose. The combinations are the whole trick.
The home table. Players act on a minifig-scale battlemap — one floor of the dungeon, in full domestic detail. A micro-build of the same dungeon sits beside it for tactical context. A nano model holds the wider world. Three scales, one game, all in view.
Games on the road — venues, libraries, conventions, school programs. Characters become trophy figures; the dungeon becomes a microscale battlemap. The whole game fits in a case, sets up in five minutes, and survives a knocked-over coffee.
A middle path under exploration — microfigure-scale dungeons that travel better than minifig builds but offer more interior than trophy. The first full set is on the bench; plates will join this page when it's ready.
A decision matrix you can read in one sitting. The "wrong when" column matters more than the others.
Most commission briefs come with a feeling but no idea of size. Tell us the story — the house, the building, the creature, the moment — and we'll come back with a scale recommendation, a sketch direction, and an honest sense of whether it's a piece we'd build well for you.
