Lessons Form the OSR Part V: Characters, Levels, and Fantasy Demographics

 Welcome back!

In my first post of this series, I indicated that my second key to reconciling with and rekindling my love for old school (A)D&D was the understanding that nothing in the game makes sense except in the context of the original game modes.  I think this is crucial for understanding characters in the game and how they relate to the fantasy world around them.  So let’s do an overview of these beloved murder-hobos that are the player’s avatars in the game.

I think that Mr. (Murder) Hobo is becoming a kind of mascot for this blog.  Comment “yea” or “nay” below!

Ability Scores (aka Your Poker Hand)

One of the first things one tends to do when creating an (A)D&D character is roll their ability scores.  Although the methods may have changed (and become somewhat more lenient over time,) this “sacred cow” of the game has remained throughout old and new editions (so far.)   In the Original game, rolling 3d6 in order for your ability scores was the norm, and if you didn’t sleep through my last post, you know that a roll of 3d6 creates a bell curve, where the most common rolls reflect the average (10-11 in this case.)  This suggests two insights:

• Most old school D&D characters tend to be average in ability overall.
• Old school D&D characters are not so much made as assigned to the player (by the cruel fate of the dice.)

It is up to a player, therefore, to make a character exceptional and/or heroic in play rather than just deciding they are great from the start.  Think of it as a game of Poker, where a player can still win even with a bad hand if they are skillful, a little lucky, and bluff like hell.

What the hell, Mr. Hobo?!  More than one appearance per post is NOT in your contract!

By Holmes’ and later, Moldvay/Cook’s Basic rules we already get a method by which players can adjust their scores to ones more to their liking.  Concurrently, AD&D 1st edition makes 4d6, drop the lowest, and assign as desired the standard, acknowledging that player characters are at about one standard deviation from the norm (12-13 average,) and therefore somewhat exceptional (at least in potential.) 

Fun Fact: AD&D 2nd Edition reverted to 3d6 in order as the primary method for ability score generation, making an argument for it being more old school in that respect than the 1st edition (Ha!)

Shots fired...

Of course, GMs tend to have their own house rule methods, usually to take the sting out of ability score generation (I did too.)  However, my point about ability scores being the “hand” you should play stands, and I would encourage the old school GM to keep some random method of ability score generation (whether 3d6 or 4d6; arrange as desired, or not) because not only does it belong to the “game” part of roleplaying game (RPG,) it also intersects with other rules in the game, making it intrinsic to old school (A)D&D’s organic form of balance (more on that in a bit.)

 

Character Races

Unless you’re playing Basic/Expert (B/X) or BECMI/Rules Cyclopedia (or their simulacra,) you’ll be choosing a race for your character next.  This typically meant one of the Tolkienesque types which were around since the fantasy supplement for Chainmail: elves, dwarves, and hobbits halflings.  Gygax is credited with saying that he didn’t much care for these, but included them because they were popular with folks at the time.  Hippie Boomers had a weird fascination with Lord of the Rings, you see.  “Frodo lives!”

Google Leonard Nimoy and Bilbo Baggins sometime, or click here.  You’re welcome.

An interesting idea mentioned in the Original game and B/X is playing creatures from the monster section, which technically speaking, could be anything from an orc, or dragon, to a human berserker or buccaneer.  Indeed, one of the players in Dave Arneson’s original Blackmoor campaign got to play a vampire after he was turned.  This “Sir Fang” became a kind of nemesis in the wargame aspects of the campaign, which necessitated the creation of a new character class to counter him: the cleric.

The eternal struggle!

The books give little guidance for this, other than they should start out at low-level (the example is a young dragon) and build up to their full version, implying race-as-class before B/X.  At some point, I should do a post on how I typically interpret this for my games.

So what’s the big deal with nonhuman races?  Why pick one, other than having a pointy-ear or short-and-hirsute fetish?  Because these, my friends, come with up-front perks.

Both elves and dwarves can see in the dark (effectively an unlimited light source at level one,) and have significant detection abilities in the Dungeon; the importance of these abilities cannot be understated.  

As I mentioned in my last post, old school (A)D&D tends to rely on player skill rather than rolls (although a GM can still roll chances behind the screen.)  That is, things like secret door and trap detection are “role”-played, rather than “roll”-played.  Therefore, these racial abilities become convenient, “I win” buttons that allow players to bypass certain dungeon obstacles, rather than having to do it the hard way.

Other perks include additional languages of Underworld creatures (good for negotiating and making temporary allies,) elves being able to pick between fighter or magic-user per adventure (i.e. game session, remember?) and halflings having bonuses with missile weapons and resistance to magic to account for their overall weakness and small stature, which implies particular tactics/fighting style when playing these.  They are not typically “tanks,” (though I suppose they could be if a player was brave or foolhardy enough.)

+1 to missile weapons, and these count as missiles, biotch!

To balance them out, the nonhuman races have what some players consider to be a significant drawback: class and level limits.  In the Original game, Halflings can only be fighters until 4th level.  And while elves get to cherry pick from fighter/magic-user per adventure, they only advance up to levels four and eight respectively.  Dwarves top out at level six as fighters.  In the Greyhawk supplement, all of them could be thieves with unlimited levels, which is a strong argument for thieves being an opportunistic, taking-the-easy-way-out class (more on that topic in a later post.)

But is this such a terrible drawback?  Consider this: (A)D&D pretty much enters its endgame at about level nine, when characters usually create their Domains.  There’s a reason the game (to this day) tends to “break” after these levels – it probably wasn’t meant to go that far.  Anecdotally, I played in a B/X, West Marches style campaign a few years back, on a weekly basis for the better part of two years (when the campaign fizzled out due to GM life complications.)  My magic-user only advanced to level four with his higher experience point costs, but other players were anywhere from levels six to eight.  I believe the original campaigns (Blackmoor and Greyhawk) really only lasted a similar amount of time (a few years, give or take.)

Therefore, playing a nonhuman is a tradeoff: versatility and perks in the short term in exchange for specialization and lack of long-term campaign power.  This suggests to me that they are a good choice for more casual players.  B/X simplified and cemented these specializations, (and mercifully extended their level limits) by merging race with class into their more “OP” versions.  AD&D added half-orcs, which are another fighter-type specialist, half-elves, which I guess are for the elf-curious, and gnomes, which…well, who the heck plays gnomes, anyway?!

*snort* Tell me about your awesome gnome character in the comments! *giggle*

Character Classes

Finally, the “meat” of your character is their class.  The be-all-end-all of who they are.  In the beginning, there were only two, derived from units in Chainmail, plus the “new” class of the cleric from the Blackmoor campaign.

Fighting-man (Fighter): this is the basic class from which all others are derived.  It is simple and easy to grasp – the fighter fights.  It is good choice overall and low-complexity for new players to the game.

Magic-user: In contrast to the fighter, the magic-user doesn’t really fight (or shouldn’t if they want to live long,) and starts with one spell, which sounds measly, but can be very powerful if used creatively (see what I wrote here.)  In exchange for this perceived weakness at first, the magic-user grows exponentially to have “phenomenal cosmic power!” later on.  “Linear fighters, quadratic wizards” is not a bug, but a feature of old school (A)D&D.  It is the reward for the patient player that plays their magic-user well.

Cleric: Both generalist and specialist in different areas.  It has significant combat ability with its armor and relatively minor weapons restrictions, but can also cast spells in armor (albeit those that tend to heal and protect.)  The cleric’s true strength, however, is against the undead.  Indeed, in Original and Basic, the cleric does not start with spells, but can “turn undead” indefinitely, which is a pretty useful ability if players want to stay alive long enough to get at these types of monsters’ treasure, since where there are tombs, there is both treasure AND undead.  The cleric’s experience table is also lower than the fighter’s, which is a plus.

Later, a few new kids on the block showed up with the Greyhawk, Blackmoor, and Eldritch Wizardry supplements, and AD&D.  More than a few were drawn from the pages of Strategic Review, TSR’s magazine that would later become Dragon.

Does your character have the Right Stuff? (Probably not with 3d6 in order.)

Assassins: Buffed up thieves that have a chance to take out enemies automatically.  Good for dealing with key monsters, sentries, or annoying magic-users in the Dungeon

Druids: One of the two Wilderness specialist classes (the other being the Ranger.)  This one takes after the cleric, with additional abilities, more stringent weapon/armor restriction, and a hierarchy that is an obstacle to advancement (see below.)

Monks: The OG, Mary Sue class, with multiple abilities that dip into other classes, and the ability to destroy with their bare hands.  Legend has it that it was influenced by a character from some book series (The Destroyer,) but methinks that wasn’t the only influence, Grasshopper.

Illusionists: a specialist magic-user with their own spell list, and one source of many player/GM arguments over the limits of what illusions can actually do.  The specialist concept was expanded to multiple “schools” of magic in AD&D 2nd Edition and later Third, at the cost of “nerfing” the original AD&D class.

Paladins: Blessed fighters with some holy and cleric-like abilities, and the source of epic player/GM arguments on what is “Lawful” and “Good” behavior.  Generally a pain-in-the-@$$ class, but mercifully rare (if you roll your ability scores straight, natch!)  Personal quibble: these are not Knights Templar types (those are clerics!)  They are virtuous knights in the style of romantic chivalry stories, like the Arthurian and Roland epics.

Rangers:  The other Wilderness specialist.  Pretty much Aragorn in AD&D, then defanged and turned into Drizzt Do’Robin Hood as of 2nd Edition.  It had everything a fighter had plus TWO hit dice at first level, tracking ability, magic-user AND cleric spells, plus other abilities.  Come to think of it, maybe this was the OG, Mary Sue class.

Thieves: Often confused with dexterous fighters rather than picaresque opportunists (with piles of dead thieves as evidence.)  These bad boys have multiple, “I win” buttons to make Dungeon-delving easier, and the lowest XP table to boot!  Don’t be chump, play a thief!  Easy street!

Unearthed Arcana adds a few more (Barbarian, Cavalier, Thief-Acrobat,) and AD&D 1st edition has the Bard as a sort of advanced class with hard-to-achieve prerequisites (2nd Edition turns it into a standard, do-a-little-of-everything class; not too proud to say it’s one of my favorites.)

You’ll note that with the exception of the thief (which became standard by Basic and later,) these classes are rather special in that they have abilities that go above and beyond what the other classes can do.  This is balanced by higher ability score requirements and (usually) higher experience point lists.  In a way, these were “prestige classes” before Third Edition used the term.  There is an implication that these classes are a part of elite orders or secret organizations in the game world.  The druid and monk, for example, have to beat the crap out of senior members of the class to advance to higher levels.

Elder abuse!  Elder abuse!

A common complaint I have seen with post-2000 editions of the game is that fighters “suck,” or are just not worth playing when so many better, or more powerful classes are available.  I think one can track the causation of this to one or more of these three things:

• Removing ability score restrictions.
• Using the same experience table for all classes.
• Opening the class list to all character races (although I thought it was a neat idea at first, too; still kinda do.)

While these were likely enacted to make the game more efficient, or “fun,” the unintended consequence was that each of these were also important balancing factors in controlling the existence of too many of these special classes.  This is I believe, is where random ability score generation (even 4d6, drop the lowest) makes sense in old school games, as I mentioned above.  Paladins, for example, have to have a Charisma of 17, which would make them very rare in the world.  (As they should be.  Imagine scores of Superman and/or Captain America types running around everywhere.) 

Insufferable PSAs 24/7

I think a good way to think about these classes in old school games is like scoring a rare, Magic the Gathering card in a booster pack or a fun and unique character option in a video game “loot box.”  This is the space where special, home-made classes that creative GMs make up should exist, tied to the lore of their campaign world.

And that’s not the only thing random ability scores “unlock”: you could get characters that level up faster (via XP bonuses,) higher bonuses to hit, damage, and other tasks, and later, in the Original supplements/AD&D, additional and more effective cleric spells, and access to the highest levels of magic-user spells, to name a few.  I think these were important checks and balances on the spell-casting classes.  Now you know why Third Edition and later have had problems with “caster supremacy,” to the point that pretty much all classes could eventually cast spells, or had spell-like abilities.

When everyone is special, no one is

Levels, Titles, and Fantasy Demographics

One of the interesting quirks of the earlier editions (sadly abandoned by Rules Cyclopedia and AD&D 2nd Edition) is that character classes had titles tied to their level.  Most of these seem arbitrary or silly, like the cleric suddenly converting to Tibetan Buddhism and becoming a “Lama” at 8th level.

Stay in your lane, cleric!  No animal shapechanging for you!

Or are they?  Yes, most are pretty much filler, but a key few can tell important information about a character and their place in the game world.  So much so that in the Original game, certain titles were used as shorthand to identify “monster” types that are based off of character classes.

Each character class has low, (1st-3rd,) mid (heroic) levels (4th-8th,) and “name” levels (9th+.)  These track generally with the three classic modes of play: Dungeon>Wilderness>Domain.  With few exceptions, level titles end at this point, denoting the overall pinnacle of achievement.

For example, fighters start as “Veterans,” (1st,) then become "Heroes" and Superheroes" (4th level-8th level,) and eventually Lords (9th.)

Levels (Hit Dice,) and titles kind of originate from units in Chainmail, where the general, fighting units can only take one hit before being eliminated, while Heroic, Superheroic, or fantasy monster units (anything from Conan, and Aragorn to dragons) can take (or dish out) more hits.

Similarly, magic-using units have familiar titles that denote attack, spell power, and range: Seer, Magician, Warlock, Sorcerer, Wizard.

In the Original game, these titles become important in the Wilderness mode of play, where castles encountered can be occupied by the likes of Lords (9th-level fighters,) Superheroes (8th-level fighters,) Wizards (9th,) Necromancers (8th, with animate dead, of course,) and Patriarchs/Matriarchs, or Evil High Priests (9th level Lawful and Chaotic clerics respectively.)  The titles also appear in the random encounter tables.

These titles, when used either in game as actual titles or as metagame shorthand, can give the players important information about the threats they may be facing: “They say Blackcrow Castle is the home of a dreaded Necromancer and his anti-Hero bodyguards, collected from all over the land.” 

GMs can also use these titles and levels to quickly improvise the demographics of their campaign world.  You could, for example, Pareto Principle the thing and decide that 80% of a place’s population is levels (or HD) 1-3 or below, while 20% have higher HD and/or class levels.  You could further break that down into 80% of that earlier 20% being levels 4-8, and the remainder being levels 9+.  Not perfect, but pretty good for a fantasy game.

Conclusion

Understanding how characters work in old school (A)D&D games helped me to understand the implied ecosystem of the fantasy game’s world; which I think falls into that concept of Gygaxian Naturalism.  It also made it easier to improvise NPCs in a campaign pretty quickly (try that with Third Edition and later!  Oof!)

I’ve come to believe that the changes to characters in Third Edition and beyond was an imperfect attempt to take the “suck” out of low-level play, at the expense of compatibility with earlier editions, which in my opinion, was an overall loss to the “shared experience” of D&D, by inadvertently creating cultural generation gaps between fans of the games.  One thing I appreciated about 2nd Edition AD&D was its use of many sidebars with the label “Optional Rule.”  Third Edition could have made one about starting campaigns at mid or high levels for experienced players that have “paid their dues” or that prefer more heroic-themed games over “fantasy Vietnam,” thereby maintaining edition compatibility.  Oh well…

I’m taking a short break from this series to cover other topics, but stay tuned for these as well as the return the series, where I plan to cover things like character classes, combat, the three game modes, and adventuring in depth, with tips for both players and GMs.

Until the next!