Over on The RPG Cauldron we have a book club of sorts where we’re reading important blog posts from the heart of the OSR glory days and discuss those. The most recent of those (as of this post) is GusL’s post about lethality in old school games. It was worth a read when I first encountered it and was worth re-reading for the discussion in the book club,

This is what I responded with on the Cauldron:

“I think Gus just touched on the usefulness of mortality in old school play. Each and every incident that costs the PCs dearly helps train the players as to what doesn’t work well and provides a specific context to analyze as to what might have worked better. It provides a learning opportunity with harsh consequences that can provide greater feedback to the players about what works and what doesn’t, which one would hope would inform their play thereafter. “Remember when Ealdric died? We want to avoid that…” when considering activity in a similar situation.

“Those harsh outcomes also bring the setting into sharper focus. It becomes easier for players to gauge risks and judge the information they learn about locations and inhabitants with greater accuracy. The highly abstracted threat of reported giants, say, gets a bit less abstract in the wake of an incident where a few ogres battered half the party into goo. The equation of “Ogres tough = AVOID GIANTS” helps develop the flavor of the countryside in that part of the setting, with smart PCs either routing around the area or making extreme haste while traveling through or sneaking through at night or the like. Each of those different approaches to moving through the area can reveal more of the setting, which makes for a richer experience of the game world.

“The lethality also highlights the fact that player choices are of primary importance. When the PCs step out of the mold without much to set them apart from another of the same class, what ends up differentiating a legendary character in that campaign from the generally forgotten also-rans is both the longevity due to good choices and the added individual flavor and quirks that accrue due to being in play so long. The run-of-the-mill starting PCs become luminaries of the setting after ten levels of care and serendipity. It’s impossible to know at the outset what, exactly, is going to work to make a PC memorable; trying to plan that in advance simply isn’t possible to end up with a diagetically organic PC.”

I’ve also more thoughts on old school PCs. I’ve stated before (here) that old school PCs are differentiated in play and that the greater the specialization, the further one strays from old school ethos. I’ve a more nuanced take on that now, I reckon. I pointed out that the old school fighter is a fighter is a fighter and the more non-fighting stuff that gets added removes from that. I still think that adding a bunch of non-fighting abilities does weaken the archetype. I now also think that specializing fighters with fighting abilities still upholds old school precepts.

So, a fighter need *not* meet “a fighter is a fighter is a fighter” standards and still be a suitable example of the fighter archetype. I’ve been playing with sub-classes for quite a while and finding frustration when wanting to expand the basic class in this direction or that by adding capabilities that aren’t expressly fighting. Now, if all fighters share those non-fighting capabilities, then I can sign off on them; the problem was that many times they didn’t make sense for all of the possible sub-classes.

One of the long-standing issues I’ve had with D&D versions is that fighters arrive as equally adept with missile weapons as with melee weapons, and can hurl spears and axes with equal efficacy as sticking an opponent with said spear in hand. I recently came to terms with aligning the “a fighter isn’t a fighter is a fighter” from above and the notion that different fighting modes are fairly distinct by allowing that this fighter can be specialized in melee, that one in missile fire, and this other guy is dangerous at ten paces with what he throws. A soldier chucking plumbata at opoosing troops’ shields isn’t necessarily well-trained and effective with thrown weaponry, so having a fighter sub-class that is makes sense for some settings. And an archer specialist isn’t going to pick up a sword and not drop off in effectiveness in a fight (nor will a line soldier pick up a bow and place an arrow through a slit at 200 paces simply because they’re a seasoned sword fighter).

I’ve been sliding into this for some time, with sub-classes that offered some fighting abilities not available to all. Rangers possess basic fighter abilities plus specialized monster fighting; Paladins possess basic fighter abilities plus specialize in undead and demonic foes; warriors possess basic melee and hurled or missile abilities; and soldiers possess basic fighter abilities plus added melee abilities.

All of these sub-classes are thus instances of the fighter archetype. Each possesses all of the abilities of The Fighter. Each then also possesses fighting abilities in addition to highlight different ways in which the archetype gets expressed. It remains an old school approach, because all the fighters still fight, and then the sub-class fighters are all “a ranger is a ranger is a ranger” with the differentiation between rangers arising in play.

All of that seems obvious now, though it took quite a while for it to click in my head to where I understand how it all fits together and why. It’s that moment of epiphany that makes the information so much easier to work with and the projects involved then become easier to craft.