Traveller Distinctives: Social Standing

This post is the start of a new series, Traveller Distinctives, in which I look at an aspect of Traveller's rules that I consider unique or otherwise distinctive, whether from the perspective of other roleplaying games generally or science fiction RPGs specifically. The series will be both irregular in frequency and in its subject matter. That is, I'll post new entries in it as often as I like and I won't be following any kind of clear program. This isn't a "cover to cover" series so much as a "things James finds distinct about the Traveller rules" series. Additionally, I should point out that I'll generally be sticking to the text of the original 1977 rules, with occasional references to the 1981 version.

To kick things off, I'm starting small: Social Standing. Social Standing (or SOC) is one of the six "basic characteristics" all characters possess, along with Strength, Dexterity, Endurance, Intelligence, and Education. While the first four have clear analogs in OD&D, as does their being six in number, SOC has no such antecedent. Indeed, I'm not sure of any other significant roleplaying games published by 1977 that includes something similar, but, as always, I'm happy to be corrected.

According to Book 1, SOC "notes the social class and level of society from which a character (and his family) come." A little later, in the section on naming a character, there's a subsection devoted to titles, which reads (italics mine):

A character with a Social Standing of 11 or greater may assume his family's hereditary title. The full range of titles is given in Book 3. For initial naming, a Social Standing of 11 allows the use of Sir, denoting hereditary knighthood; a Social Standing of 12 allows use of Baron, or prefixing von to the character's surname.

What's notable here is that Traveller associates Social Standing with nobility and hereditary nobility at that. The referenced section from Book 3 – which, intriguingly, is found in the chapter about encounters – elaborates on this a bit. 

Persons with social standing of 11 or greater are considered to be nobility, even in situations where nobility do not take an active part in local government. Nobility have hereditary titles and high standing in their home communities.  

The emphasis on "home communities" is interesting, as is the mention of "local government." This is, I think, evidence that, in 1977 Traveller at least, there's little to no notion of an immense, sector-spanning government like the Third Imperium. Instead, there are just scattered worlds or perhaps small multi-world groupings. The ranks of nobility are, as follows:

• 11 knight/dame
• 12 baron/baroness
• 13 marquis/marchioness
• 14 count/countess
• 15 duke/duchess

The list is an idiosyncratic one in that it ranks a count higher than a marquis, something not found in either the English or French systems of precedence with which I am familiar. Likewise, the pairing of the French marquis with the English marchioness is odd, but it's the future, so who cares? The text continues:

At the discretion of the referee, noble persons (especially of social standing 13 or higher) may have ancestral lands or fiefs, or they may have actual ruling power. 

This section is noteworthy, because a common knock against Traveller in my youth was that there was little to no explicit benefit to having a high SOC (and the title that went with it) after character generation. This was even true after the release of Citizens of the Imperium, which introduced an entire Noble career. In any case, what's obvious is that Traveller as written assumes a universe in which monarchy and aristocracy are still commonplace and effective – an egalitarian Star Trek future this is not!

Ranking above duke/duchess are two levels not reflected in social standing: prince/princess or king/queen are titles used by actual rulers of worlds. The title emperor/empress is used by the ruler of an empire of several worlds.

 Note "several worlds," not the thousands of the Third Imperium and other interstellar states of the later official GDW setting. Note, too, that the text states that a prince or king is an "actual ruler" of a world, again implying that space is full of governing monarchies of one sort or another.

The only other place where Social Standing plays an important role in Traveller is in resolving a character's prior service. Characters with SOC 9+ have an improved chance of gaining a commission in the Navy, while those with SOC 8+ have an improved chance of gaining a promotion in the Marines. This makes sense if the default assumption is that many, if not most, worlds have a hereditary aristocracy, since careers in the Navy and its subordinate service, the Marines, have been historically viewed as prestigious in similar historical societies on Earth. Likewise, Navy and Marines – along with the Army – can acquire improved SOC as part of mustering out, reflective no doubt of the esteem in which such services are held in such aristocratic societies.

What I find most noteworthy about social standing and the rules governing it in Traveller is how little there is of it. Consider that SOC is one of only six characteristics possessed by all characters, suggesting that Marc Miller considered it as foundational to a character as Strength or Intelligence. Despite this, there's not much present in the text of 1977 Traveller (or, for that matter, 1981) to guide the player or referee in understanding how it's meant to be used or what it means for the implied universe of the game. Instead, we get only hints here and there. The later Third Imperium setting is more explicit, in that there's an emperor and archdukes and so forth, but, even then, how this works for titled player characters is left somewhat vague.

For me, though, SOC is a distinctive element of Traveller, something we don't see in any contemporary RPG, science fiction or otherwise. It's a big part of why I don't consider the base game truly "generic" without modification. Putting social standing (and the possibility of hereditary titles) on par with other characteristics has strong implications for the kinds of settings for which it was designed. I'll return to this thought in my upcoming post about jump drive, since there are a number of connections between these topics, as I'll explain.

White Dwarf: Issue #79

With issue #79 of White Dwarf (July 1986), I reach the penultimate issue I'll cover in this series. Though I'm glad to have done it – and I hope it's been profitable for those of you reading along – I can't deny that my enthusiasm has been waning for some time now. Sadly, this issue did little to make me regret my decision to end the series with #80, though there are a couple of bright spots – like John Blanche's cover illustration ("Amazonia Gothique"), which I like for reasons I can't fully articulate.

This issue marks the first one featuring Paul Cockburn as editor. His inaugural editorial mentions that there will be still more changes in store for the magazine, though these will "come in bit by bit." Cockburn also notes that Citadel Miniatures would, from this point on, include "a small warning, intended to prevent figures being sold to that part of the public who might actually be harmed by lead content." He elaborates that there had recently been a Citadel ad in a magazine "aimed at a very young audience," which necessitated this warning. Maybe I'm just old and contrarian, but I felt a slight pang of sadness upon reading this. By 1986, the Old Days (and Old Ways) were already fading ...

"Open Box" takes a look at two related Palladium products, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Other Strangeness and its post-apocalyptic supplement, After the Bomb. Both products are positively reviewed, but the reviewer, Marcus L. Rowland, expresses a preference for the "present day setting of the original game," which he feels offers "more opportunities for plot development and diversity." Also reviewed is Secret Wars II for Marvel Super Heroes, which is judged "an awful lot better than Secret Wars I." Never having seen the original, it's not clear to me whether this is faint praise or not. Two Chaosium releases, Black Sword (for Stormbringer) and Terror from the Stars (for Call of Cthulhu) get positive reviews, as does West End's Ghostbusters. Acute Paranoia, a supplement for (naturally) Paranoia earns a more middling appraisal, largely due to its "disappointing" mini-scenarios.

"Where and Back Again" by Graham Staplehurst is one of the aforementioned bright spots of this issue. Dedicated to "Starting a Middle-earth Campaign," the article lays out all the decisions a referee looking to run a RPG campaign set in Tolkien's world must make. Staplehurst covers subjects like "style" (i.e. campaign frame), rules, and even source material. He also raises the question of how closely one might wish to hew to Middle-earth as described by the good professor and the consequences for choosing to deviate from that particular vision. It's a solid, thoughtful article on a topic that has long interested – and vexed – me. 

Dave Langford's "Critical Mass" has only rarely been something I've enjoyed and this issue's installment does little to change my mind. More enjoyable (to me anyway) is his second contribution to the issue, an odd little article entitled "Play It Again, Frodo." Ostensibly, Langford's assignment is to demonstrate "how closely role-playing and literature are entwined" in order to help readers convince their "serious" friends that gaming isn't a silly hobby. He attempts to do this through a series of vignettes based around famous books or movies – Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Conan, The Lord of the Rings, etc. – where he postulates that events go other (and humorously) than how they do in the originals. The idea here is that roleplaying allows to do things "your way" rather than being bound by the dictates of an omnipotent author. 

"20-20 Vision" by Alex Stewart reviews science fiction and fantasy movies. The bulk of this issue's column is devoted to the film, Highlander, in which "a medieval Scottish warrior with a French accent" is befriended by "Sean Connery's Glaswegian conquistador." Stewart calls the movie "a stylish, raucous and utterly preposterous D&D scenario transplanted bodily into contemporary New York." That's probably the most succinct (and amusing) way I've heard Highlander described and it does a good job, I think, of capturing the essence of its cheesy glory.

"All in the Mind" by Steven Palmer offers an alternate psionics system for use for AD&D. Palmer's system interests me for its relative simplicity – the article is only four pages long, as well as for its more flavorful elements. For example, there's a discussion of the heritability of psionic powers, as well as the inherent connection between twins. Neither of these elements plays a major role in his system, but the fact that they're mentioned at all is in stark contrast to the dreary, tedious treatment of psionics in the Players Handbook. 

"Ghost Jackal Kill" by Graeme Davis is a Call of Cthulhu scenario that's presented as a prequel to The Statue of the Sorcerer, a Games Workshop CoC adventure. The scenario is set in San Francisco and involves not only the Hounds of Tindalos, one my favorite type of Mythos entities. It also features real-world historical figures, specifically the actress Theda Bara and writer Dashiell Hammett. Normally, I tend to be leery of the inclusion of such people in RPG adventures, but, in this case, I think it works, particularly Hammett, who did actually work as a detective for the Pinkertons and drew on those experiences for his fiction. In any case, it's a good, short scenario and another of the issue's stand-outs in my opinion.

"Think About It" by Phil Masters examines the purpose and use of the Intelligence score (or its equivalent) in roleplaying games. Because it's an overview of a large topic, it's necessarily brief in its examination, but it does a good job, I think, of presenting different options and approaches to handling Intelligence in RPGs. "'Eavy Metal" provides tips on converting miniature figures, along with some nice color photographs. 

"Psi-Judges" by Carl Sargent – a name that would feature prominently on the covers of many RPG products throughout the late '80s and into the 1990s – is an expansion of Judge Dredd: The Roleplaying Game focused on, of course, psi-judges. Interestingly, it's equal parts a rules expansion and a roleplaying expansion. There's information on how to play a psi-judge in the game, alongside discussions of game balance and other matters. "Gobbledigook" and "Thrud the Barbarian" are still here, but I can't deny that I miss the presence of "The Travellers." The comic's absence really hits home to me just how much White Dwarf has changed from the days when I read (and enjoyed) it regularly.

One more week!

The Least Important Attribute

I was recently poring over a number of different RPGs to see how they defined and handled ability scores. One of the games I examined was Chaosium's 1981 game, Stormbringer, written by Ken St. Andre and Steve Perrin. Section 2.1.7 of its rulebook says the following about the attribute of Charisma:

This is a measure of leadership, charm, and of personality. It is not necessarily a measure of physical beauty, although it may be used as such from time to time. CHA helps your character in dealings with other player and non-player characters. In reality, it is the least important attribute. (italics mine)

Charisma (or its equivalent) is regularly deemed a "dump stat" in many RPGs, but I think this is the first time the text of a game explicitly makes this claim. The irony is that, while Charisma isn't as broadly useful as many other attributes in Stormbringer, it nevertheless plays a role in demon summoning and binding – significant activities in the world of the Young Kingdoms. Still, I find this section of the rulebook fascinating, since it would seem to be a rare instance of the designers speaking directly to the reader about the relative utility of some aspect of the game's rules.

Strange Thoughts on Experience Bonuses

From the very beginning, the rules of Dungeons & Dragons rewarded high scores in a character's prime requisite with a bonus to earned experience. Although the actual implementation of this rule varies from edition to edition, it has been present in every version of the game published by TSR. It's also present in Empire of the Petal Throne, which is hardly surprising, given that its rules are derivative of those of OD&D. As originally presented in 1974, the rule provides the only explicit mechanical benefit to having a high score in Strength, Intelligence, or Wisdom, each one of which was associated with one of the three character classes (Fighting Man, Magic-User, and Cleric, respectively). The other three abilities – Dexterity, Constitution, and Charisma – have other mechanical uses (however ill-defined in the case of Constitution). 

Supplement I changed all this, first by introducing the thief class, whose prime requisite was Dexterity, and second by beefing up the mechanical benefits of most of the other abilities (the main exception being Wisdom, which remains solely "an experience booster for clerics," in the words of Gygax). These changes, which were carried on and even expanded by later versions of the game, began the process that ended with the claim, in the AD&D Players Handbook, that it is "usually essential to the character's survival to be exceptional (with a rating of 15 or above) in no fewer than two ability characteristics."

After lots of thought on the matter, I have made some measure of peace with the idea that ability scores should be mechanically important. If not, what's the point of even generating them? However, I continue to worry that, by making high scores in abilities mechanically beneficial, there will come to be an expectation that, as in AD&D, most characters must have high ability scores. In that case, we get a variation on the previous question: what's the point of generating ability scores at all if every character needs to have high ones? 

The question becomes even more relevant when one considers that, as written, characters with high scores in their prime requisite not only reap immediate mechanical benefits from those scores (hit and damage bonuses, higher hit points, etc.), they also advance faster in their chosen class, thanks to the bonus to earned experience. To my mind, this makes high ability scores so attractive that I wonder why any player would not deem a character with any sub-optimal abilities "hopeless" and roll up a new one. Consider, too, the increasingly absurd lengths to which AD&D went to ensure that all player characters were exceptional in their ability scores.

As is so often the case these days, I find myself taking inspiration from Chaosium's RuneQuest. In RQ, there are mechanical benefits to having a low score in at least one ability. I very much like that because that benefit comes at a cost; there's a trade-off between two clear mechanical goods. I'd love to see something similar in D&D and derivative games, something that provides some incentive not to have high scores in every ability.

That's why I have a strange idea: what if, instead of granting an experience bonus for high ability scores, one granted them for low scores? On some level, this makes intuitive sense to me. Would not a character whose native abilities were already exceptional learn less from his experiences than a character whose abilities were below average? Further, I can't help but feel that granting an XP bonus to a high score, which already grants clear mechanical benefits, is gilding the lily, so to speak. If the goal is to keep the random rolling ability scores and encourage players to keep the scores rolled, does it not make sense to provide a "consolation prize" to low scores?

I am sure there are problems with this idea and, if so, I expect my readers to point them out in the comments. From my current vantage point, though, I think this is something to be explored, both from a purely game perspective and from the point of view of learning through experience. 

A Radical Proposal (Part II) Follow-Up

Last week, I proposed, without explanation, the names of six abilities – Strength, Knowledge, Willpower, Dexterity, Constitution, and Acumen. Readers quite reasonably assumed these abilities were intended as replacements for those in Dungeons & Dragons. In truth, they're part of my process of thinking out loud about The Secrets of sha-Arthan setting that I'm continuing to develop, albeit more slowly than I'd like. Now, the rules for Secrets are based heavily on those of D&D, specifically those found in the Basic and Expert rulebooks (and their closest contemporary clone, Old School Essentials), so there's a fair degree of overlap. Nevertheless, most of my thoughts on these matter pertain specifically to this current project of mine, even if there is applicability to D&D more generally.

After further thought and reading many of the comments posted to that post and related ones, my thinking continues to shift. However, in the interests of furthering what has proven to be a very useful conversation – and I'd like to thank everyone who's offered their own thoughts – I wanted to explain where I was coming from when I put together that last of six abilities.

Strength: Of all the ability scores in D&D, this is the one with which I have the least issues. I believe a measure of a character's physical strength is much needed, especially in a game where melee combat plays such an important role. In addition, I want some way to measure how much weight a character can carry unaided and this seems as good a way to do it as any other I've seen. 

Knowledge: I've long been unhappy with Intelligence as an ability. Most of the time, it's taken as a measure of how much a character knows. Look, for example, at its only explicit use in OD&D, namely, how many languages a character can speak. Given this, I thought it made some sense to shift the ability into something closer to education, both formal and informal. 

Willpower: I think I now favor the term "Will," but the point remains that I dislike Wisdom even more than Intelligence. Wisdom has always been a weird, catch-all ability, simultaneously being the prime requisite for clerics and a gauge of a character's resistance to magic/mental attacks and his perceptiveness, among other things. It's a mess and I thought focuses on the mental fortitude aspect made the most sense, especially given that sha-Arthan has no cleric class.

Dexterity: I kept this one around mostly out of tradition. Its long association with missile combat seems reasonable and, being a Holmes baby, I can't help but imagine it as being important to the determination of individual initiative (even as I now favor simpler group initiative). Then there's the matter of defensive bonus introduced in Greyhawk about which I am ambivalent. If I had better ideas, I might change or eliminate this entirely.

Constitution: Part of me wants to roll this ability into Strength to create a new one, like Physique or something, but, again, the pull of tradition kept it around. I am conflicted about the hit point bonuses for high scores (since I prefer lower hit point totals overall), but I do like "withstand adversity" and its later developments. 

Acumen: Empire of the Petal Throne has no Charisma score and that's probably influenced my thinking in replacing it (there's also the way other RPGs treat the matter). Instead, I opted for a broader ability that measures a character's ability to "read the room" to facilitate advantageous social interactions, whether to persuade, intimidate, or deceive. This is better suited to the kinds of campaigns I run, which include lots of diplomacy and intrigue.

This was my thinking when I wrote my post last week, but, as I said above, my thoughts remain in a state of flux. I have some vague notions now to cut down the abilities to five and associate them with sha-Arthan's elemental system and/or the saving throw categories. I also have equally vague notions to expand the list of abilities beyond six to include additional qualities I'd like to see quantified. It's all frankly a whirl at the moment and it may be some time yet before I've seen my way through to ordering my thoughts. For now, I continue to muse.

A Question re: Strength

If one uses, as OD&D, AD&D, and Empire of the Petal Throne do, a one-minute combat round, I think you're committing yourself to a broadly abstract approach to combat. As Gary Gygax explains in the Dungeon Masters Guide: "During a one-minute melee round many attacks are made, but some are mere feints, while some are blocked or parried." 

If one understands combat in this way, I think it makes sense to avoid talking about "to hit" rolls, since, over the course of the round, there may be many attacks, some of them even landing a blow on an opponent. Rather, the combat roll determines whether or not any of those landed blows are strong enough to overcome the opponent's armor and deal damage. Thus, the "to hit" roll is really more like a "to damage" roll.

Consider how common it once was – and perhaps still is, for all I know – to criticize the way D&D uses armor class. Why, I recall being asked, does wearing plate mail make a character harder to hit than if he were wearing chainmail or leather armor? The answer is that it doesn't. Rather, certain types of armor make a character harder to damage, which is why I recommend dropping the use of phrases like "roll to hit" and the like.

All of this brings me to my question about Strength. Prior to Supplement I, a high Strength score conferred no mechanical benefits beyond a bonus to earned experience for fighting men. With the publication of Greyhawk, this changed. Now, a high Strength granted a bonus to "hit probability" and to damage. Given the understanding of the combat roll I propose above, does it make any sense for a high Strength score to do both? 

A bonus to the chance to deal damage (called "hit probability") makes sense to me, since what that really indicates is an increase in the likelihood that a character can land a hit solid enough to harm his opponent. I find it reasonable that a high Strength might assist in this. Why, then, a bonus to damage dealt as well? Isn't that "doubling up" on the Strength's role in combat or am I overthinking this, as I often do?

I hope I've explained myself clearly enough so that my question is intelligible. If not, I'll do my best to clarify my position in the comments.

An Aside re: Charisma

From Chivalry & Sorcery (1977), p. 6:

CHARISMA

Charisma is the ability of a character to arouse popular loyalty and enthusiasm by the force of his own personality and reflects his ability to command men in battle. It is a natural talent growing out of other characteristics. To find a character's basic Charisma, add his Intelligence, Wisdom, Appearance, Bardic Voice, and Dexterity scores, and divide the total by 5. If he is over 6 feet tall, add 1 point. Add all bonuses to the total.

From RuneQuest (1978), p. 12:

Charisma is a nebulous quality, and increasing or decreasing it is often up to the referee's whimsy. However, the following instances can have some effect:

a. Each 25% skill with Oratory learned increases a character's CHA by 1 point. Maximum of 4 points.

b. Each 25% increase in the use of one's main weapon (after 50%) adds 1 point. No limit to points.

c. Possession of good, showy, magical objects raises CHA by 1 point. Just 1 point is gained here. It does not matter if the character has just one or one hundred showy items.

d. Successful leadership of an expedition (i.e., the loss/gain ratio is satisfactory) can add a point to the character's CHA. A character may roll his CHA as a percent or lower for a gain, or the Referee may have some other criterion.

e. Unsuccessful leadership can lose CHA. A really disastrous expedition can cause the leader to have to make his CHA as a percentage or lose 1 to 3 CHA points. 

A Radical Proposal (Part II)

Strength
Knowledge
Willpower
Dexterity
Constitution
Acumen

A Radical Proposal

I've lately been thinking about ability scores – the actual numbers associated with any given ability – and how they might be made to serve a more direct purpose in OD&D and games derivative of it. This has led me down some strange paths, some of which I'll probably start sharing over the coming weeks. For the moment, though, I want to present one of the more radical of them, pertaining to Constitution and the generation of hit points.

My idea, partly inspired by Basic Role-Playing, is that a newly generated character starts the campaign with a number of hit points equal to his Constitution score plus a fixed amount based on his class (the fixed amount is gained at every level, including first). This is obviously a huge change, since it would make 1st-level characters vastly more durable (even with a below average CON score) than standard OD&D characters. Over time, though, the numbers would even out, so that, by 6th or 7th level, the totals would be quite similar on average. To see what I mean, let's compare the average hit points of a Supplement I fighter and magic-user with 11 Constitution to their equivalents under this new system I've imagined.

This obviously represents a huge shift in thinking, not simply because of the increased durability of low to mid-level characters, but also because hit point increases are now fixed (+3 per level for formerly d8 hit dice, +2 per level for d6, and +1 per level for d4). This makes a high Constitution an extremely valuable asset, particularly at 1st level. On the other hand, hit points are kept much lower overall. Under Supplement I, a fighter with 18 Constitution and maximum rolls could have almost 100 hit points at 9th level, whereas, under this proposal, a fighter with the same CON would have less than half that. 

Naturally, for the proposal to work, there'd have to be a similar shift in the way that monster hit points were calculated, as well as possibly the damage ranges of weapons. Not having tested this, I don't yet have any way of knowing how this would play out or what sorts of unforeseen consequences might emerge from its adoption. At the moment, it's just an idle thought stemming from my desire to see the numerical scores of abilities in OD&D have more meaning beyond being an index on a chart. 

White Dwarf: Issue #22

Issue #22 of White Dwarf (December 1980/January 1981) features an unusual cover by Eddie Jones. I've mentioned in previous posts in this series how often WD covers mixed science fiction and fantasy elements. They did it so often that I've come to see it as one of the calling cards of British gaming. The arbitrary boundaries between genres seem much stronger in North America, likely due to the pernicious influence of marketing on this side of the Atlantic. I must sheepishly confess that I once accepted it unquestioningly and have since come to regret that. Live and learn!

Ian Livingstone's editorial concerns the subject of the "best" RPG system. He offers no opinion of his own, preferring to state that the matter is, on some level, "purely a matter of taste." At the same time, he does suggest that it is the GM, not the rules, "who makes or breaks a campaign." As a younger man, I probably had some fairly strong opinions on this matter. Nowadays, I find the question almost nonsensical. With a couple of exceptions, rules have had rarely been the decisive element in my most enjoyable roleplaying experiences. Even when they were, it was more likely the people with whom I was playing who had the biggest impact – and that remains true to this day.

"Games Day '80" is a short article, accompanied by many photographs, recounting the events of the convention held in September 1980. There's sadly not much to note here, though some of the photos have a certain charm to them, particularly those depicting the Commodore PET computers on display at the con. "3D Dungeon Design" by Mervyn Lemon is another short article, this one offering ideas for using polystyrene to create tiles for use with fantasy miniatures. "Robe and Blaster" by Rick D. Stuart expands the rules of Traveller with benefits for characters who possess a high social standing. This is a topic about which I recall seeing many articles over the years, suggesting it was commonly seen as a "hole" in need of filling in the rules. 

"Treasure Chest" presents eight new magic items by a variety of authors, including Roger E. Moore and Phil Masters. I remember Moore well from his contributions to Dragon, but I didn't realize until recently that he had written articles so widely. "Open Box" reviews four games, starting with Mythology by Yaquinto Games (9 out of 10) and Stellar Conquest by Metagaming (9 out of 10). Also reviewed is Asteroid Zero-Four by Task Force Gaming (6 out of 10) and The Gateway Bestiary by Chaosium (6 out of 10). 

"Black Priests" by Lewis Pulsipher is a cleric sub-class that's more or less intended for evil cultists. It's a strange and very specialized class, focused on summoning monsters by appealing to dark gods. "The Search for the Temple of Golden Spire" by Barney Sloane is a tournament adventure for Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. The scenario consists of a small wilderness area dotted with multiple ruins and other locales, including the titular temple. The basic set-up of the adventure is solid, though its actual execution is somewhat banal. The maps are quite nice, though, but that's typical of White Dwarf.

"Port Facilities" by S.L.A. McIntyre is another Traveller article, this time expanding on the types of facilities and services available at each type of starport. This issue's installment of the "Fiend Factory" presents "the Heavy Brigade," which are powerful, singular monsters, such as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and Ungoliant, Queen of the Spiders. I like the idea behind such monsters, though none of those presented do much for me. Finally, "What the Numbers Mean" by Lewis Pulsipher is a brief examination of the meaning of ability scores in D&D. The intent behind it is to contextualize the range of scores from 3 to 18 within the wider human population in order to make sense of them. It's OK so far as it goes, but the article too short to offer any deep insights.

White Dwarf inches ever closer to the era with which I am more familiar. I continue to enjoy this exploration of its earlier days, though, since, if nothing else, they provide a window on the early 1980s that is a useful counterpoint to the way roleplaying, as a hobby and as an entertainment, has developed in the decades since.

Speaking My Language

A very early memory of mine is staring at the inside covers of the Random House Dictionary of the English Language my parents owned. Printed on those covers were all sorts of images pertaining to the topic of the evolution of the alphabet used by English speakers. I was incredibly fascinated by what I saw there, particularly the Greek alphabet, which I soon committed to memory and used extensively as a "secret code" throughout my childhood. My fascination with the alphabet eventually led to a fascination with languages more generally, though I tended to devote the most time to dead ones like Latin and Attic Greek – not very useful in the real world, alas!

Original Dungeons & Dragons addresses the subject of languages fairly early in Book 1: Men & Magic, with the following bit of text:

According to the guidelines set forth here, a character knows one additional language for every point of Intelligence above 10. That's in addition to Common and an alignment language, as well as any others known by virtue of the character's race. AD&D makes use of similar guidelines, as shown here in a section from the Players Handbook.

As you can see, Gygax set the threshold for learning another language lower than in OD&D – a score of 8 – and lowered slightly the maximum number of languages gained through a high Intelligence score (to 7, down from 8 in OD&D), but the overall change is slight, especially when dealing with demihuman characters like elves, who start the game knowing multiple languages regardless of Intelligence score.

Tom Moldvay's 1981 revision of OD&D makes more significant changes, as this table demonstrates:

In Moldvay Basic, no character gains an additional language unless his Intelligence score is at least 13 and the maximum he can gain is three at 18 Intelligence. That's quite a big change from either OD&D 1974 or AD&D, but it's a change of which I approve. 

In my opinion, OD&D '74 and AD&D both make language acquisition too easy, thereby obviating the need to find and employ translators or otherwise struggle with cultural differences in an adventure. In my ongoing House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign, languages regularly play a role in the action, with characters taking the time to find tutors to instruct them in new languages or, when that's not an option, finding locals who can act as interpreters. It's not only led to some fun moments of roleplaying, it's helped to add a layer of reality to some sessions. 

I suppose the argument could be made that most players and referees of D&D don't care about such things. That they come up in EPT, a game designed by a professional linguist, only makes sense, but Dungeons & Dragons is not such a game. That's a perfectly legitimate position, but, if one really doesn't care about such matters, what's the point to Intelligence guidelines at all? Why not simply dispense entirely with worrying about how many and which languages a character can speak? That seems a better solution than making languages so easy to learn that even characters with below average Intelligence know at least one additional one and high Intelligence demihumans can speak huge numbers of tongues. 

Again: Ability Scores

I've been spending a lot of time working out the details of The Vaults of sha-Arthan setting I hope to start refereeing in July or August. While I'm using Old School Essentials as the base for its rules, I'm also making changes to many aspects of those rules, such as the character classes, magic, monsters, treasure – well, quite a lot, now that I think about it. Even so, it's my intention that sha-Arthan be recognizable as a descendent of Dungeons & Dragons, much in the way that Empire of the Petal Throne is.

At the moment, I'm devoting my time to writing the rules that players need to generate characters, including the matter of ability scores. As you may recall from my recent posts about ability scores, I have a number of questions and criticisms of the traditional D&D ability scores. At the same time, ability scores are such a foundational element of D&D – and indeed pretty much all traditional RPGs – that I wasn't all that keen to dispense with them entirely, though I did seriously consider it.

My broad thoughts are the following:

1. In principle, I very much like the idea of randomly generated ability scores, preferably on the 3d6 in order model. 
2. One of the reasons I like random generation is that it offers a good chance that each character has at least one below average score, which I think lends just as much uniqueness to character as the abilities where he is above average.
3. That said, if ability scores provide significant mechanical benefits, my fondness for the idea diminishes somewhat.
4. While I am very much in favor of limiting the presence of certain "special" character classes and races, I am quite convinced that doing so by recourse to ability score minimums only feeds the perceived need for characters to have higher scores and for the generation systems to support that need.
5. Finally, I increasingly think there ought to be some system by which a character can improve his ability scores over time, whether it be through training as in RuneQuest or gaining levels as in Empire of the Petal Throne or post-TSR versions of D&D.

With all that in mind, I'm now weighing two options for generating ability scores in light of these thoughts. The first and most straightforward is also the most radical: dispense with random rolls. If I take this approach, there seem to be two options: point buy or a typical distribution. In the former, I'd settle on some number of points, say 70, and then allow each player to divide those points among his character's ability scores as he wishes (with 3 being the minimum and 18 the maximum, of course). In the latter, each player distributes the same collection of scores, say 6, 8, 10, 11, 11, 12, 14, and 16 amongst his character's abilities. The advantage of these two approaches is that, while they entirely eliminate the random aspect, they greatly increase – or ensure, in the case of the typical distribution – that a character will have below average scores.

The second approach preserves a bit more of the random element I like. I came across a version of it in the second edition of The Black Hack. In the system presented there, ability scores are rolled 3d6 in order. However, if the score for any ability is 14 or higher, the next ability score is not rolled but is rather simply assigned a 7. The Black Hack also permits the player, after he has rolled all six scores, to swap two of them in order to better suit his intentions for his character. I find this approach strangely attractive, since it preserves the random element while placing the proverbial finger on the scale in order to ensure any high score comes at a cost.

There are probably other alternative approaches to generating ability scores that address my concerns and, if so, I'd love to know about them. For now, I continue to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of the approaches presented above, without having made a firm decision toward one or the other. Right now, what's most important (to me anyway) is that I have made my peace with the idea of not using 3d6 in order, something I still very much prefer in principle but that I realize I had been turning into something of an idol. I now have a much better sense of what I want out of ability scores in sha-Arthan; all that remains is deciding the best way to get what I want.

What's the Point of Ability Scores? (Final Random Thoughts)

I make no claims that, in the previous parts of this series, I've covered every aspect of ability scores throughout the history of Dungeons & Dragons. However, I hope I have touched upon enough of them to draw attention to a major flash point, namely the necessity for high ability scores. This necessity is a strange thing, simultaneously the cause and result of a shift in how RPG players imagined the hobby in which they were engaging. 

Starting with Greyhawk, ability scores gained greater mechanical weight. Was this change initiated solely by Gygax, perhaps out of dissatisfaction with the way OD&D handled abilities, or was it a reaction to the desire of players that abilities be more significant? Regardless of its ultimate origin, from that point on, all versions of D&D, most especially AD&D, placed ever greater emphasis on abilities and having high scores in them. Minimum ability scores were established for certain specialized classes or even demihuman races, which fueled the perception that characters needed high ability scores, a perception that Gygax himself encouraged in various ways, as we've seen in previous entries in this series.

This raises many questions, a few of which include:

1. How mechanically robust should ability scores be? 
2. If they're not robust, what purpose do they serve?
3. If they are robust, is it reasonable (or "fair") to generate these scores randomly?
4. Mechanically robust or not, should they be used to limit entry into classes or races?

I don't think there's a "right" answer to any of these questions, but I do think some answers make more sense, depending on one's conception of RPGs. Prior to looking into these matters, I had an uncritical view of abilities and ability scores. Nearly every roleplaying game I'd ever played included them and, in many, if not most, cases did so simply because all previous RPGs had included them. This is a common pattern in the history of game design: because Dungeons & Dragons included X, then all subsequent games must also include X. Of course, the history of RPGs offers many examples where some feature of D&D was modified or even rejected. I can, for example, cite many RPGs – many quite early – that don't include hit points or armor class or alignment, but I have a much harder time thinking of RPGs that don't include ability scores. For the most part, ability scores are almost universal in roleplaying game rules.

I'm not necessarily advocating the abandonment of abilities. Even divorced of mechanics, abilities serve the potentially useful purpose of providing a player with insight into who his character is. Does he have a low Intelligence and a high Wisdom? Perhaps he lacks formal education but possesses considerable common sense or insight. High Intelligence and low Wisdom? He's a book learner with little experience of the wider world. As I said, this is genuinely useful – but only for a certain approach to roleplaying games. If, as Gary Gygax said, it's important that a player be able to "identify with" his character, does that run counter to, for example, random generation? What if I can only identify with a high Charisma character? Or elves or paladins? 

Random generation of ability scores are not universal nowadays, even within the sphere of avowedly "old school" games. AD&D, as we've seen, doesn't outright abandon random generation, but most of its approved methods of score generation stack the deck very much in favor of player preference. These methods assume the player already knows the kind of character he wishes to play rather than letting the dice decide. Couple this with multiple minimum ability scores for races and classes and we see a much narrowed scope for using abilities as a means of differentiating between characters. Look at any two AD&D rangers, a class with above average minimums in four of the six ability scores, and you won't see a great deal of mechanical difference. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it does suggest that perhaps ability scores aren't the best – or at least only – way to differentiate between characters.

The tying of ability scores to "survival" is another development that contributes to my questioning their role. If, as Gygax suggests, character survival depends, even in part, on multiple scores well above average (perhaps even beyond those simply needed to meet class/race minimums), then the scope for difference between characters narrows even further. This line of thought takes me to the brink of wondering: do we even need ability scores at all? Would it not be simpler – and more honest – to get rid of ability scores completely, folding their benefits into class abilities, so that, for instance, all fighters gain a damage bonus as they increase in level? 

Alternately, one might prefer to eliminate ability score minimums entirely. Under this scheme, if one wishes to play a paladin or range, one simply does, regardless of the character's randomly generated ability scores. This approach doesn't eliminate the powerful pull toward desiring high scores, given the genuine benefits they have in most versions of D&D, but it does lessen it somewhat. Replacing random generation with point-buy or the so-called "standard array" is another approach, since it ensures that, if a player wishes his character to have high scores in certain abilities, he will have to compensate by having lower ones in other abilities. This certainly addresses some of the questions arising out of this series, but at the cost of some of the variability random rolls provide. It's a trade-off and each referee will need to consider the matter carefully.

As I said earlier, there's no right answer to the questions raised by looking at the development of abilities and ability scores in Dungeons & Dragons. That said, what seems clear to me is that no version of the game has ever properly balanced variability with utility. I'm not even certain that that's possible. Nevertheless, I think these are questions worth pondering and we should be willing to consider unorthodox solutions, such as the complete abolition of ability scores. This all assumes one actually cares about these matters. Until recently, I certainly didn't and I can't blame anyone who is content with the way the matter is handled in their preferred edition of the game. However, I am no longer in that frame of mind. Exactly where my thinking will lead me, I don't yet know, but I will certainly share the fruits of my thoughts in future posts.

Part I | Interlude | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

What's the Point of Ability Scores? (Part V)

Before I post my final thoughts and musings on the matter of ability scores in Dungeons & Dragons, I wanted to bring our attention back to a few brief sections found in various rulebooks. OD&D (1974) does not, prior to the publication of Supplement I, place much emphasis on ability scores, mechanically or otherwise. Greyhawk greatly expands the scope of abilities, providing significant advantages to characters with high scores, to the point where players begin to feel that their characters need them. This perspective shift can be seen even in the Holmes Basic Rules (1977).

We touched on the notion of "hopeless characters" in an earlier post, but it's worth looking more carefully at what Holmes has written here. The rationale behind allowing a player to roll a different character is that those who are "below average in everything" might not fare well in "dangerous adventures." The emphasis is thus on survivability. Even so, Holmes go on to note that, chance being what it is, even "a character like this" might nevertheless survive and "advance to a position of power and importance." Moldvay's version of this section is more specific – a "hopeless" character is one with more than one ability score in the 3–6 range – and does not suggest that such a character might nevertheless succeed, despite his handicap.

I find these sections intriguing. Each in their own ways represents a subtle shift away from the idea that one ought to simply take what one gets when randomly generating ability scores. A similar shift is also evident in the first edition of Gamma World. Both Holmes and Moldvay leave final judgment of whether or not a character is "hopeless" up to the referee, as does James Ward in the case of Gamma World. The shift toward emphasizing the importance of ability scores is well under way, to be sure, but the role of the referee has not yet been downplayed or eliminated in the process of generating a player character. 

Toward the beginning of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Players Handbook, Gary Gygax writes of abilities:

The range of these abilities is between 3 and 18. The premise of the game is that each player character is above average [italics mine] – at least in some respects – and has superior potential. Furthermore, it is usually essential to the character's survival to be exceptional (with a rating 15 or above) in no fewer than two ability characteristics.

Please take note of the section I have italicized: the premise of the game is that each player character is above average. That's a very far cry from Xylarthen! What's more fascinating, though, is that Gygax has flipped the perspective of Holmes and Moldvay. All three tie ability scores to survivability – evidence of their increasing mechanical importance since 1974 – but, whereas Holmes and Moldvay, see being "below average" as evidence of a character's unsuitability, Gygax instead sees being "above average" as a sine qua non. 

In the Dungeon Masters Guide, just prior to the section describing the various methods for generating ability scores, Gygax offers some further insight into his perspective.

While it is possible to generate some fairly playable characters by rolling 3d6, there is often an extended period of attempts at finding a suitable one due to quirks of the dice. Furthermore, these rather marginal characters tend to have short life expectancy – which tends to discourage players, as does having to make do with some character of a race and/or class which he or she really can't or won't identify with.

Talk about a shift in perspective! Once again, we see reference to survivability, but it's clear that's not Gygax's main concern. Instead, he's interested in ensuring that the player can generate a character that he can "identify with." I think that's a perfectly defensible position, even if I don't quite share it. Still, it's quite removed from OD&D in any of its forms. More significantly – and this will form the topic of my final post in this series – if one's intention is to ensure that all characters are "above average" and of a sort that each player can identify with them, what's the point of random generation at all? Indeed, what's the point of ability scores?

Part I | Interlude | Part II | Part III | Part IV

What's the Point of Ability Scores? (Part IV)

Lest it appear that my investigation into ability scores lies only in AD&D's treatment of them, I wanted to devote a single post to some oddities in OD&D in all its forms. Let's start with the 1975 version, which includes two easily forgotten and misunderstood rules. The first concerns changing character class. According to Volume 1 of OD&D, a character can only change his class if

they … have a score of 16 or better in the prime requisite … of the class they wish to change to, and this score must be unmodified. A Cleric with a "strength" of 15, for example, could not become a Fighting-Man. 

There are echoes of this in AD&D's rules for dual-class characters, though they are much more stringent and restrictive in the latter game.

More interesting – and baffling – are the following lines from further down the same page as the above quote. Under the heading "explanation of abilities," we read:

Strength is the prime requisite for fighters. Clerics can use strength on a 3 for 1 basis in their prime requisite area (wisdom), for purposes of gaining experience only …

Intelligence is the prime requisite for magical types. Both fighters and Clerics can use it in their prime requisite areas (strength and wisdom respectively) on a 2 for 1 basis …

Wisdom is the prime requisite for Clerics. It may be used on a 3 for 1 basis by fighters, and on a 2 for 1 basis by Magic-Users, in their respective prime requisite area …

With the addition of thieves as a class in Supplement I (1975), we also get the following:

Thieves use dexterity in the pursuit of their chosen profession. They may use 2 points of intelligence and 1 point of wisdom to increase their raw dexterity score so long as they do not thereby bring intelligence and wisdom scores below average.

What to make of all this? It seems pretty clear that, at least in the case of Volume 1 of OD&D, the rules state that a player may, depending on their character's class, lower certain ability scores to increase said character's prime requisite. Suppose, for example, that Boro the fighting man has a Strength of 14 and an Intelligence of 10. According to the guidelines above, Boro's player can lower his Intelligence from 10 to 8 in order to raise his Strength to 15, thereby increasing Boro's experience bonus from 5% to 10%. 

Where things get complicated is the phrase "for purposes of gaining experience only." My sense of it is that the rules suggest that the ability score is not actually increased but is simply treated as if it were higher for the purposes of determining a character's experience bonus. Strength and Wisdom have no clearly enumerated mechanical benefits beyond providing an experience bonus. Intelligence, on the other hand, provides additional languages. On my reading of Volume 1, a magic-user who lowered his Wisdom to increase his Intelligence would not gain any further languages from the increase. 

Is this the correct reading of the rules? I'm not certain, especially since the discussion of thieves and dexterity in Greyhawk makes no mention of the experience bonus. Likewise, the formulation in Supplement I contains the stipulation that the player of a thief may not raise Dexterity by lowering another ability score "below average," which presumably means "below 9." Whatever its intended meaning, what is clear is that, even in OD&D, the rules provide players with a limited faculty to ameliorate the results of the 3d6-in-order rolls.

The Holmes edition (1977) has a similar system, though some of the details are different (e.g. there's seemingly no restriction on how low a thief's player can lower other scores to increase Dexterity). With Moldvay (1981), there are a number of changes to this system. Firstly, the ratio of lowered score to raised score is universalized to 2 for 1, as is the restriction that no score may be lowered below 9. Only prime requisites may be raised, as in OD&D and Holmes, but, because all ability scores now provide clear mechanical benefits, this has additional effects beyond increasing the rate of experience gain.

There are two more points worth mentioning. Holmes introduces, and Moldvay retains, the "hopeless characters" guideline, which suggests that a character whose ability scores are all below average is not fit for play and may be discarded. Holmes expands upon this by adding that "more than one very low (3–6) ability score" is sufficient cause for a character to be discarded. It should be noted, though, that both Holmes and Moldvay leave this decision to the Dungeon Master, not the player. 

The second point is Moldvay's innovation of what came to be known as "ability checks." Moldvay indicates that, because "there's always a chance," the DM may allow a player to roll 1d20 against his character's relevant ability score to determine if the character is successful in some difficult task (with modifiers to the roll as deemed appropriate). If the roll is lower than the relevant ability score, the character succeeds. While both OD&D and Holmes imply that abilities might be used by the referee to determine success in circumstances not otherwise covered by the rules, the 1981 edition of D&D is the first to explicitly mechanize it in this fashion. 

Part I | Interlude | Part II | Part III

What's the Point of Ability Scores? (Part III)

Of all the editions of Dungeons & Dragons, pre-Greyhawk OD&D (1974) made the least use of ability scores. They provide, in most cases, minimal mechanical benefit and they play no role in limiting entry into a particular class or race. Greyhawk not only introduces expanded utility for Strength, Intelligence, Dexterity, and Constitution, it also ties level advancement for demihuman races to high scores. For example, dwarves with less than 17 Strength are limited to 6th level as fighting men, while those with 17 can achieve 7th level, and those with 18 8th level. Paladins are also introduced into the game by Supplement I and a fighting man must have a Charisma score of 17 or more to qualify for this new class. This innovation is followed in subsequent supplements, with new classes, like the monk and the assassin, likewise requiring above average ability scores.

Holmes (1977) hews relatively closely to pre-Greyhawk OD&D with regards to ability scores, as we've discussed earlier. However, in one respect, Holmes goes beyond what's even in Supplement, by introducing minimum scores to play a certain type of character. In Holmes, dwarves have a minimum Constitution of 9, while halflings have that same requirement, as well as a minimum Dexterity of 9. Do these minimum requirements appear anywhere else beforehand? My suspicion is that they're the result of meddling by TSR, which, at some point in the process of editing and producing the 1977 Basic Set decided that it should serve as an introduction to Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. 

AD&D contains a plethora of ability score minimums, both for races and classes. Other than human, there is no race that does not have at least two ability score minimums and some, elves and halflings, have four. Similarly, all character classes have ability score minimums in at least one ability score, even the four "basic" classes of cleric, fighter, magic-user, and thief (in the case of the fighter and the MU, there are, in fact, two minimum scores). The table below clearly illustrates the requirements by class.

	STR	INT	WIS	DEX	CON	CHA
Cleric	-	-	9	-	-	-
Druid	-	-	12	-	-	15
Fighter	9	-	-	-	7	-
Paladin	12	9	13	-	9	17
Ranger	13	13	14	-	14	-
Magic-User	-	9	-	6	-	-
Illusionist	-	15	-	16	-	-
Thief	-	-	-	9	-	-
Assassin	12	11	-	12	-	-
Monk	15	-	15	15	11	-

I imagine that Gygax's intention in setting so many minimum scores, some of them quite high, was to make it more difficult for players to create characters belonging to certain non-human races and specialized sub-classes. His reasons for doing so likely included both purely game-related concerns ("balance") and more nebulous ones pertaining to flavor. If that is the case, he undermined his own aims through the most of the methods of generating ability scores introduced in the Dungeon Masters Guide.

Tom Moldvay's Basic Rules (1981) introduces slightly more minimum requirements than OD&D or Holmes but not as many as AD&D. These minimums are restricted to the demihuman classes of dwarf, elf, and halfling and are limited to no more than two ability scores. In this respect, Frank Mentzer's revision (1983) makes no changes to Moldvay. 

Part I | Interlude | Part II

What's the Point of Ability Scores? (Part II)

Let's take a look at some of the enumerated mechanical benefits of ability scores in Original Dungeons & Dragons (1974). 

What's notable to me is that Charisma is, by far and away, the most significant and mechanically robust ability in the game. Not only does it determine the maximum number of hirelings a character may employ, it also determines their loyalty base. Furthermore, there's higher degree of granularity than there is with most of the other ability scores, with Constitution being the exception, as demonstrated in the chart above. Even high (15+) prime requisites don't provide much benefit, though a very low one is a genuine penalty. 

Here's the equivalent chart from the Holmes-edited Basic Set (1977). As you can see, it's similar to the OD&D charts above but also shows a little influence from Supplement I: Greyhawk when it comes to Constitution. 

With the publication of the AD&D Players Handbook in 1977, we see a significant expansion in the mechanical benefits and drawbacks of ability scores – so many, in fact, that it would be impossible for me to easily post a listing of all of them in a single image. Instead, I'll post just a single chart from the PHB, this one for Dexterity, since that's an ability for which both OD&D and Holmes provided benefits and drawbacks.

Once again, the influence of Greyhawk can be seen quite clearly. In OD&D, penalties began at scores of 6 or less, as they also do here, but bonuses began at 13 or more, whereas AD&D opts for bonuses at 15 or higher. Also noteworthy are all the minimum scores necessary to qualify for various character classes. That's a topic I'll return to in a future post in this series.

Moldvay's Basic Rules have much more expansive ability score bonuses and penalties than OD&D, though not quite as many as AD&D. Frank Mentzer's Basic Rules more or less follows the model of Moldvay when it comes to ability score bonuses and penalties. 

As you can see, with each new edition of Dungeons & Dragons, ability scores have become more important and provide more mechanical benefits to characters whose scores are above average. Unsurprisingly, this development has had unintended consequences not only in the way the game came to be played but also in the way the game was imagined. This will form the topic of a future post in this series.

Part 1 | A Brief Interlude

What's the Point of Ability Scores? (A Brief Interlude)

Before returning to my examination of ability scores in D&D and AD&D, I thought it would be instructive to take a look briefly at how the second edition of Chaosium's RuneQuest handles abilities (or "characteristics," as it terms them). Bear in mind that this edition was released in 1979, five years after the release of OD&D, but roughly contemporaneously with the completion of Advanced Dungeon & Dragons. 

Unlike D&D, RQ has seven characteristics: Strength, Constitution, Size, Intelligence, Power, and Dexterity, and Charisma, whose scores are determined by the player rolling 3d6 in order. Each of the characteristics provides bonuses or penalties to tasks or skills in which a character engages. For example, defense rolls are influenced by a character's scores in Size, Intelligence, Power, and Dexterity. 

If you take a look at the chart above, you'll notice something very interesting. Take a look at the line for the Size characteristic. What you'll see is that having a low score is actually a benefit to defense, while having a high rating is a drawback. Here's another, this one dealing with stealth.

In this chart, there are two characteristic where having a low score is advantageous, Size and Power. Forgive me for finding these two charts remarkable, but this is a topic that's very dear to me. I've long felt that there ought to be benefits as well as drawbacks for scores at both ends of the curve. The fact that RuneQuest – at least in its second edition – takes this into account is commendable and an unusual counterpoint to the way Dungeons & Dragons (and other RPGs) handles ability scores.

What's the Point of Ability Scores? (Part I)

One of the most overlooked – or perhaps simply forgotten – aspects of Original Dungeons & Dragons is that it was the referee who generates each player character's ability scores. As stated in Volume 1 of OD&D:

Prior to the character selection by players it is necessary for the referee to roll three six-sided dice in order to rate each as to various abilities, and thus aid them in selecting a role.

Equally interesting, I think, is that OD&D assumes that selection of class or "role," as it's called above, occurs after the generation of ability scores. While the referee's rolling for ability scores seems to have been quickly dropped from subsequent editions of OD&D (never mind AD&D), the priority of these rolls to class selection remains in Holmes (1977), Moldvay (1981), and even Mentzer (1983). 

OD&D then presents Xylarthen, the very first sample character in the entire history of Dungeons & Dragons. Xylarthen has famously mediocre ability scores, with none above 13, in this case Wisdom. Despite this, his player chooses the magic-user class for him, leading OD&D's text to editorialize that he "would have progressed faster as a Cleric, but because of a personal preference for magic opted for that class." Of course, abilities in the three Little Brown Books are anemic, at least compared to later editions of the game (or even post-Greyhawk OD&D), so such a choice is perfectly viable.

In principle, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons has an identical approach to ability score generation and class selection. The Players Handbook indicates that the player first randomly generates his character's ability scores and "then decides what race the character is, what the character's class is," and so on. The PHB also indicates that

The referee has several methods of how this random number generation should be accomplished suggested to him or her in the DUNGEON MASTERS GUIDE. The Dungeon Master will inform you as to which method you may use to determine your character's abilities. 

By now, I think it's pretty well known that default method for generating ability scores in AD&D is roll 4d6, drop the lowest die, and arrange to taste. This method (called Method I) is laid out quite early on in the DMG, along with several other approved methods.

As you can see, none of the four methods above is the 3d6 in order method beloved by the OSR. 1985's Unearthed Arcana introduces an additional approved method (which, interestingly, is only intended for the creation of human player characters).

Looking at all these approved methods, what's clear is that another shift has happened. Just as OD&D quickly abandoned the idea that the referee, not the player, rolls the dice for a character's ability scores, the five methods of AD&D seem to suggest a shift away from deciding a character's class after the ability scores are generated. This is explicitly the case with Method V, but it seems to me to be implicit in Methods I and II as well. If the player doesn't already have a notion of what class of character he wishes to play, what's the point arranging the rolls to taste? Meanwhile, Method III prioritizes high ability scores. Only Method IV bears much similarity to the practice of OD&D and, even then, it provides a brute force work-around (albeit one that doesn't guarantee either above-average scores, let alone above-average scores in the abilities of one's choice).

The First Characters

Thanks in large part to Jeff Rients, I think most people are aware of the existence of Xylarthen, the very first sample Dungeons & Dragons character ever.

Xylarthen is actually a very good sample character for a couple of reasons. First, he has ability scores that reflect the most likely spread of 3d6 in order. His player clearly didn't fudge the dice rolls. Second, and more significantly, the text notes that Xylarthen "would have progressed faster as a Cleric, but because of a personal preference for magic, opted for that class." I love that. A common knock against 3d6-in-order is that it somehow limits player preference. That's not true at all, as there's no reason that you have to choose your character's class solely on the basis of his highest ability score. The idea of, say, a fighter whose highest ability is Intelligence or a thief with a similarly high Charisma is rather appealing to me and offers a good model for the flexibility of the old school style of play. Three cheers for Xylarthen!

Holmes's Basic Set, sadly, does not offer a sample character. Mike Carr's In Search of the Unknown, which was packaged with many printings of the set, includes a large collection sample characters, but nearly all of them follow the banal principle of their prime requisite being their highest ability score. More famous than Xylarthen is Morgan Ironwolf, about whom I theorized recently.

Morgan Ironwolf's ability scores are those of a "typical" old school fighter – high Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution; low Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma. She's very much in keeping with the sample characters in module B1. 

What people sometime forget is that Morgan Ironwolf is not the only sample character in Moldvay's Basic Rules. In fact, she's not even the first sample character presented in that rulebook. Behold: Borg!

I've always had a soft spot for Borg, primarily because of the way he's presented – as if written on a sheet of ruled paper of the sort every child uses in school (though his player's penmanship is far better than that of almost any child I ever knew). It's a reminder that character sheets, while useful, are unnecessary for a game that originally proclaimed itself "playable with paper and pencil and miniature figures." As for Borg himself, he's not all that different than Morgan Ironwolf in having a high Strength and Constitution. Where he differs is in having a low Dexterity as well, something I don't believe was quite as common (since Dexterity affected numerous combat capabilities, such as armor class, initiative, and missile attacks).

Despite their differences, what I find noteworthy is that all three possess two or more ability scores below 9. This isn't much of an impediment to Xylarthen, since, in LBB-only OD&D, low ability scores have minimal (or no) consequences. In this case of Morgan and Borg, though, those below average scores exact penalties on them, something that became increasingly rare as the game evolved. AD&D codified the importance of having high ability scores and, while I genuinely understand why that happened, I can't help but think it was ultimately an error that had a number of unintended (and undesirable) knock-on effects for the game.