Character Death in Old School Renaissance Games.
The bell tolls once in remembrance for each one of these individuals:
Sug the barbarian
Gus the barbarian (Sug’s brother)
Sir Andry the paladin
Spark Stream the mage
Tim the enchanter
Tim II the enchanter’s son
Father Graystone, cleric of Mitra
Francis, cleric of Mitra
George Klug of Ulsterbridge
And many, many more…
Character death in old school role-playing games is often misunderstood. This is especially true when it is viewed by younger players or folks that have recently come into the hobby. The current view of role-playing is that of an individual of heroic character following a storyline. This narrative, however, had less emphasis during the birth of role-playing. The first role-playing games were derived from wargames and like their wargame forebearers, focused on the campaign. The narrative of the campaign was elevated over any individual character story. Heroes were not created from character sheets or from rolling good stats, rather heroes were created by the story of them surviving and accomplishing great feats.
While the old tales of players from the 1970s not even giving their characters names until they reached Level 3 are somewhat overstated, they do reflect the thinking of the time. A player could run through three or four first level characters until one survived to level two. After all, a single sword blow would kill a first level character that wasn’t a Fighter about ½ the time. Even a Fighter with an extra +1 at first level on hit points was in danger about 1/3 of the time. This seems harsh by today’s standards, but a deeper look into the game is really needed before making this judgement. Reaching Level 2 was a milestone. The average fighter even without a constitution bonus now had an average 8 hit points. Since monsters usually (with a few notable exceptions) only dealt 1d6 of damage this meant that a player was afforded some flexibility on what risks should be taken. He would withstand one successful hit 100% of the time and on average would not fall until hit at least three times. At 3rd level, this trend continued. A level three fighter could overcome several lower-level opponents, but more importantly, that fighter could quickly judge the risk of an encounter and act accordingly (read…. run!). Encounters weren’t necessarily balanced in a meaningful manner. Though dungeon level was roughly a guide to party level, wilderness encounters were much more random.
This added up to a feeling that the campaign world was more important than the individual characters. Players of course always favored their own characters, but these were often randomly (and simply) generated. The loss of a low-level character was like that of having a tank blown up or one of your side’s French Infantry battalions routed… it was part of the game. Higher level characters were more beloved. Their ascent from the ranks of the common man generated part of the narrative and their loss was more deeply felt. Still, a heroic death, while sad, often was an epic addition to the narrative of the campaign.
This all began changing as RPGs moved away from their wargaming roots. Players began to want to customize their characters and identify more closely with them. They demanded large amounts of special features and skills to build the perfect character. Computer games, limited by their programming and storage reinforced this different experience. The character arc was the story. One could (and had to) infinitely respawn to finish the game. The narrative of the game began to focus on the characters, rather than the campaign world.
So, is this a good thing? The answer depends I think on the game style you prefer. Having just lost poor Francis, a cleric of Mitra in our last session (he was 5th level!), I can safely say that I like the old school way. Francis’ death was heroic, and he goes down in memory with the rather long list of deceased characters that have help build the narrative of our current campaign. Playing a game where there is little risk of losing characters seems somewhat boring and misplaced. That is one of the reason I prefer old school games. The sense of danger and vulnerability is much stronger. Other folks of course have other preferences. Besides, now I can focus on my 5th level Illusionist. He likes to run away.
So, I raise a toast to the memory of Francis, cleric of Mitra. The great bell in the temple of Mitra in Eisenbach will toll, Sir Roderick will recite the verses of Remembrance from the Ascension of St. Cuthbert. The Adventure will continue.
Fight on!
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