Social status is in your AD&D™ campaign
whether you realize it or not! The
player characters constitute a professional
class in themselves (probably far
richer than those characters comprising
the bulk of their encounters), and then
there’s “everybody else” — from the
powerful, rich castle owner to the rarely
seen but everpresent beggar by the door
of the inn.

Many good DMs have never seriously
thought about this aspect of their campaigns
and, frankly, probably haven’t
noticeably suffered for the lack of it.
Those with a flair for verbal color have no
doubt waxed eloquent about the farmers’
friendly bartering with stout housewives
in the morning market square, the colorful
confusion of the trade bazaar, and the
hundreds of “atmosphere people” plodding
through their mundane lives in the
streets and alleyways of the local town.
Characters must beware of thieves, as
the Guildmaster has no doubt assigned
certain well-traveled corners of the town
to his Rogues and Footpads for their
Independent Studies (the boundaries of
these Training Territories being carefully
observed by their wary brothers),
but these have become expected and
almost routine facts of town life. And of
course there are the ruffians and “mysterious
cloaked figures” populating the
taverns, providing both clues for future
adventures and exciting brawls in the
meantime.

Indeed, many “campaigns” are built
on a simple series of dungeon adventures,
with little or no play occurring in a
populous setting. I know that mine was,
initially; the world was there, waiting, but
nobody ever ventured far from the Old
Home Town other than to sack a few
rooms of the nearby dungeon. So we just
didn’t worry about it.

At one point, however, the characters
began to travel; I’d let them know that a
new dungeon had been discovered (i.e.,
designed) somewhere, and of course
there’d be a town or two along the route
to it, and . . . one thing led to another, and
before I realized it I had a continent with
a dozen thriving towns. Their very existence
stimulated more thought on the
matter: How are these people surviving?
Inter-city trade, plus NPC professions
(chandler, cooper, wright, and so on),
plus — oh, definitely — trade with adventurers.
Come to think of it, those townsfolk
specializing in PC-related trades,
providing horses, supplies, and magic
potions (though the initial investment in
the latter trade must be formidable)
would probably end up running things;
power gravitates toward the rich. But, I
digress into economics.

Get two people together and you have
a society, and within every society is an
implicit social structure of some kind.
(Get three people together and they’ll
invent politics, but that’s another topic
altogether.) Where there is opportunity,
there eventually comes someone to take
advantage of it. Unless your campaign is
in a post-cataclysmic setting of utter
chaos, society is there, and opportunity
is there. If anyone’s taking orders, someone
else is giving them; and when someone
is giving orders, someone else is
higher up the chain, as well as lower
down.

But why worry about it? As a case in
point, we theoretically use one-minute
melee rounds, but you only get one
swing (exceptions disregarded for the
moment). The rest of the battle action is
“assumed”; why not social structure
likewise? Let’s assume that there are
beggars, laborers, tradesmen, gentry and
so forth, and let’s just not worry about
the details.

You agree? Fine. Assume. The system
works as is.

But a little simulation is good for a
campaign. The game would be much
less appealing if we were portraying
Marzelts on a far planet, battling fierce
Bolyks with our two-tentacled Shargums.
Instead, it’s based on something we can
relate to: King Arthur-ish knights, and
dragons, and a medieval flavor (sans
plague) blended with epic fantasy. Just
gimme the good stuff, we say, ignoring
starvation and toilets and . . . social
structure.

Stop and think a moment. If you live in
a city suburb, how many close friends or
business associates do you have in your
immediate area? Okay, how many are
from the “bad part” of the inner city?
How many are deep in farm country?
Now, consider the fact that modern
communications and travel make those
relationships far more possible for us
than they would be in a medieval world,
and that we can more easily divide ourselves
geographically to live near our
peers — those of our own “caste.”

So why is your son-of-a-peasant fighter 
running around with a merchant's 
daughter who was tutored in the USE of 
magick?  They shouldn't even have met, 
let alone be on speaking terms -- and in 
many games, they're trusting each other 
with their very lives! 

With just a bit of consideration, social
structure can add a more realistic feel to
the AD&D campaign without getting in
the way. Note that if the limitations on
professions as described in Gary’s short
article start messing up your campaign,
you should make exceptions, excuses,
changes, or do anything necessary to
keep a firm grip on your world. If you’re
starting (or re-starting) a game, try the
social system presented here; it provides
a nice framework around which to base a
nicely self-consistent campaign. It fits
well (unsurprisingly) with the WORLD
OF GREYHAWK™ setting, as you’ll see
when more items in that line start appearing.
But be careful in applying it to a
game already going at full speed; you’ll
probably have to make modifications.

Imagine the intricate net of clues and
adventures opening up with the introduction
of social strata, whatever the
details. A common field hand at a nearby
farm turns out to be a medium-level
assassin, spying on local Lawful Good
activities. The brewery on the river bank
is a cover for the Guild Headquarters
itself. The beggar on Glenview Bridge is
a 14th level magic-user, laying low after
a scuffle with the druids — who are in
turn hiding out disguised as cattle at a
nearby farm. The mage bought his beggar’s
outfit from a glassblower, who fences
stolen goods; the glassblower, in turn,
notified a junior officer of the town guard
(for a price, of course), who furthers her
career by specializing in providing supplies
for those “on the lam.” Don Diego, a
landed gentry, is a masked Robin Hood
by night, fighting a never-ending battle
against evil greed. Three escaped criminals
kidnap a goose girl at the well, only
to discover that she’s the illegitimate
daughter of the duke, who will pay handsomely
for her safe return and even more
for secrecy. And in each case, intervention
by player characters is only possible
if someone is of the same social level. . . .

When characters get together for an
adventure, they’ll have more rationale
for doing so than saying, “We just all
happened to be in the same bar, so. . . .”
A social system helps provide ideas for
character background: What happened
to him in those 16-19 years that a fighter
spent before becoming a professional?
Does he remember anything that could
lead to glorious (and, he hopes, lucrative)
adventures? Or, more probably, is
anything known about a town that could
lead to inside information, the intrigue of
politics and power, or simply who to talk
to to get a regeneration spell? Town
adventures can be fun, too.

But watch out for thieves.