Calibrating This Shit

As Charles Taylor says, realism in the game provides a vital frame of reference for the player to be able to predict the effects of their actions, and, more importantly, put the unrealistic elements in their proper context. I'd rather have a few rules, tightly webbed and absolutely realistic, than a whole lot of quasi-fantastical and independent systems.
Finally, I have an hour and a half commute every morning, so I have little else to do but sit on the bus and consider the internal consistency of my system. So I calibrate shit.

Walking

Let's start with walking. In a combat round of six seconds, the average character can take four actions. Walking 5 feet is one action. Walking is, of course, something every player will be familiar with, so it had better work the way we expect it to.

So, you'll walk 20' in six seconds, or 200' per minute. This gets you to 5,280', a full mile, in 26.4 minutes - or about 2.3 miles per hour. This is a tad on the slow end - average human walking speed is 3 mph - but it comports with marching speed, which is a bit over 2 miles per hour over varied terrain. It's a nice, leisurely stroll - or an aware, steady advance. Realistic.

My marching speeds for unencumbered/encumbered/overencumbered people are currently 4/2/1 miles per hour, respectively - putting combat walking in the "encumbered" category. To be fair, 2 miles per hour versus 2.3 miles per hour adds up to a loss of about two and a half miles over the course of a day - but cross-country marching isn't a completely continuous slog. Internally consistent.

Running and Sprinting

Time to take it up a notch. The average human can run at 5-8 miles per hour, and sprint at around twelve to fourteen. Originally, I had running take 1d4 actions for 25' of movement, but that put "running" speed at a measly 4.5 miles per hour. I'll have to balance running speeds (1d4 actions), sprinting speeds (2d4 take lowest), and top speed (which is when every roll comes up 1).

Before we begin, I'd like to mention the rationale for a roll-to-sprint system: The uncertainty it introduces really allows me to run chases and pursuits using the combat system, pretty much unchanged, and I think it does a good job of reflecting the importance of reflexes, momentum, balance, and footing in short-distance running.

The average "run" will use up 2.5 actions, which allows for 16 runs per minute. At 40' per run, we get 640' run per minute, netting you a mile in eight minutes, fifteen seconds. This gets you 7.27 miles per hour - close to the upper average! Ideally I'd want it a bit closer to the 6 MPH mark, but it's not really a big deal.

The average of 2d4, take lowest, is 1.875 (about a 25% action cost reduction). That's 21 and 1/3 "sprints" per minute, or a 33% speed increase, for 9.7 MPH. Admittedly, this isn't a huge leap ahead of running speed, but you'll be getting top speed 80% of the time, rather than 25% of the time, which is a big advantage over short distances - exactly the balance I'd want to have.

Top speed means that you get four moves of 40', or 160' a round, 1600' per minute. That's a 3.3 minute mile! You're running at 18 miles an hour, mate. Of course, to run even a third of a mile at top speed, you'll need to roll 1 on 1d4 at least 40 times. The percentage chance of that happening on a normal run has twenty-five zeroes in it. Even while sprinting, with an 80% chance of reaching top speed each sprint, you only have a 0.0001% of getting any significant distance out of it. Which, of course, is how it should be.

The Fast Runner

You get bonus actions based on your Dexterity modifier in my system, which means a maximum of 7 actions per Round, or 75% faster movement. I'm not so concerned about the effects that a negative DEX modifier will have - crippled characters are going to be crippled, after all - but obviously we don't want a few extra points of DEX turning your character into some kind of freakish superhuman.

Which, luckily, it doesn't seem to. Walking speed, with 7 actions, is 4.03 MPH. Running speed is 12.7 MPH. Sprinting is 16.7 MPH. Pretty much all of this is in line with what I'd expect. Walking speed does tend to imply a significantly faster marching speed, but remember that long-distance marching is more an issue of endurance than speed,

Finally, the Fast Runner's top speed clocks at 31.5 MPH - faster than Usain Bolt, though not by much. This is actually a lot less realistic - modern sprinters have access to technology and training techniques that allow them to greatly increase fast-twitch muscle mass, and can thus attain significantly faster speeds than any pre-industrial sprinter. Of course, I'd rather err on the side of letting lucky player characters outstrip Usain Bolt for a few rounds, so I'll accept this quirk of the system.

Endurance

I account for fatigue and exhaustion by folding it into an encumbrance-by-stone system. Both fatigue and exhaustion are treated as a "phantom" stone of carried weight, which you can only rid yourself of by resting for a Turn or sleeping for two hours, respectively. Regular encumbrance is at 5 stones, with the max at 10 stones.

Walking (and even running) have no associated endurance or fatigue penalties, since I want each to be as simple and straightforward as possible. Over long distances, each fits easily into normal march rules, and long-distance running is easily accounted for as forced marching, which I handle by allowing the players to move into a faster march speed level than their encumbrance would normally allow, by quadrupling the rate of exhaustion.

I require sprinters to pass a STR check every sprint, or else lose any defensive bonuses and get reduced to AC6. Fumbling is possible (1 in 20 chance normally, goes up to 4 in 20 when overencumbered), which in my system usually just adds a stone of fatigue. The character can expect 21.33 sprints per minute, and 6 minutes, 11.25 seconds per mile, gaining 1.07 stones of fatigue each minute.

However, by the end of the third minute, she'll have 3 stones of fatigue and will move from "unencumbered" to "encumbered," fumbling 2 out of 10 times. (From here on out I'm going to let my precision slide a bit.) During the fourth minute of sprinting, she'll gain two stones of fatigue, making her "overencumbered" for the fifth minute. At the end of the fifth minute, she'll have gained four more stones of fatigue (fumbling 4 in 20 times!) putting her at 9 stones. This means that, fifteen seconds into the final stretch, she'll need to roll Might saves every Round to even continue sprinting - otherwise she'll be forced to the ground, resting for at least an hour and a half in order to return to zero fatigue, never having even reached the mile mark.

Someone with 18 CON (which puts base encumbrance to 8 stone) would be able to do it - she could sprint for four minutes before becoming encumbered, and would only gain her eighth stone in the sixth minute - finishing the mile on time. with enough wind for two more minutes of continuous sprinting.

I don't know that this is absolutely realistic, but there's definitely a reason why sprint races cap off at 400 meters! Anyway, a good long-distance sprint in this system would be a half-mile in about three minutes, which would require a half hour of resting to get back to tip-top shape. That sounds good enough for me.

Running a Marathon

Marathons are 26 miles, and the world records are all a few minutes under two hours - which comports with the Fast Runner's running speed of 12.7 MPH. Of course, these are extraordinary cases - marathons are better handled with marching speeds.

Most competent marathon runners aim to run a four-hour marathon, and 2% of them breach three hours. Unencumbered marching speed is 4 MPH, which is a six-and-a-half hour marathon - clearly, we have to kick it up a notch. A 6 MPH forced march - at 1 stone of exhaustion per hour - gets you across the finish line in 4 hours, 20 minutes, and an 8 MPH double-time (1 stone per turn) will be 3 hours, 15 minutes, at 7 stones. Good enough - it provides enough of a baseline to estimate exhaustion and times if someone wants to actually race in a marathon, it's easy to remember (+2 MPH when forced-marching), and it's consistent, with 6 MPH being just under running speed and 8 MPH just over.

Fighting
You can fumble in combat! Surprise surprise! You'll be rolling 10 attacks per minute, with a 1 in 20 chance of fumbling - giving you a stone of fatigue every two minutes. At six minutes, on average, you'll cross into "encumbered" territory, averaging one new stone per minute. At eight minutes, you'll be "overencumbered" and gain, on average, a stone of fatigue every 30 seconds. You'll start to collapse from exhaustion after 10 minutes, 30 seconds of continuous fighting - 105 rounds. Not having done fencing or medieval reenactment (only paintball), I couldn't tell you exactly how accurate it is, but it's on a similar scale to sprinting, and is easy to remember, and easily accommodates the effects of excess weight on your combat endurance. The idea that, after six minutes of continuous fighting, you're really starting to push your limits makes intuitive sense to me.

Sneaking
Sneaking is the skill used to move without drawing attention to yourself, and I record it in feet per minute - this being how fast you can move before making a ruckus. As a Level 1 Trickster, you get 20' per minute, going up by 20' each time you level up and decide to improve Sneaking.
20' per minute is two feet per round, or four inches per Action - the slowest flat crawl. (Although, since it's notated as a per-minute speed, it also accounts for quick dashes between cover). By Level 10, however, said Trickster can Sneak at 200' per minute, which means their normal walking is completely silent. And at level 20, she'll Sneak at 400' per minute, or about 4.6 MPH - a brisk jog!

Since you can double-time with a DEX check, you can effectively attempt to Sneak at normal speed by level 5, while a 20th-level Trickster can basically Sprint silently, with up to 800' per minute/9.2 MPH Sneaking, which is obviously pretty fantastical. This meshes perfectly with my intended level scaling, where 10th level is intended to comport with the best that heroes could have accomplished in the real world, and all the levels beyond that representing states of increasing mystical perfection. Since double-timing a skill like this adds 1d4 guaranteed stones of fatigue, it remains a poor substitute for normal sprinting when simply looking at speed.

Swimming
Base swim speed is 30' per minute, or 3' per round, increasing in those same increments. This starts you at about 0.3 MPH, whereas the fastest swimmers can reach 5-6 MPH - which, of course, comports exactly with the swim skill in my system. A 10th level Trickster fully trained in Swimming moves at 3 MPH in the water, and at 20th level she'll reach 6 MPH.

Sprinting, of course, doubles these speeds - a 10th level swimmer can sprint at similar speeds to Michael Phelps, while the 20th level will actually be a bit faster in the water than she is on land.

Climbing
I'm the least familiar with climbing techniques, so I'll use some speed climbing records as a reference point. The 2007 record (since broken) on El Capitan, a 2900 foot climb, took about 165 minutes - about 17 feet per minute on average, though the climbers were reported to do most of the climb at 20 feet per minute. Half Dome, at 2,000 feet, has been done in 82 minutes - nearly 25 feet per minute. However, the tree climbing world record is about 50' in 13.65 seconds, or a bit over 250' per minute, and the Climb skill is intended to cover both of those bases.

Of course, tree climbs are clearly sprints, moving at double time, while thousand-foot plus climbs include numerous rest breaks. We can bridge much of the gap by working backwards from my system's "skill sprint" mechanic - cutting a 250' per minute sprint in half to get a "normalized" climb speed of 125' per minute. As for the rock climbing records, we can probably assign CON scores of 18 to the climbers, which gives them the ability to simply 'take' 4 stone of fatigue before things start getting dangerous. Climbing adds 1 stone per minute, and resting removes 1 every 10 minutes. So for every 4 minutes of continuous climbing, you'd need 40 minutes of continuous resting to return to zero.

Let's apply this to the El Capitan climb. 4 minutes 'on,' then 40 off, is 44 minutes. The second stretch puts us at 88 minutes total, 8 minutes active climbing. Third, 12 minutes climbing and 132 total. A half-stretch, 14 minutes climbing and 154 total, and a quarter stretch gives us 165 total minutes, with 15 minutes of continuous climbing, at 193' per minute. As this is a world record climb, we can assume a fair amount of sprinting, as well as simply accepting extra weight, and modern climbing technology to boot. I'll call it a normal climbing speed of 100' per minute, at Level 10 - or 10' per minute, at level 1.

The "catching" mechanic (you get a chance to catch yourself while falling every 10' up to your Climbing skill distance) is definitely less realistic, as even an experienced professional climber would not be able to simply "catch a ledge" after a 50 foot fall, but it does keep things interesting and allow for additional granularity when failing to climb something.

Conclusions
Since I use an action-point system, I realize I have a level of granularity below most people's systems. However, most of this translates well, I think - see this summary of my per-Round movement speeds:
Walking: 20'
Running: 64' (or just simplify to 60')
Sprinting: 85'
Top Speed: 160'
Climbing: 1' per level
Sneaking: 2' per level
Swimming: 3' per level

Veil, a Cubic Dystopia

Once upon a time, there were many deities.

All were equal, though some, of course, were more equal than others. As with any power structure, the weak soon aligned with the strong, or with each other, creating alliances and pantheons in competition for the souls and riches of the world below. They warred.

Constantly.

Eventually, when the sky was filled with fire and smoke, the land smashed and broken, and the seas choked with holy power, the war met its end. Few mortal creatures survived, and those that did were irrevocably scarred with the terror and pain of generations of divine battle. It was plain to see that the world was in its death throes, and such constant hostilities might soon cause even gods to perish. Without an end to the war, there would be nothing but blood, and dust, and Void.

So the gods convened. A truce was formed, and the task of rebuilding the world begun. The gods called into existence a great Veil, one that no sight nor sense could pierce. The Veil concealed all knowledge of each god's ultimate whereabouts in the new world, hiding from them nothing except their own ultimate place in the world's foundation. With the Veil in place, there could be no hierarchy, no intrigue, no sabotage - every god, save the insane ones, would naturally desire a world where none among them would risk annihilation, or deprivation, or injustice.

So, in the final phases of the world's construction, they decided to merge. There would be but one God, they said, intrinsic to the structure of this new existence, and there would be no rivalries, no contention, nothing but an eternal Peace. And as the dissenters felt their powers drawn inexorably into this thing, this singularity of energy, they broke the agreement.

There was a pop, and a tear, and the Veil tore, and the new earth wrapped itself around the old, and all the old idols crumbled with the shock of rebirth. Dissenters, malformed and shrunken, fled to deep and hidden places. A new Humanity rose up and began slaughtering all the creatures from Before. And there God stood, and saw it was good, and said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

The new Deity could be called the Primarch, they decided. He - she - it - had dominion over all the beasts of the land and air, the strange creatures of river and sea, and the weather, and the rocks, and everything between and beyond. It could be prayed to, but would not respond except in whispers, or subtle signs. And it wished nothing more than the killing of those "traitors," hidden everywhere in Veil. These demons, it said, were weak and atrophied, wanting nothing more than the plunging of the world into brutal Chaos, or to enslave it a grip of iron, or imprison it in soulless Order.

It was nothing if not vague.

As the Faith spread, adopting nonhumans and barbarians under its wing, it changed, then flexed, then split entirely. Now there are three Faiths, each with their own great city, and client kingdoms, and millions of worshippers.

The Western Faith believes that the forces of evil will bide their time, gathering strength and plotting a single, crippling blow against all holy order in a coming Armageddon. In the fires of the Last War and among the tsunamis of gore will be born an Anti-God, an avatar of nihilism, and the cosmos will return to the hell that was Before. So followers of this Faith hone their blades, building tall fortresses of stone and faith, stockpiling food and gold, all to serve as bulwarks against the Reckoning.

The Eastern Faith instead wishes to fight fire with fire, and use the tools of the Enemy against it. Their great Prophet, Aloysius the Tall, was even an accomplished diabolist, who habitually summed great Terrors only to bind and destroy them, so as to always be practiced at the art. Eastern priests are well-known evangelists, everywhere using the power of negotiation and commerce to bring new lands into the fold. Many Eastern holy sites are built atop known ruins of the old order.

The Southern Faith is composed of the Primarch's Chosen, every one of them, in the flesh. People of other faiths are, of course, welcome to their doubts, and welcome also to live and work in southern lands. Of course, they are obviously unqualified to hold office, or lead armies, or cross any borders or travel long distances.  Southerners believe that their souls, Chosen as they are, can never leave the world - usually, they are recycled as newborns in families of loyal Chosen, but sometimes they appear far afield, in foreign lands known not to the men of Faith.

There are, of course, a few things all three Faiths agree upon:
That there is but one true God.
That It has a Plan.
That It hates the traitor Demons.
That those Demons have many tricks and many disguises.
And They could well appear to be Prophets of the Faith.

Class System

The above, from Wikipedia, is my class and multiclassing system. It comes from Talysman's post on the three-role class system, which recognizes that there are three basic archetypes inherent in the early game, which also comport with archetypes present in fiction - the fighter, the wizard, the trickster. The fighter approaches problems directly, with force or toughness, the wizard, using magic, and the trickster, indirectly, but without magic - applying her own cleverness and skill.

Therefore, I have:
The Warrior: Receives training in two different weapons per level, and reduces Death and Dismemberment Table rolls by one, per level.
The Mystic: Receives one extra spell die per level, and can craft magic items using a system I have yet to satisfactorily determine.
The Spy: Receives training in climbing or swimming, per level. Receives training in stealth, per level. Begins with literacy in native language, and can use the Lore system to gain knowledge of additional languages or scripts, or otherwise rumors and gossip.

Each of these is one of the "primary" colors - say the Warrior is red, the Mystic is blue, and the Spy is green. Overlap represents a "dual-class" - which I'm constructing to be a fully-fledged class, since that is much clearer and easier to conceptualize than a hyphenated Franken-class. So: between the Warrior and the Mystic is the Warlock, who gains weapon training at the cost of crafting ability. Between the Warrior and the Spy is the Assassin, who retains the weapon use, stealth, and terrain abilities of both classes. And between the Mystic and Spy is the Trickster, which is a stealthy spellcaster.

Obviously, there's no reason to mix between any of the derived classes - there's absolutely no reason to be 1/4 this and 1/3 that, or to pursue any of the more esoteric shades of green. There is, of course, the central mix of all primary colors - the polymath, who is stealthy, gains some weapon abilities, and is a spellcaster.

Incomplete, as usual. But I think I'm going to do away with separated hit die progressions, attack-bonus tables, and definitely with weapon and armor restrictions. That way, each class is as concise as possible, and imposes much less upon your character's stats and abilities.

Putting NPC Polities into the Toolbox

I think the most important thing is to remember the Magic Number 7, and not have more than 7 things in front of you at once. Since political groups operate in the same way as World NPCs will, they compete with those for the 7 slots of global movers and shakers you can comfortably juggle at a time.

Luckily, for the most part, a World NPC will be aligned or associated with a given political entity, and can be part of the polity's entry. Only extremely charismatic, powerful, or manipulative individuals can be expect to be a global force entirely their own - others, even those having significant disagreements with the polity they participate in, will still be significantly constrained by the preferences of the polity, and should be considered within it, rather than apart from it.

The other type of World NPC that can get away with one of the 7 spots on the front page of your campaign journal is an individual with an absolutely loyal following, or crazy enough to not even go around with much of a following. Generally, these will be necromancers with armies of undead, iron-fisted cult leaders with fewer, but crazier followers, (larger cults with more than one power base will actually behave as normal polities), and lone wacko heroes like Hercules, Arjuna, or the PCs.

Honestly, for the most part, most World NPCs can be replaced by NPC polities. Instead of "King Hendrik of Lyceum," just use "Lyceum." The 7 great powers in your region will be the 7 polities you generate, unless there are 1 or 2 crazy individuals out there who can either compete on their own or are sufficiently unhinged that they can generate their own gravity on the world equal to that of a kingdom.

So, it's time for a few definitions. We want this system to be easy to port into different power levels, and easy to remember - therefore, use fractal design. Up to 7 kingdoms in your continent, each with up to 7 major internal players, each of which has up to 7 of its own major entities.

From here on out, a domain is the "setting level" at which there are up to 7 actors, which are entities both able and willing to meaningfully change the state of a given domain. A domain can be a multiverse, a continent, a kingdom, a city, a region, or even a single hamlet. An actor can be a race, a religion, a kingdom, a political party, a guild, a mercenary band, a cult, a posse, or a family.

(An actor can also be a single individual, but for the most part they will simply be subunits of other actors. Historically, even a king could never rule on his own - he needed the support of a complex network of noble, merchant, and military backers. And this network, of course, would never be completely unified - if necessary, it could be considered a domain all its own. Anyway, if you want, put in individuals as actors rather than subunits of traditional actors whenever you want to, and ignore these rules completely whenever you do so. Unless the individual in question has seven personalities.)

Therefore, each domain has up to 7 actors, each of which is their own domain, with up to 7 smaller actors, which are also domains, and so forth. Each actor uses the the stats described in my previous post:

• Strength: Isolation versus interventionism. 
• Constitution: Pacifism versus militarism. 
• Dexterity: Stasis vs. change.
• Intelligence: Social memory.
• Wisdom: Elitism versus populism.
• Charisma: Xenophobia vs cosmopolitanism.

I suggest beginning with the domain that is one higher than what the PC's will begin acting on. Perhaps more - it is easier to improvise downwards than upwards, since a strange new town they've never heard of before is accepted more easily than the appearance of a strange new empire just a few miles away. Generating this "top-level domain" is the simplest - choose the number of actors you want, roll their stats in order, then write the name, a 1-2 sentence description, and any other notes - important NPCs, controlled subunits and regions, etc. I made a summary sheet with all this inputted. Write down both the stats and the stat bonuses - the latter are important when moving downwards to a lower domain.

For example, the Kingdom of Lyceum is, from the PC's position, the most important entity in my Veil setting. The domain is functionally the World - the "Old Continent" of Estia, and the "New Continent" of Adrastia. There are two other actors on this domain - the Polikan Empire and the Safarran League - but I'll just do Lyceum for now:

STR: 9 (0)

CON: 10 (0)

DEX: 14 (+1)

INT: 8 (-1)

WIS: 8 (-1)

CHA: 12 (0)

As you can see, not particularly extreme in any area, but it is favorably disposed to social change, isn't rooted much in the past, and favors elite rule. I re-rolled the lowest die for STR and CHA, because I already have Lyceum funding exploration and colonization of a New Continent, and that wouldn't jive with scores of 7 and 5 on each of those. However, I do like that neither of those stats is particularly high - perhaps the kingdom is only exploring out of necessity? Or excitement has waned?

Of course, each actor is its own domain, so do this again for each actor. The exact manner in which you execute the next step depends on what the original actor is - most importantly on its centralization. A loosely organized religion might have its internal actors represent different schools of thought, while a rigid cult would have its internal actors representing different direct units. Political actors - such as states or empires - would have a mix of independent internal actors, such as different political parties or social groups, and subordinate ones, like militaries, tax agencies, et cetera.

Importantly, you apply the main actor's stat modifiers to the stats of every smaller actor under its direct control. Sometimes this is done crosswise - if a major actor within a kingdom is an independence movement controlled by a rival kingdom, apply the rival kingdom's stat modifiers. 

Continuing within Lyceum, one of the most important organizations in the Kingdom is the Black Chamber. It began as a cryptographic office and expanded to become a hybrid of magical and philosophical research unit, witch hunter, and spy ring. As its purview has grown, so has its power, and its secrets - both mundane and mystical - shape the entire kingdom's future.

STR: 13 (+1)

CON: 11 (0)

DEX: 9+1= 10 (+0)

INT: 10-1= 9 (-0)

WIS: 8-1=7 (-1)

CHA: 14 (+1)

So, the Black Chamber is fairly interventionist, still fairly elitist, but pretty cosmopolitan. That last might sound strange for a spy group, but remember it's equal parts mage, alchemist, and assassin. Lyceum's stats modified DEX, INT, and WIS to a small degree. Again, record the stat modifiers so they can be applied to any smaller actors the Black Chamber controls. 

Continuing on, Lyceum is a trading state, and thus Lycian merchants are socially and economically powerful, even if their political power is curtailed by the proliferation of trading guilds and shipping companies. 

STR: 11 (0)

CON: 9 (0)

DEX: 8 (-1)

INT: 10 (0)

WIS: 8 (-1)

CHA: 16 (+2)

The merchants are, of course, not under the crown's direct control. They're mildly interventionist, with a mild aversion to fighting, and are actually fairly inflexible and elitist. They're extremely cosmopolitan - I actually fudged this roll, since the first would have given me xenophobic traders - not a contradiction I'm willing to work with at this point. Inflexibility and elitism might seem counterintuitive to some, but this can easily happen if trading is conducted by smaller, entrenched family monopolies, rather than independent explorers.

From here, you can continue on down the line as far as you like. I wouldn't fully generate every actor at every domain level - keeping in mind that its easier to generate downwards rather than upwards, I'd fully generate every actor at the domain the players are starting in and the one immediately above it, and then partially generate one or two lower domains the players will likely come into contact with.

Partial generation involves rolling only the stats that players are likely to hear about from other actors - Charisma and one other stat (probably Strength, Constitution, or Wisdom). Partially generating like this greatly reduces the generation time, and provides enough information to allow incomplete actors to interact with the players from afar, buying you time to roll the other four stats.

The next post, I'll write up how to account for influences - religions, regions, social strata, and changes in command.

Cantrip Town

At The 9 and 30 Kingdoms, there's an ongoing discussion of classless magic use, prompted by Talysman's proposal of a system where any character has the potential to cast a spell, provided they have access to spellbooks, scrolls and instruction.

Charles Angus pointed out that this might fundamentally change the nature of the setting, now that every barmaid can cast clean and any huntsman can throw down a goodberry.

Talysman's response was that the opportunity to learn magic doesn't necessarily have to be widely available, even if the potential is - magic can be hoarded, spellbook creation is expensive, and those who hold power are not likely to share it.

But, what if the fact that most people have access to cantrips and 1st-level spells didn't necessarily lead to them using them all the time?

Almost every setting posits the existence of powerful magical beasts, which could (and do) destroy towns and hamlets basically at will. Small villages are too far-flung for the local lord to provide the martial force necessary to defend them, and any ramshackle militia is going to get annihilated by the dragon or the necromantic cult.

Perhaps the villagers use their minor magical abilities to protect themselves, by building up wards and circles to protect themselves. Maintaining these is a daily ritual, and far more important than simply keeping a clean bar, or repairing a sprained ankle. Allowing villagers this sort of magical power has historical precedent, as well - in this conception of potential magic, throwing salt over your shoulder isn't just a superstition, it's an actual minor hex, which actually makes the house slightly safer against daemonic assault.

Perhaps much host of commonly described vampiric weaknesses - garlic, inability to enter a house uninvited - are not natural conditions of vampirism, but universally applied orisons that anybody knows to cast. This could also account for cultural differentiation in monster weaknesses - the Chinese vampire actually is the same vampire, but faces a culturally distinct set of hexes and charms.

First Level as Survival Horror

Some tangential thoughts prompted by a discussion at The 9 and 30 Kingdoms:

What I value most in a class system and rule-set are the principles of definition through play, and the ability to play with understanding as little of the complete system as possible. Though I'm currently using LotFP's class system with few modifications (save the magic system), I'm working on a three-class system with "specialist classes" that are sort of like prestige classes, but available after 3rd level and with no other requirements. Basic classes would be reduced to the three archetypes - fighter, mage, thief.

As it is, each class knows some of the elements of each of the other classes - thieves and mages know how combat works and can use some weapons and armor. Mages and fighters have a limited ability to find and disarm traps. Everyone's a little bit of a jack-of-all trades, enough to give a bit of leeway in adverse circumstances.

What if, instead, the only "combat system" available to a mage was, "The orc stabs you in the guts and you die?" Obviously, this would absolutely require the dungeon to be structured such that every problem lent itself to all three conflict-resolution systems, or at the very least, complete avoidance. The "obviously present" trap becomes paramount. And it would also require the GM to be open to players creatively forcing problems into their niche ("All I can do is attack? Well, I attack the trap mechanism!"). But if Amnesia: The Dark Descent could get away without letting the character attack the monsters, at all, ever, why can't a dungeoncrawl?

So far, I've been assuming only one player. A party composed of characters like this wouldn't be immune to the survival-horroresque problems faced by the single character - as each individual is still only capable of one type of action, and vulnerable to all the others. Teamwork becomes an absolute necessity. And, most of all, creative play becomes the only possible way to survive.