I came to in a place filled with pastel yellow flowers, and tall walnut trees left  unattended. A voice projected out.

"Son of Husan and Amal, welcome to this place." 

"Who are you," I shouted, "Allah?"

"No, young one. You were born to the wrong life, you know. Few would have chosen your life, full of hardships."

"What hardships?" I asked, perplexed.

"To be born in a mundane world, with no comforts."

"Swords are a comfort," I said. This being made no sense, my life may have been hard, but it had never been unhappy. Unhappiness was a life without life and family.

"Your family was destitute, you may have been happy, but now I will grant you a place where you can become more than a mere man. You will rise above it all." A being radiating a white light emerged, wearing the finest golden cloth with an ornate western sword worn in a sash at their side.

"Go now, or else you will regret staying in Purgatory." My vision spiraled out into darkness again, and I was moved to a place of darkness. I could barely see my hands, but the faint outline was there. Contractions began, forcing me out into sunlight. There I saw fragile woman, with a coarse hair covering her arms and a greatly bearded stout and short man. Both stared at me, love shimmering from their coal-black eyes. 

"Roah, he is finally born." The man spoke with a heartily deep voice. Roah, my mother it seemed, was exhausted. 

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"Welcome to our family, Husan," she said, saying my father's name. It seemed I was going to be the sword which protected my family, like my father before. 

Days passed, and I crawled my heart away in our tiny shack. My mother was not worried, it seemed that the culture of these d-o-w-a-r-v-e-s was different than what I was used to. My father, Hana, showed me books of the various types of weapons he liked to craft. 

"Repeat after me, Husan. Morningstar."

"Moohnung stahr!" I would shout. He would tell me about the process, and of what metals they were made of. It seemed that in this magical world anything was possible, and could exist. Everytime I crawled out and grow tired, a ding would appear in front of me, showing:

Husan, Level 2/100, Infant Dwarven Halfling

When I ate I would naturally gain levels, which led to me believing that I could grow even stronger. After a month my levels advanced into the twenties, and I picked up more of the language. It was called Half-Speak by my father, who said in scorn that halflings were the start of the dwarf society, and it was an affront that such a derogatory term would go towards halflings. I remained unperturbed, and instead focusing on leveling as much as possible. After 3 months, I heart two dings.

Husan, Level 100/100, Infant Dwarven Halfling

A voice, the same as the one I heard in Purgatory, said,

"You may choose a levelup-race".

- Sword-Forge Halfling (Child)

- Metal Halfling (Child)

- Wood Halfling (Child)

- Shriine Halfling (CHild)

Grinning, I chose the sword-forge halfling. It seemed I was finally destined for greatness in this world, amongst dwarves and what I once thought only existed in the Quran.

The next morning, I woke up filled with strength, and a new desire for knowledge, knowledge to learn to forge in this new world.