“We need to choose a class and a name before we find a way to release it in the world. Now, where is that diorama?” said Cheshire as the locale began to shift and undulate.

“My lord, we urge you not to do this. The balance we have cultivated over the long millennia will be corrupted by a champion like this,” pleaded the Fates.

This seemed like a crazy person’s fever dream to Deacon. What had he been dragged into? He wasn’t sure he should continue this with the choir of Fates opposed to his very existence. But Deacon knew how to deal with opposition in a meeting.

“What’s the point of this if these women are just going to try and kill me?” asked Deacon.

“Nonsense, have you no sense of adventure?” said Cheshire.

“It is intuitive. This is a poor choice.” Replied the Fates.

“You aren’t technically alive yet and the Fates have to play fair,” replied Cheshire, “Now come, you have decisions to make. Here are the standard three starting classes for you to choose from: Warrior, Rogue, and Mage. I suggest you choose from the first two, since one of your pulls makes Mage useless to you,” said Cheshire shrugging off the Fates comment.

As Deacon floated through the diorama, he scoffed at what he was seeing. There were three mannequins wearing costumes. The first wore armor and had a sword at its waist with a shield covering his back. The second was posed in a crouching position, knife in one handheld in a reverse grip all covered by a hooded cloak. The last was standing upright holding a staff pointed out straight in both hands, fully robed with a conical hat. In his peripheral…vision? He wasn’t sure what to call his sense of sight in this place. He saw a distortion in the pattern of this void. It was distracting him, so he floated over in that direction.

“Where are you going? The choices are here. Given some of your pulls I’d suggest Warrior. You may end up unlocking the Mage Slayer Specialization. That’s a good one,” mentioned Cheshire.

Deacon replied the only way he knew how.

“Wouldn’t any of my classes be considered mage slayers? I mean if they can’t hit me with… what did you call it? Tier one magic, can’t I just roll up on them and bonk them on the head.? I’ve never met a mage. I can’t even believe I spoke those words,” Deacon said as he reached the oddity hanging in limbo.

“Where are you going?” asked the toothy horizon, “All your choices are before you. With your Empty Handed card, I would assume that Warrior is the best bet. Lots of martial ability to keep you alive in those early levels,” commented Cheshire as the teeth refocused on Deacon.

Ignoring the advice, He drifted closer to that hazy section until his momentum halted. He thought how strange it is that a void would have a barrier. Abruptly he heard a cracking sound and the barrier dissolved in front him revealing row after row of more mannequins.

“More Classes?” Deacon queried.

“No those are class architypes but for the forgotten,” explained Cheshire.

“Forgotten?” Deacon asked.

“Yes, well this world is vast and old. Not every class architype continues to be relevant through the ages. Take the Goblin Biomancer, for example. You need to be a goblin as well as have access to science and magic. You do not realize how rare that is. How could you? After the third goblin uprising, where horrible monstrosities were created by these creatures, the Fates issued a worldwide quest to hunt them down and exterminate them. While not all these classes have the same story, they’ve all been forgotten for some reason or another. We should return to the selection I have prepared for you; I doubt anything in here will suit you,” Chimer explained before Deacon floated further into the hall of forgotten classes.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

“Let it choose from here—That will guarantee a swift end to this comedy,” the choir chimed in, clearly wanting the last word.

Feeling a bit pissed off at this point, Deacon replied,

“Oh, yea fine! Since you are so interested in getting rid of me, what is this one in the robes here?” Deacon asked.

“That is the Nether Monk class. None of those are left. Difficult path, you wouldn’t want that one,” Cheshire explained as his grin grew wider.

“Monk, huh. They have martial prowess, don’t they?” asked Deacon, At least the ones from movies Deacon watched did. Something about monks playing soccer.

“You don’t understand, without a class trainer you would have to discover class abilities on your own. There also would not be any readily available gear that you could use. You would be vulnerable until you acclimated to this world. The same can be said for all these forgotten classes,” Cheshire explained.

“I bet I could make it work,” Deacon replied unwittingly falling into Cheshire’s trap.

“I’ll take that bet,” Cheshire said with the widest grin imaginable. All other classes vanished, and the only choice left in front of him was Nether Monk. Deacon was prompted to accept the choice with two options: ‘yes,’ and ‘yes.’

“Wait, what happened?” Deacon asked.

“Does God of Gambling ring a bell? This is a win-win for me. The odds of you succeeding are incredibly low, but as my champion you have just made a bet that guarantees I win regardless if you live or die. This could not have gone better. Now select yes and let us move on to the next stage,” said Cheshire excitedly.

Several rows of body types and genders were then displayed before Deacon, giving him the distinct impression that he should select his new form. With his thoughts in a swirling hurricane of wondering what he just did, he could only think of one thing: pick human before I get stuck with mushroom gnome or something else ri-goddamn-diculous. So, he blurted out, “Human male.”

“You sure about that?” Cheshire asked, “There are some incredibly strong or wise races that would make an excellent Nether Monk.”

“I’m good,” he replied. A view of five stats blurred in front of his face. Intelligence, Strength, Speed, Agility, and Wisdom before Cheshire began to speak again.

“A base human has ten in each of these stats. As a champion you will be given an additional fifty points to distribute as you see fit. As my champion you will be given a sixth stat: Luck. This stat was removed from the world by the other gods for reasons we will not go into here. I have waited the allotted time, so now I bestow unto my champion the wasted points over this long-protracted judgement,” Cheshire said dripping with a smugness only the player with a winning hand could have.

Attribute

Score

Intelligence

10

Strength

10

Speed

10

Agility

10

Wisdom

10

Luck

300

“You cannot grant him a stat above the Mortal limit of one hundred. The pantheon will hear of this,” shrieked the Fates.

“They determined it was a useless stat and removed it by quorum from the world. I haven’t given it back to the mortals, just to my champion, which is my right. Now all that’s left is for you to choose a name and we are done here. You can distribute your points once you are on the Mortal Plane. I have no need to witness such minutiae. Now choose,” Cheshire said calmly.

“I… my... I already have a name. It’s Deacon.” He said.

“Just Deacon? No surname? Well, that is… underwhelming. Go, then, you have work to do and a table to flip. Good luck,” quipped Cheshire.

The last thing Deacon thought before his perception swirled around him was,

“Shit. What was that about a table?”