A river flowed around Arlo. A river unlike any he’d seen before. Translucent bodies meandered, some faster than others, but all with the same general purpose.

And Arlo was caught up in the middle of them. This had to be the creepiest dream ever.

Then it got worse.

Something yanked him. Wrenched from the river of mindless souls, Arlo flew into — well, he wasn’t sure what. The fabric of time and space? His mind could barely keep up with the current scenery, let alone take in a new one.

Yet that was what he was subjected to.

A wall of bodies faced him. Human, elf, bodies with devil horns, others with vines growing out of them — all trapped in containment units of some sort. Around the room, various implements lay. It didn’t take long to realise they were random rifles and pistols, though closer inspection revealed they were all flintlock.

Beyond the bodies, beyond the weapons, the room — if he even was in a room — expanded into infinite darkness. How Arlo could see was beyond him.

“Test 3. Subject is a soul departed from a world called Earth, circa 2023. Preferred weapon seems to be of the nation of Alkenstar.”

A masculine voice rumbled inside and outside his mind. Arlo blinked. How much weirder was this dream going to get? Test subject? Departed souls? He hadn’t dreamt-

A memory flashed. A pill bottle. A jug of his father’s whiskey.

And suddenly, Arlo’s mind snapped out of the foggy haze.

“Subject shows increasing cognition. Note: This is six seconds faster than previous attempts. I will now begin basic instructions.”

Dry rustling pricked Arlo’s- wait… he didn’t have ears! Or a body! Fuck… had it actually worked this time? Was he… dead?

“You will choose a body to inhabit. Once your soul has bonded to the clone, you will be given further instructions. Each clone can only be used once; death will destroy the body. Choose wisely.”

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Almost before he realised it, Arlo blinked. Eyes blinked open. A heart beat, a chest expanded, lungs breathed. A red and a blue bar appeared over his vision, easily discernible with a glance up. Beside them, numbers floated, 1 and 0… some sort of health bar?

“Subject shows little alarm over his situation. I will proceed with my explanation,” the disembodied voice said. “You have been resurrected for a task of some importance. There is a spellbook I require. It belongs to a specific person long thought dead. Circumstances demand that I cannot retrieve the book myself. You will be given a weapon of your choice to aid you; each weapon contains memories of a past self.”

“Who are you?” Arlo demanded through strained vocal chords. “Where am I?”

A musket flashed into his hands. And with it, everything changed. The red 1 turned to 6, the blue 0 turned to 5. A bag appeared on Arlo’s back, and a book at his hip. Somehow, he knew it was his spellbook — he had chosen a wizard after all. Though how he’d made this choice was unclear.

Name Arlo Silverpaw Race Amurrun (Catfolk) Class Wizard Archetype Spellslinger Background Bookkeeper

“Who I am has no import on your task. Should you fail me, you will die a final death. Be sure that I can make it excruciating. But should you please me with your endeavours, then I will elevate you above all others. Now go.”

With a peal of thunder, Arlo was gone.