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Betty was unsure why she was lying on the ground, but considering it was the most comfortable she had been in years, she was quite content to close her eyes and remain sprawled out on the soft moss. Crickets chirped nearby, and birds trilled songs from the thick canopy of leaves overhead—a creek burbled somewhere off to her left.
The sounds were soothing, though surprisingly louder than she was used to. They were crisp and clear, unlike the muted muddle every other sound had become over the years. The last time she had heard anything this distinctly, Morty had still been with her.
That old pain twinged her heart. The one that would never truly heal until she and the love of her life were reunited once more in the ever-after.
She put that old hurt away and enjoyed this minute of rest before she had to wrangle Billy and the twins once more. While her grandchildren were well-behaved, no thanks to her absent daughter-in-law, they had the vigor of youth. The five-year-old and the two pre-schoolers seemed to do everything at full bore, up until the moment they passed out for their naps. An hour later, after Betty finished straightening up, taking a minute to catch her breath, they would emerge from their beds fully recharged and ready to go again. As much as she loved the three dears, a quiet moment such as this was always a blessing.
Her old brain would surely kick in any minute now and remind her why she was here, lying on a soft, spongy bed of moss in the middle of a lovely grove of old trees. She was quite sure this was not the park. The sounds of the city would be drowning out bird songs.
Could they be camping? She and Morty had taken their son, Jason, on countless such trips as a young boy. The family had visited Bar Harbor or the Catskills at least once every summer. Jason had been promising the children he would take them on such a trip as soon as he could take a break from work.
That must be it. What a senior moment this was. She would have been the one to do all the packing, but she couldn’t remember doing so at all. She could not recall the drive either. This was very odd. She often would forget small stuff, like if she had loaded the dishwasher or taken her pills that morning.
But a whole family trip?
As concern started to creep in, Betty was distracted by the feeling of something crawling on her skin. A bug was on her ear, and yet, oddly, the sensation came from a significant distance away from the side of her head. She reached out and brushed it away only to feel her fingers graze against flesh almost a foot to the right of her face. Betty brought her hands before her eyes and looked up at a pair of digits that were clearly not her own. The hands were tiny, with long pointed nails, but, above all, they were green. She wiggled the clover-colored fingers, and there was no doubt. Those were her hands.
Alarmed, she rolled to the side to lever herself upright, only to have her body respond instantaneously. There was no grunting and forcing her sore knees to lift her up. It was effortless in a way she had not experienced in thirty years. One second, she was on her back; the next, she had popped to her feet like a woman a quarter her age.
“How in the world …,” a voice said that was clearly not her own. It was a gurgly-sounding thing that was nothing like how she spoke.
More confused than ever, Betty looked around for the stream, hoping to get a better look at herself in the water. Before she located the brook, she spotted a large chest flanked by a pair of torches, sitting on the ground a few feet behind where her head had been.
“This day could not get any odder,” she grumbled in the peculiar voice she had somehow acquired. Thinking the trunk might possess a mirror, Betty stepped to it and lifted the lid. As she did so, a square of text appeared in the air like a miniature billboard. She could mostly still see the chest through the sign until she focused on the words, which then became crystal clear. She didn’t even need her reading glasses.
Welcome to Copper Hollow, your spawning point. Please select your primary offensive implement from the chest
“What?” her voice burbled. “Why do I need anything offensive?”
Without the means to defend yourself, you will not survive Copper Hollow
“Are you threatening me?” Betty snapped at the screen in a voice made even more harsh-sounding due to its new grumbly tone. She knew there was a time and place for manners, but that was a very hostile thing to write to someone.
The screen seemed momentarily stunned. A trio of dots appeared, erased, and reappeared several times before new words were presented to her.
No, Ma’am
“I should think not. Now, kindly explain this to me in rational terms. What have you done?”
Due to the manner in which you passed on, you have been awarded with a new incarnation. Unfortunately, your aptitudes were insufficient to render you onto one of the higher transcendent tiers or into a more capable form
“Again, with dreadful manners. Did your mother not teach you how to be polite? You don’t tell a perfect stranger they’re insufficient. That’s just plain rude.”
Betty sighed. As much as she wanted to teach proper etiquette to whoever was typing through this hovering screen, she was self-aware enough to note she was alone in the woods in a small green body. Alienating this young clerk could result in them leaving her on her own with no explanations at all. Honey and vinegar and all that.
“Well, I can see you are trying to be helpful, for which I am very grateful. Now, let’s discuss that first part. Are you saying I died?”
Yes, Ma’am
“Well, that is unfortunate—those poor kids. Jason will just have to get out there and meet a nice girl. He can’t do it all on his own now that I’m gone. Sorry, Dear,” Betty said to the sky until she recalled that she was the one up in the heavens. As looking down to speak with her son seemed blasphemous, Betty skipped further goodbyes and addressed the flying screen again.
“Alright, can you direct me to my husband then, please? My name is Elizabeth Watts. Whom am I addressing?”
I don’t have a name. I am a feature of the system. My job is to get you situated in your new role as a …
Betty waited, but nothing further was added to the sign. “As a what?” she prompted.
I don’t want to say. You’ll get mad again
“Whether I get mad or not, it is no reason not to do your job. That is an unfortunate truth for anyone who works with others,” Betty announced, using the tone thirty-plus years of school teaching had bequeathed to her.
“Now, how about this? I will do my best not to become annoyed when you explain to me what is going on, she stated in the most reasonable voice she could manage, which was not easy since her nerves were rapidly fraying, and her voice sounded like an angry frog with a mouth full of marbles.
Um, your new role as a monster
“What!” she barked before she could remember her pledge. “Sorry about that, Dear. Did you just write I’m a monster? Why would I be a monster? Is Morty a monster? Mortimer Davis Watts? Do you need his birthday?”
No, Ma’am. Your history is on file. Since your husband served meritoriously in war, he was incarnated as a warrior in the Argent Fields. His success allowed him to bequeath a starter chest to an individual of his choice, and he chose you. That is why you are being awarded these items and a class
“But why can’t I just go to where he is?”
There are several reasons, but the primary one being that you would not survive more than a few minutes on the Argent Fields. You do not have the skills required for such an environment. Copper Hollow is the lowest transcendent tier; normally, you would not be allocated to this or any level. It is only because of the starter chest that you were transcended to this plane at all
“Then where would I have gone?” Betty asked as she dropped herself down to sit on the ground. This was all quite much to take in.
That information is not available to me. My knowledge base does not extend beyond the system of transcendent tiers
Betty sat and stared at her hands and her similarly tiny, sharp-nailed, green feet. She was in no way prepared for any of this, which seemed to be the message the clerk was also trying to convey to her.
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All this was because of Morty. God love that man, but this is precisely the sort of hair-brained scheme he would devise. Why on Earth would he place her into a perilous land when she probably could have gone on to say hello to Saint Peter and waited for him to join her there?
Realizing there was nothing she could do about it at the time, Betty hopped effortlessly back to her feet. Since sitting and pouting would not get her anywhere, she took a look into the chest. Hovering with the box was a sword. The long, straight blade seemed oddly bigger than the actual dimensions of the crate.
“I thought you said I could choose something. The only thing here is a sword. I don’t know how to swing a sword.”
If you wish to reject that option, just think ‘No’ or ‘Next,’ and another item will be offered to you. If you want to return to a previously discarded item, you may do so also by thinking for it to occur
She thought, ‘Next,’ and the sword was replaced by a spear. This weapon was obviously longer than the chest, yet somehow, it fit inside the walls of the trunk. She sent a negating thought for this item as well, beginning her task of scrolling through an armory of deadly weapons: axes and maces, bows and crossbows, knives and swords of all sorts. There were also wands, scepters, and other magical implements, but she had no idea what to do with any of those either.
“What is all this? Wouldn’t a pistol be more appropriate for someone of my size?” Betty asked. Her father had been even more of an outdoorsman than Morty was and had taught her to shoot when she was a just teen.
Such weapons are not available on this transcendent tier. You will not encounter firearms below the Iron Valley
“Can you please examine these tiers you keep mentioning?” she asked as she flipped quickly through a section of polearms that were obviously too long for her tiny body.
Each of the five tiers is its own reality. The higher the tier, the more difficult it is to survive there, but the rewards for succeeding in that enhanced existence are increased. The tiers are, in order: the Golden Halls, The Argent Fields, the Iron Valley, the Bronze Hills and Copper Hollow
“And Morty is on those Feilds, which are too dangerous for me. If I got stronger, I would be able to reach him,” her voice croaked and cracked due to heavy emotions instead of its odd new timber. She had missed her husband every day of the last sixteen years. Caring for Jason and his children was rewarding, but it was not the same as her life before his passing. When she lost Mortimer, she lost the spark that had made her life wonderful.
It is possible. Each tier is connected to the next tier by a Transcendent Gate. When someone has advanced sufficiently, they can transcend to a higher tier. Please note that doing so would be exceedingly difficult for you. You have been incarnated on the lowest tier and into one of the weakest creatures on this plane
Betty digested this information as she looked down on a strange claw-like weapon. Her choice in the chest was more important than just grabbing some sharp, stabby object. It could be the difference between finding her husband or dying again. If she was at the very bottom of the food chain, she would need to pick something she was comfortable with, or her first altercation would likely be her last.
After five more minutes, Betty finally came across something she knew what to do with. She recalled a camping trip when Jason was seven. A big ornery raccoon had gotten into their food stores and was unwilling to be shooed away. Morty was off fishing, so it was up to Betty to dislodge the feral burglar. Without thinking about it, she scooped up her trusty cast-iron skillet and whopped the varmint hard on the rump. It took off at a run, never returning for the rest of their week at the cabin on the lake.
Having passed by hundreds of dangerous implements she would be terrible with, the familiar sight of a heavy frying pan gave her the first feeling of confidence she had experienced so far. She plucked the hefty skillet from the chest, noting it was considerably heavier than even her black iron camping pan. Either that or her tiny goblin arms were that much, much weaker.
Looking at the weighty piece of cookware, a smaller floating sign appeared on the pan.
[Sturdy Iron Skillet] Increased durability. +20% Knockback
As the small window vanished, Betty placed the weighty object on the ground. Standing erect again, she noticed the large sign had new text for her.
Please select your primary tradition of magic. A representation of magic type will appear in the chest
Betty looked again and saw a ball of fire hovering within the crate. She had just spent twenty minutes flipping through a Sears catalog of wands and weapons; the last thing she wanted to do was repeat the process with magic. Having just selected a frying pan, fire made as good sense as anything. She gently extended a finger to touch the flames, hoping not to get burnt. The blazing ball leapt into her palm. It was warm but a comforting warmth, not a burning one. She closed her hand, and even though the fire vanished from sight, she could feel it flickering just under her skin, waiting for her to command it.
Please select your class. Your options will be based on your race, offensive implement, and/or tradition of magic. Your choices are:
* Thug
* Cook
* Pyromancer
* Flame Hammer
* Sizzler
* Dragon Monk
* Demon Brand
* Phoenix Knight
“These look like they are from one of Billy’s games—such a smart young man. I have no idea how he keeps track of all of his games and all these particulars. I wish he were here …,” she began to say before recognizing the implication of her words. “No, no. I do not. I’m not sure why Morty felt getting me wrapped up in all this malarky was a good idea, but let’s leave young William to lead a long, healthy life back on Earth.”
She tried to remember the young man’s excited expalaintions and put them into context with the list in front of her. Thug must come from the fact she was now a monster. Cook was the one that appealed to her the most, but the boy had once mentioned that people whose job it was to make stuff were hard to keep alive. Crafters, he called them. She should not pick a challenging class since she was already limited just by being a goblin.
She looked over the list repeatedly, but only one of the options did not seem utterly daunting to her. That was Sizzler. Who didn’t enjoy a good steak? The restaurant always used too much salt for her taste, but she and her family enjoyed their meals there when Jason was younger. She would have brought Billy, Zoe, and Mia as well, but alas, the chain had closed all its locations on the East Coast a decade or so ago. She only hoped it was not another crafter class.
“Excuse me. Is Sizzler a good class?” she asked the floating sign.
Sizzler’s focus is heat manipulation. It specializes in high heat-based effects, typically at close range. While fire manipulation is still within its purview, it is a more subtle class than the classic pyromancer.
“Alright, I’ll take that,” Betty stated with far more certainty than she truly felt. She was guessing, and she knew it. Still, even though she was not a great cook, she knew the fundamentals. Controlling heat is something anyone cooking should understand. She knew far more about working a stove than she did about dragons or demons.
Please select your bonus item
The chest again contained an item—this time, a helmet. Betty felt all the stress start to make her light-headed. Usually, this meant her blood pressure was too high, but this time, she just felt completely overwhelmed. She was certain these choices should be made by someone who knew what they were doing, but she had been blindly guessing since the frying pan. She was afraid to gamble another time.
“Would you be a dear and pick something for me? I’m afraid I’m far too likely to choose something foolish. Why don’t you pick the thing you think is best for me?”
The best thing?
“If you wouldn’t mind, I really would appreciate it. I must admit my head is a blur from all these options.”
Everything stood still for a moment as if her unseen correspondent debated either the request or what to pick for her. There was a hesitancy to those last typed words. Betty feared she may have overasked. Not wanting to get the stranger in trouble, she considered just taking the helmet when the item in the chest transformed into a wide belt adorned with many little pockets.
As she examined the accessory, a new small plaque detailed the belt’s name, history, and powers.
[Hearty Girdle of Zest] This relic once belonged to the fire titan Hehku Blazegut. A renowned chef, his seasoning belt contains countless small dimensional pockets to hold his fabled collection of spices. His prestigious might and talent were transferred into his beloved belt on his death. Attributes: Giant Strength. Talent: Master Chef
“Well, isn’t that nice? I have always loved to cook, but I have to admit I was never as good as many other women at our church,” Betty sighed. “Mine were always the last cookies to be chosen. Too bad I’m dead. I would love to knock that showoff Mary-Ann Peterson down a peg. No matter what I made for the socials, she always had to one-up me.”
She buckled the belt around her waist and reached down to pick up her pan. To her surprise, it was no longer heavy at all. As a matter of fact, it was as light as a feather.
“Well, you have been an utter love, Dear. Can I get my ticket number before you go?”
Ticket number?
“Yes. Jason was always very clear about that. Whenever I dealt with customer service, I should always get a ticket number in case something goes wrong down the road.”
That is not how this works
“Don’t worry; I’m sure everything will be quite alright. Just give me any old ticket number so I can tell him I didn’t forget if I ever reencounter my son.”
Alright
Betty noticed a new item in the chest. It was a ticket, very reminiscent of an old-time movie ticket with the scalloped corners. On the ticket was the number one.
“Perfect. Thank you,” she stated, placing the slip into an empty pocket on her new belt. “So, now what do I do.”
You stay alive and try to get stronger
The screen vanished. Betty blinked at the sudden absence of her only contact in this world and muttered, “Well, that is not at all ominous.”
Her father always said sarcasm was a product of a weak mind, but then again, he had never been transformed into a goblin and tossed into a hostile world.
All the rules had changed for her. She was no longer just a grandmother caring for her grandchildren while her son worked too much.
There were only a few things she was now sure of. One: her long-lost yet misbeguided spouse had done this to her. Two, that very same man was somewhere out there, beyond a number of magical gates. And three, nothing would stop her from finding her impetuous love once again.