Not being one to mince words, I told him: "You're dead."

Kevin fell back into his chair, toppling over a tower of six-sided dice as his feet accidentally hit the table. He shot a glare to his partner. "Just had to piss it off, just had to charge in while it was sleeping, just had to scream bloody murder while doing so. Damn it, Topher, if you don't figure out a way to "Rez" me…."

Topher shrugged. Grabbing a colorful pair of twenty-sided dice, he looked at me. "Swing, swing," he said, ejecting the dice onto the table.

I consulted my notes. "Both hits," I said evenly. Can't let them know I'm on their side.

More colors tumbled across the table. "Thirty-seven damage," said Topher.

As I made note, I said, "Your sword slices through red scales, drawing black blood. The dragon hisses in annoyance." I rolled my own twenty-sided die. "With a sharply clawed foot, it pins you down against the cave floor." Time to give them the way out. "Putting just enough weight on you to help drive home the gravity of your situation, the dragon leans in. Its breath is hot enough to singe your eyebrows, and you wish you could trade the smell of sulfur coming from it for the odor of burning hair." I did my best to make my voice low, gravelly, and ever-so-slightly British. "'You must be adventurers. I could have use for vermin like you.'"

Topher looked me straight in the eye, his square jaw clenched. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Your mother was a Kobold."

Kevin facepalmed.

I tightened my lips into a well-practiced "so be it" smirk and rolled a few dice. This time I minced words. "You see a bright light." Damn. I didn't want this to be the end of the campaign. I couldn't simply bail them out, though. There had to be consequences.

Good thing I always have a plan B.

"You couldn't have just played along, huh?" said Kevin. He was trying to hide rage with faux exasperation, but his thin face was starting to turn the same shade of red as his hair.

Topher grinned. "Oh, come on, I'm a Paladin. I'm not going to make a deal with a dragon."

"Yes, Topher," I said, nonchalantly eyeing my dice. "It was a brilliant piece of roleplaying. Had you survived I would've given you bonus experience." I looked back up at him. "Had you survived," I reiterated. Here it goes. "Speaking of which…"

That got them. They froze, Kevin about to rip his character sheet in half. Both looked questioningly at me.

"Suddenly you feel air being forced into your lungs. You're lying on a cold stone slab, your arms and legs restrained. Light blinds your eyes for a second, but they adjust and you see…" I put my fingers together at the tips and hid my smile behind them, "…the smiling face of Heidegger, head of the Dawn Cult."

Kevin let out a long, resigned exhale of "Daaaaaamn…" while Topher gave an expletive which he emphasized with a fist banging the table.

It's the big reactions that make DMing worthwhile. "'Welcome back, Gents,' he says, 'Boy, have we missed you.'" I was quite pleased with myself. Well done, Jack. "All right, let's call it a night, guys." Always leave them wanting more.

I had to be dreaming.

That was the only explanation, as far as I could tell. I knew I had gone to bed, and then I was standing in darkness. Complete darkness. Wait, were my eyes even open? I tried blinking. Then I poked at my eyelids just to be sure. They were. If I had just woken up, I'd be lying in my bed, not standing, with moonlight pouring through the window. I turned my head side to side - nothing. I looked behind me, still nothing.

Where was my phone? I checked my pockets, only to find they weren't there. I realized I was still in the boxers and t-shirt I'd worn to bed. No phone, then.

At a more terrible time in my life, I'd taught myself to figure out whether or not I was in a dream so I could attempt to start lucid dreaming. Most of my methods for doing so required that I be able to see, though. There was only one option.

I closed my eyes and spread my arms wide. With every fiber of my being, I attempted to summon bikini clad women to my side.

Seconds ticked by. Cautiously, I opened my eyes. There was nothing. Trying not to feel disheartened, I decided to believe they were just very quiet and inches out of reach.

What now? Should I say something? There's a quality to complete darkness that really amps up the fear factor. There was no noise, and I felt that anything I might say would somehow… alert the darkness to my presence.

I was deciding between letting loose a fearless battle cry into the void or curling up in a ball and falling back asleep when a point of light appeared, upwards of where I was facing. Slowly the light grew as a column straight down - a bright, contrasting white against the black. It kept growing until it hit the floor, and I saw that it was illuminating… something. Was that a pedestal?

I walked toward it - slowly, as I couldn't see my steps. It was. Or perhaps more like a cross between a pedestal and a lectern. It was about four-and-a-half feet high, made of brass, with the top sloped toward me. Perched on it was a book, bound in purple leather.

Cautiously, I stepped into the light and up to the book. It had no title on its cover; just a gold leaf pattern running along the inside of the edges. I reached to feel the leather.

Suddenly I remembered something. I drew my hand back and brought the other one up to the light. I looked my hands over back and front, closed and open. Everything looked right. If this was a dream, they'd look strange and disproportionate. I lowered them. Great - this meant there probably weren't women in bikinis littering the darkness.

I opened the book. The binding creaked as though it had never been opened, though the yellowed parchment smelled like centuries-old dust. There was nothing on the first page. Huh. I turned to the second.

Welcome to Dungeonia!

It was a crappy name. Confused yet intrigued, I turned the page again.

"Wha…What the Hell?" I sputtered. The words were swallowed up by the darkness.

"Jack? Is that you?"

I froze. I knew that voice. I looked around, but couldn't see anything.

"Topher? You can hear me?" There was quiver in my voice I wasn't proud of.

"Yeah, I can hear you. Are you hiding in the dark?"

"No… I'm in the light. Standing at a book."

"Me too. Does the book have your D&D stats?"

I swallowed. "I guess…"

Jack MacQueen:

Strength: 15

Dexterity: 14

Constitution: 9

Intelligence: 15

Wisdom: 11

Charisma: 17

There was no way I was that charismatic. I'm a nerd, after all. 10 or 11 is supposed to be average in D&D. I'm extremely big - 6'4" (on a good day). That coupled with a large frame could mean a strength score that high… but only by today's sedentary American life standards, not the medieval "work all week tilling fields" standards D&D would be based off of. I do have good reflexes, and was quite adept at my dancing lessons back in the day (great way to meet girls), though that dexterity still seemed a little generous. I was always a bit chubby growing up, and I've gained a ton of weight since I stopped dancing, so I get winded easily - hence a low(ish) Constitution. But only a point below average….

I couldn't speak to my own intelligence without sounding insincerely humble or enormously braggy, so carrying on.

Honestly, how I'd imagine my stats would depend entirely on how I was feeling on any particular day - really high if I woke up in a good mood, horrendously low if I was depressed. I'd always assumed such neuroticism and lack of self-awareness would be indicative of either a low wisdom or charisma. Apparently not, though.

"Well, I don't agree with everything it's saying…." I finished.

"Yeah, I'd like to think I'm wiser and cooler than that. Not bad, though."

I winced. Here I was thinking they were too high - he thinks he deserves more. Difference in personality, I suppose.

It was then I saw the writing on the bottom of the page.

You will have to choose a Race, Class, and Background before you can enter. Choose wisely, even if you don't have a great wisdom stat!

"Topher, did you read the bottom of the page?"

"Just did. So, what, we're playing D&D? Fifth Ed, if we're choosing a background."

"Maybe, but mine says 'before you can enter', and if these stats are supposed to be us…."

"Wait, you think we're the characters?" I heard him snort, possibly derisively. "That's… interesting? Cliche? A 14-year-old nerd's wet dream?"

It did seem like an idea out of a bad fan fiction. "Well, since we're able to talk to each other during…" I searched for the right words, "…character creation, I suppose we're supposed to make a party."

"A party of two, huh? Dibs on fighter, then. I'll make a kick-ass Eldritch Knight!"

Jeebus, he was handling this well. If these "stats" were ours, then his choice did make sense. Eldritch Knights are a kind of fighter. Fighters, who do pretty much nothing but fighting (surprise, surprise), usually have a good strength and constitution. Topher works for a package delivery company, and spends his days hauling and stacking heavy boxes of crap - if my strength is 15, then he's probably at or near the max, which is 18. His constitution should be around there, as well. He's smart, too. Back in high school he'd get so-so grades because he couldn't be bothered with homework when there were books on quantum mechanics to read. He didn't care about college when he could find whatever info he wanted on the internet. Eldritch Knights are fighters who are smart enough to pick up some wizarding magic along the way, so he should excel in that role.

I was both impressed and upset at how quickly I wrapped my head around all this.

But wait, I doubted Topher truly knew how to handle a sword as well as a fighter, let alone magic. Would choosing a class simply give us the knowledge of what they do, or what? If that weren't the case, I'd doubt whoever set this up would allow us to choose something we couldn't actually do. Cripes, the whole thing was just too preposterous! There were too many unknowns.

"Actually," came another familiar voice, "it'll be a party of three."

"Hey, Kevin! Nice of you to join us," I said. Staving off the insanity of our situation with forced nonchalance seemed to be working, for now.

"Happy to be here, I… think?"

This was good, at least. A party of two isn't quite diverse enough to really function in D&D. Four or more would be ideal. Honestly, a giant army swarming any dungeons ahead of me would be aces in my book. Less experience for the group, though….

"So, how're your stats?" asked Topher. "Got any role in mind?"

"Hmm…" Kevin began. I could easily imagine him stroking his red goatee. "Could always be better, I suppose. Ranger, rogue, could probably pull off a wizard. What do you guys think?"

"Rogue," I said, in a tone that precluded any argument. "Every party needs a rogue." This was wisdom that dated back to AD&D, when they were called "thieves". Rogues are skilled at underhanded things, like stabbing people in the back, picking pockets, opening locks, spying, disarming traps, setting traps, bribing, blackmailing, document forging, taking candy from babies… the list goes on and on. Every party should have a rogue, because their skills are in high demand and hard to find elsewhere. Most of these skills are aided by dexterity, which I knew Kevin must have a lot of. Whereas I took dance lessons, he taught himself how to dance, and was a damn sight better at it than me. He also ran for his cross-country team back in high school, so his constitution would have to be good. He was average in height and lean, but not muscular. Naturally, like all of us nerds, he was smart. "You think the stats aren't generous enough? I was thinking mine were a bit souped-up. I mean, ten is supposed to be average, right?"

"Sure, for peasants and the like," said Kevin, "but we're supposed to be adventurers - we roll 4d6 and drop the lowest. That moves the average up."

I let out a very long and probably uncool sounding "Oh…." Of course that was it. Stats range from 3 to 18, the idea being that they're the totaled rolls of three six-sided dice, which would give you an average about halfway between ten and eleven. In later editions, however, the standard practice is to roll four six-sided dice, and ignore the lowest number. This puts the average to a little over twelve. I looked back over my stats. Charisma still made no sense, but everything else seemed to make more…

Damn. My intelligence should totally be a point or two higher.

"I'm fine with rogue," said Kevin, interrupting my sulk. "And that leaves you, Jack. A cleric would probably be best, if you could swing it."

I shook my head. Then I realized they couldn't see me, so I said, "No way I could pull it off." It was true. Clerics are agents of divine beings and ideals, and as such are able to use magic to perform miracles like healing the wounded, curing the sick - even bringing the dead back to life. Being able to understand the will of divinities requires wisdom, which I didn't have.

"Well, a caster would be best for rounding out the group," said Topher. "But it's probably best if you choose based on your stats. What's your highest?"

Just to be sure, I looked at them again. "Charisma, apparently," I breathed.

"Hey, sorcerer would be cool."

I thought about it. Sorcerers have many similarities to wizards, as both use arcane magic. They have roughly the same choice of spells - throwing fire, flying, summoning monsters, communicating telepathically, and many others. There are differences between them mechanically, but they stem from that idea that wizards have studied magic and can remember complex formulae to cast spells (which makes intelligence important to them), whereas sorcerers were born with an innate power to wield magic (which for some reason means they need charisma). In short, wizards know magic, sorcerers are magic.

The idea of incinerating my enemies and reviving the intact ones as zombie minions did seem appealing.

"No," I said, finally. "We can't always count on being together. And even if we are, with just one of us on the front line, I might not be able to protect myself if enemies get past." I scratched my head. As a sorcerer, I wouldn't have many hit points. While there are many theories on exactly what hit points are or what they would equate to in the real world, the only thing that one needs to know is that when they run out, the character starts to die. Higher constitution grants more hit points. Sadly, my constitution was terrible. "Yeah, we should each be able to take care of ourselves. Either through combat, or with stealth." I rubbed my eyes. "I don't have the constitution to rely solely on combat, but I have enough dexterity to make stealth an option.

"But there's one thing we have to consider - we don't know what's going on. I mean, I hope this is just an elaborate prank, but if it's not…" I shook my head, not letting further implications take root. "If it's not, then we're going into a world we know virtually nothing about. That being the case, we should focus on survival. Which means we need someone who can reliably heal. Since I'd suck as a cleric, there's only one choice, really."

Kevin and Topher responded in unison: "Bard."

I nodded, and again remembered they couldn't see me. "Right." In D&D, bards are jacks-of-all-trades, but because most of their special abilities let them help other characters do awesome stuff (which is called "buffing"), and because the source of their powers comes from music and other performing arts, they tend to be dismissed as glorified cheerleaders. "As a bard, I can hold my own for at least a short while in a fight. I'd have enough skills that I could easily take stealth, I'd be able to cast the basic healing spells and I can buff you guys."

"No arguments here," said Topher. "It might've been nice to have the sheer magical awesomeness of a sorcerer, but this is better in the end."

"…And this is all assuming we'll actually know how to do what a class is supposed to be able to do." Kevin sounded as annoyed by that as I did. "But there's probably nothing we can do about it now. Ready to turn the page?"

We were. I flipped to the next. "Whoa!" I said, catching a black-tipped feather. "Careful, there's a quill in the next one."

It was a list of the D&D races - Dwarf, Human, Elf, Halfling, Gnome, Half-Elf, Half-Orc and Tiefling. Certain ones, like Elf, had subsections for the different subspecies of the race - High Elf, Wood Elf and Dark Elf.

"Wait… aren't we already human?" I asked. "As in, if we select something other than human, are we going to lose one point in each of our stats?" Each race has various bonuses to certain attributes - elves are nimbler, so higher dexterity, dwarves are heartier, so higher constitution - as well as other boons, like being able to see in the dark. Humans simply receive a one-point bonus to all their stats, and I was worried that was already factored into the previous page.

"Apparently not," Topher lilted, "I already checked the box for Half-Orc, and it bumped up my strength and con' accordingly."

"What?" came Kevin's voice. "You just decided like that? I don't think these quills have erasers…."

"Well, yeah. As a fighter, it's kind of a no brainer."

Half-orcs do make good fighters. Still though, deciding that quickly seemed reckless. I had to ask: "Are you… like, growing tusks or anything?"

There was a brief silence. "Nope," said Topher, though slightly muffled.

"Take your fingers out of your mouth before talking."

"So should I go elf or halfling?" Kevin asked. Both gain a bonus to dexterity and were better suited to being rogues than most.

But I was worried. "If this turns out to be real, would you really want to be a three foot tall halfling?"

"Still no tusks," chimed Topher, again muffled.

"Eh, I think I'd rather be an elf. If I go High Elf, I'd get to use longbows. And I'd get a cantrip," he reasoned.

"I like it," I told him. "If you're going to be our scout, then Message would be a good spell to get." Cantrips are a classification of spell. They aren't typically powerful, and theoretically don't take much effort to use, so as such can be cast as often as the user likes. Message allows the caster to whisper a short sentence, unheard by those around, to someone who then gets to whisper another sentence back to the caster.

"Sounds good to me," said Kevin. As an experienced D&D player, he realized the importance of having communication between groups when the party splits up. "I'm not seeing any place to put down what cantrip I want. Must be on a different page."

"What race sounds good to you, Jack? Something with a charisma bonus?"

I looked over the races again, trying to remember which ones had higher charisma. Half-elf had the greatest bonus, but there were others who….

"Uh, guys? Shouldn't Dragonborn be on the list?"

"You're right," said Kevin, "and half-orc has disappeared from mine." I looked down - it had for me, too, but the space for it was still there. "Do you still have it selected on yours, Topher?"

"Yeah. Hang on a second."

We waited a second. 'Half-Orc' suddenly faded onto the paper.

"Let it be noted," Topher said, "that brushing the feather part of the quill over a mark erases it."

'Half-Orc' once again disappeared.

"Did 'Elf' or the subsection for 'High' get removed from your books?" Kevin asked.

"No," I said. Topher soon said the same.

"Why didn't it disappear when I selected it, then?"

"If I remember right," I thought out loud, "in fifth edition, only human, elf, dwarf and halfling are considered 'core races'. All others are supposed to be more rare and it's advised that the DM not allow more than one of each in the party. Think whoever's running this is following those rules?"

"I guess…." Kevin sounded worried. "But quills that can erase and self updating books? This is seeming less and less like a prank."

That was sobering. An uncomfortable silence fell over us.

"Still no tusks," said Topher. "Point for it being a prank."

"Unless we don't 'change' into whatever until the end," I said.

"Speaking of," said Kevin, "what are you planning on choosing?"

There wasn't really a choice. "I'm going to be a human."

"Heh. No imagination," Topher mock-scolded.

"Hear me out. The only other option I'd probably consider is half-elf, for two points of charisma instead of one. I'd also get the two extra skill proficiencies, and darkvision is always a plus. That being said, by going with bard, I'll get the Jack-of-all-Trades ability, which will make me partially proficient in every skill. By being proficient in more skills, I'd actually be losing utility from that ability, so I can live without them. The second charisma point won't do anything for me in the short term, and I'll do what I can to get by without the ability to see in the dark. Finally, what makes human better for me specifically is that five of my six stats are odd, so I'll be more well-rounded as a character with a plus one in every stat, pushing them up to even numbers."

"Ah, that makes sense," agreed Kevin.

In later editions of D&D, a stat of 12 functions the same as a stat of 13, 90% of the time, the one point difference between them mostly arbitrary. The difference between a 13 and a 14, however, is very noticeable. And again, the difference between a 14 and 15 is largely negligible, whereas 15 to 16 makes a big difference. For this reason, it's wise to build a character in even numbers whenever possible.

We agreed to turn the page yet again. The long list of classes streamed down the paper.

"You know," said Topher, "it makes more sense to choose your class before you choose your race. Why structure it this way?"

This was true for both these seemingly magical books and the core rulebooks for D&D. I had a couple theories, but Kevin spoke first: "They don't expect everyone to be 'min/max'ers like us."

"That's probably true," I said. "I imagine the creators hoped players would make their choices based on roleplaying, not what gives the best bonuses to the best stats. But I also think it's more for new players - by going from general to specific, it's easier for novices to wrap their heads around the creation process."

"I guess that makes sense," conceded Topher. "Well, I've checked the box for fighter. You guys ready to continue on?"

The rest of the pages allowed us to choose the other details of our characters. After about an hour of arguing, cajoling, hemming and hawing, we finally came to a page that summed everything up. My name, class, background, proficiencies, saving throws, equipment, and various numbers denoting my attributes, armor class, hit points and other things. The whole of it seemed fairly complete and formal. This was me, huh?

The following sat implacably at the bottom of the page:

Sign your name to finalize any changes.

X_________________________________________

"So," said Topher, "who wants to sign first?"

"They didn't give us choice for alignment," said Kevin, puzzled. In D&D, 'alignment' refers to the character's moral and philosophical outlook of the world, and is meant to inform how to play a character. The basic idea is that there are two axes (plural of axis) - one being whether or not the character is generally lawful, chaotic or neither/both and whether or not the character is generally good, evil or neither/both. These three choices on each of the two axes leads to nine different alignments.

"Well," I scratched my head, "it's not like we got to roll for ability scores either. I think alignment is just something we are, not something we get a choice of - at least not on paper."

"And what, we get a choice when it comes to background?" challenged Topher.

I resisted the urge to shrug for the benefit of the darkness. Looking back over my character, I said, "I'll sign first, since no one else seems ready."

I sighed, twirling the quill in my fingers. It would've been nice to be a sorcerer. If only we didn't need a healer. Or at least had a fourth. The quill made hollow scratching sounds as I signed. I finished the 'n' with a little flair, and the quill became white dust in my hand.

Otherwise, nothing seemed to happen.

"…Hello?" The voice was unfamiliar, feminine. "Is anybody out there? What's this book supposed to mean?"

God damn it.