OK, I wasn’t expecting this.

I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting. Maybe waking up in a hospital bed, maybe something with clouds and harps, maybe something with rock and fire… but not this.

I’m in an office. It’s a very old style of office - I’m not seeing a computer anywhere in sight… or an electric light, for that matter; the place is lit by oil lamps. But there’s a desk, a couple of chairs, some full bookshelves, a globe… that doesn’t look like Earth… and a guy in a suit that looks like it came from a renaissance fair - very puffy sleeves, bright red all around, although it looks quite stiff and hard to move in. At least it’s a nice office. The bookshelves are all made of a highly polished dark wood, as is the desk. The chairs are leather… not recliners, but that basic style otherwise. The one I’m in is a little stiff, but comfortable enough. The walls seem to be made of a light marble, and the floor… umm, that’s not carpeting, that’s… hay, I guess? Weird.

The man behind the desk is staring at me intently. I don’t want to look at his eyes. He’s got bright red hair… that is moving like it is fire… and casting shadows, now that I think about it. Huh. He has ebony horns growing out of his forehead and curling back into a seemingly endless spiral ... and that forehead has skin as black as coal… and he’s built like a weightlifter. And I really don’t want to meet those eyes … they’re black orbs that appear to be twin gateways to the void, sucking up all light around them. No, I don’t want to look at them. Seeing them out of the corner of my eye is unnerving enough. And they’re focused directly on me.

There’s no clocks in here, so it’s hard to tell how much time passes, but he eventually speaks up, “Why are you so special?”

That gives me pause. He seems more like he’s talking to himself than me. And the question already assumes that I am “so special” as he put it. Like he knows I am, but not why. And… honestly, that’s news to me.

“I didn’t know I was.” No, I’m still not looking at him.

“You wouldn’t. I can’t discern a thing of importance about you. Jimmy Roosevelt Sutton, died at 34 of a crushed rib cage… and assorted other sundry injuries caused when that big construct of metal and rubber rolled over you. But the crushed rib cage officially did you in. Stopped your heart, preventing your brain from holding onto your soul any longer. Crushed to death, regardless.”

Construct? I thought I got hit by a truck. There wasn’t a golem or anything involved. And yeah, it was painful. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath… at least it didn’t last long.

“The creature had no malice, nor did it’s handler - they simply didn’t see you when you stepped into their path coming out of that building. An accident.”

Yeah, I should have looked better coming out of that bar… thin sidewalk. But everyone has to face Mr. Grim eventually.

"You’re not a soldier, wizard, priest, or thief… yet somehow, you're the answer."

That intrigues me, "The answer to what?"

"That… is one of the questions I'm not supposed to answer for you. When Dad handed me your soul, he said I was to name you my champion, give you the boon YOU ask for, not the one I choose like I normally would, leave your memories intact, reincarnate you fully grown into our world, and not give you any missions. I am to answer most of your questions honestly. And the first one you asked was the first one on the list of ones I'm not supposed to answer. Verbatim, even."

"What’s the list?"

"... and that's number two. I'd say you have a knack for that, but that’s just how Dad works."

"Dad?"

"Yes. l am worshiped as a deity in the world I'm sending you to. I'm as far above you as you are above an ant, as are my brothers and sisters. Dad though… he's farther above us than I am above an ant."

"Ummm…"

"I did not misspeak. He's farther above me than I am above you. By a lot. No scale will work properly. There is none like Him."

Right. OK, so… "What kind of world am I getting into?"

He pauses briefly, and my head itches a moment, "You'd call it a fantasy world. Dragons, knights, wizards, the works. A lot like that 'Golarion' world you pretend at sometimes. It's not the same countries or people or anything…" he trails off and considers, "... but the rules are remarkably similar. Same spells, same style of getting stronger, same… OK, yes, 'classes' applies… ah, Dad. So that's what it is."

"What what is?"

"I just figured out how you're 'special' … but I'm not going to go into it in detail."

"And I get one boon of my choice… is that 'one actual boon' or 'phrased as one boon’?"

He pauses and my head itches again briefly, "It's 'Phrased as' with a handful of caveats. Can only apply to one subject matter, can't wish for infinite wishes, that kind of thing."

I consider, "In that case, I'd like to be able to level my character like I did in the last game I played with my group, for all levels including first."

My head itches a moment again, "So… sit down for a week or more with all sources available, plan everything out in detail… some house rules on durability and resources… yes, that works, no problem. Seems very minor, though."

Mhm, "You’re reading my mind, aren't you? What kinds of boons do you normally grant?"

"Kind of, I'm grabbing context. Your world is … out of my experience, so when you say something I don't understand, I pick it up so I can answer. And… immunity to magic, immunity to injury, and immortality were the three most recent."

"And you talked to your dad because things didn't go well, I take it. How'd those turn out?"

"The magic immune guy was run through with a sword, the guy who was immune to injury was drowned, and I eventually revoked the immortality boon as a mercy as that guy was repeatedly being burned alive in a magic oven he couldn't harm or escape."

"Yeah… sounds like they got kryptonited. Who was driving their deaths?"

"I don't know what that means, but that’s question three on the list."

"How big is this list?"

"That's number four."

"But more than four?"

"That one's five. Which also gives you an answer, of a sort."

"Am I going to have common knowledge of this world?"

"No… as part of keeping your memories intact, you won't have grown up in it. Language is a go, though."

Fun. "And… what's my stupidest question?"

There's that itch again… "That's an interesting way of thinking: 'The stupidest question of all is the one you should have asked, but did not.' That's… a hard one to answer, I'm not a deity of knowledge… the only thing that comes to mind is that in addition to the boon I grant, my counterpart will grant a curse. It's not going to kill you, put you in everlasting torment, ‘wreck your build' or anything like that - there are rules we must follow… it's restricted to social effects, essentially. Historically, she makes my champions a member of some small minority so she can have her champion start a crusade and get them before they have a chance to grow strong. She's scarily good at it."

Which means this world has a very active source for racism. Wonderful. I'll need to remember to max out Disguise, start with the Disguise Self spell, or maybe be one of the races that can pick up alternate forms….

"Oh, and before you ask: It's a divine curse. Trying to hide it simply won't work without making it very obvious you're hiding it. Like… if she makes you a redhead, you won't be able to dye your hair any other color, cover it with illusion magic, or change it via Polymorph spells. You could shave yourself bald, wear a hood, or both…"

"... but then it will be clear I was hiding my hair color, and they would go after me based on that."

"Exactly. She can't tell her champion who you are, where you are, your boon, and so on… but she can have her champion start a war on redheads. And she gets to pick the curse after you’ve said you’re ready. And she’ll have full knowledge of how this went."

Of course. "Well… at least I have a fair idea how the game will end this time."

"Oh?"

"Your dad is never wrong, I'm guessing?"

"Correct. If He says something will happen, it will. If He says a particular course of action will produce a particular result, it does. Every time. The only questions of how things will go are in what He doesn't say."

"And you're following His instructions?"

"Letter and spirit, as best I'm able."

"Well there you go."

The entity blinks, starts to chuckle, then shakes his head, "How can you put that kind of faith in someone you've never met?"

"You can learn a lot about a person by the company they keep… but anyway, I expect I'm as prepared as I'm going to be. How do we do this?"

I feel… stuck… as the entity replies, "You basically just needed to express your readiness."

He turns to someone outside my field of vision, "Well, your turn."

"That's really all he asked for? A small package that gives a few comparatively minor boosts, lets him borrow skills from sufficiently similar Fractals? And he keeps his memories?" It's a woman's voice.

"That last one's Dad's orders. Doesn't count."

"It doesn't, but he comes from a much more civilized world… his memories are as much of a hindrance as a help. Pft. This will be over quick. I'll just give him the wanton wench package. I was planning on going after the stupid lezbos soon anyway. Ta ta."

Earlier my head itched. Now my body burns. I have no idea how long it lasts. There is no thought. There is no time. There is only unending pain.

Until, after an eternity, it does end.

I'm panting heavily on the floor, feeling weights hanging from my chest, seeing long raven hair pooling in the hay under my head where my very slender arms are holding me up. Huh. I was expecting a different floor. I seem to still be in the office.

My apparent sponsor in all this speaks up, "Impressive. Most people do a face plant unconscious from the pain. Nobody else even remembers due to how reincarnation is supposed to work. As nearly as I can tell, she does it just because she can. You, unfortunately, keep all of your memories. Here, let me help you up, I imagine your center of gravity is off…."

A coal black hand with fingers that end in claws comes into my field of view. Well… he's been nothing but kind and helpful. He's probably not going to change paths now, despite the demonic appearance … I put my hand in his, and he lifts me up. Yes, I'm a bit unsteady. And also apparently naked. Great…

My first question isn't about the clothes, though. "Why am I still here?"

"Ah. That. Normally you wouldn't be. You'd be assigned a class, race, skills, and a feat or two you'd enjoy having based on your proclivities, be stripped of your memories, and sent out to be born into the world and start growing as a baby in your mother's womb. But! You get to design your own character. You’ll be an adult with your intact memories dropped straight into the world. You need all that data to exist in the world, so until you have that first level assigned, you're here. And you're not out of questions I'm not allowed to answer."

"Why would that matter?"

"Dad doesn't waste words. You're going through the list, in order, verbatim. Which means you're going to ask the remainder at some point. Extrapolating from that, there's also more that I’m supposed to answer… but extrapolating isn't perfectly reliable; my thoughts based on what He said are… tainted, I guess is the best word… by my own expectations and experiences. As an example… you could burn through the rest of the list in rapid fire succession for all I know. I don't consider it likely, but it's possible. If that were to happen, Dad's Word would still hold like it always does, but I would be wrong. Make sense?"

"It does… so where's my laptop?"

My head itches again, "Ah… the books will have to stand in; 'computers' are not part of this Fractal at this time. But these books are Divine; they'll have whatever information you're looking for, provided it's valid for you. Which includes fractals nearby enough to be compatible, thanks to your choice of boon."

I crack my knuckles, "Let’s get to work, then…"