Method One, Standard

Patrick choked on his Mountain Dew looking at the lowly one on the twenty-sided die. With his usual game-mastering fair, Dave chanted nonsense holding his newfound antique book as a prop. The pantomime was typical for Dave as he described the effects of the Reincarnation Beam, until the oddly authentic looking spellbook erupted in green flames that flew across the table.

Patrick opened his eyes to a world tinted in grey, his friends like statues and with his sixty-four ounce soda hovering in midair.

“YOU MUST NOW GENERATE A NEW CHARACTER,” boomed a disembodied voice. “ROLL FOR STRENGTH, METHOD ONE, STANDARD.” Four six-sided dice materialized before Patrick on the table in a flash of green.

Assuming that he had become the victim of an elaborate prank and illegal substances, he decided to play along. “What? I don’t get to arrange to taste?” he quipped.

“ROLL!” rumbled the voice.

Patrick grabbed the dice and dropped them onto the tabletop. He swore as the results came up, “Damn it! I can never roll a fighter.”

“STRENGTH EIGHT, ROLL DEXTERITY.”

He tossed the dice again, and this time they were kinder.

“DEXTERITY FOURTEEN, ROLL CONSTITUTION.”

“Dave… Or whoever you are… Can you write these down? I’m going to forget—”

“—ROLL!”

Patrick kept rolling, and the stats added up between glances seeking the disembodied speaker. At least they weren’t terrible rolls; thirteen constitution, fourteen intelligence, a wisdom of twelve. The last roll for charisma evoked a catcall from the gamer as it came up all sixes.

“CHARISMA EIGHTEEN, RACE—”

“—Elf!” Patrick interjected.

“HUMAN ONLY!”

“Oh, come on!”

“CHOOSE CLASS.”

“Low strength, decent dex, and eighteen charisma?! Sorcerer!”

“ROLL HEIGHT, WEIGHT, AGE AND SEX.”

“Man, I might as well be making an NPC,” Patrick said tossing four more sets of dice.

“TWENTY FOUR YEAR-OLD FEMALE, AVERAGE HEIGHT AND WEIGHT.” thundered the voice summarizing the results. “PER THE SPELL, MEMORY, ALIGNMENT AND EQUIPMENT REMAIN THE SAME.”

“Can I at least choose that she’s a smoking hot red-head?”

“WORKS FOR ME!” said the voice amid a flash of light.

Dave reached into the green smoke to rescue his friend. Grabbing a shoulder, he instead retrieved the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Patrick’s 3XL t-shirt hung immodestly large upon her.

“What?” she coughed at the dumbfounded looks of her friends. Then she turned pale at the sound of her voice.

(c) Jason H. Abbott – March 27, 2015

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