Mage Tank

An autobiographical telling of the valiant exploits of Esquire Arlo, described exactly how they happened and without any frill or embellishment.

Written by: Esquire Arlo Xor’Drel, Platinum Delver

Volume: 1  

A tree killed me. Well, maybe that’s not fair to the tree. Crashing my bicycle into the tree and bleeding internally until my organs could no longer function killed me. At least, I assume it was the bleeding. I’m not a doctor, so I don’t really know. But, I don’t blame the tree, or the inevitable consequences of physics colliding violently with my frail human biology. Rather, I blame the motherfucker who didn’t understand bike lanes.

I didn’t see the car that hit me. I heard it approach from behind, engine revving like the driver was competing for the littlest dick award. Sorry, that's body-shaming. The car was loud; the type of thing you hear screaming through the neighborhood at one a.m., the driver announcing his (or her, but let’s be honest, his) inadequacy to the world with the thundering trumpets of the NASCAR gods. I was firmly in the bike lane, reflectors on my helmet, bright clothes, middle of the day. The slight left curve of the road must have been too much for the driver because they drifted into my lane and swiped me. They didn’t outright crash into me. Just clipped my left side so fast that my elbow turned to gravel and my tibia snapped and my hamstring tore and so, so much pain flooded my body. Bright and sudden and terrible. Then, I was careening off the road, down the grassy slope, and into the trunk of a mighty oak.

I mainly hit the tree with my torso. A twenty mile-per-hour chest bump with an unyielding bro made of wood and bark. I heard my ribs and sternum crack more than I felt it. At that point I’d gone into enough shock that I was aware something terrible was happening to my body, but I wasn’t really feeling it. I spun and ragdolled into the line of trees and came to a stop, chest and head facing up, legs and hips rolled over to the right. A nice spinal twist. Perfect for relieving tension in the glutes and lower back. Of course, I couldn’t feel my glutes or lower back. All I felt was something deeply wrong inside my body, and I couldn’t breathe. I stared up at the canopy, overcast sky peeking down between the branches and thinning autumn leaves. It was the type of day I loved. Crisp and cool and just a little damp.

I gasped in a breath and tried to call out, cry out, scream, I dunno, make some sort of noise but all that came out was a pathetic, high-pitched groan. I struggled to breathe in and out, the pain beginning to blossom in my chest and I heard the wetness in my breath, felt the gurgling in my throat. I sputtered blood like a gut-punched anime protagonist. Punctured lung, I guess. Maybe I suffocated? I doubt it. Pretty sure it was the blood loss. My body began to go numb, the sounds of the forest and the wind and the cars driving by on the road forty feet away all hushed. My vision darkened. And finally, the world disappeared.

I wasn’t totally convinced that I had died. I was partially relying on the general experience being similar to stories I’d heard about moments before death; accident victims revived at the scene or in the hospital. But, mostly, I was relying on the text that formed against the black nothing reality had become.

You died.

I was confused for a moment. Then, I tried to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but there was no sound. My abs didn’t clench, my lungs didn’t force out air, my vocal chords didn’t tighten to make sound and express my delight at the humor. None of those sensations came. No sensation came. Nothing. I felt nothing. Physically, that is. I still felt the panic that came after the realization that my body was failing to send or receive signals. But, I could see, at least. Not that there was much to see in the dark beyond those words, which shifted and reformed into new ones.

Would you like to remain dead or respawn?

(A): Life sucks, let me die.

(B): Respawn.

Life sucks, let me die? I considered the option, confused. It was like one of those antagonistic video games that tried to shame you into playing at a higher difficulty. “Normal” difficulty or “I’m a little baby who’s afraid of games” difficulty, complete with a baby in a soldier outfit sucking on a pacifier. I didn’t think life sucked. Well, at one point I had but not anymore. I’d gotten my shit together. I’d gone to therapy, got a late-in-life mental health diagnosis, started medication, quit drinking, started exercising. I took a goddamn bike to work for christ’s sake. I was happy, I was engaged to a wonderful woman, I made decent money. This was a shitty time to die.

I focused on the word “Respawn”. The option highlighted and the text pulsed blue, then the text swirled and reformed once again.

Respawning will start you in a new zone. Continue to respawn?

(A): Hell yeah, new content!

(B): No thanks, let me die.

New content? What was this, a game? Was I getting Earth: the Expansion Pack? I rolled my eyes, if I even had eyes at that point, and focused on “Hell yeah, new content!” It pulsed blue, then more text, and a countdown.

Moving to character creation room.

…

…

…

Light flooded my eyes and sensation returned to my body. There was no pain, my breathing was normal, and I was laying on my back on a soft surface. My eyes adjusted and I realized that the room was, in fact, a bit dim. I stared at a vaulted ceiling made up of dark wooden beams and what looked like densely woven straw or other raw fiber. I sat up, realizing I was laying on some sort of mattress. I ran my hands over the coarse fabric of the blanket beneath me, feeling the uneven bedding underneath. Rough and dry. More straw, I supposed. I looked around at the room, lit by a small fire in a stone fireplace and a dozen or so tall, thin candles set about on various surfaces and shelves.

I turned and set my feet on the ground with a soft thud. I was wearing what looked like an ancient pair of leather boots. I stood and looked down at myself. My pants were made of dark linen and my shirt was made of the same material, but off-white. It was also very long, hanging down to my knees. It was cinched around the waist with a tattered leather belt. The sleeves were long and hung loosely around my wrists. It was very similar to a wizard outfit I’d worn to the local renaissance fair, minus the wizard hat, cloak, and staff.

I moved and stretched, making sure my muscles and bones were all back to where they were supposed to be. A few deep breaths confirmed there was no blood in my lungs. I remembered the pain. The memory was so fresh, the pain so sharp and real, and the sensation of it all disappearing without going through the slow, aching process of healing was strange. I looked around the room.

It was small, about the size of a six-hundred square foot studio apartment, with a compact dirt floor beneath a loose spreading of more straw. There was a shabby wooden table at the center of the room where a large book sat. In one corner was a stack of wooden crates, and a bookshelf along the wall beside it, with a total of two thin books on the shelves. The rest of the room was empty–no furniture or decoration of any kind.

I considered whether I were dreaming. I rarely had lucid dreams though, and the moment I considered that I might be dreaming I usually snapped awake. But that didn’t happen. I also tended to have to pee in my dreams. Not sure what that’s about, but it was a common theme. I did not have to pee. Trying to flip a light switch sometimes helped me out of a dream. The light levels wouldn’t change and I would realize it was a dream and awaken. But, no light switch. I could put the candles out, but that didn’t seem very smart or effective. I also wasn’t able to read in my dreams. So, there was at least one easy way to confirm. I stepped to the center table and slid the book to me.

It was massive, bound in dark, supple leather, with a strap through a large buckle on the front keeping the tome firmly shut. The cover was soft and smooth to the touch and it was unnaturally warm. Almost like touching the hide of a living creature rather than an inanimate object. I took a deep breath and undid the buckle, then flipped it open to the front page. For a moment I felt a sense of relief as the text within was neat lines of ornately written symbols and letters that were alien and unfamiliar. Complete gibberish, which is what I’d expect from a dream. But, was I still unconscious on the side of the road, or was that also imagined?

The text faded and swirled, then reappeared in English. My jaw clenched and a chill ran over me. Not a dream. At least, it didn’t follow the normal rules of my dreams. At the top of the page was a scribbled note written in a different style than the rest of the page. It was messily written, as though the author had made it hastily.

As a newly arrived citizen of Arzia you have bypassed the normal means of character customization via natural birth and have access to the following additional options while in the character creation room: Physical Appearance, Birth Sign, Bonus Item Selection.

I raised an eyebrow, then continued to the text below, written in a formal, flowing script that looked like the normal font within the book.

Welcome, Traveler, and congratulations on qualifying for the first round of testing! You are currently in the character creation room where you may assign your starting attribute points, select your first passive and active ability, and purchase your starting equipment. Any starting currency left unused after exiting character creation will be forfeit, so even if you brought your own equipment, be sure to spend it all on something you might need. Turn the page to begin!

Below that was another note in the sloppy writing.

Before turning the page, make your additional selections. Say the name of the option out loud and you will be guided through customization.

I scratched my cheek, thinking about the instructions, and was surprised to find it smooth and barren. I usually sported a short beard, an appearance I’d settled on in my early twenties as my pudgy frame had left me with an ambiguous jawline. Even after getting into the habit of diet and exercise, trimming fifty pounds off my body, I’d kept the growth. I felt naked without it. I reached up to my scalp to find that I was also bald. It was completely smooth, as though a barber had just finished with a straight razor.

“Physical appearance,” I said, calling up the first of the three bonus options. Someone cleared their throat from behind me and I jumped. I turned to find a tall, thin man sporting a broad mustache which curled up at its edges. He was sharply dressed in a dark gray suit complete with a golden tie clip and a pocket square that matched the colorful floral pattern on his tie.

“Good morning, sir,” he said in a low baritone with a hint of gravel in it.

“Fuck, dude,” I said, “where’d you come from?” He smiled.

“I apologize for startling you. My means of transportation and the destinations to which I travel are determined by my patron and I am afraid that even if I wished to tell you from whence I came I would not be able to, as I myself do not know.”

“Your patron?” I asked.

“Indeed. I believe that you require some assistance deciding on a new look.”

“Well,” I said, “I don’t even know what my current look is. I mean, I’m bald, which is weird. But, do you know what’s going on here?”

He raised a precisely plucked eyebrow.

“We are choosing your appearance, sir.”

“No. I mean, we are, but I’m asking about all of this.” I gestured broadly at the room. He took a look around, seeming disappointed at what he found.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ah,” I said, pausing to consider what I was even asking. “I died. And now I’m here. Am I still dead? Did I actually die? Are you dead? Is this the afterlife?”

He tilted his head and his brow furrowed.

“I am not dead,” he said slowly. “As for you, I would not presume to know. You appear to be alive. The dead that I have encountered do not tend to speak. They are inclined to lay there doing no more than being dead.”

“I see.”

He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“If it pleases you, sir, I bill by the minute and as you are not the one incurring charges for my services I would prefer to proceed with our appointment. I’d hate to appear as though I’m padding the time sheets, so to speak.”

“Oh. Ok, sure.”

“Very good.” He snapped and a full-length mirror sprouted out of the ground.

“That’s cool,” I said, then took a good look at myself. I looked like a much younger version of myself, minus the beard and hair. Gone were the creeping wrinkles around my forehead and eyes, and my skin held the softness of youth. My hairline, still barely visible despite the shave, was also better. Not that I had been balding, but my forehead had definitely grown as I’d gotten older. I was still an adult, but looked like I was just about to enter my freshman year of college.

Beyond the obvious age difference, I could see a well-muscled chest pressing against my linen shirt. I reached up and ran my hands over it, then down across my abdomen. I felt my shoulders and flexed a bicep. I was buff. Not bodybuilder buff, but as well muscled as I’d gotten during a two-year strength training phase in my twenties. Lately I’d focused more on cardio and endurance training, my physique moving to a more lean and cut type look. But now my muscles were all back. Beyond that, the layer of fat that had hid my bulk during the time I spent lifting was gone. I could feel the outlines of a serious six pack beneath the linen. It was like I’d gotten the best of both worlds.

“If you’re done fondling yourself, sir,” said the well-dressed man. The tailor? Was I also buying dress clothes? He stood just behind me, looking at me in the mirror. “Perhaps we should start with the hair. Do you have any preferences?”

“Um, I like it short, I guess. But not too short. Finger length?”

“Curly, straight, thick, thin, coarse?” he asked.

“I was always a bit curly. Just, I’m fine with what I had before if that’s possible.” My hair was one of the few parts of my body I’d been satisfied with.

“Very good.” He plucked a brush out of thin air and ran it over my scalp. A few seconds later I had a short, well groomed head of hair with a clean fade along the sides. It was my natural color, so dark brown that it was nearly black. “How’s that?”

“That’s great.” It was what I’d say to any barber whenever I got a haircut, even if I didn’t like it, but this looked good. Plus, I wasn’t too picky.

“Facial hair?” he asked.

“How about a full beard? Maybe on the longer side. And can you make it thick? My old one was a bit patchy. And it was going gray. So, no gray?”

“Of course,” he said, producing a comb and running it across my face. As I watched, the beard hairs sprang into existence, running down to my collar bone. It was already shaped, cut shorter on the sides and cleanly trimmed at the base so it didn’t look bushy or wild. The tailor pulled out a bottle of oil and began massaging some of it in. It smelled like peppermint and wood chips.

“Any preference for color?” he asked.

“Hmm, I’m fine with it the way it is.”

“Eyebrows?”

For the first time I noticed that those had been missing as well.

“Just what I had before is fine. I mean, well I had one hair on my right brow that always grew way longer than the others so I guess if you can fix that.”

He nodded and produced a thin brush with a long handle, almost like a toothbrush, and ran it along my brow. I had eyebrows again.

“Any preference for skin tone?”

“What are my options?” I asked.

“Anything you like. Fair, olive, tanned, any shade of brown, orange, blue, green, chartreuse, the sky is the limit.”

“Wow, ok. Just what I had before but give me a bit of a tan I suppose.”

“Very good.” He tapped me on the temple and my pale skin turned a few shades darker. “That about right?”

“Yeah, that’s great. Don’t want to look like I live in a tanning booth.”

“A wise choice. Eye color?”

“Oh, definitely green. Like a piercing green.”

He ran a hand in front of my face and my irises turned emerald.

“Hell yeah, that’s cool.”

“Any other physical features you’d like to change? Height, finger width, the size of your feet or the size of any other parts?”

I turned and looked at him.

“I can make… anything bigger?”

“Or smaller, if you so choose.”

Needless to say I saw no reason to make anything on my body any bigger than it was already, as everything was certainly big enough and I had no personal insecurities or feelings of inadequacy. I opted to gain a couple inches in height, making me a member of the over-six-foot club, but otherwise I was perfectly happy with my proportions.

“Are you fine with your previous body hair?”

“Sure, but I guess get rid of my back hair, never was a fan of that.” I’d been a somewhat hairy dude, and the feeling of my chest hair growing back tickled under my shirt.

The tailor plucked at my garments, wrinkling his nose.

“I would love to do something about these clothes, but I’m afraid that is a restricted area.”

“It’s restricted? How come?”

He shrugged.

“I am but the lowly servant. I don’t make those sorts of decisions. In any event, are you happy with your current look? Anything else you’d like to change.”

“No, I think this covers it. Thanks.”

“Of course.” He stepped back and looked me up and down, then smiled. “Conservative, but classy. I think it suits you well.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering what he meant by conservative.

“Very well. If that is all, then I shall take my leave.”

“Alright, have a good one,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand, but he’d already disappeared. I stood there awkwardly, then let my hand drop. I took a moment to run my fingers through my glorious new beard, then checked the handwritten note for the next option. “Birth sign!”

A translucent blue window appeared in front of me, covered in text. Oddly, the first bit of text was in the same sloppy handwriting as the book notes.

As an extra-dimensional entity you have access to a unique sign. I suggest you take it.

Extra-dimensional entity? What the fuck did that mean?