Bog Standard Isekai

Brin sat down. “Oh.” That… was a good pitch. Because he really felt it. The vulnerability. The sincerity. The fatigue. It was like he was the one who was talking.

“Why is it that everywhere I go and everything I do, I have to hurt so much? Everything is pain. It’s painful to work out all the time, to always be tired, to always have sore muscles. And most of all, it hurts to get hurt. I get cut up and stabbed and poisoned and it hurts. It never gets better. It hurts every time.

“And the things they say about me. Why do I have to care what a bunch of ignorant dirt-farmers in the middle of nowhere think about me? Rejection, hostility, back-biting, all of that hurts, too. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t think about them at all. But I do.”

If Class selection had happened even two weeks earlier, Brin definitely would’ve been swayed by this line of reasoning. Even now, he was still furious at Tawna’s latest trick, but he’d also found a certain kind of peace. Not everyone was out to get him. Some of the town had listened to Tawna, but there were others who he now saw had always gone out of their way to be nice to him.

The Scarred One said, “I can free you from all that. I start right off the bat with [Pain Resistance]. You’ll feel it as information, and as fuel to push you to greater focus and ferocity. That alone would make this worth it. Can you imagine it? A life free from pain? A life where you actually enjoy what you do every day? That’s what I can do for you. I know what you thought when you first saw my face; you didn’t fear me at all. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to free you.

“That’s just one Skill. Next, and this is the base Skill of the Class, [Regenerative Scarring]. My wounds heal faster. And it stacks! Stacks on stacks. The more scars that have healed, the faster my new wounds will heal.

“Next, coming in clutch is [Ugly On the Inside]. This gives me quick internal scarring. Do you know how many people die from internal injuries? It’s a lot. But not me. I can survive anything that doesn’t kill you.”

“That’s everyone. Everyone survives whatever doesn’t kill them,” Brin pointed out.

The Scarred One’s eyes glowed with zealous light. “Not like me. And that’s just the level one stuff. Those are the benefits you get right out of the gate. You want to hear about some higher level Skills, like the one of the ones you’ll get offered at level five? It’s called [Mana Scars]. You can literally use Mana to hold yourself together when your muscles get cut or your tendons are slashed. That means you’ll have no loss of power or mobility as long as your Mana pool doesn’t dry up. This is the Class that won’t quit.

“You should know this is a Rare Class we’re talking about. Every level you’ll get two points to Strength, two to Vitality, and one to Dexterity, and that’s in addition to your free stat for being human. This is an opportunity you won’t want to miss.”

“You’re sort of starting to sound like a salesman,” said Brin.

“It’s the magic scars. Huge bonus to charisma,” said the Scarred One.

Brin gave the others a questioning glance. The Illusionist shrugged, while the Glasser smirked and shook his head.

“Look, thanks for coming in–” started Brin.

The Scarred One put his hands up in mock surrender. “Look. I get it. Evil Class, and all, there’s some stigma attached. So what if I sweeten the pot, huh? I’m prepared to make you a one-time offer. Act now, and [Regenerative Scarring] won’t be applied as a Skill. Instead, it will merge with your Scarred title. Ten percent slower healing turns to ten percent faster. Oh, and did I mention this title is upgradeable? The best part is, it’s a title now. You try the Class, don’t like it? Fine. Lose the Class, but you’ll keep the title.”

“That…” Brin chuckled with sudden anxiety. “That is very tempting.”

“It may not be as easy as you think to change your Class later,” said the Illusionist. “Evil Classes have a tendency to change your outlook. Perhaps even alter your personality.”

The Scarred One stepped over and put a hand on Brin’s shoulder, facing down the Illusionist. “Maybe for others. My man here has what it takes to live life on his terms. He won’t let something like a Class rule him.”

The Illusionist stared, not answering.

“It’s true, though, I’m betting he will keep me, once I show him what I can do.” He turned to Brin. “I’m what you’ve been working for. All those hours lifting weights, working out, pushing the boundaries and breaking every taboo you can find. All the pain and suffering. All that time, living as an outcast. The lies you told, the crimes you committed. What was it all for, if not for me? These guys, they’re what you get for being in a town and for having the right father. I’m the Class you earned! You didn’t even think about Magic until recently–your goal was improving your body. I am your body’s perfection. You want to be strong and brave like Galan. I’m as strong as Galan’s [Knight] and I am absolutely fearless. Don’t believe all that? Fine. Pick me for the free upgrade, and then move one to something else. What do you have to lose?”

“Class selection after breaking an Oath is random. You won’t get to choose a second time,” warned the Illusionist.

“Well!” the Scarred One clapped. “That was my pitch. Why don’t you go next?”

The Illusionist nodded and didn’t rise from his spot in the armchair. “You already know much of what an Illusionist can do. I have the power to summon light and sound, and I know you’ve already thought much about the possible applications. What you don’t know is that I receive two Magic, two Mental Control, one Will, and one free attribute per level, in addition to the racial free point. I am certain that you will choose me, but for now I would yield my turn to the Glasser.”

Brin honestly didn’t hate the idea of being an [Illusionist], but Scarred One was… troublingly tempting, and it was a little weird that this guy wasn’t trying at all. He didn’t have any reason to refuse though. He nodded at the Glasser.

“Thanks,” said the Glasser. He turned off the football game, stood up, and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’d like you to think back to the moment of your death.”

“I’d rather not,” Brin said with a sardonic smile.

“Please. This is important,” the Glasser responded evenly. “Think about that moment, laying on the ice, and all the regrets you had. And think about the regrets you had the next couple days, after you realized that life was over. Can you honestly tell me that you wish you had spent more time on your career?”

“Oof,” said Brin.

“Exactly. And here you are, making all the same mistakes. I will not make the same mistakes as my past life. I could try to sell you the Class based on its merits, and don’t get me wrong, there are a few. I make glass, and given time I’ll be able to summon, shape, and move it with Mana alone. Also, there’s a memory Skill. At level 10 I can remember anything I ever saw or learned about glass. Flipped past a page of a textbook where the chemical properties of glass was mentioned? Fall asleep with the tv on something about the manufacturing process? I’ll remember all of it. Frankly, I’ll revolutionize the field. You think you might know what glass can do, but you haven’t even scratched the surface. With your memories and my abilities, I can see glass that waves in the wind like grass, a shining glass tower with walls stronger than blacksteel, glass weapons that are named in the epics.

“That aside, though, I think it’s important to recognize what I represent. Look around the room. What’s different about me from everyone else?”

“You’re a little bit fatter,” said Brin.

“True. I’m not starving–not even close. I eat dessert every night, and then sleep in my own bed. But that’s not what I meant. How am I different from all the others, even including the Child?”

Brin knew the answer. “You’re the only one who’s happy,” he admitted.

The Glasser smiled. A kind smile. A smile Brin wasn’t sure he’d ever worn on this face. “I can be happy. My profession is complicated, difficult, and creative. Perfect to capture the attention of my sharp mind. I can be satisfied with my work, but it won’t overwhelm me. I am a respected and beloved member of my community. I can get married, have a family, and grow old.”

The Scarred One spat on the floor. “No you can’t. Who could you marry? You’re too old for the kids your age.”

“In this culture, it isn’t strange at all for a teenager to marry a thirty-year-old,” said the Glasser.

“Don’t give me that. In my culture that’s weird. You wouldn’t marry a teenager,” accused the Scarred One.

“Are we really doing this?” asked Brin.

“No, he’s got a point,” said the Illusionist.

“You’re siding with him?” the Glasser asked, aghast.

“Do we really have to talk about this?” asked Brin.

“Who else are you going to talk about it with?” asked the Scarred One, dramatically pointing at him with an accusing finger. “You’ve certainly been thinking about it hard enough.”

Brin raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright,” the Glasser nodded. “Let’s hash this out then. I don’t think I should rule out romance for my entire life. It’s not healthy.”

“Who are you going to marry? Someone Lumina’s age? Face it, that would be even worse. That would just make her the creepy one. And I’m not marrying a teenager. I’m twenty-six years old, by Anshar,” said the Scarred One.

“You’re really going to swear by Anshar?” asked Brin.

“Of course I’m going to swear by the awesomest god. No teenagers. I mean it. I’m not going to be that creep that hangs around little girls asking if they’re legal.”

“Fine. Ok,” said the Glasser. “But did you notice? You said you’re twenty-six. That was a year ago. Am I twenty-six or twenty-seven?”

The Illusionist stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think I’m twenty-six. I think I’ll be stuck at twenty-six until this body turns twenty-seven.”

The Glasser said, “Ok, now we’re getting somewhere. What’s the rule for how young someone can be before it’s weird? Half your age, plus seven.”

“Twenty,” said the Illusionist.

The Scarred One nodded hesitantly. “But don’t go out and shack up with the first random girl you see. I want to live my life a little.”

“Fine, fine. Are we in agreement?”

The other aspects nodded.

“Glad you got that settled,” said Brin.

“Well, you weren’t going to,” said the Scarred One.

The Illusionist raised a finger. “Actually, that’s an interesting metaphysical question. Technically if we settled it then he did–”

“It’s settled,” said the Glasser. “Yes?”

“Yes,” said the Illusionist, annoyed to be cut off.

The Child made a thumbs up from the gaming computer, while the Scarred One gave a terse nod.

They all looked to him. “Yeah, sure. I have other stuff on my mind right now, you know,” said Brin.

The Glasser clapped his hands. “Then it’s settled. I can get married to someone twenty years or older, when my new body is also at least that age. I um… geez you guys, you sort of made me lose my thought a little. I didn’t interrupt your pitch, Scarred One. Where was I? Oh yes, the point of all this is that I can live a life of substance. I can have real relationships, and give them the attention they deserve. I can do all the things that you regret not doing.”

“I regret not traveling more,” said Brin.

The Glasser waved that away. “If you wanted to travel, you would have. You hate travel. It’s uncomfortable and boring. Why drive eight hours just to see something you could have looked up on the internet in three seconds? No, you’d much rather stay home with a good book and a mug of something hot.”

Brin thought about it for a long moment. “I wish I was the kind of person who could choose you.”

“You are, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“But there’s an army of undead out there. My life isn’t safe. I need to be able to protect myself,” said Brin.

“I’m not defenseless; how about morphic glass armor, sharp blades, and glass projectiles that shoot like bullets?”

“But how long will that take? A year? Ten? I need to be able to defend myself now,” said Brin.

“I think you’ll find that the world is less dangerous for people like me. There will always be violence out there; leave it to the violent. The only way to find peace is to be peaceful. What do I care if my town is conquered? I have no loyalty to Frenaria. I’ll pay taxes to Prinnash or even Arcaena; it makes no difference to me as long as the people I care about are ok. And there will be people like that. I will love, and be loved in return.”

“Thank you,” said Brin.

The Glasser took that for what it was. “Well, thanks for hearing me out. Think about what I said, will you? There’s no reason an [Illusionist] can’t be happy someday. It’s a perfectly respectable trade, if you want it to be.”

“Thank you. I will,” Brin said.

The Glasser returned to his seat, and the Illusionist stood. He straightened his robes, and walked from his spot in the armchair.

“My Class’s base Skills are [Summon Light] and [Summon Sound]. From there, you’ll find some branching paths that I’m sure Hogg can better explain than I. I think Hogg is a special case, though. It would probably be wiser to think about doing the things that Gustaff can do. Mirror images, recorded moves, shadows during the day and light during the night. I think you know that there is virtually no end to the possible applications. Blind your enemies with bright light. Deafen them with sound. Is there any enemy you couldn’t defeat if it were deaf and dumb? And that’s just scratching the surface; you know all kinds of things that can be done with light. Lasers maybe? I think they must be harder to create than I’m imagining, but that just means that when I do create them, it’ll be that much more groundbreaking. Radio? I’m sure I can crack it when I work on it myself.

“Music. You know, I didn’t expect to be so interested in learning to play the lute, but look where I am. I have so many regrets from my old life it’s hard to fit any new ones in, but there’s one. I regret not making more time for music. I hardly spent a minute in my old life without music playing in the background. Forget [Bard]; they’re all about control and manipulation, where music is a means to an end. [Illusionist] is a Class of infinite music.

“Now, the Scarred One has made some interesting points. He said his is the Class I’ve been working for. That’s certainly true, in this life. But wasn’t that out of necessity? I hardly had any other options. If I could’ve spent all that time in a library instead, I definitely would have. In my old life, I had so many more options than I have here. I could’ve become a gym rat or a soldier if I were interested in those things. I didn’t. I worked hard on my mind. I studied the applications of logic on light and sound. I became a programmer.

“Illusionist is the Class of information Technology. It’s the life I chose, back when I could’ve chosen anything.

“It’s the life you will choose again. You’ve acted differently out of necessity. I think you’ve acted admirably, most of the time. But that was all a reaction to your situation. It isn’t who you are. You are who you are, and you haven’t changed.”

“You’ve made some good points,” said Brin.

“But I’ve evaded the heart of the matter. I’ve got all those reasons, and they aren’t the real reason you’re going to choose me,” said Illusionist.

“True,” said Brin.

“For the record, please state the reason you will choose me,” said the Illusionist.

“It’s so simple. I want magic. Sure, I’ll do what I have to in order to stay alive, but when it comes to what I want? I don’t want to live in a world with magic and not have any of it for myself.”

Brin stepped forward and offered his hand.

The Illusionist folded his arms. “In that case, I–”

“Stop!” yelled the Child.

He tumbled backwards out of the gamer chair. The sight was somewhat comical, but Brin could feel the panic the Child was feeling. This wasn’t a moment for joking around.

The Child was the lookout. He was the one who’d been tasked with keeping an eye out.

“Stop! Choose the Scarred One. I’m sorry. We don’t have time. Scarred One. Choose now,” said the Child.

Brin looked between them, from the Child who was breaking down in utter anguish, to the Scarred One, who’s battered features looked confused and a little worried.

[Know What’s Real] didn’t let Brin stay confused. He was the Child, and all the others. He knew what would cause him to choose [Scarred One], what it had to be.

“Well, burn me,” said Brin, and chose the evil Class.

He opened his eyes. His real eyes, and at once the world burst into vibrant sensation.

He felt a glowing, burning spike of energy in his stomach. He looked down. A blacksteel sword was buried to the hilt in his gut. Impossible.

The sword was carried by desiccated fingers, hardly more than tight skin over bones. So, so impossible.

He looked at Hogg, staring back at him with shock and anguish written on his face. Hogg, taken by surprise? Completely, irrevocably impossible.

Past Hogg, more undead burst from the ground in plumes of earth. They’d been underground? Ridiculous. Funny actually. Hilarious.

Finally, he met the gaze of the undead who’d buried a sword in his guts. Its eyes widened. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was afraid.

The [Scarred One] smiled.

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