by Bryan Bliss
Still, Brezzen rolled for initiative—a one.
The d20 didn’t lie. It was both random and yet absolute. When nothing else in the world made sense, when everything else was a storm of chaos, you could trust an honest roll.
And this one told him everything he needed to know, even before his father came around the kitchen island and gave him a long hug.
“It’s time, bud. It’s time.”
Chapter Two
BREZZEN WOKE UP WITH A START, SCRAMBLING ACROSS his bed until he slammed into the headboard. He looked around the room wildly, but whatever had been chasing him was not there—it had been a dream. He reached to his nightstand and pulled out his Creature Guide, turning pages until he reached the one he was looking for.
* * *
The Medusa, 5th Class Creature
Similar to the mythological creature of the same name, the Medusa is an aberration of the highest order. Its platelike skin and long, razor-sharp teeth alone make it a formidable enemy. However, experienced adventurers know to be wary of the Medusa’s real threat—six tentacles, each with a menacing eye capable of nullifying an adventurer in numerous foul ways, including paralysis, mind control, charm, fear, and of course, death. Avoid at all cost. And pray to your gods you never encounter one alone.
* * *
He first started dreaming about the Medusa nearly a year ago. Every dream was the same: the Medusa appearing without warning, the sudden feeling of dread trapping his body, and a scream he could never vocalize. He woke up sweating, terrified, sprinting for his parents’ room. He could never properly explain why the Medusa terrified him so much, why he would still be shaking long after his parents fell back asleep.
He’d encountered plenty of Medusas in his various campaigns and, for the most part, they weren’t unbeatable, no matter what the Creature Guide said. Annoying, yes. An inconvenience, for sure. They usually showed up after you’d spent half a campaign fighting a camp of barbarians, appearing from the depths of an abandoned temple the GM had assured the party was not important.
Freaking GMs.
Still, if you had enough experience, if you could accept that you were going to really get into some shit once the Medusa appeared, you could beat it. And yet, here he was, almost a year after that first dream, the terror just as thick as it had ever been.
For a second Brezzen considered running into his parents’ room and playing up the terror—which was real enough—to push them into a corner. Force a new wrinkle into this whole going-back-to-school plan.
He picked up his d20 and rolled.
A weak and completely bullshit six stared up at him from the bedside table.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering past adventures—how he and his friends had battled through various dungeons, torture pits, and every other hellish environment you could imagine. None of it had ever scared him. He always walked in first. He always walked in strong. He always walked in.
But this was different. Until two months ago, he asked his parents not to drive past the school, forcing them to go nearly ten minutes out of their way anytime they left the house. Even now, Brezzen couldn’t look at the school straight on. It was an eclipse, a bright burning fire. But apparently even the hottest sun was safe if you waited long enough.
When his mom came into his room two hours later, presumably to wake him up, she seemed surprised to see him already dressed and sitting on his bed with his colored pencils spread out across his comforter.
“Hey, you’re up early.”
She said it like he’d turned a corner. As if he had somehow healed in the last eight hours.
“I’m preparing,” he said, which made his mom’s smile falter a bit.
She came up behind him and looked down at the map he’d created. He could hear her breath catch, could feel her body tense as she forced herself to smile again and motion down to the map.
“Is this Ford?”
She spoke carefully. As if drawing a map of the school was a sign of some bigger problem. Brezzen nodded, holding it out to show her the pertinent features.
“This is the science wing. The gym, which I took some liberties with.” He smiled, tapping the middle of the map, which looked remarkably like a medieval torture pit. “Math. English. That’s the entrance.”
In the bottom right-hand corner, where the legend would normally be, Brezzen had jotted down a quick dungeon rating. His best guess put this one at intermediate, something he could probably solo, but caution would be essential.
In the corner, which neither he nor his mother mentioned—Brezzen tried not to even look at it—was a rough sketch of the Medusa, peeking out just behind the doors at the end of the hallway on the west side of the school.
“Is this going to help you, honey?” his mom asked.
“I just want to be prepared,” he said, carefully folding it into his pocket, next to his d20. For a moment his mother looked as if she might say something—break ranks with his father and tell him to get back in bed. That he wasn’t going to school today, tomorrow, or maybe ever.
Instead, she reached out and straightened his T-shirt, pulling at both sleeves, as if that would erase the wrinkles. Erase her fear. When she realized both were unwinnable battles, she simply put her hands on his shoulders and smiled.
“You’re going to be okay. I promise this is going to be good for you.”
Brezzen nodded, even though he wasn’t sure it was the case. But he wanted her to believe that he believed it.
Any GM worth their dice would call for a charisma check at this moment, not that Brezzen would succeed. He was never known for his diplomacy, couldn’t sweet talk a low-level shop keep, let alone somebody as advanced as his mother.
Where was an elf when you actually needed one?
Still, you rolled. And if you failed, you tried something different. Something creative. You played to your strengths, which even the most cynical GM would reward.
And for a warrior, that meant an all-out assault.
Brezzen walked toward the kitchen, moving with the sort of feigned determination that, if you didn’t know better, smelled a lot like confidence. He dropped a couple Pop-Tarts into the toaster and waited for his mom to stop him—to call his bluff. But she didn’t. Instead, she started unloading the dishwasher and, when she wasn’t looking, he pulled out his d20 and did a quick roll for initiative.
Thirteen.
It could go either way.
His mother walked on one side of him and his father on the other as they made their way through the parking lot to the front doors of the school, which opened and closed like the jaws of a dragon, swallowing all the students who entered.
Brezzen stopped in front of the doors, trying to think.
There was no telling what was on the other side—what kind of magic, dark or light, might be waiting for him. All of a sudden, he felt unprepared. A level-one player walking into a dungeon he had no business sniffing, let alone attempting to solo. Even that wasn’t right. A level-one adventurer wouldn’t know they were walking into a trap. But Brezzen did.
“I need to roll,” he said.
His mom and dad looked at each other, negotiating which one would tell him that it wasn’t the best idea to pull out his d20 and roll right here in the middle of the bustling parking lot.
“Buddy, it’s going to be fine,” his dad said.
Brezzen looked at the mouth of the school and felt the d20 in his pocket. You always rolled before going into a dungeon. Detect magic, at the very least. It was about as basic a rule as there was, on the same scale as “check the shelves” and “don’t touch the magical-looking cup that may or may not have just caused your adventuring partner to seize up like she’d been hit with a thousand volts of elder fire.”
He shook his head. There was no way he would walk into that school without some kind of ability check. His dad must’ve seen the determination—or maybe it was desperation—on Brezzen’s face, because he cupped his hands and held them close. Brez
zen wasn’t sure what was happening at first.
“Roll,” his dad said quietly, moving his hands even closer.
Brezzen pulled the d20 out and dropped it into his dad’s hands—seventeen.
“See?” He handed the die back to Brezzen. “You’ve got this.”
Brezzen looked at the door one more time. Most of the other students were already inside without much fanfare or consequence, which of course meant nothing. There could be any number of things waiting on the other side of that door. Monsters and traps that would only be triggered once he set foot inside.
But the d20 never lied. Especially on an ability check. So he nodded, adjusted his backpack, and took a step forward.
They sat in the principal’s office. His dad signed the paperwork that would reenroll Brezzen into the school he’d left almost one year ago. His mother held his hand tightly, as if he might disappear or stand up and go sprinting out of the school. In fact, Brezzen was running over a mental checklist—his map, his dice—telling himself he was prepared for this.
“First let me say that I’m here to help with anything you might need,” Mr. Townsend said. “And I want to acknowledge the amazing amount of courage it takes to come back—not all of our students have been able to come back yet. So kudos to you, Brendan.”
Brezzen didn’t respond, and his mother cleared her throat.
“I can’t imagine how hard that is,” his mother said.
“It’s a process,” he admitted. “And every kid in this school is at a different place, so we meet them where they’re at. But the important thing is that we’re doing it together. As a community.”
Mr. Townsend turned to Brezzen.
“So, Brendan. What do you need from me?”
Brezzen almost laughed. This wasn’t his first campaign.
He didn’t know this man, his alignment, nothing. Just that his parents trusted him blindly, which was a classic blunder. Brezzen would pretend; he’d nod and smile and not trouble the water in any way if they were going to force him to be here. But he wasn’t going to offer up any information until Brezzen knew more about Mr. Townsend and this dungeon he was leading.
“We’ll make sure we stay in contact,” his mother finally said.
“Sounds like a plan!” Mr. Townsend stood up, walking over to the door. “And now I’ve got a little surprise for you, Brendan.”
He called out into the office and Alice, the woman who answered the phone and handed out tardy slips—she’d once fussed at Brezzen for being “too weird” in the hallway—said, “Okay, you can go in now.”
At first Brezzen didn’t recognize the Great Mandolini—a name everybody in their party hated but that still made them laugh nonetheless—when he walked into the office. He was taller, the sort of growth that’s only evident when you haven’t seen a person in months, years. His hair was shorter, maybe even styled. He glanced at Brezzen and then gave everybody else a quick wave.
“Ah, great. Theo. Thank you for being here. I’m sure you’re happy to see your friend Brendan.”
The Great Mandolini mumbled, “Hey.”
Brezzen had known the Great Mandolini since second grade, when they both had Mrs. Burleson, perhaps the meanest person ever licensed to teach seven-year-olds, and bonded over a shared sense of humor which, at that point, meant drawing pictures of old Burleson getting chased by various monsters and other delights.
But Brezzen hadn’t seen him in seven or eight months, and if the Great Mandolini’s visible discomfort was any indication, they weren’t about to slip back into a familiar routine anytime soon.
“I thought it might be nice for you to have a friend with you on your first day back,” Mr. Townsend said. “And Theo here agreed to be your guide.”
Your guide.
Brezzen looked up to see if it had registered with the Great Mandolini, too.
In eighth grade they’d played through a campaign called The Guide, and it was the first time the Great Mandolini rolled with his multi-class bard/cleric. More importantly, they’d spent the entire year, into the summer, following the winding trails of what they convinced themselves was an epic adventure—the sort of thing that would pay off in a big way.
Turned out, the GM—a kid from Granite Falls who’d put a flyer up at the comic book store, guaranteeing a “masterful Wizards & Warriors experience”—actually didn’t have an ending to the campaign. Every week, they’d show up, thinking this kid was some sort of savant, a master storyteller on the level of Stephen King, and it turned out he couldn’t land the plane.
Every week he’d say the same thing, which is what Brezzen said to the Great Mandolini now.
“I look forward to the adventure.”
The briefest flicker of recognition passed across the Great Mandolini’s face—the smallest of smiles—and Mr. Townsend clapped his hands together.
“Great. Well, that settles it, then. Let’s get these two to class and we can spend some time chatting as adults, okay?”
Brezzen’s parents nodded, standing to give him a hug one at a time. And then in a surprise move, his mom hugged the Great Mandolini, who went stiff, but gave her a quick pat on the shoulder.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Theo,” she said, ignoring all of the awkwardness. “I hope you come over sometime soon. We’ve missed you.”
She looked at Brezzen quickly and smiled one last time.
“It’s going to be a good day,” she said, patting him on the shoulder, too. As if she were imparting a spell of protection—one last gift before sending him off.
Brezzen followed the Great Mandolini through the hallway, neither of them talking. It felt strange to be in this building again, almost claustrophobic, as if the walls would slowly start closing in on him. He looked up to the blinking exit sign above a door probably a hundred feet from where they were standing.
“So, how have you been?” the Great Mandolini asked him. “I was surprised to hear you were coming back.”
“And I was surprised to see the Great Mandolini,” Brezzen said.
The Great Mandolini cocked his head to the side and stared down the hallway, as if he were trying to remember a story he’d forgotten.
“‘Now that’s a name I’ve not heard in a lonnnng time,’” he said.
Brezzen quickly apologized. The Great Mandolini laughed.
“Dude. Obi-Wan. Star Wars? C’mon, Bren, you’re slipping!”
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t seen it in a while,” Brezzen said.
“Well, we should watch it. For old time’s sake.”
The last year had been necessary—everybody agreed. And for the most part, Brezzen would’ve been happy never to have set foot back in this school. To have spent the next two years learning on the computer, doing “directed studies,” which somehow translated to high school credit through homeschooling magic.
Brezzen had cloistered himself in the house, leaving only to meet with Iaophos and, when forced, to fulfill the few social expectations his parents had—grocery stores, eating out, the rare trip to visit relatives who weren’t a stone’s throw from their house.
But whether he had intentionally separated himself from his friends—or maybe they had separated from him—Brezzen didn’t know. Those first few months were locked in an impenetrable fog that pervaded every single part of his body and mind. Even now he had only vague memories of the first meetings with Iaophos, before they started their campaign, when he would sit in her office nearly catatonic. When he came out of the fog, months had passed and he and his parents operated as if their house was a fortress.
Still, the idea of watching Star Wars with the Great Mandolini sounded like something he wanted to do.
“And I generally go by Theo at school,” the Great Mandolini said carefully. Brezzen nodded one more time.
“I understand.”
The Great Mandolini stopped them in front of a classroom but didn’t move toward the door. He hesitated and then leaned close to Brezzen, like he wanted to tell a secret.
&n
bsp; “So, are you okay?”
“Okay?”
“Like, with everything. It’s been a long time, and I was just wondering if, you know, you’re . . . okay?”
Brezzen thought about the temporary nature of the word okay. How you could be okay one moment and then suddenly, without warning, not okay the next. It could be anything. You could be reading a book and, with the turn of a page, get white-hot pain on your finger from a paper cut. And the stakes just increased from there.
At this moment, he felt okay. At this moment, he felt strong and courageous. But with the simplest of missteps or a bad roll, the whole world could turn to shit. Brezzen had spent the last year trying to cope with that one simple fact.
“Hey—still with me?”
Brezzen shook his thoughts away. “Yes. I’m sorry. Is this my class?”
“Our class, actually,” the Great Mandolini said, sighing. “Econ with Mr. Bruns. This guy is certifiable. Just wait.”
He opened the door and Brezzen followed him inside.
There was a momentary pause in the classroom, from the teacher to the students, and everybody stared at Brezzen as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head, which, in one notable instance, had happened to an NPC traveling partner and, despite the GM’s pleading, they solved the matter by simply killing the bard rather than hearing him sing out of two mouths the rest of the campaign.
Brezzen smiled and the teacher thought it was for him, so he smiled back hesitantly.
“Brendan. Welcome. Your temporary desk is next to Theo, there in the back, but seeing how this school works, let’s just assume that it will also be your permanent desk, shall we?”
And then, just as quickly as it stopped, the entire classroom started up again. Kids whispered and Mr. Bruns ignored them, turning back to his smart board and saying, “So, like I said, every one of you has been told a lie when it comes to the story of how the U.S. economy works.”
Brezzen sat in the chair, aware of everything that was happening around him. Every time a kid dropped a pen, it was a test of willpower not to react—not to jump. And when the Great Mandolini leaned over and asked him if he was okay once again, it took everything Brezzen had to make his breathing go even, to ignore his thumping heart, and nod once.
