Session 0: Establishing a Good Character and Backstory Includes?

You shuffle the dorm door open with your hip as you desperately yank the key free. The D20 keychain desperately dangling as you finally free the key and retreat from the biting cold outside. “Why didn't you tell me it snows here in November!” you call to your roommate. Your Breath generates fag as your wet cuffs cling to your wrists. You stumble through the dark, fumbling for the light switch. “And would it kill you to keep a light on?” You finally find the light, illuminating the small living room. You look down at the floor and know your roommate isn't present from the spotless state of the room. His refusal to remove his shoes at the door and track water or dirt was your second largest source of stress. “Haaa!” you sigh, releasing a week's worth of tension. In no time, you reason he’s out barhopping—again—and will probably drag some girl back here—again. You check your phone clock, seeing that you have the better part of an hour to yourself before that unfortunate prediction becomes reality.

“Just enough time for dinner and a bath,” you think, heading to the kitchen and pulling your rice cooker from the corner. “For all his faults, he leaves this alone at least,” you think, prepping a simple oyakodon dinner. You turn on the cooker after thoroughly rinsing the rice, cut some vegetables, and pull out some pre-cooked frozen chicken. It may be harder on your budget, but puking at the sight of raw meat makes it well worth it in your eyes. The simple meal warms your body, but does little to warm your insides. For a moment, you linger, gnawing on the chopsticks and reminiscing on how your mother could make even this simple dish taste like a feast. You were never sure if it was the soy sauce she used or the way she prepared the egg. If you asked him, she’d probably just say the special ingredient was love or something like that.

You take a shower after eating, taking extra time to feel truly clean without a bath, and just barely killing the voice that nags you to study more. “Studying till the library closes is more than enough for one day,” you tell yourself as you climb into bed.

Your eyelids grow heavy. Sleep is right there—and then your phone rings with an all too familiar tone.

“UGH!” you groan, looking at the screen. “Dad,” it reads before you press the decline button and slam your phone back down—hardly a second passes before another app rings. Again, “Dad” is plastered on the screen before you decline again. You set it down just as a text notification pings.

“We both know I’ll keep calling till you pick up,” it reads, followed by another call.

“Hello,” you say, hoping an exhausted tone will help him take the hint and keep this short.

“Well, somebody sounds way too tired for a Saturday morning,” your Father says with a chuckle.

“Might I remind you it’s Friday night here? Or did you forget how time zones work?”

“That’s even worse,” he says, with sarcastic shock. “Shouldn’t you be out partying? Meeting the boys at the local hangout to talk about how you can have fun without relying on recreational drugs or one-night stands? Isn’t that what college freshmen do these days?”

“Dad, I have no idea what you did in college, and the more I learn, the less I want to know.”

“What, you’re telling me you don’t spend weekends engaging in underage drinking and other tomfoolery?”

“Dad, sometimes I wish I were the monster you think I am.”

“Oh, I know you aren't a monster,” he says with a chuckle. “Spending Friday evening in the library is a great sign of that.”

“You said you’d remove the tracker on my phone,” you say, looking through your settings, noting that location is still turned off.

“I never placed a tracker on your phone,” your Father corrects. “And your refusal to go to church makes me hesitant to remove the one I do have.”

“Well, excuse me for having classes that require me to study more than one dusty old book.”

“What, like that ‘America 101’ class?” he asks, mild irritation whispering through the phone. “I can’t believe they’re making you take that. Sure, you’ve been raised in Tokyo, but I made sure to teach you more than most Americans know about our history and culture.”

“Maybe we should’ve considered that before labeling me as a foreign student for scholarship money.”

“Just because I'm a doctor doesn’t mean I’m too good for free money they’ll just hand out,” he says, defensively.

And just like that, the weekly call settles into its usual rhythm: Thanksgiving plans, your latest culture shocks, the old army buddy he ran into at the hospital, your gripes about mandatory classes, the strange perks of being labeled a foreign student. It only takes half an hour for the two of you to run the well dry.

“Well, I’ll let you go,” he says. “Gotta prep the dungeon for tonight’s session. If anything happens, call me, okay?”

“Yeah. I will.”

“And give your mother and your sister a call. They both miss you.”

“I will,” you promise.

“Alright, son. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” you say, ending the call and dropping the phone on the nightstand.

*Tap*

The sound of something falling on the floor awakens you. You roll over and pick it up, worried your phone won’t charge. You instead pick up your keyring. A single dorm room key and a D20 keychain hang from the ring. “Why did he insist I take this?” You wonder, holding it in front of your face. “More importantly, why do I keep it on?” you wonder. “It’s uncomfortable in my pocket, gets tangled with my earbuds, and attracts the worst kind of attention from the others on the baseball team.” In a fit of mild rage, you try to remove the keychain, fumbling in the dark, and settle for ripping it free. Worst comes to worst, you could always lie and say it broke by accident. As you rip, you feel something pull from the di. Turning on your lamp, you notice a thin wire extending from inside the die. You pull more, and bits of electronics come out. “So that’s where the tracker was,” you think, piling up the scraps. You gather them in one pile, ready to call your Father back and confront him, but decide to do it later—no need to get into it with him so late. You leave the wire on your nightstand next to the di. A natural one shows at the top. “Bet he’d think that was a bad omen or something,” you think before rolling over and drifting off to sleep.