Session 7: An Explanation, a Wager, and a Promise

*Jiggle-jiggle*

*Crash*

The half-charred door disintegrates as your Father bashes against it. He nearly falls forward, only catching himself at the last moment before waving you in. The room opens wide: tables and chairs scattered beyond a long bar covered with soot. Light pours in from a loft above; it's so bright that you can see which tables were wiped clean yesterday and which still bear ash.

"A tavern?" you reason, unsure what else it could be.

"Upstairs," your Father says, pointing. The stairs creak as you climb, and at the top, you see where the light comes from. A huge smashed window lets light flood the upper floor, where yet more tables and chairs are. Strangely, all these seem to be untouched by the flames, except for one with a strange charred stick lying upon it. "Looks like the owner managed to smother this one before the flames could spread," your Father says. He pulls out a chair from an unburned table, removes his helmet and gauntlets, then leans back, taking a few huge breaths.

"I suppose it's time to review what we know," he says, looking up at the ceiling.

"Can't we at least wait till our drinks arrive before diving into whatever insane explanation you're about to unleash," you say, sinking into the opposite chair.

"Oh, trust me," he says, still looking up. "Whatever you're thinking, it's at least another world more insane." He sits forward, tucking his chin to his chest, and meets your eyes. "Start by backbreifing me so I can tailor the explanation."

"Well…" you begin, thinking back to the last 24 hours. "We woke up in the forest, wandered around, ran into that bear—with a beak," you say, testing his reaction and getting nothing. "We followed the river, found that cottage, got attacked by what you're calling goblins, then came to this village where people keep saying crazy things. Meanwhile, you've been weirdly calm, like you know something I don't. And now we're in a tavern where I'm hoping you finally explain so I can stop playing catch‑up."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," he says, nodding, seeming to ignore your grating tone. "You left out the miracles, but those are the easiest to explain."

"The miracles are the easiest?" you ask, voice jumping.

"Sure. God works miracles whenever he pleases. That needs no explanation." He says it like explaining gravity. You stare, logic half‑agreeing but nerves refusing to cooperate. "Anyway," he says, waving the tangent aside, "let's leave it at that for now."

"As long as there's a more reasonable explanation for everything else," you say, still waiting for a full explanation.

"Oh, not even close," he says, shaking his head. "The most reasonable explanation would be me finally going completely mad and hallucinating all this; hopefully in a happy jacket and sponge room."

"Please don't let whatever he has be genetic," you think, remembering whenever someone said you two were similar with a shiver.

"Ready for the bat‑crazy version?" he asks, tone shifting back to fit a calm afternoon tea chat.

"Pretty sure I asked for a rational explanation," you remind him.

"Best I can do is the one that'll make you think, 'I hope it isn't genetic,'" he says, leaning in, eyes becoming deadly serious. "You know how I play D&D with my friends every other weekend?"

"Yeah…" you say, dreading and curious about where his explanation is headed.

"Well, after years of DMing, I made my own world for adventures. It's called Zehir."

"Cool story, Dad, but that's relevant to us how?" You ask, leaning back in your chair.

"That's the point," he says, voice trembling just a hair. "It's relevant because that's where we are."

"Where are we?"

"Zehir," he says, firmly, without an ounce of sarcasm or humor.

"What about it?"

"Son, I'm saying…" he begins, then wavers, as if trying to convince himself first. "We're in Zehir," he says, like a man forced to admit an affair. You blink once, twice, then dig a finger in your pointed ear, pulling it out with a dedicated *POP*

"Okay, I'm ready for the real explanation now," you say, waiting for his inevitable smile and laugh. A slight calm rushes over you, confident that if he's still joking now, things can't be that bad. But it is a bit strange; usually, his humorous explanations, while ridiculous, had a grain of truth to them. Like him saying, "time to pay the mafia dues" when paying taxes. The small silence only grew, going from soothing to uncomfortable, and finally strangling when he props his forehead in his hand.

"Please don't make me repeat it," he mutters, voice on the verge of tears. "I feel insane enough without saying it twice." He rubs his temple slowly, taking care with each movement, like rubbing paint off a wall. It finally breaks the dam holding back your thoughts, and they come flooding in.

"This is insane. There's no way we're in a fantasy world. How did we get here? Why? How do we get back? If we can't—"

"Okay, I've got a game plan," he says, clapping to get your attention. A smile is again plastered on his face, as if the despair had never been there.

"A plan?" You ask, recovering from the whiplash.

"Well, at least an outline. Ahem," he says, clearing his throat. "First, some baseline assumptions to shape our choices."

"Weren't you the one to tell me not to make assumptions because they make an ass out of you and me?" you ask."

"I also taught you that every good myth, lie, and stereotype has a grain of truth somewhere. Anyway, are you familiar with Pavlov's wager?" he asks, fully reclaiming his jolly tone.

"What?" you ask, your brain skidding while trying to follow his turns.

"It's an argument for belief in God. God either exists or he doesn't; you either believe or you don't." He crosses his fingers, creating four quadrants. "If God doesn't exist, you don't win or lose either way. If he does, you gain paradise if you believe and Hell if you don't. With me so far?"

"Do you mean Pascal's wager?” you ask, questioning his thinking. He snaps his finger and smiles at you. “Yes, thank you, couldn't think of his name. But then, who’s Pavlove?”

“He’s the one with the dogs and bells,” you remind him.

“That’s right, thank you, son?" He smiles, as if a great weight was taken from his shoulder.

“Was it really bothering him that much?” you wonder as he keeps talking.

"Anyway, I bring him up because believing costs nothing if it's false, but saves everything if it's true. So we shouldn't treat it like a dream, even if this feels like a dream."

"I thought you said this was a dream?"

"No, no, no, I said it's most likely a dream," your Father corrects, waving a hand. "But on the off chance it's not, and our actions do have consequences, we need to act like it."

“That’s still insane,” you say, throwing up your arms. “Sure, your logic for treating the world as real is fine, but the premise that we’ve somehow teleported to your fantasy world is insane.”

“I fully agree,” he says, in a calm voice. “I’ve already said it doesn't make any sense on the face of it, but it’s the truth.”

“Prove it,” you demand.

“What?” he asked, shocked.

“If this is your fantasy world, then prove it.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that?” he asks, leaving you without a response. You think for a moment. As you lean back in your chair, you feel something press against your back.

“That’s it!” you think, clutching the map case on your back and pulling out the parchment.

“If you created this world, then surely you know that map, right?”

“I mean, I created the world map more than three decades ago, so I doubt I’ll get all the details right, but…” He locks his lips into his cheek, pondering for a moment. “Guess there’s no other wya to convince you. Ask away.”

“So what are the four islands named?” you begin.

“Well, actually, it’s three islands; the map cuts it off, but Higené-jima is one landmass, with the two sides separating an inland sea of sorts that—”

“I asked for the names, not the lore,” you interrupt.

“Fine, then I’ll just do names then,” he says, pointing a finger at the back of the map, naming off one area after another with perfect precision and pronunciation. For a moment, you think he’s reading through the parchment, but it's so thick you can’t see through it, and the light coming in from the window behind him would make it impossible even if he could.

"Fine," you finally sigh, relenting. "So we're in this Zehir place, what does that mean for us?"

"First, thanks for taking all this in stride," he says, leaning to pat your shoulder. "I can only think of a handful of people who'd go along with me after naming off places on a map I've had time to look at before this.

“I never said you conceived me. I said I would go along with it.”

“I’ve done more with less,” he says, maintaining a cheerful tone despite your dismissal. "In any case, we should keep our word and exterminate the goblins. That's a quick and easy way to Seeker Commission. We'll need that for our cover story while traveling, especially if we run into the inquisition."

"That's the third time you've mentioned an inquisition," you say, reminded of another burning question. "Mind explaining?" He opens his mouth to speak, and your finger flips up on reflex. "And be brief!" you snap, realizing your mistake and revoking his license to ramble. His eyes dim, and he tucks his lips into his chin.

"You're familiar with those Seven Deadly Sins, right?"

"There better be a damn good reason you're bringing up such an old anime."

"Not the anime," he says, exasperated. "The cardinal sins, ya know, Lust, Pride, Wrath, and the like?"

"Sure," you say, vaguely aware of them.

"Well, here, in this world, they aren't just ideas, they're gods, evil gods, but still gods. Opposite them, the Seven Heavenly Virtues, are also gods."

"Okay, and this lore dump is relevant to the inquisition, how?"

"I'm getting there," he says, palm up in defense. "The opposite virtue to Lust is Chastity; in this world, she's the goddess of purity. Her clergy is, in a single word, puritanical. In recent years, they've made it their goal to reduce the number of sinners. Most do that by educating people on its dangers and how to do better. But a few, known as the Inquisition, do that by eliminating the worst sinners to make an example of them." You stare at your Father, unsure if he's actually giving you the sparse version or still managing to lore dump.

"And this is a problem for us because?" you ask.

"Well, in their eyes, one of the best ways to sort the redeemable from the not is if you'll accept their teachings and bow down to their goddess, which I won't do."

"What are they wrong or actually worshiping a demon or something?"

"No, nothing like that," your Father reassures. "Their goddess does indeed exist, she is a force of good, and they're doctrine is sound, arguably, even necessary for the maintenance of public order.

"So then why not worship her?"

"Well, without getting into the minutia of theology, as of now, I'm our only source of healing, and I can only do that by asking God pretty please. So if I were to do something to piss him off, he could stop that, and we’d be SOL.”

“Are we sure he’d be that upset doing that here?” you ask, reasoning that a new world should have different rules.

“Well, considering that ‘don't have other gods’ is literally the first commandment he gave to Moses, and the disasters that befell the Hebrews whenever they did so, I’d rather not test it—any other questions?" he asks, tone signaling the end of the discussion. You wait a moment before answering. There’s one more thing you’ve been wanting to know, but you’d rather avoid another rambling spell from him. How did magic work? He could clearly cast it, and if they encountered other magic users, it would be crucial to understand how it works. Even just knowing how his healing worked could be important down the line.

“How does magic work?” you finally ask. Deciding that knowing was more important than avoiding his rambling. He looks at you, head tilted for a moment.

“I wasn’t expecting you to ask that,” he says, tucking his lips into his cheeks.

“Is it really that hard of a question?” you ask, seeing his reaction.

“In an objective way now, but explaining it in the world has some difficulties.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well,” he says, his tone signaling that you’ll need to stop more than one side tangent. “I genuinely hate it when a player acts as if their character has knowledge about the game system they wouldn’t. Like, just because the player knows exactly what their stats sheet looks like doesn't mean the character should. So I'm trying to think of how to explain it without breaking my own rules.”

“Would that still apply to us since we’re actively in the game and there’s no distinction between us as players and our characters? Like in a full dive game?” you ask, thinking back to a discussion you’d had with a tech major.

“Decent point,” he says, lips pulling back from his cheek. “But I’m leaning on the side of caution. So best to explain everything using in-universe lore.”

“Fine then,” you say, quickly running out of patience. “Just give me the brief rundown. What an average person would know.”

“Okay… Laymen’s knowledge…” he says, pointing fingers as if planning out a mental PowerPoint. “So there are a few kinds of magic, generally ranked in power by circles. They go from 9 to 0, or uncircled. This comes from way back when all spells required circles to cast, but then one mage—”

“Don’t care, didn't ask, what about your magic?” you ask, cutting off his ramble before it could start.

“Well, holy warriors like myself are divine half-casters. Meaning we can access up to 5th circle spells, and our spells are referred to as miracles because they originate from a deity. Unlike an arcane caster, such as a wizard or sorcerer, or a nature caster, like a druid. Thou, despite getting their magic from a patron warlocks—”

“You get magic from God, cool. What can you do with it?”

“Mostly healing and smite miracles. It's a lot more combat-focused than other magic users,” he says, finally keeping his explanation short.

“Is that what you did last night on me?”

“No, that’s known as ‘The Laying of Hands’, which is an ability unique to holy Warriors, not a miracle,” he explains. “It can heal and remove poison, but it’s a limited pool and can be overcharged. That’s why I could only heal you last night. I used up the whole pool on you, so there was nothing left for me.”

“So you can heal with that or with miracles then?” wondering where the limits were.

“Kinda,” he says, voice shaking. “Most divine miracles require a prayer of some kind. It’s unique to each deity, but something any priest or holy warrior would receive in their training. I don’t have that training, nor do I have spells memorized, so I have to rely doubly on God to help me remember what spells I should be able to cast, and then have Him bring them about.”

“So can we rely on your magic?” you ask, frustrated by his curving answers.

“No,” he says, definitely, without any doubt. “But you can always rely on God.” The words would've sounded cheesy if the situation weren't so dire. You had limited knowledge of fantasy, but knew magic was always an integral part. If you couldn't rely on it, then there was no telling what might happen. “Any more questions on magic?” he asks, like a kid running free in a candy store.

"No," you say, tiring of his rambles.

"Good, then let's plan out a long-term plan. Map, please," he says, changing the topic. You spread the parchment as your Father traces the coastline with a fingertip. He stares at it a moment, peering as if it's obscured, then moves to another table closer to the broken window.

"Okay, so if I'm correct, we should be somewhere around here," he says, circling an area labeled “Chista” in the center of the map.

"Wait a minute, if you know this map so well, then how come you didn’t recognize it earlier? You as.

“Intentional denial,” he says without missing a beat. “I instantly recognized it but dismissed the idea out of hand because it seemed too fantastical. Though I intentionally had us head West in the hopes of arriving at a human settlement.”

“What do you mean by human settlement? What else would we turn into? And don't you mean West?” you ask, firing off questions faster than he can answer.

“No, I mean East,” he says. “The cardinal directions are the same here, but the sun rises in the West and sets in the East.”

“Why would it do that?”

“Because it's my fantasy world and I can make it do whatever I want.” His words are definitive, leaving no room for discussion. “And I say human settlement because there are other fantasy races.” He says it so casually, as if it should be obvious despite the obviousness.

“What other races?”

“We, we’ve already met the goblins,” he says, sitting back in his chair and holding his fingers up to count. “In no particular order, you’ll find Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, Gnomes, Satyrs, Centaurs, Orcs, Konekiel, Kobolds, Merfolk…” he pauses when he runs out of fingers to count on, looking back to you. “Well, those are just a few. We likely won’t find all of them around here, mostly just Humans and Elves around here.”

“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” you ask, pushing him the map.

“Chista,” he says, pointing around the center of the map. “It refers to a region rather than any strict political entity. Think about how Europe, as a continent, doesn't have a strict border with Asia.”

“Okay,” you say, only half absorbing the info.

“We’ll find a lot of recent human settlements here, think colonial frontier America. That’s why the people have the Southern drawl.”

"So, which direction should we head to avoid the inquisition?" you ask.

"Well, we could head North to Opustoshennyye boli, an area of arctic tundra, full of nomadic humans and orcs. Their power is weak there, but because of that, there are actually heretical cults, and the orcs won't roll out a red carpet either.” You had a vague idea of what orcs are. Lumbering brutes that were generic enemies for fantasy. You had the impression they were stronger than goblins, so you thought it best to avoid them.

“What about in the South?”

“The South is more settled agriculturalists. Gradually shifting from Humans to Elves as you reach the Arden Forest, where Human expansion reaches an area Elves consider a homeland. With Seeker licenses, we can pass through Human settlements easily enough, but it'd still be best to avoid Elven towns."

"Because of the tension between Humans and Elves?"

"And because Elven ethnocentrism would make Austria's most infamous painter look multicultural." It takes a second for you to decode the euphemism, but by then, he's already pointing farther south. "Best bet is to head south toward Amstadan, inhabited by Gnomes, or beyond the map to the land of Centaurs and Satyrs. Both are fairly apathetic to Humans, not friendly, but at least not hostile. Either way, if we angle southwest towards the coast, we could—” he begins, stopped by a sound from below. He stands, hand already on his sword, eyes glossed over. He strides over to the ledge, only stopping when his hands grasp the railing. The thin railing breaks like a wave from his weight, cracking and falling below, almost taking your Father with it.

“Who’s there!” demands a voice from below. It’s startling, and familiar to you. You join your Father at the ledge, unsure why he didn't stop soon enough, and look down at the voice. A man stands covered in ash from head to toe, with bandages on his arms and head.

“William?” you call, and the man jumps. He peers up, as if struggling to see despite the ample light.

“I didn't mean to interrupt,” he calls, voice small and shaky.

“Quite the contrary, you could’ve come at a more fortuitous time,” your Father calls, his grin beaming through the darkness. “Would you mind coming up here?”

“Sure,” William says, fumbling around despite the ample light. He makes his way up the stairs, and your Father fetches him a chair to sit at.

“Now, son, didn't you have some questions about the area here? What things could our friend William answer?” His voice is smug, like he’s baiting you, but you’re too curious not to try.

“Mr.William, where does the sun rise and set?” William’s eyes flash open and then scowl, his face contorts as if you’ve asked him the most confusing question he’s ever heard, and you suppose maybe you have, but you need an answer all the same.

“It uh… Rises in the West and Sets in the East if that’s what you're asking.” Your heart sinks at his words. He had to be lying, or confused, or something else; no way you were in your Father’s made-up fantasy world.

“And where are we exactly?”

“Oh, we’re in New Tio. The village is hardly a decade old, though, so most maps wouldn't have it yet. I came trying to get the jump on trade, but—”

“No, like the region,” you interrupt.

“Do you mean Chista?” William asks, widening your Father’s grin as he confirms another detail. You keep badgering him with questions. Hoping and praying that one, just one, of his answers contradict your Father’s explanations, but they never do. Regions, Races, and Deities, William's answers are similar, if not the same, as your Father’s. You grow more and more manic, only tempered by Williams' growing unease. Eventually, your Father cuts in, ending your questioning with one of his own.

“Now, William, you 've been most kind and useful in answering my son 's questions, but do you think you could answer one or two of mine?”

“I suppose,” he says, clearly at his wits' end with questions.

“When we first met, you’d asked me to find someone, who was it exactly?” For the first time, William doesn't answer immediately. His fins clench and his lips pucker, as if he has to squeeze the answer from the core of his being.

“My daughter…” he finally says, bringing a new level of silence to the room. “I lost her in the raid… I’ve been looking everywhere but… There isn’t a trace of her… And if those… Those things got her then…” Your Father places a hand on Williams's shoulder, stopping his words. The two men look at each other for a moment before your Father speaks.

“Say no more.” his words are firm and gentle, as if conveying a whole conversation in three words. “I have a daughter as well. I have an idea what you must be feeling, and I promise you, we will do everything we can to save her.”

“You will?” William asks, voice rising for the first time.

“I give you my word.”

“Oh, thank you!” William says, grasping your Fathers hand and burning his face in it as he layers on praises. “She’s all I have left. I lost her mother years ago, so it's just been the two of us. A wagon is nowhere to raise a child, so I’ve been trying to scout new routes to save up, but the profit is only matched by the danger, so—”

“No need to explain,” your Father says, placing a hand on William's head. “Though, when we do succeed in reducing her might, we’ll come into possession of all the good the goblins have acquired. We’ll hardly be able to carry them back ourselves, so might we use your wagon?”

“I’d give you my wagon and both my legs if it means getting my daughter back,” William declares without a hint of hesitation.

“What use have I for your legs if they aren't attached?” your Father says with a chuckle. He directs William to prepare his wagon, clearing all the space he can, so they’ll be ready for a massive haul. William leaves with a spring in his step, as if his daughter were back already. Your Father returns to the table, an air of confidence surrounding him.

“Now, we just have to worry about assaulting the goblin camp. To that end, we’ll have to interrogate that prisoner Matt mentioned.”

"Are you expecting we can just walk in or?" you ask, rising from your seat.

"Nope. First, we split up."

"That's the worst idea you've had since we got here," you say deadpan. "Why split up?"

"Because I need to swap some equipment, and you need to find booze." You freeze, of everything he's said, this is perhaps the most confusing.

"Is this really the time for your drinking problem to rear its head?"

"First, I don't have a drinking problem," he snaps, an edge breaking through. "Second, it isn't for me, it's for the prisoner. And if it's strong, we can use it as a disinfectant."

"Why would we give the prisoner booze?"

"Loose lips sink ships," he says, like a practiced motto.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means leaked information sinks their ship, and we want all the information we can get. Any more questions?" He asks, sliding on his gauntlets and picking up his helmet. His words are short and uncompromising, like telling a child no, they can't have candy. You meet the eyes and come up empty. "Thought so," he says, putting on his helmet, satisfied. "Search this building while I swap gear. Regardless of what you find, we're going to that prisoner next." He hefts the greatsword, nods once, and heads for the stairs, leaving you alone in the half‑burned tavern.