Prelude

The details are fuzzy. Not sure if it's the alcohol or if it is just meant to be told that way. It's a story like many others yet not like any. However as strange as this tale is, it starts fairly similar to most. So let me know if you've heard this one.

It's a dark and stormy night. And through the rainy haze and dark grey cracks in the sky, there sits a Bar at the middle of a country crossroads. This bar is very much by itself, with not another lit building as far as can be seen. The bar has no vehicles parked out front, yet the barkeep knows that he will have visitors often enough.

Out of the rain and into the bar stumbles a man whose expression matches the weather outside. We will call him Charles.

Charles is a moderately dressed man. His suit is well tailored and worn. New Shirt, and a tie that was probably a gift from a kid. It is something that someone might wear to a family reunion or holiday at Mom's house. Except the expression. It did not match. It spoke of defeat, of funerals and broken promises. It was of a life not worth living.

Charles came in a daze and sat down at the bar. Other than the barkeep, he was alone.

The barkeep, a rather elderly yet stout man, poured a pint, and passed Charles the glass. "What troubles you my son?"

Charles took a sip. "The world is broken."

The barkeep furled his brow. He had soothed many souls at this establishment, and most told of specific problems. And through all his years as a Barkeep he had never been met with such a blanket statement.

"Tell me what you mean"

Charles looked at his glass, and with a blank expression, he started, "For the vast majority of the world, you will only get what you started with. If you start poor you will die poor. If you start dumb you will finish that way as well. No amount of effort will help a paralyzed person walk again. We are given the hand we are dealt and it is inherently unfair to 99% of the world".

The barkeep asked "What about there being a plan for happiness for all of God's children?"

Charles' eyes turned to anger. "Then explain terminal cancer in children. Explain how my wife died giving birth to my son. Explain that due to his illness he was never able to play outside with other kids." Charles' rant continued, "Explain how the only thing to save him would have been a transplant from a parent. I found out I was not my son's biological father because I was not a match. I would have given my life for him. Instead I watched him wilt away like a flower waiting for the rain. I watched him die."

The Barkeep struggled to digest this. Chance was supposed to be the fairest system. But it had failed Charles. He knew of Charles' life. He had led a good one. He volunteered at a crisis hotline. He spent his remaining days helping until the depression swallowed him.

"So yeah, if I ever meet God, I will tell him his system sucks, and the struggle of life is only worth living for the one percent that live off the misery of those below."

The Barkeep was stunned. He was unsure how to address this. He knew that humanity had been heading down a darker path, but it wasn't the first time in history.

Charles finished his glass. Just as he did, another man entered the bar. This man wore a crisp suit, and carried a black umbrella, which explained why he was dry despite the weather outside. This stranger started to walk up ton the bar to sit next to Charles, but the Barkeep gave a slight shake. The stranger took pause, and instead sat at a booth and pulled out a menu.

The Barkeep spoke to Charles, "So what would be your plan? If you could remake the world into anything, what would you do?"

Charles smiled, "I would give everyone a choice. Let them choose who they want to be. And I would equal the entire playing field. I would give the same value to those who strengthen their body as to those that strengthen their mind. And I would remove the current limits on what humans can achieve or become."

Barkeep smiled, "And how would you do this?"

Charles had a sad smile now. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. Due to his son's illness, Charles had spent the majority of time with his child playing games inside, and the game that his son enjoyed to play the was a tabletop roleplaying game called Curses and Catacombs. He kept his son's character sheet in his pocket. His son, who wanted to be a knight who could also cast spells.

The barkeep listened to his explanation of this man-made system. "But life is about struggle. If we make anything within imagination attainable, what will there be to struggle against? And the magic mentioned in this game, where would it come from?" Charles laughed. "Where do you want me to start?"