Alejandro Ramirez didn't have what you'd call a "storybook" childhood.
No, his story was less "golden hero destined for greatness" and more "awkward kid who lived two steps behind everyone else."
Born in a cramped apartment on the south side of Houston, Alejandro's earliest memories were of sticky summers without air conditioning and secondhand books stacked in every corner like miniature skyscrapers. His mom worked two jobs, his dad… well, Alejandro didn't remember much about him except for the worn leather boots left behind in the hallway closet.
School wasn't a saving grace either. While other kids raced down soccer fields and shot hoops after class, Alejandro was the kid in the back corner of the library, nose buried deep in fantasy novels no one else seemed to read. The Lord of the Rings, The Wheel of Time, The Stormlight Archive—anything that could launch his mind out of his tiny, overheated reality.
Reality was…kind of overrated anyway.
The first time he stumbled into fantasy gaming was a total accident. He was eleven years old, tagging along with a cousin to a comic book shop called "Mythic Realms." He thought they were just going to pick up some Pokémon cards. Instead, Alejandro discovered a back room where a bunch of older teenagers were hunched over a cluttered table, rolling funny-shaped dice and speaking in voices that made them sound like kings, pirates, and demons.
He was hooked before he even knew what Dungeons & Dragons was.
Something about the way they became their characters, how they wove whole worlds out of imagination, hit Alejandro like a shot of electricity. It wasn't just escape; it was transcendence. You could be whoever you wanted—heroes, villains, gods—and the only limits were the ones you imagined.
From that moment on, Alejandro devoured every rulebook, watched every Critical Role episode he could find, and spent long nights scribbling down world maps, monster stats, and elaborate backstories for characters he might never even play.
When he finally made it to college—thanks to scholarships, sheer stubbornness, and a little bit of luck—he thought things might finally change. Maybe now he'd find his tribe. Maybe now he'd be one of the cool, confident nerds he'd always admired from afar.
Reality check: college was just a bigger, shinier version of the same game he never learned to play. Classes were fine, his grades decent. But socially? Alejandro still felt like he was rolling a Nat 1 every time he opened his mouth.
Still, he had his little joys. His growing D&D collection. His online games. The fantasy novels piled up beside his twin-size dorm bed. They kept him sane, kept him hopeful.
And that hope burned just a little brighter the day he stumbled across that post.
—
It was a lazy Thursday evening, the kind where time felt thick and heavy. Alejandro sat hunched over his laptop, halfway through writing a paper he didn't care about, when boredom nudged him into checking one of the many D&D forums he frequented.
[LFG: Apocalypse Campaign — Players Needed!]
The title was simple. Unremarkable, really. But something about it snagged him anyway.
He clicked.
{"Looking for 7 players.
Apocalypse-themed, dark fantasy setting.
Heavy RP (roleplay), mature themes.
No experience necessary.
Must be ready to commit to the end."}
Weirdly ominous, but Alejandro was intrigued. Plus, the poster hadn't even signed it with a name—just an empty avatar and the user ID: DM.EXE.
Alright, Alejandro thought, probably some edgy teenager trying to sound cool.
Still, the idea of a serious, dark campaign sounded thrilling. He loved the thought of characters fighting to survive in a dying world, of building alliances, facing betrayals, carving out a piece of hope from the ashes.
And maybe, he thought, it's finally my turn to be someone important in a story.
Without overthinking it (a miracle in itself), he sent a quick message.
["Hey, I'm interested! Got a character concept in mind already if you'll have me."]
Seconds later, a message popped back.
["Welcome, Player Eight. Make sure your character is ready. The world is waiting."]
No pleasantries. No DM interview. Just… acceptance.
Strange, sure. But Alejandro wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He already had a character idea burning in his brain anyway—a mage unlike any he'd played before.
A wandering sorcerer with a fractured mind. A man who heard voices from beyond the veil, voices that sometimes told the truth and sometimes whispered beautiful lies. A schizophrenic spellcaster who wielded chaos not just as a weapon, but as a worldview.
Alejandro poured his heart into crafting Marshal Yusuf. He spent hours on the character sheet, balancing raw magical potential with debilitating flaws, writing detailed journal entries from Yusuf's "voices," and picking out spells that weren't just powerful but weird.
This wasn't just another character. It was going to be his magnum opus.
—
The night of the first session arrived.
Alejandro sat at his desk, laptop open, headphones on, character sheet ready, heart thudding against his ribs.
Seven other players filled the group chat, each using their character names. Some bantered casually. Some typed short, tense messages. But all of them seemed excited, a little jittery.
The DM's text box stayed silent for a long time.
Then, at exactly midnight, a single message appeared.
["Welcome, adventurers.
Prepare yourselves.
Roll initiative… for your souls."]
Alejandro blinked. Alright, dude, chill.
He chuckled and typed a quick "LOL" into the chat.
But even as he laughed, a strange sensation crept over him. The room felt… heavier somehow. The air thickened, like he was breathing through wet cloth. His fingertips tingled against the keys. His eyes… his eyes…
Stay awake, he thought, shaking his head violently. C'mon, man. It's gotta be just nerves. Probably low blood sugar or something.
The laptop screen blurred. His vision doubled. Panic flared.
No. Please. Gotta, stay—stay awake!
He pushed up from his chair, stumbling toward the mini-fridge, desperate for water, food, anything.
But his legs didn't listen. His body was betraying him, falling, crumpling—
The last thing Alejandro saw was the harsh white glare of his laptop screen, a final message flickering across it:
"Good luck."
Then—
Darkness.
—
Consciousness returned slowly, like a bruised balloon rising through black water.
The first thing Alejandro noticed was the smell. Damp earth. Rotting leaves. Cold, metallic air.
The second thing was sound. Rustling trees. Distant, inhuman screeches. His own ragged breathing.
The third thing—the thing that jolted him fully awake—was the feel of the ground beneath him: rough soil, sharp twigs digging into his palms.
Where am I?
His heart hammered against his ribs. He forced his eyes open.
He wasn't in his dorm room.
He was lying on a patch of dirt, surrounded by gnarled trees that twisted up into a misty, colorless sky. Shadows moved at the edges of his vision, but whenever he turned to look, they vanished.
Panic gripped him, wild and primal.
He scrambled to his feet—and froze.
His hands weren't his.
Gone were his bitten nails, his slender, callused fingers from years of gaming and typing. Instead, he saw long, strong hands adorned with silver rings and faint, arcane markings that glowed softly under his skin.
A long, dark cloak clung to his frame, its hem torn and fluttering. A belt of pouches, scrolls, and a heavy tome rested against his hip. A blue crystal dangled from a chain around his waist, pulsing with faint light.
He staggered backward, nearly tripping over a tree root.
In the distance, he saw figures stirring—seven of them. Vague shapes, groaning, sitting up, clutching at their heads and looking just as bewildered as he felt.
Realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.
This can't be happening. This can't be real.
But it was.
He knew this body.
He drafted it after all.
He didn't know this world though.
But he knew his name.
Marshal Yusuf.