When Anthony opened his eyes, he found himself in a pitch-black world surrounded by gray and black rock formations, with no sky in sight.
After a moment of thought, his draconic instincts told him this was most likely the Underdark.
The place bards called the land untouched by starlight, home to all manner of twisted monsters, and the exiled realm of the drow elves and duergar.
He blinked. This wasn't that strange temple. His draconic darkvision allowed his crimson eyes to adjust instantly, rendering everything within 120 yards as clear as daylight.
Once he'd acclimated, he noticed several humanoids lying unconscious on the ground—men and women, even gnolls.
How did I get here? A flicker of unease ran through him. Given his strength and magic resistance, someone had effortlessly transported him to another world in an instant. Such power was beyond even a legendary archmage without a magic circle.
Only a deity could manage this.
Is this a trial from Mother Goddess Tiamat? Anthony pondered. But he wasn't one of Tiamat's devout believers. That didn't make sense…
Before he could figure it out, he remembered the object clutched in his hand. Lifting the pocket watch, his expression twisted into a mix of delight and dread.
Refresh Orb (Damaged)
Unique Item (Repairable/Upgradable)
Item Effects: Resets the wielder's condition, restoring all abilities to their original state. Does not heal physical or mental injuries.
Side Effect: Once equipped, the wielder's every minute will only last 59 seconds. Effect is mandatory upon binding.
Warning: This item is severely damaged. Each use requires one year of wear to recharge. To restore its full power, seek repairs immediately.
Description: This battered pocket watch was once a favored artifact of a mysterious entity. Now broken, it carries an irreversible side effect.
Astonishing.
This thing was powerful—extremely powerful. Anthony's first thought was how it could restore his spell slots and Dragon's Breath.
But for a low-tier mage who could only cast up to 3rd-level spells, it was like using a cannon to kill a mosquito—utterly impractical.
In the hands of a high-tier or legendary archmage, though? Now that would be terrifying.
But the side effect gave him pause.
One less second per minute, one less minute per hour, twenty-four fewer minutes per day. Over a year, that meant nearly five days lost. A century would cost over a year of his life.
A brutal trade—time forcibly stolen.
Calling myself a "membrane mage" was just childish nonsense. But losing lifespan over a couple of recited verses? That's a raw deal.
Selling it was out of the question. This was a life-saving trump card.
Whatever. Useful or not, I'm keeping it.
As Anthony busied himself, the unconscious gnolls twitched their fingers. Half a second later, they sprang upright like a flipped turtle.
Anthony saw them but stayed silent, unsure of the situation. No reason to engage with lesser beings yet.
The gnolls showed no panic, crouching to scan their surroundings. Only after confirming no threats did they relax.
Then they spotted Anthony standing nearby and let out a grating, shrill laugh. "This batch of newcomers has decent quality, huh?"
If not for his commitment to playing the silent expert, Anthony would've blasted them with Dragon's Breath right then.
This isn't how it's supposed to go…
As the gnolls woke, the others—men and women—stirred too. But not all had darkvision, and being dumped in a strange land left them frantic. Curses and panicked shouts filled the air.
The gnolls suddenly roared, the sound like thunder.
The deafening noise made the weaker ones clutch their ears. One mortal even passed out.
Anthony remained unmoved. Compared to a giant dragon's roar, this was nothing.
Still, he stayed quiet, waiting for the seemingly knowledgeable gnolls to speak.
Satisfied by the silence, the gnolls nodded, then leapt onto a nearby rock with agility belying their kind's usual clumsiness.
They pulled a candle from their pack, its flame illuminating their grotesque face. Calmly, they addressed the group:
"Don't panic. Think back. What happened just before this? You'll understand."
The crowd fell into thought. Then a handsome young man answered, "I remember… a voice in my head. 'Are you tired of your current life? Do you wish to know the true world?' I said yes, then everything went black. Next thing I knew, I was here."
Others nodded. The gnolls continued, "Exactly. This is the Trial Grounds of the Overdeity. Where the Chosen are forged. But it's also hell for the cowardly—a graveyard for the ordinary."
The group looked stunned. Anthony, meanwhile, felt like he'd been scammed.
The gnoll went on, "We've been abruptly taken from our old lives and brought here to endure trials of life and death. By fulfilling His will and completing the assigned tasks, we earn Divine Favor. This Favor can be exchanged for useful items and power-ups. Anything we gain during missions can also be taken back to our original worlds."
A thin, short figure raised their hand. "Uh… Mr. Gnoll, what should we call you?"
"You may address me as Master Yoda."
"...Master, then—why do we have to go through this? I just want to go home."
Yoda suddenly tossed the candle into the air. Before it could fall, he flipped upside down, kicked it mid-air with his foot, then pushed off with his arms to land back on the boulder—catching the candle effortlessly.
After this dazzling display, he asked, "Did anyone notice anything?"
A sweet-faced girl sneered. "Wow, what amazing acrobatics. You used to work in a circus, didn't you?"
Yoda smiled faintly, unbothered by her ignorance.
The rest were clueless. Anthony, however, provided the answer: "If I'm not mistaken, that was a Monk's training sequence. And that roar earlier—are you a Monk?"
The others on the ground clearly doubted it. A gnoll holding a profession was strange enough, but a chaotic lesser being ascending to the monastic discipline of a Monk?
That defied all logic.
Yet Yoda nodded, pointing skyward with reverence. "This one guessed correctly. I am a Monk. Before coming here, I was ostracized for being different from my kin—until the day I heard the Overdeity's call."
"Here, my comrades and I strove to overcome His trials. After two missions, I used my Divine Favor to strengthen myself and purchase the path of Monkhood. Now, I am a seventh-level Traditional Monk of the Good-aligned path—as you've just witnessed."
The young man from earlier asked, "Master, you mentioned teammates… Where are they?"
Yoda lowered his head, eyes glistening. "The Overdeity's tasks are never without peril. Casualties are commonplace. My last mission was a terrifying nine-person trial—one step below the deadliest ten-person difficulty. Before we could even complete the first objective, we encountered a band of powerful mind flayers. My comrades… were all enslaved by those beasts, left there forever."
"Then how did you escape, Master?"
Yoda's face twisted bitterly. "Mind flayers only enslave those they deem useful or desirable. And as you see, I am a gnoll—a lesser race found everywhere across worlds. They ignored me. Otherwise, I'd have shared their fate instead of standing here to guide you."
He turned to the young man calmly. "Listen well. You're a Paladin, yes? Remember this: do not recklessly use Detect Evil in the party."
"Why?"
"Chosen come from all corners of existence, with clashing temperaments. Death here is permanent. Our goal is to complete missions, earn Divine Favor, and grow stronger."
"To survive, we must unite all possible allies, tolerate their flaws, and set aside Alignment dogma—even if it costs us dignity. Everything is for survival."
A heavy silence fell. Some were horrified by the brutality; others saw it as a chance to grow stronger, steeling their resolve to live.
Then Anthony spoke: "If we complete missions, we return to our worlds. But does that mean our teammates are from different worlds? How long can we stay between missions? Does time flow the same here?"
Before Yoda could answer, a striking woman snapped, "Watch your tone! Master Yoda survived multiple missions. His wisdom is invaluable—you will address him properly!"
Anthony's lips curled slightly. Flames flickered in his palm.
The woman recoiled, but Yoda waved it off. "Titles mean nothing. To answer: yes, we hail from different worlds—Toril, Greyhawk, Golarion (Pathfinder), Warhammer (Old World), and countless others."
After a mission, we return instantly to our worlds and rest for a hundred days. When time's up, we reappear here exactly as we left—no one notices.
"One rule above all: never reveal your identity as a trial-taker. The Overdeity will erase you. Do not doubt His divine power."
The group gasped. Death for a slip of the tongue? Control over time? Even deities couldn't wield such might. The Trial Grounds lived up to its name.
Fear and anticipation stirred in their hearts.
But Anthony's mood soured. The gnoll's words aligned with his suspicions—and a grim reality loomed.
Yoda had dodged a critical point.
Their party had seven members, with only one surviving veteran… and his strength was mediocre at best.
If ten was the highest difficulty, this mission wouldn't be easy.
Then, a cold, authoritative voice echoed in their minds simultaneously:
[Stage One Mission: Reach Menzoberranzan within three days and infiltrate the city.]
[Success: 1,000 Divine Favor per Chosen.]
[Failure: Elimination.]