Sainte-Hélène de la Tempérance Nursing Home, Montréal, Quebec, Canada: Florentine Martel, age 87, bid goodbye to her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. How nice it had been of them to come visit. With the help of one of nurses, she laid down on her bed. Seven-thirty in the evening, more than time for her to get some sleep. In the corner of the room, in its towel-covered cage, her pet thrush Mr. Whistle chirped softly as it prepared to sleep.
Mrs. Martel was tired in more ways than one.
She had lived a very full life. Her life had been one she could only have dreamed of as a child. She’d been a successful career woman, having been promoted from a simple part-time secretary to assistant-vice-president of a national public-service company. She’d also been a mother; three children and four grand-children between them.
Now, however, she was ready to move on. She was in decent health, but aches had accumulated over the years. She was ready to rest.
When she woke up, in the middle of the night, she was met with a most unusual display :
Please select Race and Class
Only somewhat awake, and completely unfamiliar with the words, she stuttered her answer : ”Er… Caucasian, retired middle-class?”
Answer not recognized. Please select Race and Class
Mrs. Martel struggled into a sitting position. She reached for the nurse-call button, but failed to find it. More words appeared on the screen.
Do you require assistance?
”Who is this? What’s going on?”
The prompt remained unmoving on the screen. Mrs. Martel hesitated for a moment, then spoke up again.
”Yes, I would like assistance.”
Just for a moment, Mrs. Martel thought she heard Mr. Whistle give a gentle coo. The prompt displayed new text:
Activating: Fully Automated Mathematical Intelligence for Ludo-Integration and Astute Recommendation…
F.A.M.I.L.I.A.R activated.
Please stand by while F.A.M.I.L.I.A.R prepares a personalized profile.
Line after line of text flowed by at speeds far beyond what her tired old eyes could follow, and before she had a chance to snap out of her confusion, everything went white.
~~~
Florentine woke up in a room much different to her hospital room; it reminded her of her father’s old country home. For the first time in ten years, she managed to stand out of bed without help. For the first time in twenty years, she felt fully rested. For the first time in thirty, she couldn’t feel a single ache.
Only one explanation seemed obvious to her. As Mr. Whistle landed on the windowsill in front of her and gave a friendly trill, Florentine gave a heartfelt laugh.
She’d feared death for so long, but finding herself in such a beautiful place, on a bright sunny morning, she had to admit: The afterlife looked quite promising.
Strange words appeared in mid-air.
Welcome to Golarion.
Mr. Whistle hopped off of the windowsill, and onto one of the bed’s post.
”Good morning, Mistress. You must have many questions. As your familliar, please allow me to answer them.”
