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Remort
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Back then I was a giant, known far and wide as the ravenous leviathan, perhaps due to my penchant for tossing beastly fidos down like peanuts... I preferred them lightly salted. After a rapid rise through the levels and some titanic struggles in Nine Hells, I was considering the prospect remort, and feeling some anxiety about it.
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My race counselor in Midgaard had suggested I go with dwarf. Giant was great for a single class warrior, but awkward for a creature attempting to encompass the arcane capabilities of the cleric. I knew I had to take cleric. A brush with obliteration by a buxom and belligerent tier 8 in the combat zone had me contemplating my mortality and my sinful nature. I wanted to get right with the divine forces.
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So I said aye to dwarf and spent a few weeks at giants anonymous, talking with other individuals of preposterous bulk and stature about just how ridiculous it was being a giant - how difficult it was to find a decent pair of bowling shoes, for example. Eventually, I felt ready to take the plunge. Not only would I remort into cleric class, I would rebuild as a dwarf.
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They say the remort chamber is different for everyone, as the projections and peccadilloes of each personality come into play. The room appeared dark and cramped to me and I was barely able to settle into what seemed to be an overstuffed easy-chair. I had expected something clean and clinical, with perhaps a hot bath available for a thorough scrubbing before remort, but no such luck. The room was almost crumbling and smelled of molasses. Tattered Aerosmith posters clung to the walls.
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I settled in and began working my way through the list of commands. Got burned badly on the rauction. No one told me maces were passe among the lemming-like masses of the aardrealm. Finally, I was set and simply pulled the remort lever. What followed might be described as a precipitous descent into unbeing. The room was gone and I experienced my gargantuan bulk liquefy into a gelatinous porridge, then evanesce into a shimmering vapor, and then dwindle into void. I was nothing. I was atman/Brahman, the pure consciousness in which the intricate concatenations of the manifest realm arise. I was prior to all complexity and to all anxious adherence to such complexity. I was pure bliss.
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And at this point one might say that I was no longer an I. At this point one might say I was no longer a point and the endless articulation of elliptical illocutionary acts by the esurient onto-teleological entities of the manifest realm seemed merely beside the point. Or so I now maintain.
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In any case, at some point I found myself congealing into the form of a dwarf. It now seemed entirely logical that I was, and had always been, a dwarf. My interest in baking seemed abated and I rose from my chair with a sudden passion for metallurgy. I would descend into the mines and seek out precious metals.