Choose Your Catastrophe

Where your personality flaws become playable features.

Welcome, brave traveller, to the chapter where your story stops being hypothetical and starts collecting hit points. This is where you choose a Class—not in the ‘studied hard and passed the exam’ sense, but in the ‘tripped into a life-defining archetype while the cosmos laughed quietly’ sense.

Your Class is more than a combat role or a spell list. It’s the shape your Thread pulls into when the Pattern gets dramatic. It's how the multiverse decides whether you’ll blast your problems, punch them, seduce them, or quietly sabotage them with a lockpick and plausible deniability. In The Last Home, your Class is your narrative centre of gravity. It decides what kind of disaster you’ll be—and how stylishly you’ll fall apart when things get weird (which they will).

This chapter offers three things:

1. A fresh take on standard 5E classes, reframed through the lens of narrative tension, emotional gravity, and occasional genre whiplash. If you’ve played a bard before, great—this time, you’ll meet one who canonically knows where your lost dreams went and refuses to give them back.
2. The Magical Girl—our first original Class. It's sparkly, unhinged, and emotionally weaponised. Transformational combat meets metaphysical meltdown. The multiverse may not be ready. You are.
3. Space for more, because the Inn is always hiring. Expect new classes in future updates—things stitched together from the forgotten corners of old myths, genre clichés taken too seriously, and the questionable life choices of former players who are technically still screaming.

If you’re new to tabletop games: don’t panic. Classes aren’t complicated. They’re personality templates wrapped around a skillset. Pick the one that feels like your kind of mistake. You can be a noble paladin who has definitely read their own prophecy, a rogue who once stole a god’s password, or a druid who’s technically also a hedge.

And yes, you can mix and match classes later. That’s called multiclassing. It’s messy, narratively potent, and we’ll get to it later—once you’ve made peace with your first identity crisis.

For now, skim through the options. Imagine the music that plays when you enter a room. Think about whether you want to smite, ignite, heal, charm, rage, sneak, or sparkle. Especially sparkle.

Then pick a path. The Pattern’s already listening.

And it loves a good entrance.

"Most people choose their Class like it’s a job application. It isn’t. It’s a warning label. The multiverse doesn’t care if you meant to be a wizard. It cares if you’re narratively satisfying while doing it. Choose accordingly. And for Pattern’s sake, stop asking if you can be a wizard-barbarian-pirate with a talking sword. You can. But I won’t help you stat it."