The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

The Patron of the Sun’s dark scales shimmered in the wake of his sudden pronouncement. From the hard lines of his expression, he truly meant that this issue with the Lizakh was more important than liberating the other Patrons.

For the first time since they arrived within the Sanctum, Velio Dunn’s reaction to the presence of the ancient seals or the Patrons themselves wasn’t the excitement of an awed child. Edraine was glad to know that she hadn’t hitched her wagon to a complete idiot. The tattooed man rubbed his collarbone uneasily. “You… Patron, I know how important your people are, but we have larger issues. The current Nexus is filled with chaos; Elhume is a shadow of his former-”

“Don’t you dare,” A new feminine voice bubbled up from the other side of the Sanctum. It was a life that hit them like a physical presence, bubbling over them like a cool stream. “Say that name here.”

Edraine turned and looked toward the source. Across the Sanctum, under the unmistakable mark of the Patron of Blooms, a being made entirely of wound and tied plant matter pressed her hand against the barrier at the edge of her cell. Whereas the Patron of the Sun released an aura of intensity, this one oozed abundance. Her entire existence seemed to explode out of its confines in bristling green bouquets. Less than an actual living being, this Patron of Blooms looked more like a grass doll, with heavy vine ties restricting disparate elements that had been forced together into a humanoid shape.

Most notably, however, were the sharp and furious lines of her face that gave Edraine the private impression that calling this being the “kindest of all the Patrons” was a gross exaggeration. Thorny stalks formed the sharp ridge of her nose and cheekbones, only implying her eyes by leaving that portion of her head empty. Edraine didn’t find the vacuum reassuring in the slightest.

It was a timely reminder that these beings they were now freeing were powerful individuals who had stood at the top of the Nexus… but might have been rendered slightly unstable after thousands of years' worth of isolation.

But perhaps the rest are simply even crueler than this Patron. She earned the moniker of ‘kind’ by default. Edraine cast a sideways glance at the Patron of the Sun, who immediately upon his liberation wished to bring retribution upon the individual who was stealing away his people. Edraine’s forearms twinged, visited by the ghost of the intense image that had burned her earlier.

“You are awake? That makes things easier.” The Patron of the Sun nodded over toward the Patron of Bloom’s cell. “You two, work on liberating that tenacious weed. Meanwhile, I need to locate this audacious fellow.”

The Patron of the Sun’s eyes began to glow with golden light as he raised his gaze and peered out into the wider Nexus. “Now, do you really think you can hide from me…? Eh-?”

While the Patron of the Sun’s self-righteousness slowly faded to confusion, Velio’s backbone continued to function, at least partly. He offered the former prisoner a half-bow, but his tone was firm. “Patron, please assist us. Without your power, it is difficult for the two of us to pierce the barrier-”

“He can’t help you,” The Patron of Blooms sneered, the thorned vines that constituted her lips twisting. “If any of the Patrons manifest their image within the Sanctum area, especially outside their cells, a very particular kind of barrier is triggered. One that would likely kill you two before you even noticed what was happening. To prevent any of us lucky enough to escape from freeing the rest.”

The plant Patron’s gaze went to the empty cells of the Patron of Feathers, Deep, and Borrowed.

“So you’ve taken precautions,” The Patron of the Sun kept frowning, speaking to some distant adversary. “A novel method, remaining within the Nexus yet segregating this space as other… but mark my words, when the radiant light of my sun eventually finds you-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” The Patron of Blooms interrupted. Then she turned to regard Velio and Edraine. “By the way, how are my people? The Soul Plants? Ah, I cannot wait to see what sort of growths have been made since I’ve been locked away~”

Edraine glanced sideways at Velio. Finding a new method of utilizing her image had been rewarding, but her patience was wearing thin. And her expectations for a reward for this behavior was quickly vanishing. “Is this bickering what you had in mind when you wanted my help to release the Patrons?”

“Patrons, please.” Velio Dunn spread his hands out in front of him. “Something has gone terribly wrong in the Nexus. Almost all of the other guards that were supposed to keep the location of the Sanctum safe have died. I suspect that some cabal lurks in the shadows, orchestrating a plot to cut off the Nexus from its greatest heroes-”

“What cabal?” The Patron of Blooms folded two green arms across her chest. “If you want to know who has been killing you, look no further than the Patrons that have already escaped. Who wants their old rivals to show back up?”

*****

At Neveah’s direction, they rolled up the screen over their stand at 10:30 sharp. The dirt footpaths around the festival grounds were still mostly populated by hurrying workers trying to prepare for the prophesized avalanche of bodies once the tournaments were over, but a few actual customers wandered about, unwilling to brave the crowds in the packed or uninterested in the various competitions.

Claudette found the sleepiness of the arrangement oddly reassuring. Seeing so literally the way the massively populated city around her could stir and transition to wakefulness as slowly as a bear rousing itself on a chilly spring day gave her the strangest insight into how her image could remain dormant most of the time. Now that she had a handle over the frigid desolation of Clarent, she didn’t need to walk around like a rusted radioactive barrel, constantly leaking dangerous residue into the surroundings.

The image was hers, but she was more than just the image.

Claudette paused in her mental practice scenarios and glanced over her shoulder to the back area, which produced not even the slightest hint of an image. Both Randidly and Neveah are so powerful, yet their images seem to fit so perfectly within their own skin… is this how they manage it? By having a well-grounded sense of self.

Even now, she remembered vividly feeling like an observer in her own life. Claudette kept herself distracted, but sometimes her secret fears liked to hint that it would be tragically simple for her to revert to her helpless prior self.

Then the sound of footsteps pulled her back around to the front: it was time for her first customer.

Just as she had practiced so many times, Claudette explained the menu, took the order and shouted it over her shoulder, and then received the bills from the customer and carefully set aside the correct change. Not that the currency of Expira was difficult or complex, but she wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly. She offered the middle-aged woman the crisply counted bills and the steaming cup of food. “Here you go, ma’am. I hope you enjoy your soup.”

“Now aren’t you just the most adorable thing?” The woman cooed. Then she dropped a $5 bill onto the wooden counter before turning away. Claudette opened her mouth to tell the woman that she dropped the bill, but the motion had obviously been purposeful. Could she have mistakenly given the woman incorrect change?

And she felt such pity that she left charity for Claudette?

“Katrina,” Claudette called as she turned to her right. There was a low wooden wall between the front portions of the stands, but it did not prevent smells and noise from traveling freely between the row of stalls underneath the massive tent. Despite the fact that most of the foods here were made with the most meager of ingredients (aside from Neveah’s stews, due to her growing her own vegetables in a garden) Claudette felt her stomach rumble in response to the tantalizing aromas.

Katrina hopped onto a stool so she could swing her legs over the barrier. When she scooted herself over the edge and landed, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes. Her tone clearly mimicked her mother’s professionalism, made parody by her high-pitched voice. “What do you need?”

Claudette hid a smile and pointed to the bill on the counter. “After I gave our first customer her food, she left some extra money. Do you have any idea why?”

“Oh yes,” Katrina bounded up and snatched the money off the counter. Then she used the bill to fan herself. “This is a tip. Customers give it when you do a good job- oh, you don’t even have a tip jar? You must have done a really good job if you got a tip without a tip jar.”

Claudette called over her shoulder for a jar for tips and D’min walked out with a glass jar. She stiffened immediately; Claudette felt the strangest electric buzz between the two of them since they had been first introduced. The closer they came to each other, the stronger her image seemed to tug her toward him. She hastily pressed down the front of her apron, careful to control Clarent’s radiation around Katrina. It was difficult to listen to the young girl explain what she was going to buy with her tip money after the festival as D’min moved forward and set the jar down on the wooden counter with a loud thump.

He kept his eyes low, barely acknowledging her, seeming perfectly capable of ignoring the electrical storm crackling between their bodies. Unless he really couldn’t feel it? Was it all in her head?

To her, there was the strangest sense of incongruence between them. Like she felt like she should know this man, could almost feel him walking around in her inner world. Yet the version in front of her felt different in a way that aroused her curiosity.

Claudette had to suppress an urge to reach out and grab his elbow, just to feel something definite. Because her instincts told her that if they touched right now-

“What will you buy with your tips, Mr. D?” Katrina asked D’min. When she didn’t think he was looking, the young girl gaped at his scales, clearly fascinated by his reptilian body.

The Lizakh warrior raised his gaze, but not to look at the girl. No, his gaze gripped Claudette for a long moment and she was suddenly so sure that he felt the same strange magnetism between them. Then, with a great effort, he turned to look at the young girl. To Claudette’s surprise, his whole demeanor shifted. The strained yearning was gone, replaced with a friendly ease. He kneeled down next to her and shrugged. “I believe I will have some free time later, on the last day of the festival. I have a younger brother, about your age; I think I’ll buy him some local delicacies and take them back to him.”

“Where do you lizards live?” The girl asked. “I’ve seen ogres and frogpeople and Lancers, but never talking lizards.”

“We call ourselves the Lizakh,” D’min corrected gently. Then his expression showed some hesitation. “We… we live to the Northeast of Donnyton, in the wastes. Or we used to. Most of our cities… well, we suffered greatly during the Calamity. So now I’m not sure-”

The rest of his explanation was cut off by a powerful surge of joy that spread out from the North. Claudette raised her head and peered forward. The celebratory emotion seemed strangely inappropriate, set against the grey and overcast sky. Somehow, all of the individuals in Donnyton served as image intermediaries, accepting and rebroadcasting the initial surge of joy until the whole of the city rose in an unconscious harmony.

“What’s that?” Katrina asked, looking out of the stall with wide eyes.

D’min stepped forward to get a better look. Claudette wondered if the Lizakh noticed that the step also brought him closer to her. “The people of Donnyton revere the capable. I heard that this acceptance of achievement created a strange sort of meta-image over the city… but this is the first time I’ve felt it in action.”

“Powerful,” Claudette said quietly. Her fingers twitched, watching to scratch the itch of the potent charge between their bodies but feeling vaguely weird about doing so right above Katrina’s head.

“Kat? Come back over here.” Katrina’s mother walked out of her own cooking area, tying her apron around her waist. “Time to get ready; since the tournament is over, the people will be coming soon.”

Katrina left, but not so quickly as D’min did, turning and moving silently back toward the kitchen area. Claudette fussed with her uniform, feeling an inscrutable sense of disappointment.

Maybe this is just a strange side effect of the image…? Claudette refused to allow herself to look at D’min’s departing form. To do so would be foolish. What would she learn by looking at him now?

She turned and glanced toward the kitchen before straightening. Coincidentally, she caught a flash of his scales as the door closed behind him. This feeling… isn’t so bad, I suppose. Better than the depression or isolation.

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