The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Kirkrik Rrshk spent the next morning shooing away the sour squatters who hadn’t been willing to give up on the delicious food after eating it for a week. They tried to ambush him once, but he responded with that same golden laugh and fought off seven humans. They cursed him as lizard scum and swore their revenge.

When Kirkrik came back, Bethyl patted his back. “You might not look like us, but you’ve got more humanity than all those shits combined.”

Kirkrik laughed, awkward but warm.

Within a month, word had spread to the small-sized refugee camps that B’s Crossing was the best place to restock either leaving the Northern Zones or before you tried to get back into civilized lands. It just so happened that it was only about twenty miles Southwest of a major entry point. Most groups would adjust their routes to stop by and try some of the food. The guides told other refugee trains their encounters with the place and even more medium-sized groups began to swing through.

During that period, it was the time without any large groups gathered outside their rather hastily assembled tent that was the most dangerous. Twice they were robbed, with several individuals more powerful than Kirkrik giving them no choice but to silently give a portion of their money.

Two and a half months after they began, the arrival of two groups at the same time overburdened B’s Crossing’s productive capabilities to the point that most customers left dissatisfied with the service they had received. Randy panicked, but Bethyl just recruited some reliable migrant laborers to dig the foundation and construct an actual building to house tables and the kitchen area. She also had the foresight to add a rather large warehouse to the side.

Four months saw them hire more and more employees, mostly non-human refugees that wandered Expira. At the time Randy had been somewhat touched and told Bethyl that she liked how many weirdos they hired.

Bethyl laughed and mussed her hair. “Well, yes, that’s an added benefit. But I’m more worried about us getting robbed again. These refugees… we are probably the first people to show them kindness. And they will settle their families down around us, so long as we feed and pay them. When robbers come the next time, we won’t be alone.”

At six months, two things of note happened. The first was that a merchant from Zone 32 that wanted to set up a shop next to B’s Crossing. Bethyl offered to rent him the still abandoned warehouse and recommend some good employees and the deal was signed within the day. Second, the increase in foot traffic as B’s Crossing became something of a tourist destination meant that the restaurant area needed to be expanded again. Which meant that more individuals needed to be hired to keep the operation running smoothly.

Six and a half months since the beginning of their venture, a large group of bandits rode into town with dollar signs in their eyes. Contrary to Bethyl’s hopes, the group of migrants didn’t step out of their driftwood and sheet metal hovels in valiant defense of the store. The bandit group sauntered to the front of B’s Crossing and kicked in the door. Randy practically had to use all of their weight to keep Kirkrik from rushing out there and facing them all alone.

She still remembered how hot his scales felt, how furious his eyes were.

To Randy’s surprise, Bethyl didn’t seem fazed by how many rough-looking bandits filed into the diner. She just smiled and asked what they would like. Perhaps annoyed by the proprietress's response, the squat man who led the group of bandits brought a gauntleted fist down on a table. The mundane wood shattered and splintered. Bethyl’s smile did not.

From the back area, two tall individuals road in on strange, chitinous creatures. They had to stoop so as not to knock their foreheads against the ceiling. They weren’t identical; one’s mount was squat and hoppy, while the others possessed long limbs and an ungainly gait. Bethyl gestured to them happily. “These, as I’m sure you’ll recognize, are some of the Ghosthound’s riders. They’ve been kind enough to agree to stay here for the foreseeable future.”

The leader of the bandits measured the two with his eyes. Then he coughed, took a seat, and ordered the daily special. Next to Randy, Takeyhands chittered happily. “There might only be two versus a whole group, but Riders are special. They were made by the Ghosthound. And if you don’t erase all witnesses, killing a weaker Rider means that you’ll be hunted by the stronger ones. And chkchit, heh, I’m a pretty hard witness to catch.”

“But why would Riders help us?” Randy whispered. Takeyhands looked at her and chittered again, but didn’t answer.

At nine months, Bethyl blindfolded Randy and led them halfway up the dusty hill. They could tell they moved a little West into the hills, but Randy couldn’t for the life of them figure out what was going on. Dread filled their heart, as they worried Bethyl had discovered some truth about them that would mean-

Bethyl pulled off the blindfold. “So? What do you think?”

Randy scratched their cheek. A neat-looking wooden building sat underneath a rock outcropping. With the way the shadows fell, it was likely hidden from the main path. “It’s a house. Did you find it here? That’s strange.”

Bethyl rolled her eyes and squeezed Randy’s cheeks. “It’s our house, you dummy. We move in tomorrow. Go on in; you’ve got your own room. You can start decorating whenever you are ready.”

And at eleven months and a week after they opened their restaurant for the first time, Randy was just about ready to believe it would last. The remnants of that warm silver light lingered in their chest. They trudged up the long path above B’s Crossing, not heading back toward their house but up toward the area where Takeyhands slept. Maybe the monkey would know more about the sudden surge of warmth that had made Randy ruin the leeks.

As they moved up the path, Randy saw two unfamiliar men standing up above the low basin where they were all situated. One held a small spyglass while the other was talking rapidly and gesturing at a large piece of paper that he held in his hands. Both were human. Compared to the average visitor to B’s Crossing, the outfits of these two men outed their money.

The duo saw Randy about the same time they saw them. The one man stopped speaking. The other raised a hand and waved politely.

Randy didn’t wave back, lowering their shoulders and hurrying up the hill.

*****

Randidly sat on the top of the volcano with his legs folded beneath him. Grass and wildflowers had already started growing up around the lip, some with enough boldness to send roots over into the central area, which would soon be seared away by the lava bubbling there. A shimmer cloaked him; you couldn’t see it directly, but a sunburst of silver patterns pulsed in the area directly around his body.

A force beyond mundane boundaries hummed through his bones.

Randidly maintained his Fourth Authority like this, in its base state, trying to ascertain its exact effects. Just from looking, he saw the boost to growth that he released in the central area. Honestly, that effect had probably been active long before he had the authority. Long before he had the Nether Core, even. The notification had been slightly conflicting, but it did seem like Randidly would have never had inherited this spark if he didn’t possess a similar proclivity.

Perhaps from the presence of the Aether Crossroads? I became accustomed to giving out energy. That perspective became an outlook that became an image. Randidly chewed on his lip as he cast his mind backward. Still, the more interesting fact might be that the last Origin Beast betrayed its ancestors and helped Elhume, the one who engineered their destruction… And then the Patron of the Deep died in the final process to release humanity throughout the Nexus.

But like so much of the information I’m learning, it’s hard to know what is propaganda and what is true. Too much time has passed. The Patrons might have been contemporaries, but they weren’t directly involved. After all, they don’t even know what happened with the other Patrons who went to find that individual they needed to attack with the Hierarchy of Karma. Then Randidly shook himself. He could think more about the issues later. Right now, the Authority was his main focus.

In its base form, the ‘animation’ aura he released was large enough to cover the whole of the island. With more attention, he could swell it to many times that size. Not quite enough to cover an entire planet, but Randidly felt rather than being a hard limit, it was only a matter of practice.

It was another moment that briefly shook his heart. Sometimes, Randidly imagined he could turn around and find a massive body, draconic and spined, dragging its monstrous belly against the ground, waiting behind him.

Can’t think about that too much tho, Randidly thought sardonically. Or it might become true.

However, when Randidly tried to focus on those other abilities he had sensed in that initial pulse, his Nether Core began to shudder. The edges of the silver patterns projected in the air around him began to hum. Frowning, Randidly calmed down his new Authority. He spoke softly into the air, trying to capture the sensation he had felt. “It’s like… the Authority wants to know if it should activate. And when I tell it to do it gently- well, obviously it can’t be bothered for such a careful expression. An Authority is not a mild force.”

He had some vague sense that there was a forcefield aspect and possible repulsion, but he couldn’t confirm it without letting the Authority loose. He thought he could separate the three layers he had made, but wasn’t sure if missing a portion of that process would inflict damage on the people around him. Randidly hummed for several seconds but allowed his hands to fall to the ground. He could wait and try in a desolate place. Instead, his eyes went to the scars that flexed across his forearms with every movement.

“Alright Helen,” Randidly whispered to the air. He pulled up the Skill description. “What did you get for me this time?”

(Domain) Mournful Sea, Helen’s Pernicious Riptide (T): A powerful confluence of emotion, currents, and ripples that has housed itself in the user’s body. Warning, if the user is not capable enough or possesses the requisite fortitude, it is possible to destroy oneself with this Domain.

The usage and activation of the Resonant Fangs remain a part of the Mournful Sea. They can be activated to absorb one kinetic force. An additional fang will be grown for each hundred Skill Level that the user accumulates. In addition, activation of either abilities from the left or right arms will spread the taint of blood through the air. Area of effect increases with Skill Level. The deeper the taint, the greater the physical and mental boost the user will receive.

User’s right arm now houses Helen’s Pernicious Riptide. Usage of this arm will also deepen the taint. When Resonant Fangs absorb kinetic force, a portion of that force and any associated images will be copied and briefly stored within the user’s right arm. Ability to fully copy images will grow due to user’s inclination and Skill Level. A myriad of images may be stored within the right arm at once. The more images are stored there in a short time, the more strain the user’s body will be under. Ability to contain images will grow with Skill Level.

Upon activation of the right arm, all stored kinetic force and images will be released in Helen’s Riptide. A manifestation of the Ghosthound’s Bloody Knight will form, wielding the captured images. The strength of this manifestation depends on the depth of the taint. Potency of the manifestation increases with Skill Level.

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