The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Randidly moved forward across the quaint little room to the seat opposite the Don’s desk. Light filtered around the edges of the blocked windows, revealing a very austere room. As he did so, he got a better look at the brightly colored paper in front of the man. What he saw there made his lips twitch.

Don Beigon was clearly scrapbooking. Scissors, paper, and some sort of adhesive were arrayed around him.

The base of the current page was bright orange construction paper, with a smaller golden-yellow page jauntily set at an angle to frame the content. He had cut out giant blue bubble letters that spelled out “My Darling Daughter”. They arched across the top like a rainbow. If nothing else, Randidly looked at the elegant and stylized shapes of the words and had to admire the Don’s crafting ability. His scissoring seemed positively divine.

In addition, he had gotten photographs somehow, perhaps using his own memory as a base for an artist. One showed Claudette speaking seriously at the beach with a hand on her hip, another featured her sipping on a coconut cup drink, and finally Claudette with her eyes closed in the warm rush of victory after she had been the one to receive the prize. Little motes of ice swirled in the air around her. However-

“Looks like you’ve doctored the photos somewhat,” Randidly observed as he sat down in the chair in front of the desk. Next to Claudette in most of those pictures was a block-y absence, cut away and removed from the frame. The Don didn’t even bother to trim the whole photo down, just removed one particular element. Very clearly, Randidly had been deleted from the Don’s scrapbook.

For that, at least, Randidly couldn’t really blame the man.

“Oh, well, I had a separate project for those particular elements,” Don Beigon sniffed officiously and pulled open a drawer. He produced a small envelope and offered it to Randidly. “I’m not quite finished, but I’m quite proud of my work.”

He handed the Randidlys to Randidly. Seeing them, he couldn’t suppress a snort. On all of the photographs that showed Randidly’s feet, the great and influential Don Beigon had taken the time to draw on shoes. Some were looping wrapped sandals, others were stylish tennis shoes, while in one photo Randidly seemed to be wearing hot pink high heels as he was intensely discussing something. The artist, perhaps even the Don himself, was extremely skilled in the way he used perspective. It genuinely looked like Randidly was wearing footwear in all of these pictures.

He gave the Don a pointed look. He was honestly unsure how to feel. “Some would see this sort of behavior and think you are petty.”

“Petty is just a word the sulking use to describe someone with a dedication to details and debts,” The Don responded with a wide smile. Whatever he saw in Randidly’s face was exactly the sort of response he had been hoping for. “And I am happy to claim that I am both of those things. So, you wished to talk? Ah, please, let me have those back. I really do have an extra special project in mind for them.”

Torn between amusement and a distant worry about how these photos of him could be used by the Don, while also feeling city for even being slightly irked by the presence of shoes on his feet, Randidly returned the cutouts. In the end, they were just photos; he couldn’t prevent the Don from producing other likenesses of him. Randidly nodded slowly, refocusing and thinking carefully about what he wanted to ask.

The Don spoke before his thoughts were in order. The man’s hands swept up his crafting and stored it neatly in a folder, which he slid into a desk drawer. “Actually, it is a good thing that you reached out. I believe I have some relevant information about some upcoming events in the Nexus-”

“No,” Randidly genuinely laughed this time as he held up a hand for the Don to stop. “You don’t think I know the sort of tricks you like to pull? You can volunteer all the information you want after I get what I need; I’m not going to let you lessen the debt before that.”

Tension hummed between the two of them as their eyes met. Randidly had never realized how stormy-black the Don’s iries were at the edges, lightening to a sapphire blue as they approached the pupil. The weight of the debt hung between them, leaning on Randidly’s side. Their wills brushed up against one another, lightly and testing.

The Don eventually shrugged, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “As you say, Mr. Ghosthound. Today, I am at your service. Please, what do you require?”

He enjoys this, Randidly realized as he decided on his question. He enjoys the delicate twists and verbal grace to pay back debts without providing anything meaningful. The information dance invigorates him. And honestly… that enthusiasm is infectious.

However, Randidly’s Grey Monarch’s Authority settled around his shoulders. His amusement and play, opposite the Don, was strangled. He was here with a purpose. His joy comes from years of experience and talent. I cannot try and beat him at his own game. Just get the information I need and leave.

The Patron of Feathers has information I need.

“What can you tell me about the drill above the Nexus? About how to enter and what happens there?” Randidly asked.

“Ahhhh, so you’ve achieved Tier III citizenship,” The Don drawled. His face displayed abject surprise, as though this possibility challenged all of his preconceptions. “What an accomplishment, considering your young-”

“Oh, cut the shit,” Randidly rolled his eyes, but didn’t lower his guard for even a second. The Don was dangerous precisely because of how good he was at playing the clown. “I’m sure you also check the word list. I doubt you could see that, considering my recent capability for annoying you, and not realize it was me.”

Don Beigon guffawed and slapped his knee. “Yes, well. I sincerely nurture a hope you will disappoint my expectation that you constantly vex me. Okay, the Drill. Truly, it is the most eye-catching of the shifts you gain access to with Tier III citizenship, but there are other aspects-” Catching Randidly’s unamused look, the Don shrugged. “Okay, okay, the customer is always right. The Drill it is. Let’s talk about that gigantic, hanging eyesore.

“Obviously, Elhume has constructed this device over the past thousand years for a particular purpose. No one knows for sure, but we have enough exposure to understand its essence. Essentially, it functions as a giant amplification chamber. If images were sound, this drill has been made to have the perfect acoustics. Beyond perfect acoustics. However, the drill has existed in its current form since midway through the Sixth Cohort with no noticeable change; whatever Elhume wants to do with it, he is waiting for some event or some object to complete it.”

The Don wheeled himself away from the desk and toward the shaded window. He reached up and pulled up the blinds, so the sky, filled with that ominous disc, was visible. “Entering is relatively easy; Elhume has no defenses on the lowest levels. Traveling between levels is also relatively easy if you wish to penetrate more deeply. And why shouldn’t you? The acoustic effect is quite shit at the bottom. There are two stairwells, one in the center of each platform and one that loops around the edges, heading ever upward. Because of the design, the outer stairwell is full of image static; traversing it is a painful experience. All the positive effects of the drill turn negative in those areas. But using the central well is a dangerous prospect.”

Randidly’s eyes sharpened. “Elhume watches the central staircase?”

“Ah, no.” The Don shook his head and wheeled back around to look at Randidly. “I should be clear; Elhume only maintains actual defenses around a few floors he guards jealousy. None are allowed in those locations. A few attempts were made to sneak in and examine his projects, but… well, you have seen how abrupt and final Elhume’s reactions can be. He is not a man that appreciates anything but obedience. As for the rest of the floors, other Tier III citizens have set up private little spaces, taking advantage of the excellent environment to train their images. Quite a few are at the Speculum tier, so wander carefully.”

While nodding slowly, Randidly breathed deeply through his nose. A flood of information about the multitude of connections and debts the Don maintained came into his mind, but he pushed those to the side for now. The tenuous connection keeping the Patron of Feathers alive stretched up to the massive space above. His awareness drifted after it. Once it reached the drill, it became harder to follow it, but Randidly’s Mille Skill managed to trace the origin up and up.

The higher it went, the more his mood soured. From what he could tell, the source of that connection was from the second-highest rotating ring of the drill.

“And Elhume sits at the top?” Randidly said slowly, feeling his thoughts curdle as he considered assaulting a location monitored and guarded by Elhume. Even with his improvements to his Nether Skills, getting in would likely be brutal. And although he prided himself on his escaping, with Elhume’s dangerous fists-

“No, he sits in the middle.” The Don made a whimsical, circular gesture with his hands. “Like I said, its about acoustics. The amplification is strongest around the middle. So the ideal few floors belong entirely to him.”

For a second, Randidly felt a flash of relief. But then the implications of that set in and his mood once again soured. “So the upper portions of the drill are empty, because of Elhume’s presence in the middle, gatekeeping?”

“Well, originally,” A sly smile spread across the Don’s face. “But you are not alone in finding those isolated upper levels quite interesting. Several daring individuals have snuck through Elhume’s dominion, without drawing his ire. First Pinnacle Seekers, then orthodox faction individuals, when it became clear the others had succeeded. Once up there, the early arrivers had a much freer time establishing themselves. Some have managed to secure several floors to their own design, although a few weaker ones were eventually crushed by later arrivals. When people talk about the hidden monsters of the Nexus… it is exactly the populations in these upper floors. Most exit only rarely, once they arrive. Apparently, the passage through Elhume three middle floors can be… harrowing.”

Randidly studied Don Beigon for several seconds, trying to figure out if he had any more pointed questions to ask. The debt sat between them, leaning against the Don and urging him to answer honestly. So far, the talk only took up a small portion of it, perhaps a tenth of the whole. Randidly wanted to fish for more dangers but knew that if he asked a general question, the Don would probably use that opening to unload more debt.

The Don’s bright eyes seemed to be challenging Randidly to try and outsmart him. Once more, Randidly suppressed that impulse and approached his problem practically. He wasn’t here to win. He wanted to survive whatever was waiting up in that ominous drill.

“Let’s talk about something else. In only a few words, how should I treat Biamat?” Randidly asked.

Chuckling, the Don shrugged. “However you want. But I will add that staying away from that pest is for the best.”

Randidly nodded slowly. The debt barely dipped. He only had one more question that he believed he needed an answer to. “Aside from Elhume… how do the other old monsters that have settled there react to people passing through?”

“Poorly,” The Don showed his teeth. “Although less so if you stay to the exterior stairwell. From what I hear… that territorial reaction intensifies once you go into the upper levels. Because the understanding is most who head up there are searching for a location to settle. And the old monsters definitely don’t want to allow any possible competitors to set up shop on their floors.”

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