Geb wore his pet goose as a happy hat over his long navy-blue hair. An ankh held place over his bare chest, hanging from a golden chain. He wore a white linen kilt. A leather belt held it up. A pouch hung from the same belt, resting over his right hip. Sandals protected the soles of his feet. Aside from the goose and strange clothing, he looked like an ordinary man, lean and muscular with a slight tan. His normalcy contradicted the terrain over which he walked.
The landscape nearest him came dotted with lava pits which spit droplets of fire in his direction. He managed to avoid it. Where many would say he was lucky, his movements were purposeful. He understood the lava’s natural activity; he knew the exact second it would spray. He walked at a pace to avoid that spray. Then a few steps later, he walked a half circle around a pit of quicksand. The pit looked the same as the rest of the ground, but Geb knew it was there.
Fifteen paces to his left, a harsh ocean tide beat against the coastline. In an hour, it would become a tsunami. To his right, volcanos threatened eruption. Though, he guessed it’d be another three days before they did erupt.
The stretch of land along which he walked shook and quaked. A violent wind pushed against him, and nearby tornadoes spun. Overhead, lightning flashed, and thunder boomed.
And Geb yawned, not impressed by any of it. He’d seen disasters before. He didn’t recognize anything special to them. If he wanted, he could cause them…or prevent them. They were mundane, predictable, and boring.
Geb had lived in different worlds. As such, he knew how the curvature of a world determines how far away a person must be from something before they see it. Round was much the same. And in the case of Arbitration Tower—when its spire began to peak over the horizon—it told Geb he’d be there in thirty minutes. So when he saw the spire, his heart sank. Walking alone—him and his goose—was the only calm he knew. It was the only break in his otherwise chaotic existence. After some consideration, he slowed his pace, adding another fifteen minutes to his journey.
Despite his best efforts, forty-five minutes later, he came to the tower. From the outside, the structure boasted a smooth black surface, reflective like obsidian. A broad base supported the cylindrical design that stretched eighty floors up. Not even one of those floors had a window or balcony. Such things went against the purpose of the tower. That purpose was to protect the moderators and their secrets.
It wasn’t that Geb—or any of the other moderators—felt threatened by anyone on Round. Though, it was better to be safe than sorry. And the tower’s purpose was that of a stronghold. No moderator would be foolish to think otherwise. Higher-ranking moderators even used the structure to protect themselves from lower-ranking moderators…lower-ranking moderators like Geb.
When a building’s purpose was to guard secrets, it wouldn’t make sense to have multiple entrance points to a stronghold. It would make less sense to have one of those entrance points be a window. In the case of Arbitration Tower, it didn’t even have doors.
A moat surrounded it. Aside from the lava which filled the trench, he knew the lava contained red dragons and the like. As he drew close to the tower, large stones at the base of the tower began to vibrate, creating a low rumble. The rumble shook the earth as the rocks started to hover, shooting one at a time to form a solid bridge over the moat.
As Geb stepped across the bridge, his feet made a hollow tip-tapping. Every time he crossed the bridge, it reminded him of the children’s story about the goats. He loved that story.
When Geb reached the other side of the moat, he used his right hand to fish a whistle from his pouch.
The stones which had formed the bridge floated up from the lava, hovering in the air behind Geb. Then—like arrows—they shot back to their original position at the tower’s base. Those which would have hit Geb curved around him.
As the boulders zipped around him, Geb moved the whistle to his lips and blew three times. In unison with the third note, a light formed around him, so bright he had to close his eyes to protect them. When the light dissipated, he opened his eyes again, and he was no longer outside the tower. The light teleported him to the tower’s first floor.
Instead of a traditional walking surface—one made from marble, carpet, wood, or tile—sedimentary rock and sand created an uneven floor. Sandstone formed caves along the edge of the rooms, and it rose to form pillars at the room’s center. Small sandworms, desert vipers, and antlions hid within the nooks and shadows of the area. Though, some larger sandworms left trails as they swam through the sand.
A narrow canyon divided the room at its center, only a tiny hop from one side to the other. The narrowness of the chasm contradicted its depth. Geb avoided an antlion pit as he plotted over to the chasm. Then he looked down. He didn’t know what happened to people who fell into that endless dark; he wasn’t sure if higher-ranking moderators knew. Whether they did or not, throwing dissenters into that dark was one of the leadership’s favorite hobbies.
Geb disapproved of those hard-handed tactics. Even so, he understood the effectiveness of a powerful deterrent. He returned his whistle to his pouch, hopped over the chasm, and continued to a cave on the far side of the chamber. The cave hid a stairway. Geb used that stairway to go up to the next floor.
As the first twenty stories of the tower represented the element of earth, the second floor was much like the first. Though, it lacked the canyon. Geb continued to climb, beyond the twenty floors of earth, through another twenty that represented water, and past the next twenty which embodied fire.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
When he reached the sixty-first story, marble formed the floors and walls. It was perfect and polished marble without a chip or blemish. Golden pillars stretched from ceiling to floor. A slight breeze blew through the room. Geb knew the draft could become a raging storm at the whim of leadership, but he’d never seen it happen. Someone would have to be crazy enough to invade the tower for that to occur. They’d also have to be powerful enough to fight their way to the sixty-first floor, defeating three high notorious monster—HNM—bosses along the way… It was an impossible feat.
As such, the sixty-first floor was the only floor in the tower without monsters. Instead, it served as the hub for the moderators. It was where higher-ranking moderators met with lower-ranking ones. Also, it was where lower-ranking moderators socialized with one another. Sometimes they even had parties. Those parties tended to get wild. If the moderators still had parents, their parents would not have approved.
At the time, plenty of those moderators moved about while a quiet melody played. He knew the music came from a spell rather than speakers, live performers, or other technology. Magic music always had a different sound to it. It was an internal permanence that resonated from the center of a person. Even at quiet volumes, it felt powerful and precise.
The melody was of a classical tradition, heavy on the strings. Its tonal vocals lacked any coherent lyrics. In effect, they functioned much like an instrument. Geb knew which moderators were there for recreation by how they swayed and tapped their feet to the music. Not to mention, they had smiles plastered across their faces. The moderators on business—those like Geb—retained a glower. If Geb’s goose could have glowered, it would have, too. Moderator business was serious business… It merited respect.
Whether there for business or for play, most moderators in the tower weren’t from Round. They came from adjoining worlds. They’d conquered some of those worlds… Some were in the process of conquest. Others were on a list for the moderators to conquer later. Geb himself wasn’t from Round. After tens of thousands of years of life, he couldn’t remember his home world, but he knew it wasn’t Round. He scanned his eyes over the room until he found Enlil, Vulcan, Zonja, and Sidhe. They sat on a couch in the corner, and he began toward them.
Enlil noticed Geb first. Geb knew this because Enlil’s skin went from a light gray—which blended with the marble of the wall—to a dark blue. As the skin shifted color, Enlil focused his pupilless eyes on Geb. The pure whiteness of those eyes matched his long beard and flowing white hair. He’d tied said hair into a ponytail. Enlil wore a golden crown atop his head which matched the accents of his jacket. Aside from those inlays, dark metal chainmail formed the rest of the jacket. Each ring was so small that it appeared like cloth. A matching material made Enlil’s pants.
When Zonja saw Enlil turn blue, she shifted in her seat to look at Geb. Her red kapica headdress flowed behind her as she moved. She wore a white dress with a patched apron that matched the kapica’s red. All in all, she appeared like an average girl, nothing intimidating, nothing threatening. She had normal dirty-blond hair and normal green eyes.
Vulcan lacked any of Zonja’s subtlety. He was a towering mountain of man, covered in rippling muscles. His bronze battle skirt showed off powerful legs, each wider than the waist of a typical man. A single shoulder pad held up the skirt, connected by a strap that crossed the front and back of his body at an angle. Three protrusions rose from the shoulder pad. They had the shape of waves. The middle rise was tall enough to protect Vulcan’s neck against an enemy’s slashing attack. A long brown beard covered his face. It concealed burnt scarring on his face. Even so, he’d somehow managed to win the love of Venus…the moderator of love and beauty. A blacksmith’s hammer rested on the ground next to him. The head was as wide as a coffee table and half the height of an average human. From that head, the hammer's handle rose ten feet into the air.
On the shoulder without a pad, sat Sidhe. At a glance, she looked like any other pixie on Round: small in stature, with tiny wings protruding from each shoulder blade. Green armor covered her thin figure. Engravings across the armor imitated the shape of leaves on a tree. Piercing emerald eyes matched the sheen of the armor. Those eyes contrasted against her messy green hair.
“About time you got here,” Vulcan grumbled with his usual baritone. “We were beginning to think you fell in the moat.”
“Now,” Sidhe patted the shoulder on which she sat. “We have no need to be rude. Geb traveled a long way to be here. Plus, you know him. He does enjoy his walks. One should not rush the enjoyment of others.” Each word she spoke came out melodic, gentle, and calm.
If windchimes could talk, Geb thought, they’d sound like her.
“One should not walk slow when he knows others wait for him.” Vulcan shot back, his skin flashing the orangish-red of embers.
“Easy,” Enlil admonished Vulcan with a glance. Then he looked back at Geb. “Though we were waiting a long time. Everything alright?”
“I got held up in the Volcano Islands,” Geb explained. “A man was stealing when his job wasn’t that of a thief.”
“What was his job?” Zonja asked, unable to hide the curiosity in her voice.
“A steelworker,” Geb replied.
“Do you think,” Enlil said, “he might not have known the difference between the metal steel and the the verb to steal?”
“That’s what he claimed. He told me he was a steal worker, so he had to steal.” Geb sighed. “Don’t worry, though. I explained the difference before I destroyed his village. They won’t make the same mistake again.”
Zonja’s eyes widened at Geb’s explanation, but she said nothing.
“Why does Geb get to have all the fun?” Vulcan asked. “Can I be an enforcer again? I tire of this tower.”
“No,” Sidhe patted his shoulder again. “You’re my favorite chair. I’d hate it if you left.”
“Geb,” Enlil said. “We have a mission for you.”
“A mission?” Geb considered. Under normal circumstances, his job consisted of wandering from town to town. He’d talk with people, see if anyone was breaking any laws. If he found anyone violating the rules, he’d punish the town. Though, he didn’t like to kill anyone. For the moderators to be scary, they had to leave people alive. When people lived, they could tell stories. That’s how people learned about the moderators. If he killed everyone, no one would even know about the laws. “What kind of a mission?”
“Danu has recognized an influx of magic. It is in the town of Greenlake in the kingdom of Lakes.” Enlil’s skin returned to its grayish camouflage as he leaned back against the wall. “She wants you to investigate this influx. Likely, it is the formation of a dungeon. If not a dungeon, it might be something more sinister. Figure out what it is and return. This time…don’t lose any time with your enforcement duties. The destruction of towns can wait.”