Dave scarcely noticed the moment he crossed the nebulous boundary between wakefulness and slumber, the veil of dreams descending upon him like a gentle mist. In an instant, he found himself within the familiar confines of the detective's office.

"So," Sherlock began, his chair swiveling to face Dave, "the metaphorical noose tightens?"

"I just wanted to buy a TV," Dave replied with a resigned nod, "but it appears that enjoying Netflix and Chill with Remicra is out of reach."

"While it would be most agreeable to indulge in moments of reprieve or… passion if the situation permitted such, it seems we must first secure the foundation of our future," Sherlock observed, tapping his desk thoughtfully, dark glasses glinting in the dim light.

"I need to do... something, damn it!" Dave declared. "I refuse to simply accept this blasted sense of dread looming over my future. I don't want to leave Remy to these bastards to torture!"

"Indeed," the detective concurred, his white hair shimmering beneath the glow of holographic signs. "We must strike hard and fast at our foes, keeping them off balance and deflecting suspicion away from ourselves. Like a skilled magician performing a sleight of hand, we must weave a web of deception to confound and destroy our adversaries."

"What can I do?" Dave asked.

"You've been rather lacking in the department of Phantomancy," Sherlock observed, his keen eyes assessing Dave's posture and the tightness that creased the corners of his mouth.

"Well, it's not like there's a bloody manual for it!" the ex-programmer retorted.

"There is indeed not," the detective conceded with a nod. "But, you can gain skills from experience with… phantoms. Think, my dear fellow, what did we learn recently from our chatty vixen?" Sherlock prompted.

"Dungeons," Dave exhaled, his eyes widening, as he recalled the spirited anecdotes shared by the vivacious foxgirl. "The ship... it could be a dungeon, a skill of an archmage that's turned the fish and the bugs metal!"

"Correct," the detective's green eyes shone beneath his glasses. "The ship, however, presents a dangerous exploration as it is underwater. Where else could a half-formed dungeon be present? What other quests were there on the job board that involved ghosts?"

"Ghosts?" Dave blinked. The cathedral's job list gently flickered into his memory. "Haunted Housekeeper: Tidying up an old manor infested with poltergeists!" He declared.

. . .

As the first radiant tendrils of dawn crept across Nihilim, casting an ethereal glow upon the semi-slumbering cityscape, Dave found himself once more walking the cobblestone streets that led to the hallowed halls of the Adventurers Guild. The cathedral loomed ahead, a white bastion of dreams and daring that beckoned to him like a siren's call.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Dave strode through the grand archway that marked the entrance to the cathedral. The cavernous interior, now bathed in the soft, golden light of the morning sun that filtered through the stained glass windows, appeared quite serene as the hall was nearly empty. The tent-shops had yet to fully awaken, their wares and proprietors still shrouded in sleepy shadows. The pub at the heart of the cathedral was in the process of being opened, as a couple of barmaids pulled the tent curtains aside.

Dave approached the front desk of the Adventurers Guild, spotting the diligent secretary presiding over her domain. Her eyes, full of warmth and recognition, met his as she inquired about his purpose for visiting so early in the day.

"Can I trade my silver for gold?" He asked, presenting his heavy bag of silver coins to her.

"You may," the secretary nodded. She exchanged his silver for gold which Dave clipped to his wrist chain.

"Anything else?" The semi-transparent, silver-eyed woman asked.

"Yes. I've come to take on a new quest," Dave announced, as he presented his token for verification. The Secretary, sliding the offered medallion over the desk rune and gestured once more toward the beginner's job board.

This time, Dave's eyes were drawn to a copper plate etched with the details of a particular task: the Haunted Housekeeper job.

With a determined tap of his token upon the copper plate, Dave accepted the Quest that now flashed over his wrist.

[Haunted Housekeeper: Tidying up an old manor infested with poltergeists. Patience and a good sense of humor essential. Reward: 50 silver.

Note: Any damage to the Estate will be subtracted from your reward or billed to you.]

I've seen this one hanging here for two weeks," Dave said, holding up the quest plate to the Secretary. "Has nobody taken it?"

A knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips, "Oh, plenty have attempted to best the poltergeist. Alas, it is rather difficult to vanquish something you cannot see."

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"So the poltergeist isn't visible?" Dave asked.

"Yes," the secretary confirmed with a shrug. "One intrepid adventurer even brought a bag of flour with him to capture any telltale footsteps, but unfortunately, he too was met with failure. He returned here covered in flour head to toe, coughing madly as his lungs were filled with the stuff. He was billed thirty silver for the flour cleanup, so I suggest avoiding such a strategy."

Dave furrowed his brow, considering the implications. "So it's not merely a simple furniture rearranging job, then?"

The secretary shook her head. "Many of these jobs are far more complex than they appear at first glance," she explained. "If the tasks were so straightforward, the clients would simply handle them themselves."

"I see," Dave mused.

"This job is really about finding the poltergeist and ultimately vanquishing it,” the secretary continued, “the challenge lies in achieving this without demolishing the entire manor in the process. Frankly, it's a rather difficult task to pull off. To be honest, I suggest you take on a less complex quest. This one seems alluring, but it has a rather high degree of failure and incoming bills."

"How do I get to the manor?" Dave asked, refusing to back down.

The secretary deftly pulled out a simple map of the city on a piece of parchment, marking the manor's location with a bold 'X'. As she described the path he should take, Dave nodded along.

With the map safely tucked away in his satchel, Dave set off through the winding streets of Shandria. The road led him through bustling marketplaces, down quaint cobblestone alleys, and eventually past stately mansions that spoke of great wealth, power and privilege.

As he approached the manor in question, he could not help but notice its striking contrast to the surrounding opulence. The once-grand estate appeared to have fallen into disrepair, its facade marred by the passage of time and the relentless encroachment of ivy. The grounds around the estate looked like a massive, somewhat maintained park.

Upon reaching the manor's gate, Dave pressed his palm upon a glowing hexagram in the shape of a bell. After a few minutes of waiting Dave was greeted by an elderly gentleman. The silver-haired, moustached man introduced himself as Caretaker Argonaviss.

"You must be the latest adventurer sent by the Guild," the caretaker surmised as he unlocked the gate, a hint of resignation in his tone. "I must admit, I had begun to lose hope that anyone else would take on this cursed task."

Dave, undeterred by the caretaker's weary demeanor, assured the old man of his dedication to the mission at hand. Together, they walked across the park to the distant manor.

"So, what can you tell me about your ghost?" Dave inquired, his gaze sweeping across the old and somewhat opulent entryway, taking in the faded grandeur.

"It moves objects around at random, seemingly for its own amusement. And if it's irritated, it has been known to hurl things in your direction."

"Irritated by what?" Dave asked, seeking to understand the nature of the spectral foe.

"Irritated by your presence," the caretaker explained with a weary sigh. "It's quite misanthropic."

"So, it harbors a deep-rooted hatred for everyone, then?" Dave quipped.

"Quite."

"So, who used to reside in this manor?"

The old man's eyes took on a distant, pained expression as he recounted the history of the estate. "The building once belonged to Archmage Alaster Rim, an elderly nobleman of great repute. Upon his disappearance, the estate was bequeathed to his young cousin four times removed. The new owner planned to renovate the place, only for the hired craftsmen to be repeatedly assaulted by a flying hammer, courtesy of our resident poltergeist."

"So, the quest isn't simply to do some housekeeping, but rather to eliminate the poltergeist," Dave said. "Is it possible that this unseen adversary is the spirit of Archmage Alaster himself?"

"Perhaps," the caretaker agreed, nodding his head slowly as if the thought had occurred to him countless times before.

Dave furrowed his brow, puzzled. "Why not just state that on the board? Why the charade about housekeeping?"

The old man's eyes took on a guarded look. "Oh, heavens, we don't want to attract the wrong sort of attention," he explained, his voice cautious.

"Huh?" Dave blinked, still not grasping the full implications of the situation.

"The current owner wishes to avoid having the manor seized or torn apart in the process of resolving this spectral issue," the caretaker elaborated.

"But why would..." Dave began, his confusion deepening.

The old man sighed, his voice heavy with unspoken concerns. "Archmage Alaster Rim vanished many years ago after laying off the staff. If the former Lord of the Estate refused to die properly, it would require the services of a necromancer to sniff out the hidden location of his body. However, as you may well know, necromancy is illegal in Shandria since the mad mage Kellum tried to take control of the city with it.”

"Uh-huh," Dave murmured, absorbing the caretaker's words.

"Honestly, we cannot confirm exactly what the malevolent presence is," the caretaker admitted. "We are truly hoping that it is merely a creature with an innate eye-redirecting ability that's been hurling objects at unsuspecting victims. If you are able to eliminate it or even banish it from the property, you will be rewarded fifty silver."

"And if it's really Lord Rim’s skill that refused to die?” the ex-programmer asked. “What if it's a dungeon?”

"Dungeons automatically become property of the Adventurers Guild," the caretaker intoned.

"Oh?"

"If this Estate is declared a Dungeon by a representative of the Adventurers Guild, by the law of Shandria, the current owner loses his rights to the property and all items therein," the silver-haired man elucidated. "The core is then given time to take over the area until it reaches maturity. Once it is determined that the core is mature enough to produce treasures, adventurers are permitted to brave the dungeon to face the traps and collect the magical artefacts. If you find a half-formed dungeon core within the manor, you will be rewarded two hundred silver to dispose it.”

"I see," Dave said.

The caretaker nodded solemnly.

"So, what can you tell me about Lord Rim?" Dave asked.

"Nothing, I'm afraid," the caretaker admitted, spreading his hands.

"Why?"

"Lord Rim was a very private person to begin with. In his later years, he became even more paranoid about being spied upon," the caretaker sighed. "He used his considerable wealth and memory-purging artefacts to erase all information about himself, ensuring that his enemies would not be able to use his servants against him."

"Great," Dave said sarcastically. "So, we're dealing with a highly paranoid poltergeist."

"Potentially," the caretaker confirmed. "Stay here as long as you need to find the poltergeist and vanquish it. If you agree to take this job, please sign this contract.”