The Collector’s house was like nothing Bill had seen before. His feet sank into the rich, luxuriant carpet covering the floors, and he began to wish he’d taken his boots off before coming inside. On stands, dotted here and there, were various vases, ornaments, and other things that he could only imagine were worth more than his entire house and its contents. He gave those a wide berth. He could just imagine how happy the Collector would be if he knocked one over.

And the size of the house! The entrance hall went on, and on, broken only by the different bright and beautiful paintings and the servant’s hissed instructions. “Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not look the Collector in the eye. Do not make any undue noise or sudden movements. Above all, do not touch anything.” But after about three days of walking, or so Bill reckoned, they halted at a large, ornate door to a room somewhere deep inside the house.

The servant opened the door and they walked inside the room. Bill had thought the entrance hall had been a sight to see, but now he realized he hadn’t seen anything yet. The carpet in this room was even thicker, and colored a bright shade of blue that Bill hadn’t ever seen before. He half crouched, wanting to feel if it was as soft as it looked, then remembered that he’d been told not to touch anything.

Instead he gazed around himself in awe. One painting in particular took his breath away. It was one he’d seen in a book at college, which was the only reason he knew that it was worth more than his whole neighborhood put together. It depicted the final battle of the One War. The armies of Naesala Liavaris, first queen of Nimrien, had suffered many losses but ultimately won the war, and the painting showed her ascending the throne for the first time. Bill vaguely remembered that it had been painted right after the war… so the painting was about eight hundred years old, and the most priceless thing he’d ever shared a room with.

The party gathered in a semi-circle in front of an ornate wooden desk that was big enough Sestra could barely see over it. The legs were carved with all kinds of fruits and flowers. Bill had expected a little old man, about the same age as the painting he had marveled at, but at the desk sat a man who couldn’t have been more than thirty. The desk itself was littered with papers and books, and at least half a dozen instruments whose function Bill could only guess at.

The Collector’s eyes were bright and intelligent as he examined the six of them. Bill’s back straightened involuntarily. Beside him, he could hear Sestra pulling in a breath as if to make some sort of smart remark, and he kicked her ankle sharply in warning.

“Good morning,” the man said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. “I am the Collector. I trust you all know why I have called you here.” He paused here as a little messenger creature entered the room with a scroll clutched in his hand. The Collector took the scroll, unfurled and read it, then put it on top of one of the piles.

Bill began to nod, then stopped, looking around at the others. He didn’t know, not really, and by the looks on their faces, neither did they.

“I am a man who prides himself on owning nice things. Precious things. Things that no one else possesses. Obviously,” and here he paused for a dry little chuckle, “I am far too busy to seek out these things myself.”

That much was apparent, Bill thought. He leaned forward slightly, sure that the Collector must be about ready to get to his point.

“Therefore you will be my eyes, my ears, and yes, my arms and legs,” he went on. “You will quest in my stead, and seek out that which I do not have time to seek out myself. You see, it has come to my attention that a certain priceless artifact has surfaced, somewhere in our fair land. Just where it is, no one can say for sure. I have had various reports, none of them particularly promising. I can give you nothing but the vaguest of directions. They will have to suffice.”

This was more like it. But what was this thing, this artifact that they were to seek out? Bill ached to speak up and ask, but knew he had better not. He glanced at the others, trying to read their faces. Only Torbek seemed to feel as impatient as he, Bill, did.

“You may be wondering what the artifact is,” the Collector chuckled.

“No, not at all,” Sestra breathed almost inaudibly. Bill kicked her again for good measure.

“It is a grimoire,” the Collector managed before Bill sneezed, scattering the nearest stack of papers. The adventurers were forced to wait for some minutes as the Collector, with the help of the namesless servant, gathered them up and put them back in order. “A grimoire,” he continued. “Very old and priceless. It dates back before recorded history, before the One War, before the people of Nimrien existed as anything other than a series of disconnected tribes. Long before any of us were here. It is said to have been written by the goddesses themselves: Ymna of the Air; Hevla of the Fire, Ehrena of the Water, and Ophina of the Earth.”

Torbek’s chest puffed out a little at the mention of his beloved Ophina. The goddess of earth, Bill knew she was beloved by most dwarves, though those that dwelt Below tended to be more devout than those that lived Above.

Vaguely, he wondered why Ziona didn’t warrant a mention—but then, Ziona, goddess of destruction, was often excluded from matters that involved her sisters.

The “vaguest of directions” that the Collector had to give them as guidance, turned out to be the news that the grimoire was in a tower somewhere. Somewhere, in a tower, somewhere in Nimrien. Well, that wasn’t going to be an impossible task at all! There were dozens of towers dotted all over the world, and that wasn’t even counting the houses that had towers of their own. Where in Nimrien were they even supposed to start?

“Please, sir, have you a map?” Nalyn ventured.

“Not one that I am willing to give you, based on Bill’s little mishap. The only maps I have are hugely detailed and extremely expensive, and I would not be comfortable lending one to you only for it to be torn or otherwise damaged. Or worse, lost.”

“Nice one, Bill. Now how are we supposed to find the thing?” Sestra hissed. This time, instead of kicking her, Bill scowled. It was a sneeze! It could have happened to anyone! He bet she wouldn’t have said that if it had been Torbek who sneezed.

“I am sure that a band of resourceful adventurers such as yourself will have no trouble in obtaining a map,” the Collector nodded. “But alas, the time for talking is over. I must returned to my work.” With that, he turned his chair to look out the window. They had been dismissed.

There seemed little more to say. Certainly, the Collector said no more on the matter. They were ushered out of the room by the nameless man, and presented with bags containing travel rations and other various useful items, including a little money each. Before Bill could even catch his breath, they were back out on the street clutching their provisions and wondering where on earth to begin.

Then he felt a yank on the hem of his shirt and stumbled, only for Sestra to grab a handful of his hair, keeping him bent over so she could hold a dagger at his neck.

“You ever kick me again, it’ll be the last thing you do. You get me?” she hissed. Foolishly, Bill made as if to nod, then changed his mind at the feeling of the cool iron of the dagger beginning to bite into his neck.

“I get you, I get you!” he yelped, and Sestra let him go, wiping her blade thoroughly on her own grubby shirt before secreting it somewhere about her person. Bill clutched at his throat gingerly, giving her a wounded look.

“So where to from here?” Nalyn wondered. “He didn’t exactly give us much to go on.”

“He gave us exactly nothing to go on,” Torbek grumbled.

“The only reason he wouldn’t trust us with one of his maps is because this prat knocked over his papers,” Sestra accused.

“It was an accident!” Bill retorted. “Everybody sneezes!”

“Most people manage to turn their heads, not sneeze all over important stuff like fools!”

Elion raised his hand—actually raised his hand, like an elfling in a schoolroom. “I’ve heard about a Seer, not too far from here?” he ventured, more of a question than a suggestion.

“Ain’t never heard of a Seer,” Sestra said. “And I’ve lived here all me life.”

“I have too,” Bill said. “Lived here, I mean. Never heard of one.”

“Because you’re such a font of knowledge and wisdom,” Sestra said, attention back on mocking Bill for no good reason that he could see. “Lorien the Loser.”

“Where is this Seer?” Callania interjected.

“Uh, in Meery Wood?” Elion said, after a pause to think. “Is that a place?”

“I dunno about Meery Wood, but there’s a Merthy Wood,” Sestra said. “And it’s not all that far. About a day’s walk.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” Nalyn said, deciding for the six of them.

Marching was boring.

Bill was resisting the urge to ask “are we there yet”, but barely. It was only the thought of how Torbek would respond that kept the words down.

Callania and Nalyn were bonding over something, probably something girly. Maybe hair. They both had quite long hair, and both of them seemed to take much more care over it than Sestra did.

Sestra was amusing herself by teasing Torbek, dancing around him as he trudged down the road. She was so much smaller and lighter than he was, with her slight frame and lightweight armor, as compared to his much sturdier form and iron armor. She seemed to find it endlessly amusing that she could dance circles around him.

And Elion was chattering away beside Bill, telling his life story, in long, excruciating detail. Bill would have told him to stop, except that if he did, there’d be no one else to talk to, and then marching would get even more boring. As it was, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could walk. He was already trailing a little way behind the others, despite the fact that he was walking as hard as he could.

“So you’re from Befalls,” he cut in finally, citing the only piece of information he’d been paying attention long enough to hear. “What brought you all the way to Lerastir, then?”

Elion looked momentarily hurt, and Bill realized that he must have already told this part of the story. Still, it seemed like the little elf was fairly irrepressible, and his pout didn’t last long.

“Befalls is just so little,” he said. “It’s little, and it’s pretty, but it’s a total magnet for tourists, which kind of takes the shine off the place when you grow up there. And okay, so you lot have got Lerastir in the west, as your big hub or marketplace or whatever. In the east, there’s nothing but Ondegland, and that’s… well, it’s a pretty poor imitation. I wanted to see the world, and the world passes through Lerastir pretty often, or so the stories go.”

“And how’d you get here?”

“Walked, mostly. Caught a ride on a cart here and there, but mostly walked. I left when I was fairly young, though. Straight out of barding college.”

Bill stiffened. He had been thinking that Elion was the youngest member of the party, based on the way he babbled and the way he couldn’t seem to stand still, but evidently this was not the case. He’d finished school and had adventures of his own before this quest even began.

“I knew I was never going to be much of a bard,” Elion went on, holding up his rather battered lute ruefully. “I mean, I do my best, always have, but I just don’t think I’m cut out for it. Mum says I’ve a voice like two wounded cats fighting over fish guts in a burlap sack bobbing down a river, and the spells I’m supposed to be able to do don’t amount to much. Still, I passed the theory, didn’t I?”

“I’m a fully-fledged wizard,” Bill offered. “I graduated a few days ago. I turned in all my assignments and sat through my final exams, and there you have it.” And if he’d only just scraped by in those exams, and barely earned passing marks in several of those assignments, that was neither here nor there. A pass was a pass.

“Do you have a weapon?” Elion went on undaunted. “I’ve seen Torbek’s got a sword, and Callania has a bow and arrows. Sestra’s got a dagger… maybe two, I’m not sure. I’ve got my lute, for what it’s worth. And Nalyn, wow! She has this battle axe… I don’t know how she can fight with it! She let me try to lift it and I couldn’t, not even with two hands!”

“I’ve got my wand,” Bill said, trying to make it sound grander than it really was. To be perfectly honest, he was wondering what on earth had possessed the Collector to summon such a flighty, chatty, seemingly hopeless elf to join them. All the others made sense. He, Bill, made sense! But Elion…

“Can you cast spells?”

“…Some,” Bill hedged. His mother’s words about the tea echoed in his mind, and he shook his head rapidly as if to shake them out. “I didn’t bring any spell books with me, so I’m working with what I keep up here.” He tapped his head, then leaned closer to Elion.

“Do you think this place is far away?” he asked quietly. It was as close to “are we there yet” as he was willing to get.

“Dunno,” Elion said cheerfully. “I’m just enjoying the walk. I’ve been walking in a hundred different places in my life, and this is right up there. Flat, and leafy, and green. It’s beautiful here.”

Bill supposed he could sort of see that… but the ache in his legs and the blister rapidly forming on his right heel made it hard to truly appreciate the walk.

Four hours later, which was actually more like forty minutes later, the little party entered Merthy Wood. The road that had led them here had been leafy and green, but this was something else. It was Bill’s first time out of Lerastir, and he gazed around in wonder. Sestra, he noted, was similarly awestruck.

“I never saw so many trees,” she said, standing with her head tipped back to try to see the tops of them. She couldn’t—neither could Bill, if he was honest. They were just too tall.

“So where’s this Seer of yours?” Torbek wanted to know.

“He lives in the wood, not on the outskirts,” Elion said patiently. “Or so the stories go. So it stands to reason that we’re not going to find him standing out here waiting to greet us. We’ll have to go in and look for him.”

“So we’re all on the same page?” Bill asked, but the rest of the party were already moving beyond the tree line, and he had to scurry to catch them up. “Hey, wait for me!”

Bill had thought they’d get a break from walking when they reached the wood, but it wasn’t to be. They kept walking, down the overgrown path right into the darkest clusters of trees. Merthy Wood looked to be almost as big as Lerastir was. His heel throbbed and he longed to take his boots off, even for just a minute.

“Well, this is pretty much the middle of the wood, isn’t it?” Elion said. “So, if the stories are right, he’ll be around here somewhere.”

“And if the stories are wrong, we’ve just wasted the better part of a day on a wild goose chase,” Torbek said ominously, but no one paid him any mind.

They hunted here and there, high and low, thither and yon, looking for any sort of nook or cranny where a Seer could conceivably live.

“This is beginning to look hopeless,” Callania said. Bill loved the way she talked, so regal and calm and cultured. It was like she lingered over every consonant, making sure each one was formed properly before it left her mouth. Even when she was disappointed, like she was right now, she still managed to sound so classy. “We have been looking for a good half an hour, and the sun is beginning to set. Elion, I think you must have misunderstood the stories you heard.”

“Yeah, man, like, what are we even looking for? Been searching under all these rocks and leaves and haven’t found anything yet. Maybe we need to, like, regroup. Have a break.”

The voice came from a man, a human, with long dirty blond hair and a shirt so full of holes and stains it was hard to tell what color it had originally been. His trousers were held up by a length of twine, knotted at the front and at the back, and his feet were bare. He was, obviously, not one of their party.

“So like, you wanna tell me what we’re looking for? Or is it one of those deals where like, the search is the point, and it’s all about the journey, man, and everything is super existential and nebulous, woo.”

Six pairs of eyes gaped at this little speech.

“Pardon me, but who are you?” Nalyn asked the stranger. Polite, Bill thought. Where Callania sounded like culture and class, Nalyn sounded like good manners and etiquette. Like all the stuff Mum was always trying to drum into him, but which he could never remember when it was relevant.

“Oh man, names are so like, establishment. Death to the matriarchy, you know? I don’t, like, subscribe to the antiquated notion of having some arbitrary assemblage of sounds represent me.”

At their continued baffled silence, the man shook his hair back over his shoulders. “Or, like, you can call me Roger? If you need to call me something.”

…Right.

“How did you come to be here, Roger?” Callania asked.

“I was like, gathering berries and flowers, man, and I heard you all searching, so I came out to help you. Assist your fellow man, am I right? But then, like, I didn’t know what you were looking for, and then you all wanted to know my name, and then it was now.”

“This guy is seriously two slices short of a loaf,” Sestra muttered under her breath, and it was only the memory of the dagger at his throat that kept Bill from kicking her again.

“Yes, but who are you?” Torbek demanded. “Are you another traveler? Because we’ve business to attend to, and very little time for niceties.”

“Like, I’m Roger, man,” Roger repeated.

Torbek’s face went a particular shade of red mirrored in several of the stains on Roger’s shirt.

“We’re looking for the home of the Seer,” Nalyn supplied.

“Oh, wow. Like, I’m the Seer,” Roger exclaimed with a wide, toothless grin.

“You?” Sestra scoffed.

“Me!” Roger confirmed, pointing to himself with two thumbs. “I’m, like, totally the Seer!”

Over a dinner of tomatoes and herbs with goat cheese on bread fried over the fire, the party managed to get a little more sense out of Roger. A little.

As far as Bill could tell, seeking him out had been a complete waste of time. As soon as dinner was over, Roger pulled out a pipe, shoved in some dried petals from a flower Bill didn’t recognize, and lit it. A sickly sweet smoke began to rise from it, and Roger breathed it in deeply, his pupils widening immensely.

“This man is a complete wastrel,” Torbek complained. “We have squandered a day trudging through the woods in search of a drug abusing layabout.”

“Hey man, uh, the grimoire like, lies in the center,” Roger broke in, turning to Callania. She looked over at him, then gasped, horrified, which made Bill look over—and Roger’s eyes were no longer muddy brown with abnormally enlarged pupils. Roger’s eyes were black.

His face, however, remained unconcerned, relaxed, and even slightly vacant.

“How does he know we’re looking for a grimoire?” Elion whispered.

“How can he breathe with all that smoke?” Sestra whispered back, waving a hand in front of her face to waft away the thick pink smoke.

“Like, not east, not west. Not north, not south. Man, the grimoire lies in the center, wow.” Roger continued to speak as if talking about the weather, not even noticing that Callania and Nalyn couldn’t meet his creepy black eyes. “And it has totally, like, moved.”

“It’s in a tower, isn’t it?” Bill ventured.

“Nah. That guy steered you wrong. But, like, it’s not his fault? His information was like, totally bogus, man.”

Bill considered this. “So… it’s somewhere in the middle of Nimrien. But it’s not in a tower?”

“Oh, man, wow. Nimrien. Nimrien is so great, like, you know?”

Torbek stomped his foot. Bill guessed he’d lost his patience with this wishy-washy non-information. “Listen here you drug-addled sluggard, give us a straight answer before I feed you the steel of my blade!”

Roger turned his empty eyes in Torbek’s direction. “Uncool, friend. You’re like, totally harshing my mellow. Breathe in the smoke, and like, relax your mind. Feel the calming feelings of the calming, uh, flower.”

Getting to his feet, Torbek made it as far as unsheathing his sword before Nalyn tugged him back down, giving him a stern look.

“Roger,” she attempted. “Where is the grimoire?”

“Whoa, there’s a grimoire?” Roger sat up straight, his expression morphing into something approaching thrilled excitement, though his eyes remained black and empty.

“Yes, the grimoire,” Callania joined in. “Where is the grimoire, Roger?”

“It’s in the center, man,” Roger said vaguely slumping back down.

“It’s like, totally in the dark,” Roger said earnestly. “In the dark, and it’s in the…”

“Center,” chorused Bill, Sestra and Callania.

“What’s in the center?” Roger asked with great interest, his pupils beginning to recede. “Chocolate?”

“It, uh, doesn’t matter, Roger,” Nalyn said gently. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, but we must be on our way.”

“Oh man, really? So soon? Wow, harsh.” But somehow, Roger didn’t seem all that very concerned.

The party backed away slowly, leaving Roger to his thick pink smoke.