“Should we meet with this man?” Anneliese asked, staring out across the sea of grass. “Who is Dimocles, even? You seemed to have knowledge of this name.”

“One of the player characters,” Argrave said shortly.

“Ah,” Anneliese nodded. “Then maybe we…” she stopped, then rephrased, “As I recall, you once said all of the player characters are good… more or less.”

Argrave put his hands in his pockets. “This guy’s the more or less part of that.”

Anneliese nodded slowly, then stared at Argrave’s cheek as she asked, “Eliminating the other options we have already encountered, he would be a spellcaster first and a warrior second, correct?”

Though his mind was dancing as he scrambled to think of ways he might deal with this matter with Erlebnis, he turned his head and said, “Yeah, you’re on the money. I’ll tell you what he really is, though—he’s scary.” Argrave took a deep breath and crossed his arms. “If there’s anyone that fits the archetype of the game’s player, it’s Dimocles. He doesn’t enjoy eating, drinking, socializing… any of the normal human pleasures, basically.”

“Then what does he enjoy?” A frown spread across her face.

“Collecting,” Argrave looked down at her grimly.

“Collecting what?” Anneliese pressed for more.

“Spells. Weapons. Armor. Houses. Talented people. Unique people. Anything and everything that draws his attention, he tries and collect.” Argrave looked up at the endless blue sky. “Induen killed his parents, so you might think he’d have some good will towards me for settling that unchecked score… but damn it, I’m not quite sure if such a thing as goodwill exists from that man.”

As he stared up, Anneliese asked, “He collects… people?”

Argrave closed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah. It’s not…” he grasped at the words. “It’s not like he does anything weird with them. I don’t think he has the desire to do anything with them other than own them. It isn’t about having power over them, it’s just about them being his. That manifests in a bunch of different ways.”

Anneliese blinked for a few moments in confusion, then questioned quietly, “Does not the meaning of owning imply power over another?”

“Sure… sure, I guess,” Argrave agreed, his head still swimming. “But he doesn’t abuse that power. Like any collector, he likes to keep everything that he owns in very good condition, mentally and physically. Collection is about preservation, not domination. He’s rich, charismatic as a sociopath, smart, and talented… it isn’t hard to keep a little swarm of people he likes in his villa.” He looked back at Anneliese. “The cruelest thing he does is deciding that someone isn’t worth collecting any longer. He spends all this time making the other person totally dependent on him, to where their life revolves around his… then he finds someone better and the Fairy Godmother’s spell wears off, leaving them with nothing but a pair of glass slippers. They’re on the streets, destitute.”

Anneliese still looked like she didn’t get it, so Argrave continued, “Hell, the reason Dimocles might’ve been talking to Artur was that he thought the man was someone worth owning. A master enchanter Magister with dwarfism? Come on.” he spread his hands out, his point made.

“Owning a Magister?” Anneliese said incredulously.

“Hey, he’s persistent. This is his sole joy in life. It might be a very expensive collectible, but if he wants it…” Argrave sighed. “And it makes sense for him to work with someone like Erlebnis.”

Anneliese looked a little overwhelmed, but she rubbed her forehead and asked, “So, should we meet with him? Should Artur go alone?”

Argrave stared off into space. “There are so many angles for this my brain is leaking out of my ears. Did Erlebnis intend this? That letter… Artur said it was about what we did, but not why we did it. How much do they know?”

“All leading back to the same thing—we need more information,” Anneliese said.

“Yeah, but I don’t trust Artur to go unwatched. The information we get from him might not be the whole truth, even if he’s not lying—hell, perhaps Erlebnis knows about your uncanny empathy.” Argrave looked at her. “And that’s the reason I don’t want you near that damned sociopath.”

Anneliese tilted her head. “You think it may be a trap?”

“So long as the meeting place is far away from any shrine to Erlebnis, I don’t fear a trap overmuch. Maybe Onychinusa might show up… but even then, you’re her antithesis.” He looked at her amber eyes. “One touch from you, she melts away. Her body is all magic. She can’t teleport about during the fight at all, or you’ll be tearing bits and pieces of her away.”

Anneliese looked at her gloved hands, seeming disquieted.

“Either way… you’re right. If we hope to have any chance of dealing with this crap, we have to understand what’s going on.” Argrave rubbed his hands together. “But the show has to go on.”

“I can observe with my bird,” Anneliese reminded him. “I need not place myself in harm’s way.”

“Fair enough,” Argrave said. “If the meeting is tomorrow, we have more to discuss. I thought we might sleep tonight… but that’s wishful thinking.”

#####

The place where the meeting was to be held was somewhat difficult to infiltrate with the Starsparrow without issue. It was the first of the altars that they’d entered inside to reach the Mother’s Steppes. The only way to reach that was by entering inside of it, and given the closed-off and mystical nature of that process, presented problems.

In the end, it was remedied by having the Starsparrow smuggled in by Artur himself. It was a small thing, easily placed inside a piece of clothing on the Magister’s person. Argrave had almost been paranoid to the point he feared the bird would be killed or stolen, but Anneliese reminded him how ridiculous that would be.

And so, the time of the meeting came….

#####

Artur blinked open his eyes, disoriented from the transference of the altar that resembled a water basin. His eyes adjusted to the dimness somewhat before he cast light into the air with a quick spell. Anneliese observed this all with her Starsparrow, which had already taken its perch in a forgotten corner of this room.

“Rather bright,” Dimocles said, and Artur took an involuntary step back.

Anneliese looked down at the tall man, who was dressed rather strangely. His robes were a bewitching combination of dark gray and a dark blue-green that swirled mesmerizingly about each other. Heavy metal baubles dangled from his sleeves, sewn on tightly so as to be a permanent fixture. He had seven rings on his finger, each and all different from the other.

Dimocles’ eyes were a dark-blue green matching the color of his robes, and unlike the swirls on those his eyes were truly mobile. They danced like a rippling pond. His skin was pale, yet with some scars and a certain roughness to it that made him seem hard. He had a strong jaw with the faintest untrimmed beard on it as though he hadn’t shaved for a few days, and an easy smile that never left.

“You’ve changed a lot since I last saw you,” Artur straightened. “Gotten… much more powerful, too. What rank are you by this point?”

“I’ve learned a few S-rank spells,” Dimocles nodded. “I can only cast A-rank, however.”

“Is that even…?” Artur began, but laughed and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What is this? That white-haired elven woman—is she your servant, your superior, what?”

The spellcaster stared, blinking with those unnerving eyes of his. Anneliese thought that the whole of what he showed others was fake. But if the whole of him was fake, what was real? She couldn’t answer that question.

Dimocles didn’t engage with Artur, instead saying, “I want to tell you a story.”

“What?” Artur laughed.

“It’s a good story. I’ve heard a lot of stories,” Dimocles continued, tilting his head. “It’s about a group of travelling merchants.”

“Some parable to convey your intent?” Artur narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like this.”

“That’s saddening. We exchanged many stories, so I thought you might be interested. Regardless, perhaps you might tell it to someone else later on the line who will be interested.” Dimocles placed his hands together. “These travelling merchants, you see… they were led by two men. Rufio and Lant.

“They used the mobile nature of their business to profit from war,” Dimocles continued. “They travelled from place to place, exploiting discrepancies in price between warring nations. It was dangerous work… but for people capable of weathering danger like both Rufio and Lant, nothing was better. They went from humble origins in a farmstead to having children of their own in a gilded palace.”

“Think I know where this is going,” Artur cut in. “They incurred the wrath of both sides.”

“Not quite,” Dimocles rubbed one of his rings. “I said nations, did I not? These two were quite successful for some time. They were wealthier than kings, and they died happily with a large family who loved them.”

Artur slowly furrowed his brow. “I don’t follow the moral of this story.”

“But the next generation… they thought to follow in their father’s footsteps. They’d been taught, trained, and raised all of their life to do this. The issue was… the continent was at peace. Their elaborate trading network facilitated this, in part, though that’s a digression.” Dimocles put his hands together. “Rufio and Lant’s descendants made a decision, then.” Dimocles stepped forward. “They’d have to make a war to profit from.”

“Can we talk frankly?” Artur held his hand up.

Dimocles pursed his lips. “I’m not overfond of the mysterious storyteller act either, but we both have our parts to play as proxies, don’t we?”

Artur looked caught off guard, but the confession made him laugh. “Yeah, well… you’ve got a point.”

“I’d like to give some advice to you, as a friend,” Dimocles continued. “Advise your king this. Light the fire… but don’t stay as the building burns, even if your friends die around you. Why? Because fire doesn’t care that you gave it life. It just consumes all that it can.”

Anneliese shuddered at the sight of Dimocles, so perfect in his acting that even she was left feeling uncertain if he was being truthful. And when Dimocles lifted his head to look at her Starsparrow, she knew then that Argrave was right to fear what this man spelled. Then, he turned and left.