“I don’t catch your meaning,” Orum said, hurrying along to keep up with the tall, wiry man who suddenly seemed as wily as a quarry trying to lose a dogged hunter.

He soon did catch the man’s meaning, however, as he found that every new hallway, corridor, atrium or room that they passed through was adorned with all manner of heads affixed to the walls. Some were common enough, the kind you might find in a tavern in Dunmire, for example, ranging from antlered bucks and moose to wolves and jackals. He even spotted a formidable black bear’s head mounted above a fireplace, the carpet beneath it the poor beast’s pelt with the ashtrays on each table formed from its paws. But others were less common, and by less common Orum meant that he had no idea what sort of creatures they were at all. There was a bird head of the oddest sort, for example, its neck long and twisting, its feathers a sparkling silver hue that would turn the finest gemstones green with envy. In another room the entire wall was blanketed by the largest head Orum had ever seen, thick wooly hair draping down from every section of it, dark black eyes like fist-sized orbs in its skull. Two long, curving ivory tusks stretched out into the room, forcing anyone passing through—like he and his guide—to duck or suffer a minor head injury.

At some point, Orum grew suspicious of how long it was taking to get to…well, wherever it was they were supposed to be getting to. “Mister…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Cleaves,” the man said without breaking stride, departing the latest room and turning down yet another hallway in the house that was beginning to feel more like a badger’s warren. This particular corridor was lined with the strangest, most eclectic collection of mounted heads yet. There was a one-eared hare with its mouth open to reveal glistening fangs. A three-headed rat with pure white fur snarled at him from a trio of mouths. Some sort of eel with a single eye that took up its entire face reflected his own image back at him. He flinched because of what he spied behind him, spinning about to find himself face to face with a lizard-like monster with a beaked snout and dozens of beady eyes speckled amongst its scales.

“Mister C-Cleaves, will I be m-meeting with Lord Olmstead soon, d-do you think?” he stammered, flinching away from each of the grotesque decapitated monsters as he passed them.

“We’ve passed near to him half a dozen times already, I’m afraid, but my master has given me strict standing orders that all guests shall be treated to a full tour of his trophies before being delivered to his pipe room. In any event, we are finally here. Thank the gods,” the man added under his breath.