With guidance from Ossie, Belwick works to transplant the brain that is the ancient housekeeper into the mechanical husk of the Grand Master. He uses whatever materials the room possesses to facilitate the surgery, speaking words of abjurative magick to protect the brain (and himself) from harm.
Alvarius hears his friends speak, but all he can do is look down at himself. His skeletal frame. His undead state. Barely a whisper, the dead man says, "Is this your fault?"
When it becomes clear that magic really has abandoned him, at least for now, Belwick is forced to take a more hands on approach. He joins Baghotir in his inspection of the brain and its jar. "It's interesting that the container is fused with the shelf. And it seems like there's some sort of string connecting it to other parts of this chamber." The viscount tries to catalog all of what's at the end of the wiring, hoping to infer something about the nature of this thing from what it's connected to.
And if nothing comes of it all, he will touch the jar.
"Hrm? Oh, the spell lasts ten minutes," Alvarius answers, his mind having wandered. He picks up on the tail end of Nicky's ruminating and adds, "I heard of a group of adventurers who repaired a ring of aiudara. They were from Breachill, in Isger. The key bit about them is that they operate in a ring, connecting from one to the next. At least, that's my understanding. It's fascinating stuff that I honestly wish we had more time to study." "I admit, I often wonder how much of my knowledge I've lost. Death takes its toll, they say."
Holding onto her wits for the moment, Tess uses this moment of clarity to put her blade to violent use.
The bell above the door chimed softly as Belwick stepped into Tharald's Threads & Trim, a a modest yet refined tailor's shop nestled along a cobbled lane. The scent of pressed linen and cedar oil hung in the air, mingling with the quiet rustle of fabric. Bolts of silk and brocade lined the walls like banners of a hundred noble houses, and a mannequin in the window wore a doublet so finely embroidered it seemed fit for a coronation. From behind a curtain emerged a wiry man with silver spectacles and a measuring tape draped around his neck. "Lord Donnamoor! Welcome!" he said, delivering a practiced bow. "It has been some time since I have had the good fortune of your noble esteem gracing my humble establishment. How may I serve the Baron of Donnamoor?" Belwick swept off his traveling cloak, revealing finery that had seen better days. "Master Tharald, I seek attire worthy of an audience with King Skotti," he said, beaming a smile at the tailor. It is good to be addressed once more with such respect. I had nearly forgotten what it felt like. "Something that speaks of nobility, but does not drown in ostentation." Tharald’s eyes lit up with the challenge. He gestured toward a chaise and began pulling swatches from a drawer—deep forest green velvet, gold-threaded damask, and a subtle silver silk that shimmered like moonlight. As he worked, he asked after Belwick’s family and the nature of his visit, having his apprentice bring out refreshments. Belwick, unable to help himself, expounded on his exploits in and around Saltmarsh. He only left out mention of the Scarlet Brotherhood, remembering that his mission is meant to have a degree of secrecy to it. Within the hour, Tharald had sketched a design: a high-collared doublet of emerald velvet trimmed in silver braid, paired with tailored trousers and a ceremonial sash embroidered with merfolk in silver thread—a subtle nod to his time spent with Iliza. "It shall be ready by morning," Tharald promised, once more calling for his apprentice. Belwick nodded, satisfied. As he stepped back into the street, he looked skyward and exhaled a deep breath. This is good. I feel at home, at peace with my purpose.
The campfire's embers crackled, spitting sparks into the night. She poked at a log with a stick, watching as the orange glow reflected in her eyes. The road was quiet, just a dark line stretching out in either direction. It was in these quiet moments that the world seemed to shrink to just this small patch of light. The familiar weight of her mithral armor felt different here, less a suit of protection and more a second skin she wore for comfort. She ran a hand over the hilt of her blade, a habit she'd developed long ago. The cool metal was a steadying presence. She wasn't a stranger to herself when she sat here; she was Tessaria Moondown, a half-elf with a sword and a handful of spells, watching the fire die down. A lone owl hooted from a distant tree, its call echoing through the darkness. She looked up at the stars, a blanket of silver dust against the black. She was just a small part of a larger, epic story, yet in this moment, under this vast sky, the only story that mattered was her own. She sighed, a wisp of breath in the cool night air, and soaked in the peace of the wilderness.
Recalling that the monthly fee from his prior agreement with Agreg, Belwick by necessity collects some offered coins from Caelius and Baghotir. "This will go a long way, I assure you."
The nobleman goes to meet with the Centurian, expecting to also see Ulzer and the others of his troop. Once formalities have been met, Belwick gets down to business"I require your services for one month to hunt down the gnolls who are threatening this region. Our previous arrangement was 450 gold pieces, but I recognize that this is likely a challenging endeavour and you will need resources. Thus, I am willing to pay you 750 gold pieces." "In addition, I will offer you this," he holds out the Gem of Brightness. "The magic within can provide light, but with the appropriate activation word can be made bright enough to temporarily blind your enemies. Lastly, I will share with Ulzer the abjurative knowledge of countering magicks. Something that you have seen me employ to great effect. I see this as an incredibly generous offer, and as such expect to see results. Proof of your success."
Belwick shadows Venn, hoping to learn something of how the ranger investigates in the wilderness.
It likely comes as no surprise when the nobleman talks over Venn, sharing his own insights before the woodsman can.
"Give me a few minutes to consult my spellbook, and I can take care of that lever," Elena says, retrieving her book and flipping it open to a rune-covered page. "Stay alert. It won't be long." She then spends around ten minutes committing to her mind the gestures and intonations needed to conjure a telekinetic hand. "Ok, got it. Let me just do this..." Elena casts the spell, creating a ghost-like magical hand right by the lever. With a mental command, the hand grasps the lever and pulls.
"Being sequestered like this is the true hindrance to this investigation. This infestation. One the king has concerned himself with by sending me. And I can tell you it is an infestation, as I think the reason Lady Solmor is dead is because of Skerrin Wavechaser and the Scarlet Brotherhood." Belwick, with his more lax security, works with Iliza when she visits to set various efforts in motion.
Satisfied that the maid is well in hand, Belwick smiles to Lemunda. "I will put my items in safekeeping, understanding full well that the crown should be made aware of the situation." He removes his backpack, then retrieves a scroll from it. "I will save us all the hassle of writing a missive to the king. He should hear what's gone on first-hand." Belwick recites the words from the Scroll of Sending and speaks his message to the King of Keoland, a man he has met and was entrusted with this mission. His voice is clear. "Milord, it is Belwick. The Scarlet Brotherhood are in Saltmarsh. I have dealt them a blow. But now I am being arrested by Anders Solmor."
"You have all made a terrible mistake by standing in opposition to Keoland. To our homeland. You will pay for this." He retrieves a bit of bat guano and sulfur from a pouch, intones words of magick, and points. Completing his spell he releases another fireball.
Satisfied that the ball of fire has punctuated his point, he shouts to the survivors. "Surrender!"
If he had the lids to blink, he would. "Incredible. I'd say I've seen things on this journey. Things I never expected to see. I'm not a spiritual sort, but this transformation... it's enough to make me want to give it a try." Alvarius then looks at Ruun. "Wait, are we hitching a ride?"
"We've taken a much quieter approach than you realize. And if we had no evidence, why would we know the name Leifin, Uncle?"
Belwick runs with Alisanne, determined to apprehend Skerrin before he can do anything. When he sees the man, his next words are laced with magic. "I suggest you sit down and calmly explain your entire operation here in Saltmarsh. All of your connections with the Scarlet Brotherhood."
"Agreed. Baghotir, see if you can place your magical ear within the warehouse. We may or may not gleam anything, but with that info I will once more make Venn invisible to the eye and he can break and enter."
Before Kraddock leaves them, Belwick stops the man. "Thank you. Your duty at a time when Saltmarsh needs it most is testament your strength and devotion to its people. And please know that we will get justice for the Captain. This is an important step in doing that." He then turns his attention to Gellan Primewater. "So. You are starting to see that you've made a mistake. Good. But you've got a lot more work to do if you ever mean to find redemption. Because Captain Fireborn is dead, and so is Ingo the Drover and Keledek the Unspoken. With the evidence we've seen, you are a traitor to the Crown. I am uniquely positioned as someone with the king's ear, and can help you. But so far all I have seen is self-interest. You know what we're after, and what we're up against. This may be your last chance. Tell us everything you know."
Seeing Nicky struggle to appease the Godcaller, Alvarius tries to find the right, different words to quiet the spirit.
He then erects a magical shield. "Look, sometimes you got to piss things off to get results."
Dendillion shrugs. "It is very interesting to find you here, deputy constable Stallit. I'll let her know now." If Stallit isn't quick to react, the bard continues. "Or, I'd suggest you tell the truth about your affiliations with the circus."
"I worry too that any delays could spell doom for the daughter of Captain Fireborn. Whom we did not inform about this situation. I respect preparedness, and rest for that matter. But I am concerned about the cost."
"Oh, trust me. I know how to make this thing sing. And no, the command word is," he stares at the wand for a moment, then says, "Nicholo-Poop-Poop." He grins, shrugs, then tucks the wand into his belt. "Wizards are weird, amirite?"
Belwick, who carries only a dagger as a weapon, shrugs at the observation by the good captain. "As Baghotir says, we have need to speak to you about a person of interest that might be mixed up in some bad business. I understand that you are acquainted with Ingo the Drover?" "We know only a little about Ingo. We've gathered that they are ex-military of some sort. That they have connections with mercenaries. And that you and he occasionally meet to play games of dragonchess," the nobleman smiles, adding, "Thank you, by the way, for the game board. It is most excellent." "The problem is that... we have heard that there may be a connection between Ingo and The Scarlet Brotherhood. As you can imagine, this is not something the good King Skotti welcomes within Keoland. What can you tell us about the man?"
Need dice?:
Belwick plays to the man's pace. He gets a feeling that he might need the time. "More than fair. Where to begin?" He lifts a Warrior piece, considering its placement for a moment before putting it down. "As you likely know, I first met Iliza when she was part of the delegation meeting with the Lizardfolk. I was of course there to represent Saltmarsh, and was there with my friends. They're gathered here with me today, and are stout-hearted folk that I would trust with my life. Have trusted, many times already." "I was there to fulfill my duty however. I did not expect to fall for someone. I am no sailor, beholden to old wives' tales of the sirens of the sea. I cannot say why, or how, but I felt a connection. And I suppose Iliza did too, as she gave me a gift. A conch shell, with magic enough to send brief messages. And I did so, every day since that day, exchanging twenty-five words each just to see how she was. Because the rest of my days were filled with exploration and danger. Giant aligators. Hordes of the skeletal dead. Cultists who would undo all of the progress in Saltmarsh. I am proud to say we were triumphant, and my friends are true heroes. We were doing good for the people on land, and I think for the people who swim these waters as well. The ritual the Sahuagin meant to enact... I shudder to think of the consequences. But I will say that each day's twenty-five words were a comfort to me." Belwick watches as Gatren deliberates over a piece, continuing his tale. "I have been fortunate in recent days to get to share more words. To learn more of the Merfolk way. I've turned every ounce of my study in learning how I could be better equipped for being in water, mastering spells that allow me to breathe underwater. I have a longer research project involving magic that would transform me, though that will take some time. Because the last thing I want is for Iliza to be taken away from what she cares for. From her home. I have a responsibility to my King, to Keoland. And I would give it up in an instant if I had to." The nobleman breathes out a sigh. "I love her. My only goal here today is to make sure she is happy. I know these things are complicated, but this is my truth."
Belwick watches the opening play, quickly decides on a strategy, and sets his first piece in motion. "Titles, like being a Baron, are hereditary and typically passed down father to son. My sister and her husband live on land granted by the crown many years ago. Donnamoor Manor is lovely, and the lands that surround it are, in my opinion, the gem of the north. It's a small area, really, but my family has a long history of being staunch loyalists to King Skotti." As play continues, Belwick goes on. "My duties are somewhat fluid, what with my sister holding the fort, so to speak, at home. Full candor, I can say that the king requested that I look into things in the Saltmarsh area. And it's been a great deal more adventure than I expected. But I'm glad I've been able to serve my king." He says this, meaning every word.
Belwick catches the warrior piece, turning it over in his hands and studying it. He takes comfort in the love, the care that went into maintaining the game board and all of its pieces. It's symbolic, this match of dragonchess and the situation. A game that requires long-term vision, with pieces that must be cared for. He puts the piece down, then adjusts a few pieces to make sure their starting placements are just right. Mentally he combs through the various opens his father has used. The memory of his father, Theoden Samuel Donnamoor, always comes to him when he plays dragonchess. The trim goatee, the ever-present pipe smoke, and the uneven smile near the end. It never bothered Belwick that he lost every match. It would this time though. The nobleman moves his hands over a sylph on the top board, sees to hesitate, then moves his hand to the middle board and instead moves a Warrior forward. A gambit he knows well. "Middle board. Warrior. C2 to C3." Be curious, not judgemental, he thinks to himself. "So, Lord Gatren Em. I'm curious: How did you earn each of your noble titles? Lord of Deep-Water Current, Prince of Shoals, and Knight of The Seas. I realize that your herald can share this, but I would much rather hear the tales straight from the source."
"A spare set is good. Because I intend to beat Gatren so bad he'll likely flip the board in impotent rage."
"Plant anatomy is not my forte," Cookie-Cutter says, shrugging. "But anything described as both 'strange' and an 'expulsion' can't be good." She then moves closer to the double doors at the other side of the room. "You know what they say about double doors? They lead to greater danger. Ready to face the danger?"
"Hold a moment, if you will," Belwick says, flummoxed by Xolec's behaviour. "You heard just one name, even having been down there for as long as you say? And... if you have been trapped down there for so long, and the Brotherhood did not feed you, then how is it you're alive?"
Dendillion gives it his all to close the door...
Alvarius may not have spent more time than strictly necessary in a library, but he generally knows what he's looking for when it comes to all things occult.
Beatrice the moth flits about, following Alvarius as he conducts his searching. She responds to Nicky by ignoring him. "Your horny friend seems to see himself as a funny man. I don't like it." The skeletal wizard responds. "Stick around. He might just grow on you." "I doubt it." the moth replies in a tone as dry as the pages they search through.
Zeah smiles in response. “Sarkoris has a proud tradition of calling down gods. The overgrown vegetable in that murderer’s burrow is definitely no god—that I can assure you—but you haven’t traveled all this way for naught. Tell me, what do you know of the history of god calling?” "I feel like I've heard of it. But my understanding is that folks who call themselves Godcallers tend to be operating more with minor spirits and not gods like Iomedae, Pharasma, or Gorum. You suggesting that there's more to it? If so, I'm-" Alvarius stops suddenly, his skull making rattling noises as it shakes. The skeletal wizard once more opens his mouth, though this time instead of words a moth flies out. Stunned silence follows from Alvarius as he watches the tan-coloured insect flit about. Tentatively, he holds out a bony finger and, much to his surprise, the moth perches on his hand. "You're a big one, aren't you?" To make the situation even more strange, the moth responds. With a joke. "That's what she said."
Belwick exhales, letting out a breath that he did not know he was holding. "Well, I would fight him if I needed to. It's occasionally how disputes are settled here. Not a practice I condone, I should say." He looks at Iliza, gaze intense as he speaks. "I respect that freedom is important to you, and is a custom for merfolk. Humans have this too, though perhaps to a lesser degree. And then there's what's expected of the nobility. Being honest, I can tell you that you and I as... what we are... is at best frowned upon. I have no idea how my sister Rosie would take this." "But I say to the Nine Hells with tradition," Belwick says, balling his fists. "It's not like tradition has been kind to me. What I want is for us to be together, forever. My intentions are true, and if you'd have me I would marry you. It's scary to you, I'm sure. And complicated, and nerve-wracking. And then scary some more. But I can't explain it more than to say that I feel like there's something special between us, and I would hold onto it until my last, dying breath."
Day 1
Day 2
Issac reveals that he has an interesting stock of magic items. Specifically:
After a lengthy discussion and a bit of good-natured bartering, Belwick buys the magical gem and asks the man to find him a specialty scroll for him.
Day 3-14
Day 15
Having already paid the man, Belwick then sets about purchasing the rare inks needed to inscribe the magic from the scroll. He retires to his townhouse, spending the next six hours working through the notations to scribe the spell to his spellbook.
A young ysoki opens ultraviolet eyes, startled from her reverie by the klaxon. She sits up, looking at the console in front of her to try and make sense of what's going on. To the other Starfinders, who she insists call her CeeCee, Cookie-Cutter is a techno-nerd who regularly blasts the synth-heavy tunes of Gig Razorbyte. Her father is famous for all the wrong reasons, which she avoids talking about for all the right reasons. "We just dodged the biggest space fruit I've ever seen. My guess as to the pilot? Some weird seed-thing."
Belwick returns to Saltmarsh, thinking about the battle. It was a success, but one that's left him with questions. Did they find a sea elf, the one who had been conversing with the leader, amongst the dead? How did the sahuagin find such strength? Who has been helping them, and for what purpose? He resolves to write a detailed letter, which he will send to the King Skotti, as soon as he is back in Saltmarsh. The celebration is a welcome distraction, the nobleman moving from group to group to share words of praise. Of course, he seeks out Iliza first, this time using the magic of his cloak to join her amongst her people in the water. He spares little expense during the week, living like a proper aristocrat. Though the celebration keeps him distracted, he does spend enough time to ask Elmo to perform research. Specifically, on the nature of the sahuagin and their relationship with sea elves. He also tasks Heidi with concocting another healing draught to replace the one he gave to Caelius.
Aurelia doesn't need to say anything, instead going to Ianthe and fretting over her friend. "Don't worry, we're here. Take a deep breath and relax. Find your mental calm centre, like when we were novices learning those first cantrips."
"Freedom is paramount. It's the most important thing, or so the songs of Tulia the Lyakien Azata go. She has ever been my muse," Dendillion says, also studying the lillends with a degree of wariness. "Have you heard of the stories of her and her companion Vael? They're quite famous in Belkzen and the places near the Mindspin Mountains." Dendillion uses the chatter to discretely read the two.
"Allow me to do a bit more of what I do best," Belwick says to the others, weaving for a third time the magic to release a blast of fire upon the amassed foes.
Belwick feels he's done what he needs to put his best foot forward.
And he hopes too that he's convinced the leaders here to be kind to Shern and Elmo, and hear them both out.
Belwick will use what time they have to learn more about Kysh and the Tritons. He'll angle to get a feel for their numbers, armaments, and overall capabilities. But beyond that his mind is on the journey home. Because Iliza told him to hurry.
"Come on! We've nearly got it." Concerned about the running priestess, Belwick weaves a bit of enchantment magic. Aiming it at the space near the doorway where the one priestess is fleeing, the nobleman wizard hopes it's enough to put them into a deep slumber.
Belwick considers his discovery with the blunted tridents.
He then walks over to the captain, riffling through pockets to see if there's anything left of value. Which he will pass on to the others. Alvarius then sizes up the body of the captain. "Seems to be about the right size. I could use a spare femur." The skeletal wizard then retrieves his dagger, crouches down, and begins the slow process of cutting off the dead captain's leg at the hip.
Xavien begins to pump the party up as Dendillion blinds one of the guards!
"Venn, I will one day change your mind about the aristocracy. But for now, we focus." He then retrieves his conch shell from his pack. "And it's not too late for us to share some information. Allow me a moment." Belwick whispers the command word to activate the sending magic with the shell, then says, "One hundred forty-six sahuagin, twelve sharks, one four-armed boss. A sea elf allied with them. Three levels. More to come. Love you." The barons stows the conch and then moves after Venn. He does his best to emulate the ranger's movements.
"No, we are not," Belwick says, a testiness in his voice at the obvious inconvenience. He draws a dagger from its sheath and murmurs a series of arcane syllables. Light springs forth from the blade, illuminating the area out forty feet.
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