Sword & Saturday

The Adventures of Belrik Invar - Rescued Again

My first contribution to this crazy event dubbed Sword and Saturday. This idea came to me after reading this prompt from

The Brothers Krynn

. The writers on Substack have me motivated to up my writing game.

A bit of history on this rogue named Belrik Invar first.

He originally conceived as a character for the then newly released 2nd Edition of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons back in 1989. A friend had a world he threw together as we played—he named it Avalon. In truth his world had bits lifted from all the major game worlds at the time, as gamers are known to do.

My half-elven thief Belrik was the first game character to walk this world. He had many memorable adventures as he brought his craziness to Avalon.

Well, in part because of that prompt those esteemed fellows issued, one of Belrik’s adventures has been brought back to life in a new place. As might be surmised from the tale below this adventures in one of his later escapades. of all of them, it best fits the needs of the challenge that has been laid.

I hope you enjoy the beginning of this tale to stick for the ending.

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Part 1 – A Waylaid Companion

Belrik entered the Bramble Wood Coach Inn, the roadhouse had seen better days, but it was a favorite stop of his. It helped that the proprietor owed his life and that of his family to Belrik. There was always a bed for him here and he never paid for food or drink. It was a privilege he didn’t abuse, and he was known to buy rounds of drinks or meals for the customers or a night’s lodgings for someone in need. It was just his way.

“Ah, welcome Master Invar,” Darnic the owner greeted him. Darnic was a tall, thin man with a face that looked like it belonged to a corpse. He retrieved a clay cup and began to pour some of the spiced apple wine he knew that Belrik preferred.

“Master Darnic old friend, how is the family?” Belrik Invar asked.

The sound of his voice drew many eyes in the common room. He didn’t sound like one the locals. That happened all the time and did not bother Belrik a bit. He was a “half breed” as the locals called him. It was meant to be an insult, but the words slid off him. His mother had been an elf from the Foresthome of Kethanji, he had never known his father.

If it was Belrik’s voice that drew eyes, it was the manner of his dress that kept the attention, at least until the other patrons had assured themselves that this half-elf was as mad as they come. His hair was a natural mix of green and brown with a braid that reached to his shoulder blades. Hanging from the braid were three gold-colored feathers, each as long as his forearm. Anyone who listened to the story was told the feathers came from a griffin. He sported a goatee of the same color. His other facial features were clearly from his elven blood. He wore a travel strained, sleeveless coat of a pale blue that was open at the front. Embroidered at random on this coat were stars and crescent moons stitched in gold thread. The coat was worn over dark leather armor that showed the nicks and scrapes of hard use. A hand and a half sword hung from a baldric over his shoulder. A short sword and a half dozen knives were visible at his waist on a belt or a set of belts crossing over his chest.

“Yes, the family is good. They will be happy you stopped for a visit. The roads are getting bad again with neither Crowsport nor them folk to the south willing to send patrols too far along the Coast Road. A few coaches have been attacked but nobody of importance yet,” Darnic led Belrik to his table. No other guest was allowed to use the table in case Belrik dropped in unexpectedly, like he had this night.

“I have business in Crowsport. Though I am expecting a visitor here, and I suspect we shall remain here for a few days,” Belrik took the large sword and leaned it against the wall beside his seat. After sitting he sipped the wine and sighed in appreciation.

“Very good, sir. It will be good to see Mistress Valestrie once more,” the proprietor said, then turned and left to give his wife the news.

Belrik looked forward to meeting with the only woman who he would consider life bonding with. Though he knew as far as she was concerned, they had been life bonded since the day he rescued her from that sacrificial altar. Under his armor, Belrik wore a pendant with the sigil of her house that proclaimed the bonding to any that knew what it was.

He sat and sipped at his wine while he surveyed the common room. It held the usual collection of coachmen and their guards, they mingled with travellers of all sorts travelling about their business. The Coast Road was among the busiest in the region, even when the harsh winter winds blew in off the sea. Scattered throughout the crowd of other guests there were a half dozen men all studiously trying to ignore each other, and Belrik was certain he had seen them before. They were the wrong build to be craftsmen or farmers, their clothes too plain to be traders. As long as they didn’t interfere with him, Belrik wasn’t too concerned.

A barmaid brought a platter of steaming food to his table. He nodded his thanks as she gave him a coy smile. The young woman like everybody else that worked at the Bramble Wood knew Belrik and was often eager to share news of his adventures with any of the customers who would listen. Most of those stories were true and some weren’t exaggerated all that much.

While Belrik dug into the spiced potatoes and roasted pork on his plate a shadow fell over him at the table. The half-elf looked up to see a portly man with a balding head and a shadow of a grey beard. His clothes were of high-quality cloth and of a fine cut. A dagger hung at the man’s waist, to Belrik’s eyes it had nor seen much use so was likely a ceremonial object.

“Master Invar, I had hoped to speak to you, but I despaired of finding you in time for you to affect an outcome in your favor,” the man spoke quietly as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

“Of course, good sir,” Belrik waved to the empty seat opposite from him. “Yet, I do not think we have had the pleasure of doing business together before.”

Once the man was seated, he leaned forward before speaking, “I am Otmund, I am in the service of young Lord Byarton. He has sent me with a parcel of letters for you. Once you read them Master Invar, I will act on Lord Byarton’s behalf and see that you get any assistance you need,” the words were a whisper but still seemed to take great effort for Otmund to get out. He slid a packet of a half dozen letters over to Belrik.

“How is the young lord making out with his newly acquired duties and responsibilities?” Belrik asked since he had been involved the downfall of the man’s father as he opened the first of the letters. A quick read show that while it wasn’t address to Belrik, he was definitely the subject. It seemed a couple of organizations had taken a disliking to him and his activities. Five of the letters were written with variations of that theme and plans to deal with him. There were hints of plots against Crowsport and its king. The final letter made Belrik sit up and take notice.

“The estates have markedly improved. Lord Byarton has followed your… escapades in Crowsport and the surrounding region quite closely. Even before the recent events surrounding his father. I am not free to discuss how those letters came into his possession, but he believes it in his best interest if they found their way into your possession,” Otmund said.

Belrik thought on this information and the contents of that last letter for a minute or two. It was always good to have another ally in high places and he wondered about the Byarton’s motives. Was he using Belrik to take some of his enemies? For that matter, were these letters authentic? The games that lords played were layered beyond belief, but he had involved himself in them. Having an idea of who among his enemies, and Belrik had made many of those, were working together was helpful though.

“Does his lordship have any ideas on how the Crow’s Guard ferreted out Valestrie’s identity?” he asked. The fact that the spies of Crowsport had discovered that information was concerning enough, this letter indicated that they had acted on the information and had captured her. Belrik could only imagine what was happening to her in the dungeons of Crowsport’s citadel.

“He believes that it was passed along to the king’s spies by one of her enemies from Dark Realms,” Otmund chose his words carefully and pitched them so only Belrik could hear.

That was not a good bit of news. The Dark Realms was the name of the world beneath the surface of Avellion, as most scholars called this world. It was a place of darkness and many evil creatures lurked down there. The worst of them all was the race of black skinned elves called the Forsaken Ones. They had fallen into the worship of dark gods at some time in the distant past and broken away from other elvish groups. Some of those Forsaken Ones, his Valestrie among them, had turned to worship of other gods since then. They were still reviled by most surface dwellers though. The Dark Realms was where he had met, and later rescued Valestrie.

 “Lord Byarton also believes that Mistress Valestrie has been taken to the Pit,” the man opposite Belrik added. The Pit was a prison within a prison for those that the king wanted to make disappear. Nobody had been sent there and returned, or so the street tales said. It was also reputed to be impregnable.

Belrik now remembered where he had seen those half dozen men scattered about the inn’s common room before. They were members of the Crow’s Guard, the king’s spies and secret police. Belrik had worked with that group at various times in the past on commissions from the king.

“Otmund, were you followed here?” Belrik leaned forward and asked quietly.

“Not to my knowledge.”

To his credit, Otmund didn’t turn around or look away from Belrik, but the increase in tension was visible on his face.

Now Belrik wondered why those spies were here. Were they here for him or Otmund, or some other reason all together? He was also thinking of the letters that were now in his possession, and how damning some of the words in them were. The letters could get Lord Byarton executed for treason by the king or assassinated by the men who had written them. Things would not go well for Belrik either.

“Speak to the innkeeper and ask to rest in the solar. The staff will get you out of here and on your way home.”

Belrik tucked the letters out of sight after Otmund rose and went to seek out the innkeeper. He sat at the table lost in thought as he ate the rest of his meal in silence. There were two things he was sure of at that point. He was about to make an enemy of the King of Crowsport, and that Valestrie needed to be rescued from the Pit. As he rose to go to his rooms the rogue in him wondered what to do about the Crow’s Guard in the common room.

“Master Darnic!” Belrik bellowed holding a pouch above his head. “Drinks for everyone ‘til this runs dry!”

He was met with a rousing cheer from all the patrons as headed off to his rooms with a wicked smile splayed across his face.