The Brine and Starlight General
Est. 2025 • Human Warlock
The Brine and Starlight General
The shop is built into a low cliff facing a brackish inlet. Lanterns gutter with an odd, cold blue flame. Shelves hold ordinary provisions alongside jars of pho...
Shopkeeper
Marah Voss, a Human Warlock (Lvl 6)
Keeper's Species
Human
Shop Inventory
(15)A small glass phial filled with a bright red liquid. The standard restorative potion adventurers carry.
A heavier vial of sanguine fluid, stitched with a tiny silver sigil. Stronger than the common tonic.
Cloudy green liquid with a tiny, suspended bubble like a jellyfish. Useful if the next step leads below the waves.
A pale, opalescent vial. The color seems to tremble when you name a damage type aloud nearby.
A battered satchel with a faintly shimmering lining. Marah insists it was found in the belly of a ship that never docked.
A rolled parchment stained faintly with brine. The ink shifts like an inner tide when you stare.
A coil of salt-dark hemp rope, still slightly damp. Marah knots it to demonstrate its tensile strength.
A small leather box with flint and char cloth. The leather is stamped with a trembling spiral.
A small, corked bottle of pale oil that smells faintly of kelp and ozone.
A bundle of resin-dipped fiber on a wooden handle. Marah sells torches wrapped in a strip of midnight-blue cloth.
A small kit of hooks, line, and a few preserved baits. Useful if the party plans to follow tidal clues.
A flat oval lens, the glass veined with tiny constellations of black filaments. Marah claims it was hammered from the eye of a drowned atlas.
An iridescent compass whose needle never rests. Its face is dusted with starlight; looking at it makes the edges of the room feel slightly wetter.
A well-balanced blade whose crossguard is etched with curling, salt-dark filigree. It hums faintly when the tide is high.
A heavy cloak, dark as storm-tossed water. Its hem is embroidered with tiny star-like knots.
Marah Voss
Shop Atmosphere
“The shop is built into a low cliff facing a brackish inlet. Lanterns gutter with an odd, cold blue flame. Shelves hold ordinary provisions alongside jars of phosphorescent algae and sealed vials labeled in many hands in a script that seems to squirm if you stare too long. Marah Voss, the proprietor, hums deep, tuneless songs under her breath when the tide rolls in; customers report faint dreams of breathing under a green sky after leaving. She will barter information about aboleth lairs or tidal currents in exchange for rare books, a vial of deep-sea ink, or a favor to be called in later.”
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