There was a middle-aged man sitting at a table in a dusty house. He wore a wooden mask on his face and his eyes glowed faintly green and blue. Belos held a palisman in his hand, the soul of which he was consuming.

Suddenly he grunted and sighed, then turned his attention back to his mechanical staff, saying, "Soon I must be on my way again. Wild magic must be stopped at all costs, even if I have to weave long intrigues."