Session 08: The Scent of Raw Eel and The Blue Goose
The Crow’s Roost
The Drift was a labyrinth of rotted wood, bright tarps, and saltwater. Above the winding canals and swaying rope bridges, The Crow’s Roost sat perched like a bird of prey—a salvage shop cobbled together from the hulls of dead ships. It was here the party sought answers about the Clarion Crate, and the guilt of pawning the volatile artifact off on their undeserving ally, Aluthra, weighed heavily upon them. They understood now, with uncomfortable clarity, the catastrophic dangers of letting something like that loose on the black market.
Tessa Rook—hardened ex-Atlas officer, leathery skin, no-nonsense stare—watched the trio approach. She dealt in secrets and salvage, and expected inquiries of deep importance. Her gaze locked immediately onto Morrigan, sizing her up with a single, practiced glance.
“You don’t look like salvage. You look like trouble,” Tessa noted dryly. “You’ve got that Starline look. High cheekbones and low morals.”
“Guilty as charged,” Morrigan smirked.
Any tension brewing was instantly derailed when Tessa turned to their ranger, who stood obliviously holding a dripping satchel.
“I got some, uh… some to-go,” Longstride announced, entirely unbothered by the gravity of their situation. “In my open satchel. Should we cook it first? I heard this place has a smoker.”
Tessa raised a brow at the fresh, raw eel. “Wonderful, kid. I’m sure the slime is tasty this time of year. We don’t sell secrets—we weigh them. And right now, you lot are heavy with something that’s going to tip the scales in the wrong way.”
The Blue Goose Must Not Poop in the Garden
Morrigan, eager to prove they weren’t just random eel-toting vagrants, stepped away to contact Zyla Vane. Clutching her Sending Stone, she transmitted the secret passphrase Zyla had instructed her to use—a terrible inside joke regarding a highly uncharismatic local ranger:
“The blue goose must not poop in the garden.”
Across the shop, Tessa let out a sudden snort. Her hardened exterior cracked, and she failed entirely to suppress a laugh. “You’ve spoken to Zyla recently, haven’t you? He tends to do that. It must be the orbs.”
Credibility established—however bizarrely—Tessa revealed what she knew: the Rust Rangers were selling the coordinates to the Clarion Crate the following afternoon at a high-stakes auction down in the Tar Pit. Just as the party turned to leave, the Siphon Core tucked in Morrigan’s pouch let out a sudden, noticeable pulse of heavy energy. Tessa’s eyes narrowed at the unnatural thrum—a silent confirmation that they were carrying something far more dangerous than fish.
They grabbed their satchel of eel and made for the door.
Dinner at The Gilded Keel
That evening, the party met up with Zyla Vane. Cleaned up via Prestidigitation and escorted by a proud Zyla, they were seated at The Gilded Keel—the finest restaurant in The Drift. Fancy menus, however, meant nothing to Longstride. He still had his raw eel. And through sheer, stubborn charisma—and perhaps a look of pure pity from the maitre d’—they somehow convinced the kitchen to prepare it.
As they awaited their meal, the Siphon Core began to hum softly in Morrigan’s pouch, radiating an energy that cast everything at the table in a strange new light. Peering through the Core’s Attunement, Morrigan glanced over at Briony—and gasped. The druid’s normally vibrant green and brown aura was corrupted, riddled with jagged, ink-black static clinging to her lungs.
Stage 1 of the Salt Rot.
Morrigan handled the grave medical diagnosis with her characteristic professionalism.
“You look terrible,” she said slowly, still analyzing the dark static. “Like… ‘cursed by an angry sea god’ terrible.”
With a deep sigh, Morrigan channeled her magic through the Core and reversed Briony’s unnatural corruption. The oppressive weight lifted from the druid’s shoulders. Recognizing that her bedside manner had left something to be desired, Morrigan offered a rare, genuine apology.
“Now that I see you’re feeling better… I have an apology to make. I haven’t always been great with people and I tend to say some really offensive things. I’m really sorry for being so blunt about your aura.”
“I appreciate it,” Briony replied softly. “I don’t always think before I speak either. I don’t communicate a lot in social settings.”
“Well, now you’re hanging out with us,” Morrigan said, confidence fully restored. “Because we are super socially adept. We’re not inept. We’re epts.”
Mama Coralee Casts Detect Chaos
Their social mastery was about to be tested.
The powerful magical surge from the Siphon Core had drawn attention. Mama Coralee—the formidable Goliath owner of The Gilded Keel—loomed over their table, casting a long, threatening shadow.
“Your friends have an interesting aura,” she rumbled to Zyla, eyes lingering on the energy still fading from the recent healing. “Last time I saw this… Atlas came a swarmin’… and they didn’t finish their dessert.”
It wasn’t a warning so much as an eviction notice. But some quick talking and a well-timed social maneuver bought them a brief reprieve—just enough time to finish dessert.
Right on cue, Chef Goro arrived, presenting Longstride’s unusual order as an exquisite, beautifully plated electrifying eel tartare. Longstride devoured it eagerly. It tasted of ozone and lime, imbued with Clarion residue that granted him a sudden surge of heightened awareness.
Power, as always, came with a price. His skin began to emit a soft, pulsing blue light.
Siphon-Eel Tartar (AI gen)
Deez Nutz and a Quick Exit
With Longstride glowing like a piece of coastal salvage, the waiters rushed out the Sirens Call Tart. The party, recognizing they were on borrowed time, used the dessert course to mastermind their infiltration of the Tar Pit auction. The tart was exquisite—a dark ganache filling in a shortbread crust topped with passion fruit curd, made from ground macadamia nuts.
“Let’s call them,” someone at the table snickered, “Ground Deez Nuts.”
Glowing bright blue, clutching the remnants of eel tartare, and shoveling “Deez Nuts” into their mouths, the party fled into the night.
The Tar Pit auction awaited. And somehow, this was the most prepared they had ever felt.
Next session: The Tar Pit. High stakes, higher chaos.