Ravenbreath

The River’s Bounty: Where the Water Talks First

Tucked along a winding stretch of river where the current slows just enough to dock, the tavern rests on ancient pilings and creaks with every tide. Lanterns sway in the breeze, casting golden ripples across dark waters. Nets dry on the railing. Barrels sweat salt and brine. The scent of roasted fish mingles with damp wood, blood, and stories no one should tell.

It’s a stopover, a smuggler’s rest, a ferryman’s final drink. Some pass through on the way to somewhere worse. Some stay because nowhere else will have them. The drinks are strong, the floor’s always damp, and the owner never asks your name—unless they already know it.

But the river doesn’t just carry boats. It carries whispers, rumors, memories. And it listens. To every deal struck on the dock, every secret spilled over stew. Those who pay attention might hear something worth trading for. Or running from.

Because some things don’t sink. They float until they’re found.