Adventure of RagNook Butcher of the East 1

The violet light of the Grotto of Weeping Veins pulses with the rhythm of the dying beast’s final, shuddering breaths. RagNook stands knee-deep in the mineral-rich pool, his massive frame slick with waterfall mist and viscous, glowing ichor. He raises his heavy ironwood cleaver, his gaze fixed on the exact intersection where the creature’s chitinous neck plate meets the pulsating muscle beneath.

With a grunt of effort, he brings the blade down in a clean, practiced arc, slicing through the chiton like parchment. The beast lets out a final, wet click as the connection between its nerve cluster and the main mass is severed.

RagNook moves with a predatory fluidity, his massive hands working with the delicacy of a surgeon. He peels back the thick, armored plates of the beast, revealing ribbons of iridescent, tender muscle hidden beneath. He discards the bitter glands with a flick of his wrist, sliding the prime cuts into his curing salt bag. As he scrapes the last of the glowing essence from the marrow, the ground beneath the pool shudders.

He hefts his gore-stained pack, turning toward the sound of the waterfall. A faint, cool breeze pulls at his robes, carrying the metallic tang of ozone rather than cave rot. A narrow, jagged fissure opens up behind the falls, illuminated by the distant, grey light of the surface.