Meal

Steven trudged back to the guild hall through the Mistveil’s thickening fog, the mage tower’s glow fading behind him. His mind buzzed with the cross sigil—his crest, simple and holy, ready to mark his gear—but Melissa was nowhere in sight. She’d be at the mage tower still, filing away, he figured. Shrugging, he headed to the dining hall anyway, the day’s grind leaving his stomach growling.

At the counter, the cook—a burly man with a sea-weathered grin—waved him over. “Meals on us today, Steve—yer crab meat’s a hit,” he said, sliding over a bowl of Crab Meat Soup and a Crab Meat Po-Boy Sandwich. Steven raised a brow, taking the free grub with a nod—40 chunks of Giant Crab Meat sold earlier now spiced into something wild.

Crab Meat Soup

The bowl steamed, a rich broth swirling with chunks of tender crab meat—pale and flaky, fished from his shore cull. The base shimmered a faint golden hue, infused with Mistbloom Nectar, a rare cliff flower that lent a subtle sweetness and a tingling warmth, like a sip of liquid dusk. Flecks of Glowcap Dust—ground from those blue cave mushrooms—dotted the surface, glowing faintly, adding an earthy bite that hummed on the tongue. Seaflame Peppers, diced fine, sparked a slow, briny heat, balancing the nectar’s glow with a coastal zing. A swirl of Ashroot Cream topped it, thick and smoky, melting into the broth for a velvety finish—fantasy comfort in every spoonful.

Crab Meat Po-Boy Sandwich

The sandwich sprawled on a crusty roll, split and toasted, piled high with shredded crab meat—succulent, lightly crisped at the edges from a quick sear. A slather of Siren Scale Sauce—pearlescent and tangy, spun from ground scales—coated the meat, its hypnotic zest cutting through the richness. Thin slices of Tidevine Pickle, a briny coastal root, crunched between layers, their sharp, salty snap a perfect foil. Sprigs of Frostkelp, chilled and faintly blue, peeked out, adding a cool, oceanic bite that tingled like a sea breeze. The roll itself was dusted with Glimmerstone Flour, giving the crust a faint, arcane shimmer—crisp, hearty, a fantasy twist on a po-boy that sang of the Mistveil.

Steven dug in, the soup’s warmth spreading through him, the sandwich’s crunch a satisfying chomp. “Damn fine use o’ that crab,” he muttered, savoring the free meal—his kills turned feast, a D-rank perk worth grinning over.