The Bereaved Resident's Gratitude

As you trudge through the knee-deep silt of Mire's End, an elderly resident stops you near the docks. The air is thick with the scent of stagnant water and old moss. In exchange for your assistance in clearing a blocked drainage pipe, they press a damp bundle into your hands. Within the rags lies a ring that pulses with a faint, greenish light, accompanied by humble items salvaged from the riverbank during the low tide.