Voyage of the Golden Duchess Session 1: Trouble at Dock 7

The stars burned brightly across the void as the Golden Duchess unfurled her sails, her hull glittering like a queen stepping into the spotlight. She was more than a ship. She was a stage, a sanctuary, and a symbol of defiance. At her helm, Captain Cut-a-bitch welcomed all aboard with fierce charm, declaring that the Duchess was a vessel where drag, danger, and destiny collided.

Every voyage requires a crew, and this one was as dazzling as it was dangerous. Lady Fanny Snaps, a gnome druid of the Circle of Stars, devoted herself to healing wounds and nurturing “personal growth,” though she could bloom into a cosmic warrior when pressed. Miss Fortune, a bard of the College of Drag, carried both a glittering guitar and a pistol infused with bedazzled magic, strutting her defiance into every fight. Daddy Igyo, the Blush Demon, was a cursed archfey warlock whose flirtation with danger was as reckless as his Oni-marked skin. And of course their customer, Miss Lady Fontaine, a changeling illusionist wizard, wielded glamour and guile with the precision of a tailor’s shears. Together, they formed the heart of the Duchess’s story.

Dock Seven – Disaster at Anchor’s Rest

The Duchess drifted into Anchor’s Rest, a rough and rowdy outpost carved into the shell of a meteor. Dockhands hurried along wooden planks and shouted greetings across the void. For a brief, fleeting moment, the docks hummed with normal life.

Without warning, an explosion tore through Dock Seven. The pier convulsed in fire and splinters. Mooring lines snapped, crates spun into the abyss, and lives were lost in an instant. When the smoke cleared, the crew saw the true horror. From the wreckage spread a pulsing, organic mass, alive with an unsettling rhythm. Its tendrils burrowed into the bones of the dock, glowing faintly with every heartbeat.

The authorities closed the pier. Dock Seven was quarantined. Nothing in, nothing out. The Golden Duchess, bound to her moorings, was grounded until the truth was uncovered.

Dock Office – Customs Shack

The scene shifted to a squat, weather-beaten shack perched on the edge of Dock Seven. Its crooked sign read “Harbor & Customs” in peeling paint. The windows were fogged, the air inside was thick with mildew, and the smell of stale pipe smoke clung to the rafters.

Behind a battered desk piled high with parchment and cargo manifests sat a dock worker named Korrin “Two-Cups” Daggart. His beard was yellowed from years of smoke, his shoulders stooped, and his eyes carried the weariness of a man who should have retired a decade ago.

Across the counter, her gloved fingers drumming with mounting irritation, stood Lady Fontaine. She was dressed far too finely for this place, her silks and polish gleaming against the grime. Her voice cut sharp through the stale air.

“I paid for express delivery. My package was on that ship. I don’t care about your excuses.”

Korrin did not even look up. He muttered as he scratched a note into his ledger.

“Dock’s closed. Everything’s under inspection. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out. You want your parcel, take it up with the crew of the Golden Duchess. Far as I’m concerned, it’s their mess clogging the pier.”

He waved her off with an ink-stained hand, already lighting his pipe. Fontaine’s eyes narrowed. She was not used to being dismissed.

The Tavern Meeting

At the tavern that served as the beating heart of Anchor’s Rest, the crew gathered in frustration. Miss Peaches O’Plenty, the Duchess’s first mate, delivered grim orders. Someone had sabotaged the dock. The strange alien growth was spreading. The Duchess’s name was already stained with suspicion. The crew would find answers, and they would do so quietly.

Their meeting was interrupted when Lady Fontaine stormed inside. Her fine clothes swirled as she demanded to know who would deliver her missing crates of silks. She had paid handsomely for express shipping and would not accept excuses. When she discovered her cargo was indeed aboard the Duchess, Fontaine declared that she would accompany the investigation to guarantee her investment was protected. Though tempers flared, her talents with illusion proved too useful to refuse, and she was reluctantly accepted into the group.

Approaching the Dock

Armed with a smuggled map, the party studied two options for entering Dock Seven: sneak in through the narrow cargo causeways beneath the planks, or approach directly past the guards.

Miss Fortune strummed her guitar and charmed a weary guard into abandoning his post. She flattered him with attention and handed him a drink, promising he would find more excitement inside the tavern. Lady Fontaine stepped forward and examined the glowing wards etched into the dock. With the flourish of glittering tailor’s shears, she counterwrote their runes, dampening the alarms long enough for the party to slip through. Lady Fanny Snaps encouraged her companions with gentle wisdom and stickers of approval, while Daddy Iggyo cracked jokes about bread, cheese, and charm.

Together, they crossed into the wreckage.

The Horror of Dock Seven

The docks lay broken and silent. Shattered lanterns flickered against ruined beams. The alien growth pulsed like veins of starlight, its tendrils spreading slowly across the planks. When prodded with a stick, the matter disintegrated the wood instantly.

Scattered among the wreckage were corpses: dockhands, merchants, and investigators. One lay clutching a notebook tightly in his withered hand. But before the crew could examine further, the truth revealed itself. The tendrils slithered into mouths, eyes, and wounds. The bodies convulsed, spines cracking into place as they jerked upright. Their eyes glowed with pinpricks of white starlight.

The dead walked again.

The First Battle

The crew leapt into action. Miss Fortune infused her pistol with radiant glamour, though her shaking hand sent the first shot wide. Lady Fanny Snaps spun into her Starry Form, her gnome body blooming into a figure traced with constellations, lashing out with cosmic claws. Daddy Iggyo unleashed searing Eldritch Blasts, blowing holes through the husks and laughing at their shrieks. Lady Fontaine, overwhelmed with fear, lost control of her magic. Wild power burst from her in the scent of apple pie, charming one of the undead into momentary calm.

The void husks clawed and climbed with unnatural speed, their movements jerking like puppets. The dock groaned beneath them. Their bodies shimmered faintly, as if woven from constellations. The crew fought desperately, balancing terror with banter, each victory hard-earned.

The Lieutenant Arrives

Then the dock shook again. From the largest mass of pulsing void matter, something immense pulled itself free. Its frame loomed larger than the rest, its grin stretched too wide, its tendrils lashing in every direction. This was no mindless husk but a Void-Touched Enforcer, a lieutenant of the corruption. Its tendrils seared flesh, dragging prey closer, its aura echoing with the rhythm of the void’s heartbeat.

The battle became chaos. Fontaine fled deeper into the dock, seeking safety, while Fortune shouted warnings and fired bedazzled shots that seared holes in their foes. Iggyo danced through the fray, teleporting in bursts of fey light, hexing enemies, and blasting them into starlit ash. Fanny Snaps stood her ground, casting guiding bolts of celestial light and pushing back the tide with radiant faith.

For every husk destroyed, more pressed forward. The lieutenant lashed its tendrils across the pier, dragging Fontaine into its grasp before she tore herself free. The crew fought with everything they had, but the void pulsed louder, hungrier.

The Cliffhanger

From beyond the dock came the sound of shouting. The other guards were finally arriving, rushing toward Dock Seven to investigate the explosion. They had no idea of the horrors waiting for them inside the quarantine.

The Duchess remained grounded. The dock groaned under alien weight. The husks pressed closer. And the massive Void-Touched Enforcer stood unbroken, its eyes blazing like stars.

The session ended with the crew of the Golden Duchess locked in battle, their ship’s fate, their lives, and perhaps all of Anchor’s Rest hanging in the balance.