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“Why hello there, weary traveller. Welcome to the Tale Teller’s Tavern. What can I get ya to drink?”

“Oh, I don’t know… What’s on offer? Is there a house brew?”

Just as you ask that, the room goes quiet. The light of the many gas lamps hung about the room, dims ever so slightly. You exchange your puzzled glance, for a bemused look from the innkeeper, a man of sturdy stock, grey bearded, bright eyed and with many smile lines beneath his eyes, worn by wind and rain to give him the appearance of a man as old as the creaking timbers of the floor on which you stand, which thrums with an odd kind of silent, soothing excitement.

The Inkeeper signals you closer, “If I were you I’d go grab a seat whilst there’s still one available.”

Seeing your eyebrows rise and crumple ever so slightly he adds, “See that man over there, sitting in the corner.”

You look to see an old man with a staff and a plain, yet colourful, dark green robe, down the last of his drink and place the mug down with a sense of finality and authority, “That’s one of the tale tellers; -he points above his head, to the oaken crossbeam with the words The Tale Teller’s Tavern, inscribed in what is, at first, scrawly writing at best, but finishes in a script as elegant as any noble’s. It is, for all the worlds, as if a master craftsman couldn’t bear to watch the novice do a botch job any longer and said, “Oh here, I’ll do it!” half way through…- He’s a good one too, one of the best. It’d be worth your while having a listen. Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll bring ya your drink,” he says with a smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes, which to you, seem as old as time itself.

“Never have I been to a place with such character as The Tale Teller’s Tavern. I must say, there is no place quite like it; Not in all The Circlelands, nor in any other extra dimensional pocket of space I happen to frequent.”

(A Riftwalker’s Weekly Review) C ka L