Hidden in a forgotten nook of the Laba Rin Woods sat an old tavern. It was an odd place for a tavern, with nary the hint of a footpath to be seen. A century had passed since it had last opened its doors, and time had not been kind. The tiles on its roof were cracked, its shutters hung loose on their hinges, and when the wind was strong the tavern shivered. But it had been told to wait and so its doors remained closed.

  The tavern settled, creaking and sighing. Today was the 100-year anniversary since it had last felt the warmth of a fire, or entertained the murmurs of Patrons. It had dared to hope that perhaps today that would change. But as the day crept on, the only life it saw was the family of robins that had made a nest in its eaves.

  A subtle shift in the air preceded a shift in the woods, the leaves of the trees rustling with mirth as yet another poor soul lost their way. The tavern sighed again. The forest had, on occasion, sent travelers stumbling past its walls, but seldom few had noticed it, hidden as it was beneath thorn and vine, and none had attempted to enter. Not that the tavern would have obliged them. Despite its loneliness, it needed to wait.

  When the man stumbled upon the spot that had been the tavern’s resting place for the last century, he didn’t look like much. His hair was disheveled, and he wore simple clothes that had suffered minor tears from the unforgiving foliage. He seemed completely unprepared for a long journey, carrying only a small satchel about his shoulders. As he leaned against the tavern’s walls, he mopped at his face with an undone necktie. His eyes looked slightly wild, as though he would collapse if even one more thing went wrong, but behind that look was a spark that caused the tavern to rattle with excitement. It allowed the man a moment more to catch his breath before its door unbolted, and clicked open.

  The man looked up, startled by the presence of a mechanical sound in the middle of the woods. For the first time, he seemed to notice the structure he was leaning against was, in fact, a building, and not just an exceptionally wide tree. Encouraged by this sudden discovery of a vestige of civilization, he brushed past the vines covering the door and pushed.

  The door swung wide on squeaky hinges, and the old bell over the mantle chimed a gentle welcome. The man stepped inside the tavern, hesitating at the bleak state he found within. The dining room had been well furnished, but after years of neglect, the tables and chairs were on their last legs. A musty smell of mold and mildew permeated the air, and the floorboards groaned under every step. The tavern held its breath, hoping against hope that it had let the right person in.

  “Hello?” the man called out to the empty space. “Is anyone there?” His was a soft voice, gentle and warm despite the strangeness of the situation he found himself in. The tavern quivered with excitement, shaking some dust from the rafters. “My name is Briar Evergreen,” the man continued, “a woodcarver from Wyrmwood. I’m lost and I could really use some help.” Briar walked further into the tavern, looking for someone to answer his call. “Hello? Anyone?” But of course, there was no response.

  Briar plopped down in one of the sturdier chairs and buried his face in his hands with a sigh. The tavern sighed with him, a gust of air curling in through the door and around the man to gently lift the corners of an envelope sitting on the bar. The soft rustling caught Briar’s attention, pulling him from his sullen thoughts and drawing him from his seat.

  He approached the letter slowly, as though still unsure if he was completely alone. A fair assumption, considering that technically speaking he wasn’t. “Hey, if there are no objections, I’m just going to read this letter.” The tavern remained helpfully silent. Briar looked around for a moment before opening the envelope. “No? Alright, great! Maybe it will have some answers for me.”

  The tavern settled as Briar read the letter aloud. It remembered when the letter had been written, black ink scribbled on soft paper by old hands.

  Dearest Traveler

  Welcome to my tavern. I am sorry that I am not there to greet you personally. I am old now, older than I feel, older than I would like to admit, and I am tired. This letter is my final farewell to the place that I have called home for the last forty-odd years. We've been on many adventures and shared many memories, this tavern and I, but now it is time for me to step away and rest.

  But I am glad that you are here, Traveler. For not only is this letter a farewell, it is also a guide. I know not who you are, where you come from, or even when you have chanced upon this place and this letter. But I know that if you are here, then this is where you are meant to be. No matter how lost or confused you may feel, you are in the right place. For you have been chosen to hold one of the most important positions in this world. You have been chosen to be Keeper of this tavern.

  I understand your doubt. Certainly, a position seemingly so important would have some sort of prestigious history behind it, but you have likely never heard of this one. But trust in the word of an old man when I tell you that to be Keeper of this tavern is one of the most fulfilling jobs you will ever have. It will challenge what you know of yourself, push your limits, change who you are, and you will be all the better for it.

  An intriguing opportunity, is it not?

  If you are still reading this, I assume that you are willing to take the job. Excellent. Allow me to give you some explanations as to the nature of this tavern, as well as some words of advice.

  Firstly, this tavern has several magical properties. I have been unable to discern the source of this magic, no enchantments or artifacts have been found anywhere on the premises, so I have come to the conclusion that the tavern was made by Mnema herself.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The magical properties of the tavern are three-fold. The first, and most important, is what makes your presence here so crucial. The tavern is able to travel instantaneously to any place in the world. It doesn't travel at random, but always to put itself in the direct path of someone who has a desperate need or desire. Whether the person needs food, shelter, a place to escape, or someone to listen, the tavern will open its doors. It is your job, as keeper of the tavern, to provide of them. Ask not for payment but do not refuse it. As long as you take care of its patrons, the tavern will take care of you.

  The second magical property of the tavern lies in its storerooms. The pantry will always have enough food and the cellar enough drink to sate the hunger and thirst of each of your guests. There might not be much in store at the moment, as you are alone. But as the tavern fills with guests, so too will the storerooms fill with goods.

  Of course, I must note, that the magic does not extend so far as to the preparation and serving of meals and drinks. That will have to be done by hand. But fear not, the tavern will find help for you, in the form of individuals searching for a purpose in this world. Expect to see some new faces over the next couple days and prepare to make friends. You will need their help.

  The third magical property of the tavern lies in the rooms. Upstairs you will find a long hallway filled with doors. You will also find that every door is locked tight, but without evidence of any locking mechanisms. Underneath the bar counter you will find a basket filled with small, smooth stones, with various patterns notched into them. These are the Room Stones. The patterns on each Stone correspond to a pattern on a door in the upper hall and will allow the bearer access to the room behind. Upon entry, the bearer will find themselves in a large space filled with a multitude of comforts. Each room will look different, depending on the needs and desires of the person carrying the Stone.

  The Room Stones do have a secondary purpose. If anyone queries you as to how they are to find the tavern again, give them a Stone of their own, and inform them that if they need to find the tavern again, simply hold the stone tightly in their hand, and open the nearest door. Inform them also that the stone will always return to them, no matter how often they lose it.

  Do not be frugal while distributing the Room Stones. To my understanding, they are functionally limitless. I have handed out a few hundred room stones during my time as Keeper, and never once did the supply of Stones seem to deplete.

  Make sure that you take the time to rest yourself. Do not get so caught up in helping others that you forget to help yourself. You have limits. Be aware of them. There is a sign above the door. One side says "Velkaben" and the other side says "Klusede". These are words from the old tongue that mean Welcome and Closed. Flipping the sign to the side that says "Klusede" will prevent the tavern from traveling to accept new patrons. Room Stone holders will still be able to access the tavern but will be sent to their rooms instead of the common area. Use this whenever you need a break. Rest yourself, then get back to work as soon as you are able.

  In my absence, I am sure that the tavern has fallen into disrepair, much as it was when I first stumbled upon it. You will need to clean the place up and make it suitable for guests. This is your top priority. Do not worry. The tavern will find help for this as well. I recommend starting with the bar area and kitchen, then the pantry and cellar. Do not worry about cleaning the bedrooms, only the stairs and hallway.

  Lastly, you will need to give the tavern a name. This is very important, but you do not have to decide right away. Take your time to make sure the name you're giving it is the right one. You cannot change it later.

  I hope this letter answers your questions, although I am sure there are many more you would like to ask. Just know that you would not be here if you were not capable. You will do great things, my friend.

  A.F

  As he reached the end of the letter, Briar took a deep breath and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. He seemed to be entirely at a loss for words. The tavern waited patiently. It remembered how difficult the first day had been last time. It watched as Briar paced back and forth, reading and re-reading the letter, until at last he seemed to come to a decision.

  The man ducked behind the counter and, carefully avoiding dusty mugs that had fallen to the floor, looked for the basket of Room Stones mentioned in the letter. As good a place to start as any. Once it was discovered, Briar set the basket on the counter and sifted through the collection. Each stone was smooth and grey, with a unique shape and design etched across the surface.

  Briar picked one from the bunch, with a curling vine crawling around it’s circumference. He held it loosely in his hand as he walked up the stairs, treading carefully on each step to make sure it would hold his weight. The hall at the top was long and dark, and filled with doors as far as Briar could see. Each door seemed non-descript, save for the closest, which was made of dark oak wood and bore a circular vine carved at eye level. As Briar reached for the handle, the door clicked open to reveal a small room. The man paused in the entryway and sucked in a sharp breath.

  The room was small and modest, sparsely decorated with wooden furniture. A simple desk and chair sat before a window opposite the door, and a wardrobe stood proudly beside. A bed was tucked into the near corner, accompanied by a small table and an empty bookshelf. Each piece of furniture was decorated with carvings of thorny vines and Briar recognized them instantly. He stepped into the room and ran his hand over the smooth wood of the table. “This is... my room,” he murmured, ducking down to examine the legs of the bed. “This is my bed! That’s where my knife slipped, the first time I was doing my own designs!”

  He stood and looked about the room, aghast and amazed. “I never thought I’d see this room again.” Setting his satchel on the bed, he sat and read the letter again. “I’m just not sure if I’m qualified to hold such an important position,” he mused to the empty room. The tavern held in a laugh, the window shutters shuddering slightly with the effort. Briar didn’t notice. “I mean, the only reason I’m here is because I couldn’t even keep track of my map,” he continued, beginning to pace again. “I don’t exactly scream ‘Leadership Material.’ But... I suppose I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” His voice trailed off, quietly brushing away a twinge of regret. Taking a deep breath, Briar steeled his resolve and turned for the doorway. “I suppose I can give it a shot. At least then I can say I tried.”

  As he descended the stairs, Briar surveyed the dining hall with a critical eye. Despite his misgivings, he was rapidly warming to the tavern. “If I’m going to get anywhere, I’m going to need a clean space to work in,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll start in here. The other rooms will have to wait. Small steps, so I don’t get overwhelmed.”

  Rolling up his sleeves, the new Keeper of the nameless tavern threw himself into his new project. The next hours saw the entirety of the furniture organized by usefulness, with the sturdier tables, chairs, and stools pushed against the stairs, and those who had succumbed to mold and rot piled by the fireplace, to be evaluated at a later date. The mugs were placed back on their shelves, and the loose shutters removed. Dusk fell before Briar paused in his work, as the fading light demanded he either light a fire or turn in for the night.

  Briar decided on the latter, wiping sweat from his brow as he returned to his room. He collapsed into his bed and was asleep before he had the chance to pull the covers up, leaving the tavern in silence once more. But it was no longer a lonely, waiting silence. A century of solitude now broken by the promise of many adventures to come.

  And as the moons rose through the sky, the tavern’s old bell chimed again.