The Tavern Appears

I always know when the Hollow has anchored somewhere new. The hearth burns a little brighter, the old floorboards settle, and eventually, the front door creaks open to reveal confused, wonderful new faces.

They always ask how they found this place. I tell them the truth: The hollow finds you. Perhaps you pushed open an unfamiliar wooden door in an alley you swore was empty yesterday, or stepped into an establishment that you are deeply familiar with only to find it changed or transformed. Perhaps a wax-sealed invitation with no return address found its way into your hands. Regardless, you stepped out of your mundane life and into my tavern.

Tonight, the windows show the bustling streets of a mortal city. Tomorrow, it might be the mists of the Feywild, the ash of the Shadowfell, or the starry expanse of the Astral Sea. The tavern drifts between the cracks of reality, and not even I know what ancient whim guides its movements.

I only know that I cannot leave. I am The Drake. I am the host, keeper, and permanent captive. I am bound to these hearthstones by old magic. As long as I am here, the fire will not go cold and the tankards will never empty. But I am not the only one tethered to this place. I have watched these tables for a decade, and my tavern is full of "lost souls". Travelers who stopped in for a pint and found the doors sealed behind them.

Look to the shadowy corner booth and you will see Vinny. He calls himself a  "fixer". He is from a world of pinstripes and concrete. I remember the first night he came in for a drink. He tried leaving in a hurry but the tavern thrust him right back in as soon as he stepped out the door. I know what haunts him, who he searches for, but he does not care much for others sharing his story. Watch your words around him; he has a knack for pulling dirt out of people and using it as currency.

By the fire sits Damian, a fallen Nightwarden. Once a peacekeeper, he was turned into the very monster he hunted by a vengeful vampire. He is one of many who sought out my hearth as a sanctuary, but one of few who has intentionally locked himself in. I am unsure if he likes it here or if he has resigned himself to this place.

And then... There is a stowaway. I can feel the weight of ancient magic hiding beneath a mortal guise somewhere in the crowd. I do not know whose face they wear, or what they are planning, but I know someone is listening to every word spoken in my hall. I would reward anyone who can find them because I have yet to know if they are another lost soul seeking sanctuary or if they are a danger to my Hollow. I need to know before it is too late.

The veil is thinning, and the Hollow is preparing to materialize its doors somewhere new. I can already smell the faint, sweet scent of brewing cider bleeding through the portal.

So, to whoever pushes open my door next: Welcome. Step inside and warm yourself. If you are willing to listen, you might uncover a task worth undertaking, and help one of my trapped patrons take one step closer to home. And if you aren't looking for a quest? Then simply raise a glass, enjoy the music, and keep us company. The Hollow is always happy to have you.