A Pint and a Story

Recollecting the Adventures from the mysterious sponsors.

Ah now, come in close and let the fire ease the cold from your bones, for a night like dis wants a tale that goes deeper den the frost outside. Dis here is the Forest Inn, older den any counting stone I have ever seen, a place where the walls remember footsteps from ages long forgotten. Many a hero walked through dese doors, real ones, the kind a bard dares not sing about until enough ale has loosened his tongue. Many a heroine too, fierce or gentle, leaving the air different behind dem as if the inn itself paused to feel their passing. I tell ye plain, dis old hall has held more stories den the sky has stars.

I have tended it for many seasons, though my own years here are barely a blink in its long memory. When I cross the hall before sunrise, I can feel old tales pressed into the boards like worn fingerprints. The Forest Inn listens, aye, it does, tucking away laughter, regrets, secrets, and promises as neatly as folded linens on a shelf. Long before my boots first touched these floors, the gods set a powerful door in this place and trusted the inn to guard it from curious or greedy hands. The burden sits steady here, gentle as an old friend’s hand resting warm on your shoulder.

Now, dis past year brought a stir unlike any I have felt in a long time. Word drifted in from the Adventurer’s Guild that six wealthy sponsors out in the wide world had begun some quiet competition, one that smelled a bit too clever for my liking. Dey hid their names and sent their wishes through Guild Representatives who nodded as if dey understood but never looked too certain. Each sponsor gathered three parties under dere coin, twelve in all, and pushed them toward the Forest Inn before the first bite of autumn settled across the glade. No one would speak the truth of what they were chasing, but ye could feel something secretive coiled in the air like a held breath.

The rules dey gave were simple enough to make me suspicious. Any lasting magical item found by an adventurer had to be logged through the Guild, with every detail written neat, from the faintest glow to the weight of the hilt. Dey wanted dere representatives to keep lists as tidy as church ledgers, and I never trusted a game that needed record keeping that careful. Some sponsors even offered to buy the items back through the Guild, paying gold for artifacts they had never laid eyes on. I heard of parties refusing such offers, and others handing over strange blades or shimmering stones in exchange for half a chest of coin. All summer long, the adventurers prepared without knowing what sort of counting they were feeding into.

I was told that one sponsor had gathered The Chain Gang, The Bloated Beetles, and The Warriors of the Wormwood. The Bloated Beetles made me chuckle, for dey were a full party of wizard folk, all robes and scrolls and ideas bright enough to risk setting their own cloaks aflame. The Chain Gang walked like old fighters with humor worn thin from miles on the road. The Warriors of the Wormwood strode forward as if the sun rose each morning just to see them grin. The clearing outside this inn has not seen such a mix of temperaments in many years.

Another sponsor looked after The Blood Brigade, The Covenant of Aeltheren, and Nature’s Retribution. Dey carried a calm strength that settled the air around them like a blessing. Later I learned dey uncovered a cult aiming to kill me and set the inn ablaze, and that news still sits heavy in my chest. I owe those folk far more den I could ever repay, though dey never asked for a word of gratitude. Dey moved with a purpose that seemed greater den any sponsor’s coin. I suspect the gods guided dere steps more den any hidden hand.

A third sponsor claimed The Skull and Crossroads, The Seekers, and The Serendipitous Six. These were charming souls, with smiles that could ease knots in a man’s heart whether he liked it or not. The Skull and Crossroads walked like wanderers who had seen both dark and light and learned to laugh at both. The Seekers carried scholar minds in adventurer bodies, poking at corners of the world as if secrets might fall loose from the rafters. The Serendipitous Six were kindness itself, offering help before a soul even knew they needed it.

A fourth sponsor brought Zofira’s Fire, Kooks and Spooks Exterminators, and the Dirt Eaters Support Group. If three parties ever had enough energy to wake a silent valley, it was dem. Zofira’s Fire talked faster den a mountain stream on thawing day. Kooks and Spooks Exterminators spoke of unseen creatures with such conviction ye almost believed them. The Dirt Eaters Support Group stood steady as old trees, grounding the others with patient calm.

A fifth sponsor gathered The Hinkle Harbingers, The Hand, and The Forebearing Messengers. Dese were reflective folk, always listening inward as if expecting fate to whisper in their ear. Dere questions were thoughtful, dere manners gentle, and the inn itself seemed to hush when dey entered. It reminded me of long ago seasons when scholars and measured warriors filled these halls with quiet purpose. Seeing dem take their seats was like opening a beloved book and finding its pages unspoiled.

The last sponsor guided Weidzim, LL Company, and Chompers Teeth. If joy could walk, talk, and carry heavy packs, it would look very much like those three groups bursting into the clearing with laughter already spilling into the air. Dey made friends faster den I could fill mugs. LL Company in particular could coax stories from the shyest traveler. Chompers Teeth chewed something mysterious the moment they arrived, and wisdom told me not to ask about it.

Through all their comings, the door watched without eyes, silent but never absent. It speaks in my thoughts like a stubborn uncle, nudging and muttering and giving opinions I did not ask for. We argue often enough, for it knows too many of my tales and enjoys reminding me of them. Still, when the eighteen parties gathered under the turning leaves, the door felt near to humming with old purpose, as if waking from a long quiet. And as I stood in the glow of the hearth, watching them settle into this ancient place, I knew the Forest Inn was ready for another chapter in a story older den any of us will ever be.