Liliana grew up listening to her grandmother’s story tales of faeries, witches, demons and all that is truly believed to not exist in this world.

Once such story she remembers was that of the mysterious tavern on the water that appears every hundred years or so, right in the depths of the forbidden forest.

“Deep in the forest where no one dares to venture, there is a lake filled with creatures t...

“It all started on that one day…

The tavern was a welcome sight. It always was, to the weary travellers in the swamp, trying not to sink in quicksand, drowning, etc.

Also being eaten by crocs.

But let us return to the story. On this fateful, wet and rainy night, a young boy stumbled across the boardwalk with the small boat leafing to the tavern. Laughter echoed through the gloomy night in the ...

Lucian inhaled deeply as he landed heavily upon the mossy rock, exhaustion gnawing at his bones. It had been a relentless week spent soaring through the skies, each beat of his wings a reminder of the urgency that drove him forward. The Gallows Swamp stretched before him, an area he had only glimpsed once in passing. Now, he ventured forth, knowing it was a risk worth taking, hoping for any lead o...

The young merchant boy heaved out a sigh as he entered the clearing in the forest. He had been travelling for three days now and had another day to go before reaching the neighboring village.

He looked up ahead and couldn’t believe his eyes as he spotted a beautiful tavern sitting atop a shimmering lake. The tavern had such an inviting air that he could feel himself being drawn in, taking a step ...

I was just a weary traveler winding through the lagoon. I had heard stories of this majestic inn that sat above the water and above any trouble. And above alligators.

The inn was run by a kind woman who seemed to know everything there is to know. She knew who I was the moment I walked through the door.

But it was run by the woman and her granddaughter.

Blue eyes sparked with curiosity and brunette...

In the lake of Moore lies an odd little tavern, one taken straight out of a fairytale. That’s why when Atlas, a bard in search for the next great story stumbles upon the place, he makes his way inside.

“Hello?” Atlas calls, pushing the creaking door open. The tavern is illuminated by the warm glow of wax candles, the aroma of pines wafting in the air. Tables of pixies and trolls chug down sizzli...

Me? I've seen a lot of strange things in Shroomvile, but this neighbor of mine takes the Shroomcake. there I was lying in my bed playing with my little Kalimba trying to fall asleep and then I heard strange voices outside, Because I like fresh air my little window was open. so annoyed I sat my kalimba down on my bedside table and crept to the window and here at 3 in the morning, my new neighbor wa...

The tavern was an old oak building built on the river banks with a indoor bridge connecting the two buildings. From the outside it looked slightly creepy, especially if you come across it in the fog, but inside it is the cosiest, prettiest place you could imagine. Filled with laughter, happiness, good times, and magic.

The tavern is filled with witches and wizards, fairies and pixies, giants and ...

Despite its story-book setting, nestled on the bank of Galamaas River, The White Stag was a rundown establishment, even on its best days.

A low ceiling—and a poorly ventilated chimney—trapped the smoke from the log fire, the pipe-smoke, and smells of ale and spirits, which, when compounded by the poor hygiene of some of its patrons, made it a place of acquired tolerance.

The wooden bar, tables a...

Bubbles the cauldron. Cackles the woman. Purrs the cat. Whispers the wind.

Ahh… a pinch of this.

A bit of that.

A stir here-

Now add this.

The woman in her tavern, surrounded by the murky waters and leaping frogs. She whispers and mumbles jumbled words as she sits at the pot, watching the purple mixture bubble and churn like a storm on edge.

The cat sits, eyeing her skeptically as she babies he...