Fae Tavern Days 1-3

The Seelie court has been invaded by humans. All know that they have only penetrated as far as they have because they have the backing of the Unseelie court. I run a tavern, the Watchful Rogue. We offer the finest drinks aught could bargain for, and rather more besides. We hide from the mortals through a plenitude of fae charms, ever changing and twisting to succumb their mage's efforts.

Day 1 Ace of Pentacles A small family of chamelons enters. The largest speaks politely for the family and offers a single coin for room and board for the lot. I decline her coin, allowing her family to make their nests in whichever corners they find appropriate.

A woman knocks, brutishly loud at the door rather than emitting an arcane method of announcing her presence. It sends a straggling chameleons skittering off into hiding. She asks if we'd had any customers. I point to the empty? [No, and] packed bar and eating area. Fae, mortal, and creatures alike sharing tables, cavorting, and drinking. She searches around brusquely. The chaos is high and the chameleons, if that is what she was after, little. She glares at me as she leaves, but says not a word. I wipe a glass as she exits.

Day 2 Eight of Wands A spiritist strides in, puffs of dandelions bursting into existence in his wake. He draws the eye of all in the bar, offeringthe entertainment of conjuration and divination for a price. Despite his confident air, his face is drawn and his hems torn. He finishes his bowl of ginger soup within momets of receiving it, sopping up the weak broth with dry bread. I do what I can for standards, but stores are tight for all. I hear whispering about him. He's wanted by the Unseelie, only his great power has kept him safe as long as it has. They discuss a reward. He sleeps on a threadbare cot, his twig-like legs sticking off the end of the short mattress and leaves in the morning. I give him an argentum coin, recompense for the entertainment he provided, and a warning of what I heard. He bows and disappears.

Day 3 Seven of Pentacles A produce seller is here to visit, rhythmfruit pulsating in their woven, brown basket. I haggle with them briskly, trading certain supplies for a barrelfull. They will serve me well with my endeavours. I know a receipt that uses them that could serve me to great effect. The day is quiet and busy. I fall asleep gratefully at the end.