The Long Yawn
There was an age, long ago before coffee and casual formats. The scholars called it the Long Yawn.
Quests set out at dawn with trumpets and swords raised, but were quietly abandoned by two in the afternoon. Dragons went unslain, dongeons uncrawled and kindoms unconquered. Upon countless, lengthy debates over the matter, The Council voted to adjourn, with hopes to discover a solution later, only to fall asleep before anyone could record the vote. This is why discussion is, in the strictest legal sense, still in session.
As the elders rested those weary bones, in walked a stranger with a satchel of small dark stones.
An Emerald Pommel
In the kingdom of Draughtspire there was a sword in a stone, the way most cities had back then. Ordained with a powerful emerald gemstone, it was the entire local personality.
Every knight in the province had pulled at it, and to no avail every knight in the province pulled something else instead.
Typical.
The stranger looked at the sword, then at the crowd - something clutched between her two hands. She set down a cup.
The First Shot
Like a knife out of butter did the sword spring up from the rock, gripped tightly by the mysterious traveler.
She walked over to her cup, struck the sword through its lid and out the bottom. From her belt, fastened next to her satchel, she retrieved a small jar with dark powder.
She removed the sword, opened the lid, and gently poured the powder into the cup. topped up by her waterskin, she closed the lid, one hand clenched around the weapon.
As she began to chant, "Yippidy do-da, yippidy-aye," "my oh my, what a wonderful day," the gemstone began to glow, brilliantly in the late morning sun. From the bottom of the cup dripped a deep, mahogany liquid.
The villagers, awestruck, lined up, hands cupped to taste of the rich, dark drops.
The Ground
The whole city stayed awake until Tuesday, pillaging dungeons and slaying beats, waiting for local gamestores to re-open.
The knights called the powder the Ground. "Let's give that woman a table!" said one of the villagers, the idea was beloved so much so, he was knighted on the spot - which remains the most knightly thing that was ever done.
She removed her hood. Not a sorceress, or a returning queen, or the last of anything. She was a barista, a word the realm had not previously needed before.
The Table
The table was round, so nobody sat at the head of it. The chronicles record this as a great philosophical advance in fairness and equality among peers.
The truth is that nobody could work out which end was the head, and everyone was far too caffeinated to sit still and discuss the matter!
And so it remained, as the basis of a new age, the floor from which completed adventures would amass, The Ground Table.
A Café is Conjured
The duels moved indoors, and then onto cardstock. Drinking Ground, settling disputes over collaborations and flavor text, the table was never empty.
Considerably fewer knights died, and the ones who did came back on Thursday to try again with a better deck. Somebody brought dice. Another brought sweet rolls and sandwiches. Never before had a space like this been seen before.
Tables, laughter, a barista at the helm - it was recorded as the greated place to enjoy a brew and a battle.
The Ground Table Café was born.
So bring a deck. Bring a friend - the one who has never played and keeps insisting they'll be terrible at it. That's the one we've been holding a seat for.
Chartered in the realm, licensed with the state. We take our whimsy seriously.
