Long ago, in the kingdom of Del Waré, there sat a Round Table. It was a genuine marvel of carpentry and political theory: every seat equal, no head, no foot, no better man. It was said that 12 knights sat around it in perfect armor and perfect silence for 100 years, protectors of the circle. The table was spotless.
Nothing had ever been spilled on it, because nothing had ever been served on it.
One evening, Battsi, Lord of the province and heir to the entire shining mess, rose from his throne and sighed the loudest sigh the hall had ever heard "It's a beautiful table," he said. "It just isn't a place." He walked out into the rain with a sword, a satchel, and no plan whatsoever, which is how most kingdoms actually get founded if you read the fine print.
He found Ylter SuChief of the Amber Ladle in a burning war camp, calmly finishing a stew. Nineteen years running royal kitchens and never once thanked in the great hall…told the retreating army that it needed “four more minutes” and the “war could wait”.
“Will you join me sir of the Ladle?”
He handed the Lord his ladle first, and his hand second, the first, a greater gesture than the latter.
Together they discovered Gretar Greenstone in a pit-fighting tavern, winning enormously and looking miserable about it. "I am very good at this," he said. "I would like to be very good at something more."
“Join us!”
And so the trio moved into the next town where they met Trebor in a bustling market square, resulting from Battsi’s coin purse leaving his belt. He caught his wrist, held it a moment, and let go. “Keep it,” he said, “but you'll eat better if you walk with us.”
They were three years out and halfway up a mountain no one had bothered to name when they saw it - a goat eating a small red berry. It took off, sprinting straight up the cliff face, and screamed at the sky. The four of them watched this in total silence. Trebor finally said what everyone was thinking
I want whatever that goat is having.
Ylter tried a berry raw and made a face that Battsi could feel in his chest. It was bitter, it was fibrous, and it was categorically not food. But Ylter had smelled ten thousand things in his life and something in this one would not let go of him. They filled a sack with berries they had absolutely no idea how to use, and carried it for eleven more months.
The sack got left too close to the fire one night. They woke to a smell nobody in the party had a word for, and Ylter, who had slept through sieges, sat bolt upright in the dark. The beans were dark, black even. They were ruined.
They were, as it turned out, exactly right as all the best things in life begin with an accident.
They were also hard as gravel. Ylter looked at Gretar. He understood immediately. Axe-flat, fist, stone, powder - and somewhere in there a man who had spent his whole life being praised for breaking things discovered he’d rather grind them. They poured hot water over the grounds, steam bellowed, and the first cup of mud anyone in the realm had ever tasted was, by all honest accounts, really really bad.
They drank it anyway. Then they made another.
It was an unruly journey, odd jobs and fateful encounters. Coin was scarce, and determination weening. Ylter traded for seedlings at the monastery gate with empty pockets and a straight face. Battsi tried selling the gem in his sword’s pommel, but was turned down by every shopkeeper in town out of distrust for such a “perfect specimen,” “certainly counterfeit.”
During transit, it was said that Gretar held the sack above the waves for six hours crossing the sea. Ylter slept on top of the seedlings at the frostline to keep them alive. They all worked together to protect what they had discovered.
Eventually, they came over the ridge above Del Waré on a grey morning and looked down at the spires, the great hall, and the Round Table sitting inside it, still spotless, still waiting. Then they turned around and walked the other way. "We're not going in?" said Trebor. "We've got a better table to sit at," said Battsi.
At a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, they planted the seedling and then drove the sword into the earth beside it. Any fool can pull a sword up from the earth. It takes something else entirely to put one down. They built four walls around the spot, a roof over that, and a door with no lock, and set a round table inside. Ylter asked where the king sits. Battsi said, “it's round, Ylter.”
There is no space for kings, only companions.
Centuries of elbows have worn the wood smooth and the sword is still down in the earth as if to feed the fruit with an enduring divinity. Duels moved indoors, and then onto cardstock, disputes settled over collaborations and flavor text.
The Ground Table Café was born!
A cup of hope and the spirit of the game lives here now and we’re saving a seat for you.
So bring a deck. Bring a friend - the one who has never played and keeps insisting they'll be terrible at it. Let's keep the flame bright, and the roast bold and dark.
Chartered in the realm, licensed with the state. We take our whimsy seriously.
