Wondering who's there, you walk cautiously across the room and open the door. 

The torches lighting up the hallway have mysteriously been extinguished, leaving the person standing outside in near-complete shadow. 

"Who are you?" you ask.

You can just make out a smile on the person's face. It's not a cruel smile, but it doesn't hold any humor. 

"I am the Tavern Keeper," the person says. 

"What is this story? What happens next?" 

"This is a Castle, not a story." 

"What?" 

In response, the Tavern Keeper pulls two sheets of paper out of a pocket in their cloak. "Read these. They will explain what I cannot." They turn to go, their cloak billowing out behind them. 

"You are in control now," they tell you. Then they disappear down the hallway. 

As the flame in the torches springs to life, you look down at the papers the Tavern Keeper handed you. 

~ 

Here is the first Castle. I am not its original author, but I would like to revive this concept. If you are confused, you might read the first Castle.

http://www.cricketmagkids.com/chatterbox/inkwell/node/398819

And on this page of the Guide, there is another explanation if you are still not sure what to do. 

http://www.cricketmagkids.com/chatterbox/chirpatcricket/node/204967?page=15

~TK

~

Back at my nest in the corner, I watch the Tavern Keeper as they walk away. My hands clutch at the papers as if they were a lifeline. My only link to humanity. I read them. Slowly. Slowly. The story within is beautiful. Beautiful, but nothing like my dreams. I am tired. It has been so long since I have stood. So long since I have spoken. So long since I have devoured words on a paper. I dream in the corner of the Tavern, surrounded by oblivious laughter and talk. No one has noticed me for so long, I have become nothing more than a ghost, a dream. I am tired. . . so tired. . . My own dreams overtake me once more, and I sleep. The papers in my hand drift to the floor, waiting. I have finished with them. They are waiting for you.

I open the door and walk into the tavern. I stick to the shadows-- though, that is an instinct by now. The bartender gives a cheerful smile as I sit down at the bar.

"Hello, traveler," he says, waving. "What can I do for you?" 

I can sense the unease coming from him, and the people near me. It's not without reason. My kind is rarely gentle, and they are often not the honest type. From looking at me, it's easy to think I'm no different.  

"I'm waiting for someone," I answer him. 

"I see. Want a drink in the meantime?" 

"Water will be fine." 

He nods, and pours a glass of water from a clay pitcher. 

As I sip it, my yellow eyes dart across the room, searching for my awaited comrade. 

After a few minutes, someone sits down next to me. They do not appear to be uneasy, so I assume the person I was waiting for has arrived.

I look up at them. 

They are not who I was waiting for. 

--Feel free to play as the person who sits next to me. I will be glad to have a storytelling partner.--

I enter the tavern, a map clutched in my hand. The sight before me is quite odd. A cloaked figure is sitting at the bar and all other people seemed to have moved away except for a woman. I sit a few stools away from them. I remember the barkeeper for some reason.

"Fancy seeing you here" I say. My accent gets me a few looks but I don't care. 

The barkeep's head shoots up. "Welcome back," he says warily, walking over while ceaning a glass, "I will be right with you" 

I give him a forced smile and a curt nod.

He turns away muttering to himself. I look around and notice some very wealthy people in the room. Tonight will be profitable. 

The people who have not drunk quite as much are very wary around me and the wanderer. I guess I'm known but never caught.

I don't intend on changing that.  

I watch as the pieces of paper fall from a dreamer's hand. Fluttering like white butterflies as they begin their descent. The dreamer's hand is motionless, just as asleep as the body it's attached to. The dreamer is living in a dreamer's world. One no one will know about, except for the one who dreamed it up. I take tentative steps forward, gently picking up the scraps of paper. I can feel them crinkling in my hand. Ah.. satisfying.

I uncurl my fist, trying to read what's on the delicate pieces. Strangely, there's nothing there. I drop them into the basket at the dreamer's feet, disappointed. I walk over to the bar, reaching for a stool before it's taken. A rough hand on my shoulder stops me, and I whirl around with a glare. "Easy, girl. I'm the Tavern Keeper. You know I could kick you out," the Tavern Keeper says. But you won't.

As he walks away, something flutters towards the ground. I catch it. It's more delicate scraps of snow white paper, but this time covered in spidery handwriting. I tuck it into a pocket in my dress, smoothing the dirty red fabric. I sit down on the seat I had claimed, the wood of the stool creaking under my small weight.

"Ye look a little young to be 'ere by yerself, girly," the bartender says, laughing like he's just said the funniest thing in the world. I scowl, unfazed. Surveying the customers of the Tavern, I can only find four of interest. The dreamer, a traveler- I can tell she's not from 'round here-, a cloaked wanderer with mysterious eyes, and a thief. I narrow my eyes in the thief's direction, but he doesn't notice, too busy talking with the wanderer and the traveler.

I slide myself off the seat, edging towards these people of interests. "Hey! You!" a voice shouts. I pivot around, ready to fight.

But it's just the dreamer, sitting up, bleary eyed. "What?" I ask, annoyed to be caught with my guard down. 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

To those who wish to know:

I am a barefoot girl-- around eleven-- wearing a dirty red dress. I have dark brown hair, brushed back neatly. I'm also wearing a silver necklace, though I have the sense to keep it hidden. (Ahem, thief.) 

I stumble over the doorframe, earning a few cheap laughs, and hop to my feet, grinning. The tavern is crowded enough -- two people who look like travelers, a child in a red dress, and a figure holding a map. I pretend to peer around at the tables.

"Well, well, well! Tonight seems like a good night for a few jokes and riddles!" I say, laughing. The others begin to warm up as I chat easily, but the figure with the map still looks uneasy. A thief of some kind, no doubt. But it occurs to me that they have a certain... desperate look about them.

So I decide to do them a favor.

"This riddle, my friend, is for you," I begin, pointing at the thief. "If you get it right, who knows? Maybe a prize will be here for you." I take a silver coin from my pouch, one of the few I earned at the last stop, and toss it into the air, catching it between my teeth. It glints invitingly in the torchlight. "So what do you say? Are you ready?" The thief nods once, warily, and I launch into the riddle.

I'm just around the corner, always in disguise.

Sometimes I'm quick, a gentle kiss, sometimes I'm a surprise.

Some will wait a hundred years or more to meet with me.

Others find me very fast at the age of twenty-three.

Some say I have a temper (when I'm cheated, I get mad).

But all will meet me in the end, and that is very sad.

"What do you say?" I ask, brandishing the silver piece. "Is this coin yours?" 

"Would you care for a game of dice?" 

I narrow my eyes, then slowly smile. Perhaps this traveler will provide something worthwhile, whether it be knowledge or skills. At any rate, I might be able to win something. I have little that the average person would call valuable at the moment. 

"I would be happy to oblige," I tell her. 

She smiles. From a soft cloth pouch on her belt, she removes a well-worn pair of dice. 

~

I suppose it is worth mentioning my appearance. I am a Felaash, which are essentially humanoid cats, quite similar to the Khajiit from Elder Scrolls (look it up). This particular Felaash has white fur with black stripes, resembling the pelt of a white tiger. I wear a dark gray cloak and light leather armor, as well as a woolen shirt and trousers and sturdy boots. I have a gold coin with mysterious markings, as well as some assorted beads, strung on a leather cord around my neck. 

I stand in the doorway to the tavern.  The breeze outside cools my back while my front in warmed by the heat from the tavern.  I step in.

Those already in the tavern galnce up at me curiously.  With a knife at my hip and a quiver and bow slung on my back I am not the usual young woman.  They turn back to their food and drink and I slip next to a child.

The child looks up at me, she wears a red dress that is worn, her brown hair brushed back neatly. She observes me looking at my pants and tunic, the woolen cloak slung over my arm, my knife, my bow, my quiver.  I am used to it, few females dress like me.

I smile at her, something I rarely do.  She smiles back hesitantly.

"Wait." That is what the dreamer said. Wait before you talk to strangers. Wait before you answer the riddle that's not directed at you. Wait. Wait for someone interesting to come to you. Wait. And the dreamer was right. How did they know? Because the traveler and wanderer are playing dice, a game I don't know. Because the thief answered the riddle, and the fool was impressed. Because the woman walked up and sat down next to me.

I look her up and down, suspicious. Most people pretend I'm not there. Or they make comments about my age. This woman didn't. So I like her for that. Also, she's different. She's wearing pants and a tunic, which is unusual in itself, but she's also armed. She's carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows on her back, and knife at her hip. A woolen cloak is slung over her arm, and if I was five years younger than I am, my first thought would have been, "I want to be her when I grow up."

When she smiled at me, I smiled back. "Hey," I say. "Hey," she said. We sat in silence for a while, until the bartender came back around to us. He narrowed his eyes at me as he passed, but I just narrowed them right back. The woman next to me choked on her water and burst into a coughing fit.

I think it was fake. She was probably laughing. I gave her a small side smile and asked the bartender. "A water, please." He handed it to me without a word. I sipped it quietly, and continued to watch the unusual young lady in the wooden barstool to my left.