Note: This is a series of fantastical, erotic "fairy tales", with the framing device being a group of late-night taverngoers with little else to do. The previous installments are, in order, "The Riddling Sprite", "The Queen's Lesson", and "The Fiddler's Pride".
The last time the taverngoers met up, impetuous server Horasen bet that Misty's story of an arrogant fiddler could surpass the librarian's tale.
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"Well?" Horasen patted Misty on the shoulder, grinning. "I think that's a pretty solid story, myself. Ready to throw in the towel, Madam Librarian?"
Emekis snorted. "Misty is a gifted storyteller, I'll grant. But she doesn't have anything on elven traditions. I'm going to tell you a special kind of 'fairy tale'." The half-elf's ears seemed to twitch. "I'm going to tell all of you about:"
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THE CABIN OF MIST
Long ago, and to this day—or so the wisest sages say—there is a house 'mid darkest yew that every season's someplace new.
Shrouded in the thickest mist, like serpents coiled 'round in tryst, this cabin follows those not blessed to ever reach their place of rest. Those who enter rarely leave, abandoning loved ones to grieve, lost to fog of sight and mind: Forever in that house confined.
This is the Cabin of Mist, of Fey. Or so the wisest sages say.
Some call the house a demon's door; it grabs one soul and thirsts for more. Others say a witch's prank, though that's far-fetched, to be quite frank. A ghostly whore, a temptress touch, once-mortal mages who've seen too much. Its source is vague as smoke and mist.
Nevertheless, the cabin exists. Only those lost can find the way, or so the wistful sages say.
No place to track, no prize to catch. No lock to tinker with, unlatch. The cabin falls where it will will. And where it goes, it takes its fill. This is true. It's certain fact. This is no lie that you can crack. No casual tale from flighty fey.
This
is what the sages say.
Roiling mists surround the cabin. These mists are believed to be what transport it through woods and swamps, for the cabin does not appear in urban environments, and it is only known to appear to a small number at a time. Currently, no known magic is capable of reliably determining where the cabin will be next, though some mages claim to be able to find where it is currently.
Do you think this is an idle tale? It's real. Folklore is rooted in reality. Do you think creatures don't exist who could spell a violin into enslaving a whole town? Do you think there has never been a sprite who used riddles to simplify minds?
Where I am from, legends are tools of basic learning. Now stop asking questions. Let me continue.
The greatest question—the one you all should be asking—is what is in this fearsome cabin. The answer?
Corruption.
This cabin is believed to be a link to the Hells themselves. Succubi and lust sprites are frequent customers. Crueler fey, and undead and daemons who have escaped capture congregate there as well. Even the odd human magic-user. Within the cabin, the moralities of our world cannot threaten them. None dare enter the cabin if they are not confident that their souls are already forfeit to wickedness. The cabin itself is a force of plain, pure evil.
The interior is said to resemble a bar, or perhaps a bathhouse, or both, or all. Some have called it a sauna. But where do these rumors come from? Not from good-hearted souls ensnared. Those are its prey. A noble knight wanders the countryside in search of shelter. A kindly healer sees a cabin up ahead, and thinks to get some relaxation after all the good they have done the world. A wise druid finds himself lured to the cabin by seductive fey, thinking to spend a merry night with his patrons of the woods.
