The Blue Anvil

  The Blue Anvil is a location, and it is not. It is a Tavern, according to the most ardent of pub-dwellers, with the richest of Ales and Maidens. Drink flows freer than the Great River and you'll never want for company. That being said, no one's ever found the Blue Anvil... not properly anyway. Most explorers who haven't witnessed its halls put the lack of verifiable address up to the sloven nature of its [hawkers?] Even those who have claimed to have witnessed it don't know both how they arrived and how they returned. One huddled bloke in a filthy corner of Cincini whispered that it was guarded by a beast with great horns and six legs. And then there were the stares. The STARES!   If you were, perchance, to happen on an un-made or untidy corner of the world and slipped on it just so... You might find yourself in the Blue Anvil.   Mind your feet at the door, my friend, for it is here that normal men were not meant to tread.  

Arriving at the Anvil

To arrive at the Blue Anvil is no small feat; While its intended patrons can come and go freely, Mortal Men have to find a... well, calling it a 'tear' in the fabric of reality is to assume that something broke the very laws of physics that hold the world together. It would be more accurate to call it the 'fray', where the fabric wasn't properly hemmed or sewn to the rest of reality. A place where the author was hasty, perhaps? It matters not. What matters is a Mortal Man stepped wrong and fell between the fray and the fabric of reality.   Once they have fallen through, they will find themselves on a grassy hill at night. The stars glimmer overhead with an intensity that is almost blinding when looked at, but dim when the attention is turned. The grass, shin-high no matter who stands in it, brushes against their pant legs. And in the distant, it's brilliant yellow light a beacon in the darkness, is the Blue Anvil.  

Inside the Anvil

When they reach the Anvil, they find a genteel tavern two stories tall, with a large wrap-around porch. A pair of rocking chairs bracket a chess set on a barrel, and a bench sits below the window. A blue-painted anvil hangs from the roof. They're not sure if it's a real anvil or not. There's hitching posts, but the only thing hitched is a large, worm-like being with horns and six legs. It almost looks cute, if viewed from the front.   The first barrier comes when they try to enter the Anvil; they will find their hand passes through the doorknob, but not through the door. Someone inside will have to let them in. And when someone does, it is only because that someone is leaving. A shadow, of immutable shape and silhouette, will pass by, and the unlikely guest must slip by in the gap.   Yet it is a great and terrible thing for them to enter. For the inside of the Anvil is far greater than the exterior; the unexpected guest does not even reach the knee of any of its patrons. Though the room glows with polished wood and warm light, they are harsh and unapproachable. The fire in the hearth roars, but it would consume the one who approaches unheeded. The music is smooth, but loud, a cocophany on the ears. And the Patrons themselves-well-   They might look human. But then they might also look mechanical or fey or any number of strange organisms that might exist in the universe. The owners of the establishment stand behind the bar that lines one end of the great room. She with her hair like fire and He with his single, All-seeing eye. The Anvil exists because they will it. She sets a drink on a tray next to her. The unexpected guest may be startled to find that the tray sits on the head of a reptilian beast on two legs, dutifully carrying its cargo to a table on the other end of the room.   It is about this time that the All-Seeing eye spots the Unexpected guest, by this point usually trying to hide behind the nearest table while they wait for someone to open the door again. His voice calls out, loud and commanding as the room quiets. Then the unexpected guest finds themselves picked up off the floor by gentle hands.  

To Leave the Anvil

The Unexpected guest will find themselves set on one of the tables, now at the center of attention of the patrons. A gentle, eager voice is speaking, but the words are unintelligible over the Stares. The dozens of eyes, peering as if into their very soul. The unexpected guest may feel... unmade, in a way, as their deepest secrets are unraveled and made plain. Then, though it feels like an eternity of being Perceived, returning to a normal state happens in an instant. They are picked up again, this time tucked into gentle arms as if a babe. The door opens and a bell rings as the Unexpected guest is carried into the night air...   ...and wakes up in their bed, watching the morning sun creep through the window. The Anvil is but a fading dream, with naught but a headache to mark its presence.   ...and the feeling of an Eye staring into their soul.