I just finished sketching a whole new island, and I keep thinking about how a single tavern could be the hub of every legend there. Want to hear my design?

The tavern sits on a rock that juts into the sea, the kind of spot that ships can only see from the air. I call it “The Broken Compass.” The front door is a warped oak plank with a brass lock that looks like a sea‑moth; it’s a pirate haunt because every old seadog can swear it’s the only place where a lost map is still folded out in front of a barmaid. Inside, the walls are lined with old spell books, their covers dusted with salt and a faint glow from a runic lamp. That’s the wizard’s watering hole bit – a hidden shelf that only glows when someone speaks the correct incantation. And tucked beneath the bar, behind a curtain of sea‑weed, is a speakeasy that only opens when the moon is a crescent and a particular lullaby is hummed. It’s the secret spot where everyone’s biggest legends are traded like coins. The whole place feels like a living puzzle, a place where timelines bump into each other like ships at dawn. And there’s a stack of papers taped to the wall with scribbles that keep changing, so I’ll never know if this is the first version or the last. That’s the vibe – a place where every type of legend can live side by side, and you’re never sure which one you’ll be told next.