Three Bites of the Green Chef

~ Collected from the talking spoon of a fallen Feylord. Spoon has since been misplaced. ~
 
They say a traveler once came to a crossroads inn with a mustache like burnt cinnamon and a pot that muttered even when empty.
 
He asked for no room, no rest, no coin—only a place to cook. The innkeeper, curious, agreed.
 
But the traveler made three dishes. And with each bite, he asked a riddle. If the innkeeper solved them, he could keep the pot. If not…
 
Well, he didn’t say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What cannot be stirred, yet brews within?
What grows with hunger but shrinks with sin?”
 
(The innkeeper guessed “a curse.” The cook smiled but said nothing.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It cannot walk, yet crosses seas.
Devours the mighty, then begs for peas.”
 
(The innkeeper guessed “regret.” The pot laughed.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What feeds the gods and fattens fools,
Yet dies the moment it follows rules?”
 
(The innkeeper wept. He guessed “joy.” The cook nodded.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And when morning came, the inn was gone. In its place: a single spoon, a trail of breadcrumbs, and three riddles etched in stone, unsolved or misunderstood by all who pass.
 
Some say the cook still roams, still cooking riddles. Some say if you solve all three, the pot becomes yours.
 
But the fey know better.
 
The pot chooses who it simmers for.