The Staff Quarters
Beyond the Kitchen, past a door that most patrons instinctively know not to touch, lies the Staff Quarters—a place that belongs to the ones who keep The Last Home standing, and to no one else.
It is a space carved out of shifting walls, anchored in defiance of the Inn’s ever-changing nature. Unlike the guest rooms, which come and go as needed, the Staff Quarters never move. The Inn may welcome the lost and the wandering, but its caretakers do not.
No one enters without permission.
And those who do? Do not do so twice.
A Sanctuary of Controlled Chaos
The Staff Quarters are not quiet.
Through the door, the hallway stretches into a long, private wing, lined with rooms—each belonging to one of the Legendary Maids. There is no uniformity, no matching doors, no sense of order beyond what each inhabitant has claimed for themselves. One door bears delicate silver etchings of celestial symbols. Another has a battle-scarred shield bolted to it. One simply has the word “NO” carved deep into the wood, with knife marks suggesting the argument did not end there.
The hallway opens into the communal lounge, a space that could, under different circumstances, be described as comfortable. It is filled with a mismatched collection of chairs, cushions, and furniture, none of it identical, all of it lived-in. Over the years, the Maids have collected, stolen, or “borrowed” furnishings from across the multiverse, and the result is a room that somehow feels like home despite its absolute lack of cohesion.
At its best, the lounge is a space of laughter, camaraderie, and the occasional friendly (or not-so-friendly) sparring match. At its worst, it is a battleground of arguments over who drank whose last bottle of infernal whiskey, or a chaotic arena of high-stakes competitions that should never be repeated.
Yet, for all its noise and mayhem, it is theirs.
And outsiders do not belong.
The Wall of Terrible Decisions
But the most alarming feature of the lounge isn’t the furniture.
It’s the memorabilia.
Scattered across the walls, shelves, and precariously balanced on whatever flat surfaces remain, are souvenirs from the Maids' “holidays”—a word that, when used in reference to them, should be met with immediate concern.
A lava-scorched tavern sign from a town that definitely no longer exists. A frost-covered banner from what was supposedly an “unplanned” rebellion. A jar filled with glowing sand, which hums if you get too close. A large, ornate spear labeled "DO NOT TOUCH" in three different languages, stuck halfway into the floorboards as if someone had thrown it there and simply never bothered to pull it back out.
In one corner, a tattered map of a continent that no longer exists is pinned haphazardly to the wall. Scrawled across it, in bold, frustrated handwriting:
"NOT OUR FAULT."
And yet, no one truly believes that.
Somewhere in the room, there is also a chair that no one has ever sat in, yet no one dares remove.
It watches.
No one knows why.
Somewhere within this floor lies the Staff Storage Room—a place few outsiders have ever laid eyes on. What it contains is anyone’s guess, but considering the minds of some of the Maids, no one with an ounce of self-preservation has ever attempted entry.
It is guarded, not only by the Legendary Maids themselves, but by whatever traps they have devised in their questionable free time.
What is in the storage room?
You would have to survive long enough to find out.
The Stairway to the Unspoken
At the back of the lounge, a narrow staircase leads upward to the second floor, where only two rooms reside. These belong to Lars and Tess, and unlike the quarters below, they are never entered without invitation.
Lars does not lock the door.
He does not need to.
Their space is simple, private, and utterly theirs. A single bedroom, a shared bed, a private washroom that no one else has access to. A modest lounge and study, where soft candlelight filters through worn bookshelves and a desk that sees frequent use. Somewhere, behind yet another door, lies their private storage room—a space no one has seen except Lars and Tess themselves.
No one knows what is kept there.
No one asks.
There are no rules barring entry, no commands given. And yet, in all the years the Inn has stood, no one has crossed that threshold unbidden. Not the Maids. Not the guests. Not even the Inn itself, which reshapes its halls freely yet has never moved the walls of this space.
Whatever passes between Lars and Tess behind that door remains there.
And no one dares to ask.
Those Who Do Not Belong
The Staff Quarters are off-limits.
That is not a rule. That is simply the way things are.
For those foolish enough to test this understanding, The Legendary Maids ensure the lesson is learned. They patrol their domain with a level of awareness that borders on the supernatural, and when an intruder is caught—because they are always caught—the punishment is swift, decisive, and unforgettable.
No one speaks of what happens to those who cross into the Staff Quarters uninvited.
It is not that they are silenced.
It is that they do not wish to remember.
The Maids do not bring guests home often. It is rare, private—earned.
Unless you are Sylvie.
Sylvie does not follow this unspoken rule. Sylvie has never followed this rule.
And somehow, no one has ever stopped them.
Rooms That Do Not Exist
Of all the mysteries within the Quarters, one stands apart from the rest.
The Librarian and her assistant do not have rooms here.
They are staff, yet no doors bear their names. No space is marked as their own. Some have wondered if they sleep at all. Others whisper that their rooms exist somewhere unseen, hidden behind doors that are not meant to be found.
Or perhaps Seraphis and Lucian simply do not require rest in the way that others do.
Whatever the truth, no one has ever seen them retire for the night.
And if the Library holds a place for them, it has not chosen to share it.
Final Thoughts
The Staff Quarters are not just a place to rest. They are a boundary. A line that should not be crossed.
Those who keep The Last Home running ask for little in return—only space, only respite, only a place to belong that belongs to them.
It is not for guests. It is not for wanderers.
And for those foolish enough to step through the wrong door, the Maids are always happy to explain exactly why that was a very, very bad idea.
And Sylvie will not stop them.
At A Glance
Atmosphere
A space caught between sanctuary and battlefield, where rest and chaos coexist in perfect disarray. The air carries the scent of old leather, steel, and victory—or possibly just whatever disaster was last contained before it reached the Taproom. The walls feel lived-in, scarred by time and poor decisions.
What It Is
The private wing of The Legendary Maids, sealed off from the rest of The Last Home. It is their space, their refuge, their war room. Guests do not enter. Trespassers regret it.
Who Runs It
The Legendary Maids—a sisterhood of ex-warriors, ex-assassins, and current enforcers of what little order exists within these walls.
Who Else Is Here
Lars and Tess reside on the floor above—in rooms that remain untouched, unspoken of, and never entered without invitation.
A Mismatched War Zone
The heart of the quarters, where furniture, like its occupants, has survived against all odds. It is a tangle of mismatched chairs, stolen cushions, and a suspiciously large amount of “borrowed” décor from worlds that may no longer exist. It is where the Maids rest, drink, spar, gamble, and, on occasion, host competitions of dubious legality.
The Wall of Terrible Decisions
A collection of trophies from the Maids’ “holidays”—a term that should be met with suspicion and concern. Scorched tavern signs, stolen banners, and artifacts of unknown origin clutter the walls like evidence at a trial no one is willing to hold. Somewhere in the chaos, a tattered map of a no-longer-existent continent bears the words “NOT OUR FAULT.”
The Storage Room
No one knows what’s inside.
No one asks.
No one tries to enter.
It is heavily guarded, booby-trapped, and subject to the combined paranoia of people who have spent their lives surviving things that should have killed them.
Sylvie – The One Exception
The Maids rarely bring guests home. Sylvie, however, is a statistical anomaly. It is unclear if they are simply that charming or if reality itself bends to their will. The ledger in the Taproom once had an entire section labeled “Sylvie’s Guests.”
No one questions it anymore.
Final Warning
The Staff Quarters are not for guests.
Trespassers do not speak of what happens next.
And those who do wish they had not.
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