Last Tea Shop
A Break for A Cozy Solo Game
I play and write about solo games. Confused? Read this!
My playing and writing will always be available for free, but being a teacher isn’t the most profitable career in the US, so if you enjoy what I write and would be willing, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription which gets you off-topic posts as well as input into the tools/games I play. You could also just buy me a coffee.
If you’d like to support my newsletter in other ways, please subscribe, share and comment.
Check out the Table of Contents for previous games I’ve played and other stuff I’ve written.
Currently, I’m building out a world using a variety of solo games but this week, I’m taking a break for something cozy.
Last Tea Shop is a PWYW one-page rpg where you play as a tea maker (is there a better word for that?) who runs a tea shop that’s a last stop for souls who’ve passed on. It’s simple, elegant, and wholesome. It’s what I needed after receiving some truly terrible news last week. Someone close to my family passed away last Wednesday and it’s been a tough few days. This game has been a nice and quiet time for me.
There is an expanded version, called Last Tea Shop Complete that adds more tea, customers, ingredients, etc. I’d suggest trying out the free one-pager and if you like it, buy the expanded version.
“You run a tea shop on the border of the living and the dead. The recently deceased visit for one last hot drink, before their long journey to the Great Beyond.
Time is strange here. Days and memories blur. Nobody visited yesterday, you are sure of that. Someone passed last week but you are unable to picture their face.
The fog thins. A figure approaches. You stoke the fire.
The stall sits atop a windy cliff overlooking the ocean. It’s called Cliff’s End but there’s no sign designating it. It’s a small stall, made of wood, a campfire, always burning, to the side, pile of chopped firewood stacked against the outside back wall. Wooden sticks prop up a metal pole that stretches over the fire, a hook on which the tea pot will sit hangs, waiting. In the stall, against the back wall are shelves with chipped mugs, spoons and tiny plates. There is no rhyme or reason, each mug, plate and spoon is a different color, pattern, or material.
A stool on either side of the counter stand, waiting to be sat.
Incense burns on one of the shelves, next to a human skull.
I chose Incense and Ghosts as my ‘affinities’.
I roll for supplies and get Bright gumdrop, ancient seashell, and dried sage. These supplies are for making special Teas.
I roll for my first Visitor and get 2: Stablehand
I roll for weather/emotion and get Shadow mists/scared
Each visitor, I get to ask two questions from a list, one as I prepare the tea, and one as I drink. After the first visitor, one of those questions must be “How did you know my last customer?”
Two Days - The Stablehand
It is misty this morning, full of shadows and figures. One figure resolves into the form of a youth who likely had been in the prime of his life. He has straw in his hair, dirty clothes and shuffles forward, looking frightened.
I stoke the fire. “Welcome,” I say. I choose to make a Comforting Brew to ease this boy’s mind. “You are safe here, please sit.”
He looks uncertain but sits on one of the chairs, looking at his hands.
I begin making the tea, grabbing the last of my dried sage and dropping it into the tea pot, before placing it on the hook over the fire. The smell is wonderful and calming. “Tell me about your journey here,” I said as I prep, getting a cup and spoon off the back wall.
“I was…working. Something got the horses riled up, though, I was trying to calm them down when…I think one of them kicked me. Everything went black and I…” he turns, looking behind him. “I woke up in the mist. I thought…” he touches his head. “I thought it would hurt more,” he says. “There was a trail that led me here.”
Using a thick cloth, I take the pot off the stove and set it to the side. I set a cup in front of him and one in front of me. I pick up the tea pot and fill the cups before setting it back down. I place one in front of him and sat. “Here, drink. It will make you feel better. But first, breath.”
Hesitantly, he picks up the cup, looking at me. He sniffs the cup and then takes a sip. His shoulders relax and his eyes close.
I sip the tea myself.
“It’s good,” he says, his voice more calm, more settled. He opens his eyes and takes another sip.
“Where did you live?” I ask.
“A small village in the middle of nowhere,” he says, with a small smile, looking down. “I used to say that I hated it. That I hated working in the stables. But I knew everyone and everyone knew me. It was a community. And it was good work. I liked the horses. I liked working with them every day.” He looks at me. “I don’t blame them, not at all. Something riled them up. It wasn’t their fault.”
“Of course,” I said. “It’s nobody’s fault. Accidents just happen, sometimes.”
“The people…there’s good people there.” He looks out over the cliff, towards the sea. “I’m going to miss them. I wish I could have said goodbye. Wish I could have told them…everything.”
“They know,” I say.
He drinks more of his tea, taking time to smell the sage, to take deep breaths, and to look out towards the ocean. “This is nice,” he says. “It’s not what I expected.”
“It never is,” I say.
Eight Days - The Shepherd
Weather, Emotion: Gentle sunbeams, calm
Another day. Sun beaming, a gentle breeze.
A man comes, old, holding a staff that curved at the top, into a hook. He sits at the counter and looks at me. “So I’m here,” he says. “At last.”
I begin making Gumboot Tea, which warms the soul and doesn’t require any special ingredients. I feel that this man didn’t need anything special. He’s ready.
“How did you know my last visitor?” I ask, as I place ingredients into the pot and hang it over the fire.
The old man sighs. “We lived in the same village. He was a good boy, worked in the stables with his father. Sometimes he’d help me corral my sheep. It was a tragedy, the accident. One of the horses was riled up and kicked him in the head. A freak accident. A tragedy.” The shepherd shakes his head. “I trust that you helped him along?”
“I did what I could,” I say, pouring the tea and placing it. I take a seat.
We breath and drink.
“My thanks,” he says. “This is just what I needed.”
“You recently realized something, what was it?” I ask.
He takes a moment, sipping at his drink and looking out past the stall. “I realized life is fleeting and you must make the most of it. You can not choose when and how you will go, only what you do beforehand. The death of the stablehand taught me that.”
“That is wise,” I say.
The shepherd shrugs. “It would have been wise had I known it earlier in life. Such is the way of it, then.”
I nod in agreement and we finish our tea in silence, watching the waves crash against the shore far below.
13 days - The Outcast
Weather, emotion: gentle sunbeams, calm
This one comes strolling down the path, a smile on her face, a gleam in her eye.
“So this it then? Last stop before…what comes next?” She looks around. “Just you, I guess?” She sits. “You going to tell me everything I did wrong?” She wear’s men’s trousers, a tight shirt and a leather vest. “Can’t wait to hear it.”
I begin preparing to make another round of Gumboot Tea, placing a few things into the pot and hanging it above the fire. “What are you proud of?” I ask as I gather the cups, spoons and plates.
She seems taken aback by my question, then furrows her brow as she thinks. “I’m proud that I followed my own path,” she says, finally, nodding her head to herself. “I didn’t do what everyone told me I should. I chose for myself and that is something I’m proud of, despite what anyone else thought.”
I pull the teapot off the fire and fill the cups. “You should be,” I say, placing first the saucers, then the cups, then the spoons.
I sit, taking in the scent of the tea.
She did the same.
We drink.
“This is good, thank you,” she says.
“How did you know my last visitor?” I ask. “The shepherd.”
The woman sips her tea and leans back in the chair. “He was a guest at my wedding, an uncle, I believe, in the small village where I’d grown up. I didn’t attend the wedding.” She looks at me, as if wondering how I will judge her. “I left the village that day and never returned.”
I nod, sipping my tea and do not respond.
We look out towards the ocean and listen to the waves crash against the rocks far below.
18 days - The Merchant
Weather, Emotion: Bruised purple fog, pained
The day is dark, with a dark maroon fog spreading over, clouds covering the sun.
A figure comes through, stopping at the stall. He wears finely-cut clothes and fancy boots. The expression on his face is one of agony, as if he can’t believe where he is.
“Please, sit,” I say. I quickly begin gathering ingredients for A Tea of Mirth, with which to distract this man from his pain. I drop my Bright Gumdrop into the tea pot.
He sits and shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe this has happened. It’s dreadful, truly dreadful.”
“You lost something valuable,” I say. “What was it?” I ask.
“My life!” He cries out, raising his hands to the sky. “Everything I worked for, gone! My trading, my deals, my wealth, all for naught!” He curls up, crying.
I quickly set everything up, and pour the tea. “Please drink. It will help,” I say.
He shakes his head. “What good can tea do?!?” he asks but takes a deep breath and picks up the cup. “It does smell rather…pleasant,” he murmurs, before taking a sip. “That is…exceptional,” he says, smiling. He chuckles.
I drink and smile back.
“I’m dead,” he said, and laughed. “Dead!”
I laugh back, the tea working as it should.
He wipes tears from his eyes. “It all is rather silly, isn’t it?” He muses. “When you think about it all.”
“Indeed,” I say. “How did you know my last visitor?”
He smiles, looking up at the sky. “She and I spent many nights together. I provided for her where nobody else would, after her scandalous situation and she gave me much-needed company. We were friends, good friends. Nothing more, nothing less. We had good times together.”
“Sounds like that was more important to you than your trades, deals and wealth,” I say, sipping the last of my tea.
He looks, wistfully out towards the sea. “Indeed,” he says. “Indeed it was.” He pulls something out of his pocket and puts it on the counter.
Merchant leaves a random ingredient
It was a Quartz crystal.
“Thank you,” he said, standing up. “I think I’m ready, now.”
22 Days - Princess
Weather, Emotion: Swirling white mist, confused
The day is misty, wind blowing white wisps around, coalescing into swirling clouds.
I add a log to the fire and wait.
A figure comes, tall and slender, wearing a beautiful red dress, and a tiara in her wondrous long, blond hair.
She walks in heels, down the path, looking around her, confused. “Excuse me, miss?” She asks.
“Have a seat,” I say, grabbing the ancient seashell of the shelf and dropping it into the tea pot with a few other ingredients, prepping a Draft of Recall.
The princess glares at me. “Do you know who I am? I do not want to sit down, I want to know where I am and why you or someone else have brought me here!”
I hang the tea pot over the fire. “You hid something. What did you hide?” I ask, gathering the cups, spoons and plates.
She’s taken aback and sputters a bit. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She exclaims.
“Yes you do,” I say, placing the cups on the saucers, the spoons in the cups.
She finally sits, thinking. “I hid my love for another,” she whispers. “For I had to do my duty and marry the prince I was pledged to.”
“You should like to see your love again, to relive a sweet memory with them?” I grab the pot off the fire and fill both of our cups. “Drink,” I say.
She takes the cup, brings it up to her face and breaths in softly. “I should like that,” she says. She drinks and closes her eyes.
I do the same.
She is in a garden at night, hidden behind some trees, laughing, kissing and holding someone close.
Time passes and she opens her eyes. “Thank you,” she says, sipping her tea.
“How did you know my last visitor?” I ask. “The merchant?”
“He introduced me to my love, his brother. He helped us sneak around, until I got married, that is, and I gave it up to do my duty.” She finishes her tea and stands. “I can’t believe…it’s all over.”
“It’s not,” I say. “Just this part of it.”
She nods and walks away, towards the edge of the cliff.
23 Days - Emperor
Persistent drizzle - Exhausted
The rain isn’t letting up today. It’s not hard, but a light rain, cloudy.
I stoke the fire more than usual.
It takes awhile for today’s visitor to show.
He walks slowly, taking his time, hunched over, with a cane. He wears royal robes and even a gold crown on his head. When he reaches the stall, he takes a seat with a heavy sigh. “So it has at last come to this,” he grunts, looking at the stall.
I begin prepping for Gumboot Tea, something to warm the soul, and hang the pot over the fire. “How did you know my last visitor, the princess?” I ask, placing the saucers, cups and spoons.
He gives another big sigh, leaning back in the chair, looking back where he came from, away from the ocean, at the white misty path. “She was my daughter. I forced her to marry against her wishes and though she did her duty, I always wondered…” he trails off, thinking. “Did she die of a broken heart?” He looks at me, as if I should know the answer.
I pour the tea. “Drink, you will feel better.”
We both drink and he lets out a breath.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Who will miss you,” I ask, sipping my tea.
“That is a good question,” he replies. “The citizens? If I was a good leader, perhaps. I tried my best, I suppose. My son? Perhaps. I tried to raise him to be the leader after me and may have been too harsh. Perhaps nobody will miss me,” he says.
“I do not believe that is true,” I say.
He shrugs and finishes his tea, setting the cup down. He pushes himself to stand, taking something out of his pocket and placing it on the counter. Dried Sage. “Onto the next,” he says and hobbles down the path towards the edge.
Day 24 - The Veiled One
Gentle sunbeams - calm
The sun shines brightly across the land and sea.
The figure in black robes, hooded approaches. They do not sit but stand in front of the stall, still.
“How did you know the last Visitor?” I ask, making using the dried sage to make a Comforting Brew, more for myself than my visitor.
“I know all your visitors,” they said, their voice deep and low. “I am the one who sends them here.”
“I see,” I say, placing the saucers, mugs and spoons. A few moments of silence pass before I take the pot off the fire and pour the cups. “Please, drink,” I say.
A skeletal hand emerges from the sleeves of the robe, pick up the cup and bring it to their hood.
I do not watch as they sip their tea. I sip mine, feeling safe and calm. “You left something unfinished,” I say. “What is it?”
The cup is placed back on the counter. “There is one more visitor for you,” they say. “An unusual case.”
“Okay,” I say, finishing my tea.
“He will be here soon. After that, it is your turn.” He turns and walks away from the cliff edge, back towards where he came from.
In the game, you ask two questions of the Veiled One, and then answer the question “What’s next?” and the game ends.
I’m changing the end a bit for my own purposes.
xx Days - The Soldier
A cold wind blows, snowflakes drifting down, a coating glistening over the land.
A man wearing a soldier’s uniform approaches the stall.
I stoke the fire as he sits.
He looks calm, relieved, as if a great weight is off his shoulders.
I begin making Gumboot Tea.
“How did you know my last Visitor, the Veiled One?” I ask.
“I met them in a foreign land many years ago. Long have they followed me since,” he says, looking out over the cliff toward the ocean. “I have long struggled, fighting against them for as long as I could, but over the years, I came to see them less as something to fight and more as something to accept. I finally saw them as a friend, when I could no longer continue the struggle.”
I place the saucers, cups and spoons. I take the tea pot off the fire, let it rest a minute, and then fill the cups. I sit across from him. “Please, drink,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says, picking up his cup and drinking.
I drink. “You hid something. What did you hide?” I ask.
“My darkness. My sadness. My struggle,” he says. “I could not ask for help and so I hid it from the world. I hope my family and friends can forgive me.” He finishes his tea.
“They will,” I say. “They will.” I finish my tea.
He stands. “Thank you, again.” He smiles and walks away, toward the edge of the cliff.
I clean up, putting the saucers, mugs and spoons into a small wash bin. I dump out the tea pot and place it where it goes. I throw another log onto the fire and stand for a moment by it, feeling its warmth as more snow falls. I walk to the front of the stall, looking at it. I turn and begin walking, following the path that all of my visitors followed after drinking my tea, except for one.
I head towards the cliff. I hear the waves crashing against the shore. I stand at the edge, the precipice. The wind buffets against me.
“What’s next?” I ask.
There is no answer.
I step off.
Beautifully done.
I'm sorry for your trouble, as they say in my part of the world. I hope you have tea and loved ones to drink it with.
A lovely story, and I'm sorry for your loss. I wrote a lot of fiction when my father passed away a few years back, and I found that it helped work through the feelings and memories.