The Drowsy Hound Inn sits at the crossroads of Yawn, a building so ancient and slumped it looks as though it is trying to take a nap in the mud. Inside, behind a scarred oak counter, sits Marta Fenwick.
Marta is a woman built of flour sacks and iron will. In a village where people fall asleep mid-sentence, Marta stays awake on sheer spite and black tea. She has to. Running the only tavern in a village given to… strange occurrences requires a very specific kind of hospitality.
Posted near the door on a slate board is the following notice:
The Drowsy Hound Inn: House Rules for Tomorrow Night
- All patrons must be inside by dusk. No exceptions.
- Do not look out the north-facing windows.
- If you hear scratching at the door, it is not a stray cat. Do not open it.
- Anyone who whimpers or panics will be tossed out into the yard to handle it themselves.