An immense, red-faced, barrel of a man in soiled clothes is leaning precariously back in his chair and nodding off near the fire. One hand is in his lap and the other hand, holding a ring of keys, dangles toward the floor. The fire roars around fat logs, but the boulders that make up the hearth and chimney are so huge that for a second it occurs to you that the rest of this small wooden Inn might be nothing more than a stack of firewood. A six foot long wrought iron poker with three sharp points leans against the stone next to the Innkeeper. Return to the tables by going south.