The past few weeks have been hard for you. Sleeping rough and eating trail rations has taken its toll, wearying you in both body and soul. And over the last day or so, this damned fog has chilled you to the bone. It was with some relief that you spotted the welcoming glow of a wayside inn, looming up out of the fog ahead. The sign creaks in the wind that has blown up suddenly out of nowhere. The pale last light of day enables you to read the faded lettering: The Cuckoo’s Nest. The door stands slightly ajar, allowing the scent of good food and the sound of voices and laughter to drift into the night. Enter, weary traveler.