I wake on an itchy hay bed. I try to recall how I got here, but my memory seems far away. I sit up, wince, and stumble toward the door of the small room. I pull open the door forcefully. It’s beyond creaking. It squeals, much like a rodent, but amplified. I enter the odd hallway. I can tell from the smell alone that there is a pub below. A house wife in medieval-sort clothing gives me a look like I’m a despicable stranger of some sort and dusty her apron. ‘If anyone’s a weirdo it’s you,’ I want to say. I continue down the rustic wooden staircase. I freeze at the sight at the bottom. Everybody in the bar - well, it’s more like a tavern, really - is in the same medieval clothing as the woman up the stairs. I run outside and splash myself with the water in the stream. I’m not dreaming. My mind floods and I suddenly remember why I’m here.