As one enters Falcon’s Hollow from the north, they pass beneath the palisade gates—rough-hewn and creaking on their hinges. On the immediate right stands a squat palisade tower, keeping quiet vigil. To the left, nestled along the worn Palisade Road, sits a two-story wooden structure with weathered walls, shuttered windows, and a patchy thatched roof.
A wooden sign hangs at the roadside, reading: “The Sitting Duck”, with a hand-carved wooden duck perched atop the post. Beneath the name, etched in careful script: A Meal and a Bed. Out back, an open-sided stall offers simple but dry lodging for mounts—an appreciated convenience for weary travelers arriving late.
Inside, the tavern is dimly lit, the air thick with smoke and laughter, and the scent of spilled ale and roasted meat. Most nights, it is tended by Mari, the innkeeper’s wife. She’s a buxom, curvaceous woman of average height and appearance, but sharp-eyed and quick-witted enough to keep troublemakers in check with nothing but a raised brow and a well-practiced smirk.
Her husband, Qiven Dorris, is a tall man with broad shoulders and soot-stained hands. He’s often seen in common work clothes and rarely without his long-stemmed pipe, from which drifts a constant cloud of sweet-smelling herbal smoke. The mixture, said to be his own blend, perfumes the tavern with notes of lavender, sage, and something faintly citrusy.
The Sitting Duck is a favorite haunt of adventurers, trappers, and fools who think they can drink the night away and still make it into the Vale come dawn.
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