Dustmill Inn
The Dustmill Inn sits at the edge of Danbury, by far the largest of the village's six buildings. Built on the banks of the River Narmouth, its ancient water wheel hangs over the fast-flowing water, weathered, cracked, and seldom used. Inside, a thin layer of dust covers its massive wooden gears and the clutter of blades and stones in the milling room hides the genius of its Nerrid design - it can be used both for cutting logs as well as for milling grain. Nowadays the mill only finds itself turning in the fall when a few local farmers pay Oliver Thatcher, the Inn's proprietor, to grind the meager harvests that their patches of land produce.
The Dustmill Inn itself has a warm and cozy atmosphere. Its stone hearth is always burning, filling the common room with the smell of woodsmoke and, on Kingsday when Oliver offers a dinner service, aroma of baking bread and some sort of stew. A copper pot, also of Nerrid design, bubbles in the corner of the small common room, slowly fermenting the sour ale that the inn offers whenever one of the locals asks for a drink.
Once the inn offered a quartet of quaint rooms, each decorated in the fashions of the mid-6th century when the town was first built. Sadly, that furniture remains unchanged in the two rooms that Oliver keeps "just in case", though the layer of dust in these measures nearly a finger thick. The remaining rooms have been converted into a tannery where, on a good day, the old innkeeper can be found working the deer hide or a racoon pelt for one of the local hunters. "If only they would spend the night instead of camping in the village green," he often laments before shrugging his shoulders.