In an out-of-the-way corner of the quiet crossroad town of Floyd, Virginia, is a run-down old motorlodge, forgotten since the days when the interstates stole most of the traffic from the smaller, older highways. To the mortal eyes, the place looks seedy and possibly unsafe. In any case, the fitfully blinking neon sign reads "No Vacancy". Whatever sort of folks frequent this place, mundane passers-by dismiss it without a thought - there is nothing of interest here.
Kithain see a different sight - the neon sign by the roadside offers a cheerful "Welcome!" in front of a rustic hunting-lodge flanked by tall, stately pines and a neatly trimmed hedge. Above the broad double doors a simple hand-painted sign reads "Pine Lodge - Elmer Brickie, prop." To one side of the main structure stretches a long, low-eaved wing of guest rooms, each with its own entrance.