Saving Face

Peg answers, "Sure thing, let's go!"

---

As the other paladins stand around talking about what they're going to do, the sea washes up and covers the poor otter. The otter gets washed away with the wave, as if it was never there.

It's hard to tell from here if there are any boats docked that will hold two jotuns, but at the very least you could probably procure several boats. Or, you could wait for some of the larger boats out in the sea to come in. Either way, requires going to town, which is where you're headed next.

Rock Rump seems like a typical village on the edge of an ocean - buildings designed to withstand sudden influx of tides, everything on stilts, etc. But today, there's even more - makeshift shops and stands are getting erected, many with signs that read "Best Clams in Town" or "Fried Clams" or some other spot of advertisement to bring in customers. One of the stalls looks like it recently caught fire, a sign that competition is getting fierce as vendors try to sabotage each other.

But while the shops are still opening up, none of them are actually ready to sell yet. Which makes the only place in town to actually get something to eat the local tavern and inn. The South Wind is located just at the end of the docks, and it waves a small flag picturing a pair of pink buttocks.

---

"Aye! Welcome to the South Wind!" says a hidden voice calling from behind the bar as you enter. 'Sit down, shut up, and we'll get ya some chaw."

It's easy enough to get in for most of the party, but Caranthir and - worse, Sigrid - have to duck and perhaps even get down on their knees to fit into the door.

A small tavern in a fishing and clam village is normally relatively quiet; but this week it's the center of social life. Most of the tables are filled as people chatter about. There's no bard or storyteller, so there's no music to drown out the din of conversation and no one person to focus on, so rather everyone is just having their own conversation at their own tables while eating some sort of soup or stew from a bowl. No one really pays attention to you as you enter, as people are coming in more and more every day. It's not that they don't notice two giants, it's just that they don't even bother to look up.

A teenaged boy, gangly and pallid, walks around serving the food and bringing drinks.

The whole place feels of fish, salt water, sweat, and stink of fishermen. It's almost enough to mask out just how badly Caranthir smells. Almost.

Peg says, "That thar boy is Long Bob Dree. The owner is Drusus the halfling." Peg shuffles his way through you all shoving against bodies or legs, as he makes his way in to find a table. "Oi! Boy! Clear out a spot for me new friends here. You! Move for peg. Move for Peg's friends!" With this pronouncement, everyone finally sees who has entered and the conversation quickly dies.

Now, everyone is staring at you.

"Oh, boys, what's that stink? someone from the crowd says.

Long Bob breaks into a extra ordinarily large smile, going so far to stretch his face extra wide, and then he frowns, then he returns to a normal teenaged look disinterest.

"Aye, I've seen jotun. They big and blue and ain't as smelly as you!" the voice quips back. The room erupts in laughter and soon people stop paying attention as the young teenager shuffles some people out of their seats and opens up a table for the lot of you.

"Pay em no mind, sir," the teenager says. "Our liege lady, Lady Haraldsdotter, is part jotun. I'm Long Bob Dree. Let me get you some ale and chaw. I'll bring out as much as I can, but I'm sorry to say we don't have wine, we're not fancy like that."Moments later, Long Bob is rolling out a cask of ale, and a middle-aged halfling is carrying bowls of soup, which he calls "chaw." Long Bob explains that it's a sea food chowder, with whatever is caught for the day dumped in. The soup is always hot, always one, and has been cooking for decades nonstop.

The day passes as you e boy your chow and ale. During that time, a few strange happenings occur:

A fisher greets another villager with a slap on the back. "Ho, Alf! Finally decided to hack off the old face fungus, eh?" The other’s expression grows puzzled as he raises a hand to touch his oddly soft, lumpy cheeks.

Some time later, a young couple embrace and kiss in the tavern. One of them shrinks back in horror and exclaims: "What’s wrong? Your lips are like kissing sea slugs. Don’t you love me anymore?"