Chip arrived to be ushered into the giant ring on the deck of the ship. Dozens of otters sat around the baking floor, watching as the competition walked in, one at a time. The four competitors walked in one by one, and Chip as the late entrant walked in last with his sous chef.

Two otters sat up front, standing out next to a large table. The table itself seated two other otters, one of which Chip recognized as the Admiral, the other he couldn’t place. Chip prided himself on knowing most every otter in the vicinity, but this one must have come in from some other holding. Based on Sam and Rivers guesses it was almost certainly a druid in otter form.

Chip was directed to one of the stations in the back row.

One of the standing otters, one with ornate dark spectacles, turned to address the crowd.

“Company agents, mercenaries and merchants, welcome! Our fast food contest today shall be a test of wills! On behalf of the Admiral himself, thank you to the competitors.”

The other standing otter nodded. He wore a brown vest with a green scarf.

“Today, we have a challenge for you that will make you work hard, and don’t forget,” he gestured to the crowd as his scarf rippled in the wind, “We need you to make enough to feed the crowd.”

The first otter paused, adjusting his spectacles over his whiskers.

“We’ve already set up your station with the ingredients you will need. You’ll have one and a half hours to make thirty sweet rolls.”