The cramped little shop reeks of bait, seawater, and tar. Nets, floats, and rust-speckled hooks dangle from every wall, while barrels of chum and crates of coiled rope clutter the floor. The air is thick with the hum of flies and the faint slap of fish drying on racks outside. Behind a scarred wooden counter leans a heavyset man with a beard, his sunburnt face split by a gap-toothed grin as he eyes you with the wariness of an old sailor.

Barnacle Bob sells everything from salted minnows to shark hooks the size of swords, and swears by the quality of every item.

• Hook: Bob is a born storyteller. Buy a fishing pole or a crab trap, and he’ll regale you with tales of leviathans, of “black-eyed lizard folk” who drag sailors beneath the waves, or of the day he nearly harpooned a sea serpent. Most dismiss his stories as dockside rambling, but some echo known dangers. One tale is true: his account of the Giant Sea Eel, which he once caught with his own hands, the only real sea monster he has ever faced.

• Twist: Buried under a pile of rotting nets, Bob keeps a crude hand-drawn map. It charts the hunting grounds of fish-folk he calls the Locathah, who, he insists, once saved his life. Bob swears they’ve since been enslaved, but he’s too afraid to tell anyone openly, everyone thinks it would just be “another of Bob’s fish stories.” This time, however, it’s the truth. (see Danger at Dunwater - this is a good hook and background info)

A low-beamed tavern with large carved octopus above the door. Inside a huge tank of pickled “kraken tentacle” (actually giant squid) sits behind the bar. The small common room spills out onto the bridge itself, with barrels used as tables and two windows to serve those sitting on the bridge. Ale is serves through two windows, along with homemade salty pretzels.

A young local girl with a stained apron clears the tables of empty mugs on the tables outside.

Sailors swear their ale is the best in Saltmarsh, briny, sharp, and strong. Some claim the secret is a pinch of sea-salt aged in barnacle-encrusted barrels.

• Hook: The tavern is where smugglers often mingle with sailors under the roar of drinking songs. Anyone lingering long enough may overhear coded phrases about shipments moving through sea caves.

• Twist: The ale has a subtle narcotic edge, it makes sailors dream of the sea and “the deep things.” The brewer insists it’s just the salt, but old dockers mutter that the kraken itself “blesses” the barrels.

A smoky outdoor table with metal plates over fire cook spicy seafood, the air around it always tinged with chili, garlic, and frying oil. A man with a steel spork-hand is cooking up and serving fiery seafood stews, grilled fish skewers, and octopus dumplings

Mr. Kim's steel spork-hand is both a cooking tool and a reminder of a violent past at sea. Locals whisper he once captained a pirate junk, others insist he was a privateer in foreign wars. He never confirms nor denies, but his scar and sailor’s tattoos suggest the truth is bloody.

• Hook: Mr. Kim hears sailors’ gossip. For the price of a few rounds of his infamous fire crab curry, he’ll pass on rumors about the smugglers, hidden coves, or something is not right at the haunted house on the edge of town.

• Twist: On rare nights, Kim closes shop early, those who follow may catch him making a secret delivery to shadowy figures on the docks.