Having blocked the narrow cleft in the cellar as best they could, the adventurers turned their attention to food and rest. Upstairs, they found several of the local men talking to Harald, while Irena attended to his wounds.
The Reeve saw the adventurers first. "Ye... men... are heroes, they tell me. Fought off an army of stenchful lizards to rescue our Harald and Irena here. Come, have an ale on me. No, no, Irena, don't fret. Jack, see to it that drinks are distributed, won't ye, that's a good man."
Frowning, Jack reluctantly went to play barkeep. The Reeve waved a hand, indicating the empty seats across the table from him. "Sit, men, and rest. Tell us of the monsters."
Shybolt sits down, takes the offered drink and quaffs it all down in one long chug, then holds out the mug for a refill.
"Aye, we retrieved the fair maiden and yon innkeeper. That's a nasty nest we found down there, mostly filled we evil creatures that want us all dead, but very little of value to justify anyone going back down."
He'll then commence to telling the whole story, between bites of food and drinks of ale, especially mentioning the cave mouth in the bluff.
Timorel picks his seat to have the best view of the locals and the Reeve's men. "Thank you," he says when taking an ale from Jack. He remains quiet, sips his ale, and listens to Shybolt tell the story. As subtly as he can, he'll keep an eye on the locals and the Reeves men for any suspicious massing, movement like suddenly blocking the doors, etc.
Brother Arven finds a chair by the fireplace, that cold damp dungeon still chills his bones. As he sips at his ale he recalls a book by the renowned scholar monk H.P. Lovecraft regarding a syndrome called "The Innsmouth Look" and wonders how the people of the small village can live so close to the Trogs and not know of their existence. He too will be scanning the faces for any tell tale sign of betrayal or strange happenings.
Player: I drink the potion! DM: Are you sure you want to do that? Player: Um, no. Maybe, Why, do you think it would be stupid?
While Shybolt spoke, Irena completed her ministrations to Harald, then went into the kitchen. Shortly she returned with a loaf of slightly dry bread and some hard cheese, which she placed on the table in front of the halfling. "I'm sorry we don't have more for you," she said, "but there was no one to tend to the kitchen this morning." With that, she moved off and began tidying the inn.
Though Brother Arven saw no sign that the locals were in any way unhuman or sinister about them, he did note that Irena was shaking. Of course, after her experience, it was only sensible that she be affected by it; she stayed in constant motion, seemingly doing whatever she could to occupy her mind.
Timorel likewise found nothing worrisome about the locals. Just a bunch of rough, crude humans, fascinated and horrified by the halfling's tale.
When Shybolt had finished, the Reeve said, "The Baron will wish to hear of this. Take your rest while ye can, for he may wish to meet ye soon." With that he stood up and left, followed by a couple of the men; the few remaining men scattered to various tables or stood around the doors, talking among themselves.