Mother Pick's Farm looks to be a lovely, warm place, always open to those weary travelers passing by, always offering a hearty meal for the hungry. However, for all that it looks to be a farm, that there are Ogres plowing the fields, appearances can be deceiving. Mother Pick harvests no fruit here, and the sausage coming from the slaughterhouse is certainly from more than just livestock.
At night, the blood-slicked slaughterhouse comes alive, the workers butchering meat right until sunrise. Those who stop working find that Mother Pick has no tolerance for laziness; those who dare to rest find themselves strung up with the pigs, to be prepared for the next meal.
Mother Pick herself has a head of fiery red, braided hair, bright blue eyes, a friendly smile, and work-calloused hands. Her sallow, sunken-cheeked husband never speaks.
The unfortunate Ogres trapped here are hardworking and dutiful; they dare not speak against Pick. Gristlegrinders work the slaughterhouse, playing butcher and, occasionally, executioner. Meanwhile, Cyclopeans herd and farm, and keep watch for stragglers along the road to add to the supper pot while Stonebones guard Mother Pick’s lands, stopping trespassers and escapees.