The Logistics of Giant Housewares

It’s one thing to craft and manufacture goods for normal sized folk. But it’s an entirely different endeavor to make housewares for the vertically endowed. And it is unfair to assume that all such massive individuals are adept craftsmen, or even in possession of the slightest inclination to build their own furniture and utensils. Enter Zibb & Sons Carpentry for the Gigantic, a privately owned company whose services have been in steady demand for centuries.

Based out of the desert wastelands of Shrym, where humungous Ettins also roam, Zibb the Shrym IV (now deceased) first started the business while still enslaved by his Ettin lord Grumlik the Wide. Forced to build table after table and chair after chair for Grumlik and his cohorts, Zibb IV dreamed of a day when he could actually be fairly compensated for his hard work–a day that would soon follow his unearthing of a Skittering Fire-Punch while extracting marble for Grumlik’s new cookware set. By chance, the fifteen foot long Fire-Punch leapt from the quarry pit straight to the neck of Grumlik as he stood at the lip of the pit, whip in hand. Being one of the most venomous serpents in all of Eem, the creature’s bite would have killed the Ettin, were it not for the Shrym’s knowledge of local antivenom formulas, passed down from his grandmother. However, this would come at a price for the Ettin, in the form of Zibb’s and his fellow slaves’ freedom.

Thus, Zibb and Sons Carpentry for the Gigantic was born, and they remain family operated to this day under the steady hand of Zibb XIX. Much of their work remains Ettin-based, along with a few smaller jobs for the likes of abnormally large Wugs whose rumps find no solace in traditional beds and chairs. But there was a period years ago, when a flood of commissions came in requesting giant housewares for a King out in the west. Even Felmog Counts were ordering custom salad tongs and the like, to bear as tribute to this King. Whatever came of that, Zibb and Sons do not know, however, as all of their postcards sent seeking follow-up contracts have gone unanswered for nigh on a hundred years.