Chp 7: Pog Chort (and more waffles)

   Jay hummed quietly to himself as he poked at the hot coals. Just a few more seconds and the waffle would be ready. He looked up at the lightning rail above him. There was still another hour yet, before the next train was due. And no pressing rush to catch it, either. His mission was complete. The third in as many days. 

   As he ended his tune, he removed the waffle iron from the fire, and set it aside to cool. He couldn’t remember the words, but he’d never forget the melody. He’d heard it over countless meals. His Grandmother’s sweet voice, or his Mother’s. Timing their actions through song. The morning meal in the Feldspar home was a veritable Breakfast Ballet. A glorious dance to overwhelm the senses. He closed his eyes in fond remembrance, reveling in the sweet smell of the cooling pastry.

   “Smell good.” The voice was aggressive and pitchy, but not without the deep bass of a male, full grown. Jay winced as he recognized the tone. (How could an entire race share one voice?) He wondered to himself, as he turned to face the creature. He was neither surprised, nor delighted to see it was a Chort. He was snuffling at the air, and scanning his small campsite with his beady eyes, trying to find the source of the smell.

   “Good morning, friend.” Jay tried not to sound so disappointed. “Please, won’t you join me?” There would be no getting rid of him, until he was satisfied. He waved at the ground next to him, and withdrew a second set of simple dinnerware from his gear. He began to ladle a generous serving of Rumboozle into a mug as the pigman took a seat with a solid thump, baring his teeth in what might have passed for a smile among his own. He wore a dusty grey cloth cap, and a ragged overcoat of matching shade. He held out a filthy hand for Jay to shake.

   “Smell!” He said, pleased. His hand was sticky and uncomfortably warm. Jay wiped his hand clean on his jacket as he smiled back. The creature did not seem offended. Jay reached for the waffle iron and opened it, serving his guest first. He still had enough batter made for at least a small waffle for himself, he thought.

   “My name is Jay. And yours?” He asked as he put the waffle on the plate. The Chort’s beady eyes went wide with excitement as he reached down for the delicious looking object.

   “Pog!” The pigman stuffed the waffle into his mouth, biting it entirely in half. He spoke through an unchewed mouthful: “Pog Chort! Dissiz goood! What is?” Jay poured the rest of the batter into the iron and set it back on the coals.

   “We call them waffles.” (Great. Dumb even for a Chort. Hopefully he’s not keen on staying.) He thought to himself. He tried to run through the melody in his mind, to time the cooking of his now meager breakfast.

   “Faffel gooood!” Pog acknowledged, stuffing the rest of it into his mouth and chewing noisily. Jay found himself losing track of his song as he marveled in disgust at the beast’s eating habits. He had met several Chort, but never broken bread with one before. Or waffles, for that matter. It was a sight, to say the least. He swallowed with a loud gulp. “Pog like waffle. You good cook.”

   “Thank you, my friend. Yes, everyone likes waffles. So, tell me Pog. Chort. Is that a family name?” Jay asked, kiddingly. He didn't expect the beast to get the joke, and from its expression, it was clear he didn't.

   “Huh? Pog Chort. You know Chort? Pog is one. Pog is Chort. Pog. Chort.” Jay felt strangely insulted. “You got eggs? Pog like eggs.” Pog looked around the campsite once again, searching in hope for the possibility of eggs.

   “Apologies. I wasn’t expecting company. No, unfortunately. Just the waffle.” (Thank god for that.) He thought to himself, as he wondered how much longer he should let his waffle cook. He had lost track already. He decided to flip it, since the second verse had likely passed.

   “Meh.” Pog said, disgruntled. He looked at Jay for a good second before he asked “You got more waffle for Pog?” His eyes flashed between the man and his apparently magical breakfast making device.

   “Sorry, Pog. This last one is for me.” (And barely enough, at that. Maybe they’ll have a food car on the train. That would mean I’d have to buy a ticket, though. And THAT would mean I’d have to find a station. Oh well. There’s always dry-rations.) 

   “You don’ got no more?” The pigman was obviously disappointed. “Pog likes waffles.”

   “Sorry, Pog. Say, friend... What brings a fine fellow like yourself into the valley this morning? Work?” Jay attempted to change the subject. He’d be damned if he was giving up his last waffle. However small it might be.

   “Work? Pog don’ like work. Pog likes food, not work. Work is too much work.” Pog shook his head hard to emphasize his point. Work = no. It was easy to understand.

   “Okay. Not work. Do you live nearby, then?” The question seemed to confuse the pigman. “Your house. Is it close to here?” Jay offered in clarification.

   “No house. Pog don’ need house. Pog is ‘Splorer.” It was Jay’s turn to look confused. “You not a ‘Splorer too? You know. Find treasure. Kill monsters. Eat food. ‘Splorin.” He gestured towards the woods to the east as he said the last word. “You look like a ‘Splorer. You got camp and you got pack. You make food on fire, and you got dusty dirty face. You sure you not a ‘Splorer?”

   “Ahh! An explorer. I see!” Jay turned his head to look towards the woods that Pog had motioned at. It was a maple forest, with the odd oak poking its tall head out above the rest. “Yes! Yes, actually. I am something of an explorer, myself. Just returning home from an adventure, actually. And you?” He thought he caught sight of distant wisps of smoke every once in a while, but it could have been his imagination. He turned back toward the Chort, who was fumbling with his teacup. He spilled as much in his mouth as he did on his overcoat, swallowed and answered.

   “Old Man in de woods make Pog scared. Pog wait till Old Man sleep, then Pog come back to ‘splore. Chort see good in de dark. Better den old men.” Pog looked toward the woods again. “Pog get dat treasure.” The pigman grunted, and began to sniff the air once more. “What dat smell?” He sounded less pleased this time.

   “Damnit!” Jay shouted, as he jumped to knock the waffle iron off the coals. Smoke was pouring out from the sides. “Damnit… Just… Damn it all!” He cursed at the smoking chunk of metal, as he nursed his now burned hand. His fingerless gloves offered limited protection to the careless.

   Pog snorted again, and stood up with some effort. “Too bad. Waffle burnt. OK! Pog go now!” And without so much as a goodbye, the pigman was off. Trotting happily westward, his belly full of Jay’s intended breakfast. A great mace strapped across his wide back, that had gone unnoticed up till now.

   Jay sighed, and looked down at his hand. It was red, but likely wouldn’t blister too badly. (Still. Better to be safe now, than sorry later.) Woods contained mosses, which were cool and soothing. Maybe even something to eat, if he were vigilant. His stomach rumbled as he opened the waffle iron and banged it out on the ground, its contents spilling out burned black and crumbly. He gathered his belongings, and smothered the remaining coals with dirt, favoring his uninjured hand in the tasks. The woods didn’t look far. Maybe a half hour’s walk. He could always catch the next train. There was no pressing rush.

Reviews

[Papaya]

Great character development.
Still enjoying the journey.

[Dripping Chocolate Madness]

That's more or less all I was thinking about, writing this stuff. Basic character development to give the DM some interesting folks to play with in the world.
Never intended to write Marza, though. And that changed a lot for me. Never was able to fully let them go. There's definitely still more to that story. I'm eager to find out what happens.