ROTGAR THEE OGRE
ROTGAR THE OGRE
“You, my friend, are an Ogre.”
The pretty little person thing said, squirming to point at Rotgar with its one free hand. Rotgar used both hands to hold his dinner, because he knew that pretty person things were good at escaping… especially the weird ones who came looking for Rotgar. This one was particularly weird, curling its lips to show shiny wet teeth in that unfortunate friend making snarl that persons show each other. Rotgar had never seen the friend snarl directed at him before. Was the pretty person thing trying to friends with Rotgar? Intriguing…
“What do you mean, little thing?” Rotgar said… quietly for an Ogre.
“No, no, no… Not ‘little thing.” I am Zirliff, renown adventurer and rogue. And you… sir… are an Ogre.”
With its free hand the thing… Zirliff… kept gesticulating, pointing between itself and Rotgar as it talked. Rotgar did his best to watch Zirliff’s head and shoulders, instead of the busy hand. He was wary of how pretty little things could be tricky and knew that the eyes and shoulders spoke more than the hands.
“Do you have a point Zirliff? Or are you just trying to delay my eating you?”
Zirliff made a dismissive motion with that free hand. Rotgar couldn’t help but watch the hand that time, fearful that in the waving motion it would summon a knife or dagger or other stabber. It didn’t.
“To be honest,” Zirliff confessed, “I want to convince you to not eat me at all”
Rotgar actually thought that sounded fair. He didn’t normally let dinner have the option of bowing out, but this little bit of pre-dinner conversation was a pleasant change. He puzzled over it for a good solid three moments. Zirliff smiled through all three long beats.
“Go on Zirliff. You’ve earned a chance.”
Ever so imperceptibly Zirliff let out a sigh of relief. Rotgar noticed though. Person breaths, even small ones, are full of vegetable stink.
“Well, first off, I just wondered if you knew who... what… you are. What does it mean to be an ogre!”
Rotgar’s turn to confess. “I guess I never really thought about it” the monster conceded.
“From my perspective, Ogres are a curse on human society. You live in your caves on the outskirts of our farms and villages. The only time we ever see you is when you are coming to eat our livestock… or worse… virginal children.”
Rotgar reflexively drooled. Virginal human children taste so good! Fearful of letting the Zirliff loose, Rotgar resisted the urge to wipe away the drool. It would require letting go of the maybe-trickster with one hand. So, the drool just kept drooling down Rotgar’s face and then across his double chin, down the torso until stopped by a mass of chest hair.
Unperturbed by the sticky ogre drool, Zirliff continued. “And you smash our houses and barns. You steal what little gold and treasure we have.”
Rotgar smiled. It’s fun to watch the pretty person things scramble and run when he rips the roof off their houses. Sometimes they can’t get out and shiver in the corner while Rotgar sorts through what pretty things he wants to take. Zirliff was a little off base though. Gold is nice and shiny, but it’s the blankets Rotgar loves most. Blankets!!! So warm and soft.
Zirliff took the smile as an opening to continue. A sign of a deeper connection. “When you’re done doing all of that, you soil our land and rivers with your… um… waste.”
That last one took Rotgar off guard. What do the person things expect Rotgar to do? Go home and piss and shit in his own cave? It’s not like they treat that land and those rivers much better, anyway. This seemed an unnecessary accusation.
“What’s your point, Zirliff?”
“Let me finish with not so much a point as a question. Do you WANT to be an ogre? Frankly, ever ogre I’ve ever met has been truly miserable. You could be something else. Let me go and I’ll teach you to be something new. Something better.”
Rotgar thought about that for a while. Thought hard. So hard he even put a finger to his lip, semi-releasing Zirliff, who did nothing but wait for a response. The renown rogue had only the trick of fast talking left and it would have to be enough.
“Well reasoned, pretty person thing.” Rotgar said.
Zirliff sighed, this time audibly.
“Only one problem, Zirliff. I’m not ‘AN’ ogre. I am THEE FUCKIN’ OGRE!”
Rotgar then bit off Zirliff’s head.