Open Chronicles Can I Offer You A Hotdog?

[Kazaban the Mad]

With squeaky wheel and collapsing bright yellow cart did the tall moustachioed half elf with strangely vibrant green eyes and all awkward angles in his gait did pass the gate to those of the Anathaeum. It was if he was a puppet with tangled marionette strings, all elbows and collapsing head as he pushed his cart forward. His striped green and black wide brimmed hat covered his face for long moments as he held in laughter at what he carried, that span slowly within their chambers within the collapsing cart which was far too visually loud to be looked at for long comfortably. The cart produced wafts of steam from delectable unknowable and all too enticing meat sausages that span, glistening, sizzling within the metal device designed to perfectly cook the mystery meats.

“Grill the meats,” the mystery man chuckled to himself, “Just...grill the meats. Just a harmless vendor. Yes. Yes! I only have a little while before that charm spell wears off on the guards. Time enough!”

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers across his face as he contained another belt of laughter which wracked his body and held his cart in place in shuddering moments.

Compose yourself or they'll catch on!

The laughter remained in stifled bursts.

He zapped himself with green energy to try and maintain composed, and his disguise shimmered for but a moment. Fortunately his hat covered his face, which revealed his all too human self, Kazaban the Abjurer.

Otherwise known as Kazaban the Mad.

For the man had a penchant for the truly insane idea, hobby, and preoccupation. This time, his scheme was simple.

To grill the meats. To pack a bun with a mystery tube of utter deliciousness. And give it, as an act of diabolical charity to sate a hunger.

And delicious they were. Kazaban had eaten three of his own volition and felt a bliss he rarely felt from such an overdose of hedonism. And to think, this meat was from the finest sources. Kazban felt he was doing those who would eat the delectables a favour.

The finest and rarest from the silver chambers that magically produced such delectable, mouth watering tubes of exotic meat.

He cleared his throat and truly got into character. A chipper half elf with harmless goods, the most mouth watering goods that part was true, but the harmless part, well, it depended on how strong a stomach one had. And heart. And conscience.

“Hot dogs!” Kazaban cried, his voice sing song and altered to be a piercing dulcet tone of purest song to the people, his body contorting in wild swings as he produced a cane from his trouser leg and banged on the cart to draw people around.

“Hot dogs that you won't believe! They will sort your cravings for succulent sausage! This device can render eighty dogs a minute! It's a veritable feast! Mustard from the finest and most promising seeds, ketchup from the ripest of tomatoes, buns freshly made by magic and love, and the meat! Why yes... the meat!”

He opened up all four chambers of glistening, sizzling tubes of utter delight. They span with promise. With glee. The smell wafted for miles, utter deliciousness that pranged even the most full of stomachs. There was magic about all of this, but the smell was genuine, irresistible, mind alteringly good.

“Come one come all, free samples for all! How could you resist the humble dog made primo by my cart of wonder! Yes!”

Kazaban patted his stomach and kept banging on the cart, both to draw attention and to keep the sausages spinning and releasing the mind melding smell that would bear an insatiable hunger...for the common pleasure that was the exotic dog.

 

[Hector]

What the hell was a hot dog?

"Um... excuse me ser?" Hector asked. Training tunic tucked into his blue cotton trousers. "Do you mean to say, you are selling dog meat?" Hector saw the shine from the contraption. The golden sheen of oil, sizzling on the metal that seemed to spin the sausage shaped confections.

"What... are they?" his nose poked and chased and sniffed at the smells. His mouth watered. "They smell delicious,"

 

[Sosi Gnax]

"Hot... Dogs...?" Sosi looked between Hector and the strange man, and then back to the rolling sausages. "Do doggies taste good?" she asked nobody in particular. She thought about all the dogs she had seen in her short life, and started to wonder what they tasted like. Sosi knew that she shouldn't want to eat a dog, but the spark of curiosity had been lit in her. The sausages smelled so good!

"Sosi wants a hot dog! ...Please." Sosi declared, and held out her little hand. She made a grabbing motion as she impatiently waited for her food.

 

[Kazaban the Mad]

Kazaban, with disguise firmly in place and cart most assuredly unsure of it's own balance as it teetered precariously on it's rickerty wheels, pushed his hat up and smiled a little too broadly at Hector, his eyes shimmering green as he did so.

“I mean to say,” Kazban said, his hat tipping wildly as he clacked gleaming silver tongs in the air and produced a bun which had a smell of freshness all it's own, “that you've never had anything like this before! Why, the meat isn't of dog, hot dog is just a term that only the finest people use to describe this treat! It's a rarity in this corner of the world, and here I am, bringing it to you lovely folks! Aren't I good soul? But one moment, SQUIRE,” Kazaban said the word 'squire' all too loudly and barely hiding his derision for the knight of anathaeum in this moment, and then smiled insincerely to hide up his loathing. He continued with extra congeniality to try and belay suspicion. “But someone who appreciates the art form of my culinary mastery is here! Make way make way,” he said as he blustered over napkins piled too tall which spilled, and jars of mustard which span about themselves as Kazaban clambered about the cart without much grace, “dear sausages, which one shall I pick for my most cultured of customers who recognizes the value of what I provide?”

Which one indeed. The one with marbling? The one that rolled with an extra bounce? No, no, for the goblin, there would be something extra special. The one that had a tinge of green and white flecks to it. Extra herbs that Kazaban recognised as being crocodile meat. An endangered species no less! Once albino, now tube, once frollicing free in some swamp, next, snatched up by the arcane wonder that was the cart of plenty's jaws.

Kazaban clacked the tongs again, narrowed his eyes and thrust the pincers into the device. It gave out pops and smacks of meat juice as it did so, and Kazaban felt the relentless heat crawl up his arm as he fished for the dog. He gave a small chuckle to himself as he felt the pain, and kept his arm in there a little too long as he breathed deep of the dog's scent. Even he wasn't immune to the tantilising smell.

He snatched back his hand without complaint for the pain, indeed, drunk off it and the alluring meat smells, and said, “Watch this! Wham!”

The sausage was span in the tongs as Kazaban held his tongue out to perform this trick, and then hurtled it into it's cushioned bed of bread. In an instant the half elf disguise was all elbows and wild orbits as mustard was produced from a jar, smeared, and lid span back in place by a quick twist of the wrist. Ketchup was then applied, and onion relish to complete the treat. All the while he offered little hums and chuckles to himself as he enjoyed the process a little too much.

He held it on high. He looked up at it for a long moment, contemplating if he should eat such a delicious, alluring, beautiful creation, why, it would only be a nibble, just the smallest of bites, just to keep the cravings at bay-

He cast wild eye down and felt sympathy and deep compassion for the goblin in rejecting his own addled appetites from virtue of consuming the exotic dog and presented it with both hands.

“Here you go my goblin friend! A hotdog that'll sure mend!”

The hotdog was steaming with promise, the smell sensational, and the treat once consumed would set fire a deeper hunger for even more hotdogs. The first was never enough he found. The first dog would instil a great need for the meats.

And then the price gouging would commence as addiction would take hold. And then, by the final dog, well. That was for Kazaban to know and relish as much as one who sampled the taste of the exotic hotdog surely would.

“Enjoy! And as to what they are,” Kazaban said, and forced a smile through gritted teeth as he leaned a little too forward from his cart, as he jutted an elbow in hostile fashion to the doubter, “squire,” and continued, “they are only the best meats for you and your lovely and oh so honourable friends.”

Sosi Gnax Hector

 

[Hector]

Hector looked on with growing worry.

Hungry as he was. And he most certainly did feel hungry, as the smell of the dogs wafted and swirled about his nose. He smacked his lips. Swallowed what salivation had gathered in his mouth.

Would no one else come to save him from the meaty temptation?

Sosi appeared, but she seemed more lost than he.

She asked for a dog, and, well, the strange man said much. But didn't quite answer Hector's question. "Wait!" He said after the spectacle of meat snack preparation. Gods it looked good. Dressed up and glistening. There between warm bun. Tomato sauce, and mustard spread. Sliced onions, even a fine pickled puree.

Hector's stomach grumbled.

"What... what sort of meats?" He asked again. They were in the Valen, after all, and, well. "Did you poach game?" His voice waivered. Had little iron too it.

What poor creature, he wondered, had paid to become such tubular delicacy? For it smelled not like rabbit, or venison, or even wild pig!

Families of squirrels, perhaps? Eagles? What if it was owl meat?!

He shuddered at the thought.

But... he still felt hungry.

Kazaban the Mad Sosi Gnax

 

[Kazaban the Mad]

Kazaban gritted his teeth at all the questions, grinning all the while, which made for rather the frightening and disconcerting image. From left to right his teeth went, all while his lips did curl at the medley of amusement and consternation at all the questions. All he wanted to do was serve a hotdog and there were all these blasted questions? Preposterous ingratitude he thought. But he shivered for a moment, as if shaking off the brief interruption to the consumption of dogs and returned to some semblance of a business persona.

He leaned an elbow on the counter, and waved incredulously, Kazaban saying wildly and shrilly after much grinding of teeth and curling of lips, “I don't poach game!”

He flashed his teeth and readjusted his apron. He coughed and grinned all the wider as he continued with his narrative.

"My sources are very ethical, yes, it's,” he said, gesturing in spirals as if trying to find the right term, and finally settling on, “errrrrrrm, sourced by redirecting invasive species into a particular net! Yes! A net of my own creation! You see when the animals find themselves, overabundant in their curiousity of my home, I turn them into meat! To turn into treats! Yes! It's all very above board.”

The cart itself gave a small shudder as a barely perceptible throaty chuckle could be heard within the inner workings of the cart. A quick knee of the wheel put that to rest, but it could not be denied, something other than Kazaban the humble hot dog merchant had given out a laughter which was most bestial. “Just....please, eat the dog, you won't regret it, kay?” Kazaban wheezed out as the cart's wheel moved a centimeter over his foot, and applied greater pressure as moments continued to grind into his toes. All the while Kazaban's hand trembled as he held out the dog, imploring with his demented eyes to just, take, the, dog. He waved it from customer to the customer, at the goblin with a smile, and then at the squire with even more insistenance that was growing on manic thrusts of wafting meat scents.

Sosi Gnax Hector

 

[Hector]

The stranger's response had Hector go wide eyed, watched his teeth, wide and gummy as they were. Long and sharp as they seemed. More horrible than any wolf's maw.

An explenation was given.

"Invasive..." he repeated. Thought of invaders. Conquerors and colonists. Cats were such creature. Tiny and cute as they were. As were dogs, left to roam the wilds. More dangerous than wolves. Hector's brow furrowed all the more. "So, its... well, you still haven't quite said what they were, sir, I... well I can't help but worry why," the squire protested.

The cart seemed to laugh. The man knocked it. And Hector's eyes looked down at the wheeled construct, wide and full of a horror not yet made clear to him.

The dog shift, back, and forth, back and forth. Its smell, going on and on, deeper into his lungs with each pull of breath. His eyes grew wide. He felt saliva pool.

Sosi had wanted the meaty foodstuffs. Had been ready to eat one, without worry.

Hector smacked his lips. Snatched up the dog and bit into it. It was delicious. He smiled. Took another bite. And another! Before he knew it, it was gone. Pickled relish and mustered clung to the sides of his mouth.

"Ah," he said with relief. "That was... that was very good," he nod. Blinked, looked back at the cart. "Say, well," he sniffed the air. "Got any more?"

Sosi Gnax Kazaban the Mad Knights of Anathaeum

 

[Ophelia Tirion]

In a tall oak tree not even two meters from the meat magician and her to fellow squires, Ophelia Tirion lay asleep on one of its large limbs.

Oh how she had come to miss the Fal'
wood these last couple months, dreams up in this large trees branches swirled of her homeland - a dream that soon turned into a foul memory, snapping the elf out of her usual lunch time nap.

Not only was she rudely awakened by the pesky memory but to great her was a smell more foul then something she could ever imagine.

She spotted Hector, Sosi and some man with a cart who she could only assume was the source of the rude waft burning her nostrils.

Wrapping her legs over the brand she hung upside down, "What in the world is that god-awful smell?" Ophelia asked, her tone more unimpressed then usual and her expression sour.

Hector Sosi Gnax Kazaban the Mad

 

[Kazaban the Mad]

Kazaban's shoulders rippled with barely stifled laughter. He watched eagerly as the hotdog was consumed, his eyes wide and his grin unbearably wider. The cart began to rock left and right unchecked for a few moments and something akin to the sound of a stomach growling could be heard from the cart as it rocked back and forward. Kazaban noticed the lapse of behaviour and began to kick the cart a few times before stepping back as the cart's face revealed itself to his side for a moment. A mimic's face of green eyes and a mouth that became upturned at the lashings of phyiscal punishment.

“Just cook the dogs, just cook the dogs!” Kazaban said in a stern sing song style, and it seemed to the soothe the mimic cart into fading it's face.

The disguised wizard made wild gestures again of happiness, clutching his hands together in a victory dance of some sort.

“Why yes!” Kazaban beamed, “There's plenty more! Sizzling delights to delight the sizzling mind! Rotating the brain in the flavour village, stockading the tongue in spice, imprisoning the pleasure dome of the mind matter in such glorious delights of the culinary world! Ha ha yes!”

Another dog was quickly snapped together. Kazaban seemed to be getting the hang of this. Pinching of the tongs, clang clang, relish to the dog, pat pat, a tube of meat, this time albino crocodile, was placed lovingly in the hotdog bun. The first eaten meal would secure the desire for more. The second would make one even hungrier, and in less command of their legs. The third? Would render the meat sweats and the madness. The madness that would lure them into the cart. And then! Kazaban would be away!

But first the second dog had to be consumed.

“There you go sonny! Round two!” Kazaban gleamed with teeth that crackled with green sparks as he handed another dog to Hector.

He whirled around to Ophelia and pointed his tongs at her and snapped wildly at her. Each clang grew louder somehow.

“Listen here, do not berate the scent of greatness in the making, the flavour center that I provide is a humbling experience for anyone who is willing to try the best in the meat industry! So why not challenge your own perspective of what is good and bad by snapping up a hotdog! Today! Don't listen to the doubters folks, they just don't know a good dog when they smell it, philistines! Deriders of a good time! Snooty people don't get dogs they get hungry and sad! Sad little doubter, no room for dogs, no room for anything worthwhile! Boo hoo!”

Hector Ophelia Tirion Sosi Gnax

 

[Hector]

"Oh, Ophelia!" Hector called out, surprised to see the elf woman appear. "Just, a... well..." he looked at the glistening meat snack.

His stomach grumbled. His salivated. Oh, how it good it tasted. His mouth worked a small bite. The savory delight of the first one still coated his tongue. "Just a hotdog," he said, eyes wide as they stared at the next tubular treat.

It was the snapping of the tongs that had him snap out of the trance. "Hey, maybe don't... be so rude?" he said with his brows furrowed some.

He still missed the strange rumblings of the cart.

Ophelia Tirion Sosi Gnax

 

[Kazaban the Mad]

While the words out of Hector's mouth was a simple, “maybe don't...be so rude,” an entire parade of personal insults was heard by the wizard Kazaban. All manner of curt insults, snide remarks, and mispoken arcane curses delivered at Kazaban's personage were received within his mind. And to them, much less his mind responded, as did his incensed gut, which felt punched with apoplectic rage.

He inhaled a sharp breath, his eyes going wild, his tongs smacking furiously in the air, as if he were some furious crab who snapped in indignant rage at the existence of crab pots, and their place within one. His disguise shimmered for sudden sparking moments, revealing his green toned robes, his wild eyes full of green electricity, his tongs remaining constant, seizing at nothing as his rage took hold of his speech.

“You dare speak to me of being rudeness while such languid language litters your lurid lash of a tongue! You want a dog? I'll-give-you-a-dog that'll take a bite out of you! Boy, it's no longer time to grill the meats! You hear me? The time of dogs is over! For you that is! It's time to snack on the treats!” Kazaban shrieked, and kicked his cart as hard as he could muster.

“Sic 'em boy!”

The hot dogs spilled out of the cart, which developed a surly mouth all it's own from the steaming trays, a carved maw which showed off a series of bundled exotic meats bounding for freedom from within it's gullet. A lashing tongue whipped out, and struck out first at Kazaban. The lashing was intercepted by a flash of green light as Kazaban performed his brutal punishment for turning against him in this moment.

“Not me, you fraction of a mimic, feast upon this Knight of Curmurdgeonly Weal and Woe! Bite! YA! Bite and chew and bite and chew, yes, yes!” Kazaban corralled and the mimic obeyed for the torrent of green light was enough to persuade the mimic that the easier target was Hector himself.

The mimic said nothing except to give awful creaking sounds and sounds of digestion and sizzling. Maw wide, it lashed with tongue, the cart itself lurching forward against the wheels, the whole thing warping in function to add Hector into it's hungry maw. Meanwhile, Kazaban shot frenzied looks between Hector, for fury guided him against the imagined insults, and to sieze just one dog that spilled out of the thing.

One more dog before this knight was devoured couldn't hurt, right?

 

[Hector]

Eyes wide, Hector's body came taught. Knees bent arms splayed out and ready to snap and swing and move. His feet pushed back, near slipped on the slosh of grease that coated the cobble stones underfoot. A one-two step back, chest squared to the target, stance bladed.

With quick pull of lungs, he drew in a breath. His mind saw the words of his cant. Heard himself speak it in that way of thought. Fast as lightning along the axons.

His left hand winged out, fore finger and middle rigid as a raptor's primary feathers, stiff to catch the force of a thermal lift. A spark came from his fingertips. A glob of flame, like lamp's light, sputtered and hissed there at the end of an invisible wick. A sweep forward, his fingers pointed to the encroaching mimic, fingers flexed, thumb at an angle his breath let out as he guided the flash of heat.

Like bolt loosed from the metal arms of a crossbow. The glob of fier struck forth, aimed at the Mimic's slavering maw.

 

[Kazaban the Mad]

The mimic, a low thinking thing, reeled back from the basic language of pain, chuntering it's horrid mouth to rid itself from the scorching it received. The tongue went around clockwise to die down the fire.

Kazaban, a self assured insane thinking thing, failed to sieze upon a sausage which boundered across the trays, glistening all the while as they turned from succulent sausage to ground spoiled treat for the chickens and dogs.

“Just one more, just! One! More! Wait where was I,” Kazaban screeched, and turned heel from trying to sieze upon the sausages to the one who had scorched his beast so.

“Oh my semi-loyal pet, you've taken worse heat from your own grill! Go! Eat this Knightly fool! What are you waiting for?”

He went to kick the thing, but sensing further beatings to improve morale to chew upon the one throwing fire around, it growled, sending Kazaban to clasp at his robes for a moment in frightfulness.

Redoubling in his own self absorbed emotional state, he hissed at Hector.

“You've already eaten one dog! You've cronched on the confection! So I'll tell you this! You'll never eat something so delicious in all your life again! You'll dream of hogs that comes close to the deliciousness of this treat, a treat I can only provide with the beast you snub with your paltry fire trick? When I want a dog, I just find an albino crocodile and snap, sizzle, roll it up in a bun and yum! You! You have tasted the forbidden flesh! So your precious morals about the morals you hold so dear about saving the lives of the ickle pets of the wylds, so get shipwrecked on my ocean of diabolical culinary!”

Kazaban lifted his long nailed hands and electricity crackled between them as he laughed.

And then the mimic began to eye up Kazaban, licking it's lips at an altogether different kind of treat...

 

[Torin Gemheart]

Spoiler: Music IC?OOC?HIBBY?

Was there still a cart of eat-me-up goodies in the street or was the cart upturned or something?
Maybe time had passed, second and minute, and now that a newcomer arrived, it was different.
Whatever the case, a newcomer had arrived amid all this commotion and commodity and things.
He was hungry. Wasn’t so much thirsty. He had a bottle in his grip, whiskey, and it did the trick.

“Greetings,” the dwarven man offered, wiping his lips, dressed in armor befitting his culture.
He sported no helmet and no cape, for it would just get in his way. The dwarf walked forward.
He looked between the pedestrians, the patrons, never mind mimics, magic, or whatsithaveit.
“I am Hungry.” Gorin Temheart burped, blinking, as if struggling to see. “Gimme a whozitwotzit.”

Torin pointed at the menu, whether inexistent, and he did snap his fingers, and he did demand.
He did want a whole helping of eat-me, of delicious and scrumptious meat, and he did so ask.
“Can I get mine with some mustard, relish, sauerkraut.” He paused for a sip from his whiskey.
“Cilantro. Chili. Onions. Relish. Ketchup. Did I mention relish?” -Burp!- “Extra cheese, please.”

He had money. Crap. Torin pawed at his person with his free hand. Gah... He did have money, yes?
“Where’d I put the thing where the stuff comes out to buy things and stuff and…ahhh my pen!”
It was a pretty thing, if you can believe, all shiny and silvery. “I sign receipts with this thing. Heh.”
He licked his lips. Mmm. Spicy. He hoped his sausage would be no less. “Hotdogs are the best!”

Kazaban the Mad

 

[Kazaban the Mad]

Kazaban lurched as if pulled by rope towards the new prospective customer, his previous scathing exposition of what had been rendered completely forgotten as he embraced his role to provide succulent dog to as many people as possible. The mimic cart behaved itself for the moment as the tubular treats did roll slowly in their beds, but a tong thrust away.

"Ah ha, you see, this dwarf knows the finer things, the finer things known as the hottest of dogs, ready to slide down gullet and to make a stomach happy, yes! Ho there, my bearded fellow, let not price or lack of purse bring you down, this hotdog is for free! Such a confident order, yes, relishes, relishes, I can provide, now step aside," Kazaban gestured to no-one in his way as if beating back hoardes from his side of the cart, "There's dogs to serve! Now, yes, mustard, mustard, can't forget the mustard, and the cheese, extra strong, good, yes, perfect!"

The assembly was now becoming more and more second nature to the wizard, who still in disguise had hat broad that flopped about as if barely encapsulating his head. He made jaunty rhythms with his arms and hands as they set about the work of providing the treat, which within napkin was served, full of promise of the exotic meats. This time it was crane that was served in sausage form, no finer taste for a dwarf of such discerning taste to know of the hotdog. Though it was doubtful he would have tasted such a meat before, it would leave him hungering for more, and more, and more.

"Here you are my good chap, a hotdog on the house, with all the trimmings! Yes! Enjoy!" He said through a genuine smile, so enamoured both with his scheme and the integrity of this new customer to the existence of the hotdog in general parlance. He stifled a chuckle, which was quickly assisted by a jolt of pain as the mimic cart did lash tongue around his lower leg and began to drag.

"Not now you insolent no good-" Kazaban began, hopping on the spot as he was being tugged ever closer to the sizzling beds that was this thing's true mouth, all fanged revealed on Kazaban's side. He struggled to maintain composure as he was threatened to be made a meal of, his eyes fixated on the sausages that seemed to scream at him, "CONSUME US," even as he was in threat of being so rendered himself.

Torin Gemheart

 

[Torin Gemheart]

Spoiler: music

“Hear, hear!” Torin happily agreed at Hot Dog Stand Man’s claim that his was a bearded face.
Oh…wait…or did he say that bearded face was the dwarf who knew the finger things in life...
Anyway, Torin was just as ecstatic about getting his gullet and stomach filled and no mistake.
“Sorry, matey.” He glanced at some random man looking back at him. “Whatcha lookin’ at, guy!?”

The latter walked away. “Heh. Huh? Uh…” The dwarf scanned the stand. “Uhh what was I sayin…”
Hot Dog went about with relish this and mustard that as Torin licked his lips. “Ah! Ya said free?”
He would not argue with that, no siree! The assembly was now making the dwarf’s mouth leak.
“OHHHHH ALL THE TRIMMINS’ AND FITTINS’!” Torin all but seized the treat from the man’s grip.

He promptly used the napkin to sneeze in some whiskey-induced allergies.
Bottle in one hand, hot dog in the other, Torin took a breath and he teased.
He delayed, taking the moment to refresh, scent of meat ripe off the bone.
“I AM TORIN GEMHEART AND THIS IS MY FAVORITE HOT DOG IN THIS CITY"

With that, he bit in, eyes growing wide and hesitated. “THIS IS SO DELICIOUS”
He finished it quick as nobody’s business. “MAKES YA WANNA SLAP YA MAMA”
His mother isn't here so a drunken Torin settled for slapping a man next to him.
“WAAAAAGGGHHH!!” That man, slapped in the back, went flying like some banana.

He fell forth forward toward the hot dog stand where Hot Dog Stand Man was dancing.
Hopping on the spot like his hot dogs were beneath his feet and he was busy squishing.
“IT’S A PARTY” Torin took an opportunity to snatch another hot dog that had gone leaping.
On account of a hapless bystander tripping into the stand and sending stuff kinda tumbling.

Kazaban the Mad