Rogan – OOG Portagaal 03

(The door to the cabin claiming the slumber of Davyn and Rogan opens briefly…just a few inches…tentatively, then closes.)

(A long pause.)

(The same door opens again…but this time, wide. Rogan emerges, his eyes stuffed with two hours of deep, Migdin, ale-fed slumber. His hair woven into a nest not unlike the Peak Warblers of Wyvern’s Gate in its sheer chaotic abandon.)

“What are we… What ‘appened to Morglers puppy?”

(The perennial joviality of Rogan’s gate is lost now, replaced by the form, equal in appearance, to the reanimated dead of a Lost Way colony in late Kesygor heat.)

“Ohhhh, the gr’rangnospherupppp.”


(Rogan’s head thunks against the solid wooden strut outside of his cabin. A long string of drool reaches surprisingly far, forming a silent, private pool on the planks directly below his mouth.)


(Suddenly, his head snaps upright. He turns and stairs at K’ain with the practiced severity of the Head Master at the Riken Sword Academy.)

“No! (beat) Now shhhhhhhh! (beat) Why did you open the honey basin for Mum?”

(Rogan’s face goes slack. His eyes once again fill with slumber, as if ‘at sea’ weariness was far more valuable and precious than desert fatigue.)

(He unexpectedly opens his cabin door and steps in, stops, pivots, faces Tyvian then reassumes his former sleep-walking seriousness.)

“Tyvian. Cow’s horns take a lot of time to stuff. The cream loses its fluff and even children want not th’lil goodie! (beat) Hrumph!”

(Like an instructed golem, the Migdin puppet lopes back into his cabin and shuts his door. From within the heavy, wooden chamber…a single, mumbled declaration can barely be heard.)

“Rudy. Wake me when the gourds are served!”

(A response is heard from within, belonging to a younger, equally numbed occupant.)



(The shambling ghoul has finally returned to its grave.)