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Author: Solia
Date Added: 9/12/09
Last Modified: 9/12/09
Name: Ham Sandwich
Age: Around 20 minutes, give or take.
Gender: Some cultures translate The Sandwich into the masculine gender, as sandwiches are often tall and broad with hardy, robust flavor.
Race: Sandwich, of the traditional clan. They are nearly always at war with the opposing “Open Faced” tribe that are growing in numbers as tavern cooks become more and more creative.
Alignment: True Neutral, sandwiches do not distinguish between good and evil, nor do they swear fealty to the laws of order or chaos.
Occupation: Nourishment specialist.
Class: Ham, with two slices of Swiss cheese.
Skills: Being delicious and containing within the confines of its rye exterior a veritable cornucopia of opposing and blending flavors designed to capture the eater’s wildest sandwich-eating imagination.
Knowledge: The Sandwich possesses a keen sense of self-awareness. Though it is immobile and unable to communicate in any way, it is adept at looking enticing while sitting on a plate with a slice of pickle.
Abilities: Sitting motionless and attracting the attention of hungry passers-by. I dare the reader to find a more attractive sandwich anywhere in Aedolyn.
Appearance: Upon a platter of polished white, a lightly toasted slice of rye bread freckled with caraway sits like a pedestal awaiting a masterpiece. Three full slices of pink, scarcely marbled ham fold gently in half along their baked frame and are then topped delicately with two, yes, two thick slices of white cheese laden with crags. On any other sort, they would look out of place, but this curdled delight is of the Swiss variety, and so they add only character and delight to the overall presence of Sandwich. Stacking higher still, atop these twin slides sit an attractively ruffled bed of leaf lettuce, at its peak green and still crisp. Upon that, still, though it seems hard to believe, a duo of thin tomato slices still glistening with beads of dew from their former garden home rest just under the roof of another rye slice, toasted similarly to its mate beneath the layers that compose Sandwich. Against the stack rest three thick slices of dilled pickle, and a liberal dollop of mustard, for the eater’s discursion.
Personality: Mysterious. Very few can comprehend the mind of a sandwich; therefore it would be difficult to describe precisely what makes this deli delight tick. The presence of mild cheese for mild, but very present flavor suggests that it is a gentle creation by nature. Still, the distinct flavor that it possesses demands attention. It prides itself on quality ingredients purchased at bottom-line market prices so that consumers may look upon it and feel the warmth that comes from the comfort of knowing that they, the average passer-by, can afford such a sandwich of their own. One might say it is a sandwich of deepest compassion, setting aside all condiments to be applied at the eater’s whim. It is as if it understands that, darn it, you may not want mustard. You may just go right for the mayo and damn the consequences! Its sturdy, but non-intrusive bread invites a two-handed grab. Perhaps a bit provocative, sandwich invites all who look upon it to try and resist a touch.
Goals: To be eaten, as quickly as possible, lest the lettuce wilt and the ham rise to room temperature, wherein the effect of the combination would be tragically lost.
Strengths:
Social: Sandwich is, above all, a good listener. Because it is unable to respond verbally, it has been given, by the grace of the gods, the ability to sit for as long as one might need it to sit. A bread slice to cry on for those who need it, always ready to listen like the rock solid pillar of lunchtime that it is.
Career: Fresh ingredients, top quality meats and cheeses and freshly baked, wholesome bread make being eaten a near certainty.
Racial: Ham of good quality adds a smoky, earthy quality to any meal, and holds perfect complement to the Swiss cheese element of the creation as a whole. Inexpensive to produce and a favorite among youngsters, it can be enjoyed hot and cold with very little need for bells and whistles to accompany it. Simplicity is key.
Combat: None, but gods help the waiter that drops it on the floor.
Intelligence: Alas, sandwich is not even yet half an hour old. It has learned little, and will likely learn little in its brief, but fulfilling life.
Weaknesses:
Social: The inability to communicate in any fashion is a great detriment to ham sandwich’s social life. Though it listens with the patience of clergy and steadfast attention, it is unable to console the eater verbally. Only by taking the plunge and actually eating ham sandwich will be satisfying to others.
Career: It is a brief, however glorious career on the whole. Sandwich is well prepared for what comes with its path of choice.
Racial: Ham is notoriously well known for containing more fat and calories than its archrival, turkey. Despite being marginally more delicious, the health benefits that come with eating its poultry nemesis often outweigh the enticing naughtiness of indulging in its meaty delights.
Combat: Fortunately for sandwich, having no combat skill to begin with means it has no combat weaknesses to speak of. A wily sandwich, it is.
Intelligence: Again, the youth and short lifespan of ham sandwich make intelligence a moot point entirely. By sandwich standards, the paring of rye and mustard is brilliant, so it is most unfortunate that Aedolyn is not familiar with, nor practices regularly, the observance of sandwich standards.
History: A pork farmer once lived on the outskirts of Katýn Wood in Bäros. His house was little more than a shanty, and contained a single pen with a single pig within it. Times had been hard for Farmer Dane, and Danes Finest Hams had nearly gone bankrupt. He had only a single sow, whom he affectionately dubbed Gertie.
Gertie had all the comforts a pig could ask for. Slop in her trough, hay in her stall, she was fat and happy and healthy. These facts, so harmonious for a creature of her kind, were the very attributes that doomed her in a cruel twist of fate. One dark morning when the sun was obscured by the dark clouds of coming rain, a man rode up on the back of a horse drawing a wooden cart behind it. He was dressed in a long coat, his hair plastered to his brow; evidently it was already raining a few miles toward the east, from which he came. He pulled a wooden ramp down from the back of the cart, and Farmer Dane emerged from his modest home looking forlorn.
“Time’s come, Robert,” the dark man said with very little remorse in his tone.
Farmer Dane nodded and unhitched the latch to Gertie’s pen. Expecting food, she waddled forth, snorting quietly, toward him. He sighed and knelt down, giving his big sow a fond pat between her ears. “I’m sorry, girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
The man walked to him and clapped him on the shoulder when he finally stood. A small purse of coin was dropped into the farmer’s hand, and before she could fully comprehend what was happening, Gertie was being herded with some degree of force up the ramp into the back of the cart. She prided herself on the fight she put up; she was a might sow indeed, and Farmer Dane, though he took a hoof to the knee, was proud of his girl for never backing down to them. He held back tears as he watched the cart rattle away slowly, the black and white porker peering from between the wooden slats at her former home.
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Days later, at a small tavern in Triam, a surly old cook by the name of Oleg (a sailor by trade, turned landlubber) paid a man in a long dark coat for a few good quality smoked hams he had just received. He had an idea—a sandwich fit for a king; a king the likes of himself. It was getting late in the day, and he was a hungry man.
After slicing, he assembled what he knew would go down in history as the single greatest sandwich in creation. Ham, Swiss cheese, lettuce and tomato all stacked atop toasty rye—he could already taste it! He spread a bit of mustard on the plate and set up his pickles in an anal retentive manner that seemed to completely contrast his rough exterior. Oleg fancied himself an artist.
A shout from the bartender through the door tore him away from his creation. He swore under his breath and tossed aside his napkin angrily. He could never get a damned minute’s peace! *Grumble*grumble*swear*
Just then, the bartender scurried into the kitchen. He was a wiry, nimble man who was too small for his clothes and too big for his head. Oleg had his back turned, slamming a frying pan down on his stove still swearing and grumbling under his breath. It was then the bartender saw it…
It was as if the gods themselves had ordained that this stack of meat and accompaniments would be the centerpiece of his menu. He, too, fancied himself an artist. There was a pedestal sitting atop his bar where he often set the day’s specials. Most patrons of the busy Triam tavern came and went quickly, and he had made it his business to collaborate with Oleg on quick meals that could be taken with the customer so they didn’t feel obligated to sit for longer than they wanted to in the middle of a journey. It was a new age, slightly experimental business practice, but generally successful. Regardless of the details, the bartender knew that THIS sandwich would be his special of the day. He could hardly think of a more perfect piece.
Not bothering to ask, and assuming that Oleg, that clever old sea dog, had been a step ahead of him, he snatched the entire plate with ham sandwich atop it and scuttled back out into the dining room. There, upon his pedestal where has sat any number of culinary endeavors, to this very day, this very moment as a matter of fact, rests the King of ham sandwiches awaiting the lucky patron who desires it most.
Additional Notes: Ham sandwich: 3 silvers, 2 copper, special of the day. Tax and tip not included.
**Used with the permission of Solia. **
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