Fear, money and respect

by **Mittle** on November 8th, 2022, 2:34 am

prelude not in WC :

40 Summer 514

Mitt couldn't remove the helmet right now, especially right there in front of his father and the other blacksmiths. But his comment really stung and the fourteen year old couldn't deny a word of it. They were heartless monsters. As a unified group, the smiths turned their backs on the Five and got back to work.

"C'mon Hammer, let's go celebrate your firsts! That had ta be how many? Damn good job."

Dark blue eyes lingered on his father's retreating back for a brief chime longer and he finally nodded to the guys. He couldn't risk being heard so close to work and kept on the restrictive helmet despite the hot summer night.

Four of the five of them strode loudly and arrogantly down the middle of the road to head to the nearby pub while Mitt clanked along beside them. Their heavy footfalls echoed and rang on the hot cobbles and they started taking off their heavy helmets. One of them closest to the fourteen year old, nudged him in the ribs that he could finally take off the clunky and stifling hot helmet. He looked around just to make sure, removed it and tucked it under his arm. Even though it was still a hot summer's night, at least the air could reach his face, head and neck now. They took off their heavy metal gloves as well, tucking them into their waistbands. Sweat soaked his entire body but there wasn't anything to do about it.

They had the entire pub crowded to the maximum as a direct result of their Sheep Run, so Mitt wasn't too thrilled about it. They set down their large shields by the door and shoved their way through to the largest table. He didn't exactly want to show his face right now but at least as one of the Five, he could relax in there. He'd learned quickly that as long as you were large and part of a group, most people wouldn't bother you. And understandably, some of them would even go out of their way to avoid you. Two barmaids immediately brought out several pitchers brimming with beer and mugs around Mitt and the other four guys, while smiling extra wide at them.

Mitt wasn't fooled for a chime. They'd just driven in at least thirty extra customers in the last half bell as well as themselves, driving up the profits. Those smiles were for money or fear. But in Sunberth it was akin to a form of respect that he was just starting to get a taste of. Not the respect part, but the fear reactions were becoming disturbingly more common.

The noise of the hot, overcrowded bar was immense and people were jammed in tightly, drinking and sweating and then drinking some more because they were sweating. The pub owner of course made sure the Five knew that their drinks tonight were on him, seeing what they had committed as a personal favor, done entirely for his benefit. Maybe one of the guys had directed some here? It was near the beginning of the route so the reasoning did stand a chance.

The largest of the Five lifted a mug to him, gestured at Mitt to raise his mug and toasted,
"Ta Hammer, on yer first solid Sheep Run with at least four dozen tallies ta your name! May there be many more!" The four men cheered loudly and clanked their glasses before downing them with impressive speed. The teen drank down his mug and set it on the table with a thump, wiping his mouth on his forearm. Having the oddest timing ever, Mitt's stomach suddenly demanded food in a very obnoxious way. He looked down at his stomach in surprise. How could he be hungry after doing something like that?!

The others laughed and motioned over one of the women to the table.
"We need something to eat. Make sure Hammer there gets the biggest plate-he's got a killer appetite." So that guy thought he was a real riot. Mitt sat back in his seat and stretched out his legs beneath the table. Which was way too relaxing considering how exhausted he was. He sat up again and rested his elbows on the table, just listening to the voices all blend together into senseless noise.

WC 722

by **Mittle** on November 9th, 2022, 3:38 am

Mitt woke up at early or late, groaned and clutched his head with his left hand. He tried to put his right hand to his head, but it was deadweight from the woman laying on it. Dark blue eyes looked over at the painfully thin blonde naked woman next to him and realized that he must've passed out.

A hazy memory flickered through his mind of spending a couple hours at The Pit and then someone decided it was a great idea to go to Brega's. The blonde just laid there on his arm, purposely putting all her ribbed weight on it and smirked.

"Where ya going in such a hurry? You're paid up for another bell ya know."
"I am?"
"Mhm."
"Who paid?"
"He didn't give me his name. The loudest one of ya Five."
Mitt tugged at his arm to slide it out from beneath her and rubbed an exhausted hand over his face.

"I gotta be ta work at six. What time is it?" The inside of his mouth tasted like a soggy dirty burlap sack and his head pounded badly.

The woman leaned over him to look out the window and rested her scrawny self across his stomach as she spoke.
"It's a little after four bells. You want something to drink?"
"Yea, anything, I'm raging thirsty."

She got up and walked to the rickety table to get some beer and pour it. The woman was a rack of bones with bruises on her lower back, no chest and her collar bones stuck out sharply. Her long blonde hair was as thin and lifeless looking as the rest of her tired ribbed up body. When she felt his eyes on her, she exaggerated her walk while swinging her hip bones.
How was she alive when she was so thin? More importantly, what had he done?

She handed him the mug, crushed a bedbug under her thumbnail and crawled back on the dirty mattress to lay beside him.
Mitt drank thirstily, still unsure of what to say. He'd never gone to a place like this before so he couldn't exactly draw from past experience. He set down the empty mug on the floor and looked around the dingy room.

"Where are my clothes?" Mitt asked, deciding it was probably best to leave now.

"On the table by the beer. It's the only other place in the room sweetie." the blonde said in a bland voice.

"You can go do whatever, I'm done." Mitt snapped, embarrassed and pulling up the filthy sheet over his waist.

"Your loss." she shrugged and walked out the door.

Grabbing his clothes he got dressed and poured another mug to slake his thirst. The throbbing headache was much worse while he stood up and he was so groggy he could barely see straight.

"I think I mighta drank ta much." he said to himself slowly. The myriad smells hit him in the face like a brick the moment he left the tiny room and he paused in midstride, blinking around him. He kept his blue eyes down at the dirty floor, trying to make his way outside without calling any attention to himself. Mitt was way out of his depth in this place and he just wanted leave.

The chime he crossed the threshold, the other four greeted him with laughs and knowing leers.

"Hammer you were in there long enough! Did you go for seconds and thirds?"
Not sure what to say he shrugged,
"C'mon guys, whatcha ya think?"
They laughed and let him pass as they hung around front and smoked, continuing their conversation.

Now to get home, changed and ugh, well not eat. He definitely wasn't hungry. He was gonna have to run to reach home in time to get to the Foundry from here!
'Boots up!' he prodded himself, shifting into a lazy jog that seemed to jar his head with every stride.

Three quarters of a bell later, he finally made home. Hot, sweaty, flushed, thirsty, filthy and hung over. Tirlmon suddenly opened the door as Mitt arrived, took one look at his son and roared,
"GOOD MORNING!"
The teen groaned and put both hands to his head with a murderous look.
"How's the hangover? You been out all night chasing girls? Get inside and you better hope your mum doesn't put it all together."

He'd seen Mitt working hard during the day, so he deserved some harmless fun at night didn't he?

Reineli looked at her son, worried at the idea of him running around all night. Growing boys needed their sleep.
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Just coffee if we have any."
"I set out some clean clothes on your bed for when you're washed up."

He popped his head around the corner to take the coffee and went to go get cleaned up.

"You looked flushed Mittle do you have a fever?"
Tirlmon kissed her quickly and said,
"Stop fussing over him love, he's not a child any more. He's a Blacksmith in the Guild now. Just like his old man." He said proudly as Mitt sucked down the last of his coffee and joined them.

Once father and son had seen off Reineli to work, they walked quietly for the first part.
"I wanted to ask ya something and I want straight answer Mitt. What do ya know about that cloaks and shadows person around the Foundry all the time? I didn't hire him and I know you don't have the money to hire him. Do ya think Seamus has something shady goin' on since we joined the Guild?"

"Absolutely! Seamus was really pissed and I saw a whole group of hooded guys there a while back." Mitt told the truth but kept it to strictly that with no extra details.

He clapped a large hand on his son's shoulder.
"That's what I thought too. I was sure I was gettin' heat stroke or something because I kept seeing a hooded guy around."

His conscience was not liking the omission but if it kept his father alive and well, then it was worth it. Behind the father and son, the cloaked figure followed a half block behind them.

When they reached the Foundry, it was ten chimes before starting time so they could gear up and begin their ten bell shift.

WC 1,058 Total WC 1,780

by **Mittle** on November 9th, 2022, 10:48 pm

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood upright and Mitt looked upward to see Seamus glaring down at him from the second level. The Watcher on the other side of the road took a single step closer to the Foundry and Seamus' glare turned resentfully to the other man instead. The Watcher stepped back into place and nodded slyly to Mitt.

Quickly, the fourteen year old walked to his father. As foreman of the small group, Tirlmon gave the days orders. Reading aloud from the small crumpled paper he held,

"Nail drive today. Ten hours or one thousand produced for each piece work men. Choose your goals and reach 'em."

The half dozen Strikers and two stokers set to work while the Blacksmiths took to their stations and grabbed their favorite small tongs, clamps, punches and trip hammers.

Despite the brutal hangover and growing summer heat, Mitt needed to plan for sleep. One stupid mistake because he was so tired could cost him a limb or a life and he wasn't about to start now. Maybe a nail drive today was a good thing. If he buckled down to a good set rhythm, he knew he could crank out about a hundred an hour at maybe four nails a chime. He just needed to keep moving and reach that set groove. Then he could slip in a few hours of some much needed rest. That was a big if.

Mitt grasped his favorite trip hammer, making sure his right thumb was completely around the handle. That first day he'd rested his thumb on the handle and that first strike had broken his thumb. Not a great memory, but definitely a solid life lesson learned on that day.

The Striker showed up with the first white hot iron and passed it carefully to Mitt, waiting and watching. It was literally most of what Strikers did; watching the methods, how they were applied and anticipating when things needed reheating, replacing or reworking, waiting to be ready at no notice. A large part of a Blacksmith's output was determined by how much he or she had to run back and forth to the forge, gather and move cold irons, hot irons, replace them and return them without any verbal instructions. And if you fucked up, some smiths weren't so nice about having their production level screwed with by someone not paying attention.

Mitt was a Striker from seven years to fourteen and it was exhausting, but excellent training that you didn't have to pay coin for. It was the ultimate on the job training because if you weren't smart enough, strong enough or driven, you'd get maimed or killed off early. It was a true example of survival of the fittest to rise to the rank of Blacksmith after a Striker apprenticeship.

While his thoughts roamed freely, Mitt's large hands seemed to move of their own accord. He laid the hot iron flat across the hardy, adjusted the trip hammer and drove it four fifths through to control his hammer strike before laying it across the anvil near the radiused edge. He bent it over the edge in four strikes and raised it back to the anvil surface. The hammer slammed five times and he caught it as it bounced upward to gain momentum while he worked to draw the length, hammering it and flattening, drawing it longer. He flipped it as it quickly cooled and hammered off the gathering slag, drawing it equally and flattening it as it went red. The Striker grabbed it and fired it for a ten count and brought it back in only four quick strides. The summer heat shimmered in waves off the cobbles and the two roaring forges and giant blast smelter added their unbearably hot miasma to the Foundry. Everyone was drenched in sweat and the group were mindful that some of them would break down far before an entire ten bell shift under these blistering and merciless conditions.

Mitt placed the hot iron tip into the vise, closed it firmly, twisted the top off with hot slag hitting the ground and the Striker retrieved the end to replace it swiftly back on the fire at an angle along with the rest. The tawny haired young man shifted his hammer grip to align better with his elbow set and upset the end with five hammer strokes and caught the bounced recoil. He loosened the vise, lifted it with the tongs and passed the hot finished nail to the Striker, ready to move on to the next hot iron.

The high noon summer heat shimmered in endless waves off the dark stone cobbles and the two roaring forges and giant blast smelter added their unbearably hot miasma to the Foundry. Everyone was drenched in sweat and they all knew that a few of them wouldn't make it through an entire ten bell shift under these blistering and merciless conditions. Each blacksmith had their own unique signature beat of hammering that added to the cacophony of immense noise, belching smoke, and toxic fumes. Mitt sweated, punched, drew, hammered, turned, twisted, broke, upset and repeated, ad infinitum. Three blacksmiths went down and one striker so they were immediately dragged outside so they wouldn't be in the way as the rest of the workers carried on relentlessly.

Mitt squinted through the black and red smoke, the sky dark and his muscles aching beyond all reason.

"TEN BELL COUNT MEN! STRIKERS FORWARD FOR TOTALS!" yelled Tirlmon, laying down his hammer to help out with the day's tally. The fourteen year old had nothing left to give, as his mind had shut down bells ago and worked entirely on automatic pilot. His fingers tingled on his right hand and his elbow ached as he finally got to let his right arm hang normally from his shoulder.

All the men were grateful for the respite as they waited for the striker's count of who had finished their piece work and who got to finally go home.

"Ralgin, Mitt and myself are tied at one thousand apiece." Tirlmon announced, glancing proudly at his son.

"You two can clean your stations and go home. But that means there's eleven more of you to finish your piece work and I'm staying to keep the tally. Night son." he finished up. The blacksmiths each returned to their anvils to either clean up or continue working and the strikers laid out more irons on the fire.

Mitt skimmed his anvil with the long wire brush, cleared his station and his gear and finally stepped outside. He was numb. Just numb everywhere. The outside heat was at least cleaner to breathe and he just stood there for a few chimes looking dazed. Two Watchers stood outside the Foundry but Mitt was too exhausted to notice anything right now.

WC 1.143 Total WC 2,923

by **Mittle** on November 10th, 2022, 1:09 am

Although it was a mere fifteen chimes it felt like a full bell. Mitt finally made it home, ate the meal that was left for him and fell face first onto his bedroll on the floor. He dreamed he was on a beautiful beach with white sand and relaxing ocean waves rising and falling. Like voices nearby rising and falling.. The fourteen year old snorted awake and lifted his face from the ground. His sleepy grey eyes noticed it was about nine bells so he'd better get his ass moving. Using both hands, he tiredly pushed himself up to his knees and lurched forward to stand up to his full height. He and his father both had to duck to get through the doors. But Mitt was only fourteen and five foot ten. His dad was six foot two so his clearance was much more limited. From the small closet sized space of a room, he overheard his parents talking in the main room.

"He's sleeping soundly now Reine, so stop worrying about him so much. Mitt just put in a solid full day's work and he's getting all the sleep you're fussing over right this chime."

"You know he's my baby boy. At least I know for sure he ate supper. He ate all of it love. Even your share. I think he's more tired than he'll admit to you."

"Enough of that. Hard work is good for him, and I was raised the same way. Besides.." he smiled and opened the lower cupboard. "I always keep aside a share of the food you set out for me under here. He doesn't see anything that's not at eye level when he's tired." Tirlmon laughed and their voices quieted as they ate together.

Mitt squeezed quietly out of his narrow bedroom window and headed out to return to the pub from the night before. Waking up through the haze he remembered he'd forgotten his shield, boots, gloves and helmet there. He needed some coffee right now. Badly. Despite the heat, he need a jolt to really wake him up when he was this tired. Fortunately it was only about five blocks from his house so it didn't take him long to reach the pub. The lanky teen crossed the street with long easy strides and was approaching the entrance, when a woman saw him and ducked back in side.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't give it a second thought. Actually, considering how exhausted he was, nothing was getting much of a first thought at the chime. When he entered the room, he looked up and noticed there was only a two inch clearance between the door arch and his head. At most. When he brought his gaze down, he saw the barmaid turn from scared to a big fake smile at him and she walked off to serve a large platter to a table in the corner.

'That's weird.' he thought idly. His comprehension skills were practically nothing right now but he turned his attention to the barkeep. About to ask where all his stuff was, the older man pointed to the large pile of heavy gear on the floor behind the bar.

"Hammer you left a few of your things behind last night and it was careless. If Rat finds out about you leaving all that stuff laying around to whore, gamble and drink, he's gonna kick your ass." he warned in a careful voice.

Mitt looked down at him with a fierce frown of concern, his tired dark blue eyes still heavy with sleep.

"But I wasn't correcting you...or anything.. I was j-just giving a guy a warning. That's all." The barkeep stuttered out, moving on to the other end of the bar to tend his customers.

'What the hells was -that- look about?' Mitt wondered. He was grateful that the man had kept an eye over the stuff but he knew he also deserved the mild reprimand and the warning was fair. He moved out of the doorway and stood belly up to the bar and paused to consider if he should ask for his stuff or just pick it up on his own.

"Molly get the man's gear and give it back to him!"

"Petch off! It's heavy. He can get his own damn stuff himself!"

Well that solved the question then. Mitt went around to the narrow back of the bar to get his gear and tucked the helmet, boots and gloves under his left arm and grasped the heavy long body shield with his right hand. When he stood, he realized that he'd accidentally shoved back and flattened the older barkeep hard against the wall with his elbow in the guy's face.

Mitt paused for a long moment to get his bearings through his tired brain and tried to back up in the tight space, feeling like a bull in the proverbial china shop. He raised his right arm over his head but the giant blood spattered shield clanged loudly against the ceiling with a sparking screech of metal against the wood. Dried blood scraped off above him and he tried to back up and not hit anything with all the things tucked under his left arm.

"HAMMER! STOP BEATING UP ON THE BARKEEP AND COME SIT THE HELLS DOWN!" Mitt turned at the sound of Rat's yell and clomped his way over to the greasy looking older man. With a heavy thunk, he set down the shield on the floor and put the big helmet, boots and gloves in a pile next to him on the table.

"I wasn't--"
"Give the woman your damn drink order and shut up for a chime." Rat interrupted in a stern voice.

"Coffee, lots of it."

WC 960 Total WC 3,883

by **Mittle** on November 10th, 2022, 2:55 am

"Whiskey neat." he gave the thin blonde his drink order and Rat showed a slow, greasy pleased smile as he looked up at Mitt.

In a loud tone he commented too casually,
"Good job kid. You're getting quite the reputation over the last few months. But talk about icing on the cake- that Sheep Run last night, your stunts all night, people dropping at the Foundry and now I see ya beating up on that poor old barkeep for no reason when I was just walking in on ya crushin him like a bug.. Damn boy!" he quickly added in a sly obnoxious tone, "You're outta control Hammer!"

"But I didn't...I'M NOT OUTTA CONTROL!" he protested with loud and understandable frustration, when he was too damn tired to think. Mitt knew he was just clumsy and being in a cramped space had made him panic with the shield. And they had all worked hard today. It wasn't Mitt's fault they got heat stroke! His voice raised defensively, "THEY JUST DROPPED LIKE FUCKIN FLIES! I was still standing at the Foundry because I worked. I didn't do shit!" he answered back heatedly and glared at him.

"And you can't even put those dirty disgusting boots on the floor like a normal human being? Put 'em on the floor little boy." the man sneered at him, in a very quiet voice, testing just how far he could push him.

"Whatever!" Mitt retorted angrily, clearing off the table with the wide swing of a long arm. The strength of his irritation sent the large gut covered boots half way across the room to clang and clatter against the floor. The disgruntled fourteen year old was red faced and nearly panting at the temperature. The sudden sound and sight had the pub patrons looking on now if they weren't already.

Rat's eyes gleamed with sinister slimy appreciation as he noticed people's reactions around them, especially considering Mitt's loud words and behavior. He nodded and patted the boy's shoulder, continuing to play the part. Mitt would be a good enforcer if he kept him tired and edgy enough. The teen just needed a not so gentle shove to reach the point Rat wanted him at.

"Awright Hammer calm down." He said in a little louder voice than usual, but the teen was far too tired to see nuance in anything.

"I've had about five bell's sleep in the last three days. You're lucky I'm conscious right now."

"The heat makin' ya cranky too I'll bet?" Rat stated in an almost sarcastic tone, pushing Mitt's mood to see if he'd bite.

"You're gods damn right I've had it! And I've got plenty o' reasons ta be pissed off!" he snapped, pausing to wipe the sweat off his angry face with a forearm.
The timid blond barmaid that he'd met coming in the pub was now standing behind him, about to set down the guys' drinks.

"And where the hell's my damn coffee already?!"

To a stranger Mitt gave every appearance of a huge, angry, volatile and violent man. But both Molly and Rat knew he was just an overgrown, cranky, sweaty, over tired fourteen year old kid and nothing more.

The woman refused to look at him and the drinks were set down quickly. Mitt dissolved immediately into silence, more concerned with pouring the coffee. Holding the mug with both large hands he drank it down and swiftly poured another. This time he paused a chime longer to actually sip from it.

WC 586 Total WC 4,469

by **Mittle** on November 10th, 2022, 11:30 pm

"Ya want somethin' ta eat Hammer? I heard you got a... killer appetite." Rat drawled pointedly, sipping his drink and prodding him further. The kid was nearly there. His muddy brown eyes lingered on both Molly and the thin blonde barmaid so he gestured one of them to come over. The blonde shook her head and went out back to the kitchens and Molly smirked at her retreating back.

'Very nice.' The older man thought. Now he could proceed with Mitt's future role in his group.

"Food and beer right?" Molly asserted, taking the money from Rat.

"But you're just gonna fuckin charge me for it later ya dick." Mitt snapped at the guy, setting down the coffee mug a little too hard. The handle broke off and Molly frowned at his carelessness.

"And he's gonna buy a new mug. Right now. Pay the nice lady Hammer." He said in a forceful tone.

The fed up teen slammed down a copper coin on the table and stood up, his icy cold blue eyes glaring as he prepared to storm out. Mitt frowned down at them ferociously, loomed over the table at his full height, and his overtired temper flared as the sweat dripped off his angry face.

Rat didn't look impressed at any of it. He calmly looked up at the teen without raising his chin and pushed his buttons just once more.
"If yer standin' up it's ta pick up yer boots, helmet and gloves that ya stupidly threw across the room in a tantrum. Then you're gonna sit yer stupid ass down and eat like a person, not a big dumb idiot. Bettah watch that temper around -me.-"

Molly smirked at the play as she'd done this scenario for most of Rat's muscle and calmly cleaned up the coffee mess to return to the bar.

Mitt frowned around furiously and stomped over to pick up the heavy metal boots and large helmet but he had no idea where the gloves went. His tired gaze scanned the room and not one person would look in his direction.
'Fine. Can't even get any damn help ta look fer stuff.' he thought peevishly, still searching.

The boots and helmet had scattered to the bar and he grabbed them with a swift motion, narrowly missing the guy standing beside them. He turned to find the gloves and accidentally whacked into the man behind him with the heavy metal boots, knocking him to the ground in a swift, ruthless motion. The man scrambled backwards and left the pub with the door slamming behind him.

"Get over here and siddown Hammer, yer a gods damned menace." Rat commanded, slyly holding back the laughter that wanted to burst through. The teen was finally well and truly on the hook before he got too big to control.

The teenager rolled his eyes at the further insults and stomped back to the table to sit heavily. He set down the large helmet and heavy boots beside the shield on the floor with a loud jarring slam and just looked at the table in silence, staring at his hands.

Molly set the gloves down on the table with a clank directly in front of Mitt and went back to the kitchen. The thin blonde barmaid slipped outside, but Rat's eyes spotted her with a greasy gleam.
'It only takes one or two scared mice to scream that the sky is falling..' Rat thought with a knowing smile.

"You're gonna eat and drink. It's hot and ya need ta calm yer big stupid ass down. Look at those people staring at your tantrum." Rat added in a low voice.

Too tired to keep up any further anger he looked around him in exhaustion, his eyes skimming over groups of people studiously looking down at their drinks quietly.

"I guess they're really hot and tired too?" Mitt shrugged and answered half-heartedly.

WC 651 Total WC 5,120

by **Mittle** on November 11th, 2022, 1:04 am

Molly returned with a large tray of food and a nice cool pitcher of beer with two mugs and set them down on the table with a smile. Rat kicked the teen's foot under the table and Mitt automatically placed a copper in front of the woman.

"It's so nice when they start learnin' good manners innit?" she said with a smile and deftly scooped up the coin with a quick motion.

"Eat up Hammer. Have a drink."

Rat helped himself and noted that despite the teen's earlier display, it certainly hadn't lessened the fourteen year old's ravenous appetite.
'Good. Eat more, grow bigger, grow faster.' the beady eyed man thought. 'Now he'll get even more sleepy with a full stomach and a few more drinks.'

Mitt was still very thirsty from last night and the pitcher was nearly empty as he drained his third mug and cleaned his plate easily. He poured out the last of the beer into his mug and finally relaxed. He burped loudly, slouched back in his chair and stretched out his long legs beneath the table.

"Nice and full? Ready fer a good night's sleep?"

Mitt nodded sleepily, his grey eyes half closed and his head starting to nod forward.

"That's a shame Hammer coz ya gotta return that gear. Right now."
"Huh? right now?' he murmured, definitely ready for sleep.

Rat stood and slapped Mitt on the back with two hard thumps.

"Yea so stand up." he shoved strongly at Mitt's shoulder, prodding him like a dumb beast. "Now."

With a tired sigh, Mitt stood up and looked down tiredly at Rat. He'd try but he was feeling beyond exhausted.

"Go on. Pick up your gear."

Rat stood well back before he spoke, not wanting the clumsy teen to bump into him like he did with the others.

"Helmet, gloves and boots under your left arm, then pick up the shield with your right arm. Thatta boy. C'mon Hammer, we ain't got all night."

Mitt blindly obeyed, too tired to even fully open his eyes as he approached the exit.
"Wait-watch the gods damn door! Move it sideways you ox!"

Mitt raised the shield up as he went through the door and blocked his view of the three guys he shoved back hard onto the stone cobbles. Clueless and tired, he kept his eyes directly ahead and just walked right between them as they laid out on the road groaning.

"Hammer you gotta stop beatin' on random innocent people!" Rat said loudly. "You're a bully"

'What the hells was he yelling about now?' Mitt returned the eighty pound shield back to rest at elbow height, though his whole arm throbbed after the long day's work.

The tall, glowering, well muscled man walked with enormous fearless strides, easily carrying the body length blood spattered shield, following behind Rat like a dead faced goon, without two entire brain cells to rub together at once.

WC 489 Total WC 5,609

by **Mittle** on November 11th, 2022, 8:15 pm

Unbeknownst to Mitt, he was falling into a very common male stereotype that was enforced and expected of all men. He was entering into a lifelong role of hard manual labor and a strictly enforced solitude and loneliness that societal roles demanded of every man. It wasn't really a concept of equality or any finer mental pursuits other than that's simply what is expected and done because you were born a boy.

It was entirely irrelevant how much book learning, school or educational level he had achieved. Mitt's financial status guaranteed that he would be a work horse and to shut up, accept it and just deal with it however you chose. You don't bitch about it to anyone or that would be weak or lame. You suck it up and just do it because that's what every other guy of his class did, does and would continue to do. A man's value was and is derived from either his physical strength, wealth, political/societal influence or higher birth status. Yes the categories were very limited but that's simply how it worked if you were a guy.

Mitt was only fourteen and tall for his age. He'd been worked hard, but he was lucky enough to be well fed so he was quickly growing to his maximum physical potential.

But everyone, man and woman, feel a need for some kind of power or control in and over their own lives. For Mitt, he enjoyed the physical and mental combination of control that it took to be a blacksmith and he enjoyed it heart and soul. It was his most comfortable place to stand and it completely defined who he was in his own psyche.

Lacking any dominant physical prowess like more height or larger muscles, Rat lusted for power and control to compensate for it. He was extremely intelligent but he was smart enough to know that you don't advertise that, especially around all the other people who were larger than you; which was most of the population of Sunberth, women and teens included. His influence and treachery aided him far more than any strong or tall man. Rat found that having power, control and manipulation of others, was a far better advantage that also brought him in more money as well.

"Walk beside me Hammer, let's talk a little." Rat ordered, knowing the kid would do as he was told. It didn't occur to either of them that the teenager had a choice and total free will to do as he pleased. He was exhausted and it was entirely by instinct that he would obey an older man around his own father's age. It was Rat's full understanding that if he purposely deprived someone of necessary food or sleep, he could control them very easily when they were still young and ridiculously impressionable. While he didn't fully grasp the psychological connotations of it, he certainly applied the concepts like an expert.

Clanking heavily with each step as the metal items banged together with his exhausted weighty tread, the young man aligned himself beside the older man who was much shorter.

Rat's muddy brown eyes caught sight of a man trying to run to the other side of the street to avoid them. The five foot, fat old man was a compulsive gambler and he owed Rat over six hundred but had dodged him for two days now.
It was time to take the leash off the dog and put him through his paces.

"Hammer stop that guy and bring him to me."

His tired blue eyes were half closed so he dropped the eighty pound shield so it clanged off the cobbles to echo like a loud threat. The tall young man shifted easily to a jog and barreled toward the old man running just ahead of them. With a large hand, he grasped the guy by the collar and stomped toward Rat, letting the old man dangle more than a foot off the ground, choking and gasping.

"Put him down but don't let him go anywhere." Rat ordered firmly. Mitt complied but he was almost asleep on his feet. He dropped the man much harder than he intended to, still keeping a tight choke hold on the collar that was immovable as a vise.

"My large angry friend here doesn't like it when ya owe me money that ya should rightly pay back."

"I was gonna pay ya back, honest I was, but I-"
"He's too short Hammer so I can't look him in the eyes. Raise up your arm a little."
Mitt raised his arm higher and dangled the guy two and a half feet off the ground while the older man's legs futilely struggled and kicked. He put up both hands around the front of his shirt as he struggled to breathe.

Rat searched the guy over and removed what had to be about two hundred and he gave a greasy pleased smile.
The tall young man was on the verge of sleep and his eyes were three quarters of the way closed. He weaved hard to the side but caught himself, a bit unsteady on his feet, which jerked the old man hard from left to right.

"You're not supposed to kill him.. yet. Let him go Hammer and go pick up your Sheep Run shield."

Mitt dropped him and the guy fell hard to the stone cobbles. His hands went to his throat as he tried to catch his breath and scrambled off out of sight.

"You can sleep at the Den with a few of the others tonight. It's not far from here." Good dog, thought Rat.

The tawny haired young man followed blindly behind Rat and went to a stinking little room with about a dozen dirty blankets on the floor. Approximately fifteen other people of all ages were asleep and the only things Mitt remembered from that night were eating, walking and falling asleep.

WC 993 Total WC 6,602

by **Mittle** on November 11th, 2022, 10:52 pm

42 Summer 514 evening

He couldn't help but smell the overwhelmingly seductive scent of sex. Mitt smiled lazily in his sleep at the nearness of a warm body. Make that several warm moving bodies nearby, around him, on top of him, and quite a lot of hands. Mhmm a damn good dream. Long hair brushed back and forth across his stomach and his blue eyes opened wide. Nope. Not a dream.

Rat slammed the door open and everyone stopped what they were doing to look over at him. His muddy brown eyes roamed to eventually find the tall young man buried beneath a pile of people with only his face and a single big boot sticking out.

"Good evenin' my skins! Did everybody get to properly thank Hammer last night? He's the one that made sure ya get paid tonight ya know."

He held out a small pouch bulging with coins and tossed the one hundred fifty to Mitt. In all states of undress, men, women, and teens instantaneously swarmed him from all sides, reaching for the money and the tall young man lifted it above his head to swiftly throw the bag hard at the far corner.

"WHADTAFUK!" was the most coherent thing he could manage after a solid sixteen bell sleep. Crawling over each other like rabid dogs, they bit, yelled, clawed and scratched at each other to reach the coins that spilled out and rolled out in all directions.

With confused blue eyes, he stood and pulled up his pants, and searched for his shirt.

"Mrgrr!' he growled and frowned sleepily, nudging someone off his shirt with a large rough boot and yanked out the material out from beneath them.

Rat took it all in with a greasy pleased smile, memorizing everything about how Mitt was handling the strange new situation. Good dog.

"Hammer ya want some coffee and supper?"

"Mhmm" he nodded, tucking his shirt onto his belt. It was another brutally hot summer's night so the teen didn't bother with a shirt. The tawny haired young man now had hickeys in five places, several scratches and bruises and sported some thick stubble along his jaw. His head was up but his eyes lingered vaguely around the top of Rat's head, using it as a guide to walk toward.

So being tired is the key to keeping that hulking brute on autopilot. Rat mused as he asked the groggy teen,

"Hammer, what's three hundred and sixty five times one hundred and fifty?"

"Fiftyfourthousan'sevenfifty. Coffee."

The older man laughed at the answer. The guy was on one hundred percent autopilot physically and mentally! So that's how much his skin trade cost him each year. If he trained up the teen right, he'd be invaluable as a right hand man! He was bright but still impressionable. A total mark, full on sucker. If he kept growing he would be over six feet like his father. Blacksmithing was already giving him a large right forearm so he was bound to build up more muscle and stamina too.

"We're almost there and then we'll get ya some coffee."

After the fourteen bells of work at the smith's Foundry the other night, eleven more guys had paid him protection from their boss Seamus, so they could also join the Blacksmith Guild! As long as he could keep the kid in line, in debt and under control, he was a pure fuckin' gold mine.

Rat entered the pub and said loudly,
"Coming through, Hammer's had a rough night. Molly get him some coffee huh?"

"Why should I? He broke the last mug he used!"
"So give him a metal one."
Molly shrugged and went to get the coffee while Rat watched the young man.

Mitt sat down heavily at the table that was closest and frowned around him, trying to make sense of the strange faces. The four of them got up and moved over to a different table, muttering and looking back at the guy. Rat sat at the table with him, moving his chair closer so he was sitting next to him.

The barmaid arrived with a pitcher of coffee, a sturdy metal mug for Mitt and a whiskey for Rat. The brunette stared pointedly at Mitt and Rat kicked his foot under the table. He reached down a large hand, took out a copper and slid it across the table. Molly flashed him that amazing smile and returned to the bar.

WC 742 Total WC 7,334

Flashback Fear, money and respect