(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forums. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)
A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]
Frost rimmed the dry tree branches scraping at the dark evening sky and snow worked its way through the air in fits and spurts of white. It was a lazy icy wind that cold Autumn night. They called it a lazy wind because it couldn't be bothered to go around, so it just blew right through you. Two tall, large muscled men were just leaving the warmth of the pub and walking down the dark gloomy cobbled road together.
"So you have two choices to do for the next week Hammer. You can move the live meat or the dead meat." "Which pays better?" "They both pay damn well. First one has the longest hours with the least labor. But when it's prisoners instead of slaves, you get hazard pay. Second one has more hard heavy work but shorter hours, as long as you don't get caught." "Which one do you prefer Basher?" "It's cooler out so it stinks less to be a resurrectionist this time of year." "A what?!" "A resurrectionist. A body snatcher. Catch 'em fresh and the surgeons pay more. You could go the grave digger route but then they won't give as much when the bodies are too decayed."
Mitt's expression of horror and blatant disgust were evident enough for a blind man to see clearly. Basher shrugged at him, just not caring either way.
"When I started out like you, I tried one, then the other so I'd know which one to choose first next time. We'll have to do both mind ya, but they pay good coin and we both need every bit of that money."
The tawny haired sixteen year old wasn't too sure about any of those but considering how much he owed Rat, he failed to see any real choice in the matter. Wait, Basher had mentioned hazard pay. If Mitt could finagle that for Watcher protection along with finding someone else to contact them, he could increase his blacksmithing wage.
He nodded his head in firm decision. "Live meat-especially the hazard pay. That goes directly to us right?" Basher looked surprised at his selection but nodded. "They'll make ya earn it kid. Remember Sheep Runs? This would be a twenty packs of wolves runs. They'll all try to kill ya if given the chance." The Muscle paused for a long chime and added ominously, "And the only protection you'll get is a hood and a gods damn stick."
"I'm in serious debt..." "Yeah, I get that. Ok then, we do live meat first."
Mitt tightened the cloak around him and shivered against a random cold blast of air as he looked over at ... wait he was the same height as Basher now! The guy still had about fifty or so pounds advantage on him. But still! He thought back to that first night he had met Basher.
"Why did you let me push you down back then? You could have demolished me to bits. Easily."
Basher laughed loudly. "You were just a Meeting kid. If you could look up at the big scary guy and not run away screaming, that's all that was needed."
"So it was just that easy? Stand there and take it when a little kid is trying to smack at you?"
"You'll have more Meeting kids under your belt soon enough Hammer. And that was a good hit by the way. He gets all his Muscle from the kids with good grades. So we know how to choose intimidation over violence when we need to. It's a Watcher motto."
"Hey. Hunter said something like that. Was he.. like us?" "He was for a very short while. After a week, he figured it out that he was getting charged for every job instead of making money, so he immediately left." "What?! You can't just walk out on Rat. He'd kill ya!" "Hunter's dad was a Watcher. Rat's kid picked the wrong one to bully so he had no choice but to let him go." "So does he pick just any random kid that's tall to join the muscle group?" "Mostly. He usually has one of his thieves in training sus them out with bullying. The last kid that screwed that up, was sold off to where we're heading right now."
Mitt looked over at the eight foot tall pen full of figures with only a single flickering torch by the door. A giant gust of wind blasted by and it quickly became no torches at all.
A huge guy that dwarfed both him and Basher handed them each a black hood with a hole cut out for the eyes. That probably made Mitt more apprehensive than anything he'd been told by Basher. There was no way it was a kind gesture to help them keep warm on a long cold night.
Mitt donned the hood and looked over at the guy, waiting for instructions. Now they were just two large anonymous cogs in a machine that needed the stealth of a dark night to cover up their actions. The cloaked and hooded giant of a guy handed them both each a seven foot long pole? Stick?
"There's a hundred and seventeen bodies that need loading onto the boat. I'm the bull, while ya two run flanks. Keep those poles between ya and them. They keep making knives outta the weirdest shit and ya don't wanna get stuck by one!"
Mitt had just enough time to wonder what the hells he'd gotten himself into before the enormously heavy gate was about to be opened. If it was like a Sheep Run, a few always tried to head directly at them so...
"Move!" the giant of a man growled and yelled at them, shoving at the bodies while the pole was held lengthwise.
"Right Hammer! Left Basher!" he called out, directing them each to right and left. Sure enough about two dozen desperate men rushed for the gate as it opened and they were hard pressed to shut the huge gate behind them before they got passed. Not sure how much help a stupid stick was gonna be, he tried to push to the right and he almost dropped it. The crush of bodies started milling closer, yelling and grunting as more than a few were trampled quickly to the hard icy ground beneath. Panic set in and Mitt swung the stick lengthwise, clearing out a half dozen men before him. A knife shredded at his cloak as someone slipped through and lashed out in desperation.
"Stop babying the fuckers and move it Hammer!" the giant yelled.
Mitt did the only thing you -could- do with a useless stick and he swung directly for a no hitter homerun, knocking forward ten guys and clearing out a decent sized space around him. At least there were no more behind his back! He spared a quick look at Basher, watching him swing away at the bodies with ease and shoving them forward ten at a time!
Getting the idea, Mitt stuck his scruples into his mind's back pocket and swung with all his might. A sickening crack slammed across several bodies at once and shoved the whirling dark and heavy mass of bodies forward. All of the men involved slid and slipped in mass terror over the crumpled, injured or dead bodies beneath their feet, skidding on the hard blood soaked icy ground.
Mitt and Basher were finally parallel to teach other and kept things moving fairly steadily with a well timed series of hard hits together. Three steps and a mighty swing, but try not to fall on the slick wet ice beneath their boots.
"Almost in guys, so-KNIFE! STOP HIM!" yelled the giant as one man slipped past him and headed straight for Mitt in a murderous charge! He'd just finished his backswing so there was no way he'd be able to reach the guy with the pole in close quarters. A bright gleam of shiny metal in his hand caught Mitt's eyes and he lunged back to avoid it. And fell straight backward to the ground, with his legs flying up in the air and his head hitting hard. The sudden swerve forced the escapee to try to change direction but Basher caught the guy directly in the face with the pole and caved in his skull like a wet rotten melon.
A hot spray of blood spattered over Mitt's eyes as he tried to get off the cold, sticky, icy surface. This was the easy one? The least effort with long hours?!
"Get off yer ass and throw the bodies inta the water. If they got a pulse, throw 'em in the boat. Gimme a shout when yer done and I'll send out the next round."
He wiped the blood off his eyes with a forearm so he could see on the moonless night and managed to get to his feet with a lurch. Mitt limped over to the right side of the fenced pen and checked for pulses on the first group of shadowy people on the ground.
"Count 'em Hammer." Basher said quietly. "He's gonna wanna know how many lived and how many he lost so keep track and memorize. And don't take off your gloves to check for a pulse. Open an eye and poke it to check. No blink, no life. Hurry up before they freeze to the ice!"
The tawny haired young man did as he was told but not without flinching every few chimes. For once, he was glad of the darkness. So he couldn't see their faces. The two men moved back and forth, slinging some of the bodies in the water and carried the others onto the ship's holding pen. It was already crowded and stinking with festering wounds, body odor, shit and all the great things that vermin brought with them. After a chime of bending, carrying and lifting, the two of them stood by the guard's window and Mitt rapped on it twice.
"What's the counts?" "Twenty three dead and five in the hold." Basher answered. "Twenty one dead and seven in the hold. Forty four and twelve." Mitt automatically did the math.
The giant wrote down the figures in his log and turned back to face them for the next orders. "Not bad men. Okay now, first, don't let 'em crowd ya or get to the corners. Second, keep 'em in the middle of the pen so no one gets any ideas. I don't wanna hear so much as a fart from them until the next boat comes in. Stand your posts."
Basher took the side near the main gate and Mitt stood near the opposite corner by the boat gate.
WC 1,036 Total WC 1,788
Last edited by Mittle on November 27th, 2022, 4:12 am, edited 4 times in total.
Just before Mitt could go over to his side, Basher whispered quietly, "Next part is just standing here for bells. Some will try ta gut ya so don't take yer eyes off of 'em for a even a breath, no matter what." He pulled a face at the last part of the message which meant it was about to really suck.
"Do I even wanna know?" he asked, half heartedly. "It's prison. Men are gonna do what men are gonna do." he replied with a shrug.
'Just keep thinking hazard pay.' the young blacksmith thought to himself shivering against the cold as he half slid, half walked over to his side of the gruesome pen. This side apparently had more brains, guts and blood because of all the recent body dumps. But, he figured, if anything, wouldn't the guys be more likely to go for the main gate if they tried anything? Mitt certainly hoped so.
The men shuffled tiredly out in small pairs and groups, the long pole shoving them through the door. Wearing cuffs, dirty rags and most of them had shoes or boots, they went quietly to the middle of the large pen. A second and third group passed through without incident and joined the rest of the slowly growing crowd. Mitt was getting that feeling again. Like in the Sheep Runs where there were so many gods damn people and only so much space for all of them to be in. This time he shivered, and it wasn't entirely from the cold. A larger fourth group of men were thrust out into the pen and those guys were getting bigger and louder.
For a half chime his blue eyes watched as Basher silently prodded the guys on the outside, smacking them in the elbow with a 'love tap' every now and then. Mitt tried to copy the motion but he lacked both the confidence and the previous experience.
The pen was definitely overcrowded now and suddenly the giant pushed through yet another two bunches of large guys adding to the bedlam of voices and moving people.
The giant looked over at Mitt and laughed. "Nice one Hammer. I see we got a tough guy here that chose to stand in the rush and shove 'em into the water corner. I don't know how long you will last there once they get riled up in a couple bells. Ya got some balls, I'll give ya that."
It was a damn good thing that the terror Mitt was feeling at that chime, was covered by a hood. All except for his icy blue eyes. The men drifted to their groups and adjusted their positions to be closest to their friends among the throngs of people. A few were busy in the middle of the busy group, doing what... ugh. He shifted his blue eyes to a few of the thinner guys, knowing that silent desperation was more likely to become a problem than the gregarious loud mouths who just wanted to yap about how big they were. That was probably the only advantage that he and Basher had was height paired with enough weight to back it up. Even the tallest among them was a thin rack of bones and the few fat ones weren't nearly as tall.
Someone darted toward him swiftly and Mitt shoved out the pole to swing out carefully and rap him on the back of the elbow. Something nasty just occurred to his tired mind. It was entirely too crowded to use the sticks in a full swing- not without taking out half of them to try and stop one. And they were getting restless already. An enormous gust of wind drove most of the men to huddle to the center of the pen against each other for an attempt at some warmth.
Which got him thinking. Maybe the giant was kidding about the so called rush 'em corner. It was an eight foot pen--no one was getting thrown over a height like that! Or was it because this was the slick corner that he could easily fall on again? That made more sense, as unlucky as that seemed.
Three of the shorter guys kept looking at Mitt, then again back to Basher. Possible trouble maybe? It was too damn dark to see that much as it passed the second bell, but he squinted at them anyway. That was three of Raymin's friends for sure! He'd know their shifty eyes and crafty faces anywhere! The sobering thought came to him that he could just as easily end up in here as any of the other unfortunates that worked for Rat or Daggerhand.
"Oh it's Hammer he said.." "Isn't that the one that Raymin was talkin' about?" "Yep, that's the guy." "You mean the ki--"
Mitt instantly swung the pole hard like a baseball bat across the three of them in a swift motion, knocking all of them to the icy ground. They flew back into the crowd causing some shoving and shouts among the rest of the prisoners. The three lean guys, Raymin's friends, were nowhere to be seen in the vast crowd of milling people. Somewhere under all those moving feet.
The sudden shove seemed to spur on an angry resentful sentiment and despite the prodding from both him and Basher, they grew loud and more raucous with each chime. Mitt tried to peer through the crowds and saw that Basher was now holding the long pole with both hands, standing squared and ready for battle.
Mitt exhaled slowly and rocked back on his heels, setting his shoulders squarely to brace for impact. Wait. Basher was braced for impact to shove the crowds backwards because it was the only thing the guy could do. Something clicked at the words the giant had said to him only a few bells ago. If the crowd got too close to swing the pole in a normal steady horizontal arc, that meant it was a message to go vertical!
Not a breath too soon, a large group of men made a concerted rush at Mitt and he kept the pole low and close to the ground, hoping his guess was right. The tall young man tensed up every muscle, trying hard to wait for the right moment and hoping he'd have the strength to carry out his idea without getting killed. When they reached about three paces away from him, Mitt swung the pole upwards to the sky like a lever and two of the smaller guys were flung hard at the top of the fence, cracking their heads and their dead bodies flipped out soaring high over the top with two heavy splashes to hit the water ten feet below.
Mitt stood ready with the gory pole pointed toward the ground but the men thought better of any further actions toward him, backing off to the center of the pen again. Their chatter died down to hushed voices and all that could be heard was a few disgusting grunts from the tightly packed center.
Gesturing from the window, the giant put up two fingers in a count and then gave him a thumbs up before disappearing back into the dark room. Yea sure, murder's just a thumbs up approval rating while I risk getting killed or worse by... Izurdin only knew just how many people were in that pen.
Basher nodded at him briefly while he leaned back against the gait again, looking like he was preparing to settle in for a long and very uncomfortable wait.
Another blast of snow and icy cold air drove the prisoners closer to the middle of the pen, packing them in together like vermin hiding when the lights came on. Now there was at least a four pace distance between Basher and himself and the huddling men. Well some of them were huddling. Others were splayed out on the ground, the men's feet kicking them out from beneath them. All three of Raymin's friends were among them and his dark blue eyes locked on the shadowy faces.
Had he himself done that? Or those guys? Maybe a combination of both? Regardless, the prisoners didn't care and the bodies were quickly stripped of literally everything but their skin. Mitt tried not to look at them but he did anyway. They each had a long bloodied welt horizontally across their spines, making their cause of death all too apparent. He had a tough time trying to keep his conscience tucked away but there it was laid out by three dead naked corpses left to freeze to the ground. Mitt knew he shouldn't go anywhere near them as it was too close to the prisoners...live meat. And dead meat. The three of them would just have to stay and freeze to the ground as he wasn't stepping any closer to the group.
Those four whole paces were a luxury of space right now and Mitt figured that at least they were an impediment to anyone trying to rush at him again.
The fits and spurts of earlier snow had been only a lick and a promise of more to come. The snow started in earnest now, a steady white falling wall that immediately blanketed everything. A full dozen more corpses were stripped and kicked out of the live meat group as they gathered in a shivering mass. More people, barely clinging to life were stripped and shoved out to the corners, narrowing the four paces to just under two paces of space between the pack in the middle, the mostly dead meat littering the cold white snowy ground, him and Basher.
Snow covered everything in a solid white out, live meat, dead meat and everything else that hovered in between. It just made him realize that the executioner wore a hood like this too. How appropriate. The tall young man clutched the cloak tighter to him and when he was looking down, he noticed his left knee was wide open with a gash ripped through his pants. Another beautiful day in Sunberth.
The sky eventually brightened as both of the guards lost all sensation in their feet. A rundown beat up looking old ship finally berthed outside the large gate. Mitt quickly moved to the side and tried to see the giant through the crowd of people. At times like this, he was very glad to have a height advantage. The tall hooded giant of a man walked toward him with a ring of keys and the prisoners gave him the full half a pace of space left in the overflowing pen.
As if taking it as a cue, the snow abruptly ceased and a cold clear sky broke open to reveal a bright and sunny morning. When the ship's door opened wide, the giant quietly opened the gate to the boat and stepped back next to Mitt. The prisoners filed swiftly into the ship's hold, avidly seeking the only available shelter to them. Not one of them shoved or even raised their voice. It had been a long and brutally cold night that had sapped the strength of even the largest among them. As obedient as sheep, the men each filed two by two through the gate with their eyes strongly locked forward. When the giant closed the ship's door, he locked it firmly and walked around to survey the total damage of the night.
Basher walked over to join them and stood quietly, though his heavy lids showed that he was clearly as tired as the other two men after such a long night.
"Ya did good, the both o' yas." The giant said as he walked around the pen, kicking snow from the bodies and taking notes on the tally. With each kick of the giant's massive boot, either Mitt or Basher pried the body indicated from the ice and dumped it in the water. The teen quickly learned not to just pull at the body by an arm or it would simply break off, leaving more to move. Instead, he punched at the bloodiest edges of ice with the end of the pole to pry them loose first. Then it was much easier and it didn't have that... ripping sound.
After almost a solid bell of the gruesome work, Basher and Mitt joined the giant standing in the middle of the pen. He nodded in overt approval as they approached. "Best night yet. Only five killed and eighteen are...weather casualties. That's more than three quarters that survived seven bells."
He held up a hand to hold his place and walked over to the ship to give a departing rap on the door to send it off. Soon after, the giant closed and locked the tall gate tightly. Returning to the guards he reached in his pocket for two pouches of gold and handed one to each of them.
"Excellent night's work. I want ya two here every other night for the next Tenday. Here's yer hazard pay and it's damn well earned." He looked down and gestured at the teen's open knee.
"I'd use some of that coin ta see a healer if I were ya Hammer. There's no telling what's on those shivs they make." The giant opened the front gate and some kid cleaners came in with brushes and buckets to clear the area.
"See ya the night after tomorrow."
That was ten pieces of gold that Mitt had sold his soul for that night. And it wouldn't be the last time.
"Remember ya made this choice Hammer so don't go backin' out on me at the last chime." Basher warned with a scowl. "It's eight solid gold we'd make, each of us. But only if we last the full ten bells. And it's a package deal ya know- they won't take just one of us. This job needs four and he only has two steady as no one else will show their faces near it."
"But the other night you said it's just more meat moving work right? What could be worse than last night?" Mitt asked cluelessly, walking stride for stride with the man beside him.
"Some things ya can't explain all the ways. It's a totally different feeling kid." He said quietly, his brown eyes dark with a haunted look. "It comes down ta how far yer willin' ta go fer money." Basher's accent seemed to show up the more upset he was and it was evident that this meat move wouldn't at all be the same thing.
He looked at the tall young teen's face for just a brief chime and looked away again with a dark expression. "It's why I normally choose resurrectionist before this."
"Meat moving is just the same thing across the board isn't it?" he asked as he shrugged, trying to ignore the ominous feeling of the guy's careful words and tone.
Basher said nothing and just kept walking. At least with the mercurial weather of autumn, it was warm enough for yesterday's snow to melt. No frozen toes tonight! Hells, he could probably work up a sweat and take off his cloak. If you're gonna stand around for ten bells, then at least it wasn't in the snow and ice tonight.
An expensively dressed man of average height stepped out in front of them with a sheaf of papers and slowly looked them up and down. His eyes seemed to linger a bit too long and Mitt glared and snapped,
"Knock it off ya little creep."
Basher nudged him to shut up and the teen looked at him in confusion. "Shut up and deal. If we make it through, then we get to work tonight."
The man looked at Basher and reached up to push back the hood. "Hmm you're a bit long in the tooth aren't you? What are you thirty?" "Not yet." "Ok what's your name?" "Basher."
The man rolled his eyes and retorted, "And what does your lover call you?" "Bastian." "See? Much better to have a human name." his green eyes warmed as he turned to the tall teen. "And your name sweetie?" Mitt's eyebrows nearly met after hearing the endearment and he just looked at Basher for what to do. What the gods damn hells was this?! His colleague just shrugged and looked away uncomfortably. "Sweetie can you talk or just look pretty? There's a big market for the young silent type you know..."
Mitt stepped back three paces quickly with his hands up. "Uh no. Just nope." "He's.. Hamish." Basher answered quickly. "There was that so hard honey? Ok over to the Look See fences. No touchies, just looksies. And stay pretty."
Basher was already walking toward the pen with a slow reluctant stride and gestured to Mitt to keep up with him. As he drew up alongside him, he asked,
"That's no prison guard. Why'd he need names? And why can't we wear our hoods?" "it's the Look See pen. As in everybody look and see the live meat. Nothing's hidden, everything's shown off."
Mitt stumbled and almost lost his balance at his reply and then the one in charge announced to the night's growing crowd,
"We have Bastian and Hamish here to keep our Pretties safe and add to the scenery. Smile boys."
It wasn't a cold night but it wasn't a hot one either. But Basher was removing his hood, cloak, gloves and shirt, left with the bare minimum of only pants and boots.
"What the hells are ya doin'?!" Mitt asked worriedly, his eyes turning dark blue. "Shut up and do as I do. The less you say, the better. They've already seen our faces so now we're committed. People don't forget who they see here."
Mitt removed his warm gloves, hood, cloak and shirt, but not without a shiver. He looked down at Basher's boots and just followed his feet. What was he getting into? Was this a sex thing? It had to be. His eyes still glued to the ground as they passed through a barely there fence, he almost walked on the guy's heels when he stopped abruptly.
The large open corral had a metric ton of outrageously beautiful men and women standing around within it. Each one kept him or herself about three paces from each other and all of them were in varying states of undress. His eyes widened and his gaze didn't rest overly long on any one person.
Basher nudged him in the ribs to get Mitt's attention, "Quit staring. You stand here, I'll go over to the other side. Just seriously, no matter what anyone says, keep your mouth shut. You signed us up for this and don't forget it."
The people standing inside the corral with them, were all wearing sleek thin gold collars around their necks like jewelry. But it didn't take away the fact that they were all wearing collars.
WC 901 Total WC 4,946
Last edited by Mittle on November 29th, 2022, 4:38 am, edited 1 time in total.
They're selling people here! Like they would cattle! Mitt's eyes caught and held onto an outbuilding that had more people inside it. The large window was open for anyone to look through, even if they didn't want to. One side held terrified little children crying in a huddled group and the other crowd by the door was a bunch of very large, badly scarred men in heavy chains.
Mitt caught Basher's eyes and shook his head no firmly. He instantly climbed over the gate, hit the ground hard and took off running. No. Beyond HELLS NO! The tall teen ran until he was gasping for breath and his pace finally slowed to a fast jog, still covering a tremendous amount of ground. His mind was a haze and he had no idea where he was going other than far the fuck away from that.
He finally slowed to a walk and he heard Basher's heavy running steps behind him. A swift glance over Mitt's shoulder confirmed the approach. But this wasn't something he was gonna argue about at all. No amount of money would buy him for that. He grasped the ten gold from last night and threw it over his shoulder at Basher before turning to face him.
"I don't care about losing a stupid night's pay compared ta what they're losing. So take my fuckin money coz I'm not doing it, ya hear me?!" Mitt yelled at him. "I won't do that and ya can't make me."
Basher picked up the tossed bag of coins and returned it to Mitt's shaking hand. "Good. I'm proud o' ya."
He clapped a hand on Mitt's shoulder and finally got him to stop walking. "But I want ya ta remember one more important thing though. You and I had the choice and ability ta run away and walk off from that. They don't."
