Of Friends and Foes

The blood of the city squelched beneath the boots of Thaddeus Blightforge. The stench of it was awful. All mud and dung and dirty rain, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. His cousins in the underground could never understand but Thaddeus knew that a strong arm and a sharp tongue were worth a lot more topside than among the stubbornness of dwarves. And he’d done well. Now, he’d never have as much as a Mountain king, mind you, but here he wanted for nothing.

Another night spent in Lucy’s Shackles swapping stories with the lovely Lu herself and another night walking home in the rain. Lighter in coin and soggy, larger in heart and belly. According to Lucy, business had been slow but the gossip rich. In her line of work the latter was worth far more. The secrets that a stout ale and sultry stare could pry from the most stalwart of stewards could sink kingdoms. She slipped Thaddeus the occasional hint or pointed him in a rough direction from time to time. Jobs too small or ignoble for a guild still needed done and Thaddeus was their man.

The pattering of rain in this city seemed to never cease and like all good dwarves he knew more than one way through this maze of stone and plaster. Ducking into an alley, not inconsequentially the quickest way home, he heard the distinctive sound of boot upon flesh. As his dwarven eyes honed to the alleys darkness two forms took shape in the grey drizzle. The cracking and squelching continued. A third form huddled on the ground. Rasps from the ground and curses from the attackers echoed from wall to wall.

“Hey! Stop that now,” boomed the mass of beard and muscle. A commanding rumble reverberating through the very stone.

The two men turned to face Thaddeus as the rain continued to pour from unseen skies. These were not your common ruffians from the appearance of their finery, spoiled, young and rich. The same could not be said of the man laying prone.

“Mind your business dwarf, this man thieved my purse while we were enjoying our evening out.” Turning back to the bloodied figure he launched another heel into the huddled torso.

“Besides, someone has to keep the rabble in place.” From over his shoulder the self-righteousness oozed from the man. Thaddeus hated him.

The song of rain on the head of an axe is subtle. Heard only by the wielder, it speaks of blood and cleansing.

In a roar of rage Thaddeus heaved his massive body toward the two princely attackers, a swing of might and drink lodged the axe into the crumbling stone of the alleys wall

“Go on, get out of here or I’ll be the last Dwarf you ever see!”

A startled cry erupted from the two sniveling’s as they scurried into the dark, stopping only to scoop what appeared to be a hefty purse from the ground.

Leaning his shoulder into the cracking wall, Thaddeus grabbed the hilt of his axe and pulled. Nothing. Pulling again the blade began to loosen. Behind him the prone man coughed in a gurgle of blood.

The shambled soul sat up slowly, propped one arm to the cobble and spat a yellowed tooth into the rusty puddle forming beneath him. Salt and iron. Blood and sweat.

“Are you alright?” bellowed the dwarf from the distance.

The head of the pummeled man turned to face the sound. Thaddeus could just make out the whites of
eyes behind the rain slicked tangle of hair and grime.

“I said ‘are you alright?’” louder still yet. The blank stare continued.

“Do I need to call for someone?” Maybe those thugs had really beaten the sense out of the man.

“NO!” a graveled utterance coughed from the man’s throat.

“I wouldn’a called the guards but did you really steal that man’s purse?” Thaddeus signaled in the direction the two had ran. A nod in the affirmative. A fit of violent coughing followed. Another offering of blood for the street.

“Well, that’s what you get then,” Thaddeus said disdainfully turning to leave.

“I didn’t want the purse…..” rasped the man, who in one motion went from wrecked heap upon the ground to standing half shadowed in the rain, roughhewn. That will get any Dwarfs attention.

“Didn’t want……Then why did you steal it?”

“I needed his friend out of the light.” The battered man dangled an iron key with a simple leather loop in front of him.

“You stole the one man’s purse to get the other one close enough to steal his key? That’s either bloody brilliant or the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. What’s it to?” whispered the dwarf leaning forward with intrigue.

“I can make you a rich man.” His dark companion smiled a gap toothed grin.

“Thaddeus Blightforge,” said the dwarf extending his arm. “And I could use a drink.”

“Griven. Griven Marlow,” battered knuckles grasped the meaty forearm, “and I’ve already had too many.”

Thanks again for your time and attention!
@jackofcrows

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