Walking down the port, Lewis was amazed at the sight before him. Short men and women of all ages walked before him, carrying food, utensils, and various commodities. But what they all had in common were the badges they wore on their chests...
As well as the various weapons on their waists
"Are they all Dwarves? And is that a child carrying a mace!?"
Gawking at the sight before him, Lewis could not believe his eyes. Children (they were obviously children– I mean, c'mon, which adult's 1 m tall!?) were carrying crossbows, short swords, and, he swore with his very own heart, what seemed like primitive flintlock pistols.
"Why on earth do your children wield weapons!? Don't they know it'd kill them if they handled it wrong!?"
Simon waved his hands, dismissing his concern with a wave of his hands. "Oh please, so being so pessimistic. My father made me handle 12-foot spears when I was a wee lad of 10 years..." Realising he had said too much, Simon trailed off near the end. Seeing this, Lewis got more and more curious about his lineage. Who on earth were his parents...
Raising his right hand, he wanted to ask Simon about his parents. Just as he got closer, something flew past his ears, nicking him on the cheeks. "Oi, come here and fight like a man, you Slither Wurm! You stole my head bun, now you gotta pay the price, small dick!"
Ducking swiftly, he found himself staring at a young male and female Dwarf cussing each other out, the female, surprisingly, dominating the male. Hands holding a still-smoking flintlock gun, she held the barrel, the butt positioned above his head. "You better pay for the bun, or else I'll show you why balls are blue!"
The boy, now tried, raised his head, veins twitching visibly. "Now you've taken it too far, plain top! C'mon and eat Barry!" Whipping his cudgel from his waist, the boy charged forth against his aggressor.
As the two children fought, a crowd soon gathered before them. Instead of trying to stop the fight, the adults shockingly egged them on, wanting to see bloodshed and tears (of the unworthy, as they argue).
"Fight like a man, little runt, and don't let us len down, you hear me!"
"You come back home without that cunts balls, and I'll have your tits hanging on the walls!"
"Fresh curried Himlar on a stick! Get your fresh curried Himlarbon a stick! Get it before the little girl whoops his tiny ass into gravel!"
Seeing Lewis in a stupor at the scene, Simon rolled his eyes, grabbing him by the arms. Dragging him, Simon went to tbe nearest stagecoach, where it stood to the side, watching the fight with great gusto. "Hey, take us to Stahlingrad, would you...?"
The coachman, undeniably pissed at the sight of having his entertainment privelage revoked, glared at Simon. "Kid, I'll taken you once the winner's decided. I'm rooting for the girl (and I've also stared 3 GC on her crushing the boy's balls). So, shooting! Shoo until the fights over, and maybe, ifnim feeling better, I might take you lot. Might I say..."
"I'll pay double your wager–"
"Nope. No can do..."
Grumbling, Simon stood to the side, unable to decide what to do. After what seemed like hours (the girl was about to curb stomp the botly), Simon heaved a deep, great breath, before opening the puch he brought with him. "Take us, or else..."
Initially dismissive, the coachman eyes soon grew wide upon seeing what Simon had brought. Lewis did not know what it was, for the Dwarf had covered it with his body, but he knew it was something important, for the coachman immediately sang a different tune afterwards. "Sorry my Lords, it was rude of me to dismiss your requests. Please pardon this sinner..."
"Umm okay... Just take us to where my friend says, and we'll be alright..."
Watching the coachman setting up the carriage fervently, Lewis got deeper in thought. The coachman actions was vastly different after Simon showed him whatever he had, and he's got an inkling that it has something to do with his parentage...
Just who on earth are you Simon...