Hard Men Working Hard

 Iron Age Media, August 16 Prompt

A working man's a working man. Size, mass, it don't matter. Men who know their trade, know their task and know how to take orders are worth their weight in gold. The Stolok Crew, by virtue of their skill and stature, are worth double their weight. You wouldn't know it by looking, but Stolok and his men are mountain fellers. They do with a small six what it takes entire villages of men to do. Part of it is their trade: explosive making and handling is a very, very rare skill in the times they live.

Assigning all the virtue to demolition would be insulting to the gnomes. Any idiot can prep and pack powder, but knowing where best to use it, where the stone is not so mighty and where gravity is willing to do the work, that requires years of training, practice and damn good cooperation. None are better than Stolok and his men, yet it takes a good deal of convincing to get serious offers. Those that know, however, are very much willing to make a recommendation and that's how Stolok and co. arrived in the Kripka province.

"Let me understand this correctly," came the gruffest voice from the smallest man. "You want that entire cliff face sheared right off the mountain?"

"Indeed, Sir Stolok. My lord has commanded that I increase production of iron in my fiefdom, but all of the available ore deposits have been depleted save for one. That mountain in the distance?"

Baron Monket pointed at the tall peak, far in the distance and Stolok raised his spyglass to gain a good look at it. Through the frosted, scratched lenses, the gnome beheld obviously difficult terrain and very little flat land in which to establish a mine.

"My prospectors have returned with samples of high grade iron, but not all of them returned. Such is the treachery of the mountainside."

"Yes, I'm very much aware. I wouldn't stake a single coin on that kind of slope. Right now, it ain't worth shite."

The gnome spat out his chew rub, right past the baron's feet and over the side of the hill. Monket's eyes watch the nasty spray and he bristled a little when he smelled it.

"Yeah, we can do it, Baron. But it ain't gonna be cheap. That's a long escarpment, the soil is loose and we'll need to set up a supply train to get the needed tools and equipment up there."

Once more, Monket bristled.
"Well uh, that's the thing, Sir Stolok."

The gnome looked up, his bushy right brow raised and his age worn face getting some additional, incredulous wrinkles.

"I cannot pay you in gold now. Everything I have has been earmarked for the mine's construction."

"No gold, no mountain."

Stolok said it flat and quick, no words to mince. The baron did not know how to even respond. He gasped, took a step back. His blue eyes darted around, hoping for something distracting or helpful to just appear out of nowhere. Stolok continued to stare at him unflinchingly. All that noble upbringing didn't mean a thing apparently. Only after the gnome checked his pocket watch to see how much time the human was wasting did Monket fix himself.

"Sir Stolok, I am prepared to offer you shares in the mine. Upon completion of the task, I will reward you with an 8 percent stake."

"Fuck your stake, I want coin for my work."

"My good man, I can assure you, my venture will be worth far in advance of what you could ask, I...wait, you cannot turn your back to me!"

The gnome had stepped to and then turned about. His little legs were already ambling away at a steady pace and the baron had to, not quite race, but hurriedly jaunt after him. Monket stood in front of the gnome, holding out his hands, beckoning the pioneer to stop. Stolok stayed stock still, hands drawn behind his back and not even raising his head, just his eyes to look at the fool in front of him.

"Sir, I beg of you. This work must be done or it will be my head! I can offer you 12 percent stake."

Stolok ruffled his spindly mustache. He really wished he had more chew on him.
"What's your head weigh?"

"I beg your pardon!"

"If you want to keep your head. I want its weight in coin. That or a 20 percent stake in your little mine."

"I...ah, damn it all! Very well! You will have your stake, but I want that mountain cleared within the month or I will give you nothing, sir!"

"Heh heh, month. Two weeks, Mister Baron! I want my fee in two weeks!"

Monket was left standing there, gritting his teeth, wholly unconvinced of the gnome's brag, but hopeful that he could do it.


"Boys we got work! Pack your shite and get your boots, we're moving out now!"

The gnomes grumbled in defiance of their leader. Shori, Menchen, Greilog, Goadel and Leidel, master demolitionists and lazy bastards all 'round, had to be coaxed from their comfy bedrolls by a harsh stick and even harsher language.
"Wake your fuckin' arses up, you mother-whorin' lazeabouts. Your father didn't shag a hairy, ugly swamp spawn just to waste my coin! Up, up, up!

"I'm gonna kill ya, Stolok!"

"Yeah yeah, Greilog. You been threatening that for 187 years. If you ain't gonna do it, get up and get your arse ready! We got bombs to bury and land to blow up!"

Dirty, disheveled and ready for action, the men get squared away and with a chorus of moans and groans, they set off for the mountain. Once they're in motion, Stolok breaks into impassioned song.

Do the dirty, do the hard

"Come on, sing it you dingy fucks!"

Go the extra foot and yard.

Raise the axe, raise the pike!
Do the work that we don't like!

"Clumsy sods, get it right!"

Work the night and work the day!
Do all the shite that we may!

Pay in coin, get the boom!
For glinting gold, we face our doom!

Rock and stone and earth we'll move!
Gnomish mettle we shall prove!

No hill, no mountain is too tall!
For a gnomish man to make it fall!