Stalwart

The outcome was decided the moment a second group of dwarves blocked the other end of the alley. Before Ebrus could react, something hard cracked against the back of his head and his vision exploded into blinding white light. He felt hard stone scrape his chin, and his body convulsed as countless sudden blows rained down on him.
Ebrus had been in the occasional street brawl before, back when he was a young dwarf growing up in Baldur’s Gate. That was years ago, however, and Baldur’s Gate was hundreds of miles away. Now he could only try to cloud the pain with his rage, but every strike hurt more than the last.
“Beardless traitor!” one of the assaulters shouted as a rib shattered.
“Shoulda’ joined when ye had the chance!” another growled.
A swift kick to the jaw knocked Ebrus to his other side. The taste of metal filled his mouth, forcing him to spit out a glob of sticky blood. He was pretty sure he heard a tooth or two clatter against the cobblestone ground.
“Get ‘im up!” a third voice boomed. Suddenly a large number of hands grabbed his coat and yanked him upright. His head swirled from the sudden motion as his vision began returning to normal. Beneath the early morning light, a dozen hairy bearded faces covered in dirt and grime surrounded him like a hungry pack of wolves. In the middle of them all, a giant of a dwarf with an untamed flaming red beard emerged. His eyes, a dull brown, glared at Ebrus with a similar burning intensity. Ignoring the throbbing in the back of his head, Ebrus met those burning eyes with his own.
“Bastards,” he snarled, driblets of blood spraying from his split lips. “Bastards, the lot of you!” The dwarf giant said nothing as he slammed a fist into Ebrus’s stomach. He gasped for air and would have dropped to his knees if the other dwarves weren’t holding him up.
“Shut up,” the dwarf giant said with the grumble of a volcano waiting to explode. “Ye’ve lost the right to speak freely to us.” The other dwarves howled in agreement. “Ye coulda’ joined us, Keghauler. Ye coulda’ joined yer brothers and sisters and signed Muddigger’s petition. He’s counting on all of us to become mayor and win the town for us dwarves. But ye chose not to. Ye chose to turn yer back on Muddigger, on yer kind.” He pushed on Ebrus’s chest, right on top of a broken rib. Ebrus winced but returned a hateful stare toward the giant. He’d be damned if seemed more broken than he already was.
“So what are you waiting for then?” he challenged. “Go ahead. Pummel me to the ground. I’m sure that’ll get me to follow your bigot of a leader.” The other dwarves growled and hollered for blood, tugging and scratching at his coat.
“Stop!” The dwarf giant’s voice bellowed throughout the alley. Silence filled the air before he returned his attention to Ebrus. “Normally I’d love nothing more than to squash worms like ye, Keghauler. Ye choose to live up in milk drinking Eronia, away from yer true kin in Mythrilgrist. Ye’ve never had love for the true rulers of this town; yer own kin!” He saddled up to Ebrus, his eyes locked onto his own. “But I’m not unreasonable. I know living in Eronia means ye have money. If yer not willing to sign yer name on a piece of paper, perhaps yer willing to make a generous donation to our friend Muddigger.”
“You’re joking,” Ebrus scoffed. A thick meaty hand clamped on his shoulder and the giant leaned in really close. Ebrus could smell the remnants of old meat in his breath.
“I’m going to make this simple for ye, Keghauler. Ye agree to a chest of gold to Muddigger’s campaign, and we’ll leave ye alone. It don’t have to even be public knowledge. We’ll swing by yer meadery tomorrow night and pick up the money there.” The giant cracked the knuckles of his right hand and raised it to Ebrus’s face. “Of course ye can say no, and we can make this a lot worse for ye.”
His brown eyes filled Ebrus’s vision, but where they were once dull, they were now alive. Behind those eager eyes, the giant clearly wanted an excuse to finish what he started. Despite knowing that, Ebrus, his face stoic as ever, worked up as much bloody spit as he could muster and launched it into the giants face, sending him stumbling back in surprise.
“I’m not giving you a single copper to that narrow-minded fool!” he shouted as the dwarves around him closed in. “You can tell Muddigger that there are members of his kin who reject his hateful agenda!”
By then, the rest of the dwarves shoved him to the ground and fists, boots, and cudgels once again struck his body in a ceaseless torrent. This time, however, Ebrus resisted. Although he could not stop the assault, he pulled, scratched, and kicked where he could, occasionally catching one dwarf off guard and sending them tumbling. At last, the pain became intolerable. He fell to the ground, his consciousness fading as the attackers parted. The dwarf giant approached with a cudgel in his hand, his eyes alight. He raised the cudgel then brought it down hard, sending Ebrus into a dark yet blissful void.
He awoke an unknown time later, his head pounding with the beating of his heart. A clouded sky filled his sight and the distant sounds of the town coming to life graced his ears. Every bone in his body ached as he tried to sit up, but he pushed through, his dwarven resilience winning out. As he did, a parchment fell from his chest. He picked it up, and through stains of his own blood he read, “Khazad først – True dwarves vote Muddigger.”
Slowly, Ebrus stood up, leaning against the wall, feeling his legs could give any second. He took the parchment, tore it in two, and stumbled out of the alleyway to seek help. One day, perhaps, his enemies would get the better of him, but not today.