Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Thibbeldorf Pwent, Cordio Muffinhead or Mithral Hall. Props to Mr. Salvatore.
Gutbuster Tryouts
They came from all kinds of families. Smithies, miners, weapon makers, furniture makers, brewers ...
But, they didn't want to be smithies, miners or furniture makers. They wanted to be Gutbusters.
They wanted to sleep till noon, kick orc ass in the afternoon and drink the rest of the day away. They wanted to take a bath once a decade, tattoo their faces, pierce their noses and smell real bad.
Nothing was cooler to a dwarven teen than a Gutbuster.
So, they snuck out from their chores, told their moms that school was cancelled that day and said things like, "No dad, I'll start the forge this morning. You like you need a break."
The young boys, not a single whisker among the dozen chins, met in the Gutbuster training hall one early morning.
The hall was surprisingly clean given the reputation of the filthy Gutbusters, with two noticeable exceptions, the stains and the smell.
Splattered everywhere, on the floors, walls and even the ceilings were dark brown stains that could only have been blood.
The smell ... well stop for a moment dear reader and picture scores of smelly dwarves doing push ups, sit ups and deep knee bends everyday for a decade. Never once did these Gutbusters use the shower facilities so generously provided by good King Bruenor.
One young lad, Kobby Blackbucket, actually vomited, but only a little.
(His family was known for their weak stomachs, so nobody laughed. They were much too nervous.)
As the seven o'clock gong echoed through Mithral Hall, Thibbeldorf Pwent came charging into the room. He was followed at a distance by Cordio Muffinhead, the clan's head priest.
While nobody had actually died in the tryouts, one young dwarfling had needed his nose grafted back on and another had need his knees put back in the right angle.
The twelve boys froze. The sight of Pwent, dressed in full battle gear, eyes bugged out staring right at them and his mouth screaming obscenities they never new existed made them forget their mother's names.
"Shaddup and look at me! Ya gnome lovin', flower sniffin', bath takin' wannabes!"
Kobby vomited again. This time a lot and all over Pwent's boots.
Another boy's eyes drifted to the ceiling. He saw a particularly large brown stain and fainted. He hit the ground hard, very hard and added a new stain of his own.
"Two down Cordee! Ten more to go!" Pwent said, trying to scrape vomit off his spiked boots.
Cordio nodded and signalled for Kobby to drag the passed out boy to the end of the hall.
Pwent turned to the remaining boys, who were now too scared to even breathe. Seeing Pwent in passing was one thing. Face to face with the screaming, spitting, cursing battlerager was quite another.
"All right ya wine drinkin' punks! Line up!"
The terrified boys immediatly complied. One foolish boy actually shouted, "Sir! Yes sir!"
Pwent froze for a moment. Never in his long, brutal life had he been called sir. He shook his head violently, which sent his lips smacking.
"Who said that!" he roared.
"Me sir! I said that sir!" a dwarf by the name of Hederik Thunderfist the Seventh said.
"Aha! A Thunderfist by the looks of you!"
"Sir! Yes sir! I am Hederik Thunderfist the Seventh! Sir!" the young boy proclaimed, his high pitched voice full of pride.
Pwent spat on the ground, balled up his fist and slammed young Thunderfist right in the nose.
Thunderfist went flying ten feet in the air and hit the far wall of the hall.
"Bloody son of a basket maker," Pwent muttered. "Nine left Cordee!"
Pwent spun around and glared at the remaining boys, "Ok ya tomato eating, poetry writing midgets! Show me what ya got! Let's hear your battle cry!"
The nine boys yelled, screamed and yodelled. They kept it up for five minutes, then ten. Gasping for air, their faces turning a shade more purple by the second, they kept on screaming, but Pwent was louder.
"By the gods! Are you a chicken layin' an egg? Are ya Rumblebelly going to the bathroom? I said battle cry!"
The poor boys carried on screaming for twenty more minutes, until five of them collapsed and hit the floor at the same time.
"All right! Enough!" Pwent roared, "By the gods that was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen! Even Kobby could've done better. Eh Kobby?"
Kobby just vomited again, this time on Cordio's shoes and the still passed out Thunderfist.
"Four more to go Cordee!" Pwent yelled, spit flying.
Pwent once again whirled around and stared at the few boys who were left. They were gasping for air, covered in sweat and had a look on their faces that screamed, "I want my mommy!"
"One more test punks! Let's see what ya got! All ya gotta do is give me a bloody nose and the job's yours!"
Pwent looked at them with a maniacal look on his scarred face.
"What? No takers? Come on ya harp playin' bard-o-lillies!"
Pwent paused his rant when he heard a subtle cough from the corner of the hall.
"What?" Pwent yelled, not happy with being interrupted.
"You might want to take off your armour first," Cordio suggested, "It is a little ... spikey."
"What! Too spikey! In my day we beat each other with five foot long spikes that were covered in spider poison! And that was for recess! Dwarves these days! Next you'll want them dancing in circles, holding hands and singing to the moon!"
"Please Pwent," Cordio pleaded, "Remember the last tryouts? The boy with the back ward knee caps?"
"If you insist," Pwent pouted.
Once he was stripped of his armour, wearing nothing but sweat stained underclothes and his spiked helmet, which he refused to take off. Pwent spat, balled his fists and screamed, "Come and get me ya little elfies!"
The four boys just stood there, too petrified to move.
Pwent didn't wait for them. He roared a true battle cry and charged into them. Two young dwarves immediatly got smashed and flew into opposite walls. They both hit the walls with a thud and slid down them ever so slowly.
It was then down to two, one unlucky boy in front of Pwent and the luckier behind him.
Pwent locked eyes with the one boy facing him and snarled. The little dwarf whimpered and took a feeble swing at Pwent.
Pwent laughed and let the little fist hit him in the chest.
"Ya must be Kobby's brother," Pwent chuckled as he chucked the boy across the hall.
"That's all of them Cordee! Not one of the little buggers made it. I swear Mithral Hall is going to the elves!"
"Uh Pwent, there's still one more left," Cordio said.
"Huh? One more? Where?" Pwent said, obviously confused.
"Behind you," Cordio sighed.
Pwent turned around just in time to get kicked in the boulders.
He fell to his knees wailing, "My boulders! My little boulders!"
The one boy left, a chubby little dwarf, soon to be renamed Shamus Bouldercruncher, made a pudgy little fist and hit Pwent in the nose.
For a moment nothing happened, the gym was englufed in pure silence, minus Pwent's wails. Then, a solitary drop of blood fell from Pwent's nose and hit the ground.
"Welcome to the Gutbusters," Pwent whimpered.