The latest Frosptpunk lore newspaper is here!

Read the previous issues here:
New London Courier
The Toolbox
New London Dispatch

New London Sports latest issue is also available here full size in PDF:
https://11bitstudios.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/New_London-Sports_Fists_of_Stone-3.pdf

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On a day like this, not even the piercing wind and frigid temperatures could spoil Thomas' mood. They were welcomed and revived the boy after a mostly sleepless night. Today, despite being glued to his regular spot on a corner of one of the many shabby streets in New London with a bundle of newspapers on him, his mind was elsewhere.

“Hey brat, are you with me?”

A harsh, out-of-the-blue voice of an approaching gentleman tore Thomas out of his blissful idleness. “Could you tell me what’s up in the news?”

“The great Joey McGregor retained his middleweight championship title, sir! Can there be more exciting news than this?”, replied the newsie enthusiastically.

“Pshh... do I look like someone who cares about commoners' amusements?” The man’s face twisted in a disapproving grimace. “Are they reporting about any matters that have an actual meaning? Or has even the press in this pitiful world reached the level of the London cobblestones?”, ranted the monumentally tall gentleman.

With a bushy mustache, a monocle in his eye, and a posh trench coat, he indeed didn’t resemble those who packed into the arena yesterday, to take in an unforgettable fight night.

“Plenty of important matters inside, sir, as always. Take a look”, Thomas assured the customer while handing him the paper.

Albeit today, Thomas didn’t even care about sweeping through its pages. Today, nothing mattered more than the joy he still felt from the night before. He could feel a tickle of excitement while remembering the jarring knockdowns and had a sore throat, torn by his enthusiastic screams. Thomas was at the tournament until late in the night along with a few other newsboys. The loose board in the fence had once again done the trick, and he was able to forget about his burdens and lose himself in powerful emotions provoked by the untamed crowd.

Thomas' father was a hardened coal mine worker. A puny gear in the city's machine leading a life that no one reckoned with, he couldn’t broaden the boy's horizons much. He often returned home drunk, mumbling about class injustice and wishing death upon all of those who beguiled him, but it usually ended with him venting his frustration on his family. Despite his downfalls, the boy’s father had passed on his love for bare-knuckle fighting, even taking young Thomas to see his first bout. He taught Thomas about jabs, and haymakers, and told stories about fearless, undefeated champions who demanded respect from every rival.

Thomas idolized them as warriors who lived by their own rules and who were loved by the crowds. They were heroes leaving an indelible mark on this hopeless world and were a beacon of courage in an era of despair and anguish. Thomas dreamed of becoming such a warrior. He didn’t have a clue how he would achieve it, but if the boy was sure about one thing it was an overwhelming sense that he never wanted to end up drowned in bitterness like his father.

“Thomas, Thomas!”

This time a younger voice muffled the boy’s thoughts. It was Henry, a fellow newsie. “Don’t stand here like a broke drunk outside the pub. It’s about to start. We better hurry”, shouted Henry, passing him by in a rush. Thomas immediately remembered what this was about and without further ado followed his colleague.


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