((Now unto my first Oblivion fanfic. Based on my own Redguard character if he were a normal gladiator and not fated to become the hero of kvatch. If you have any OC gladiators that you would like to see fighting alongside my character on the blue team please feel free to leave a comment with the details, note that they are only twelve spots. I intend for every character to be completely fleshed out. Enough chatter unto the story. Read, Enjoy, Review.))
It took a very odd sort of person not to be impressed with the Imperial Arena. The large open building was certainly an architectural marvel. The coliseum loomed up above as far as the eye could see with the age stained white marble gleaming faintly in the midmorning sunlight. Ironically the area which was essentially a cesspit of violence and death was one of the most beautiful parts of a beautiful city. The Arena district itself consisted of perfectly manicured gardens, overburden fruit trees, polished statues of Arena founder Gaiden Shinji, and marble fountains which lazily spewed blue water. Many who had no taste for the bloody sport within the arena still lolled around enjoying the magnificent grounds. The only thing missing from the tranquil atmosphere was silence. Even from outside the Arena the thunderous sound of cheering and groaning in equal parts echoed as thousands of people cheered on or mourned for their favorite combatants.
Despite the early hour scores of people made their way along the cobbled stone path leading to the Arena's entrance in pairs or groups, they all chattered and murmured excitedly. That is all except one. The particular youth in question wore neither a look of happiness nor excitement that was uniform to everyone else heading towards the Arena; but instead he wore a scowl of resolve and determination. He strode along alone and unapproachable, his nervousness was revealed in the tremble of his upper lip and the hunched set of his shoulders. He was tall and strapping, the hard lines of his muscle showing through the cheap brown tunic that he wore. Despite that the youthful cast to his smooth hairless face exposed him as one who had not yet seen sixteen summers. Where almost all the people around him had pale skins, the hide of the youth was a shade of dusky brown. He looked out at the world from eyes of ebony black. His hair, which was cut so low that you could see his scalp, was of the same color.
The youth was dressed in clothes that would not have been out of place on any commoner; brown sleeveless tunic, baggy white trousers, and leather sandals. A burlap sack was slung over one of his shoulders and fastened with a length of rope and a gold hilted sword sheathed in a plain scabbard of black wood hung on his right hip. The youth was covered from head to toe in a film of dust and grime and his sandals were well used and threadbare. The journey from Water's Edge to Imperial City had taken him a little over two weeks and it had been fraught with peril. The youth shivered as he thought back to the numerous close encounters that he had encountered, everything ranging from escaping a ravenous pack of wolves to a deadly battle with a pair of bandits. He was bone-weary and hungry to booth, his last meal had been the previous night, but now that he had finally arrived within reach of his destination he couldn't bring himself to rest. The Arena was everything that he had been expecting and more.
His joyful contemplation was interrupted when he saw that near the steps leading up to the entrance of the Arena a group of people had gathered. Curiosity peaked the youth diverted and joined the throng. He used his big stature to push to the forefront much to the chagrin of many. At the center of the circle he saw two people squaring off in the middle of a blood and sweat stained mat. One was an attractive young woman. She was tall and wiry, her arms and stomach were corded with muscles. Her complexion was dusky as well although she was lighter than the observing youth. She had prominent cheekbones, a crooked nose, and cobalt blue eyes. Her midnight hair was done up in a practical bun from which a few strands had escaped and stuck to her forehead with sweat. A breasts band and a pair of tattered looking burlap trousers were all that protected her modesty. Her opponent was not someone that the youth would relish meeting in a dark alley. He, the youth was sure it was male, was shorter than the woman but more muscular. He was also covered from head to toe in crimson scales. He also had a long sinewy reptilian tale and slitted lizard like eyes that were a weird shade of amber. He was an Argonian, one of those strange lizard folk from the fabled Black Marshes. The youth had only seen a handful of them in his life and he still found them no less repellent than the first time he had clapped his eyes on one.
"Branwen and Saliith." A swarthy man standing before the youth told his companion. "They go at it every morning. Still fun to watch though. And that Branwen got a bosom to her no?"
Branwen and the Saliith went at each other hand to hand. Incredible as it seemed they were evenly matched. While the Argonian was undoubtedly stronger and had two hands as well as a tail to attack with the woman was much faster. The crowd stood around shouting both advice and insults in equal parts. The young man watched for a minute before turning and continuing on his journey to the Arena. There could be no distraction from his goal. Not now.
The youth allowed a brief grin too cross his broad face as he passed under the great arch entrance and ended up in the spacious lobby of the Arena. He took a second to look around. The inside of the place was as grand as the outside. It was all marble and stone and everything was gleaming white. The lobby was packed the capacity with happily chattering people. Vendors could be heard shouting their wares over the general hubbub of the crowd.
"Vension on a stick! Get your fresh vension on a stick! Enjoy the match with your favorite snack! Roasted with the finest spices brought all the way from Morrowind!"
"Apples! Apples right here! The best batch from Applewatch!"
"Surilie's best! Vintage 399! Only twelve septims a goblet!"
The youth jostled his way through the crowd and made his way to the forefront of the room. He looked around for any sign or clue to his destination and seeing none decided that he would have to ask someone. He figured that the flustered looking man standing in one corner of the room had the look of an Arena official. As the youth approached him he took in the man's features. The man was shorter than him by a full head and had pale skin. He also had tapered ears and hair the color of ripened wheat. He was dressed rather richly and clutched a large scroll. The youth figured him for a Breton.
"Welcome Redguard." The man called as soon as he noticed the youth walking up to him. "My name is Hundolin. Bet Master for the Arena. Would you like to make a wager? The odds today are excellent."
"No." The Redguard youth replied after a slight hesitation.
"Oh?" Hundolin replied with an arched eyebrow. "If you're here for payment for the current fight then you're too early."
"No."
"Then how can I be of assistance?" Hundolin's tone was clipped and carried the edge of annoyance. It was obvious that he thought the youth before him was wasting his time.
"Where do I join?" The Redguard youth asked firmly.
The Bet Master gave a start and looked at the Redguard before him incredulously. Surely he could not mean joining the Arena. He was no more than a mere boy! He said as much but the youth fixed him with a death glare and said not a word.
"Okay!" Hundolin blurted out after a few seconds. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Okay. Suit yourself. If you want to become a combatant you need to speak to Owyn. He's usually in the blue sector of the Bloodworks. Staircase leading down to the very end of the room on the left side."
"Thank you." The youth said with a nod of head.
He turned and picked his way through the crowd, making for the Bloodworks.
The first thing to hit him upon the descending the stairway into a gloomy and dank passageway was the smell. The cloying metallic stink of blood was one that the youth was quite familiar with. He turned a corner and the passage opened up into a large chamber. The source of the scent was revealed with only a few steps into the chamber. The reason the warren was known as the Bloodworks became quite apparent. It was simply coated in blood. The crimson splashes of gore were everywhere; streaked along the walls and dripping from the grimy ceilings to form many tiny puddles on the roughly hewn stone floor. It was as if the very room itself had taken a fetal injury and was bleeding its life away. The scent was so overpowering that the youth felt bile in the back of his throat. He viciously fought it down. Only two torches provided faint luminescence but the torches casted more shadows than light, this combine with the running blood made the place seem like something from a Dremora's most twisted dreams. The Redguard accidentally stepped into a puddle of sanguine and left a bloody trail as he ventured further into the place looking around uncertainly. The scent in that section was especially pungent; beside the smell of blood there was also the sour odor of sweat, unwashed laundry, rust, and spoiled food. He flinched as a drop of blood fell unto his shoulder and ran down his arm. It was as cold as a witch's tear.
While he continued exploring he heard the muted sound of cheers presumably from the Arena battleground above, however the metallic ding of blade upon blade resounded from much closer. There was also the periodic twang of a bowstring and the frequent thud and grunt of fist striking flesh. It only took the Redguard a minute to hone in on the sounds and he soon found himself standing in what could best be described as a large practice room. This room was more brightly lit than any of the other rooms he had passed and practice mats were placed on the floor at frequent intervals. Five wooden targets were aligned neatly against one wall and there were racks of weapon lined neatly against the wall behind it. One corner of the room was dedicated to large stone weights and practice dummies in various stages of damage were everywhere. Four open doorways including the one he had just stepped through led from the room and into other parts of the Bloodworks. It was obvious that the room saw no lack of usage. As if to demonstrate that it was presently occupied by a dozen people. The youth stared at them slightly nervous, a meaner looking group of people he had never encountered. Two bare-chested men stood in the center of the practice area fighting unarmed much in the same manner as the Argonian and the woman were in the Arena courtyard above. They were both covered in sweat, blood, and bruises but neither showed any sign of stopping. Four other men and a woman worked on some practice dummies with various weapons. Another man was in one corner along doing pushups while three more men were in the weights area doing strength exercises with various weights. The last person was the closest to the Redguard and he stood shooting arrows into one of the wooden targets with a single-minded intensity. The young Redguard envied the smooth three step motion that the fellow before him effortlessly performed; draw an arrow, knock it, and fire it. It was obvious the man was no stranger to archery.
The youth noted that the man was also no man. He was short but finely muscled and had skin even darker than that of the Redguard's. The archer also had eerie glowing red eyes and long coal black hair that was done into a hasty ponytail. He was a Dunmer, a Dark Elf. The archer stopped plying his trade as the young Redguard approached. He looked at the youth in open curiosity.
"You're a long way from your arena seat friend." He told the youth when he had come within earshot. "Are you lost?"
The young Redguard visibly stiffened and his dark face flushed in anger. He fist clenched and he fought the overwhelming urge to smash the Dunmer's face in with a right hook. He was sick and tired of being doubted and underestimated. He was sick and tired of the involuntary disdain held by many while they interacted with him. He would show them all though when he became Grand Champion of the Arena.
"I'm not lost nor am I an observer." The youth growled. "I'm here to join."
The Dunmer immediately looked at the boy in a different light. Boy he was too, the Dunmer knew that this one before him could not be even a fraction of the Dunmer's age. But the determined cast to the youth's eyes was not to be ignored or disdained.
"My apologies friend." The Dunmer male rested the bow against one leg and extended a calloused hand for a shake. "I can see that I have given offense. I meant no insult. Only that to see one as young as you this far in the Bloodworks is unusual."
"Its of no matter." The young Redguard grudgingly replied as he grasped the Dunmer's hand for a brief shake before releasing. His pride was still pricked by the older male's words but he was smart enough to not follow up the situation when the Dunmer had already apologized.
"Many of the children dream of becoming Champion of course." The Dunmer continued jovially. "And quite a number of actually do work up the courage to try and compete. But the bloody walls and dripping ceiling are usually enough to snap them out of their reverie."
The young Redguard suppressed a shiver. If the blood was intentionally put in place to discourage the faint of heart they did a very good job indeed.
"Where can I find Owyn?" The youth asked eagerly.
"First doorway." The Dunmer said jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "The name is Oriel Danrendys by the way. Blue Team Gladiator. Goodluck with Oryn. He's not the easiest sort to get along with."
The youth grunted his thanks and walked across the room to the doorway that was indicated. He received a couple of curious stares but no one told him anything, for that the youth was thankful. The doorway that Oriel had showed him led to another room that was thankfully devoid of blood. It appeared to be a cross between a smaller practice room, living quarters, armory, and office. Sleeping bags that appeared ragged but clean were neatly aligned in one corner, in another corner were several racks of weapon similar to the racks of weapons outside in the practice room as well as several large closets. A single practice dummy was in the center of the room and a large woman was brutalizing it with an equally large war hammer. Two other occupants were in the room; a wizened old lady who sat directly under a torch peering over a large book and a tall solid looking man with a permanent scowl. When the youth entered the room the old lady did not even glance up from her ledger but the woman warrior that was battering away at the practice dummy stopped briefly to give him a wilting glare. She quickly dismissed him as insignificant then returned to her axe work.
The man who the youth assumed to be Owyn looked at him with an expression that bespoke one who was completely unimpressed. He saw that the older man was just as tall as he was and even broader, though that could have been due to the heavy iron platemail that Owyn was decked out in. The older man also had the telltale brown hide of the Redguard. His dark hair was going gray at the roots but his brown eyes were still as sharp as ice picks. There were severe lines around Owyn's face which told one that he was a man more used to frowning than smiling. For the first time the youth felt nervous. Thoughts that had bedecked him through his entire journey reared their ugly heads then. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he was too young? What if they did not even allow him to compete? He tried his best to quell his racing mind as he approached the older Redguard, but before he could open his mouth Oryn spoke first.
"I don't know who you are friend, but you've got about ten seconds to tell me what you're doing in my Bloodworks before I lop your arms off."
There was no threat in Owyn's deep self-assured voice, only a grim certainty and that was even more frightening. The youth felt his throat go dry as he faced the older Redguard but yet he managed to keep his voice steady.
"I'm here to join the Arena."
Owyn looked at him incredulously then burst out into peals of laughter. He tossed his head back and his great shoulders trembled with his mirth. The youth's nervousness evaporated like mist under sunlight and was replaced with rage just as hot and fiery. He glared daggers at his older kinsman and gnashed his teeth in unbridled fury but the gesture did not faze Owyn in the least. He continued chuckling.
"Kid, listen to me." Owyn said wiping away tears of laughter from his eyes.
"Don't call me kid!" The youth snapped.
"I'll call you what I damn well please." Owyn replied coldly, his good mood already disappeared. "So long as you are in the Bloodworks you play by my rules. And one of those rules is that I can call hothead upstart babes whatever the hell I want."
The youth fought the overwhelming urge to draw his blade. Getting into a fight with the blademaster was no way to start your new career.
"Now as I was saying do yourself a favor and go home. Go play at being a warrior someplace else where the stakes aren't so high. You'll thank me for this one day when you're old and gray."
"No." The youth said with a fierce scowl. He folded his arms across his chest and stood his ground. Two weeks he had traveled. A two week journey which had been fraught with perils and hardships every step of the way. There was no way in Oblivion that he would go back home without even stepping foot on the arena ground. He had come here to join the Imperial Arena as a combatant and the bastard of a blademaster was not going to stop him.
"Do you have cotton in the ears boy?" Owyn demanded. "I told you no! I would not have the slaughter of a child on my conscious. Come back in a few years when I can send you to your death without a qualm if you are so insistent for your share of Arena glory."
"Do you have cotton in your ears old man?" The youth shouted back. "I told you no. I came too far for this. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything. I'll be damned before I let the likes of you keep me from achieving my goal!"
He stood there his fiery glare locked with the ice cold stare of the blademaster in a battle of wills. The young Redguard was determined not to be bested, he kept up the staring game for so long that his eyes watered. Finally Owyn chuckled softly once more before speaking.
"I should rip your lungs out and feed them to you for your insolence." He said. "But fine, if you want in then you've got in. Suicide is the right of any man… or boy."
A broad grin spread across the youth's face as joy and relief flooded his body. He fought off the overpowering urge to give Owyn a hug, a gesture that he was relatively sure would have ended with him receiving a split skull from the well used long sword at the blademaster's side. He was in! The youth felt dizzy, giddy as he was with joy.
"Thank you blademaster." He chattered out excitedly. "You won't regret! When do I start?"
"Believe me in a few you won't be thanking me or you will be in no position to do so at all." Owyn said with another of his scowls. "And you start right now."
Right now? The smile slightly fell from the young Redguard's face but he kept his composure. He refused to allow the older Redguard to see him flustered even though the tinges of nervousness had returned. He had never dreamed that he would be thrown into the arena immediately, he had been sure it would have taken a few days at least for everything to be set into place. A few days that he could have desperately used to rest his tired body and recoup his full strength. He did not relish fighting in his present condition but still it didn't appear that he had a lot of choice of the matter, and a bad start was better than no start at all in the youth's opinion.
"Who am I fighting?" The youth asked slipping the sack from his back and rolling his muscular shoulders to try and get some flexibility back into them. Owyn gave him a look of approval.
"You've got some heart pit dog, I'll give you that. Lets see if its enough to keep your head attached to your shoulders. Its amateur hour right now, your opponent is one of them tree hugging wood elf pricks who fancy himself a swordsman. Kind of like you."
The young Redguard's brows furrowed at that but he ignored Owyn's jibe, choosing to focus instead on what little he knew of the wood elves. He had hunted with one as a child and so he was no stranger to their ways. Bosmer were they correct names if he recalled correctly, and they were no mean fighters. They were almost as small as children but naturally faster than all but the most athletic men. In short, exhausted as the youth was this would not be an easy contest.
"Go get yourself suited up from those cabinets. Do you know the rules of the Arena?"
The youth shook his head to indicate that no he did not know. He had been hearing of Arena battles since he was a babe but oddly enough no one had ever mentioned the rules. It took Owyn a minute to explain everything and a minute after that the young Redguard was rummaging through the cabinets looking for some arena raiment, according to Owyn though he could use his own arms everything else had to come from the arena armory. The Redguard noted that all the suits of raiment were battered and most showed dried blood, he wondered offhandedly how many owners now dead and buried they had passed through. He gave a silent prayer to Akatosh that he wouldn't become one of those statistics. They were two forms of Arena armor and though identical one sort of set was definitely heavier and denser than another. The youth understood the concept: one was designed in the form of light armor and the other was designed in the form of heavy.
He mentally weighed all the pros and cons of both sets. The only armor experience that he had was with light armor, heavy had been far too expensive to even dream of, but the problem with light armor was that it sacrificed protection for speed and mobility. Against an opponent such as a Wood Elf this would be a pointless gesture. Opting for the extra protection he went for the heavy raiments instead. The armour was simple but practical. A fused cuirass and pauldrons over a knee length blue smock of thick heavy wool. There were also undergarments of the same material and color. Both the underwear and the smock had adjustable buckles and straps so as to securely fasten them. The youth winced at that as he stripped off his travel stained clothing and began donning the armor, he would have been much more comfortable if his nether regions could have been protected by something a bit sturdier than thick cloth. He wrapped his forearms in thick handwraps before donning a pair of matching pitted metal vambraces. The last piece of the set was a pair of black shin length leather sandals that were studded with tiny blunted iron spikes. He topped it off by attaching his sword to his waist. The youth straightened up, he was ready for battle. Just being in the armor gave him back some of his vitality, he wondered if it was enchanted.
"Last archway at the end of the practice room." Owyn grunted when the youth approached him after he had finished armoring up. "Stairway all the way up to the arena grounds. Get to it. Give the people of Cyrodil a good show and I'll insure that you have a decent funeral at least."
The youth ignored Owyn's parting jibe and stalked from the room his shoulders stiffened. His stomach fluttered and his hands were trembling. He was nervous of course but he was in equal parts excited. This was it. This was his big moment. He made his way through the still packed practice room and this time he drew a few curious glances from his fellow combatants. The youth ignored them all, his mind was fixed on much more important thoughts. The last archway led into a foyer that was empty of anything but a glowing fountain. He passed it without a second glance as preoccupied as he was. The pivotal moment of his life was just one staircase away. Then a few steps. From the time he was a boy all he had ever wanted to be was a champion of the arena. He had listened eagerly to every traveler that had ever passed through his village discussing intense battle. He had read every tidbit that he could find in the Black Horse Courier. Most all of his childhood games had been reenactments of great arena fights. This time it would be no playacting though, this time he was not a child and the swords would not be wood but it would be real. The youth paused before an aged oak door and took a deep breath.
"Its time." He muttered. With that he pushed the door and entered into the arena proper.
The door led into a long narrow tunnel that was stone like most other parts of the arena. The jubilation of the crowd seemed to vibrate from the very stone beneath his feet. With one hand riding on his sword hilt and another clenched so tight into a fist that his nails dug into his palm drawing blood the youth strode down the narrow tunnel. From above he heard the muted sound of a mighty crowd. At the end of the dim tunnel daylight glimmered. The light at the end of the tunnel, The youth thought in grim humor as he reached the end of the passageway. He climbed up four steps and found himself standing before a large metal grille. He tried it but not to surprise it didn't budge even an inch. Peering past the grill revealed the arena pit. Seeing nothing for it the youth shrugged and decided to wait. Sure enough a few minutes later a voice resounded around the arena.
"Good people of the Imperial Arena! Its time for another amazing bout of bloody battle! At this time we have fresh faces for you. Welcome the two latest additions to the Arena! Today we will see two pitdogs square off and as usual only one will live to fight for glory another day. Who will take the day? The blue team or the yellow team? Combatants! Ready yourself!"
The grate began rising in a racket of groans and creaks. As soon as it was high enough the youth ducked under and charged out into the pit. The noise of thousands crowded into an enclosed area washed over him. The jubilation of the masses seemed to vibrate up from the very sands and into his bones but he ignored them. The people no longer existed in his world. Behind him the grate clanked back down with a very pronounced sound. It only took the Redguard a second to take in the pit. There really was nowhere to run. The fifteen feet smooth stone wall that formed the ring was only broken by two iron grates on opposite sides of the arena, one of which the youth had just exited from. Dotted around the grounds were stone fireplaces where the youth presumed that watchfires were lit for the night fights. Churned and trampled sand that had once been yellow but that was now pink covered the ground. The young Redguard knew that before the hour was out the sand would be just a bit pinker and the Bloodworks below would enjoy another coating.
The youth saw the Bosmer sprinting towards him as if in slow motion. The Wood Elf looked almost exactly as the young Redguard had predicted. He was small and wiry, his long yellow ponytail streamed out behind him as he ran. The Wood Elf was dressed in similar getup to the youth's but his was obviously light raiment and his also sported a yellow doublet where the Redguard's was blue. A crude yet effective iron helmet covered the Wood Elf's head and a dinged shield was attached to one arm while the other clutched a wicked looking long sword. The youth's blood went cold. That shield and helmet was enough to make every difference. Yet even those dire thoughts were not enough to hold him back. With a great yell the youth drew his sword; it came free with a smooth flourish. Three feet of Elven steel gleamed in the midmorning sunlight. Along the flats of the blade images of dragons chasing mounted knights were wrought within the metal. The beauty of the blade could not detract from its purpose however, the pitted but still razor sharp edges spoke for themselves. The youth clutched it in a two-handed grip and raced forward to meet the Bosmer.
The two met in the center of the pit in a shower of sparks and a thunderous din. It was the youth that had pressed the offense; he had swung for the Bosmer's head with all his power. It was a decapitating blow without a doubt but the Elf's superior speed save his life when he brought his shield up to intercept the Redguard's blade. The impact jarred the youth to his teeth but he immediately drew his sword back and thrust for the unprotected ankle of his opponent. With unbelievable grace the Elf leapt up, avoiding the blow, while simultaneously whipping his sword around in an arc at the youth's face. The Redguard staggered back narrowly avoiding having his throat slashed from ear to ear. The youth circled to the left, his body turned to the side so as to present a smaller target. It was everything that the young Redguard had feared: the Wood Elf was faster, better equipped, and more experienced. He suspected that the only reason he wasn't as yet dead was that the Elf had initially held back in a bid to gauge the strength of his opponent, now that the Elf knew the Redguard's capabilities the youth knew that the Elf would go all out and try the finish the fight as quick as possible. It was what he, the youth, would have done. As if in answer to the youth's thoughts the Bosmer charged.
With a determined scowl the young Redguard once again moved forward to engage him, if it was to be his faith to meet the Nine this day then he would give as good an account of himself as he could give before he exited the mortal coil. The two once again met in a flurry of blows. The youth poured his all into his assault. He might have done better baiting the Bosmer and playing a waiting game until eventually the Elf tired and made a mistake, but he quickly dismissed that idea. Even in the face of a superior opponent he was not a defensive fighter, he was a Redguard and it was in his nature to take war to the enemy. His moved with tigerish strength and ferocity, his blade a blur of steel as he laid into the Wood Elf. Slashes, chops, and hacks; he employed every move in his arsenal in his bid to maim and kill. But where the Redguard was a tiger the Bosmer was a cheetah. The Elf danced upon the sand as light as a feather. Each of the youth's blows either met with open air or an unyielding shield and for every slash of the Redguard's sword two were forthcoming from the Bosmer's own weapon. Despite his initial burst of ferocity after only a few minutes the youth was inevitably forced back, chest heaving and sweat streaming down his body.
It was the break that the Wood Elf had been waiting for.
"I'll rip your lungs out and feed them to you boy!" He called as he increased the pace of his attack. What's with gladiators and ripping people's lungs out? The boy thought offhandedly even as he gasped and stumbled under the renewed assault. The Elf's sword was everywhere at once; it was as if the Bosmer wielded four blades instead of one. Oblivion gates the Elf was fast! His breath came in rapid breaths now as he struggled to keep up his blocks and his parries. Every time the Wood Elf's sword impacted his own his shoulders now trembled and the blade was almost knocked from his hand. His strength was fading fast now and he knew it. The youth howled in agony when the Wood Elf managed to beat his way through his defenses and his blade pierce deeply into the Redguard's left arm, right between his vambrace and pauldron. The blade bit deeply into flesh but the young Redguard leapt backwards before the Bosmer could increase force and literally disarm him. As it was it was still a serious enough injury. The youth staggered back cradling his injured arm to himself and glaring with the eyes of a wounded animal. For the first time since engaging he became aware of the cheers and jeers from the crowd. It sank in more than ever that it was very likely he would die there. In his very first arena match he would die as an unmarked and unlamented pitdog. The thought was simply unacceptable. There was one last option available to him. One that he had not used for some time. It was the last resort of any Redguard, but was he ready for such an all or nothing strategy?
"Hurts doesn't it?" The Bosmer chuckled as he stalked forward weaving his sword back and forth in a very intimidating manner. "Burns doesn't it? Savor that pain. It will be your last sensation. The Arena is no place for a boy."
There was no pity in the Wood Elf's eyes as he approached. There would be no mercy there on the sands of the Arena. The youth decided then that his last option was simply his only option. With that he lowered his sword and closed his eyes. His brows furrowed in effort as he concentrated.
The Wood Elf stepped forward raising his sword for the kill. It was to be his third fight in as many days. After this no longer would he be a pitdog, he would advance to the Arena rank of brawler. That meant better pay. It was the money that he desperately craved. In his life he had done some things that he was definitely not pleased with. This day would be chief among those things in the future. He cursed the circumstances that had brought him so far from his home in Valenwood. He cursed the moneylenders that had forced him to this, little more than a hired murderer who slaughtered children for the amusement of bloodthirsty barbarians. The slaying of one so young came not easy to this Bosmer but he steeled his heart. It was well known that there was only reward for failure in the Arena. The boy could not have been ignorant to the possibility_ nay likelihood_ that his glory jaunt on the sands would end in his death. There could be no mercy.
With a yell of triumphant the Bosmer brought the blade down in a blow designated to cleave the skull of his opponent in twain. Much to his surprise his sword did not meet a body and instead thudded deep into the bloody sand. In a burst of unbelievable speed that he did not possess a second ago the youth easily hurled himself to the left avoiding the attack completely. He glowed faintly and his eyes no longer showed pain but instead revealed a deep-seated resolve…..and confidence. The Bosmer's eyes narrowed and he gave a lighting quick thrust of sword for the Redguard's midsection but again the youth easily avoided it. What in the name of Oblivion was going on? The Elf wondered. He had no more time for any such thoughts for he saw the reflection of the enemy's sword flashing from the corner of his eye. The Elf managed to get his shield up just in time to keep himself from being cut clean in two from the shoulders. He gritted his teeth as what felt like a battering ram crashed directly unto his shield; the blow actually pushed him a few inches back though he had braced his feet. He had no time for a reprieve as he was instantly force to raise the shield above his head, narrowly stopping the Redguard's sword from splitting his helm. Again the blow which impacted his shield was unbelievable in its power. Pain flared up his arm as his wrist broke with a crunch like someone biting in celery. The Bosmer howled in pain and surprise and struck out with his sword trying to keep his tormentor at bay. He locked blade with the Redguard and they stood struggling for a second before the youth easily sent him stumbling almost a foot backwards.
Terror raced through the Bosmer's mind. It was as if his opponent had become an avatar of Talos himself. His mind was still in shock that this was the same boy he had soundly beaten just moments before even as his body automatically reacted to the threat. The very same boy now came on like an inexorable tide. The Bosmer could do no more than withdraw behind his shield as each ferocious sword strike rendered it further and further into twisted scrap metal. Then suddenly the Bosmer stumbled and fell forward without knowing why he had fallen. Panic blossomed in the Wood Elf's chest, he who fell in battle most likely rose in the Nine's embrace. He had to regain his feet. He managed to roll over unto his back and prepared to leapt directly unto his feet, a move that he had done a thousand time. But laying on his back and looking down the length of his body showed him he no longer had feet to leap unto as his left leg now ended above his knee. The Wood Elf looked on uncomprehendingly at the wound which was pouring a river of blood out unto the sand. With his body still numbed from shock there was no pain.
"When did that happen?" He muttered softly.
The world darkened as he was cast into shadows. He looked up and saw the young Redguard looming over him like a giant clutching the sword which still dripped with the Wood Elf's blood. The blue glow had disappeared from the youth and he had sagged in on himself, his face was lined with deep fatigue and he looked ready to keel over at any moment.
"Looks like I lost." The Wood Elf said with a high-pitched chuckle.
"Looks like." The young Redguard agreed in a hoarse voice before plunging his sword deep into the Wood Elf's chest. The light rainment was no match for the heavy blade which cut through it like butter. It should be more painful, The Bosmer thought in an unattached manner as he stared at the glimmering steal which pinned him to the ground. It was the Bosmer's last thought before he slipped into the blackness.
The Redguard youth slumped to his feet his chest heaving. He fought off the darkness which swam at the edge of his vision. The Adrenaline Rush was a trait shared by all Redguards. It was the ability to marshal all of one's mental and physical strength into augmenting the body's natural physical abilities far beyond what would regularly be possible. Calling upon Adrenaline Rush a Redguard was capable of magnificent physical feats but it was a gift that few Redguards chose to utilize in a life and death situation. Like most things in life Adrenaline Rush had a trade off. The effects only lasted for precisely one minute and the experience left one exhausted to the point of passing out. The youth's limb shook as if he suffered from the ague, he felt as if though he had marched nonstop for a week. Yet he forced himself back to his feet and withdraw his sword from the body of the deceased Bosomer, it came free with a wet squelch. With a grimace he sheathed the blade; he would have to service it at the earliest possible moment. Now that the danger had passed the cheering of the crowd that he had been ignoring while in contact washed over him like warm water. He allowed himself a moment to savor it, basking in the adoration of a thousand people. It was an amazing feeling; here was the glory that he had desperately yearned!
"There you have it! Another exciting conclusion! The blue team underdog pulls off a very close win in this startling upset. Blue team combatant you may return to the Bloodworks and rest."
The young Redguard thought that was a splendid idea. With a last look at the dead Bosomer he turned and made his way back to the now raised grille which led down into the Bloodworks. The youth stumbled down the corridor and through the oak door in a painful daze, the exhaustion coupled with the renewed pain from his wounded arm was almost unbearable with withdrawal of adrenaline. He forced himself to continue however, the arena was no place for weakness of any kind. A sad tale it would be if he survived the fight die in a corner of the Bloodworks. A bit further he had come back into the foyer room that contained only the fountain. Looking at the cool water he realized how thirsty he really was. His throat was positively parched. The young Redguard stumbled to the fountain and began taking deep draughts of the cold clear liquid. When he finished his drinking he couldn't resist splashing some unto his face and around his neck. Much to his surprise he felt completely rejuvenated, he felt even better than he had felt before the fight. What's more the raging agony of his arm had faded into an almost nonexistent ache. Unbelieving the youth loosened and removed the vambrace to check the wound. There no longer was any wound, in its place was a livid puckered scar. He looked at the fountain with renewed wonder. An inscription around the lip read The best techniques are passed on by the survivors. Shaking his head in bemusement the youth turned and headed further into the Bloodworks.
"You surprised me whelp." Owyn said with his trademark scowl. "I'll be the first to admit. Don't go getting a swollen head though. If the squirrel Elf almost took your head off then I'm still convinced you don't belong here."
"To Oblivion with you old man." The youth replied with a scowl of his own. Owyn chuckled briefly at and produced a small pouch of coins. He looked at the younger Redguard with the faintest trace of pride in his eyes.
"You've got balls at least." Owyn said tossing the pouch up and catching. "But balls don't win fights. Skills do. And that you don't have. If you insist on playing hardball I strongly suggest you start training. I promise you that your next fight won't be so easy. Last chance to take your money and quit while your ahead."
"No." The youth answered fiercely. "I'm leaving this place two ways. As Grand Champion or as a corpse."
For once Owyn did not reply scathingly. It was a boast that he had heard from a thousand combatants but from this young Redguard before him it sounded different. There was definitely more to this one that met the eye.
"We shall see." The blademaster said tossing the youth the coin pouch. "Fifty septims. Don't spend them all in one place."
The boy caught it eagerly. It was not much but it would be enough to get a decent helmet and if he was thrifty enough maybe a second hand shield. He turned to leave but Owyn stopped him.
"What's your name whelp?"
It was not a question that the blademaster usually asked. The names of pitdogs mattered little to him because they died as quickly as he learnt those names, but this youth had him curious.
The youth turned back and observed the blademaster for a second before answering.
"My name is Hazim."
With that the young Redguard turned and exited the room leaving the blademaster still staring at his wake with wry amusement.
((I know its probably loaded with typos though I tried to get them all, I'm not the best editor. Bear with me. ^.^So that bring us to the end of the first chapter. Never meant for it to be so long but I was writing like a man possessed. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it. Again feel free to suggest your OC gladiator so I can implement them. There's guts and glory aplenty to go around. :3. Read, Enjoy, and review))