Blood and Sand
The noon sun glared down at Agnar Jarlsax as he emerged from the narrow tunnel of the bloodworks and into the arena. The crowd roared as the Nord stepped up to the iron portcullis. Agnar ignored them as he impatiently gripped the portcullis bars. After spending so much time languishing in the Imperial Dungeon, Agnar's muscles craved to rediscover their old strength. The announcer was babbling something now.
Agnar stared through the portcullis at his opponent. A tall man stood behind the portcullis on the far side of the arena.
Another Nord, Agnar smiled, thank the Nine. I'm tired of fighting weakling Imperials and fairy elves.
The announcer finished rambling and the creaking portcullis bars lowered.
The two Nords strode toward each other, drew their weapons and saluted each other, a show of dignity rarely found in the arena. With that aside the combatants donned their helms.
With warrior's blood coursing through his veins, Agnar struck first, bringing his claymore down on the other Nord, who met his opponent's swing with a strike of his own. The two swords collided in a clash that was drowned out by spectator's cries; heard only by the two men in the arena.
Agnar leapt back before the other Nord could bring his weapon down and hack off his legs. Agnar's opponent didn't miss his opportunity and dashed forward, bringing his weapon from a trailing guard to a powerful rising cut. The yellow combatant's claymore failed to cut through the blue combatant's battle rainment but forced him to stumble backward. Agnar attempted to raise his weapon to a high guard but the other Nord was faster. Gripping the blade of his claymore, the yellow combatant hooked Agnar's claymore by the crossguards and wrenched it down behind Agnar's back, then sent his knee into Agnar's gut.
Gasping, Agnar lost hold of his weapon and the other Nord seized it before while the blue combatant collapsed, then tossed it aside. Agnar scurried back as his opponent loomed over him, until he backed up against one of the arena's four pillars. Glancing away, Agnar saw light glinting off his claymore's steel blade.
"Send him to Oblivion!" shouted a man from the crowd.
Agnar grinned, No man can kill me this easily.
The yellow combatant's sword fell and, with a burst of energy, Agnar rolled out of its path and leapt to his feet behind the other Nord, then shoved him into the pillar while he was still recovering from his swing.
The spectators clamored, shouting curses or expressions of relief, all depending on whom that individual's wager lay. Agnar barely heard them as he stepped away from the other combatant and retrieved his sword.
Agnar waited while the other Nord recovered his balance. After a moment the yellow combatant faced Agnar and the crowd grew silent as the two Nords exchanged their final salute.
The yellow combatant charged forward with his claymore in high guard and Agnar met him with a half-sword parry then smashed the pommel of his claymore into the yellow combatant's sternum. Agnar ducked under a wild swing from his opponent before driving his sword through the other Nord's thigh.
Dropping his sword, the yellow combatant reeled and fell onto the grated surface at the center of the arena. A stream of crimson flowed from the Nord's thigh and seeped through the grated floor and into the bloodworks. The Nord tried to raise his head but failed; his sword-hand frantically felt along the grated surface as his life's blood left him. Agnar took the yellow combatant's claymore and placed it in his hand. With what strength he had left, the dying warrior gripped the sword's hilt until his knuckles turned white. The warrior's lips twisted into a smile. He died with his eyes open.
"You die well friend," Agnar murmured, may you find your way to the halls of our fathers, where feasts and battles await. Agnar felt a pang of envy, then shook it off; more battles await me here. Those battles . . . those battles will wait for me.
The inane announcer resumed his babbling as Agnar strode from the arena, eager for the next match.