My form of writing is still experimental, so I'll be writing in different ways to find a clean, organized way of portraying my thoughts. The story you're about to read is about Grom, an orc who fights his way threw the arena. I'm also not sure if I should be very detailed, or skim across the little things. For this story I'll try detailed, please read and review.
The Arena
Grom awoke from his short sleep, the sounds of men fighting and fans cheering had not quit since he laid down. Slowly he sat up, and took a breath of the musty rancid air. The blood works smelled like rotting flesh, urine, and something else he couldn't identify. The floor was sticky with blood and dirt, despite it being made of stone. "It's like our home away from home" The words echoed in Grom's mind, a fellow blood works fighter told him that before he had his first match.
Fighting was all Grom knew, and he was quite good at it. He had only fought in a few matches, but he knew he was a better fighter than most in the blood works. Standing up and stretching Grom started walking to Owen, the one in charge of setting up his fights. As he walked he passed a table full small sharp instruments, probably used for digging arrows out of skin.
"Okay maggot, get yourself up to the arena and try not to die before the gates open." Owen didn't care for the pit dogs, most of the time they just died after a match or two. Grom was determined to last longer than that, and started his way back up to the arena floor.
As Grom passed threw the door, leading to the gates his heart starting racing. The air became cleaner, and he could see the sun shining down the steps he was about to climb. Dried blood covered the walls, and fresh blood trickled down the steps that Grom slowly walked. As he reached the top, the cheers of fans became incredibly loud and grom could barely hear the announcer's taunts. This was the moment that Grom lived for, the glory of the arena, the thrill of the fight.
And in the blink of an eye, the gates are dropped and Grom can see the yellow team fighter charging towards him with the intent to kill. Grom's breath quickens, and tightens his grip on his hammer and walks into the blaring sun of the arena middle. Trying to save his energy for his swings, wearing heavy armor and carrying a big weapon can be very tiering.
"Die, damn you!" The dark elf screams as her sword swings horizontally at Grom's throat. However Grom steps back enough that she misses, then steps in with a powerful swing that smashes on her shield so hard she stumbles. "Ugh!" She gathers herself and tries for another swing, this time it's deflected by Grom's hammer and she loses her balance. Grom can only smile knowing she's no match for him, and comes down with an overhead swing that slams into her steel shield enough to bend it around the end of his hammer.
Standing up from one knee and jumping back she snarls and starts circling him. Grom reaches out and pulls the useless shield off his hammer and tosses it aside. Looking to put an end to this match, and get out of the heat, Grom rushes at her with speed she didn't know he had. With one great swing the hammer cracks her skull and she falls limp to the sand of the arena.
Raising his hand to the crowd, he grins and slowly walks back threw the bloody corridor, and back into the blood works. The image in his mind, is that he is the best. But he will soon learn that he has only just started, and that the next match will push him to his limits of survival.
Please Read and Review!