A friend of mine is writing this story, the one who plays Recklessone. I told him I'd start posting it online so readers could share their thoughts about his writing, provide compliments or criticism, and so forth. So please, do.
Heat. All consuming heat. That was what drenched the area. A warmth that crawled to the bones and fried them. The sand on the wide circle glimmered with it, and the air was choked by the furnace of the sun. The spectators, many hundreds of them sat unaffected. The magics of the arena worked in their favor unlike those who would be struggling that day. The canopies that stretched over their seats left the ring exposed to the high noon sun. Currently it was a bare circle, nothing to hide in, around, or under.
At either end, hidden from the spectators, massive gates stood. The darkness inside hiding the challengers, and the events from everyone, until the first gong. High noon and the blistering heat even working to overpower the magics. Electricity in the air that seemed hungry for a chance to spark, and then the break. The hushed murmurs of the crowd built with tension as the short goblin approached the giant metal disk.
Lifting his golden mallet to it, he looked out, smirking at the huge crowd, for the brief moment, all eyes were on him. He spoke, tiny voice amplified by the magics of the blood-drenched place.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" He shouted out, the sound like a nasally child trying to impersonate an adult. "ENJOY!"
The mallet flew down, slamming against the gong, the sound echoing out like a boom of thunder. The sound was nearly drowned out by the cheers and screams of blood from the crowd. The moment of their blood lust had arrived and they were eager to watch the slaughter commence. Not wanting to disappoint them, the gates rose, the blackness of the pre-battle falling behind the huge wooden barricades.
The Tauren stepped into the light first, the towering shield on his side painted red with the face of a bull, the eyes of it dripping with what was obviously fresh blood. On his opposite arm he wore heavy armor, and a massive weapon. His entire body shimmered with metal, gleaming in the bright sun. The prized gladiator, greatest of the day strode forward, hooves breaking into the sand in shallow pits.
The crowd adored him. He had proven himself as a favorite over the last several weeks. And more so on this day. Already nearly thirty competitors had fallen at his blade. Whether he was dressed as a he was now, clad in armor and defended, or put out bare, with the smallest of bucklers and a dagger. Every chance he had had to battle, he had proven himself. The arena knew him as he had once been known.
As the crowd cheer in unison "RECK- LESS, RECK- LESS" The other gate sat empty for a moment, before the team of enemies he would be facing slipped out. Five, nearly naked Night Elves. The women, leather bound around their chest and legs, stood equipped with swords, except one, the team leader. She was allowed armor along her right arm, which held aloft a large trident. In her other hand, a net weighted by steel sphere's, which she swung slowly by her side.
Grinning and stepping towards the girls, the beast raised his sword, eyes flashing red under the helm, a few drops of set falling to make the sand damp. The women, to their credit, spreading out, two sticking close to their commander, the others sliding to either side of the Tauren. As he approached, the group set in, light feet skipping over the soft sand, jumping over the burning grains and rushing towards the bull.
Lifting his shield he stopped the first duo of strikes, the blades skittering off of the hulking metal plate. Swinging the massive axe, the elves leapt back, scowling at the too-quick counter strike. Not allowing himself to be slowed, he moved forward, digging in to strike one of the purple skinned women on the left. Raising his axe he swung again; bringing it down in a vicious chop.
Again the woman dodged, leaping to the side as a flurry of sand exploded up from where the blade had impacted. Turning, she let out a gasp of surprise as the huge metal plate of the shield came crashing forward. A howl of pain screamed out of her lips, overwhelmed by the cheer of the crowd as the girl fell, impaled on the spikes of the shield, her armorless body crumpled and devastated by the powerful slam.
Turning from the corpse, lifting and swinging the blade clean of the sand it had been trapped in, the warrior quickly returned to facing the other four. In the moments it had taken him to dispatch their friend, they had shifted tactics. The three with the long elegant blades now found themselves hiding behind their commander, her arm raised high, swinging the weighted net. The scowl on her face, and the rage in her eyes speaking powerfully of the hate she felt for the creature that had slain her comrade. She stepped forward, sisters moving with her.
Crouching down, the hot sand grinding at his hooves, the hulking cow pressed the base of his shield into the sand. Pressing forward to meet them the two groups slowly approached each other, a slowly growing pile of heat building in front of the larger opponent, now a moving barricade of death and steel. The crowds' cheers had died down to a low buzz of disapproval. Something the owners of the arena could not have.
As the pair finally began to close in, the women's' grip on their weapons tightened. And with a quick bark from their chief they moved to strike, rushing towards the Tauren's left. He growled back at them, the audience cheering at the sudden burst of action. Swinging over the three, squeezing together, swords held aloft, stepping forward and preparing to strike. As they moved, the bull lifted the hulking shield, the giant black and red wall that he constantly carried with him.
As he swung to defend his left, the leader, locking eyes with the beast behind the iron, jumped to his right. The bull's eyes, following her more than the women, snarled, swinging his axe out to strike her. The exact motion she had hoped for. Knowing she was still out of reach, but that the tauren was quick to strike, she had skirted his attack, and countered herself. The weighted net flew, the dense lines wrapping their way around his hand, and the handle of the weapon, the heavy metal spheres slamming against the armored plates of his wrist with a loud thud.
The rush of blood moving through the iron monsters head, as well as the protection of the helmet, dimmed the sound of the screaming crowd at the impressive action. All he could feel was the tugging on his weapon, as the elf desperately began to pull back the net, leveling her trident and jabbing forward to protect herself from the one handed swings of the blade. Opposite his main focus, the other three, acting with their commander rushed forward towards the shield, feet digging into the sand and flinging up a cloud as they rushed headlong to doom.