"We got a new one for you, Owyn! Fresh from Elsweyr and wild as a mother bear in summer!"
Owyn had been working with these particular traders for a few years now, and he knew better than to trust them with gathering monsters for the arena fights that weren't somehow damaged or very illegal, so it was understandable why he'd be suspicious of their new offering. Whatever the Blackwood Company brought in was all luck of the draw. Sometimes it was a rare creature from somewhere in the swamps of Black Marsh or it was a talented slave from Morrowind, but sometimes what they brought back was completely useless, like a few half-dead brown bears that had been starved to begin with and some scribs that he wouldn't sick on the new candidates.
Sure, slavery had been technically banned in Morrowind, but that didn't stop the local Dunmer in still trading them. The Great Houses tended to look the other way, for the most part because they would get some of the profits from the sale. Owyn snorted at the foolishness of the Imperials, honestly like they expected Morrowind to do completely away with something so central to their culture.
Either way, it profited the Arena. With a normal man or mer or Orc down on their luck, they could always get enough money saved away to eventually leave the Arena, which put them down a combatant. A slave, though, (or maybe a former slave, technically) would not be so inclined to take their money and run away. In matter of fact, the slaves from Morrowind didn't seem to know what money was for the most part, let alone that it was worth something. Well, that suited Owyn just fine. Occasionally, they got a gifted one, but those were few and far between.
"Well, what are you waiting for, you dolts? Let's have a look at it, and you'd better hope that this one is better than the last one. That little Argonian barely lasted a few seconds in the Arena." Owyn put on his most frightening face, shutting up the little Bosmer that seemed to be the head of the operation. Passionately, and not for the first time, Owyn wished that the Fighters Guild didn't have such a problem with getting combatants for the Arena, so he wouldn't have to deal with this creature one more time.
Bosmer were usually annoying, but Maglir was in a class all in his own. Owyn was used to dealing with people –and he used that term loosely- that weren't easy to get along with, but Maglir had that effect naturally despite all of his training. He wasn't really surprised that Maglir had defaulted from the Fighters Guild and joined the less… picky… Blackwood Company, since Maglir had a healthy avoidance for hard work and expected to get quite a bit more than his due when it came to jobs.
Owyn tried to avoid him whenever possible.
With a low and mocking bow, the little rat-elf pulled the fabric over the cage they had brought whatever it was in with a swoosh, revealing a large and lumpy shape mostly hidden in the shadows. Around the mercenaries and Owyn, several of the other fighters crowded around to try to get a good look at the new arrival, who didn't seem to be very cooperative. Maglir seemed to notice the disappointed look on Owyn's face, and with a growl grabbed up a whip from a fur-clad man's belt and snapped it inside the cage and a few inches away from whatever-it-was' face. "Get up and out you lazy lout, show your face before I sell you to someone who specializes in Khajiit stew!"
Owyn wasn't exactly surprised by Maglir's unoriginal insult, but he did gasp when the large lumpy figure finally moved out into the open.
Whatever Owyn had expected, it wasn't this. A huge –closer to mammoth, actually- Khajiit stood there and regarded them with a golden stare that was somehow regal, as if they were the ones being ogled at and not them to him. He was different from any Khajiit he had ever seen before, who tended to be wry and shifty. He was dressed rather normally –And Owyn had no illusions that the creature was definitely a 'he'- with a pair of sack pants that strained and split over his massively muscled thighs. Unlike the long and pointed ears of the other Khajiit Owyn had seen, this one's ears were small and rounded, much more like a bear than any self-respectable cat, hidden well within the thick mane of hair that crested up from the Khajiit's forehead and down his back, spreading up and covering his shoulders, neck, and chest.
Not only was his build and all that hair odd for a Khajiit, but his face was unusual as well. It was somehow broader in the nose, jaw, and forehead than most cat-men, with exotic dark markings lining his eyes, like some pictures that Owyn had seen of ancient Ayleid men who made up themselves to look like women. Bold white markings were under those, and along his chin and what Owyn could see of his neck through the thick hair. The hair and white color lead all the way down and into the Khajiit's pants, which left nothing to the imagination. Every inch of the Khajiit was pure muscle, broad and well defined, for power unlike the wry muscles of the 'man's' cousins. A long tail, thicker than the modest limb that other Khajiit sported, curled up around his thighs and twitched slightly, tufted at the end with the same blond-gold color as the Khajiit's mane. His fur seemed to be a shade or two darker than the color of his mane, giving the impression that he'd be more at home in the plains of tall grasses than the forest.
Owyn felt his heart beat faster, mostly out of fear. He wondered how Maglir and the other fighers of the Company couldn't feel it, feel the power and majesty that the Khajiit drew about him like some sort of cloak.
Then again, Maglir was stupid.
"Well, my friend, you're a long way from home." Owyn started conversationally, walking up to the bars to get a closer look at the huge creature. "But wherever they took you from, that's in the past now. I'm Owyn, and this is the Arena. We fight for gold and glory, but in your case it's probably more for survival. What's your name?"
The Khajiit didn't answer, the tip of his tail twitching from side to side to show his annoyance. Whatever his opinion really was, it was hard to tell between the mixed signals of the relative calm of his face and the twitching of his tail. Either way, Owyn waited for the lion-man to make up his own mind about things.
"Answer the name, you flea bitten son of a guar!" Maglir, again, took authority into his own hands. He tried the whip again, but the lion turned around –far faster than Owyn would have thought- and grabbed the end of the thick cowhide lash. With a growl, his free hand grabbed near the middle of the whip and pulled the startled Maglir to the bars of the cage, releasing the former part of the whip to wrap his massive hand around the Bosmer's throat.
Now, normally, Maglir's loss wouldn't be a huge one for Owyn. In matter of fact, he almost prayed –not that he believed in the gods- for Maglir to run afoul of a mountain lion, or perhaps a member of his former Guild. But this happening in Owyn's own Bloodworks was out of the question. However, before he could raise his voice another took over the situation.
Before Owyn registered it, the odd hued Orc that was Agronak, the Arena Champion, was whispering softly and urgently to the Khajiit, his bald head gleaming in the dim light. It was surprising that the highest ranked of the fighters always seemed to be the one that most advised caution and deliberation, though that patience was rarely seen in the ring.
Slowly, the Khajiit let go of Maglir's throat, and the Wood Elf scuttled backwards cursing violently, glaring at the Khajiit with a look that suggested violence. Owyn cleared his throat, bringing the attention of the new one back to him. Or at least he tried, but the lion seemed to completely ignore him, watching Agronak with a peculiar sort of fascination. "This one does not see you." His voice was higher than Owyn thought it would be, more a low tenor than the bass he had expected, and musing on his voice it took the trainer a minute to realize what the Khajiit had just said.
"This one, will only talk to the Gray One. It is only he that has some stretch of honor." Owyn shrugged, not feeling all that much shame. He had heard much the same thing throughout his career in the Arena, so it had ceased to really effect him. "Fine, Agronak, he's your responsibility. Maglir, come with me to get your payment. I won't bear you in my Bloodworks another moment.
"What's your name, Khajiit?"
"This one is Hathri. Who is the fellow hunter?"
"Err… My name is Agronak gro-Malog."
" This one greets the Gray One."
"Oh? Yeah, it's nice to meet you too, I guess."
After a moment, Agronak gro-Malog and Hathri were left alone, and stared at each other for several long moments. The Orc with a look of slight confusion and worry, and Hathri's with respect and expectance.
Agronak sighed and rubbed the bridge of his flat nose for a moment. "Now what am I supposed to do with you?"
Hathri shrugged his massive shoulders, making the motion look somehow more modest and minimum than it actually was. "One would assume, that the first act would be to remove this one from his cage." Hathri stated somewhat gently, a small grin of amusement as the Orc's gray cheeks took on a more greenish cast, the Orc's way of blushing.
"That would make sense, wouldn't it? It's not much here, but there's money involved and they feed us, so I really can't argue. You'll like it here, I think, you have that look of a fighter. Welcome to the Arena. Now, let's go get something to eat."
Agronak laughed suddently. By the sound of Hathri's stomach and the eager look on the lion's face, he knew he was in the right. The gray-skinned Orc dissapeared into the shadows, leaving Hathri alone for a moment. Hathri finally sighed and followed. This is not a very good situation. But the hunter must move with the herd, and if the herd wishes to move west, who is one to dispute their will? This one will watch and wait, until the herd changes direction again.