Fell the Hound of the Pits

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Spartacus: Blood and Sand only my OCs

There is a reason (which will be revealed later although you will probably guess what it is) for the lack of pronouns with Fell so bear with me here.

Fell sat on the dirt floor. The smell of filth, sand, and blood stung Fell's nostrils. It did not bother Fell; Fell was used to the sent of the pits. Fell's eyes were staring blankly forward, unmoving. Fell's breathing came in short breaths similar to the panting of a dog, but not as loud, due to the bandages tightened around Fell's torso. Fell at first did not know why Master put these around Fell. Master deemed it necessary and Fell did not ask. As time passed Fell learned what the bandages were for without asking. Fell normally had no reason to question the one who held the leash. Fell would not ask anyway if it could have been avoided; speaking took a toll on Fell's damaged throat. Fell's head twitched the pain from the long healed wound returning for only a moment.

The roars of bloodlust echoed through the pits. These were not the roars of the warriors but roars of the crowd, the crowd shouting and yelling in both anger and approval, gathering their winnings or paying their due. In Fell's opinion the crowd was just as blood thirsty as the combatants. Their moods of favor as ever changing as the wind, so Master says. Fell had never felt wind blow or rain fall. Fell had never seen the sun, the stars, or the moon, only the pit, the sand, the blood, and the fire. On very rare occasions Fell would smell fresh air, but it only last a second or two before the air returned to the usual smell of the pit. Sometimes Fell thought it was never there in the fist place only the product of Sandro's stories of outside.

Fell sat quietly awaiting the time when Fell would be called to fight, but there would be no fight for Fell today. That did not stop the habit that formed over the years of fighting. Underneath the roar of the crowd already cheering for the next fight, the faint sound of footsteps against the sand approached Fell's cell. Fell looked out of curiosity. Five men were walking. One Fell recognized as Master and another was the body guard slave he kept around. Master a mid thirties man with graying once completely dark brown hair, and brown eyes that seamed older than what he looked. His guard slave, Sandro an early thirties loyal to the death black haired, sand colored skin, and dull green eyes.

The other three Fell did not recognize. A man much like Master but with cleaner clothing and less gray hair; Fell could not see his eyes clearly. The other two near the man looked like slaves. One was taller than the others even taller than Sandro who was already tall to begin with, long dreadlocked brown hair and looked like a fighter. The tall man was closer to the man who looked similar to Master so Fell figured he was a body guard like Sandro. The second slave had shorter hair than the tall one dark brown maybe black in color; it was difficult to tell in the dim fire light. He looked beaten; a fresh wound was on his chest and he was covered in blood. Whether it was his own or another's Fell did not know. Fell's head tilled to the side, he must have been what the crowd was roaring about.

Sandro unlocked the cage that held Fell. "Come Fell," he ordered with a single pat on his leg as if he was calling a dog to his side. Fell rose obediently without the use of arms and stepped out of the cage. Fell stood before the new comers as still as a statue.

"Batiatus, my friend, this is Fell my best fighter," Master introduced gesturing to Fell. Master's friend, Batiatus, examined Fell from head to toe.

Fell was smaller in both height and size than the gladiators that fought in the arena as well as most of the fighters Datiatus had seen in the pits. Fell wore lose blood and dirt stained cloth instead of having bare chest like the other fighters. What flesh was not covered by lose cloth was muscular but not so much as the gladiators or the fighters in the pits. Fell was hunched over making Fell appear even smaller than Fell truly was. An odd mask covered Fell's face. It was in the shape of a cruel angry looking dog and covered in blood fresh and old making the mask seem more vicious. A long black mane of matted hair hung limply behind the mask and odd yellow eyes gleamed dangerously from the eye holes. A jagged angry looking scar across Fell's throat was barely visible under the shadows of the mask.

"Your best fighter, Aquila," said Batiatus pausing trying to find words that would not insult his friend but finding none, "is rather small don't you think?"

Instead of being insulted Master, Aquila, merely laughed, "Small yes, best fighter yes, do not underestimate Fell. Fell's ferocity is only matched by the sheer will to survive and after all these years Fell is still here alive and well, err, alive anyway," Aquila put an arm around Batiatus, "Come we have business to discus my friend," Aquila pulled him off to the side and began to speak in a to low of a tone for the slaves to hear.

"What do you suppose they're talking about?" asked Sandro folding his arms over his chest. Fell merely shrugged wordlessly at the only one the hound saw as a friend, aside from Master, in the pits.

Sandro leaned down to Fell's ear and whispered, "Perhaps you shall see what is on the outside of these walls then?" Fell did not react to Sandro's words giving no indication that Fell heard him at all or that Fell even cared.

Fell's head tilted to the two slaves, tiling Fell's head to the side similar to a curious dog. "I never did get your names," Sandro looked at the two other slaves his voice neutral but his eyes curious, catching what Fell was trying to ask without missing a beat.

"Barca," answered the tall one.

"Ah I've heard of you, "The Beast of Carthage" a successful gladiator," replied Sandro a slight twitch in his thin lips, "and you? You were the victor in the last fight?"

The shorter slave nodded breathlessly still tired from the last fight, "I am Spartacus."

"Was that your first fight in the pits?" asked Sandro. Spartacus nodded. "Not like the gladiator fights, are they?" Spartacus looked as though he was going to reply but Aquila and Batiatus had returned finishing their discussion.

"You will think about my offer?" asked Aquila standing between his two slaves.

"I will consider it. I will see you tomorrow my friend," answered Batiatus taking his leave with a final good bye to his friend. Barca and Spartacus followed behind him.

"Fell get rest you will need it, tomorrow you fight," Master ordered.

The beast that had grown in Fell's mind over the years fighting in the Pit ginned broadly eagerly awaiting the next taste of fresh meat, the feeling of ending some poor unfortunate soul's life, the sound of the crowd chanting Fell's name, and the feeling of victory after the battle. It had been too long since the last fight in the beast's opinion. The more slave side of Fell's mind was neutral, if Master ordered something Fell would simply do it as Fell had done many times before. The Master led and the slave followed obediently. The mortal side long buried beneath the beast and the slave replayed Sandro's words; swearing that a breeze of fresh air passed Fell's nose before being buried beneath the two once more.

Spartacus sat on the ground his friend Varro sitting next to him.

"Varro," Spartacus spoke.

"Hm?" Varro turned his head toward his fellow gladiator.

"Have you ever heard of Fell the hound of the Pits?" Spartacus asked.

"Fell? Yes I've heard of him," Varro answered, "They say that Fell is a hell hound bound to human form, with the eyes of like a wolf's; glowing yellow. Fell has long claw like nails and long canines that he uses to tear out the throats of his enemies. They say Fell wears a blood stained mask in the shape of a hell hound because it misses its former beast form. They say that Fell cannot speak as man does that he only growls, barks, and howls."

"Really?" Spartacus asked.

"At least that is what people say about Fell the hound of the Pits. What made you think of Fell? He was only ever in the Pits never in the arena," asked Varro.

"I met Fell today. Him and his master," He answered.

"Really? You met Fell? What was he like?" asked Varro having never seen the hound of the Pits for himself.

"Fell was smaller than what you would expect. I was surprised when his master introduced him to Batiatus and that he was his best fighter, but Fell did wear a bloody dog mask as the tales describe. The eyes were yellow and they did appear to be glowing with some feral nature that seemed much more dangerous than any beast that I've seen. Fell seemed oddly tame, obediently following his master's orders," He explained to his friend.

"So some of the rumors are true then? I wonder how the hound fights after all you said the beast was small. As for the obedience why fight someone who was bringing you someone to tear apart every few days or so?" laughed Varro.

"I see your point."

"I will see more of Fell tomorrow, Batiatus is taking me back to the pits. It seams like his old friend Aquila has made some sort of deal involving the hound," spoke Spartacus.

"I wonder what the deal was, especially when it involves something like Fell. Give me the details when you return,"

"Don't worry I will give all the details I am able."

Batiatus gazed at his wife, Lucretia, a sly grin on his face. "Tell me my husband what fruits have your," Lucretia paused for a moment, "investment, brought in?"

"Spartacus wins his fight in the Pits," Batiatus replies grabbing a cup to drink, "He shall return soon and bring us more coin." Batiatus had not looked his wife in the eyes, still debating on whether or not to tell her about Aquila's proposal. A mistake his wife did not miss.

"Did something else happen in the Pits?" she questioned. Batiatus hesitated knowing full well how his wife felt about Aquila.

"I met an old friend and he offered a business proposition," he finally stated. "An old friend? Which old friend do we speak of and what sort of proposition?" she asked her gaze staring intently on him.

Again Batiatus hesitated, "Aquila, he offers me a fighter." Lucretia looked at her husband her jaw slacking slightly. "Aquila? He is mad! I know it, you know it, all of Rome knows of it!" she snapped at him.

"Yes he is mad, but in all of my years of knowing him not once has he been in dept and yet I am sane and deeply in dept," he retorts, "Mad he is but he is no fool, and he asks no coin for his fighter."

Lucretia's brow furrowed in confusion, "No coin for a slave?"

"It is as you say, Aquila is mad," said Batiatus taking a final sip from his cup. 'Mad enough to have a fighter like Fell' he added silently.

Alright first chapter over please click the blue button below thank you. : )