A/N: Ello again. It appears that my 'gentle' reminders to readers to review have worked. Many thanks to all who reviewed. I'll try to speed up my rate of updates from now on, as my summer holidays have started, but the chapters will mostly be longer from here on in, and as such will take longer to complete. Anyhow, I won't keep you any longer. Read on.
Chapter Six: New Personalities
Gorgoth was awoken by a kick in his ribs. He immediately twisted round to face the giver of the kick to find himself looking at Owyn. The Orc scrambled to his feet and looked down at the Redguard, while observing that a lot of gladiators were still asleep.
"Early match, if you want it," grunted Owyn by way of explanation. "There's a Nord up there in the Yellow cage waving his axe around with no-one to hit. Get up there and give him a pounding with that shiny new mace of yours." The surly Redguard stepped back as Gorgoth forced on his armour and picked up his mace. "I'll be watching," he grunted as he stalked off to the gladiator's entrance to the Arena stands.
Gorgoth shook the last remaining sleep from his head as he hefted his mace, checked his raiment, and started up towards the Arena sands. The ramp was bloody, as always, but there was no fresh blood; the crimson layering crumbling underneath Gorgoth's weight was old and dried; yesterday's blood. The rays of the rising sun hit his skin for the first time that day as he opened the door and stepped out onto the Arena sands. He gripped his mace firmly, the head swinging along a few inches above the ground.
Owyn leaned his calloused hands on the wooden barricade separating him from the sands of the Arena, feeling the rough wood scratching his hands. He breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp morning air as he gave half an ear to the announcer, who was always drowsy in the morning. The Yellow team Nord was swinging his axe lazily in his cage, bored. Owyn shifted his gaze to the Orc that had attracted his interest ever since he had appeared yesterday. Gorgoth was in a combat stance, knees slightly bent, leaning forwards slightly, ready to charge out of the cage with his mace gripped firmly in his meaty right hand.
Owyn had many years fighting experience, and prided himself on the fact that he could tell a veteran warrior on sight. Gorgoth was one such warrior, despite his relatively young age. Though he rarely showed respect to anyone, Owyn felt it for this Orc, as well as a few select others. The Redguard knew the result of this battle before it had even begun; there were few in the Arena, Yellow or Blue, who could seriously challenge the massive Orc. However, Owyn doubted that even this leviathan could be a match for the reigning Grand Champion. Agronak was, quite simply, unbelievably good.
The announcer finished, yawning, and the gates were lowered. Both Gorgoth and the Nord charged out, their eyes firmly set on each other. The crowd, tiny at this time of day in comparison with those roaring the gladiators on in the afternoon, held their breath as the two heavy warriors thundered headlong at each other, neither thinking about giving way. The tension was palpable as the crowd awaited the terrible collision.
The Blademaster was not often surprised by a gladiator match; mainly, he could tell who would win. But Gorgoth surprised him. He slowed, tensed, then sprang up just as he reached the Nord. His right leg snapped out, smashing into the Nord's armoured stomach with incredible momentum. This momentum carried the Orc through his opponent, and he landed in a forward roll, springing to his feet and swiftly turning to the Yellow team combatant.
Owyn had physically winced at the impact. The Nord had been thrown across half the Arena. Blood, bile, and stomach acids sprayed from his mouth. He choked as he feebly attempted to move, the air completely forced from his lungs. Gorgoth slowly walked over to the struggling Nord, his mace swinging gently from his hand. The Yellow team Brawler, through sheer force of will, got himself into a sitting position and gripped his axe, dragging himself backward, away from the advancing Orc. Owyn unconsciously leaned forward, looking for the killing blow, his grip tightening on the barricade until his dark knuckles turned white.
The Redguard jerked his head round in surprise as Agronak joined him in leaning on the barricade beside him. He had never got used to how quietly the half-Orc moved. The Grand Champion wore an impressed expression. "Damn good kick, that was," he muttered, half to himself, looking inwards as though trying to memorise the kick in order to utilise it himself. Owyn shook his head and turned back to the battle.
Gorgoth had let the Nord scrabble away from him, probably on purpose, either to draw out the match and please the crowd or give the Nord a second chance. The latter was unlikely; the Nord was a shattered ruin, and would probably eventually die of devastating internal injuries even if he was to live through the next few minutes. Gorgoth loomed over the broken warrior, raising his mace over his head. His shadow, stretched in the rays of the morning sun, was splayed across the Arena sands, a giant figure going in for the kill. The Nord collapsed and lay there, looking at the sky, the last thing he would ever see. A tense silence was almost audible.
Gorgoth lowered his mace and instead picked up the unresisting Brawler by his throat. He hung there for a mere second before the Orc's massive hand twisted, brutally wrenching his neck to one side with a snap crunch audible in the highest stands of the Arena. Gorgoth's hand opened and the Nord dropped limply from his grasp like a wet sock, thudding to the ground with an everlasting glazed stare, blood staining his beard. The Arena claimed another victim.
Owyn nodded in appreciation, genuinely impressed at the Orc's performance, though not surprised by his victory, as the audience roared. The confetti of useless losing tickets descended down into the lower stands as usual, and the winners turned to go to accost Hundolin for their winnings. Owyn and Agronak descended into the bloodworks, the light given by the rising sun replaced by the harsh, bright light of candles and lamps.
"He's good," commented a nearby Dunmer gladiator. Owyn was inclined to agree.
Gorgoth finished washing his hands in the Basin of Renewal and looked at Owyn expectantly. The Redguard walked up to him, not wearing his usual surly expression, but one of slight appreciation. "Not a bad kick you've got on you," he admitted grudgingly. The Blademaster fished out a bag of coins and chucked them to Gorgoth, who deftly caught them and shoved them in his pocket. "If you come back later, I'll have a proper fight arranged, at least, as proper as it can get for someone like you at Brawler rank. Too bad I can't fast track you any quicker than this." The Redguard walked off, curiously not spitting.
Wondering over Owyn's sudden mellowing, Gorgoth ascended from the bloodworks, the sun falling on his green skin and warming him. One corner of his mouth pulled up in a slight smirk as he reflected that, despite it being a superior weapon, he hadn't actually used his new mace in his last battle. The Orc could just imagine Varnado's bemused expression when informed that his gift hadn't been fully appreciated yet. He walked off in the direction of the Market District, returning the greetings of some fellow gladiators who seemed to have heard of him.
Approaching the door of the Best Defence, Gorgoth stepped back as it was opened from the inside, but that didn't stop an Imperial, clad in some newly-bought leather armour, from running headlong into him. He bounced off and was planted on his backside on the bottom step. Looking up at Gorgoth, his expression turned from one of shock to distaste. Gorgoth sighed. He'd seen this superior expression before, on the corrupt mine owner as he ordered the ambushing legionnaires to attack Gorgoth's party, as well as countless Breton nobles. He hated it.
"What in Talos' name are you playing at, you filthy rodent?" snarled the short Imperial, standing and bringing himself to his full height, meaning that he barely reached the middle of Gorgoth's chest. The height difference didn't seem to intimidate him. "You would dare obstruct a member of the prestigious Bruti family?" the Imperial continued, poking Gorgoth's armoured chest as spit flew off his lips. A jumped-up lord of some insignificantly small noble family, no doubt. At least it wasn't High Rock. There were hundreds of these idiots there.
Gorgoth, growing tired of the inflated midget's tirade, roughly pushed him aside. The lordling tumbled and fell into a nearby stack of crates, which collapsed on him. An angry, indignant squeaking came from the pile, but Gorgoth had already entered the shop.
Varnado looked up from glaring at his lightly armoured rival, Maro Rufus, to greet Gorgoth with a wide grin. "Good to see you, my friend," he said, coming round the table to usher Gorgoth into the measuring room. "I heard from a passerby that you've already won a battle today. Too bad I wasn't there to bet on it." Grinning semi-apologetically, the steel-clad Redguard kicked open the door to the measuring room and led the towering Orc inside. Varnado had to duck under the doorway. The much taller Gorgoth had to bend himself almost double to fit through.
It was a simple, fairly small room with a high ceiling. One wall was taken up with straight lines painted onto the wall with various heights up to eight feet indicated. Implements for measuring height were scattered around in some kind of haphazard order, making the organised chaos of the forge downstairs look tidy. Apart from that, the room was bare and empty apart from a bored-looking Imperial sorting through some paperwork. He let the assorted sheets slide to the floor as Varnado and Gorgoth entered. His tired expression hinted that his work was extremely boring and he wasn't interested in anything except the pay.
His reception confirmed Gorgoth's suspicions. "Customer?" he grunted. His voice was flat and dull. Without waiting for a reply, he jerked his head over at the leftmost wall measuring line. "Get over there, strip completely, and line up against it." The Imperial started rummaging in one of the piles of implements, looking at each before throwing it over his shoulder and resuming his searching, muttering under his breath.
Gorgoth obediently stepped over to the designated area and removed his raiment. His shirt and trousers followed until he was stood completely naked against the wall, the stones cold against his back, his braids moved out of the way. He'd been measured for armour enough to times to know that it wasn't something that could be rushed; a single miscalculation could make the suit imperfect and decrease its quality, leading to potential disasters in combat. It was why Gorgoth always used custom built armour; quality was worth the cost.
Varnado stepped over to join him, shaking his head at what could be despair at his coworker's attitude. "I find myself endlessly apologising for his attitude, so much that I've just about given up," he growled, glaring in the Imperial's direction. "I would hire another one, but I just know me and Rufus would kill each other disagreeing on what one to hire, so it's best just to let sleeping dogs lie, even if they're bloody stupid." The Redguard shook his head again and fisted Gorgoth in his rock-solid stomach muscles. "Solid as the walls of this city," he grunted, half in admiration. "Just what I expected."
"Keeping my body well-maintained means keeping it in one piece," grunted Gorgoth in reply. "Not only that, but having physical prowess has its uses outside combat. Utilise what you can." He cast his gaze over to the Imperial, who was looking intently at a piece of rope marked along its length with measurements. "Is he competent?"
Varnado turned to glare at the Imperial, face hardening. "Good enough for us not to kick him out," he growled quietly. Raising his voice, he spoke to the Imperial's back. "Varus, if you've finished fucking around with your precious ropes, maybe you'd deign to join us?" Getting no response, the armourer stomped over and dragged the scrawny Imperial to his feet by his ear. "That means get the fuck on with it, you lazy bastard." Varnado pushed Varus over to Gorgoth.
This, along with Varnado's muted threats, finally spurred the lethargic Imperial into swift action, and within moments every square inch of Gorgoth's body was being examined in minute detail. Varnado grunted in satisfaction and folded his arms, idly prodding some of the larger piles of equipment with his foot. Varus was both quick and thorough when he could be bothered, and soon Gorgoth was pulling his raiment back on as the Imperial scribbled notes down on a piece of parchment, the quill scratching nastily as he leaned on his leg to write, bending himself double in the process.
Varnado snatched the parchment from Varus as soon as the ink was dry and ushered Gorgoth back into the shop, leaving Varus to his disorganisation. Rufus was dealing with a customer, a Bosmer who was stabbing his finger into a nasty-looking gash on his expensive-looking mithril cuirass and gesturing angrily. Rufus looked increasingly frustrated as he tried to get a word in edgeways, but the Bosmer's flow of criticisms and swearing continued unabated. Varnado smirked as he flung open the door leading downstairs to the armoury.
"Most of my customers don't complain," claimed the Redguard, a smug grin plastered over his face as he led the way to the forge. "But it seems that almost all his customers only ever complain. It's hard to believe his business is good enough." The sound of hammer on anvil, audible from the street, intensified as they entered the forge.
An Argonian was at the forge, hammering a steel longsword into shape. His eyes flickered towards them as they entered, then ignored them, consumed in his work. Gorgoth, observing his movements, could tell that the Argonian was a master armourer, which was a trait rare in the lizard race. However, he wouldn't complain if his armour was made by a Wood Elf, as long as they knew what they were doing. Varnado stepped over to the forge and laid the notes taken by Varus on a small table, rearranging them so that Gorgoth's order was the closest to the Argonian. The armourer stopped, briefly looked over the sheet, and held up ten scaled fingers.
Varnado translated as the lizard went back to work. "He says it'll take ten hours to make," he explained as he led Gorgoth back upstairs. "A very short time for an entire suit, but I made it a priority job; he'll haul in some magical help." The shopkeeper chuckled. "By that time, I'm pretty sure you'll have hit Bloodletter if you carry on like you have been." They had reached the shop floor; Rufus was still arguing with the Bosmer and a burly Imperial was casually leaning on Varnado's desk. "I'll catch you later," Varnado muttered, heading over to his customer. Gorgoth nodded and left.
The sun was high in the sky, but it wasn't yet noon. Gorgoth's stomach rumbled; a nearby Altmer woman looked around, trying to spot the location of the muted avalanche. Gorgoth, heeding the timely reminder to have breakfast, started off for the Feed Bag.
Delos seemed happy at the arrival of a returning customer and immediately found Gorgoth a table with a larger, stronger-looking seat. He then busied himself with shouting through into the kitchen while Gorgoth downed a tankard of beer. He rarely drank water; beer was better for nutrition and the weak alcoholic content of non-Orcish beer made virtually no impact on an Orc the size of Gorgoth.
In short order, his requested breakfast had arrived. Knowing the importance of large amounts of energy reserves, Gorgoth had his plate piled high with bacon, eggs, beans, tomatoes, sausages and some kind of potato. It was probably the biggest breakfast ever served by Delos, as evidenced by the Dunmer's wide eyes before hurrying off to deal with other customers.
Gorgoth proceeded to stuff his body with food until he noticed two people sit down across from him at his table. He looked up to observe an Argonian and a female Redguard, both sweating profusely and neither wearing very much. The way their muscles were formed and the way they moved gave Gorgoth subtle hints about their occupation; that and the fact that he'd seen them sparring in the Arena grounds reinforced his assumption that they were gladiators at the Arena, or at least training to be gladiators.
"Gorgoth gro-Kharz, am I right?" asked the Redguard. She seemed to be fairly good-looking under the sweat, but Gorgoth had never been interested in the Redguard kind of beauty, or human beauty of any kind, for that matter.
Gorgoth simply nodded and speared another sausage with his knife.
"I'm Branwen, and this is Saliith," she explained, indicating her Argonian friend, who nodded to Gorgoth. Branwen leaned forward, peering up at Gorgoth's face. He swallowed his sausage and stared down at her. "We're training to be combatants in the Arena and, we wondered if you could give us any tips? You know, you seem to be..." she trailed off nervously under Gorgoth's unblinking, unmoving gaze.
"Eh... if you get angry, it was her idea," rasped Saliith, jabbing his thumb at Branwen. His Redguard friend grimaced.
"Advice?" grunted Gorgoth. They both nodded. "Use weapons," he simply replied, picking up a rasher of bacon and stuffing it into his mouth.
The two trainee gladiators exchanged nervous glances, then turned back to the Orc. "We assumed our fists and feet would be good enough weapons," started Saliith, but was cut off by Gorgoth looking up again.
"They're good enough, until you come up against some gladiator who's just as quick as you are, but who wields a blade or mace" he growled. "Then you're fucked." His plate mostly clean, Gorgoth pushed it away and drained his third beer.
After exchanging yet another glance, Branwen and Saliith were caught off guard when Gorgoth abruptly stood. They jumped to their feet with such rapidity that both their chairs clattered to the floor. "Then could you tell us what weapons would be best?" asked Branwen. Both she and her compatriot seemed pretty determined to succeed, and if Gorgoth had been correct in his assumption that they were fanatical trainers. It was the least he could do to reward such dedication, especially after putting a damper on it.
"Talk to me at the Arena after my next match," he replied. "I'll examine you and tell you what weapons would suit you best. Now get some energy in you." He tossed a handful of coins to Delos and walked out of the Feed Bag. The two would-be gladiators looked out after him, exchanged another long glance, then sat down again and ordered breakfast.
As Gorgoth entered the bloodworks, Owyn turned round from shouting at a trembling gladiator and beckoned him over. The Orc, now used to the workings of the bloodworks, ducked around the various swords and made his way over to the Blademaster unscathed. "Got a match for you, after the pair of Pit Dogs have finished up there," reported Owyn. Gorgoth motioned for him to continue. "Two Bosmer sisters. They always fight together. One a swordsmer, the other an archer. Should be a cut above the crap you've faced so far." Owyn turned, and, predictably, spat. "Good enough for you?"
Gorgoth nodded and settled down to wait. Owyn grunted and turned back to the quaking gladiator, continuing his tongue lashing. Something about the Bloodletter trying to pick up his fallen opponent's sword. Gorgoth absently listened with half an ear while watching Agronak spar with an Imperial. After a few short minutes, the Imperial limped off with numerous bruises. The Grand Champion hadn't even broken a sweat.
The Orc's attention was drawn to the two cleaners carrying out the remains of what looked like a Khajiit from the Arena. Owyn jerked his thumb in the direction of the ramp. Gorgoth drew his mace and started up the blood-soaked ramp, more slippery than it had been earlier due to the addition of fresh blood. The handprints were still visible on the door. Gorgoth idly wondered how long they'd been there as he kicked the door open.
The long walk to the sands of the Arena was becoming second nature to Gorgoth by now. The announcer's speech never seemed to get less boring. Arriving in the Blue Team cage, Gorgoth sized up his opponents. The two sisters looked physically similar. However, their equipment set them apart. The slightly larger of the two wore a heavy raiment with a Dwarven-made claymore on her back, the hilt visible over her shoulder. It was nearly as long as she was tall. As Gorgoth watched, she swigged down a potion and drew her claymore, seemingly infused with the energy received from the potion.
The other sister was a more typical Bosmer. Light raiment and a short bow held in her right hand, her left hand resting on the full quiver at her hip. The bow might have been short, but it was perfect for Arena work, where the distance to the target would never exceed the bow's short range, and rate of fire could prove crucial.
Not on Gorgoth. He cast his usual cocktail of spells, increasing the power of the shield spell. It would take a long bow, wielded by a strong man, to penetrate his spell and armour; the short bow wielded by the Bosmer simply lacked the power to do so. Rate of fire counted for nothing when the arrows would simply bounce off.
The announcer finished his heralding of the upcoming match and sat down, growling at a nearby servant to fetch him some water. Gorgoth walked out onto the sands, his mace dangling by his side. He slowed and waited for the two Bosmer sisters to come to him.
The archer immediately darted off to the side, took careful aim, and fired. Gorgoth nimbly sidestepped; no point in risking his life and putting his entire trust in his spell, even though he'd used it hundreds of times and it had never once failed him. The Bosmer grimaced and fired again, only for Gorgoth to dodge again; the arrow grazed his shoulder, doing nothing.
The other, claymore-wielding sister had reached the Orc, and screamed as she put all her power into a mighty slash aimed at cleaving his body in two. Gorgoth sidestepped and kicked her back leg from under her. The Yellow team Brawler's momentum carried her to the floor with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. As she struggled to maintain her grip on her claymore, Gorgoth spun round in time to block a lunge from the other Bosmer; seeing her bow as useless, she'd dropped it and drawn a shortsword.
Gorgoth moved in and, dodging her inexpert swing, grabbed her by the raiment and threw her, one-handed, across half the Arena. With that distraction dealt with, to the audible gasps of the crowd as such a display of strength, Gorgoth turned back to the swordsmer. She'd managed to crawl away and recover, holding her claymore in a defensive position. Knowing that he didn't have long before the other Bosmer could become a literal thorn in his side, Gorgoth moved in to attack.
The Bosmer barely blocked his first swing. She'd been expecting a long, slow attack; what she had to deal with was a mace head flying at her face with undeniable speed. Her parry deflected it, but the sheer force of the blow staggered her. The Orc didn't let up, swinging again and again, opening cracks in her defence. It was clear that she was mainly an offensive warrior, and claymores weren't nearly as good as shields for blocking attacks.
Gorgoth, sensing rather than hearing the embattled Bosmer's sister scrambling to her feet, kicked the Brawler's claymore away and swung his mace up into her exposed chin. The attack was so fast and vicious she didn't have time to dodge. However, she did have the sense to move with the blow, which meant instead of dying immediately, her skull simply attempted to reposition itself an inch higher up than nature would naturally allow. Gorgoth turned away from the falling Bosmer and turned his other opponent, who shrieked in fury at her sister's demise and launched herself at Gorgoth.
The Orc simply grabbed her sword arm and lifted her up so they saw face to face. Her legs weakly kicked from two feet in the air. "Fighting with one you love is always complicated," growled the Orc, ignoring her fury and attempts to spit in his eyes. "It clouds your mind when they go down. Makes you weak." Gorgoth rammed his mace into the loop on his belt, straightened out his fist, and put all his strength into a wicked jab into the Bosmer's gut. His armoured hand tore straight through the light raiment, through her guts, and out the other side, awash with blood and intestinal matter.
The crowd gasped as the Bosmer's eyes grew wide. A few weak attempts at speech led to nothing more than blood trickling from her mouth. Gorgoth withdrew his hand from her body and threw her to the floor. After a few feeble attempts to stand, she gave up the ghost, eyes glazing over as she stared at the sky. Gorgoth turned and walked back to the Blue team entrance, glancing at the other Bosmer on the way. She, too, was dead, her face unrecognisable.
After washing his hands in the Basin of Renewal, Gorgoth walked up to Owyn and tapped him on the shoulder. The Blademaster barely turned away from the Yellow team gladiator he was shouting at as he chucked a bag of coins in Gorgoth's general direction. The Orc deftly caught it and pocketed it as he walked out of the bloodworks.
Gorgoth spotted Branwen and Saliith almost instantly, in the midst of the crumbling Aylied pillars where they normally trained. As he walked up, they broke off their discussion and turned to him. Gorgoth said nothing, merely folded his arms and examined them thoroughly with his eyes, taking in every detail of their bodies, walking round them to see them from all sides. The two trainee gladiators exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. Gorgoth walked back around in front of them and motioned for Saliith to step forward.
The lizard stepped forward almost warily, but didn't wince when Gorgoth grabbed him and started going over his entire body in meticulous detail, analysing every muscle, every tendon. The Argonian's scales were rough under his thick, green fingers. Gorgoth straightened and grunted.
"You can move quick, and you're flexible, typical of your race," he reported. "With training, you could be deadly with a couple of short blades. Use light armour, dance around your opponent, tire him out and get under his guard. Maybe consider using throwing knifes in a tight spot if you can aim well enough." The Orc slapped Saliith on the shoulder and turned to Branwen. "You next."
The Redguard stepped forward to submit herself to Gorgoth's probing examination. The Orc gave her the same treatment as he had her Argonian comrade, going over every muscle in detail. She understandably stiffened when he got too close to certain areas, but he just muttered for her to grow up and continued. Gorgoth finished and straightened.
"You're built for the longsword and shield, girl," he muttered, indicating her arms. "You've got enough muscle to pull it off, but don't burden yourself too heavily. Movement will be nearly as important as blocking for you, as you don't have the strength that a man does, so you can't absorb blows as easily as him. Use a fairly light shield, one with a sharp edge so you can use it as a weapon if need be." Gorgoth stepped back and alternated his gaze between the two of them.
"I'm well trained in just about every weapon under the sun," he stated, folding his arms. "If you can manage to get some weapons that actually work, I might be able to give you a few pointers, but don't expect me to fully teach you in their proper usage. I've got work to occupy me." Gorgoth wasn't prepared to sit around training potential gladiators when he had the Amulet of Kings sitting in his pocket, waiting to be delivered to Jauffre.
"No worries," rasped Saliith. "You've been a help already. If we'd gone in there with bare fists, I can see how we'd have been killed." Branwen nodded, agreeing with her scaled friend.
"Get some weapons," instructed Gorgoth. "Good quality ones, not the shit you'll find in the bloodworks." He was turning even before they scampered off to the Market District. The sun was still ascending to its noonday peak; easily enough time to get enough money together for the armour. He turned back to the Arena, intending to reach Bloodletter rank and get the real money in, but a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Hey, big guy," called a female voice from behind the huge Orc. Gorgoth turned to find himself staring at a Bosmer. "I was watching that last match of yours," she continued. "Pretty solid spell you've got there." Her voice managed to be flippant and sultry at the same time.
Gorgoth guessed that men and mer would find the Wood Elf standing before him attractive, but he was no expert on their kind of beauty. She was clad in full leather armour, apart from her bare head. She leaned on a powerful silver-worked composite bow that was almost as tall as her, reaching her chin. At this close range, Gorgoth could sense the magicka emanating from its powerful enchantment. The Bosmer looked like she knew how to use it. She herself was tall for a Wood Elf, five foot one, which brought her head to about the level of Gorgoth's lower chest. Fierce blue eyes full of confidence stared up at him from a pale face framed by locks of auburn hair, the remainder of which was loosely tied high in a long ponytail that reached her waist. Gorgoth guessed her to be young, very young, twenty at the most, yet the way she moved and held herself suggested experience.
"I've always used defensive magics," retorted the Orc, folding his arms. "Helps keep me alive. Your point?"
One side of the Bosmer's mouth pulled up in a smirk. "Betcha I can penetrate it with this baby," she claimed, patting her bow. "You can call the distance, but I can break through whatever with Trueshot here."
Gorgoth considered her without so much as moving a muscle. She obviously had confidence in abundance, both in herself and in her bow. "Go ahead," he grunted, casting his strongest shield spell and holding up his left hand, fingers splayed out. "Hit the centre of the palm. Twenty metres."
"You bet," she laughed, turning and walking to twenty metres away. The way she moved seemed to be purposefully adapted to attract the eyes of all nearby men. Gorgoth himself was unaffected. Distractions could kill.
She raised her bow, nocked an arrow, and loosed, all in one, smooth, quick motion. The arrow flew straight into Gorgoth's palm. He lowered his hand and looked at it. Alteration was one of his strong points, and his shield spell was well known by people in Orsinium for keeping both himself and his comrades alive. Yet the arrow from Trueshot had seemingly completely ignored it and was now neatly resting in the centre of his palm, the blood-streaked head and half the shaft sticking out the back of his hand. Gorgoth kept his face still as he tore the arrow out and healed the wound.
The Bosmer was laughing as she sauntered back up to him. "Bet ya weren't expecting that, huh, big guy?" she laughed, taking her arrow back and replacing it in the bristling quiver at her hip.
Gorgoth merely grunted. "So your enchanted bow can penetrate just about anything. Your point is?"
"Just wanted to see if it would work," replied the archer. "Name's Aerin. Archer and Warrior of the Arena. Nice ta meet ya, Gorgoth." Aerin patted Trueshot and slung the bow onto her back. "You staying here at the Arena long? It's good to see someone around who seems to just effortlessly shatter the opposition. Makes a nice change from the long, drawn-out, boring battles I get forced to watch sometimes." She folded her arms and pouted.
"Believe me, I'm not doing this because I like it," growled Gorgoth. "It's a means to an end; I need money for armour better than this shit they call a raiment. Then I'm off to deliver something." Gorgoth obviously wasn't going to tell someone who'd just shot him about the Amulet of Kings. "Speaking of which, where's your raiment?"
"Are you kidding?" giggled Aerin, starting to slowly saunter her way over to a large pool of water. Gorgoth fell in beside her for lack of a better thing to do. "A raiment like that on a girl like me, all the time, when I don't have to?" She shook her head. "I don't get regular matches. Means I get more free time for hunting and shooting Orcs who like Alteration. So I can wear what I bloody well like most of the time." She grinned and hoisted herself up to sit on the wall surrounding the water.
Gorgoth sat down beside her. His feet reached the ground easily, whereas her feet were lazily swinging at least a foot from the ground. "I've never seen Owyn promote someone so quickly," observed Aerin. "Three matches and you're a Brawler?" She sighed. "Took me seven hard battles to get up to Brawler. That was before I had Trueshot, though."
"I don't care for the man's motives," replied Gorgoth. "I just want my money, then I'll be gone as soon as I've got my armour, which is later today." He eased the head of his mace out of his ribs.
"And then you're off to deliver something? As simple as that?" Aerin was toying with one of her tresses of auburn hair. Gorgoth nodded in reply. "Somehow I doubt it'd be anything ordinary. You seem ta exude adventure and danger, big guy." She looked up at him as though expecting a confirmation.
"Maybe it's simply because I'm bloody dangerous," growled Gorgoth. "And, no, I have no intention of telling you what my quest is. You can use your breath for a more constructive purpose."
"Ya really didn't want ta deny me there, big guy," purred Aerin, leaning in closer to him, staring up at him through her long eyelashes. "I can be very persistent when I need ta be."
Gorgoth grunted and stood. "I'm sure you can," he replied, striding off towards the Arena. "No sense in wasting my time when I could be fighting." Aerin didn't follow him; he would likely throw her in the pool if she persisted.
With Branwen and Saliith still nowhere in sight, Gorgoth headed down to the bloodworks. Hundolin's bodyguards were busy pounding the living daylights out of a Breton who refused to accept that he'd lost his bet. The Orc ignored them and kicked open the door to the bloodworks. As usual, the stench of sweat and blood washed over him in a powerful wave, but he ignored it. Owyn was in his 'office', having an animated conversation with the Battle Matron, Ysabel Andronicus, one of the few who could have an argument with Owyn and win.
As Gorgoth stomped up, Owyn threw his hands in the air and turned away from the indomitable Imperial, his eyes falling on Gorgoth and lighting up as he found a reason to get away from the Battle Matron. "Right, I take it you want a fight?" he asked, ignoring Ysabel glaring at his back. "Well, you're gonna have to wait. Got to balance these things out, you see. Come check after lunch." Owyn shrugged as an apology and hurriedly walked off to shout at someone else.
Gorgoth merely grunted and returned to the surface. As he emerged into the late morning sunshine, he nearly walked into an Imperial, the one he recognised as having shoved into a crate outside the Best Defence. The arrogant nobleman squawked at the sight of the warrior-shaman, but Gorgoth gave him no time to do anything else, pushing him down the stairs and through the door into the bloodworks. Ignoring Hundolin's dropping jaw, Gorgoth looked out over the Arena grounds.
Agronak was being restrained from killing his fan by two guards; Aerin was practising with Trueshot, aiming at targets from ludicrous ranges, and Branwen and Saliith were in their normal area, sparring with each other, not with their fists, but with the weapons he'd recommended. Gorgoth walked over, his heavy feet crunching on the sand.
"Don't stay still, either of you," he muttered, causing Branwen to spin and stare at him in surprise, while Saliith simply dropped his arms to his sides. The Redguard obviously hadn't heard him coming, while the lizard had. "Saliith, your main weapon is your mobility, and, Branwen, you shouldn't leave yourself open, your armour is too light to take many hits. Move around and use your shield as a mobile wall." They nodded and started sparring again. Gorgoth folded his arms and watched.
"You've got natural ability, both of you," he commented, after a few minutes of watching. "Join the Arena now, and you'd at least hold your own against the Pit Dogs. Then you can learn and become better through experience." He moved on without waiting for their reply, leaving them to it. He wasn't about to get stuck in and actually teach them how to use the damn things; they knew how to handle them well enough already, by the look of it.
Walking past Agronak, who was in an animated argument with the two guards while his fan danced around them, pelting his hero with flowers, Gorgoth squinted up at the sun. Still not yet noon. Making his way over to a quiet group of bushes, the warrior-shaman checked that no-one was looking, then dug his hand under his raiment and pulled the Amulet of Kings out from his pocket. The massive ruby and the fine gold chain glittered in the sunlight. Gorgoth could feel the magicka running through it; apparently it was used in a ceremony of some sort at the coronation.
It had never once occurred to Gorgoth to walk away from his Emperor-given duty. It had been the old man's dying wish that he deliver the Amulet to Jauffre; Gorgoth wasn't going to go against that wish. Besides, if the Orc was correct in his understanding, the fate of the Empire could possibly rest on this quest. Without an Emperor, there would be no real Empire. Gorgoth sincerely hoped that the Dragon Blood in the Emperor had been right to choose him for this quest; the Blades would likely have been more efficient.
Footsteps crunched on the grass, breaking through his thoughts. Gorgoth shoved the Amulet back under his raiment and turned to face the source of the footsteps. A Dunmer gladiator walked past, nodding to Gorgoth in greeting. Gorgoth nodded back and took another look at the sun. It was almost directly overhead. The warrior-shaman sighed and looked towards the Market District. An early lunch wouldn't hurt.
Aerin breathed a sigh of relief as the Orc stomped off in the direction of the Market District. She felt sure that he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if he'd known that she'd sneaked into the bushes to spy on this intriguing Orc. No wonder he'd been so secretive. The Bosmer's eyes were still wide as she walked back to the practise range; it wasn't every day you saw the Amulet of Kings in the hands of an Orc. There were rumours around that the Emperor was dead; Aerin had thought that a bit premature, the old man had only been missing for two days, but the sight of the Amulet in those green hands had shaken her. Who was Gorgoth gro-Kharz?
A/N: Yes, another gentle reminder: Review.