A/N: An explanation is in order. The reason this took so long to upload is simply that my computer died for two and a half weeks. As you can imagine, it was insanely annoying, as I could have easily been churning out chapters every few days in the time I had. I'll now have to make do with what time I've got...
Many thanks to those of you who reviewed, but updates will be slow...
Chapter Seven: The Last Bloodletting
The sun was edging past its noonday peak when Gorgoth returned to the Arena. Branwen and Saliith were still diligently practising; too absorbed to notice the Orc as he walked past. The warrior-shaman was in a good mood; soon he'd have enough money to get his armour and be on his way to Weynon Priory, out of this dishonourable world of bloodsport. He even returned Hundolin's nervous greeting with a nod as he entered the bloodworks.
Owyn was nowhere in sight. A Pit Dog pointed him in the direction of the gladiator's stands, where the Blademaster was watching a match just about to start. Gorgoth headed up the wooden stairs, which creaked and groaned under his weight. The sun's rays enveloped him in their warm embrace as he emerged from the tunnel. There were various gladiators gathered, and the Orc elbowed his way through them until he was leaning on the barricade between a Dunmeri Blue team gladiator and Owyn. The crusty Redguard acknowledged him with a grunt before returning his eyes to the Arena.
"I'm telling you, Owyn, her raiment modifications might be illegal, but they can't really be described as an unfair advantage," the Dunmer was saying, leaning casually on the barricade with his eyes fixated on the Yellow team cage. Owyn simply grunted in reply. "Unless you could say it distracts the enemy," continued the Dunmer, laughing. "But you've got to admit, the crowd loves her."
Gorgoth, slightly interested, followed the Dunmer's gaze. Inside the Yellow team's gladiator cage was Aerin, holding Trueshot ready with an arrow nocked. Typical of her personality, she was winking and blowing kisses to the crowd. Gorgoth noted that she really was using every weapon at her disposal, which included the use of her attractive body. Gorgoth's raiment reached to just below his knees, but Aerin's stopped near the tops of her thighs. Completing the picture were her boots, which reached to just above her knees.
Gorgoth tilted his head slightly. "I suppose she trades upper leg protection for ankle and knee protection," he commented to the Dark Elf. "Or maybe you're right, and she does just want to distract the opposition." He snorted. "No good warrior would be distracted by such a thing."
"I guess you're right," conceded the Dunmer as the announcer stepped back, his speech finished. "But I'm not fighting her right now, so I have a right to be distracted." He flashed Gorgoth a toothy grin before turning back to leer at Aerin saunter out of the cage.
The Bosmer was, as usual, supremely confident in herself, her own abilities, and those of her bow. She gave a last wink to the crowd and raised Trueshot, drawing and firing seemingly without aiming. Her opponent, an Orc wielding a one-handed axe and a shield, was an easy target, but he, too, was skilled. The arrow embedded itself in the solid steel of his shield, the sheer power of the projectile throwing him off balance slightly, but he continued his determined advance. With astounding rapidity, Aerin had nocked, drawn, and released another arrow almost before the other had struck. Her second arrow was also blocked, along with her third and fourth. Gorgoth could see the Wood Elf's cockiness disappearing along with the distance between her and the Orc.
"Oh, Vivec, I really hope he doesn't gut her," moaned the Dunmer beside Gorgoth. "She's too good-looking to be wasted in this Arena!" His normally ash-coloured knuckles were white from gripping the barricade. Gorgoth was unconcerned. Everyone died, sooner or later. And the Bosmer's attitude had annoyed him.
The Orc roared and put on a burst of speed, swinging his axe overhead and down in a mighty cleave. Aerin hugged Trueshot to her body and rolled out of the way, slinging the bow onto her back as she got to her feet. The archer snatched a beautiful, curved, elven-made shortsword from her belt and crouched down, one knee bent, the other leg stretched across the sands, ready and waiting for the Orc to make his next move.
She didn't have to wait long. The opposing Warrior growled and charged forward, lashing out with his shield at the same time as chopping down at her outstretched leg. Aerin pivoted on her bent leg and avoided both attacks, leaping up behind the Orc and stabbing him in the lower back. The Warrior tensed and snarled at the sudden pain. He smashed his elbow behind him, catching Aerin in her ribs and throwing her to the sands. Grunting at the stabbing pain, the Orc dropped his shield and slowly turned, Aerin's sinuous shortsword still sticking out of his back. It had sliced through flesh and muscle, but the damage wasn't fatal.
However, the wound slowed the Orc, and that was fatal. Aerin rapidly crawled away and wrenched Trueshot off her back. Rising to a crouch, she nocked, drew, and loosed before the wounded Orc had a chance to reach her. The arrow imbedded itself in his chest. Thick blood started dribbling from his mouth, but still the warrior stumbled on, raising his axe. Aerin scrambled backwards and fired again. The Orc's progress was erratic, meaning that her shot missed his heart and slammed into his shoulder, making him stumble and fall to his knees. He looked up at his enemy. The last thing his yellow eyes saw was the arrow flying towards his head.
Owyn was already on his way back to the bloodworks. The Dunmer gladiator beside Gorgoth was cheering wildly, as was most of the crowd, while the announcer burst into a speech of praise and Aerin raised a clenched fist in victory. Gorgoth merely turned and walked back down to the bloodworks. He had better things to do than watch a half-dressed, flirtatious Bosmer prance around in a sandpit.
Owyn was leaning on the wall near the Basin of Renewal located at the exit of the Yellow team's tunnel, which was identical to that of the Blue team, waiting for Aerin to come and collect her pay; his impatience was apparent to all. Gorgoth walked up and leaned on the wall next to him, folding his arms. Without speaking, Owyn knew what the Orc wanted.
"As soon as she gets her lazy arse down here, I'll get someone else for you to fight," he told Gorgoth, who nodded appreciatively.
It took a few minutes for Aerin to finally swagger her way down the ramp, by which time Owyn was fuming. Gorgoth was surprised that he didn't see steam coming from the Redguard's ears as he rammed the coins into the Bosmer's hands, growled something incomprehensible, and stomped off with a snarl plastered across his face when Aerin simply winked at him. The Bosmer giggled and turned to Gorgoth, her smile slipping when she saw him for some reason.
"Hey, big guy, I need ta ask ya something, OK?" she asked Gorgoth, her voice losing some of its flippancy. She seemed serious for once. "Meet me in the Bloated Float in the Waterfront. Ya can't miss it; it's a bloody big boat that's also an inn." Without giving him time to do more than nod, she sauntered off, drawing appreciative gazes from most of the gladiators in the bloodworks who had a working pair of eyes.
Gorgoth was left with no time to wonder over her abrupt change of disposition, as Owyn was already barging his way through the bloodworks. "I just sent up a Yellow team Khajiit," he growled. "He's got a bloody big axe and a tail that some find distracting." The Blademaster looked Gorgoth up and down. "Shouldn't be a problem for you," he finished, lightly punching the Orc on the shoulder and pushing him in the direction of the Blue team ramp.
The bloody ramp was by now second nature to Gorgoth; he could likely walk up it blindfolded without falling. The damp sand of the path to the gladiator cage crunched under his feet, his footprints bigger and deeper than any others. He could just about distinguish the footprints of the Orc who had fallen to Aerin; there was no return set of prints for that pair of boots.
Curiously, the announcer didn't burst into speech when Gorgoth reached the cage; the warrior-shaman looked up to find the fat Imperial hurriedly draining water from a jewelled goblet. He coughed and started his usual boring speech. Gorgoth idly wondered how much the man was paid as he cast his usual cocktail of defensive spells. His eyes dropped to the cat in the opposite cage. The Khajiit clutched a silver-enamelled battleaxe like he knew how to use it.
As the announcer ended his oddly short speech, Gorgoth charged out of the cage and rushed to meet the Yellow team combatant. The Khajiit's teeth were bared in a snarl, and his ears lay flat on his head. As always in the heat of combat, Gorgoth's impeccable control of his emotions slipped, and a snarl crept over his fearsome features. Back in Orsinium, a few of his companions had said of him: 'when Gorgoth snarls, expect a lot of blood', as battle was the only time the Orc's control of his outward demeanour even slightly slipped by accident.
The Khajiit leapt into the air, spinning his entire body to put his weight behind the axe, aiming at Gorgoth's midsection. The warrior-shaman ducked low under the blow and smashed his fist into the cat's knee. Still in midair, the Brawler spun and landed in a heap, quickly rolling to his feet and hissing at Gorgoth. Both Brawlers crouched and circled each other, the incessant roars of the crowd urging them on.
Gorgoth moved in swiftly. His mace smashed into the Khajiit's axe with the harsh grating of steel grinding on steel. While both his opponent's hands were occupied, Gorgoth moved closer and slammed his left fist into the Brawler's ribs, once, twice, three times. As the cat sidestepped in an attempt to get away, still locking weapons, Gorgoth put all his strength into a savage kick into his opponent's right knee, while decreasing the pressure from his mace. The Khajiit howled as his knee was dislocated, his leg bending so far the wrong way that the audience gasped in sympathy.
The Yellow team combatant was down but still deadly. One hand gripped the haft of his battleaxe, and his eyes stared hatred at Gorgoth as the Orc moved in for the kill. His disadvantageous position meant that the Khajiit could no longer block effectively, and a feint from the warrior-shaman caught him out. A hissing roar of sheer agony erupted from the cat's throat as Gorgoth smashed his mace into his collarbone, forcing it through the unfortunate cat's left shoulder. Those in the audience who could see the white of the bone sticking reacted with a mixture of disgust and joy.
"Please... end it quickly," gasped the Khajiit, his face a picture of pain. Gorgoth granted his opponent's last wish by crushing the cat's skull with his mace. Cheers erupted from the audience, and the announcer, who had been anticipating the moment, leapt from his chair to burst into yet more rhetoric. Gorgoth wondered if anyone actually listened to the man as he walked out of the Arena down to the bloodworks.
"A hundred fifty," grunted Owyn as he tossed Gorgoth his pay. "You're getting better known, Bloodletter. Might end up making a name for yourself."
"Not likely," replied Gorgoth, stashing the bag of coins under his raiment. "I won't be staying for much longer. I've got business." The Orc was unsure of what would happen when he delivered the Amulet to Jauffre, but he knew one thing for sure; he wouldn't be returning to the Arena any time soon.
"That's what they all say..." growled Owyn as he turned on his heel and stalked off.
Gorgoth sat down on a nearby bedroll and started counting his money. He'd paid for three meals at the Feed Bag, and tossed a coin to a beggar earlier, but those were his only outlays. Five hundred and six drakes should be enough to get most of the armour Varnado had promised, but, just to be sure, Gorgoth resigned himself to fighting one more battle. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do, apart from meet Aerin at the Bloated Float.
Stopping briefly to heal Branwen, who'd been stabbed by Saliith when their sparring grew intense, Gorgoth headed over to where he assumed the Waterfront would be. He ended up completely lost in the maze of streets that was the Imperial City. Asking guards for directions several times, the Orc finally made it to the Waterfront.
One of the more friendly guards had warned him to watch his pockets; the Waterfront was supposedly rife with thieves, bandits, and the like, and most of it wasn't heavily patrolled. Gorgoth could see why: The docks and lighthouse were typically Imperial and well-maintained, but most of the Waterfront was a slum, with small, dilapidated shacks lining the dirt streets, much like large areas of the city of Orsinium. Dirty, destitute dwellers easily outnumbered the few guards who were patrolling away from the docks.
Gorgoth shouldered his way through the crowds, heading towards the Bloated Float, which was, thankfully, clearly indicated. His pockets were secure under his raiment, so it would take a brave or foolish thief to attempt to take Gorgoth's gold or the Amulet. Gorgoth guessed that his size also worked in his favour; his passive, mostly unintended intimidation was working unexpected wonders in Cyrodiil.
The simple plank of wood leading to the Bloated Float groaned under Gorgoth's weight. As he entered, a large Orc, clearly a bouncer, looked up, nodded in greeting, then went back to observing the numerous patrons, who were in various states of intoxication. Gorgoth was looking around, trying to locate Aerin, when the Bosmer materialised at his right elbow. "We need to talk. My place," she muttered, turning and walking out of the pub without waiting for a response. Gorgoth shrugged in response to the bouncer's inquisitive look and followed her out.
Aerin had found time to change back into her usual leather armour, but she was curiously ignoring the many leers she was receiving as a result, merely looking back occasionally to check that Gorgoth was following as she led him down a maze of streets. The shacks all looked the same; pathetic, badly-built one-room affairs. Gorgoth could probably tear one down with his bare hands. As they progressed further into the Waterfront, the streets got dirtier, the shacks got even more badly built, and the criminals got bigger. Predictably, it didn't take long for Aerin's looks to land her in trouble. Three dangerous-looking men, two Imperials and a Dunmer, menacingly fell in beside her, apparently failing to notice Gorgoth trailing behind. "Ok, love," growled one of the Imperials, a huge, burly man with a rough beard and bloodshot eyes. "Down the next alley on the left. Don't struggle and we won't make it hurt too much."
Aerin dashed forward and spun to face them, hands resting on the pair of elven shortswords crossed at her waist. The three men grimaced and grasped their own weapons. "So, you want to play it like that," snarled the Dunmer, reaching for his club. Gorgoth cleared his throat, a mighty rumble. The three criminals turned and immediately grew grim.
"Hey, friend, leave us alone, and we have no problems, savvy?" asked the other Imperial, this one thin, wiry, and with breath stinking of cheap alcohol.
Gorgoth's facial expression didn't change; he merely reached out with his arm and swung it in an arc, palm outwards. A stream of thick green magic flew from his hand, enveloping the would-be rapists. Before they had time to react, the illusion magic had dissipated, but their bodies were now as stiff as boards. With shocked expressions frozen on their faces, all three criminals hit the ground and lay there, gazing helplessly up at the sky. Gorgoth simply stepped over their paralysed forms and motioned for Aerin, who was looking at him with awe, to continue.
"I've never seen paralysation magic used like that," she said to him, staring up at him with new-found respect. "Who taught ya to do that?"
"No-one; no self-respecting shaman would rely entirely on another's teaching," replied Gorgoth. The three criminals were still lying helpless as they turned a corner. "I developed that spell, and many others, myself."
Aerin whistled in admiration as she approached a shack that looked identical to the shoddy buildings surrounding it and rammed a key into the rickety door. Gorgoth couldn't really see why she locked it; a good kick would probably collapse the entire structure, let alone the door. The Bosmer rammed the door open with her shoulder and gestured to him, telling him to get inside.
Gorgoth squeezed past her into her shack. She shut the door and moved to sit on the bed as he observed his surroundings. There was a single, small, unmade bed shoved against the wall. A small stove sat in the corner, and bloody hooks hang from the ceiling, clearly used to hang animal carcasses from. Light streaming from the three small windows revealed the large quantities of dust spread over the bare wooden floor; the entire shack was a mess, with random books, food, and arrows lying everywhere. Typical of its owner's personality. A small table was bare and had two small chairs nearby. Aerin, sitting on the bed with a booted foot resting on one knee, motioned for him to take a chair, but, looking down at the spindly, weak excuse for a chair, Gorgoth grunted.
"Think I'd best stay standing," he muttered, leaning back against the door and folding his arms.
"Suit yourself," sighed Aerin. "I need to talk to ya, big guy. I was watching in the Arena grounds. I probably shouldn't have sneaked up on ya, but, you kinda radiate adventure, ya know?" She looked nervous, unconsciously twisting a tress of her auburn hair.
Gorgoth's face might as well have been hewn from granite for all it reacted to Aerin's statement. "Go on," he rumbled.
"I saw the Amulet of Kings." The sentence escaped the Bosmer's lips in a rush, and she looked up at Gorgoth, nervously anticipating his reaction. His face didn't change. Nor did he speak. Unnerved by the growing silence, Aerin nervously stood and started chewing her bottom lip. "And, I was wondering, if ah... well, you know, some say the Emperor is dead. Know anything about that?" Still no reaction. The Orc hadn't even blinked. Aerin was starting to wonder if he'd accidentally paralyzed himself when he reacted.
She wasn't expecting an explosion of speed from the massive Orc, whose head brushed the ceiling. Nor was she expecting to be grabbed roughly by the throat and slammed against the wall of her own shack so hard that the entire structure shook and the air was forced from her lungs. Her feet scrabbled pathetically from two feet up in the air. However, what scared her most was Gorgoth's face; it still remained emotionless. No outward indication of what he was feeling; apart from those steely yellow eyes boring into her skull.
"Did you tell anyone else?" grated Gorgoth. Aerin could only gurgle and frantically beat at his hands to indicate that she couldn't breathe. The huge Orc loosened his grip slightly.
"No, I'm honestly not that stupid," she gasped as soon as she could draw air into her lungs. She was drawing breath for another statement when Gorgoth abruptly released her. Not expecting this sudden freedom, she collapsed into an undignified heap, massaging her throat as she unsteadily got to her feet.
Gorgoth was rubbing his chin, considering what to do with this over-inquisitive Bosmer. He'd already dismissed the thought of killing her; she was innocent, and had merely let her curiosity get the better of her. However, she possessed so little knowledge that it might be dangerous; Gorgoth admitted that a massive Orcish warrior-shaman only recently arrived in Cyrodiil but in possession of the Amulet of Kings would look suspiciously like an Emperor's killer. Gorgoth decided to throw caution to the winds.
"The Emperor is dead," he confirmed. Aerin paused in her massaging and stared at him. "I only witnessed his death through pure coincidence. Take a seat; this might take some believing." He himself moved back to lean on the opposite wall as Aerin shakily sat back down on the bed. Gorgoth raised his right hand and focused his magicka; sounds from the outside world, such as footsteps on the path and voices of passers-by, faded from existence.
"What...?" asked Aerin, wondering over the sudden absence of sound.
"Another spell I developed myself," grunted Gorgoth by way of explanation. "A variation of a very old Silence spell. It encases a certain area with Illusion magic, so that no sound gets in our out. For now, no word leaves this shack. Very useful for dealing with eavesdroppers."
"Yeah, yeah, nice spell and all that, but can we talk about Uriel?" asked Aerin, regaining some of her old cockiness, though she was still shaken by how quickly Gorgoth had rendered her helpless.
The warrior-shaman leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I was taken to Cyrodiil to be thrown into the Imperial prison for reasons that I won't discuss; they are not important. I woke up wounded and under the influence of a Silence spell. Not a pleasurable first impression of the first real foreign nation I have visited." Gorgoth grunted without opening his eyes. "What is important, however, is that Uriel himself arrived at my cell." He now opened his eyes to observe the Bosmer's expression; she was clearly as shocked as he had been.
The Bosmer opened her mouth, but Gorgoth continued over her. "His sons had been killed by assassins. His Blades were taking him through a secret escape tunnel that ran through my cell."
"Nice coincidence, huh?" A smirk had crept onto Aerin's face, though she was still paler than normal. Gorgoth ignored her.
"To cut a long story short, we made it through the tunnels to a locked gate. We were ambushed, and, the Emperor, who all this time has been talking about his destined fate and how the Divines guide us all, put the Amulet in my hands and told me to take it the Grandmaster of the Blades." Gorgoth' eyes had closed again; he didn't normally speak this much.
"What's the point of keeping the Amulet safe if there's no Dragon Blood ta wear it?" asked Aerin.
"Uriel claimed to have another heir somewhere, and that Jauffre knew how to find him," replied Gorgoth. "He might be a bastard, but he's the last of the Dragon Blood on Nirn, so only he can relight the Dragonfires." The Orc stopped leaning on the wall and straightened. The tops of his braids brushed the ceiling, but he ignored them. "Now you know everything you need to know."
"So... you've been told by the Emperor himself to get to this Grandmaster and give him the Amulet?" Aerin was rubbing her chin, her foot incessantly tapping the floor, evidently deep in thought. Gorgoth nodded. "In that case, why are you busy kicking arses in the Arena when you have this Imperial quest to carry out?"
Gorgoth tapped his raiment. "You expect me to go traipsing around a country I've never been to, wearing this sorry excuse for heavy armour?" he growled. "I told you before, once I get my armour, I'm out of here, off to Weynon Priory."
"A powerful mage like you, waiting on some armour ta be made?" Aerin didn't quite seem to have grasped Gorgoth's mentality.
"Relying exclusively on magic will inevitably lead to vulnerability, which I'd rather not expose myself to when I'm carrying what might be the last hope of all Nirn in my pocket," explained Gorgoth. "Now I'm off to see if Owyn can get me set up with one last match; it'll be all I need to pay for my new armour." The Orc turned to leave, but was stopped by Aerin putting a hand on his shoulder. She had to stretch up to reach.
"Were ya taken to the Imperial prison wearing armour?" she asked. Gorgoth nodded, not willing to explain why he had been taken to be executed. "Then why don't ya try and get it back? It'll be a damn sight better than what they have on offer here."
Gorgoth snorted. "An ex-prisoner, supposed to be scheduled for execution, walks back into the prison and demands his armour back?" Gorgoth shook his head. "No, I've long given up any hope of getting it back; it's better to kill hope early than maintain false hope."
"Well..." Aerin bit her lower lip again. "I could try ta get it back for ya. As a kind of repayment for helping me out against those thugs earlier, ya know?"
Gorgoth shrugged and dispelled the Silence spell that had invisibly coated the walls of the shack. "Feel free to try," he grunted, opening the door. "I'll come back here after my next match. Good luck, though I will be surprised if you pull anything off." He paused with a hand on the doorframe. "And thanks. Thanks for offering." With that, he walked out into the street.
The Orc had already resigned himself to the fact that he would have no clue how to get out of the maze of dirt streets of the Waterfront, so he walked over to a nearby beggar crouching at the street corner. The scrawny Imperial looked up fearfully as Gorgoth approached, and the warrior-shaman would be the first to admit that he didn't look particularly charitable. However, the beggar swiftly brightened and knuckled his forehead when Gorgoth slipped him two drakes, and promised him three more if he took him back to the docks.
The beggar's eagerness for coin meant that Gorgoth was swiftly back at the docks, from which he could return to the Imperial City proper and find his way back to the Arena. Thanking the Imperial and giving him the promised drakes, Gorgoth managed to find his way back to the Arena in just under, by his approximation, an hour and a half.
Gorgoth was about to enter the bloodworks when the door flew open and Saliith walked out. Blood stained his two shortswords, but the Argonian looked happy. At least, the expression on his face looked like one of happiness; it was hard to tell with Argonians. Apon seeing Gorgoth, Saliith's smile grew wider.
"Good to see you, Gorgoth," rasped the Argonian. "Since you left, me and Branwen joined. Now each of us has a battle behind us. Thanks for the tips; I'd have been gutted in that last fight if I'd used my fists." The Argonian seemed genuinely grateful.
"My pleasure," muttered Gorgoth, shouldering his way past the lizard and entering the bloodworks. Saliith shouted a farewell which Gorgoth responded to by giving a nod over his shoulder before the heavy door banged shut.
The bloodworks was at its usual afternoon peak. Gorgoth ducked around various weapons as he looked around for Owyn. He found the Blademaster in an animated argument with Branwen, who, as Gorgoth approached, threw up her hands in frustration and stormed off. Owyn grimaced after the Redguard Pit Dog, then shook his head and leaned back against the bloody wall.
"I won't ask," muttered Gorgoth, shooting a glance at Branwen's retreating back.
"Wise," replied Owyn. "Get up the ramp, I'll see about getting you a match. Might be a challenge this time."
Gorgoth, telling himself that this would be the last time, jogged up the ramp as Owyn went off to find a Yellow team Bloodletter. He hoped that it would be the last time he had to climb this ramp, to barge through the hand-printed door, to be forced to fight for the good of a roaring, bloodthirsty crowd. Gorgoth hated them.
There was no-one present in the Yellow Team cage when Gorgoth entered the Arena. The announcer, seeing only one combatant, didn't bother getting up. Gorgoth simply cast his usual spells, folded his arms, and waited. After a few minutes, the announcer hauled himself to his feet as a Redguard entered the cage opposite Gorgoth. He was wearing a heavy raiment, with a mace, sword, and numerous daggers hanging from his belt. The shield on his back confirmed Gorgoth's suspicions that this was a very versatile warrior.
Ignoring the announcer's speech, Gorgoth focused on his opponent, sizing him up. The Redguard was doing exactly the same thing. Gorgoth could tell that, unlike any other warrior that had fallen to him before in the Arena, this one was competent. Redguards were natural warriors, and this one looked well-trained and experienced. Gorgoth had to move carefully. He most certainly didn't want to be killed in an Arena far from home for the amusement of others.
The cages opened. The Redguard, without drawing any of his weapons, slowly walked out towards the centre of the Arena. Gorgoth did the same. They stopped, facing each other, several metres apart.
"May your death be good and honourable, Orc," saluted the Redguard in a clear voice.
"I will make sure your death is honourable," replied Gorgoth. He slammed his fist over his heart. The Redguard returned the salute, and bent to wash his hands in the sands of the Arena. He straightened and drew his longsword, grabbing his shield off his back at the same time. Gorgoth had to keep the Redguard at a distance, or the smaller, more agile warrior could dance around him. For this purpose, he summoned a weapon.
Red sparks flashed as a long polearm appeared in Gorgoth's right hand. A five foot staff of daedric metal was topped by two and a half feet of sharpened daedric steel. The Redguard nodded in admiration as Gorgoth firmly grasped the bound glaive with two hands, ready for action.
The Yellow team Bloodletter moved first, darting in, sword swinging. Gorgoth moved swiftly to parry, the haft of his glaive knocking away the sword. The Redguard swing the sharp edge of his shield at Gorgoth's head. The Orc ducked under the blow and charged, swinging up the blunt end of the glaive with the intention of smashing it into his opponent's chin. However, the Redguard reacted too quickly, sidestepping away from the glaive and executing a forward roll out of danger.
The Redguard attempted to attack Gorgoth several times, but each time he was forced to fall back due to the superior reach of the Orc's summoned glaive. Attempts to get closer and move around to strike at Gorgoth's flanks also proved futile against the weapon's reach. Gorgoth was grateful of his decision not to use his mace; the weapon was long, but not long enough to keep the Redguard far enough away.
As Gorgoth once more parried the Redguard's sword, the Orc went on the offensive, glaive twirling like a huge quarterstaff. The Bloodletter blocked them all easily, but he was being forced back against the wall of the Arena. Seeing the danger, he ducked under a slash and rolled forward, coming up with a powerful stab at Gorgoth's right leg. It was a risky move, but it worked. The force behind the stab was enough to penetrate Gorgoth's magical shielding. The Orc grunted at the sudden, sharp pain and kicked the Redguard away with his other leg. His opponent flew several metres, but knew how to take a fall; he was soon back on his feet. The Redguard's sword was stuck in Gorgoth's leg, so he drew his mace.
Gorgoth grunted as he hobbled towards his opponent. An entire foot of steel poked out the back of his thigh, meaning that the blade was too deeply embedded to pull out quickly enough, and he wasn't about to throw the weapon where the Redguard could potentially reclaim it. Instead, Gorgoth fought through the pain; he'd long since trained his body and mind to ignore pain. Distractions could kill.
The Redguard sprang at Gorgoth, jumping and swinging his mace at the Orc's face. Gorgoth dropped to his good knee and swung his glaive, knocking the Redguard's feet away, which resulted in the Bloodletter landing in a heap. Gorgoth moved much more swiftly on his wounded leg than his opponent could have anticipated; he was on his feet and slashing down at the Redguard within seconds. His opponent rolled out of the way, but not quickly enough; the daedric glaive slashed open his ribs, ignoring the heavy raiment as though it was paper.
Gorgoth could see that his opponent's face was a mask of agony as he struggled to his feet. He dropped his shield, but clutched his mace ever tighter, staring up at Gorgoth with defiance in his eyes. Gorgoth respected his fighting spirit, and raised his glaive in another salute.
"You fight well, brother of battle," he grunted. "What is your name?"
"As do you," muttered the Redguard, blood dribbling from his mouth. "I am known as Rhesus. Am I to know the name of the warrior that I face?"
"I am Gorgoth gro-Kharz," replied Gorgoth simply. "Malacath will be impressed by your strong spirit. You fight well."
Rhesus merely nodded and closed in again. Gorgoth bent his knees, ignoring the agony of his wound, and held his glaive in one hand, pointing it at the opposing Bloodletter like a spear. Mace held high, the Yellow team combatant charged. Gorgoth thrust with the glaive. Rhesus spun, the blow glancing off his armour, and brought his mace crashing into the Orc's left flank. Gorgoth felt his ribs bend and crack under the force of the blow; his weakened right leg was unable to take the force, and he collapsed onto his back. Rhesus smashed his foot down onto Gorgoth's right arm, pinning his glaive and raising his mace once more. Gorgoth, ignoring the surges of agony in his ribs, reached up and pulled his opponent's left leg out from under him.
Rhesus fell to the sands beside Gorgoth, throwing his mace away and pulling out a dagger. Gorgoth surged to his knees and smashed his fist into the Bloodletter's face. There was a sharp snap as Rhesus's nose broke, but the Redguard ignored the pain and stabbed at Gorgoth's chest. The Orc was too close, and the Redguard too quick, for him to dodge, but the dagger lacked the force behind it to penetrate both the protection of the raiment and Gorgoth's magics. The warrior-shaman grabbed his opponent's belt, ripped a dagger out of its scabbard, and plunged it into his opponent's chest. He brutally dug the blade in and slashed downwards, spilling the Redguard's guts out. Gorgoth staggered to his feet and stepped back.
The wound was fatal, and Rhesus knew it. He took one look at the dagger's hilt, and then his head dropped back, his eyes looking at the sky, smiling at the beauty of a cloud drifting by. Gorgoth let his glaive, which had been thrown away during the struggle on the sands, dissipate into a handful of sparks. He knelt by the side of his defeated opponent.
"You... fought well... brother of... battle," slurred Rhesus, blood pouring from his mouth and sliding down his cheek. His nose was a smashed ruin, and blood poured from his gaping wound, his entrails drooping onto the sands.
"As did you, worthy opponent," rumbled Gorgoth. "Malacath will watch over your soul." He straightened, grabbed the hilt of Rhesus's sword, and wrenched it out of his leg, ignoring the terrible ripping of the muscles and tendons. The Redguard's hand weakly grasped for it, and Gorgoth eased the hilt into the Bloodletter's hand, closing the tanned fingers around it. The warrior, staring up at the sky, his blade in his hand, stained with the blood of his enemy, smiled as he breathed his last.
The crowd was oddly silent as Gorgoth closed Rhesus's eyes and straightened. He saluted the fallen Redguard once more, then turned and limped back to the bloodworks. He had spilt blood in that cursed Arena for the last time.
After fully submerging himself in the Basin of Renewal, his leg healing completely, Gorgoth collected his payment from Owyn in silence and proceeded to a quiet corner of the bloodworks. He ripped off his raiment, leaving him in nothing but the filthy, sweaty rags he had been wearing in the Imperial prison. The Orc ripped the belt off the raiment, and attached it to his waist, the weight of his mace comfortable at his side. The warrior-shaman walked over to the raiment cupboard, threw his raiment in, closed the door, and started walking out of the bloodworks, hopefully never to return. A deep voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Gorgoth, wait!" Agronak jogged up to his fellow combatant. "I won't stop you leaving, but I have a favour to ask."
Gorgoth turned to the half-Orc, his expression stoic as always. "Speak," he invited.
"You don't have to do this, I'm only asking because you might get the chance to." Agronak paused, as though thinking up what to say. "You know of my heritage? That I am a lord's son, but can't prove it?" Gorgoth nodded. "I am the heir of Lord Lovidicus, lord of Crowhaven, about a day's journey from Anvil. My mother fled when her pregnancy became known to Lady Lovidicus."
"Does Crowhaven still exist?" asked Gorgoth.
"Yes, I know that much," replied Agronak. "Apparently, it's fallen into ruin, but there could still be some proof of my noble blood there. I want..." the Grand Champion sighed. "You must know how I feel. I want to show the people of Cyrodiil that an Orc can be noble in blood as well as deed." He looked to Gorgoth for confirmation. The pure-blood Orc nodded in sympathy. For centuries, Orcs had been the outcasts, the 'Pariah Folk', with no land to call their own, spat on by the more 'civilised' races.
"I'll see what I can do," assured Gorgoth. "If I ever pass by Anvil, I'll be sure to travel to Crowhaven." He turned to leave, but Agronak stopped him again.
"Here, take this," he muttered, pressing an old iron key into Gorgoth's green palm. "My mother gave it to me; she never said what it unlocked, only that it was important." Agronak gripped Gorgoth's shoulder. "Good luck, friend. I hope we meet again."
Gorgoth gripped his fellow Orc's shoulder in return, then turned and left the bloodworks, letting the door slam behind him. The sundial outside the Arena indicated that it was nearly four hours past noon. The Orc set off for the Waterfront; he still had several hours before Gin-Wulm would finish his armour.
Moving through the City in nothing but his prison rags with an expensive-looking mace at his hip, Gorgoth realised that he looked more than a little suspicious, but he was beyond caring. It was better than his Arena raiment, which was now soiled with the blood of an honourable warrior. Rhesus had been about Gorgoth's age; he could have accomplished a lot with his life. Instead, he had died on the sands of an Arena used for the entertainment of the bloodthirsty masses. Gorgoth forced the snarl from his face and continued on to the Waterfront.
Ignoring the suspicious looks given to him by the guards when he asked directions, Gorgoth made it to the Waterfront quicker than he had last time. He employed another beggar – it might have been the same one as before, he wasn't sure, they looked very similar – to take him to Aerin's shack. The beggar didn't know her by name, but he did remember the 'flirty Bosmer' that lived in the shack. Once they reached her shack, Gorgoth gave the beggar five drakes and entered without knocking.
Aerin was sitting on her bed, reading a book, with one leg resting on her opposite knee. She looked up as Gorgoth rammed the door shut with enough force to make the entire structure shake. "You could have knocked," she observed dryly, throwing the book carelessly over her shoulder. It landed on the floor, its page splayed out and the title easily readable: The True Nature of Orcs.
Gorgoth ignored her observation. "Did you get it?" he asked, looking around for his armour without getting his hopes up. It was nowhere in sight. Just as he expected.
"The armour had been taken by the Legion to melt down to make new armour," growled Aerin, kicking at a nearby book. "Your mace had been taken as a trophy, and any gold you had was divided amongst the guards." She walked over to her small wardrobe and wrenched open the doors. "They did, however, still have your clothing, which I barely managed to carry back here. Partly because of the weight, and partly because of the smell." The Bosmer, wrinkling her nose, dragged out a large canvas bag and threw it at the Orc's feet. The stink of stale sweat and Orc blood reached Gorgoth's nostrils.
The Orc reached down and turned the bag upside down, emptying its contents onto the floor. "Finally," he growled. He'd swiftly grown tired of his thin, ragged prison cloth. He ripped off every stitch and started rummaging around in the pile. Aerin grunted and immediately spun to face the wall, a pink flush spreading over her face. "For someone who dances around half-dressed in a massive sandpit before hundreds of Imperials, you seem pretty modest," grunted Gorgoth, pulling on his long, loose-fitting black cotton trousers.
The Bosmer took a tentative peek around her shoulder, then turned her full body round. "It's actually very different," she started, but Gorgoth just snorted and buckled his weapon belt. Aerin sighed and rolled her eyes. Gorgoth reached down and pulled on a thick black cotton undershirt that left his arms bare, leaving bare biceps that were as big as Aerin's head. Remaining on the floor was a pair of fur-lined trousers designed to fit over the pair he was already wearing, and a shirt made completely from thick wolf fur. Cyrodiil was too hot for the normally essential clothing, so Gorgoth repacked it into the bag.
"Furs? It is nearly summer, ya know," observed Aerin.
"You can freeze to death any time in the Wrothgarians," commented Gorgoth. "You get snow on the peaks all year round. Not that you, as a treehugger, would know anything about that." He finished packing and slung the bag over his shoulder.
Aerin bristled at his comment about her race, but didn't mention it. As the Orc opened the door, she stepped forward. "So, what are ya gonna do now?" she asked.
Gorgoth turned. "I'm going to pick up my new armour from the Best Defence," he replied. "After that, there will be no more delays. I'm off to Weynon Priory as fast as these legs can carry me." The Orc nodded to Aerin. "Thanks for the help. Appreciate it." He turned to leave again, and again Aerin's voice stopped him.
"Hey, big guy, could I, ah..." She awkwardly shuffled up to him, hands clasped behind her back to stop her fiddling with her hair. "Thing is, it's getting bloody boring here in the City," she blurted out. "The hunt is too easy, the Arena is too easy, and there's just no adventure, ya know what I'm saying?" A glance at the Orc's face revealed nothing; a rock showed more emotion. "So... I was wondering... could I come with ya?" the last five words left her mouth in a rush, and she cautiously peeked up at the warrior-shaman.
"And why would I let myself be slowed down by an annoying Bosmer?" rumbled Gorgoth. "Your legs are a lot shorter than mine, and I will not be resting much on the way to Chorrol-" Aerin cut him off.
"I've got a horse, big guy," she purred, a smile reappearing on her face. "Pretty fast, and she gets the job done. So I wouldn't slow ya down." Aerin mischievously poked the Orc in his chest. It was like poking a cliff. A hot, sweaty, muscular cliff. "And I bet I know a damn sight more about riding than you, big guy." She'd been riding ever since she was fourteen, and had become an avid equestrian, or, at least, as much as one she could afford to be.
Gorgoth's expression didn't change, but he inwardly smirked. He doubted that the Bosmer before him had ever held the reins of a properly trained, fully armoured war horse, or guided it with knees only when the heat of battle demanded both hands on his weapons. He had done both. "Is your horse strong enough to hold both of us?" he asked. He was used to riding massive horses, bred for strength above all else, that could carry an Orc in full battle armour.
Aerin's smile faltered. "Ah... no," she admitted. "Oh, come on, big guy. Do ya really want me ta die of boredom? Besides, those thugs will hate me more than ever now, who knows what they'll think up next when they hear that you've left? What I need is-" Gorgoth tapped her on her head with a finger, effectively cutting off the stream of words.
"If you're coming, come," he grunted, turning and walking out into the street without a backwards glance. Aerin gaped at the space his massive body had occupied, then threw herself into a frenzy of action, belting on her sword and quiver while frantically hunting for arrows. She scooped up as many as she could find, then grabbed Trueshot and raced out of her shack, only to find herself bouncing back to land on her arse. She glanced up at the stone wall she'd hit, only to find it was Gorgoth, who was staring down an Orc only slightly smaller than him.
"I'll tell you only once, Burzukh," Gorgoth was growling. "Move aside. Whether it's Orsinium, Cyrodiil, or the planes of Oblivion, my business is none of yours. Move!"
The other Orc was clad in ragged, filthy clothing, which contrasted perfectly with the fine steel battleaxe on his back. A deep, thick scar ran through a gaping hole where his left eye evidently used to be. He was glaring up at Gorgoth with intense hatred. "You'll not order me, bastard of Gornakh," he spat, clenching a fist so hard that it trembled. "You really thought you could hide from me this long? After you did THIS to me?" Burzukh indicated his ruined face.
"Blame yourself," growled Gorgoth, right hand clenching and unclenching on his mace head. "It was your fault for getting caught up with those idiots in the first place." Aerin could only stare up at the two arguing Orcs, as the street seemed to be rapidly emptying. "I was right to do what I did; you were preying on the weak for your own gain, raping, murdering, pillaging. You and your petty band were a menace, dogs to be put down."
Burzukh's snarl deepened, and he clutched the haft of his battleaxe. "And you unquestionably followed your father's orders like some tame hound, not even standing up to him for what he did to your mother?" hissed the Orc, his face a picture of pure fury. "Mind you, that whore had always had it coming. She always-" Burzukh was cut off by Gorgoth's hand striking like a viper, grabbing his fellow Orc's throat and squeezing. Gorgoth pressed his face closer to Burzukh's.
"I'm only going to tell you this once more, scum," snarled Gorgoth, his voice full of suppressed fury. "Stay away from me, and forget you ever knew me. Go find a hole to crawl into. That will do the whole world a favour." Burzukh snarled and, gripping Gorgoth's fist with his own, ripped it away from his throat. He warily stepped back, but his hate-filled gaze never left Gorgoth.
"Who in Oblivion was that?" whispered Aerin, as she hauled herself to her feet and started off, walking beside Gorgoth, casting glances back at the scarred Orc.
"A ghost from my past," growled Gorgoth, not looking back at his enemy. "We're not wasting any more time here. Let's move." His hand on her shoulder hustled her away from her shack and Burzukh, who had spun on his heel and was walking in the opposite direction. Aerin took one look back, and saw the Orc glancing at Gorgoth's back and caressing his battleaxe. The warrior-shaman jerked her so hard she almost fell. "Ignore him; stay focused," reminded Gorgoth, leading the way back to the Imperial City proper.
After a dinner at the Feed Bag, where Aerin bombarded Gorgoth with questions about every subject under the sun, and was rewarded mostly with monosyllabic answers, they headed over to the Best Defence. The sun was low in the sky and was casting long shadows over the paving stones as Gorgoth entered, leaving Aerin leaning aimlessly on a nearby crate.
Varnado was nowhere in sight. Maro Rufus, when asked, jerked his head at the door to the measuring room and went back to reading the latest edition of the Black Horse Courier. Apparently, the Elder Council had seen fit to release the news of the Emperor's assassination. Gorgoth leaned on Varnado's counter to wait.
He didn't have to wait long. A Nord walked out of the measuring room with a huge grin plastered over his face. Varnado followed him out, and, apon seeing Gorgoth, hurried his goodbyes to his customer and walked over. "Good to see you, friend," he smiled, clapping Gorgoth on the shoulder. "Made five hundred drakes betting on you today. Great match against Rhesus, he sure gave you a challenge." The shopkeeper kept up the chatter as he ushered Gorgoth down to the forge.
Gin-Wulm was still hard at work, but Gorgoth was immediately drawn to the suit of massive steel armour against the wall. He hadn't specified a helmet – only Orc smiths had mastered the art of combining helmets and war braids – but the suit would offer excellent protection against any mundane attack without Gorgoth's added magical protection. The Orc walked over and ran a hand over the armour, admiring the quality of the steel and the work of the master who had forged it.
Varnado's smile grew broader. "Up to your expectations?" he asked. Gorgoth simply nodded, rapping the cuirass with his knuckles. The resulting clang sounded solid and reassuring. "Five hundred drakes," reminded Varnado. "But I'd say it's worth every last septim."
"Very true, Varnado," replied Gorgoth. He removed his wallet from his pocket. Fortunately, Aerin had managed to secure it, for which Gorgoth was grateful. It had been enchanted to hold far more cash than appeared possible, so Gorgoth had managed to fit his entire Arena winnings, complete with their original bags, in there without a problem. He dug out the two bags from his Bloodletter matches and two from his Brawler matches, handing them all to Varnado. The shopkeeper pocketed them after hefting them and judging their weight.
"Well, Gorgoth, it's been a pleasure, "said Varnado, shaking Gorgoth's hand vigorously as they made their way back upstairs. "It's been mutually beneficial; I made a lot from betting, and you got some good armour. Good luck with whatever you're doing next."
"Thanks, Varnado," replied Gorgoth, giving the shopkeeper a rare smile. "If anyone I know needs heavy armour around here, I will send them your way." He clapped the smaller Redguard on the shoulder and walked out of the Best Defence.
Aerin looked up as Gorgoth closed the door. She nodded in admiration, an impressed look on her face. Gorgoth was clad from neck to toe in his new armour. Out of it, he looked intimidating and powerful. In it, he looked like a purpose-built killing machine. The steel wasn't up to the standards of the Orc smiths in Orsinium, who were masters at creating durable, thick, and fearsome-looking suits of armour, but, while simple, Gin-Wulm's suit did the job well enough for Gorgoth.
"Nice armour, big guy," complimented Aerin as Gorgoth stretched, getting a feel for the armour.
"It'll do," grunted Gorgoth. He straightened his weapon belt and looked down at the Bosmer. "Lead on. We're going to Weynon Priory."
A/N: Next chapter introduces a new main character, though he won't meet Gorgoth or Aerin for a while yet. Review, please.