A short green figure stood at the top of the balcony overseeing the stone colosseum deep in the Vale of Stranglethorn. John's workers were moving away brush and debris to from the ancient troll structure. A medley of cheap human workers and goblin indentured servants had made their way up from Booty Bay with him on his expedition north.
Leaving Booty Bay was by far the best decision John had made since leaving the undermine. No goblin ever made a true fortune living under a Baron, and Revilgaz was ruthless with his fines and taxes. He was going to make a fortune unlike anyone else had ever seen before. For John trade was boring, and piracy had too much overhead, but everyone loves a good show. Making a small fortune during the Third War transporting explosives to both Horde and Human armies. Despite their facades John always felt he could see them for what they really were. They were all bloodthirsty savages champing at the bit for a bit of a scuffle. Goblin's didn't have that problem. Why bother getting in a fight when you could just buy out your enemy, or lacking funds, bomb them out.
Despite rising tensions in Azeroth, John knew there wasn't going to be another war for quite some time and despite a skirmish in Alterac, or a small battle in the Arathi Highlands, there wasn't going to be enough of a good fight to go around. He was going to turn blood into money and no one he was going to be the first to do it.
Cutting a deal with the trolls of Zul'Gurub he was granted the rights to their old colosseum in perpetuity at the cost of a few chests of silver, and the sudden disappearance of a few human workers that wouldn't be missed. That's the price of doing business. He was going to turn this aged wreck into the biggest entertainment experience Azeroth has ever seen, and he knew people would pay obscene amounts to watch. No ticket was going to go for less than a gold piece and he would make sure to have a finger in everything that came through there.
Everyone was going to know the name 'Short' John Mithril.
The crowd roared as John Mithril sauntered towards the center of the Arena. John's crew was dragging off the bodies of the last contestant's losers, a pair of hotshot mages initiates from Dalaran. John tapped the end of his walking stick's jewel covered in rare gems. A rune lit up on the topmost gem as his pointed finger repeatedly tapped on it, a loud thudding came out drowning out the crowd. John licked his narrow lips and spoke into them tuned gemstone. "Well that pair thought they could outsmart an axe to the face! Maybe the next time a wizard tries to fight here they'll keep it interesting before their brains get split open." Letting out a cackle before clearing his throat.
"Up next we have our prize fight of the night! From the red gate we have our Arena Champion! From da far off land ah Mulgore, deep in Kalimdor, we got da mountain ah might. Da bull giving you da horns! STEN RAGEHORN!" A roar erupted from the crowd, shaking the foundation of the arena. From beneath the blue gate a Tauren, unbelievably massive exited his ebon black horns scraping on the arch above him. Brown fur from head to hoof covered Sten and from the massive neck hung red feathers intertwined in his braids. Around Sten's waist was a simple plated silver belt with bronze chain links forming a chain mail kilt that hung loosely over his legs. Gripped in his right hand was a massive war-axe, single bladed and polished to a high silver sheen, and in his left was an equally frightful wooden mallet reinforced with steel bands.
"And our challenger! A young buck from Moonbrook looking to make a name for himself at our lovely Arena is Mikel Thornsbeck! Let's hear it for him!" A mild applause greeted the young man as he exited the red gate. A red bandanna hung loosely around his neck as he exited. Mikel's pale face and short raven black hair made him look a handsome specter in the sunlight. Blackened boiled leather armor covered him up to his neck, and a brown leather utility belt had nearly a dozen pockets. All down his legs were an assortment of knives and daggers, and at the small of his back was a pair of crossed short swords in scabbards, only barely half a meter long each. Dust seem to avoid him as he stepped out onto the packed dirt floor of the arena.
"What dya think folks? Can this challenger dethrone da Mighty Mountain?" A massive roar of jeers came from the stands. John surveyed the crowd "Sounds like youz don't gots no faith in this here young blood! I wouldn't wanna be him tonight." John laughed into the rune-mic. "Well then! Looks like we should get dis 'ere show on da road!" And John waddled away through a small gilded gate in between the two red and blue gates, disappearing.
Mik stood in front of the red gate, polishing his blade. A red linen cloth dabbed in oil, giving a dagger on his hip a nice glossy sheen. The crowd jeers wasn't going to bother him, he knew the home team had an advantage, but that a crowd always loved a good upset. As long as the fight was fun, they didn't care who won. Mik was skilled with a dagger, more skilled then even Edwin Van Cleef, leader of the Defias brotherhood. They had sparred a few times and Mik was deft enough to always come out the victor.
After a particularly good score where he and a few fellow brothers stormed a carriage containing tax collections for all of the Duskwood that was passing through Westfall. He took the opportunity to slice his cohorts throats and then run off with his double ill-gotten gains. A fat sack of gold, completely filled fell into his lap and he was having the time of his life. No one could match him with a blade, he knew that much for certain, and when word had made it's way there was some goblin willing to put up a massive fortune to anyone who could best his champion in the arena he saw a way to his windfall into a massive tornado that would carry him wherever he wanted.
Mik dreamed of buying himself a fancy home right in the heart of Stormwind, and maybe an estate in Elwynn Forest. He could have fancy servants and hire the comeliest maidens to serve him, and likely have his way with them. Nothing would be beyond his grasp once he killed the Goblin's monster. A massive Tauren is as easily felled as any human, stick them with the pointy end in the right spot and they go down all the same.
Sten stood in front of the blue gate, and sneered at the crowd. They cheered for him as they always did. Sten was disgusted by them. A medley of Goblins, Humans, Trolls, and whatever other scum decided to make their way out to the forsaken jungle. His fur was moist in the humidity of the Vale.
Sticking the massive sword into the ground, and leaning his mace on it's hilt, stems knelt over and grabbed a handful of dirt rubbed it into his palms of his hands, giving them a nice dry texture. Clapping off the excess dry arena dirt into a small cloud, Sten picked up his massive weapons and readied himself.
The fact the Tauren wielded two weapons that a normal human would struggle to hold one of didn't frighten Mik in the slightest as he readied himself drawing a simple pair of daggers from his hips. He thought to himself, 'I'm gonna tear this beast a part like a roasted chicken.' As he pulled the red bandanna that had hung loosely around his neck until it was tight across his face. Pushing his black hair to the sides, Mik narrowed his vision towards the lumbering oaf that would soon meet his demise.
John had reached his balcony seat perched above the arena. Prime seating, John once caught a head that Sten had lopped clean off that had belonged to a Dwarf at one point and was with the bloodscalp tribe of trolls now being shrunk so he could wear it as a necklace. He tapped the Rune-mic one more time to activate it. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Let the Bloodletting Begin!". The crowd's cries for bloodshed began to drown out everything else.
Sten moved with purpose, long heavy hoof steps shook the ground near him as he marched towards Mik, dust kicking up behind him. A deep thunderous bellowing from Sten as he made his way to close the gap.
Mik responded in kind, launching from his position into a full sprint right towards Sten. Powerful long strides carried Mik across the packed dirt of the arena floor as he sprinted to meet his foe.
Sten's eyes narrowed on his target as he barreled towards his foe, roaring deep from within him erupted as they neared. Then, suddenly, Mik was gone.Sten skid to a halt as he looked for where Mik could have vanished to. Mik had been right there in the bright daylight and then was nowhere in sight. Sten tightened the grip on his two massive weapons as he sniffed the air.
Pain paralyzed Sten as he felt a stiff jolt to his back, he felt his back lock up as every muscle tensed in shock. Then two sharp daggers rammed their way unto his upper back. Before Sten knew it he felt the skin on his chest slice open. Mik had reappeared right in front of him. The small daggers flashed silver and crimson as Sten saw Mik's blades cut into his thick skin.
Mik had executed his opening perfectly, stunning the massive Tauren from a stealthy position and cutting into him. A swift punch to where he imagined a Tauren's kidney was all he needed to gain the advantage. A few stabs and slices and Mik would fell this brute with extreme efficiency. Mik imagined he'd lose a few fans if he killed the beast too quickly, but no matter, he had a prize to win.
Sten grit his teeth as the pain shot through his back and chest. He felt a warmth run down his back, blood he figured from the wounds. It took him a moment but as his mobility returned and he swung his massive hammer down in front of him, missing Mik and slamming into the dirt. Sten roared in anger as he swung the Axe horizontally in an attempt catch Mik, but it was fruitless.
Mik had jumped back and far out of range of the behemoth's swings. "What's the matter? Can't take a little itch on your back?" He taunted. Unsheathing a small dagger from a pocket on his leg, the rogue then flicked a small blade across the distance and lodged it firmly in Sten's arm. More roars came from the injured Tauren.
Sten's roar shook the audience. As he finished, Sten took a deep breath and cast aside his mace, putting a firm grip on his axe's hilt. He then marched towards the crouched human who had spilt his blood, heavy hoof falls thundered in the arena.
"Oh you gonna make me build up an appetite! I better cut me a steak for later." Mik shouted towards Sten.
Sten entered striking distance of Mik and swung his massive axe around. Big arcing swings the smaller human deftly dodged. Heavy axe swings filled the air as Sten tried to score a hit. Then Sten's eyes went blind, as some dirt or powder hit him full in the face.
Mik took the opening to slice Sten's arm causing him to drop the massive axe he had wielded. This was it, a few more strikes and Mik would claim his prize. His poisoned blades would slow him down and then it would be easy pickings. "You never stood a chance cow, now fall down and die." Mik laughed to punctuate the sentence. The ground came loose underneath Mik's feet and he lost his footing.
A large shallow crater surrounded where Sten once stood and at it's center was his hoof partly submerged in the dirt. A stomp so massive it took Mik off his footing and he felt to the ground. Another massive hoof came down right where Mik fell, and he rolled out of the way barely missing it. Scrambling to crawl away on the broken ground he felt the collar of his leather armor go tight around his neck. He was being lifted by the Tauren. Mik flailed about trying to get the massive hand off his collar. Mik felt the hot breath from the Tauren's snout.
Sten closed his fist and struck the small rogues back square between the shoulder blades, dropping Mik to the ground after. Mik's lungs emptied and his struggled to regain his breath on the ground before pain shot up his leg. A massive hoof had slammed down onto Mik's ankle.
Every bone in his foot felt shattered as he lie there. In pain and breathless, Mik tried to get his bearings. He saw the Tauren grab his massive axe and raise it above him. He rose the axe high above his head bringing it down towards Mik on the ground. Mik tried to raise a hand to block it, but it was fruitless. Coming down on his other arm the blade embedded itself into the dirt severing half his left arm from his body.
Mik barely felt it, he knew he was injured but too much to quickly had left him unable to process everything. 'No…' he thought to himself as he lay there, broken and crippled. The massive Tauren left his view. He was going to live the rest of his life as a cripple. The crowed cheered. How could they cheer this monstrous display. Mik laid flat on his back the axe pinning his severed arm to the ground. Then he heard it.
Hoof steps came closer and a shadow loomed over him. Sten was back. Mik looked up toward the warrior. A look he'd describe as a sneer covered Sten's face. In his hand he had grabbed the hammer he had thrown off to the side earlier. Mik closed his eyes not bearing to look at what was to come.
A loud thud and a crunch followed by a gurgle. Sten's hammer was embedded in Mik's crushed chest. Bubbled blood filled Mik's mouth as he tried to breath but nothing happened.
Roaring fans cheered and drowned out the death rattle from the once bold rogue. Copper coins tossed from the stands littered the ground, Sten picked up his axe and rose it above his head in triumph.
John's voice boomed over the Arena once more "I gotta say folks! Whenever I see him fight he really takes my breath away" to a uproar of laughter. "Let's hear it for our champion!" John observed the crowd lap up the bloodshed. "Remember folks! Only at the Gurubashi Arena will you see this kinda entertainment!"
Sten was already leaving through the tunnel when he heard the faint echoes of John's announcements being attended to by a pair of goblin medics already applying salves to the wounds on his back. Another lackluster fight, and barely few scars with mentioning. The paralyzing poison in his wounds barely affected him. Sten sat down on a bench and gazed into the brazier as the goblins tended to his wounds and begun applying ointments. The fire danced in his eyes as he remembered the war.
Sten gazed into fire and drifted. 'One day' he thought, 'I'll get the fight I came for.'