The Arena

The dry wind blew through Krell's long dark hair, as he walked into the arena. His bare feet were scorched by the hot sand, his array of daggers hidden in his jacket. A disturbing smile lit up Krell's harsh face, his scared face mostly hidden behind rough stubble. A broken nose and an eyepatch made Krell unsightly, however his grace and charm were such that he often was referred to as roguish and rugged as opposed to ugly. His smile was brilliant, perfect white teeth, except for his lower left jaw, where he had had ivory teeth inserted where a mace had destroyed his mouth. One could not see the difference, but each was filed to a razor edge, capped by a small iron tip sharpened like a needle. Krell's eyepatch was a ragged red headband, which disappeared into his wild mop of hair. His remain eye was devil may care blue. Before he was scarred he must have been a handsome man, and not all of his good looks were compleately destroyed.

The audience cheered as the second gate into the arena opened, a giant portcullis raising as Krell's foe walked out. He was an unnamed orc, raised from childhood in slavery - learning to fight in the pits. Krell had found this all out from various contacts - trying to find a weakness to exploit. The orc was sold to the Arena for 20 gold peices - a great sum for a juvinile orc gladiator. Looking up Krell saw the hulking form of the orc youth approaching. "Smeg! He's a big 'un!" Krell thought. The orc's skin was still the relitively pale green of a young orc, not yet becoming the darker leatherlike skin of an older orc. "Still gonna be hard to stick a knife into. . ." Krell mused.

The voice of the pitmaster boomed out over the arena, magically enhanced by a gem held to his chest. "Tonight we have a fight between the Black Dock's two greatest fighters. Krell, the veteran of one hundread and thirty six fights, against the green barbarian who has been undefeated in 41 bouts in the last year!" The crowed erupted each cheering for their favorite fighter. Krell was almost unanimously the favorite, being human. However there were some trolls and orcs in the crowd, cheering for the young orc. There were more orcs then normal, the orcs normally preferring to be involved in fights then watching them. This had not gone unnoticed by Krell either, however for the moment he had more pressing thoughts on his mind. "Fight!" bellowed the pitmaster and the battle was on.

Krell lashed out with his dagger, slicing tough orc hide and flesh. Glimmering arcs of blood spurted out like a crimson fountain. "So you orcs do bleed red." Krell observed. The orc screamed in bloodlust and fury, ignoring the pain as he worked up a frenzy. Swinging a large meaty fist he winged an already retreating Krell, before chasing down his smaller adversary.

The orc was a paragon of madness, lathering at the mouth it grabbed a pike from the ground without breaking stride and hurled it at Krell as if it was no more then a javelin. It pulled the weapon it had forgotten in its rage from its back; A large sword of a make and craftsmanship unknown to Krell. It was obviously sturdy and solid, of a fine yet crudely proportioned make. The hilt was a stylised jaw, with pointed teeth jagging out from the pommel.

Krell sidestepped the javelin, and threw his dagger, which sunk to the hilt in the orc's chest. The orc didn't even slow down, but barreled onto Krell like an avalanche. Krell was prepared for this and fell with the orc, before using the orc's momentum to throw the orc into the ground with alarming speed. The crowd gave out a cheer, drowning out the orcs primal scream of fury as he rose to his feet. Krell wasn't sure why he didn't put a knife in the orc's spine, just that he knew it was a bad idea. Krell had these intuitive hunches from time to time, and they had never served him wrong. The one time he ignored it, he had ended up in debt to the arena and was inducted as a gladiator slave.

This same urge was telling him that he musn't kill the orc. However if he refused to fight the orc, ogre enforcers would be let into the arena, with orders to kill both of the participants. "That would be a bad idea." Krell decided. The only remaining path of action was to fight the orc, but not kill him. The round ended in a loss for both contestants if the fight exceeded 5miniutes. The crowd wanted to see freash violent fighters of daring and skill, not slow death's from bleeding and wounds. He would receive a harsh beating for his loss, but it would be better then ignoring his hunchs again.

He saw the knife he had embedded in the orc's chest had now been pushed entirely into the ork, only the base of the handle visible, holding the would open. Howver the bleeding had already began so slow. The ork screamed defiance, spittle and blood showering Krell. Krell fell back as the orc charged, dancing and evading the brutal hit, inflicting minor wounds on the orc with a knife he had pulled from his ragged vest. The crowd lauged and jeered and the orcs pain and humiliation. Suddenly the orc smiled as he spun around, and threw his sword at Krell. In a deadly glimmering arc, the sword spun, the sun reflecting off the metalwork. Krell ducked, having seen this comming - Krell's scources had told him that the orc had won other fights with this cunning manouvre.

Looking at the sand timer at the zeinth of the arena walls Krell could see he only needed to draw it out a little longer. Pulling a knife in each hand, he charged at the bemused orc, who in turn charged towards him with a gutteral warcry. At the last moment Krell jinked and then dived to the side, as the ork stormed past him, footsteps like pounding thunder. Twisting the ork slammed a meaty fist into Krell's head, knocking him out. Krell fell limp to the arena floor, the sand billowing away from his limp body as he hit.