Open Blood in the Arena (18+)

Lu'ah's tongue going over the fresh wounds then around his member made the pain blend well with the pleasure of her kissing down his body. As she worked on him, she dug her nails in him. By the gods she knew how how work every inch of her body, and the sheer pleasure that she gave him when her nails dug into him and his fingers weaved in and out of her hair. It was as if two wolves were mating.

His back arched forward and he gripped the sheets with his free hand, and then, right then, he released. The bed seemingly swallowed the two of them, leaving Lu'ah raw. Both were ravished by each other. He shifted towards her, not knowing whether to face her and go to sleep. He wasn't a typical man when it comes to things like this. For some reason he wanted he felt the urge to pull her close and sleep. Odd considering she was a stranger and potentially a combatant. About to fall asleep, she rolled on her side, her ocean blue eyes swallowing his while his deep brown eyes went right through hers. Where do they go from here? Was she used to men not leaving her, feeling used? For some reason he figured she was used to it. That's not him.

"Lu'ah." That's all he could say. They shared a night of sheer, blind passion and lust. It was as if they lost themselves in each other. Freedom in losing control. What if their blades met? What then? What would they do? Just blindly kill each other? He didn't want to think about it. He brushed her hair out of her face then kissed her, not knowing if she would throw it in his face like a girl did in this exact situation. If it did end up like that, he was prepared to leave just like he entered.

"Lu'ah" he said her name. Just her name. They lay facing each other on the bed, both satisfied and sleepy. Lu'ah was waiting for him to make his excuses and leave, and normally she would not have cared if he did. She loved the sex but she loved to sleep alone afterwards. The whole, cuddling thing, was not her style.

But he looked at her with those brown eyes and something in her belly fluttered. Was it nerves? No.. What was that? This man who had just f***fed her senseless, she now wanted nothing more than to curl up inside his arms and fall asleep in them. Lu'ah struggled with her inner feelings. She hated Feelings. She wanted Sex and fighting and gold. That was Lu the Blue, fearless Pirate.

He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear then leaned over and kissed her. How his lips could still taste so good was beyond her, but she pushed all other thoughts away and returned the kiss, sliding over closer to him, letting him curl his arm around her as their bodies connected again, this time in a more intimate way than the sex they had just had. Ardin pulled the sheets over them and Lu'ah buried her face into his chest and soon they were both asleep.

He kissed her once more before pulling her close, stroking her arm while she fell asleep with her head on his chest. Why was this happening with a stranger? Lu'ah was beautiful beyond words and somewhere inside she was loving. Maybe that's why this happened. Maybe the two of them needed each other and finally got what they were searching for. The blanket keeled them warm on this surprisingly chilly night. The warmth from her made him even more comfortable then she already made him. How was the morning going to be? Will it be as good as the night, or will it be something worse?

He didn't know, and really didn't want to ruin the time that they were sharing. The thought of the arena could wait until the next day. He knew she was sore from the fierce love making, and to be honest, he was a little sore as well. She put a spell over him that whole time. He never wanted a woman so bad before. Not in a long time anyway. He would do all over again, and hopes that it will happen again. If any man is stupid enough to hurt her and she didn't kill him first, he would. Why does he feel like that considering they had just met? It wasn't just a one night stand, not anymore. They had something fierce, something not of this plane.

Ardin rested his hand on her hip, playing with her hair and tracing her ebony skin while slowly falling asleep, waiting for the next day.

Some time had passed as the two sat in the tavern, but yet not meeting. Krisandra made sure of that. She wasn't to introduce herself until she had gauged the dunmer's threat level. Necessary colleague of her employer or not, she would not hesitate to put the poor elf down if it came to it.

Hells, she might even have been doing him a favor.

After some time, Dolmas felt the hairs on the back of his neck give him a sign. Someone was watching him.

He looked about, scanning over the faces that inhabited the room with him, hoping to catch the offender in the act. Unfortunately, whoever was watching him was good. Not one pair of eyes looked back to him, or looked even the tiniest bit suspicious. He turned back to take a drink, but the feeling wouldn't shake.

Something wasn't right here.

He laid a tip on the counter and made his way past the tables, taking notice to see if any looked up to him when he left.

Only three: The altmer bard who had just taken a break a table away. Second was a large redguard , who quickly looked back to the wench he had been sweet-talking since Dolmas had arrived. Third, and by far the most intriguing, was the raven haired warrior who watched him out of the corner of her eye, still working on that ale she had ordered an hour ago.

Now almost certain of who his pursuer was, he made his way up the stairs, sliding to the side with his back pressed to the wall. He waited there for a few moments, to see if she would follow. Or he. Depending on who the tail was. As he had expected, footsteps followed slowly after. He remained silent, waiting to see who had actually came up the stairs. His curiosity clawed at him.

His mind clicked as the raven-haired woman stepped past him a few inches, giving him just enough of an opening to grab her and hold her against the wall, a dagger at her throat. He growled his question to her through his teeth, trying to scare her into talking. "Who are you?" She tried to struggle from his grasp, but he held her tighter, pressing his body into hers, pinning her to the wall. "Who are you?!" He whispered harshly. The woman stopped struggling, and spoke. "Krisandra. I was sent to keep you out of that arena, and take you to my employer." He did not let up. "Who is your employer? And how could you know of my plans? I had only made them-" He stopped short. He was giving too much away. "Tell me who this employer is and why he is so worried about getting me there to see him?"

She spoke curtly, still trying to wriggle free of his grasp. "I don't ask questions. He told me he needed you there. That you would attempt to surrender to your...demons...and enter that arena as a way out, and I needed to stop you before that happened." He was in awe of her words, surprised that she not only knew of his intent, but of his curse as well. Who the hell knew of it aside from himself?

He held her tighter. He pressed into her until she was struggling to breathe. "Listen. I don't know how you got your information, but understand this: I'm going into that arena. I'm going to feed this hunger inside me, and I'm going to finally be able to let this life go." He growled his next line. "And I will rot in oblivion before I let you or your all-knowing employer stop me. This is my way out! I'm going to be free, you hear me!?" He let her go, and she fell to her knees, gasping for air. He put his dagger to his boot and spoke again. "I suggest you leave now. I won't warn you again."

He went off to his room, and Krisandra watched him walk away. She pounded her fist to the ground, cursing under her breath. This was going to be a lot harder than she had anticipated. Even when the employer promised her it would be, she hadn't expected this. She got to her feet, and made her way back downstairs. She was going to wait him out. It was all she could do now.

Dolmas got into his room and slammed his door shut, sighing as his anger washed off him almost immediately. H hopped the girl left this alone. But something about her told him he hadn't seen the last of her.

"..y...ey!....Hey! Ya ole' fart! Get up! We're 'ere."

Baroth's eyes slowly fluttered open as his hazy vision began to clear, revealing the shaking wooden floor of the wagon he was chained to.

Chains?... Baroth thought, lifting his head slowly to look about his surroundings. He felt pain flash from the side of his temple and neck. He must've been knocked out. Had he ben knocked out? Was he... And almost immediately, he got his answer. Down the center on the floor of the cart, there lay a long strip of black metal with loops housing chains. Chains that led up in a lazy arc to separate rag-clothed people, sitting side by side on opposite sides of the wagon.

Eight of them, including himself.

Prisoners... Baroth thought grimly. So they did catch me after all....Damn it.

Baroth looked up and around him as he heard the cart's wheels leave stone to join the rough road once again. Above them, there passed a stone arc, smoothly carved but obviously worn and torn from the years of wet and hot weather. He looked ahead and spotted a pair of...Imperial Guardsmen, walking slowly from their positions at the gates to meet the slowing carriage. Baroth quickly reverted his gaze past the men to see a single, stone pinnacle not so far in the distance.

No.

Not stone.

White-gold.

He was in the Imperial City! But how? He was no where close to the capital. He was in Hammerfell... Deep in Hammerfell. Wasn't he?

As his mind quickly scrambled for answers, the carriage stopped at the command of it's Imperial driver and met the two approaching guardsmen.

"Whoa, Whoa there!" The studded imperial cooed to the horses, pulling on their reins as they bucked softly. "Evening Arlmalo. I got another batch here, fresh from the Great Forest."

"And what'd this one do?" Arlmalo inquired, resting his hands on his belt.

The driver shrugged. "I heard some of them were all caught assaulting a patrol of Thalmor. Two of them died, I think. The rest were found trying to cross the border into Hammerfell."

Arlmalo nodded, his gaze shifting to the prisoners at the back of the cart, who returned his curious look with icy cold stares of their own. He quickly looked away and nodded to the driver, as himself and the other guard parted to allow the wagon through.

"Go on ahead, then. I'll have a patrol help you escort them through the city."

And not three minutes later, had the wagon been hitched and the prisoners released and organized into a single-file line. They stood for almost an hour before the patrol of five heavily-armed guardsmen arrived and began ordering the prisoners forward. The large gates opened to give way to what Baroth knew to be the Talos Plaza.

And just before he'd entered the city, Baroth had looked up to see the finely carved outer walls cut out the morning sun's light. It was then Baroth saw this city differently. It was then he felt the cold winds of imprisonment.

How the hell did he get here?

What in oblivion happened to him?

All throughout the Plaza, civilians looked down their noses at the small escort of dirty prisoners and bulking Imperials. Some held their coin-purses tighter and quickly walked past them. Others quietly whispered to each other and pointed at a few individuals. Most, however, silently stared at them, judging them behind blank faces or contorted ones of focus. All mutely judged them with their eyes.

Criminals...Scum...Murderers...Vagabonds...Peace-disrupters.....Outlaws...

Baroth averted his attention elsewhere.

Awkward glances aside, the bustling city of the Imperials couldn't have been more busy and chaotic as far as Baroth saw it. Nearly every sidewalk was filled with finely clothed Imperials and Altmer, the former being the most dominant, rushing to and fro with heavy pockets and swift feet. Something big was going on in the city, and it had everyone lined up to spend most, if not all, of their coin on. It couldn't have been dangerous because the guards hardly payed them any mind. A new product on the market? No. Baroth would've caught wind of that via the loud conversations around him.

But no. He believed they were part of something else. Some form of....entertainment.

A few minutes of silent walking passed, and Baroth found himself standing in the circular stone plaza of Green Emperor Way where the gold-trimmed guardsmen met with their escort and a Thalmor convoy. They talked for what felt like hours but proved to be just a few minutes, and in hushed tones they concluded and parted. Arlmalo approached the so-far silent prisoners and made an announcement. Baroth could tell by his tone that he was either upset or guilty.

"Alright. Change of plans. This batch goes to the Arena, under the Emperor's approval. You will all fight and live in the Arena for continuum of your sentences in any and all forms of preferred combat. Whereafter, those who are left will be released into the Great Forest with their respective equipment. Good luck. Get moving!"

The prisoners' groans and complaints helped nothing along, and in the end, they were silenced by the yelling commands of the Arena prison guard captain. The exchange was then silent and the prisoners more so as they were assigned to various cages in the dark, damp halls they were to be housed in. The other inmates took no breath as they harassed and taunted both the escort and it's captain, who simply kept walking. Baroth, sadly, knew how this process went.

The other prisoners would take jabs at them, whenever they wanted, however they wanted. They'd test them, and those who failed would be punked into being a slave for the rest. A definition Baroth soon learned was slang for the word 'bitch.'

Baroth remained silent all the while, and kept his eyes forward. He was in safe context saying these prisoners had no idea who they were f***ing with. But they'd find out soon.

And soon enough, it was here Baroth would find himself, unchained and yet, bound to yet another structure. The necessities one would find in normal prison cells were noticeably absent here, with only a wet stack of hay and linen cloths to serve as his bed and a small chamber pot to serve as his toilet. The fact that the walls on either side of him consisted of bars made no difference in how he already felt by being here.

As he settled on his rather dry bed, he heard the familiar shouting voice of the captain as he strolled the circular isle of cells, his eyes burning their mark into each of the inmates he passed.

"ALRIGHT, SCUM! QUIET DOWN! STOW IT, ALL OF YOU! My name is Anor Yslef but you will refer to me as 'Sir' or 'Boss'. For those of you who have been here since the start of the games, you know the drill and how our schedule goes! But for the newbies and those unfortunate enough to end up here, our daily schedule will go as follows," He stopped and turned on heel to stroll back up the isle.

"Wake-up at six-thirty for stretches and preparation of the day, and at seven-thirty you will be scraped from your cages and escorted to the lower dining hall for breakfast. At eight-ten, you will then be bulled to the 'mats' next door to the kitchen, where you will be given a weapon and provided a dummy and a spectral to train with. There you will work in turns and teams as the director commands it under the watchful eye of MY personal guard. And ANY who raise their arms to harm anything but the provided dummies and spectrals shall hastily be executed and used for fuel in the kitchen! Yoslin will not care whether he uses wood or you!"

"Then, at eleven-thirty, you will be escorted to the 'hole' where you will all wait patiently until you are hand-picked by the Arena Master himself to fight in a match. Around mid-day, between one and two in the afternoon, the Arena and it's games shall take an intermission of one hour and thirty minutes, where you all will be called back to the dining hall for lunch. In the evening, when the Games commence for the day, you will be swept back to your cells after an hour and a half's worth of dinner. But takes this as a warning, newbies: Those who misbehave in anyway shall and will be executed with no remorse by either myself or any of my well-trained men. That said.."

He took one final glance around the cells nearest him.

"Welcome to the Arena."

He turned on his heel and slowly paced out of the isle, shouting back.

"Breakfast will be skipped today, so be prepared for the mats in the next thirty minutes!"

Lu'ah's eyes blinked once or twice before she became fully awake. She was laying flat out on the bed, not a stitch of clothing or sheet covering her. It was slightly chilly but she reveled in the cool air and stretched luxuriously. She half expected her lover from the previous evening to be long gone but she soon realized that the warmth next to her was emanating from the sleeping form of Ardin.

Lu'ah rolled to her side and watched him for a while. He looked so peaceful as he slept. All harshness had melted away from his face, giving him a soft, contented expression. She frowned slightly. This was not a situation she regularly found herself in. She either bedded a man in his own bed and left as soon as he fell asleep, or she herself would wake up alone the next morning. Not that she cared. In fact, she liked it that way. Why get tied down with complications?

She had been a ruthless, cut-throat pirate. You were either her victim or her prey. She sat up and Ardin signed and rolled over slightly. Lu'ah itched to run her fingers through his hair again. Cross her leg over his lap and let him slide into her but she had a plan for today and she needed to stick to it. She slid out of bed and slipped on the sheer gown, taking up a towel and headed for the baths. Not many were awake this early in the morning. Lu'ah could hear various snores coming from under doorways as she passed down the hallway.

She bathed quickly, not wanting to linger too long. Her body ached all over, but it felt delectable. Last night had been one of the best full on sessions she had ever had. She padded back down the hallway and let herself back into her room. He was still there, still asleep and so she began to carefully dress in her armour. Underclothes and then fine metal and leather were slid over her ebony skin. She buckled, and tied it all into place, leaving her gauntlets for last. Her armour was flexible and fit her like a glove. Her gauntlets were specially made for her. A section was missing from the palms to accommodate her spells. She didn't need protection from her bound swords like some mages' did.

Lu'ah poured herself a goblet of water. Today she would need to be focused and alcohol of any sort was out of the question. She was ready. She turned and looked at the sleeping form of Ardin. Just as she was wondering what to do, his eyes opened and focused in on her.

"Waste no time then. At least I got your name. I take it you're going to enter the arena," he slipped his leather pants and his gauntlets, seeing how those were the only articles of clothing he could find. He was a little surprised that she didn't leave as soon as she awoke. Most times he was the one left alone, wishing he didn't do the same thing expecting something different. That would be the definition of insanity.

He proceeded to sit in the chair closest to her, slowly watching her taking a drink from her goblet. Inside he hoped that he wouldn't have to face her and potentially kill her. She seems quite capable. It was early in the morning, nobody was out and about, and Lu'ah obviously bathed recently due to her new found cleanliness, "The arena; a blood filled circle with tremendous amounts of lust, greed, glory, and honor. Such a grand speculation," he began to trace he claw marks she left on the table, while deciding on his next move. Knowing he needed to be prepared, he got up and walked towards her, staring down at her while stretching the fatigue and the joyous time of the night before. First thing first, he wanted nothing more than to smack the goblet out of her hand and hoist her up on the table like a sailor hoists rope for the sails. Right now, he needed some time to figure out what his next move was.

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The cages were dark, wet, cramped, as if they were steel caves. One could smell the stench of blood, sadness, anger, festering wounds, and vomit of all sorts. This is where the prisoners were. If you were so lucky to live long enough, you could leave as wanted. Not if you owe a debt, if you're a slave, or someone paid for you to stay in there. These were the people who didn't care what would happen because all they see is red and black, and all the hear is screaming and fighting.

The sound of the three beat of galloping echoed through the main gates, signaling that fresh meat had arrived for the slaughter. They were the unlucky ones; the gods themselves smiled them for various reasons only they know. An Imperial guard lined them up in chained succession, whacking the rowdy ones in the back of their knee with the side of he sword as to not hurt them more than they already are.

Roaring of the crowd above them and the sobs of the chained below them seemed like the heavens and darkest depths were both beckoning to them. Which one shall they choose? That was up to them and the gods. One by one each prisoner was thrown in cells. Some even had more than one prisoner. The games were slowly underway. All they needed to do is be prepared. The circular underground was now their home, and their resting place. One can only hope his soul would not linger through his blood soaked hallways, forever locked in this hellish place.

One the topside, regally dressed fat men and dainty ladies watched as they mingle with other far more important people. The crowd was there to escape the real situation. While stone chairs were taken up by the sunlight of the day. Inaudible screaming blew up the place like one great big bang. The day was getting faster. How much longer till the games? That was on everyone's mind....

Lu'ah licked her lips as Ardin traced the deep ruts her nails had left on the table the previous night. She was tempted, very tempted, but she had a plan when she came into this city of death and sin and she was nothing if not committed. Still...she had not planned in meeting one like him. He stood and moved so close to her she could smell the sweat and other things on his body. Lu'ah itched to touch him but she stood there, exerting every bit of self control she had, which wasn't much at all. She was a creature of impulse normally.

"This is weird" she said then, trying to express how she was feeling "I fully expected you to be gone when I woke up" she shrugged. Reaching out and running a finger down his chest.

"I have a plan for today.. to earn some easy money" she winked at him playfully. "But tonight? Well if we are both still alive I would very much like to continue our...getting to know each other?" Deep down in her heart she hoped he would say yes, and that was more scary than what she was going to face today in the Arena.

"This is weird. I fully expected you to be gone when I woke up."
"As did I. Seems like we both surprised each other," her soft finger began tracing down his chest. He put his hands on her hips, if only just to tease her and allow him some self control. The he had planned to slaughter until he got bored or until the fury left him. This city was an escape. But now, things got more intimate. More of a chance to lose than just his life. Oh how the odds change in a moments notice.

"I have a plan for today.. to earn some easy money," she shot him a playful wink before continuing, "But tonight? Well if we are both still alive I would very much like to continue our... Getting to know each other?"

"Then you better make sure you stay alive then, Lu'ah. The gods haven't killed me yet. I'm beginning to suspect they are getting tired of trying. If we meet again," he kissed her, then went back to his room to get a new shirt and his armor ready for the slaughter that was about to begin finally. The vultures were out for the carcass of the Wolf's prey.

"There we go! are they too tight? I can loosen them if you want."

Natesse drew in a stimulating breath as the last holes of her suit were looped through and she felt everything tighten as the strong leather strips did their work. Natesse was nothing less then alluring when she was naked and she had been naked around both sexes often enough to where it felt natural. Her body was her most important asset in her line of work so when she did wear clothing she liked to keep it tight to emphasize her goods. This armor did that perfectly, showing off her legs, back, sides and large bust while being soft and supple enough to where she could move freely. She looped a leather shammy attached to the back of her top over her crotch and up to two buttons where her groin was, essentially turning her top into a jumpsuit without legs. It was a good way to make sure her back or gut wasn't exposed during a fight and easy to remove when she needed her womanly parts for...business.

She stretched her arms out luxuriously. Alice had done a good job of tightening everything. The little angel was stronger than she looked. Natesse grinned at the thought. Then she remembered where she was and that Alice had asked her how it all fit. "You did a perfect job sweetheart, thank you." Alice smiled up at her with approval and Natesse smiled smiled down. She was such a sweet girl. So small, so innocent, so beautifully tender-hearted. The little angel didn't deserve half of the terrible things that had happened to her and yet she hadn't given up. She hadn't thrown her life away as Natesse considered so many times. She was so much stronger than she realized. She was even still able to smile. Genuinely smile, a sign that she still had hope. And all it took for her to become your best friend was a full belly, a warm bed, a ridiculous but admittedly cute pair of footed pajamas and someone to stay in bed with and hold her until she fell asleep. Natesse envied her for that.

"Wow! You look badass! With some knee high riding boots and long gloves you'd look even better!" Alice said, bringing Natesse out of her own head. Then Alice frowned and took another look at herself. She didn't seem pleased with what she saw and that made Natesse a little sad. "I wish I had your chest Natesse. And your hair and your legs and...well...everything. That way I'd be tall and pretty and sexy. And I'd have real boobs. Not just the little chest bumps I've got. That'd be a nice change. I mean I can barely fill out a B cup."

Natesse looked with sympathetic understanding. Plenty of women had wished for her goods and there were plenty that didn't like her as a result. Dreven had even offered to "persuade" a few of her "colleagues" to lay off when they decided to start some drama but Natesse always refused him. She fought her own battles, she always had, and she wasn't about to be dragged down into petty drama for what she was born with. That was more foolish than praying to imaginary gods and glorified emperors who killed a lot of elves. Strangely though, this time she cared. Alice obviously had many emotional issues, which was understandable due to her age and current situation, and a false image seemed to be one of them. Considering this city worshiped flesh and blood more than the Eight Divines Natesse wasn't surprised. She pulled Alice into a comforting hug and placed her chin on top of her charge's soft raven head, cradling it with one hand and wrapping around her shoulders with the other. Alice accepted the hug and wrapped her arms around Natesse's shoulders, feeling completely safe in her arms.

"Alice, honey, you're a beautiful young woman who looks just the way someone your size should. Please believe me when I say that because I haven't lied to you yet, have I?"

"No, I guess you haven't. But you're so much prettier than me. You get so much more attention than me. Everyone looks at how beautiful you are. I noticed that as soon as we met two days ago and I was crying into my ale."

Natesse gave a small sigh, and rocked Alice back and forth. This girl had a lot to learn about real beauty and Natesse would help teach her. "Alice, let me tell you something. I have men leer at me every day and undress me with their eyes. When I am at...work I leave nothing to the imagination. There are many women who wish they looked like me but it isn't for the reasons you think. It isn't because they admire me Alice. It's because they lust after me. Do you understand the difference between love and lust?"

"Lust is a sexual feeling and love is a genuine connection? Doesn't one lead to the other? Love at first sight and all that?"

"No Alice. Most of the time they do not. As you said, lust is a sexual feeling. A feeling anyone can get from someone who stimulates them. Someone like me. Someone they wish to selfishly use and then abandon. That's my job Alice. To fulfill people's lust. Now you and I talked last night about how that isn't the path you want to take in life and it really isn't the path I wanted to take, but that's were I ended up. Love, real love, is a genuine connection built on trust, friendship and common experiences. That takes time and anyone who says otherwise isn't being honest with you. Anyone worthy of your time will see that you're a beautiful girl and that gives you love without lust. And you are very much loved Alice. By me, your father, even Dreven, though he'll die before he admits it. Don't you think that's a better way to live than being a walking pair of legs?"

"Yeah....yeah, I guess it is. You're right. Thanks Tess. I...I love you."

Natesse kissed the top of her head. "I love you too Alice, and I always will. Now, that's enough self-doubt for one morning. Let's go get some breakfast and save your daddy, shall we?"

"Yeah! Let's go!" Alice said eagerly. They both headed out of their room after Natesse got her tall black boots and white socks on and headed down the hallway towards the stairs. Halfway down the hall a tall Nord in leather pants and no shirt stepped out of a room. Natesse's womanhood immediately moistened. This Nord was...gorgeous. Dunmer were her favorite type to bed but Nords were a very, very close second. He smelled like sex and Natesse wanted so badly to replace this other woman's scent with her own. She had to maintain control for Alice's sake but she was enamored by this...beautiful wolf-like man. So enamored in fact that she walked right into him. She gave an embarrassed "oomf!" as she banged into his left side.

"Tess! Are you alright?" Alice said, both with concern for her hurting herself and for why she wasn't watching where she was going.

"I...I'm fine hon." She cleared her throat and stood up straight. "Please pardon me sir nord. I'm afraid I wasn't watching were I was going. I...suppose I'm a bit...distracted." Her eyes moved right to his strong, wolf-like chest and fixated upon it. She cursed herself for this just after she had explained the dangers of lust to Alice but she simply couldn't tear her eyes away...

"You would think they would come up with a classier name."

"The Fox and Hen? Perfect for a group of... borrowers."

Two thieves sat at a table, quietly watching on as the group they were with were dancing away, having a good time. Oddly enough the celebration was for their Birthday. Both of the thieves were brother and sister, twins in fact. One of them however, wasn't having a joyous time.

"Come on, Erebus. At least have a dance or two!" Erebus looked at his sibling before glaring at the dance floor.

"Seriously? Come on. It's not like you can't dance or anything." The young woman chuckled before she saw the look on his face. He growled out in defeat after being found out.

"I can't, Bella. I can't dance, happy?"

Silence stretched between them before Isabella slammed her mug of ale down on the table. "Nope! Come on." Grabbing his arm, she struggled to get him out of the seat. "I'm going to teach you how to dance."

"Forget it! Father tried teaching me and said I was hopeless!"

Isabella dropped his arm, "Well, he's an ass. And a quitter. Come on!" She proceeded to try and get her brother up and out of the chair, again without success. "Seriously? Come on, what is it going to take to get you out of that chair!?"

"Nothing."

Blinking twice before staring at her brother, she sighed, "Fine. Be that way." Walking away, Erebus didn't see the smirk that graced her face. "I'm sure that nice looking girl... What was her name? Rosie? Will find someone else to dance with--"

"She's here?!" Isabella spun around and stepped back in surprise when Erebus was right in front of her, looking mighty anxious. Rolling her eyes she muttered under her breath, "You're so predictable."

"Yes, she's here. But only for a little while. I had to pull a few strings to make sure any of our friends didn't mess with her until we got here. Unfortunately though it looks like someone needs a fast paced lesson in dancing!" Erebus was shocked. His crush was here, he didn't know how to dance, and this was probably the one and only time in a long while before he could charm the girl, given the fact they were always on jobs there was almost no free time to charm said girl. "What's the point anyway, Bella? Even if I do get to dance with her and all goes well, I'll be too busy with other things to keep seeing her!"

"Look, leave that to me--"

"Leave it to me she says! Leave the sneaky planning to me, she says! Do you know what happens when I let you do that? Things go bad! Fast!" Erebus was in hysterics, he couldn't believe his sister was winging the whole thing! Actually, he could. She loved to meddle.

Slapping him on the arm, Isabella hissed back, "Would you keep it down? Man, you really like this girl. Come on, I'll show you an easy dance.."

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After about 30 minutes of instruction Erebus finally nailed one dance down before his sister shoved him off in the direction of Rosie. "Seriously, he gets all the girls for his looks and he doesn't know how to flirt with one. Yikes." Isabella was leaning against the bar while watching her brother trying and failing to 'talk nice' to Rosie. He looked like a shy school yard boy.

Suddenly she sense someone beside her, and was met with a peculiar smell. "Nice of you to swoop in, Gabe." Isabella let out a bored tone.

"So, how's the rookie doing?" Gabriel asked the fellow thief, flashing a grin her way. "Terrible." Rolling her eyes and then looking at him, she shoved Gabriel's face away from her. "Not interested. So stop trying."

Hopping up onto a bar stool he went back to looking at the poor scene of Erebus trying to flirt. "Come on, I'm sure daddy dearest won't mind? One dance?"

"No. I'm tired." The woman wasn't budging.

"I'm sure your twenty-first year is worth a dance with a dashing lad? Please?" He blinked rapidly at her, trying his hardest to put on his pleading handsome eyes that won over so many girls. After a few moments without answer, he dropped his act. "You know, maybe if he has a stroke of luck he might actually get with her one day."

Both thieves saw Erebus fumble over a line and apologize, Rosie looked about ready to leave. "Wow, she's a tough one isn't she?"

"Yeah I think it's going to take a lot more than luck to save him, get in there, lover boy." Isabella watched as Gabriel walked over, saving her poor dear brother from further embarrassment. Gabriel was a fellow thief, and a ladies man at that. But he was also a gentleman. He was tall and more muscular than her brother. He had medium length, shaggy dark brown hair, with blue eyes and perfect teeth. However he did have his flaws. Somewhere. No one was perfect. He did have a reputation which was hard for him to avoid with the guards. Which was why she wasn't interested in him, that and he was a ladies man and changed from girl to girl like he changed shirts. Or at least that was what she tried to convince herself. Erebus would tease her about liking Gabriel. He would always end up with a bruised arm. As for Rosie and her brother, she knew Rosie liked Erebus, and the girl confided many times in Isabella about how he seemingly didn't have a spine to ask her out or court her.

'He has a spine Rosie. Sure he gets a lot of girls and their attention, but he's quiet because he doesn't know how to react to that kind of attention.. He's, a bit shy.' She remembered telling her and sticking up for him.

Her brother was shy and usually quiet. He was more of the critical thinker and strategist, while she was more of the rough and tumble, running in and causing havoc, no questions asked. She also liked to throw parties and have a good time, whereas her brother liked to be in a quiet place, reading books. That didn't mean that Erebus didn't like music. In fact, when Erebus thought he was alone, Isabella would often hide around and listen to him play the lute. He was a gifted musician, and hid his talent for whatever reason. Isabella couldn't sing a note, while Erebus could sing songs to rival the Nightingale bird.

They were alike and different in many ways. They both had brown hair, tan skin, fair height. Both of slight build. They also had a tattoo of a half star on each of their shoulders that they had got on their 16th birthday.
Both liked the bow and they also had a passion for hunting.

But that was were the similarities really ended. Other than that they were pretty different. Although they had one special ability they each shared. All twins were said to have a special bond. Stronger than any sibling could have. They could feel pain, finish each other sentences, or as the rumors go, communicate with their minds or in dreams. But Isabella doubted the last one. Both of them could sense when the other was in the room and finish each other sentences. They could also tell when the other one was in danger.

'It's really something...' she sighed. Looking back at the scene with Erebus it looked like Gabriel saved his sorry butt and was heading back over. "He had himself in a pickle for a bit." Gabriel set himself on a bar stool next to her. "What did my idiot brother do now?"

Shaking his head, her companion breathed out in frustration, "You don't wanna know." Running a hand through his hair he turned to her again. "Come on. One dance? For old times sake? I promise, nothing else will come out of it."

Looking at him and only finding sincere intentions and honesty in his eyes, she took his held out hand, "Fine, one dance."

----------------------------------------------------

"I thought we agreed on one dance?" Gabriel chuckled at her.

"Hey, don't push it, you're the one who wanted to dance in the first place." Gabriel chuckled harder at Isabella's remark. "Fine. Last dance."

A fast paced song rang out through the tavern and they started dancing accordingly to the beat. "I wonder where Erebus is.." The smaller thief wondered aloud. "No idea, I don't think I want to know anyways." Her friend flashed her a cheeky grin and she shook her head in annoyance. "Great, now I won't be able to get that image out of my head for the next few days." Gabriel laughed before spinning her around.

However a fairly large and drunk fellow thief knocked into them. Gabriel's quick reflexes helped keep Isabella upright, but they couldn't react fast enough to keep her mouth shut, "Hey! Watch where you're going you idiot." The large thief turned around and belched, "ugh... You smell rank.. And no doubt you're as drunk as a skunk."

The man growled before reaching to grab her. Gabriel moved around and stood in front, "Back off! How about you go and sit down, sir. You look like you had to much to drink."

"Whassit to you, kid?" The large man slurred. He glared at Isabella, "Better watch where your goin', lass. Or else things might get a bit... Ugly. Hahaha.." He shot a leer at her.

"Oh really?" She challenge him, which was a big mistake. Isabella was grabbed from behind, crude laughter ringing out. Gabriel's jaw dropped before he turned and ran, "GABRIEL! You big coward! You spineless twit get back here--!"

The drunken man slapped her across the face, effectively shutting her up, "Aw look, your friend ran away. Say... You look like the Master's daughter? What was it... Your birthday?" He started to laugh, his companions laughing as well. Isabella's head hurt, and she felt dizzy. Her ears were ringing loud and she could barely focus on what was going on. 'Son of a bitch hit me hard..'

"What do ya say, boys? Let's give her a nice... gift for her, eh?" They all laughed before hauling her off upstairs. She could faintly hear the barman shouting before being ominously silenced. She was so confused. These were fellow thieves weren't they? So why hadn't she seen them before?

'Erebus... Gabriel... Where are you, I need you!' She struggled not to cry in fear. Big girls didn't cry. She struggled against her handlers, trying to escape.

"..Hey! Ugly!.." A moment passed before screams were heard and a loud thud. Suddenly she was free and she ran. She ran up the stairs, ran down the hall, and ran into the room in the far back that was thankfully empty. Locking the door, she backed into the farthest corner, panting in shock. Was that Erebus? She couldn't remember the voice that taunted the large man. She couldn't remember if it was an arrow that whizzed passed and killed another. It was, wasn't it? Was it Gabe and Erebus?

"Bella!" She looked up at the door, hearing pounding. "Bella open up!" The pounding continued for another good minute, before she heard the sounds of a lock being picked. She looked down at the doorknob being slowly turned. Looking around she tried to find some weapon to use, only finding a candle holder. Ripping off the candle stick and grasping the holder, she slowly made her way toward the door. In the back of her mind something screamed at her to drop the candle stick holder, that she was safe. She ignored it.

Yelling out in rage she ripped the door open and threw out her armed hand. A firm yet gentle hand grasped her wrist, shocking her. "You need to work on your aim, kid."

Blinking, she saw in front of her that it was Erebus and Gabriel. Dropping her makeshift weapon she threw herself on both of them, hugging them to death. "Thank the Gods!" She drew back after a moment before hitting her brother in the arm. "Where in Oblivion where you?!" She shouted. Gabriel started to chuckle before shutting up when she rounded on him, "And you! Why did you run when I needed you the most?! Both of you?!"

"Isabella calm down!"

"I will not calm down!"

"Bella, he only went to find me. There are a set of weapons in the back room in a thief cache, just in case. He ran to get help and some weapons." Erebus tried to reason with his sister.

Silence rang out before they heard footsteps. Turning toward the staircase they saw the large man from earlier walking up. Looking at them, his face contorted in rage. "You... I'm gonna stick you!" The thug started to run at them.

Erebus drew his bow and nocked an arrow with quick precision before taking aim. "Get the hell away from my sister." He growled before letting the arrow fly. The arrow hit home right between the eyes, the thug falling over, dead.

"I thought you killed him?" Gabriel turned to Erebus.

"I thought you did, that's why I took out the others?" Erebus was now confused, and high on adrenaline.

"Can someone tell me what in Oblivion is going on?! Who were those guys?!" Isabella yelled out. She was so confused.

"I have no idea.." Gabriel wondered aloud, "But we better clean this up and report to your father. I doubt he will be pleased."

----------------------------------------------------

(OOC: I'll continue this in a bit. I need to eat! And also, Gabriel is another character I have but not a main one. I was just using him for the purpose of this scene.)

"I...I'm fine hon. Please pardon me sir nord. I'm afraid I wasn't watching were I was going. I...suppose I'm a bit...distracted," he felt a hard bump on his left side, then was greeted by the sight of a beautiful Bosmer woman who at first glance, couldn't stop staring at him, "It's no trouble. Seems like we're all a bit distracted. So many beautiful women in here, I'm starting to not want to leave," he gave a look up and down at the woman, and then went back to his room to retrieve his shirt and armor for the coming battle in the Arena. People now started awaking and coming out of their rooms; some were alone, others with women or bottle in hand. He reckoned he will see some of these people in the stands, and some facing off against him or each other. Man's pride is his greatest weakness. That he knew for sure.

As soon as he got into his room, he threw on a linen shirt, strapped up his leather chest armor, then attached the steel shoulders and his steel belt for the smaller knives he carries on him. With all of his essentials packed up and his armor on, he made his way to the Arena, just as Lu'ah was doing the same. The walk was pretty normal; he had been to the Imperial city before, so he wasn't taken aback by anything. He was set on making his way to the Arena district, and that's what he did.

"What do you want, boy? You here to watch?" A tall Imperial was county a large amount of septims before putting them in the earnings box. It would appear he was a sort of gate keep for the arena. Someone mainly concerned for their share of gold, and not much else. Men like this one irritated Ardin, but for the sake of time he decided to ignore his comment, "I'm here to fight. I'm going to make your little existence worth it. I'm going in," without waiting for an answer, he went into the bloodworks knowing where to go some reading on of his comrades boasting about his time in the arena. Ardin came partly for gold and partly for a way to "kill" his demons. Blood for more blood, in a sense. The wall was hung with iron bars and desolate souls looking for a way out whether it be through fighting to be released through a favor or fighting to be released with 40 inches of steel through their bellies. Howling echoed as he continued to walk towards the blademaster, who didn't have a name as far as Ardin could tell. Not yet at least.

"If you're here to fight, there's a match coming up that needs filling. With the sudden replacement, it will be a nice change for the highborns. You'll earn their pay today, but don't expect a handout like a beggar, you here?"

"Fine," Normally he wouldn't do something like this this blindly, but he wanted to test his luck and fate, while earning a quick bag of gold. He knows he would have to kill a lot of people to earn something higher. This was just sport. As he walked up, the roar of the crowd became louder and more viseral. Something that wasn't human, but instead more primal and carnal. It would seem those to words filled the city, or rather his moments in the city. His opponent was a total unknown, not like he cared. They would fall just the same as any man or mer.

The voice in the stands droned on and on about how he was inferior to his competitor and that his opponent will win without flaw. Ardin gripped his sword and waited for the gates to lower. Few moments passed before the gates lowered. His Orc opponent rushed forward, war axe in hand. As he rushed forward, Ardin swiped at his legs, cutting one, and kneeing him in the face. Why was this orc so ill prepared? He didn't care at this point. The Orc struggled to get up, so the wolf struck the other leg, making his prey yell out. Now it was unfair, but far from over. His foe flailed the axe around, almost cut his agressor, so Ardin struck his swinging arm. Now it was time for the final blow and the end to the boring match. Ardin calmly walked up closer, and shoved his sword through the Orcs mouth, only have his teeth stop at the hilt. He turned, then withdrew his sword, making the body collapse like an old statue and the crowd go crazy. He hopes his future matches will be harder and longer. With nothing to do, he made his way back to the bloodworks to let the Blademaster know he wanted more. His work was on display. The wolf picked at the kill, but was uninterested in easy prey. Wolves are meant for the hunt and the glorious kill, not something like this.

As he exited the arena, he managed to find Lu'ah, and pulled her from behind to surprise her, "I need to take care of a few things. I'll be back in time to see, I promise. If not, I'll pay the blademaster to let you in myself," He gave her a quick kiss and her backside and slight pinch as he made his way out into the district itself. The fight made him clear headed, and now he needed to store the gold and make sure everything was accounted for in his room. He wasn't going to abandon Lu'ah, he just needed to get a few things and to see if that young girl and the Bosmer were there. Something told him that they crossed paths for a reason. Call it a gut instinct or the gods. Ardin made his way back to the inn, stored the gold in his pouch that was safely tucked away, stuck his dagger in his boot, he then finally made his way to the innkeeper and asked about his new people of interest, "Has a young Imperial girl and a Bosmer left recently? I need to speak to them."

"I haven't seen any of the sorts, so I assume they're still here. You can wait here for them if you'd like," the innkeeper poured him a drink, and Ardin put septims on the wooden bar, ending the transaction. There should be a few more matches before Lu'ah. I promised her I'd be there, and I intend to keep that promise. I'll pay her way in with my own winnings if I have to.

Not long after Ardin left the arena he found Lu’ah and told her he had some things to take care of but would be back for her match. Lu’ah was not too concerned about him leaving. She was sure it was important, and she didn’t feel she had the right to question him anyway. The smell of him turned her on though. Blood mixed with sweat. She could imagine her hands running over his damp skin when.... No..I need to focus.. She watched him leave then turned her attention back to the Arena and watched as the workers cleared the remains of the Orc. The flooring of the arena was basically sand and any blood spilled simply seeped into it, leaving dark red spots dotted all over the arena like chickenpox on a small child.

The workers ran off when they were done and bells pealed again, to announce the next match. The crowd roared as a man and a woman walked out into the arena. The man, who appeared to be an Imperial, carried a fascinating weapon. It was like a mace but the end of it was attached to a bit of chain, so it could be swung through the air. Lu’ah had only seen one other person wield such a weapon and that was many years ago. It required great skill to wield the Flail. She racked her brain trying to remember where the weapon originated but she could not think of where. It was definitely not native to Tamriel though and she wondered how an Imperial came to have one. He swung it over his head like he knew what he was doing. Even from where she was sitting, Lu’ah could hear the spiked round head whistle as it sailed though the air.

Apparently this man was well known and the crowd cheered and he waved up at them. A few flowers fell into the arena from his admirers and he scooped one up and made a show of sniffing it before tucking it into his belt. Lu’ah heard whisperings of the people behind her and found his name to be simply The Brute.

The woman, unmistakably a Dunmer, carried two simple looking swords. Lu’ah raised an eyebrow as the Dunmer’s swords suddenly caught on fire. The flames licked up the blade of each sword, entwining over the elf’s hands and travelling half way up her arms. She appeared to be in no discomfort from the flames. In fact she looked quite stunning as she stood there, lit up golden by her magical fire.

So Lu’ah thought. I’m not the only one to be using magical weapons. Not that she thought she was unique. This would be an interesting match. It seemed the crowd thought so to as, as if one entity, they all sat forward, waiting. Lu’ah glanced around the arena, looking high up into the grandstands that seemed to overflow with people. Everyone’s eyes glimmered with a kind of greedy malicious glee as they waited for one of the fighters to make their move. To spill the other’s blood. Would the crowd look at her like that when it was her turn? Lu’ah shook her head, chasing away any doubts she had. She never cared what people thought of her, why start now?

She turned her attention back to the two who stood alone down there in the arena. She didn’t really have a preference on who she wanted to win. It didn’t matter to her either way. She was very interested in seeing the Dunmer’s magical skills, but also equally as eager to see how the Imperial handled the Flail. Either one of them would be a formidable foe. Bells pealed again and the match began as Lu’ah leaned forward, shivering with anticipation.

A mighty roar erupted from the crowd as The Brute stood victorious over the fallen body of the female elf. Half her head was caved in from the Flail, which dripped with globs of blood and brain matter. It had been an interesting match indeed. The Imperial wielded the Flail like a master. The Dunmer put up a decent fight, even getting in a few slices with her flaming swords, but she was definitely no match for the Imperials brute strength. He was aptly named. Flowers rained down upon him as he waved his hands, a half crazed grin plastered across his face. Then The Brute calmly walked back to the gates as half a dozen workers scuttled in to clean up the mess he had left behind. Lu'ah sat back in her seat. She was growing impatient. She wanted to fight. She caught the Blademaster's eye, down in the pits, but he shook his head and yelled up at her.

"Nothing yet!" Lu'ah sighed with frustration. Would she even get a fight in today? And where was Ardin? Even though she was annoyed at herself for thinking it, she wanted him back, by her side. She was beginning to get grumpy. A waft of food smells suddenly caught her attention and she grabbed a meat skewer offered to her by a passing vendor. She chewed on it irritably while she waited for the next match. One she would not be participating in she though moodily.

It was a good kill, a large lone Khajiit thought back to the match before the current one. Shaking his long dreadlocked white mane at the thought of the orc sliding off the man’s blade. One good blow, and it was over. The Imperial’s style was not as flamboyant, but it proved the more efficient of the two. What a poor woman, Do’ Janqu thought. Then again she was in the arena, no one truly came here of their own free will. He left the viewing box, and smelled something. It was the woman whom he remembered was watching the other two matches more intently. She seemed agitated that her own turn wasn’t soon, but Do’ Janqu shrugged. You always think you are ready until the roaring starts and gates drop. At least that is what he told the Khajiit children. He made his way down to the Blademaster, it was his turn to try and get a match today.

“Oh great… Janqu…” He groaned, breaking his more professional persona to show annoyance with the larger Khajiit. “You know we already have a long line. Why don’t you go to the Inn or something?”

“Just put this one’s… My name down,” came the low growl.

“Fine, don’t expect anything soon. You know, waiting so long to register is annoying. Lay off the moon sugar.”

Do’ Jangu tried to hold in a growl at the man’s accusation, causing the Bladesmaster to noticeably recoil from the large Khajiit that stood at least two feet taller than him. With a sigh Do’ Janqu left the Blademaster and wondered what he would do for the rest of the day. Blademaster was right not a high chance he would get to fight today. Maybe I should sign up early and watch matches after, he thought mind adrift in thought. He was happy with what he had. All memories of his past in Elsywer were nearly forgotten, except for his accent. Some things die harder than the strongest prey, he thought baring his teeth.

The room was becoming more and more crowded as the weeks passed. Every day new challengers were arriving, and every day new challengers were slaughtered at the hands of those more experienced. Occasionally one would prevail, and go on to slaughter many a newcomer. But today it did not seem like any fresh meat would be rising up.

The day was hot, and the gallery hotter. The sun was lashing down on Cyrodiil and the Arena was on the brink of overcrowding. Soon, it would be Gjorn's turn to take to the sands. But first, the Skaal was intent on watching the new blood be spilled, just in case anything noteworthy happened. It often crossed his mind that his thoughts made him sound as though he had been at it for years. In truth, he had arrived in the big city not two months ago, and beaten an Imperial man to death to earn his keep.

It was reaching the afternoon when the first signs appeared. A black-haired man, muscular and fairly tall, strode into the arena. The air of confidence that clung to him peaked Gjorn's interest. He watched the fight, but couldn't help but feel that it was a mismatch. He picked his opponent apart, an Orc that Gjorn knew had only been around for two weeks. Lugbrak, a tribal Orc from Skyrim. He had never been much of a fighter. It was only his second fight, and his first against a real opponent.

He watched with curiosity as the man exchanged words with a Redguard woman that had been watching the fight somewhat nervously from the look of her. Gjorn did not manage, despite his best efforts, to overhear. She took her seat and watched as another fight was set to take place. A woman he had never met, and a man he had only ever heard about. It wasn't long before the towering man's flail found its mark, and the duel ended in a particularly gory fashion. Much to the delight of the screaming savages in the crowd. The woman looked to the Blademaster, but it wasn't her turn. Of course it wasn't. It was Gjorn's.

He was in no great hurry; the fight would not start without him. It would be his ninth bout, and he sauntered down the steps, getting pats on the back from various friends and acquaintances. It did not take him long to slip into his armor. Today was too hot for full plate, so Gjorn did little more than put on a pair of hide pants and boots, with only two leather straps that met in an 'x' on his chest to cover the top half of his body.

Gjorn had never liked the waiting part of things. He was stood at the base of the steps to his pen, the steel spikes that blocked the arena entrance were shimmering in the sunlight and the ceiling above his head was shaking as the crowd above cheered and stamped their feet. He wasn't well known, but many had seen him before. The chamber was humid and dark. Gjorn hated it.

He had cleaned his sword the night before, ready for this. Curse craved blood, and gave off a grateful tune when it slid from its scabbard. The bell sounded, and Gjorn began the walk to the top. The spikes slid down, allowing the two contestants to enter the arena. The blood from the Brute's fight had not been cleared, and the whole place smelled of death and an odd mixture of sweat and guts.

Gjorn took five steps out onto the sand. Even in his current attire he felt overwhelmed by the heat, and was startled to see that his opponent had opted for a heavy set of steel plate armor which covered him from top to toe. It appeared this would be a much more interesting fight than he had originally planned. He let a wry smile crack accross his lips as the crowd roared into life. He didn't even want to think about the others, watching him from the gallery.

Gjorn could not identify the man ahead of him until he saw the broadsword that slid off of his back. It was wrought iron, with Nordic carvings embracing the blade right up to the tip. He did not know him, but had observed him in training. He was slow and strong. Maybe Gjorn did have some hope after all.

The Skaal man cracked like a whip into a sprint, pushing his shoulder into the man with full force to stagger him before he could even raise his sword, and then hacking downwards. The swipe clanged uselessly off of the armored man's breastplate. The broadsword came whistling through the air, and Gjorn had to roll to the side to dodge it, before swinging backhand into the man's knee. Again, no luck.

It was tedious; a game of dodges and rolls and swings that all bounced off uselessly. Gjorn stepped back to take in the situation ahead of him as they caught their breathe. The crowd was growing restless, hungry for blood, and Gjorn cursed their primitive lusts under his breath. He charged again, this time jumping and smashing his knee into the man's jaw, sending his helmet sprawling accross the sand. He was a Breton, ugly and scarred, his nose broken multiple times and eyes the colour of limes. His black hair was long and stringy, and fell around his shoulders. Finally, a breakthrough. Now it was just a matter of time.

Clearly angered, the man threw his broadsword aside and unsheathed a sword common among soldiers of the Imperial Legion. He rushed forwards, and his speed caught Gjorn off guard as the hilt of his sword cracked against his forehead, splitting the skin and drawing the first blood of the match. Gjorn responded by tackling him, smashing the man's sword hand into the floor until he released his grip on the weapon. Sat atop him, Gjorn rained down blows with his fists, breaking the man's nose again and busting his lips before he was thrown off.

The armored man, bruised and bleeding, spat blood on the floor as he stood, and then picked up his sword and came again. He sliced sideways and caught Gjorn in the ribs, leaving a small graze and a trickle of blood of the Skaal danced away. Their swords met under the sun, singing a song of steel to the crowd. But Gjorn moved much faster, and his opponent was tiring. It was not long before Gjorn managed to parry the man's half-hearted downwards swing and roll behind him, targeting the back of his knee. This time Curse was met with the relieving resistance of muscle and bone rather than steel and strap.

The larger man fell to his knees, and Gjorn hit him over the back of the head with his sword pommel, sending him to the floor. He looked down, and then raised a clenched fist to the sky, as the crowd entered a frenzy. His opponent reached his knees again, before Gjorn, begging for his mercy. Gjorn looked at him coldly, and shook his head, sending the crowd into uproar. Gjorn pushed a lip to his finger for hush, before swinging his sword wildly sideways. The Breton's ugly head rolled along the sand away from Gjorn, as his body toppled lifelessly to the floor.

When Gjorn awoke, he was in bed at the nearest inn. His head was throbbing, and so were his ribs, but all of it was negated by the welcome ache in his groin. The Nord maiden from the night before still clung tightly to him, naked under the covers. Gjorn didn't want to get up, but there would be others. He moved to a sitting position on the bedside, and grabbed the nearest mead bottle, mostly empty, and finished off the remnants.

He hadn't hung around after the fight. It had been tiring, and he had needed release. He did not stop to think about the others in the gallery or the inn, but instead bought as much drink as he could carry, grabbed the most attractive woman he could find and headed up to his room.

He felt utterly drained, but at least he did not have to fight today. He could relax, perhaps return tonight and find his woman waiting for him in his bed. Either way, today he would relax. He had planned to take today to do some shopping. He needed a new set of clothes, and wanted to place an order with the city armorer so that he didn't have to borrow sets from the pits.

He headed down stairs, exhausted from the long fight and passionate night. The innkeeper seemed happy this morning, and greeted him with cheer. Gjorn was dressed in a simple purple tunic and brown boots, and clearly looked as though the night had been rough. "Hello, friend. I'll take some goat cheese and bread. And some vegetable stew. Oh, and a sweetroll, why not." The innkeeper smiled and nodded, and set about preparing his order. Ten minutes later, Gjorn found himself sat at a bench in the corner of the inn facing the door, just watching the people coming and going as he ate his breakfast.

As Lu'ah sulked in the players gallery, she noticed a large Khajiit get up and leave. She glanced at him as he ascended the stairs down to the pits and made a beeline for the Blademaster. His fur was brilliant white, a great mane of dreadlocked hair shaking as he stalked gracefully down the stairs. He had a quick word with the Blademaster. Lu'ah could not hear their conversation but she could tell the cat was not happy. He eventually left, unsatisfied. Waiting for a match, like myself..she assumed. I hope I don't have to come up against him. She then thought, remembering a good friend of hers, a large Khajiit, similar in colouring to this one.

After the second fight was over, and The Brute had left the Arena, another player stood and left the gallery. Stomping down the stairs with a confidence born from one who knew what he was doing. This one was a Nord. He was not wearing any armour and Lu'ah assumed that he would get changed when his time came. Instead of speaking to the Blademaster however, the Nord disappeared and a few minutes later was back, wearing simple leather gear, his chest left almost bare. Lu'ah raised an eyebrow with interest. The crowd cheered again as the bell tolled and the gates raised at either end. Lu'ah turned her attention back to the front as the Nord and his opponent stepped out into the Arena.

It was an exciting match. Both opponents looked to be quite reasonably matched. A change from the two previous matches. The Nord's challenger however, was clad entirely in steel plate armour. Lu'ah thought it was a bad decision on his part, given the heat of the day. She frowned as the man grew visibly tired and wondered if she should review her own armour. Indeed now she sat sweltering in her seat and she hadn't even raised a finger in combat. She watched on eagerly as the two swung their swords at each other until the Nord seemed to have enough and really let loose. The armored man staggered back, falling to his knees and then his head flew sideways as the Nord ended the match. A great cheer erupted from the crowd. Lu'ah did not cheer. She appreciated the Nord's abilities, but she would not join the masses in their lust for blood. She noticed that the other players must have felt the same as she did for they all remained silent as well.

The Nord left the Arena quietly. Nothing like the show The Brute had put on. Lu'ah watched as he collected his winnings and left the building. She looked to the Blademaster but he made a point of avoiding eye contact with her. Lu'ah sighed and resigned herself to sitting in the gallery all day watching people fighting and earning money which should have been going into her own purse.

Baroth gritted his teeth as he stepped back and to the left, barely evading the Orc's right thrust, mere inches from his nose! He quickly countered by grabbing the outstretched limb and slamming the edge of his shield into the elbow with considerate force. Being that he had a wooden shield, the result of the bashing would be a few sore muscles that would in all actuality make movement of that limb limited. No sooner had he done that, had Borg grunted in pain before throwing a punch that connected with Baroth's nasal cavity.

Blood poured hastily from Baroth's nose as he recoiled, before another punch quickly found it's way to his stomach. He raised his shield to block the next punch, then lowered it as he threw a jab to Borg's lower left side, followed up by a quick bash of his shield as he ducked and ran the Borg into the ground. Without giving him a moment's rest, Baroth began to wail on the Orc in hails and flurries of hard jabs and quick slaps, which all seemed to have no effect on Borg at all.

Quite quickly, the Orcish brawler wrapped his arms around Baroth's forearms, using the grip as leverage to headbutt him hard. Borg's knee connected with Baroth's crotch, whom respired in pain prior to Borg's fist shutting him up. As the nord snapped back once again, Borg raised his right foot and easily launched the man into the metal bars surrounding the miniature arena. Then, with rough grace, Borg stood, twisted his torso to pop his back loudly, and approached.

Baroth shook his head, as if to shake off the pain, and looked up as the bulky orc approached.

Borg was twice his size, both in weight and muscular mass, and moved with the grace of a well-experienced fighter. He was quick on his feet and even quicker up-close. His head was shaven and his chest was bare, as he only wore clothed pants, merely to show off his brawn. And to think he was thirty-two. Baroth would need to disable one of his legs, to slow him down, then break one of his arms, to limit his maneuverability further.

He gathered from this fight that when attacked, the orc would counter the attack before going offensive against the opponent's open flank. If the opponent blocked or countered his move, he'd quickly find a way to use it against them or defend against the attack . A clever tactic, quite similar to Baroth's own battle plans. But the brute didn't know of the weak points, the ones everybody has.

Baroth rolled his legs and stood from a kneel slowly, as Borg halted, with a sly grin on his face. Then he spoke, in that smug, cocky tone that annoyed Baroth crazy.

"You finished, old man? Or do you want me to show you who this prison really belongs to?" He cocked a brow, popping his knuckles idly.

Baroth spat blood on the ground as he reached his feet, loosening his hold on the shield as stared down the orc, dropping it.

"Alright son," He smirked, "Show me."

Borg's grin widened as he raised his fists, charging in a blur.

Baroth raised an open palm to catch the jab, his left hand swinging backwards to smash across Borg's face, knocking him back. Swiftly, Baroth followed up low jab to the stomach, swinging for Borg's cranium as he doubled over. Borg reacted quick, raising his forearms so the punch simply slapped across his arms. Baroth briskly shifted his strength into his right arm and again rammed into his abdomen. When he opened up his guard, Baroth threw a jab to Borg's jaw.

As he recoiled, Baroth raised his right fist for another blow to Borg's chest, only to have it countered. A fist slammed into his cheek, sending him backwards as he clenched his jaw. In a flurry now, the orc attacked, jabs and roundhouses from seemingly every angle to Baroth's forward. That was the one thing Baroth could further note: the brute never attempted to feint him or even flank his sides. Their dance carried them across the entire cell, leaving them near dead-center as the blows seemed to slow down

Baroth was pushed back, only to have a heavy fist further bruise his face. To his left, Borg almost instantly followed up with a high kick to the cranium, which Baroth caught under his arm. With a stern kick, Baroth struck Borg's exposed groin and released his leg as he cried out in pain. Baroth suddenly advanced, throwing a quick jab to Borg's face, who turned swiftly three-sixty degrees around to ram a low shot to Baroth's stomach.

Baroth promptly raised both arms in a lock to catch the blow, but before he could counter, Borg connected his attack with a left swing, thrusting Baroth back and into a quick little spin. He raised both fists as Borg advanced once more, coming down with a heavy slug to crack his skull. Baroth, however, made a final counter by forming his arms in a hold to catch the strike, then he twisted around and, with all his strength, threw Borg over his shoulder.

Borg landed in a swift roll and stood into a fluid front flip, turning back to face Baroth, his face twisted into that of concentration, and anger. Then he charged once more, only to be cut short by the battering of the guards as they stumbled into the cell, calling off the fight.

Around half an hour later, Baroth had been fully dressed in the prison's customary gladiator armor, which consisted of chainmail and hided leather, and had been escorted to the 'pit'. The 'pit', as Baroth came to see it, was a large room with a few wooden benches and one long hall at it's front that lead into the Arena itself. Also included, was a long viewport reinforced with iron bars, so the prisoners could watch the fights and cheer on the competitors. Or even distract them.

Some of the prisoners had gathered into their little groups, talking over the previous warm-up fights and discussing the upcoming matches. Borg himself was in a large group by the viewport, idly chatting with those gathered and occasionally glancing at Baroth, before popping some snide remark. Baroth remained in silence, armed with a metal shield and an iron sword, awaiting for the Arena Master or one of the Guardsmen to pick him into a match.

Alice and Natesse headed downstairs to finally fetch their breakfast. Dreven was off somewhere but neither really missed him. Alice welcomed the quiet and the girl time she was having and Natesse knew Dreven was pursuing his own devices. He had worked hard to brew their languorwine all last night and he didn't get the relief he was expecting from her this morning. He was probably out looking for a quiet watering hole to get some peace and to prowl for "assignments." The work of a Brotherhood assassin never ended after all. Or he could be worming his way between a whore's legs. Either one was equally likely. Natesse sent Alice to find them a table while she ordered and paid for both of them. She went up to the bar and smiled at the bartender, batting her eyelashes a bit. He was covering for Juilus this morning and he was cute.

"Morning miss. What can I get you?" He asked.

"Could I get two orders of bacon and scrambled eggs with wheat toast please? I'm over at the back right table. The one with the girl in the blue dress?"

Natesse pointed to Alice to make sure the bartender saw and he nodded. "Sure thing miss. 10 septims'll be your total."

"Of course. Go ahead and put it on my tab. My name's Natesse. I should be in the red ledger under the bar. Oh, and a pitcher of orange juice and a sweetroll please. For my friend over there. This is a big day for her."

"Yep, sure thing." Natesse batted her eyelashes again and sat up to express her cleavage. "How much more?" She asked.

"You're fine." He said. As he got their breakfast ready he looked at the two women again and remembered what the lean Nord had asked him. He was still at the bar nursing his drink and guessed that these were the people he was looking for. He decided to walk over and let him know after they got situated back at their table. "Oi. Those the girls you were looking for?" He asked, gesturing with his thumb.

(OOC: Sorry for the short post but I don't have alot of creativity at the moment. Hopefully that's enough to get you going Wolf.)