This is a side story that I wrote to practice my fighting skits. It is situated between chapter 9 and chapter 10 of Retribution. I hope you enjoy. Warning: slaughter will ensue....
On his fourth morning in the Imperial City, at breakfast Zach started a conversation about the Arena matches that Tarthas had eagerly watched Zaknolu fight. It seemed there was no end to the Dark Elf’s stamina and kill streak. He truly was the grand champion. He fought agilely and quickly. It was obvious he was an assassin at heart because his blades never gave the slightest hint of a sopping chop or crunch of bones. Quick and efficient. Most matches were only long because he toyed with the opponents wishing to challenge him. The discussion turned awkwardly towards a challenge from Zaknolu for Tarthas to fight in a match. Just against a pitdog. Or so he said.
Tarthas was at the gate that led to the large ring that was the arena. The blue arena raiment was uncomfortable and very exposing. But it was mandatory: to show that the gladiators were animals in a cage and not entirely recognizable as human.
“Good people of the Imperial City! Welcome to the Arena!” The grizzled Blademaster yelled to the crowd making them roar in excitement, “For this match we’ve got some fresh meat! And not just any fresh meat! One recommended by the Black Arrow! So that you can taste this Pitdog’s bloodlust to its full potential we have something special planned... he will take arms in a deathmatch this arena hasn’t seen the likes of since Gaiden Shinji! The Yellow Team has gathered its strength in numbers and is pepared to show this pitdog who is the alpha in an all against one deathmatch! How long will he last? How humiliated will the Yellow Team be? Let’s find out! Loweeeerrrrr…. The gates!!!
With a cranking screech the gate shuddered under the floor and Tarthas ran to the centre expecting the worst. Three pitdogs ran from the other gate but he could see more piled up waiting. An argonian, an imperial and a nord all with various bludgeons and swords readied. The circled him as he unsheathed his silver sword.
The first Argonian lunged his scimitar at Tarthas. The spellsword ducked under his arm letting the Argonian fall on his sword. Spinning around he slashed at the Nord making him spin from the force and with another quick step Tarthas slashed down through his back like the crack of a whip.
Two more pitdogs a high elf and another Argonian closed in.
The Imperial tried to smack with his mace but Tarthas grabbed the hilt with his hand closing in with a stab straight through his chest. His sword was stuck and the Altmer was readying a heavy blow from her battle-axe.
In a frantic effort the Breton blasted a fire bolt from his sword hand, pushing the sword out and knocking them apart. The Altmer missed and crunched into the imperial.
Tarthas made quick work of the staggered Altmer stabbing her down her neck. With his boot he kicked the sword out and sliced the Argonian’s neck. She gargled before falling.
Half a dozen more combatants entered the ring.
They circled him and Tarthas had his sword ready, ears open for anything from behind. A khajiit grabbed him from behind taking his weapon from his hand urging for someone to attack. The boy elbowed the Khajiit and quickly rolled out of the way from an incoming blow from an Orc’s warhammer. The khajiit was no more than a rug now.
He unsheathed a boot knife as he had lost his sword. He stood up, flexing his wrist and the dance of death continued as two-dozen more combatants ran from different gates.
One was daring enough to attack the pitdog only to be side stepped and stabbed in the back, being thrown to the floor. With a spin he slashed another Bosmer and stabbed him in the heart. Turning around, the whirlwind of a single knife stabbed a nord three times in the chest before dodging a claymore, only to close in and give an uppercut stab throwing the Breton to the ground.
A Redguard tried to grab him but she was thrown over his back and Tarthas dived down, avoiding two simultaneous chops that killed the opposite, stabbing the downed Redguard.
He rolled aside, tripping up a dunmer as he stood up; he let him fall on the knife. Spinning aside from another sword he stabbed her in the back and continuing his momentum to slay one more pitdog. He looked around and the number of gladiators he saw was worthy of an army. They were all hungry to kill him. He was unscathed so far but he couldn’t hold out forever. Once more he raised his boot-knife, prepared for whatever was coming his way.
The crowd was in an uproar. Owyn was priding himself at this fight. It truly was a blood bath.
“You have me to thank for this.”
“I will have to admit this is beautiful. We are earning money by the thousands because of people betting on how many he kills before his own death. Some have even betted that he will kill every member of the yellow team. The count is now up to 16… I mean 17... 23, dammit! Slow down or Hundolin will lose count!”
The dunmer chuckled.
“Why did you send him to his death?”
“I wanted to test him.” He crossed his arms and walked towards the bannister and watched distantly “And if my beliefs are true, then he will not die.”
“I think you have met your match, Zach. Be glad that he is a one time combatant and not willing to climb the ladder to challenge you.”
“It would be a fight I’d like to have.” He mused, “But that will have to wait. How many pitdogs did round up?” He turned raising an eyebrow.
The Blademaster raised his head. 46 pitdog volunteers, 23 prisoners, eight raiders and 16 bandits. Dammnit you know I can’t add that many together!”
“83 pitdogs and 26 are down. Adding the 73 higher ranks that means he has to fight his way through 130, nope 127 now, gladiators.”
“By Shinji! That would be anyone’s death!”
“Not his, I believe.”
“Nor yours. Let’s make a bet. He dies, I keep the next three months of your earnings. If there is no more yellow team member left…”
“You give me half of the coin earned from today.”
“Dagon damn you, Zaknolu, but fine.”
The two cut their palm and shook hands.
The bodies on the ground were piling up dramatically making it hard for most of the pitdogs to keep their footing. But Tarthas was dancing to his own rhythm, and not a step could by misplaced or it would mean the end of the dance and the end of his life.
With a kick to the groin he got a Nord to his knees and stabbed down the back of his skull. He spun around hooking an imperial in his neck throwing him to the dirt. Parrying a khajiit’s sword to the side and stabbing it in the chest. He just ducked away from a dunmer’s mace, spinning round he stabbed a Bosmer in the back and rolling a breton over his back, dodging a claymore and slitting the wielder’s neck.
Quickly he lunged at an orc swatting his axe aside only to have to jump away from a swinging warhammer. He kicked aside an axe caming for his abdomen pushing the pitdog to buckle so that he could finish him off. As he raised his knife he gutted a nord and swiftly parried another swat from the axe-wiekding orc only to hook the weapon, disarming him. Which Tarthas took to full advantage and grabbed him close and slit his throat,
He ducked underneath another mace eviscerating the Breton lady. Quickly spinning out from under her, he finally picked up his silver long-sword sword, leaving the boot knife in the Breton.
Tarthas was grabbed by the scruff of his raiment and kicked the Redguard in the groin to make him let go, quickly parrying a sword from his side, ducking under and slashing the pitdog down. He danced to another stabbing him straight through the belly, pulling his blade out making a riposte on an altmer and then jumping at a Bosmer, lightly cutting his throat.
Countless more fell to his blade until there was one pitiful Bosmer still standing. The Bosmer fell to his knees and begged for mercy. But was given a cold stare from black eyes and a sword up his stomach and out between his shoulder blades. Tarthas was in no mood for mercy. The sun had set and the stars were out, finally he heard the cheer of the crowd. He had spent all day fighting and fatigue had finally gotten to him.
Up at the announcer’s balcony Zaknolu chuckled. “I win.”
Owyn just grumbled while getting ready to announce the end of the match. “You came to the Arena today for a bloodbath of the Era! And you have gotten it! The Tamriel Terror may now return to rest. You are the last man standing! Congratulations! And I bid all of you spectators a good night!”
Zach raised an eyebrow at the grizzled Redguard, “The Tamriel Terror?”
“I had to think of something fast. And look at that: a hundred and fifty one corpses, all slain by one man.”
All that Zaknolu thought was that he had confirmed that Tarthas was lying about bandits. So where did he come from?
