Young Writers Society

As Do’amha slid to a stop, snatching the dagger from the sand, he was immediately met with the hairy features of the troll towering over him. He narrowly avoided the heavy arms that came crashing down in an explosion of sand. His once clean fur was now dusty and lost its sheen from rolling about on the ground. Scrambling back, Do’amha held the dagger up as if the small hunk of iron would intimidate the creature.

In the five years that he had been fighting in the arena, Do’amha had never used a weapon, but with the blunting of his claws he was pretty well defenceless against the brutality of this creature. It charged again, forcing Do’amha onto the retreat. Kicking off the wall, he managed to vault over the troll to safety and leading it to barrel straight into the stone wall.

The crowd gave out a cheer as Do’amha seemed to have the upper hand. If I can get it to do that enough times then it will just beat itself to death, he thought. A small grin spread over his features as the brute turned around. A large gash ran over its forehead, above its third eye, running a steady stream of blood down the creature’s face. But as Do’amha waited for the next charge he was shocked to see the wound slowly begin closing up. After a few moments, the only sign that there had ever been a wound at all was the small crimson line that had slipped out before the fissure had closed.

The troll let out another thundering bellow and charged. Do’amha took off for the other side of the arena and kicked off the wall again, but the beast was learning. Midway through the vault, the troll threw up one of its trunk like arms and flung him into the nearby wall. He was sure that a few ribs were cracked if not broken from the blow. Staggering to his feet he was forced to leap away once again to keep from being crushed.

This is impossible. I can’t out run it forever and I can’t kill it if it will just heal. He thought as his grip on the dagger tightened. If I can blind it maybe I’ll stand a chance. Without waiting to think of other possibilities he rushed forward and slid beneath the creature, right between its short legs. With a mad scramble he clawed his way up the troll’s back as it thrashed about trying to dislodge him. One hand tangled in its dark mane he stabbed at the eyes that glared up at him. The first plunge took out the eye set in the middle of its forehead.

That’s when the first hit came, rocking Do’amha on the creature’s shoulders. Spots of black clouded his vision and a crack sounded from his jaw. He shook his head trying to clear the spots in his vision, but that only made him even dizzier.  The second plunge stabbed next to the eye he was aiming for and he dragged it across both of the enraged orbs.

The troll grabbed hold of Do’amha’s arm and pulled him down, tearing out a handful of greasy hair with him. It flung Do’amha about like a rag doll, slamming his body against the ground and then the walls before throwing him across the arena.

Stumbling to his feet, Do’amha's left arm hung lifelessly at his side. All the throwing about had dislocated his shoulder. I can't believe it didn't get ripped off, he thought in amazement. His left eye had swollen shut and a stream of blood was dribbling out of his mouth. He tried to grip the dagger once more to finish this fight, but his hand gripped nothing but air.

“Where is the dagger?!” he cried in a panic. He was sure that the crowd was trying to answer his question but in the roar of cheering he couldn’t understand them.

Then he saw it.

The blood covered metal was lying at the feet of the troll that was thrashing about to try and find its prey. Getting the dagger would mean getting within the beast’s range of attack, but who knew how long he had before the troll regenerated its eyes?

He spat out a curse as he rushed for the dagger, sliding toward it on his knees. Looking up, he saw that one of the eyes has regenerated and was staring down at him with a murderous intent.

It was over. There was no way that he could blind the creature again with only one arm. He was going to die in this arena. Then a sudden pendulous motion between the troll’s legs caught his eyes .

With an evil grin, he drove the dagger straight up into the apex of the troll’s thighs and tore straight out, completely removing the organ making the once male beast an ugly female. A mixture of a howl, a scream, and a yelp tore from the troll’s throat.

Dropping to his knees the creature held its bloody loins as Do’amha got to his feet. With a growl, he shoved the dagger into the roof of the bellowing beast’s mouth and kept driving forward until the small guard pressed flat against the roof of the troll’s maw. Leaving the dagger in place, he figured that it couldn’t heal if the dagger never came back out.

The troll crumpled to the ground and the crowd waited in an eerie silence, everyone waiting to see if the troll would once again get back on its feet. A slow clapping began from the owner’s section. Omeloren was beginning to applaud Do’amha’s victory and it spread like wildfire. The entire arena was in an uproar of cheering.

Do’amha didn’t care. He immediately began stumbling back to the slowly opening arena gate. He needed to get into his cage and rest. As he stumbled into the pits he was greeted with the same cheers of approval from the slaves that he got from the spectators. He had never seen the fighter pits so lively. A few of the slaves would reach out and touch his stripped fur, as if just that small brushing touch would be enough to impart some piece of his strength.

He collapsed into his cage. Pain did not begin to describe the state that he was in. Agony was a better word for it. He slowly managed to roll to his back, eyes closed, and trying to breathe passed the pain in his chest. Definitely broken ribs, he thought.

Hands were pressed to his chest and shoulder and the warm feeling of healing began to spread throughout his body. The sudden crack of his shoulder being put back into place by magik made him wince, but the pain in his side ebbed away. “Thanks sister,” he muttered.

“I’m not your sister,” said a rather curdled voice. Do’amha’s eyes snapped open to see and Argonian woman looking down at him. Her scales a dark green with purple hued blush on her cheek bones. Scrambling to a seated position his eyes darted about the cage.

“Where is Vajrasha?” he demanded.

“I don’t know who you are talking about. There was no one here when I was placed in this cage.”

“Hey slave,” a familiar voice barked.It was the guards from last night and each of them was wearing a snide grin on their faces. “You’ll want to see this.” The cage opened with a shrill screech as Do’amha stepped out. The pair led him to the side entrance and pulled the eye slot open for him to look out.

What he saw made his heart drop into his feet.

There stood Vajrasha in the center of the arena. Standing in a ring around her were ten other slaves. A few were Argonian, but most of them were Khajiit. He could see that Vajrasha was trembling in fear but trying to put on a brave face.

He never puts females into the arena, no matter the reason. What in Oblivion is going on?! he thought.