He could taste the blood that was slowly running down the back of his
throat, the stench of it filled his nostrils. Do'amha wiped the
trickle of blood his nose on the already blood-soaked wraps on his
hands. Dingy cloth and orange fur tinted red from the blood of the
Argonian beneath him.
He had long since forgotten the shock of how easy it is to kill with
his bare hands. Now it was more like instinct now. The body of the
scaled person person lay at his feet. The lifeless eyes staring up
into some unseen afterlife that was now his freedom. A freedom that
Do'amha never believed that he would find. How could there be an
afterlife when they were already in Oblivion.
Do'amha didn't
stay for the announcer's flowery words, putting a playful twist to
the brutality of what took place. He had no patience for long winded
speeches. He had killed another person. That was plain truth of it.
The spectators had all witnessed it and had been cheering him on.
He remembered the naivety of his first matches as he entered the
fighter pits. Five years ago he never would have thought of taking
the life of another, but as a slave he had no choice in the matter.
Either he did as he was told, or he was whipped and starved as
punishment. It took two years for them to reign in his rebellious
nature.
Sitting down in his fighter cell he took a deep breath to calm the
adrenaline shakes that were coursing through his veins. Down in the
pits it was nothing like the arena. Just the looks of the other
slaves we so very different. When in the arena, they were filled
with anger and hatred for someone that they had never met before. In
the pits everyone just looked...tired. No one talked. What was the
point? You were just going to have to kill one of them anyways.
There was only one person that Do'amha called friend. “Do'amha
took a serious beating out there, yes,” a young Khajiit said
kneeling down beside him. She began to rub her black furred hands
together until they were wrapped in a bright gold glow, much like her
eyes, and placed them on Do'amha's face. He could feel the healing
energy seeping through his orange and black striped fur to the wounds
beneath. “You like being hit repeatedly?”
Do'amha chuckled as her hands pulled away from his newly healed
features. “Perhaps it is the pain that I like more. Knowing that
I am still alive and not lost in Oblivion,” he responded.
“Well
brother,” she chided, “if you enjoy it so much, perhaps I will
not heal you the next time that an Argonian breaks your nose, yes?”
“That
would not be wise,” a voice said, cutting through the silence like
a knife. The small group of slaves quickly parted, revealing a
golden skinned man with sharp, pointed ears. Dressed in elegant
clothing and his green eyes looking over Do'amha and Vajrasha with an
appraising glare. “I need my best slave ready for battle at every
moment, is that clear?”
“Of..of
course, Master Omeloren,” Vajrasha answered with a bow of her head.
“And
you,” the man said turning his gaze to Do'amha. “That Argonian
should not have been that difficult to defeat. I wonder if you are
holding back once again.”
“The
Argonian was much stronger than he appeared, Master Omeloren,”
Do'amha growled back. “And his wraps were hiding iron plates in
them.”
“Iron
plates you say. I will have to have a chat with his former owner.
Get rested. You have another fight tomorrow.”
“I
know I do. You have me fight every night,” Do'amha said with a
shake of his head.
“Are
you talking back to me, slave?”
For a long moment Do'amha just stared at the elf that had been his
master for the last five years. Master Erendur Omeloren. A
plantation owner and financial supporter of the Aldmeri Dominion. As
much as Do'amha would love to leap onto the elf and begin beating him
to death with his bare hands, he couldn't. He might get two or three
shots in before the guards stopped him and he found his head severed
from his neck. “No...Master Omeloren. Just stating what has been
my life for the last few years,” he replied through clenched fangs.
“Good.
I would hate to cancel the event because you were locked in The
Box.”
Vajrasha flinched with Do'amha at the mention of The Box. Erendur
turned on his heel and strode out of the pits with a superior air.
“Gods I wish I could rip his throat out,” Do'amha growled.
Another blood sport spectacle was called out in the ring. A cheer
went out on the other side of the wall as another two slave
competitors began killing each other. “I'm sure that you aren't
the first to think that, Do'amha,” Vajrasha said quietly.
“The Divines have a plan for us,” an Argonian with frills said
tightly clutching an amulet of Stendarr.
“Damn the Divines,” Do'amha growled back. “If they truly had
plans for us do you think they would leave us in the hands of these
knife-ears? Ones that treat us like animals and get enjoyment from
out of our pain? Where is your Divine of justice to punish those
that have done this to us?”
The Argonian turned to him with an uncertain gaze. His faith having
already been shaken with the horror that he witnessed in this place.
Looking to his pendant one last time, he tore it from his neck and
threw it into a small grate where the waste from the cages drained
off into.
As the Argonian sulked away Vajrasha gave Do'amha a stern look. “I
know that you have no belief in the Divines but that doesn't mean
that you have to take away the hope of others.”
“Hope will only get you killed here,” he responded as he heard
the crowd filing out of the underground stadium. The final fight of
the night had been concluded and the victor had returned clutching
his broken hand.
The door at the
far side of the room opened and two high elves made their way down
the line of cages, passing out food to the fighters. When they
reached Do'amha's cage, they reached into the cart and pulled out a
tray of fresh food. It wasn't like the nearly rotten food scraps
that the other fighters were given. That was the treatment that you
got for being the favorite fighter.
Vajrasha received a piece of stale bread as her supper for the
evening and she sighed, having gotten the last of the food available.
“They always leave me for last,” she said sitting on the floor
in front of Do'amha.
“You hardly starve, sister,” Do'amha chuckled as he portioned
half of his food for her to have. She was locked into his cage, a
gift from Omeloren. He would periodically send him females. Rewards
for having fought well. Vajrasha was the only one that he didn't
send away. But he would not bed her. They had an arrangement. She
would heal him after the matches and he would keep her safe.
“I am going to sleep early,” he said as he stretched out onto the
stones. He always let her have the bed of straw. It never felt
right to make her sleep on the hard stone. An arm over his eyes to
block out the dim like of the torches, he drifted off into a
dreamless sleep. After all, what was there to dream about when his
only memories were those behind the iron bars?
That explains A LOT of the worldbuilding haha! I know what the races and magic are :S I was being a dum-dum.
Let's get into it.
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