[Demda]

A hard touch woke her that darkening; Lash had come for her at last. "Wake up, girl." He muttered as he shook her violently. Demda threw off his arm and arose quickly, and then followed him as he exited. The thin orc led her out and toward the Angry pit. Her body still had some lingering soreness from the previous brightening's workout.

Not a word was shared between them on the way. Demda didn't know quite what to make of that. He'd had no shortage of words before her bout with Moot Daipan. She wondered whether this silence was meant to unsettle her or to make her brave. The wretch decided it didn't matter. She'd fight all the same.

A rowdy cheer went up from the stands as she arrived at the southside of the Angry Pit. Beneath the tumult, she could hear snatches of, "Fool slayer," Or "Elf witch.". Whether these names were meant to flatter or insult her, was a mystery. As for herself, she took the names proffered and cherished each one.

"Get in," Came the voice from behind. Demda complied, taking a running leap into the pit, landing with a thud, and then sprinting to the other side. She was determined this time not to be caught unawares and subsequently humiliated.

As she stopped to turn around, the wretch could see nothing but a mass of orcs at the southside of the Angry Pit. Some appeared to be argueing. Finally, one smaller but stouter orc came forth from the press, holding a rusty falchion. Lash pushed him in, laughing as the small orc fell flat on his face. The stocky orc pushed himself up, and laughed with them, beating the flat of his falchion against his chest. He smiled when he saw Demda.

Parry and counter, Demda thought to herself. The wretch didn't have much, but she had knowledge enough to stay alive, and steel with which to kill him. And her chain, she mustn't forget the bloody chain. And luck; that too.

The orc seemed cautious, and for that she was grateful. It gave her time to study him.

He was stocky, as mentioned, and short, probably some grunt that wasn't even through with the lughorn training. His tusks hadn't even begun to grow in. That's when it hit her, He's a child... A thought crossed her mind then. He'd probably been in less actual battles than she. Somehow that thought gave her strength, although she knew the elder would scold her for it. Even the greatest warrior can fall to an untrained peasant under the right circumstances. She had said, or something like that. Anyway, she remembered suddenly that she shouldn't be thinking so much. Thinking was your mortal enemy in Orckon.

She stepped forward with her wrists pressed together, swinging the chain that connected her shackles this way and that. The wretch feigned a lunge to the orc's left, to which he replied overhastily with an overhand swing of his falchion. The sword connected with the chains, creating a spark. A few hoots and howls went up from the stands. The combat was begun in earnest.

Her opponent decided to take the next move, stepping forward with a horizontal slash of his falchion. Demda moved without his measure, and then quickly hopped back into it, to give him a taste of her chain. The orc's head whipped to the side with the impact, and he replied by reversing his horizontal slash the other way. The wretch spread her wrists vertically and caught it on her chain near the hilt, causing a few more sparks to fly. The noise was growing louder now.

Parry and counter, She remembered, and launched a kick between the orc's legs... to feel with her foot the hard bronze of her opponent's codpeice.

"Heheh," The orc took a moment to gloat, "Hornack has balls of steel, elven whelp."

Then he drew the length of his falchion's blade across her chain, prompting her to retreat. He didn't let up; she side-stepped one vertical slash just to meet with another, lower horizontal slash the very moment after. It caught her at on the right thigh just as she stepped back. Just a surface cut, any deeper and it might've been the death of her. She saw the other horizontal slash coming before it got there. She spread her wrists at the last moment to catch the blade, and more sparks flew. This time she could've sworn that the sword bit into her chain. She wouldn't be able to keep this up without eventually breaking a link. Demda had to try and put an end to it.

After disengaging and hopping backward, she reached into her pauldron and palmed the razor that lay sheathed beneath it. He was coming at her, telegraphing an overhead slash. She tried to bat at the false edge of the falchion, but he was too fast, and Demda shrieked in renewed agony as it cut into her left arm. The parry was a bust, but she could still salvage the counter. Demda drew the razor with her right hand, up and across his throat. Blood spurt from the wound as she spun away from the orc, sprinting backward to try and create a distance while he bled. She held the wound on her arm as she ran.

But he didn't let up at that, in fact, his attack grew more urgent, more frenzied. The blood madness was on him. His falchion was a flash of steel against the air as he charged, and Demda could only continue to run from him, having no refuge against his onslaught.

Even with the blood madness on him, and the wound on her leg, the fat young orc was no match for the wretch's quick pace, though her leg screamed a fiery complain with every movement. He continued to close ground, until she was almost to the wall, then she suddenly darted horizontally, across the curve of the Angry Pit. Hornack tried to cut her off at the corner, but his move wasn't enough to match for her speed. The blood loss was beginning to take it's toll. He stumbled, slicing at thin air just as she rushed past him.

When she felt she was a safe distance from where he'd fallen, she looked over her shoulder to see if he was following. He was still on the ground, struggling to get up. A pool of blackish blood spread out underneath his body.

Hesitate and you're as good as dead. She thought to herself, and then began limping quickly to where he was.

His groans were a horrible gurgling, as some of the blood flooded into his throat and out his mouth. She'd cut deeper than it seemed, at first. Not deep enough, She mused. He was still writhing. Without a moment's hesitation, she decided to put him out of his misery.

But just as he felt her touch at the base of his scalp, he went into another fury of action, flailing his swordarm over the back of his shoulder, and grazing her just above and below the right eye. The wretch tried to tilt her head out of reach of the falchion's wild swinging. Not wanting to wait for him to find a better target, she lifted his head by the scalp, placed her razor at the side of his throat, and gave him the red smile.

Afterward, the orcs seized Demda and bore her on their shoulders, allowing her to soak in the apparent adoration of the crowd. It would seem she was the favorite tonight. Demda allowed herself a weary smile of her own.