[Location] The Arena

[Apophis]

At very lowest level a civilian can enter in Malice, a great domed structure has been built into the very city itself. Quite a long ways underground, the place has been built to seat hundreds, if not thousands of people. Spectators. All circled around a great, circular pit made of dirt and surrounded on all sides by dark, barred entrances. This pit is the kind of place you read about in books and watch in movies. If the Thunderdome had a midieval brother, this would be it. Chains line the bloody walls. It was obvious the thing was never cleaned. The people who ran it apparently got the idea that the blood and gore and dirtiness of the entire thing merely added to the entertainment. Like some kind of sick decoration.

And for the most part, it worked. It also worked to scare unwitting slaves and prisoners out of their wits before they even met their foes. Rarely armed with anything more than a shortsword and perhaps a shield, gladiators within the pits could meet their end in a host of grisly ways. Torn apart by lions, beaten by a horde of Cryos students, frozen and shattered against the wall. Their fates were often either slow and horrible, or incredibly fast and brutal. Either way, the crowd always cheered when a person was dispatched, and they cheered every time two people entered the pit, for when two entered, only one exited. Ever.

Sometimes, prisoners were simply bound to the walls, their "fight for freedom" nothing more than entertaining executions. To their eternal despair, the Maliceans were never want for creative ways to kill people.

Activities in the pit were as varied as the methods of execution dreamt up by those who ran it. Its uses varied, from full blown gladiatoral entertainment to testing grounds for mages to duels for supremacy amongst the guilds. All things deemed "official" and combatative in nature were held within the pit, and, much like the AFCL, betting and gambling over who would win was not only accepted, it was encouraged. A large source of income for Malice, bets paid out double for victories and triple if deemed a "Flawless" victory by one of the Three. The latter, unfortunately, worked both ways.

Unlike the AFCL, those who faught in the pits were fighting for more than just thrills and a few hundred gold crowns. Often times they were fighting for their very lives. Prisoners condemned to death would often times choose the arena instead of straight out execution. If they could survive the challenges of the arena, then they were freed. If not...then it saved the executioners the trouble. Prisoners who have been deem worthy are allowed to stop on about the fourth round, depending on the situation. These fighters, considered to be of extremely high calibur, are often recruited by the various guilds and factions around Malice, with Cryos and Scorponok being the primary two, followed by Harmony for those who show potential in the arcane arts.

Gladatorial combat has been structured into a round based system, in which trials of varying levels of difficulty have been instituted. There are a possible 10 rounds, but no one has ever made it passed the seventh, since each round gets increasingly more difficult to survive. It is said that once passed the seventh, there are foes lying dormant within their holding cells that even the masters of Malice might find difficult to defeat. It is said that these creatures were originally collected by Arachnis, to serve as weapons of defense for the city, should it ever be breached.

Weapons are typically supplied to those who do not have their own, but are usually just simple iron or occasionally low-grade steel short swords. Pikes and daggers are sometimes offered, but only to the occasional Saurid or elf. Any contestants who have their own weapons are allowed to use them, on a case to case basis. Prizes are offered to those people of Malice who seek to challenge the arena of their own volition, but these bold challengers are exceedingly rare, since once you begin it is impossible to back out, except between rounds.

The current champion of the arena, a man tall named Shyon Arkady, is a powerful warrior, who wields the power of several styles of Zinn'ka blended into one formidable weapon. His fists are like steel, and it is said that with his stylized forms of the various arts of Zinn'ka, he could even give the leaders of Cryos and Scorponok a run for the money. But even he has only made it to the seventh round, which makes him the current arena champion.

Rarely if ever to the leaders or other higher ups in Malice participate in the arena rounds. The arena's gladatorial rounds are almost exclusively reserved for lower level slaves and combatants, wanting to earn their place in the city or their freedom - the hard way. Some would go so far as to say that it might almost be easier for a prisoner to survive his execution than to face the trials of the arena.

There are some things in this world that are better left unchallenged, but in spite of that, the arena is never lacking in fresh challengers. Or those with no other choice.

OOC Made by Zilly

[Grosnock]

Grosnock made his way down the dark caverns and grimy slopes that was the path to the Arena. Merl better be good at giving directions because this Orc did not like getting lost, especially not in this city. He loved a good fight but being beaten on by a gang of five in the darkness of an alley wasn't his idea of fun. Besides he gave the guy a handful of crowns, that should of eliminated any motives that the barman might of had to deceive him.

Merl had told Grosnock that he couldn't miss it but the greenskin had presumed he was just turning a phrase. He was wrong. The huge entrance to the arena was surrounded by all kinds and the smell of sweat and blood was sweet in the air as a breeze blew out from the gates. There was no mistaking it. Grosnock made his way past countless weapon stalls and potential fighters making their deals as he headed inside. This was what he had been looking for.

Inside the gates there were people everywhere from the fiercest gladiators to the lowly peasant trying the win a crown or two on a fight. Grosnock spotted a desk which looked like it might have served as some kind of information desk or a place to register with a few fighters crowded around it, chatting amongst themselves. He easily pushed his way to the crowd and slammed his hand upon the wooden table gettin the shifty eyed humans attention who worked there instantly.

"Serale" Grosnock said with a huge sarcastic grin upon his face "Whats dis i hear about a fightin tournament den?"

The human did not look amused but the Orc didn't care. He wasn't here to make friends only a reputation and few crowns on the way.

[Sunshine]

ooc: if you're referring to the tournament that should be held if and when the current general dies, it hasn't happened yet. Nobody should know about it ic. I don't know why Apophis let the cat out of the bag on that one, but oh well.


The human across from Grosnock wasn't quite a mammoth of a creature. He was a small thing, scrappy looking, but still small nonetheless. It was pretty obvious he was sizing Grosnock up, whether Grosnock was doing the same or not was up in the air, though he seemed like an orc who was about ready to pick a fight with the next straggler that gave him a cross look. Then again that was the majority of orcs. Foul, meaty beasts with an ill temper. That was what this human saw, and he'd seen quite a number in his time. Hordes of the suckers piled into the arena on a daily basis. Some as champions. Some as fodder. Some mere tools for entertainment. Sometimes all three. Fate had a way of dealing even the greatest of heroes a loser's hand, in the end.

"Tournament? Sure thing chuckles, I got a tournament for yah," he said with a smirk, ready to send another cocky orc to his grave, "head on into the back. Through the slave entrance. You'll see a big dark arakmatian fellah whippin a bunch of chained cronies. His name's Korro, tell em Zack sent yah." Zack chuckled. That had been almost alarmingly easy for Grosnock. Of course he was already well on his way to fame and fortune in the Arena, but the way that slave entrance looked, and the way he said "head on through" didn't really sit all that well with the orc.

Then again, struggle is the spice of life.

[Grosnock]

"Maybe i will" Grosnock said smugly to the amused little man. He just hoped this Korro wasn't as psychopatic as his imagination told him.

After making his way through some of the smaller corridors the ground level possessed, Grosnock finally arrived at the grimy crevasse in the outer wall known as the slave entrance. A sickly stench of feces and stale sweat mixed with blood hit his nostrils like a hammer. He slowly walked through into the badly lit tunnel which led down to a place which was in all respects a dungeon. Greeted only by the screams of weaklings and the laughs of their assailants which echoed around the tunnels, Grosnock made his own way down. He would just have to listen out for the crack of Korro's whip.

Sure enough he arrived in an open area where a huge Arakmatian cruely lashed a pack of slaves. Could it have been anyone else?

"Hey Korro?" the Orc shouted out him with a grin.

"Heard you might be able to help me out with a fight or two, Zack sent me"

[Sunshine]

ooc im really sorry for the slow reply, I've been in a bit of a slump lately

The man that stood before him was an amazingly angry looking man. He was shirtless, and it couldn't be decided wether he had gigantic muscles or bulging fat. He wore a leather hat, and had scary looking steel pauldrons covering his shoulders with leather straps criss crossing over his chest, strapping beneath his armpits leaving his enormous, hairy stomach and chest completely exposed. He was partially bald, with three long black braids sticking out of the top of his head. He was a large man, obviously human though he could easily have been half giant, easily matching Grosnock's size. In his left hand was a whip, which paused mid-lash upon the poor skinny saps in front of him. They sighed thankfully as the huge human turned to look over his shoulder at the orc.

Korro turned, but not before giving them one last good whip, his big beady eyes centering on the warrior of an orc.

"Zack eh? Bleh, that whiny ninny is always sending me the scourge. Jus for once, I wanna champion. Someone who can actually kick some teeth in. C'mere," he motioned angrily, it seemed like that was just how he did things wether he meant to or not. Silently he handed the whip to a much smaller man, clad in guard's armor, who took over whipping the slaves along. Korro turned and strode away, motioning for Grosnock to follow.

Turning a corner they entered a small room in front of a black door frame with strips of leather dangling from it. Several inches back, it was impossible to see through.

"Stand there," Korro said, point at a spot right in front of it, you're armed right?" he then asked, crossing his arms expectantly.

[Grosnock]

"I got me axe an' a dagger of course" Grosnock replied as he took his place on the floor.

He observed the suuroundings of the slave pit, or what ever it was. Korro certaintly had a bit of a fetish for leather and a bit for pain as well. He could tell he was a man happy with his positon in life. But Grosnock was not an Orc happy with his. He wanted some action and he wanted some glory. This could be just the man to arrange it.

"So what do ya say, got sum fights for me or what. I'll start as low as you want" he said with confidence. He had no fears, except of failure.

[Sunshine]

"Oi, 'as a good choice. Low it is!" he gave a hearty laugh and jolted forward, giving Grosnock a hard push backwards. Before he had time to respond, the orc found himself falling, falling, backwards into the darkness and out into light. Before he realized what had happened, the orc managed to swallow about a quarter of a pound of dirt as his landed chest first in the stuff. Unprepared for the fall, but only slightly rattled, Grosnock looked up to find his being quite contrarely positioned in a dirty pit. Above him people cheered and screamed and jeered and made all sorts of noises that were entirely incomprehensible from where the orckish warrior was standing. He'd been pushed, and had fallen down a stone pathway, tumbling head over heel as he went. There was little time to recollect his recent fall and Korro's acts of blatant treachery.

Approaching him were three little beasts, armed with razor sharp claws and very, very pointy teeth. They'd closed in rather quickly and without him having realized it. Between the three of them, they had about nine feet and a hundred and fifty pounds, which made for somewhat sinewy monsters. Their eyes, big and green and hollow, were unnatural by design, without pupils and without iris. On their backs where fishy rows of spines, that looked like they were good for slicing just about any flesh that touched them. Even the webbing in between was razor sharp looking. Their claws, long and very stabby looking, flexed and unflexed as they approached.

Their breathe heavy in the air, Grosnock choked down the dust that had sprung into the air with his fall. As the beasts approached, Grosnock found himself quite suddenly surrounded, cornered and already on the short end of the stick.

It didn't get much lower than this.

[Grosnock]

Grosnock grabbed his axe off the floor where it had landed just before the first of the beasts made his move, his Orcish instincts immediately taking over his body. He spun around in a half circle, bringing his axe with him in a wide Orc at the monsters head as it leapt at him. he jumped to the side as he did to avoid any contact with the razor laced body of the green eyed beast all the while keeping his eyes on the other two who seemed to waiting for their kin to finish his attack before they made thier own.

A muffled and echoed laugh rang down the hole Grosnock had tumbled from and the shouts from the blood thirsty mob around the pit filled his ears. Probably all weaklings to afraid to fight for themselves. Still Grosnock was glad in a way, a crowd meant attention and attention meant he could make himself noticed. He had to start somewhere he said to himself as he composed himself once again to prepare for another attack, his axe raised up against his gnarled face and concentrated on the beasts movement. He wanted to take them out as quickly and sensationally as possibly.

He had a crowd to please after all.

[Johnny K]

suddely a familiar voice pierced through the massed cheers. "COME ON GROSNOK", the human he just met was standing on the front row and screamed at the top of his voice.

johnny had been standing outside the arena quite a while when he realised that he might have been the one that was late. unknowingly he walked into the dome and he imediatly recognized the big orc talking to a big dangerous looking fella when suddenly he was knocked down a pit. johnny ran towards the edge and saw to his amazement the danger grosnok was in.

"GET 'EM GROSNOK GET 'EM" he shouted once more and then he hoped for the best

[Sunshine]

ooc: johnny...I don't know what you did in your post. nobody in the stands could have seen grosnock before he fell into the arena, and even if you saw him before then, you wouldn't have been able to see him in the arena.


in character-

As Grosnock swung his axe around, the orc found himself met with a sudden sharp pain in his left bicep. The fin-like spines on the beast's arm had grazed his own, which had in turn thrown off his swing, but only by a bit. It seemed like these beasts were even faster than their waif appearance let on. It slid by him, but did not escape unharmed from the orc's swing. It cut the little creature, the blade of the axe slicing its back to about the same degree its own blade had cut Grosnock. It bled, like Grosnock did, but it bled black unlike Grosnock's red. This wasn't like dracon blood, either. It seemed to pulsate, even as it spilled, glowing with a kind of cerebral light. More like ooze than anything and as it slid to a stop, Grosnock had about a half a second to think before it's brethren jumped him as well, one taking one side and one arm, the other taking the other. They leapt at him with agility, wielding a nimbleness and dexterity that the orc could probably never muster if he lived to be a hundred.

They clawed him, scratched him and otherwise tore into the orc with visceral glee and abandon. Though they were likely physiologically incapable of donning any real emotional expressions, Grosnock could have sworn he saw the makings of grins at the crevices of their long, razor jawed mouths. Savagely and angrily the little beasts scraped and cut and otherwise mangled, whatever got the job done. It was a bit surprising, considering how small and lithe they were they were scrappy little things. Definitely an unnaturally occurring beast, anyway. The orc had lost sight of the first when the two lept on him, but he must have been somewhere, preparing for a counter attack or even a sneak attack if he could get behind him. Either way, if this kept up...Grosnock would be dead in seconds. He'd have to come up with some kind of strategy. Taking on three beasts much faster than him, there in the corner, probably wasn't going to stand up too well.

There didn't seem to be any referees who would pull the things off of him if he wanted to tap out. Apparently they were playing for keeps.

[Grosnock]

It was no good. Grosnocks burly Orckish frame did not posess the kind of physique it took to obey his dodging and weaving orders. He had to handle this the way an Orc did best. He had not planned on getting seriously hurt in his first fight as he wanted to be fresh for the more intense ones, but now, it seemed inevitable. He knew what to do.

With a ferocious spin with his elbows and waist Grosnock raised his axe diagnolly upwards meanwhile attempting the knock away the beasts which had most recently leaped at him. If he was lucky he would knock one of the creatures out cold. A swing that hard from an Orckish body part, depending where it struck, could sometimes be fatal.

Once the blade was up in the air Grosnock took one last look at his opponents to spot thier positions and he leapt forward from the wall toward the two other beasts. Bringing his left foot forward and quickly followed by his right he began a spinning motion, holding the shaft of his axe at the head height of the creatures. A violent spiral of Orc and axe flew at the monsters as Grosnock descended on them before thier primitive minds could understand the danger of the approaching Orc. The speed of the swings was enough to decapitate any human without even slowing the weapon down and if it was to connect it would surely kill one of these slimy crawlers. As he went around Grosnock picked out where his targets were and how close they were to his attack before he ajusted his position with a sudden step toward them and brought a wider arc of steel at them continuing with another two before he jumped out of his spin and came down with a flurry of quick chops upon the blurred assailaints to make sure they were hurt bad enough.

It was surley the case that they taken out more than a few chunks of his flesh during his beserker attack but the pain only fortified his determination to smash them to pieces. He let out a roar as his final axe swing landed and he jumped against the wall again on the opposite side of the pit. The screams of the crowd were blocked out from Grosnocks now practically insane mind but if he was to concentrate he would more than likely hear a sharp increase in thier enthusiasm. Wheter his attack had been effective or not it was more then impressive and most entertaining for any spectators.

He leapt at the furthest monster his axe hanging from his two fists on his right handside, ready to tear through the sweaty mist at any would be counter attack.

[Sunshine]

The first attack left the beast dazed, the axe impacted almost unexpectedly, sending it flying to the dirt with a heavy thud. The beasts seemed undeterred by the knocking away of their comrade, and it was quickly becoming obvious to Grosnock that these things held no fear, nothing that might cause a more sentient creature to shy away. Their attacks were vicious, brutal and without relent. Unlike a calculating person, these creatures seemed almost totally incapable of reason or logic.

The second swing was a bit more brutal. When he lept at the creature, it was much closer than he had anticipated, but it didn't matter. He brought the axe down with frightening speed, and the only way he knew that the swing had connected was the cheer of the crowd that broke through his concentration. It was loud, very loud. The people that came to view the violence were almost as bloodthirsty as those who took part in the fights. They had heroes and they had losers, and if Grosnock wanted to be one of their heroes then he was off to a good start.

He couldn't tell just what the damage had been, there was no time to inspect the corpse after all, but he could definitely feel his axe lodged into the body of one of the creatures that had opposed him. But already another lept at him, bounding onto his back and scratching and cutting and biting - all quite painful. The other was already beginning to recover, Grosnock could see this out of the corner of his eye, but the one on his back made it difficult for him to measure up the third's exact state.

Malice was all about the epic battles. As hard as one searched, you could never find a boring fight. No, the people that run things simply wouldn't allow it...'rules' be damned.

[Grosnock]

Before The beast on his back had time to inflict any serious damage to him, Grosnock squatted down sligtly and sprung backward on to the hard stone wall that made up the pits perimeter. He heard a crunch as the beast was squashed literally between a rock and a hard place. Grosnocks back had suffered due to the beasts razor laced body but he had to take these fiends out before thay had time to kill him. He stepped slightly forward before repeating the move to ensure injury and leave only one already injured monster left to deal with.

He looked down to his axe and shook the corpse of the dead creature from its head which was, apparently, still stuck there and he had dragged across the floor with him when leaping at the wall. He threw the crushed mutant from his back to the florr and stepped on its head as he made a steady advance on the third, now more than likely, fully recovered foe. His steps were heavy and strong like a battle drum of an Orckish siege and his eyes never left those of his enemy. His hands twisted back and forth on wood of his axe shift and his fangs were fused together in a mixture of pain, anticipation, adrenaline and anger. He was going to cream this one without incident. He imagined all its possible attacks and all invlolved a slippery move followed by a lightning quick jump. Amove which was probably even more effective if he tried to dodge. There was no way that it was going to get an attack without him getting a chance to react. A reaction that would be fatal. The roars of the crowd were throught the roof but to Grosnock everything was silent except for his thunderous footsteps and the hising of the black, drooling monster on the opposite side.

The second it moved he would to, axe and all.

[Sunshine]

Fair enough. Grosnock's smash had been perfectly timed, and it had broken quite a few major bones in the beasty's little fragile body. As it slumped to the ground and the orc turned, he could see the remaining beast charging for him. It didn't veer off course however, instead it lowered itself, it's head and body half an inch off the ground. It was fast, very fast, and for an instant Grosnock could see why it was that these beasts had given up so much strength. It shot down, then sprung back up, rocketting into the chest of the orc. In the end, he could feel blood trickling down his shoulders and further slashes across his chest. In both his shoulders, two of the beast's spines had impaled him straight though, sticking the thing to him like a fly on fecal matter.

It pummeled him real good like, slashing his face and chest and beating the orc up like there was no tomorrow. The orcish barbarian had dropped his weapon in the initial impact, but his arms and legs were still free, though his shoulders being impaled slightly impared the use of his arms at that particular moment...

[Grosnock]

Grosnock felt his axe slip from his grasp and his limbs go numb from pain and loss of blood. His vision was impaired from the sheer amount of gore which now made up his face. It probably wasn’t as bad as it looked but the blood made the wounds appear massive with flesh hanging off everywhere. Not to worry however. An Orc has incredible healing abilities, resilience like none others and a steely fortitude only seen in lifeless animations such as a golem or the undead. One should never count an Orc down and out lest his head has been removed or his abdomen torn asunder and Grosnock had plenty of fight left in him with one last move up his sleeve which would surely see the final beast slain in seconds.

"Aaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhh!!!" He roared out as he drove his heart and adrenaline glands into one last frenzy to regain full control of his muscles and limbs. He quickly reached into his belt where he always kept his large Orc sized dagger and grabbed its hilt with both hands, twisting it around in his grip so that its blade was perfectly upright and erect, pointing toward the beast’s underside. With one powerful plunge he slammed the weapon directly up into the head and therefore brain of the creature and twisted violently to ensure fatality.
Grosnock then pushed forward so that the creature’s body would drag its impaling spines away from him and hopefully fully remove them from his shoulders. Once he had slid it far enough forward he tore his dagger from the mutants head and replaced it back into his belt and stumbled to the floor where his axe was, barely picking it up with his weak body. He slowly shuffled to the centre of the pit through the remains of his former opponents, nursing his wounds on the way with his arms and wiping some of the blood from his eyes. Once he reached the centre of the pit he looked around where the crowd gazed down upon him and let them see that he was alive and his assailants were not. He had won the fight and he deserved his glory. He closed his eyes and let his arm soar into the air where he held his axe high above his head waiting for the roars of applause that was sure to come.