Nephalim

Chapter 4: Orsha Skullsmasher

The roar of the arena. Such a thrill, such grandeur. It is here I stake my honor against others. Here in this arena, I, Orsha, am the only female bold enough to enter the arena. It is in this arena, where the Skullsmasher Clan is praised by my deeds.

Such is my thoughts as I awaited for the call. My body tense, my mind clear.

"Ladies, and gentleman, fae, orc and Kar'daki" came the voice of the announcer, "let us welcome the only female completer to have ever braved the ring. Fighting, not just for her title as reigning champ, but also for her clan. Standing at a staggering size foot five, give it up for Orsha Skullsmasher!"

As I entered the arena, my hair braided for war, my fists wrapped in cloth, I beat a fist against my chest and roared with the fury of Ur'Daki's forge. The crowd roared back in rapturous applause and cheer. This is where I can truly be me. At work, they see me as an intellect, but here, I am a warrior. I am orc.

As the roar of the crowd died down, the voice of the announcer once again resounded throughout the arena:

"Aaaaand her challenger, fighting from the depths of the enchanted Black Forest of Germany, standing at a formidable seven foot aught, a proud Satyr with nothing to lose, give it up for Hans Schafer!"

At the beckon of the announcer, a tall, black haired satyr marched into the arena. His cloven hooves stomped loudly as he walked, and his horns were curled and sharp. I smiled slightly to myself.

Finally, a worthy foe.

We approached each other, eyeing each other up, each of us sizing the strength of the other. As the great warrior mystic, Sun Tzu, once said, 'Every battle is won before it's ever fought.' My smile widened even more.

As the gap between up came to a close, a dwarf, with a short beard, wearing a stripped tunic, walked in between us. She smiled at me and I winked at her. "Alright," she said, "I want a good, clean, fight. No magic, no weapons but the ones the Gods blessed us at creation with. First to tap out, or gets knocked out loses. If your oppenent dies, all winnings and rankings are forfeit. Agreed?"

The satyr and I nodded.

"Then let's get it on!" shouted the dwarf.

I place my closed fist on my chest and bowed. The satyr bowed at the hips, but raised its head, its horns pointed skyward, away from me, a sign of respect amongst his people.

Once the formalities were out of the way, I assumed my defensive stance, my left foot forward, arms at the ready. The Satyr paced around me, sizing up my defense. I oriented my self to match his position. With each heavy step of his hooves, I moved slightly to always be facing him.

He let off a deafening roar as he lowered his head, charging me with his horns pointed at me. Like a practiced matador, I step to the side with a graceful twirl, smirking as he passed by my with nary a glancing blow. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the ring and attempted the same thing again, this time swerving left and right, giving no sign of where his next strike will come from.

As he neared, I planted both my feet firmly in the ground and grabbed him by his horns. I shifted my weight, and used his horns to force him to the ground with a grunt. However, despite his size, the satyr was as quick as he was flexible.

On his way to the ground, he brought his bent knees to his chest, and rolled with the grapple. I could not maintain my grip and was forced to let go. Seeing an opening, he rolled onto his hands and kicked back with his hooves, like a startled goat. It connected with my chest and sent me flying backwards.

As I crashed to the ground, I could the all top familiar taste of rusted metal in my mouth. The bastard. I stood up slowly, and spat some blood on the ground. I smiled at the goatman, and charged at him.