Where is he? [28th Samheen MT]

[Morg]

The man facing Holler was quite large by human standards, only head and shoulders shorter than the Orc. He was a gladiator, and an experienced combatant... when it came to facing other gladiators who thought like he did. Arena fighters tended to start off by circling each other, sizing each other up and looking for potential weaknesses. The Orc's immediate, fierce attack was therefore unexpected.

Holler successfully managed to grab a hold of the gladiator's spear arm, causing the man to drop the weapon, but his teeth never reached the man's flank. Acting purely on instinct, the arena fighter rammed the weighted net in his left hand upwards and into the Orc's face, where it tangled itself round his massive, protruding teeth. Holler's sharp incisors shredded the net where they came into contact with it, but it was still hooked around his lower jaw.

Taking advantage of the moment of distraction, the human wrenched his arm free from Holler's grasp and tumbled aside, seeking to retrieve his spear. He was uninjured, but was down and had lost both his weapons. Holler in the meantime had a weighted fishnet meshed around his face. The crowd's roars redoubled.

[Guest]

His manoeuvre hadn't worked out the way he'd wanted, which only enraged the muddy green Orc even more. A rather unhealthy foam formed around Holler's large mouth, partly caused by the mass of heavy mesh clinging to his jawbone, partly by the red haze covering his eyes. With wrath riding high on his shoulder, the former sailor ripped at the weighted net in a valiant attempt to free himself of it.

Still wrenching at the offending mesh, a violent roar forced it's way past the obstacle. The headsplitting bawl also heralded Sleipnir's next attack. He wasn't going to let his opponent back up, certainly not WITH that oversized fork in his hand! Locking his fingers together in some semblance of a warhammer, he swung his interlaced hands at the gladiator's head. Take this you insect!, shot through the Orc's grey mass; growls and grunts tried to convey the message from Holler's brain.

[Morg]

Holler's hammer blow struck home just as the man was at full extension, reaching for his spear. The Orc's clenched fists made contact with the back of the gladiator's head with a solid crack, and he collapsed, face down in the sandy dirt. The helmet the man was wearing bore the brunt of the attack, saving him from immediate unconsciousness. However, although his hands still scrabbled to gain purchase on the ground and right himself, the real fight was over. The man was at Holler's mercy.

The crowd knew it, too. Their roars of support turned into cheers. "AND THE ORC WINS!" boomed out a voice from the stands high above, magnified somehow. From the entrance where Holler had been introduced to the pit, three guards emerged, making their way steadily towards the Orc and his victim. All three had heavy studded clubs strapped to their waists, although they didn't seem intent on using them. For now, at least, their purpose seemed to be to escort Holler away from the fallen gladiator in triumph.

[Guest]

The satisfying thud with which the muddy Orc hit his opponent's head, only managed to quench part of his bloodlust. Staring down at the man's weak attempts to retrieve his weapon, Holler snorted with disgust. Usually he would have stunned - or killed - his victim and prepared himself for a feast. But the sad display of wit, stamina and strength just didn't call forth the usual downpour of saliva.

His attention slacking, he once again became aware of his surroundings beyond the intimacy of the fight. The waves upon waves of cheers bearing down on him with sudden clarity, stunned Sleipnir into a rather overwhelmed and placid mood. Shaking his head to clear the last remnants of bloodlust, he waved faintly as at last his victory was acknowledged by some high and mighty official.

Brooding black coals followed the advance of the three guards towards him. With their hands away from the wicked looking clubs, the towering Orc was reassured that they were not there to engage him into his next battle. With a last glance at his victim he spat a big clot of spittle on the pitiful creature's back. Turning his back, he waded towards the oncoming troops. Could use a decent bite to eat now...

[Ilaria da'Margeir.]

The three guards descended upon Holler, slowly leading him away from the arena. They made no move to touch their weapons, though they kept their hands close them. Without a word, they led Holler into a long, brightly lit building on the other side of the arena. Rows and rows of tables lined the building, at which a few other fighters were sitting, talking quietly amongst themselves or slurping down something out of a bowl that sat in front of them.

The three guards placed Holler at a table next to one of the barred windows that were sporadically placed along the walls. No one spoke as he sat down, but a few of the fighters eyed him up and down, a glint shining in their eyes. There were at least a dozen other guards dispersed throughout the hall, conversing with most of the fighters but also making sure to keep an eye out on everyone else. A scarred man with a patch over his eye brought a bowl to Holler. He dumped some kind of gruel, which was laced with stringy bits of meat, into the bowl sitting in front of Holler. He looked Holler up and down before speaking. "Bit scrawny for an orc, ain't ye? The last 'un I saw was at least three times your size! Aye, well, I suppose if ye can survive in the arena, you'll grow to a proper size for an orc." With a matter of fact nod, the old man continued on down the row, dispensing the gruel at will to any newcomers.

A loud group of local children suddenly converged upon the window nearest to Holler, disrupting the quiet that pervaded the hall. They were talking so fast and so excitedly it was even hard for the local fighters to distingush what they were saying. A young boy of about eight yahren poked a long stick at Holler. "Why are you so green? Are you diseased or sumpin? I've never seen anything like that before." A young girl quickly snatched the stick away with a horrified look in her eye. She refused to look at Holler, instead chosing to let her eye roam across the back of the hall.

[Guest]

In the silent triangle of guards Holler straightened out his nerves again. They had been rather tightly spun as a result of his long imprisonment. The fight however, had been just the thing to get him unwinded. Satisfied with the relative ease with which he had bested the armed and armoured human, the Orc even was about to become good natured! Relieved to leave the sandy pit and it's orgy of sound, he enjoyed the sound of their four pairs of feet moving away from it.

Ignoring the other occupants of the long room, his nose picked up the aroma of food. An aggressive growl told Sleipnir that his stomach was famished. Softly tapping on his belly, he tried - in vain - to pacify the monster inside. Seemingly oblivious to the appraisal he received by some of the - what he expected to be - fighters around, he started retracing a particularly pretty vein in the wood of the table top. As the bowl of food clanked in front of him - obscuring his view of the rest of the woodgrain - the muddy green Orc ogled One-eye. His nose was relieved to report that the gruel actually didn't contain any fish, but had some real meat in it. Best food I ever smelled!

Between his stomach snarling at him to dive in and his astonishment about the richness of the food, the scarred man's words barely reached Holler's brain. Some faint signals told him that he should be offended, but they weren't able to fight their way through his hunger. So with a faint nod in One-eye's direction he, grabbed the bowl and put it to his lips. With a loud slurp he gulped down about a fourth of it's content in one go. His long protruding teeth scraped against the bowl's opposite side with an annoying screech.

Then his peace and quiet was shattered by a hord of youngsters peering through the bars inside. Focused on his food, he waited for the group to move on. The prick of a stick told him that he seemed to have become their target. Looking up, he frowned. Then a broad grin slowly spread across his face. But that was his favored food. Sweet, young children, and human at that! His large, pink tongue flicked out and quickly circled around his lips, moistening them. If only... Staring dreamingly up at thos tasty tidbits, his imagination wove visions of feasts, babyfat and cuddly toy-innards.

[Ilaria da'Margeir.]

The child seemed to realize that Holler was contemplating something, most likely something that involved eating him, so he paraded around, just out of reach. The girl smacked him upside his head and whispered to him in harsh tones. She looked like she was going to try to say something to Holler, but before she could, old One-Eye rushed over. "You kids! How many times do I have to tell you not to bother the fighters! You come back here and I'm going to whip you from here to Trothgard." The little boy stuck his tongue out at the old man, and then grinned at Holler. With that, he and the pack of children took off.

With a grunt and a nod, the old man left Holler to his thoughts. However, before Holler could get back to his food, a pair of well dressed men came in and surveyed the room. Their eyes seemed to linger the longest on Holler, and with a few whispered words to the guards, the men left as quickly as they had come in. The guards took a few of the fighters out of the building, most of them leaving without a fight. The guards came back in and led Holler to a dark building lined with cells, and before Holler could say a word, the world around him faded to black once again. When Holler would awake two days later, he would find himself facing what seemed to be a mercenary recruiter.

ooc: I think we can consider this thread finished! And, since you seem to have finished the recruitment thread, good luck with the War!

[Guest]

OOC: Thanks! I'll go and cave some heads in for you. I might even use some kind of special branch to do so.

[Morg]

Skilled

Knock 'em dead.