Ring of Lashes

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Woe
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Ring of Lashes

Continued from here...

Woe accepted the scrutiny of the Naerrik passively but without cowering or acting a weakling. He'd been through worse, both in his youth growing up a slave albeit a pampered sort of slave, and then through his varied adventures during Cylus of the preceding year. He was not intimidated by the woman, nor did he feel she was a threat. He had been free for about ten years before this twist of fate brought him here. He knew as a slave he was living on borrowed time, and didn't have illusions as to his expiration date. Woe anticipated that he would learn exactly what it was like to be a slave to the Naerrik in time.

He came along, allowing his new slaver to tug at his collar before moving. The slave knew well enough that slavers didn't take kindly toward slaves getting ideas to move on their own. One must always wait to be bid to move.

"You belong to Augiery, now." The slaver told him in heavily-accented common, "We'll find out what you're good for in time, Langilea, but for now you're a bed-pan scrubber, a street sweeper, whatever your betters want you to be. Do not deny your betters any service, but nor should you forget where your duty lies." She of course meant that he should seek recompense for whatever service he provided, for the purpose of giving it to his supervisors.

She explained what she would as they followed through the streets of the underground city. They walked for a good amount of time before they found their way to a nearby barracks built for the housing of slaves, which was etched into a rock edifice. She tugged him as hard as she could as she entered the place. There were about a dozen other male slaves of various races, species, sizes and shapes, all dressed in a way that reflected their function. Many of them were dressed scantly, and very few of them had a shirt.

She snapped her fingers as she entered, and a large man approached Woe, carrying a camping knife. She left their side as he appeared, and without waiting for so much as a greeting, the large man cut down the fabric of his coat and shirt, throwing it to the side, to be recycled for some other purpose later. "Mistress will give you a collar to suit your purpose later, if your continued residence does not offend her. You may only speak to me in the meantime, I will see you to your tasks. I'm Laskx."

So began the service of Woe, in the undercity. Unfortunately, he was set to the less pleasant tasks of scrubbing bedpans and cleaning privies and outhouses. Such was the fate of those who were inducted as new slaves. He supposed if he ever had another slave to supervise, he could set them to the less pleasant tasks. In the meantime, he could endure the indignities this position afforded him.

At the end of the day, Laskx brought him to the Lurpeko, what appeared to be an underground fighting arena, where the male slaves could work off their frustrations of the day. "Have your fun now, the rest of your stay won't be as pleasant as pounding another slave's face in. If a Naerrik woman wants to fight you, indulge her, but be careful of giving her too much of a fight. At the same time, most of them are looking for a challenge, so don't pull your punches either. It's a tricky business."

Woe nodded, still having said nothing throughout the day beyond some small talk with residents of the city.

That settled, he made his way through the crowd, to the front where he could watch the proceeding fights with interest.
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Woe
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The delighted cries of women from above the stone circle issued toward the ground as one man knocked another's nose in, bloodying his face.

The bloodied fighter's hands drew instinctively toward his broken nose, to which his opponent responded with many body blows. More blood issued from the wound, until the downed contender was knocked to his knees. Finally, seeing that he was beyond fighting condition and wished to perform his duties the next day, the fallen pugilist rose his hands in submission.

Laskx leaned in toward Woe, the manacles around his wrists clanking with the movement, "Careful not to get too wounded when you go in there. The Naerrik don't accept excuses from pit fighters as to why they can't do their job the next day. You might get banned from the fights, and with it your only hope of freedom." Laskx scoffed audibly at his utterance of the word 'hope'.

Woe finally spoke, as the broken nosed man was dragged out of the ring swiftly, his wounds tended to as best the medics could in a pinch. "Do you have any other advice?"

"Yeah," The man, who appeared to be of Lotharri descent, nodded, "Don't do too well, or you might as well paint a target on your back. Things are cutthroat down here between the slaves. Everyone wants a taste of a better life, or better yet, freedom. Fighting is the only way most of us can get there, intelligence being inherited and beauty fleeting. Just do well enough to get to the next round, and maybe throw the fight if it doesn't appear too obvious. You're gonna take some hard knocks in there."

"I'm not telling you all of this for your benefit alone. Strong langilea and haragi provide us bronze and silver collars some insurance against up and comers. You look healthy enough, but not strong enough to take on one of us. So I help you out to weed the tough suckers early,and it automatically benefits me."

Woe nodded, it made sense enough, and he was already learning a bit about the slave culture of Augiery. In Rynmere things were far less severe, yet not much less perilous. He had always mused what a slave-based society might look like, and this was not entirely what he expected.

There was shuffling beside Woe, as a Naerrik custodian of the slaves approached him, and undid his manacles. "Get in there, boy." She sneered, and nearly kicked him into the ring, toward the winner of the last bout without so much as a word of wisdom from his new friend.

He'd never fought unarmed, although he'd had occasion to struggle with prisoners in his previous life as a jailer. In that time he'd learned that knowledge and skill at torture could aid him in subduing opponents. Having heard what Laskx thought about combatants that were promising, he didn't want to tip his hand too far over the line. It was a strange balance that was presented him, overall.

One that he had little time to consider for the time being, as the other Langilea rushed him, his shoulder lowered to Woe's midsection as he collided with the slave, knocking him to the ground.
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Arenma
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Arenma was out and about this evening, having just come off the generic work schedule that had been supplied for her menial job. It was time to have a little fun. Her two options were to head to the egonkor for a little skin on skin action or to the Lurpeko for some bloody fun. Arenma did not feel geared to start at the egonkors tonight. It had been a pleasant day at work and she often used that to work out her stresses. No, she was feeling lucky tonight. That meant it was time to put her money where her mouth was.

The heals of her boots did not announce her arrival like they normally would have; the cheers from inside the cavern were too loud for them to. Arenma pushed her way through the crowd to an edge where she could inspect the fighters. This battle had already been called and bets had been placed earlier. She liked to think that she would have placed her bet on the winner. They appeared to be evenly matched, so that made it difficult to choose a winner. Of course, these were experienced fighters. They had a reputation. Even one more win over the other meant more bets on that individual. A smile crept over her face as she watched the one slave beat the other to a pulp.

There was something about uninhibited beatings that just made her happy.

Arenma tapped her hand thoughtfully against the stone as the assailant continued to pummel the living daylights out of his victim. Then, the hands went up and the fight was called. There were several sighs and aws as people started realizing they had to pay up. Occasionally there was cursing; this might have been a fight where the slave thought he could survive and ended up dying. Deaths were few and far between as the slaves seemed to know when to quit. When it happened, the Naerikk were absolutely thrilled! It was just amazing to see one of the lessers die in a valiant way.

A slave that was working the Lurpeko was tasked to rake the dirt and move the blood out of the way. After shoveling and preparing for the next bout, the slaves were ushered into the arena so the gamblers could take a look at the prospects. They both appeared strong, but the whispers confirmed it: new meat. Both of them were new slaves which meant no statistics. Experienced gamblers shook their head. They wouldn't bet on new meat like this. Arenma, still feeling good, felt this might be a good night for her. She motioned for one of the bookies to come over and take her money.

"What are the odds for this fight?"

"It's 2:1 for both. Predicted to be an even fight."

"I'll put 5 gold nel on the guy with the black hair."

The bookie scribbled in her book and then went to the next woman hoping to make bank tonight. Although Arenma felt good about her bet, she did not want to waste of her earnings for the day. Five golden nel was a safe bet for her. Not too much of a loss if this man fell. Arenma smiled, waiting to see what happened.
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Last edited by Arenma on Mon Sep 25, 2017 1:15 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 547
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Woe
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To say the tackle had caught him offguard was an accurate assessment. It didn't take long for the other Langilea to put Woe on his back, and then rise, freeing his arms to strike him. This gave Woe the invitation to rain his own attack on the other new blood.

He curled his fingers into fists, and threw a punch, connecting with his opponent's chin with a resounding smack. This threw the man's upper body back, opening him up for any number of other attacks. His entire 'rack' (as they referred to the upper body in the torture dungeons of Rynmere) was open for torment. Some lingering honor must have been resting in the back of his mind, as he opted for the solar plexus in the man's abdomen, instead of several far more easy targets.

His opponent was driven back by the suddenness of the strike, down to straddle Woe's knees. Though he was obviously dazed and now out of breath from the body blow, he found it in him to fall on his fist... which landed directly onto Woe's groin.

The pain was excruciating indeed. Even as a torturer, who knew what it meant to inflict torment as it had been done unto him, few things prepared him for such a low blow. Far from curling up in submission, however, something awoke in Woe that had perhaps been resting for a lifetime. He lost his cool veneer. He went berserk.

Every movement reminded him of the pain between his legs, yet he slipped his legs from under the other Langilea, and managed to find his feet. A thousand needles of agony lanced up his spine with the effort it took to stay on his feet.

The other didn't waste time, either. While Woe was bent forward, trying to wrestle the worst physical pain he'd felt in his life, the other fresh slave brought his leg across Woe's neck, intending to knock him over.

Woe wasn't having it.

The sweeping move opened his opponent up to the opportunity to grapple, which Woe took. Using both arms to hold the leg in mid air, he could feel the other slave hopping on his remaining foot, probably poising himself to kick. Woe didn't waste time himself.

In this place of darkness, he could see there was no purchasing honor with mercy, no holds barred,
and nothing off limits. Hell, these Naer probably even engaged in the taboo of cannibalism for all he knew. And with that thought, he opened his mouth, and bit down hard on the other slave's leg.

All his jaw pressure, impelled by the pain, went into that bite. He could taste the other man's blood. The disgusting salty, coppery taste mingled with the scent of shit was almost enough to make him wretch. He took the bite, deep into the sinuous tissue of the other langilea's leg.

His opponent, similarly spurred by his own pain, threw the other leg in a sweeping kick aimed at Woe's head. Woe relented with his biting, lowering his head but not relinquishing the man's leg. The Langilea fell backward to the floor with his balance disrupted.

Woe took the leg which he still had a grip on, and putting the other hand on the wound he'd inflicted,
while the other arm curled around the leg. He pushed the other slave's body forward, and pinned the leg that had just attempted to kick him with his knee. That done, he began twisting the leg he had a grip on, bending it at the knee so he could have a pivot point with which to wrench it around.

He turned the leg around in the other man's hip until he heard a pop. Only then did he let go, and take a few steps back to try and compose himself. The langilea was writhing on the ground, a small puddle of blood forming under the leg that'd been dislocated.

He breathed in through his nose, and then spat out the blood from his mouth, licking his right arm to get rid of the taste.

The other langilea was still broken on the ground, but had given no signal that he was relenting.
With one final effort, Woe hopped forward, kicking his opponent in the groin. A howling scream issued from his victim's mouth, and then silence. Perhaps he'd passed out due to shock.

Whatever the case, Woe looked up at the crowd circling the upper terrace, and shrugged at their mostly lukewarm reception. Apparently not much stock was put in his fate, one way or another.

He began hobbling out of the ring, when a Naerrik handler hissed at him from the throng of slaves,
"Get back in there, you're not done until you admit defeat."

Woe looked at her, incredulous, yet bowed his head in acknowledgement. Walking back toward the center, and waiting for his next opponent to appear. He knelt on the ground, still racked by the pain of having his groin nearly caved in, while his head lifted to watch the line of slaves, waiting to see who would be put forth to fight him.
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Argider
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Dark eyes followed the action, from the moment it began. Often, Argider was the first of the Langilea awaiting the Lurpeko's filling, and this trial was no different. This time, though, he was not the first contestant in. He was told to wait, to observe the others until the proper time came. They weren't doing it for his health, that much he knew. They were stacking the odds.

Still, it was interesting for Argider to watch the fights before entering them. Typically, he would watch the remaining fights through bloodied eyes or swollen lips. But not this time. This time, he was allowed to size up his opponents. And the first, a Langilea that Argider had seen on more than one occasion, was formidable enough. He dismantled the first slave that pushed himself into the ring, systematically breaking the man down through a barrage of tackles and blows. It was a solid strategy, especially for a big man, and Argider applauded his playing to his strengths.

As Woe was pushed in, though, Argider knew that he wouldn't be so easily pummeled. He was not large, not truly, nor did he seem to know what he was doing, but there was an air of survival about him. The Lothar's lips peeled back as he watched, smiling a hollow mask of approval as Woe fought back tooth and nail. Literally. The bite to Tsarak's thigh was an impressive improvisation, and Argider knew before he was tapped by the hauntingly beautiful Naerikk behind him that he would be the dark-haired man's next opponent. It was an idea that he relished.

Standing from the rough stone pew that was hewn hastily for the slaves to rest or recuperate, Argider placed both hands together and flexed his arms to stretch. He stressed his hamstrings and stretched his back, preparing for a good fight against an opponent who only wanted to survive. He knew how dangerous that could be. Once upon a time, that was Argider. Before he became accustomed to coming to the Pits, before he knew most of the faces of the men who fought there... Before he knew exactly which Naerikk came to bet and on whom they'd place their nel... Argider was once where Woe was then.

Still, though. He was tapped. He was the next opponent. Argider watched as Woe knelt in the middle of the Pit, and it struck him as a ploy to get the bigger man to lose his advantage. Smiling, Argider pushed his way through the smaller men in front of him, pushing humans and Biqaj aside to enter the dim lights of the Pit. He slapped his bare feet against the stone, using the echo of his flesh slapping the hard surface to alert Woe to his presence. Seven feet tall, two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle stared down at the small form of Woe. A smile graced Argider's face, and slightly pointed canines were accentuated by the predatory glare in his eyes.

Just because he understood how Woe felt in that moment did not mean he would show mercy. Despite Woe's new surroundings, a desperate monster was the most dangerous monster. Often, they had nothing left to lose, except what semblance of a life they had. And in the Pits, in Augiery... That wasn't much to lose a tall. Argider knew that, and every slave in that place knew. They were fodder. They were meat. If a man died in the Underhive, he was replaced by another. But in the Pits, a desperate beast could find an outlet.

Argider had. And so he circled the man, slapping his skin against the stone in a tactic to intimidate the smaller man. Argider grinned wildly, snarling at Woe. In Grovokian, he snapped at him.

"Get up. Face your demons."

His voice was deep and guttural, matching his appearance. Of course, the gravelly tone was another tactic to intimidate the man. If Woe held his ground and actually fought the Lothar beast, Argider would have much respect for him. Perhaps enough to seek him out and befriend him.

Assuming Argider didn't break him.
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Arenma
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At first Arenma thought she had placed money on the wrong fighter; however, the tides were quick to turn as something inside her chosen champion seemed to click. She could see the change, ever so subtle, from her position above him. Survival mode had kicked in for this newcomer. The blow to his groin brought a soft 'oof' to her lips as a general pained noise echoed from the crowd. Although low blows like that were allowed in the Lurpeko, there was something to be said about crude fighting like it. Many fighters within the crowd found it dishonorable. It was likely that slave would find himself suffering some out of ring fights with other men as punishment for his misconduct to Woe. Yet, it brought the flavor that the women had been waiting for.

Blood seeped down the mans leg as Woe bit into it and immediately a cry of excitement escaped gamblers on Woe's side. Arenma agreed and hooted with her compatriots. The fight was going to be in their favor at this rate. Soon, it was over. The man lay in pain with his hip dislocated and his pride broken. Woe even sealed the deal with a pop to his opponents eye. An eye for an eye kind of man. Arenma liked that. What he had done would save the man the beatings she had predicted earlier.

While the ring was changed out and the injured Langilea dragged off the floor, gamblers were forking over nel left and right. Some were paying the bookies while others, like Arenma, were receiving her winnings. Aren held out her hand expectantly, excited to have won her first bet of the night.

"Here is 9 golden nel, your winnings ma'am."

"Uh, thanks."

Figures. It looks like the bookies were being honorable to Aurelia tonight. Skimming the winnings to line the pockets of the city. Arenma sniffed. That nel should have been hers. Stealing from Aurelia and the Vices were not on her agenda tonight. Besides, she could not make a big deal out of it at the moment. The next pair of fighters were lined up. Bookies behind her were crying out the odds for each fighter. One, Argider, had been fighting for many years. He had statistics to his name. The newcomer, Woe, was 1-0. Many would be placing bets on Argider. It was a good plan. The safest thing to do was to take her measly 4 golden nel profit and run away for the evening before her luck ran out. The feeling remained, tingling in her spine. She wanted to bet on Woe to stick with the man that had already made her money, but the good gambler inside of her could not ignore the stastistics.

"Are you placing a bit."

"What are the odds."

"It is 2:1 on Argider and 4:1 on the newcomer. In or out?"

Fuck it. "I'll place the 9 golden nel on the newcomer. What can I say? I'm feeling lucky."
.
Last edited by Arenma on Mon Sep 25, 2017 1:16 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 505
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Woe
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Woe caught himself as he knelt in the center of the ring. The pain was subsiding somewhat, at least it hadn't seemed to be a direct hit, or he'd probably bleed internally, which would indeed be disastrous for his future well-being. Whatever foe was presented him, he'd have to guard against any low-blows, which would undoubtedly leave his upper body exposed to attack.

He scanned the throng of slaves, and saw one stand to tower over all the rest. They made way for the big Lotharro, and Woe cursed as he stepped past the red line. Of course, this wasn't the first time Woe had faced down a Lotharro. Then, he'd been at a distinct advantage in terms of having all his armor and equipment, and even having the man in a jail cell, swatting with his whip at Fridgar like fish in a barrel. Even then, once Woe stepped into that cell to administer corporal punishment on the big guy, Fridgar made man-handling and ragdolling Woe seem like child's play. It seemed to be a new tradition for Woe, getting thrown about for a Lotharro man's entertainment. Well, best get it underway.

Argider slapped the stone with his feet, apparently trying to rouse Woe from his prone position. He said words that Woe couldn't understand literally, although the intent wasn't lost on him. This Lotharro was looking for a serious fight. The beleaguered torturer, devastated as he was by the last round, wasn't intending on surrender. He decided then that although this might be his last fight, he would face it as a man.

He waited as the Lotharro slapped the stone floor around him, looking for an opening. If the Lotharro would step even one inch out of the circumference of the circle he was making around him, Woe would spring into action.

As Woe entered the Lotharro's range, he kept his distance to maximum arm length of the big man. He'd wait to get Argider to throw an arm at him, at which point he would attempt to duck beneath it. If his attempt to open up an invitation succeeded, he would thrust his arm out to strike at the nerve at the roof of the beast's armpit.
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Argider's predatory gaze never left the smaller man. As he circled, those beady eyes locked onto Woe with a deadly clarity. Murder wasn't allowed in the Pit, but sometimes it happened. Argider remembered the lashes he'd received last time, and the ten trials he'd gone without food and only meager water. He had not intended to kill the previous opponent, nor did he intend to kill this one. However, he knew the Naerikk's coloured eyes were on him in all their devious shades. He wouldn't kill him.

But he would hurt him.

He knew that the smaller man was sizing him up, which nearly brought a smile to the beast's lips. He'd have to be crafty to overcome the Lothar's incredible size difference. In a way, Argider felt for the man. He understood what it was like to have the scrutinizing gaze of the Naerikk on him. Unlike Woe, he'd been born with that gaze, and the ever-present threat of the whip behind him. Woe would learn that fear. But not this trial.

Argider allowed the man to goad him, throwing a lumbering blow that was easily dodged. He anticipated some sort of trickery from the man, bracing his lower body for a piercing bite or a blow to the manhood... But the smaller man surprised him. A quick jab to the nerve under Argider's arm sent a jolt of electricity and a growing numbness in Argider's limb.

In this case, it was Argider's mass that saved him. The corded muscles of his torso absorbed most of the blow, and the numbness was nothing that Argider could not handle. Instead, he had allowed the man to strike him to get him within range. A powerful leg swept out towards Woe, intended to trip the smaller man and put him off balance.

If the trip were successful, Argider would bound forward and grab the smaller man in his arms, gripping him tightly in a bearhug. He'd lift him off the ground and squeeze both arms together, the red blood flowing through bulging muscles as he restricted Woe's airways. If the smaller man were to try and wriggle free, he'd just readjust his grip. He refused to let go unless the smaller man broke his grip... Or passed out.
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Woe was surprised when his strike found purchase beneath the man's shoulder, but equally so at the lack of effect. Against any ordinary human such a blow might've paralyzed the arm or at least caused extreme pain. Again, he forgot that his opponent was a Lotharro, a behemoth of a man that probably felt tickled by that attempt.

Unfortunately for the fledgling torturer, this gave Argider ample opportunity to gather up Woe in a bear hug. Within moments Woe was feeling the crush. He attempted anything he could to loosen the hold, kicking his opponent's knees, worming his way out of it, no chance. The grapple was too well-executed.

Finally, given no other choice, he cocked his head backward, and swiftly thrust it foreward. He aimed his forehead for Arigder's nose, if it was within range. He repeated the motion if it found purchase. Meanwhile, his arms twisted trying to snake his body out from the tightening hold.

And again, kicking, squirming, and once more. Crack went one of his ribs as he disturbed the still tightening hold. He could feel consciousness fade. No, he wouldn't give up.

He kept pounding his forehead into the large man's face, until his jaw went slack from lack of sensation.

Before too long, Woe's head lolled forward with his last attempt at a headbutt. He lost consciousness, and one would presume the match.

The crowd cheered uproariously for Arigder, the obvious favorite, as the match was declared won.

OOC: Alright guys, Arigder, if you could get your next post in, maybe I could npc another generic opponent for you, or we can call it here... Only thing is I'm expecting Mara to join in, but not sure if she wants to fight the slaves or spectate. Depending on what she wants to do, we could continue throwing generics into the ring until Arigder scares all others into submission :D
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Fingers found fingers, and his hands locked together around Woe's form. He quickly felt the man resisting, already trying to squirm his way from the hold. Causing an opponent to fall unconscious was the most appropriate way to win in the Pit, simply because it did not cause any noticeable harm to the other slave. The Naerikk appreciated when their slaves looked pretty, even after they got beaten in the Pits.

Argider was surprised, honestly, at Woe's resilience. Many had fallen before the massive Lothar's arms, but not this human. Instead, he wanted to fight for his life, for his reputation. Perhaps he wanted to impress the Naerikk watching so that, like Argider, he could enjoy some success and comfort from the Lurpeko. Or perhaps he was just trying to fight back against the futility of his new situation. Either way, the human earned Argider's respect in that few bits, and that was saying something.

As Woe brought his head back, there was a brief moment where the Lothar's predatory gaze fell on the man's determined stare. Argider saw no resignation in that look, but instead found Woe's determination impressive. And then, as quickly as the human's head had gone back, it came rushing forward. A loud crunch sounded as Woe's forehead smashed into Argider's face, sending the warm, sticky blood from his nose to run down over his lips. The hit stunned and dazed Argider, but he did not release his grip. Instead, the monstrous Lothar shook away the cobwebs and continued to squeeze, snarling in Woe's face. Hot blood dripped into his mouth.

Again, Woe's forehead connected with Argider's face, this time meeting his forehead. The crowd roared at Woe's fighting spirit, and immediately more nels changed hand as the Naerikk made smaller side bets as the fight went on. They wagered on how it would end, or on what hit, or whether the small man would escape the hold and prolong the fight. All of this happened outside Argider's vision, but not his conscious thought. He focused on Woe, who continued to headbutt him. The next headbutt missed, as Woe's momentum slowed and his eyes started to roll. Argider observed as his jaw stopped tightening before impact, and he saw the progression of Woe falling unconscious. Blood surged through his arms, shading them red as he tightened the bearhug for the final stretch of the fight.

And then, suddenly, Woe was unconscious. His head lolled backwards and he went limp in Argider's arms. It took the crowd a trill to realize it wasn't a ploy by the crafty newcomer. When they finally came to the conclusion, though, a raucous cheer went up through them. The slaves screamed and hollered Argider's name, and the Naerikk either cawed in delight or hissed in disappointment. With his mouth and chin covered in blood, Argider roared in Woe's face, but he did not toss the man's limp form to the side. Instead, he lowered him to the stone floor and allowed two other slaves to rush in and drag Woe's body from the ring. Flexing his muscular form, Argider roared again, taunting the next opponent into the ring.

"Who would enter this ring of pain and stand against me?" The Lothar asked in harsh Grovokian, staring down the front line of battle-ready slaves. From the corner of his eye, he watched where the slaves dragged Woe, who was being seen by a physician's assistant slave. A very slight nod gave his approval to the man, who wasn't conscious enough to accept the respect.

"Who would take his place? Come join him in darkness." The Lothar's gruff voice echoed off the stone walls.
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