"There is no combat like forced combat."

- The "Fight Master" Dru'Venm'Goldarf Bewrskin

"If you become a slave, pray you don't find yourself in an arena, for there is no life left in those dark cells."

- Quraerk, the first and only dwarf who managed to escape the arena of Gurlogie

"Slavery is akin to death, fight if you want to live but there is no life in that fight!"

- Unknown

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The thud of metal, and the cheering of the crowd. Light covered and filled the area as sweat poured down the face of the combatants in this arena of life and death, of blissful release and tormented continued servitude. The two warriors grimaced, knowing full well their options but neither wanting this fight to be their last none the less. The blades clashed and clashed. A jab, a dodge, a riposte, a parry. They danced on the dirt as dust kicked up from their every move. Their eyes like hawks, their arms, and blades their fangs as they fought for the territory of this place. They backed off, circling much to the excitement and anticipation of the crowd, they gave a rather good show, shouting and stomping as bets and callouts even still were made and argued with the clinking of coin. Jeering and praise flooded the airspace like a flood. The warriors, however, heard nothing, nothing but the gravel moving beneath the opponents feet. They saw not but the movements of eyes, the twitching of limbs, the way dangling pieces of rusted armor swayed just slightly from the almost imperceivable wind.

Time slowed for both, as the sense of sound became unnecessary. And they charged. The left warrior lunged upwards with his blade pointing downwards to penetrate the earth. His opponent immediately responded in kind, as he closed in, he pivoted onto his right knee and slide, his blade, in turn, slicing the sky. The crowd roared their approval as the one who leaped was now laying in half on either side of the other. He breathed heavily, his limbs not wanting to move, but he had to. He had to give the crowd further incentive. He stood, shaky but not perceivable enough to the somewhat distant crowd. He walked to his now dead opponent as he muttered forgiveness to the gods as he sliced off his head and held it to the sky, shouting as loud as he lungs could to declare victory, tossing it at the crowd. The crowd approved.

He walked slowly with his head high to the gate as an announcer declared his victory, and for him to return. The moment he stepped through and the gate shut, shackles were harshly attached to him, his body long used to their weight. He immediately transformed from a powerful warrior to a feeble one as he walked as best he could to his cell, the fight master shouting at him to move faster. in a dark cell, and also the largest, two eyes watched the procession with interest being a new arrival. The steel chains rattled, for they were the largest as the head the size of a small human child appeared from the shadows, getting a closer look. The victorious fighter blanched at the face, his mind immediately thinking of ways to defeat it and survive, sensing the moment he recovered enough to the master's standards he'd face that thing. However he showed it not on his face, the master's wife enjoyed expression showing slaves and he almost shuddered at another one of those sessions. The massive being soon lost interest and silently, save the sounds of the massive chains, disappeared into the dark of the cell.

After the warrior was nearly tossed into his cell without any sort of congratulations, the fight master turned his gaze to the cell the massive being resided, and he approached. "You're fighting today, come here." No movement. The fight master sighed, bored of dealing with unruly slaves and rather deal with quickly complacent ones. A ring on his hand glowed and he commanded once more. A collar around the thing glowed in return as the massive creature moved against its will, its thoughts to such things clearly shown on its face. Seven guards with spears trained on it stood by as another slave opened the door, the fat slaver standing back watching. Due to its size, and the smallness of the tunnel, he forced the creature to crawl to the gate, the collar suppressing its will. He halted the creature and waited for the door to open, the crowds cheering faintly trickling in.

"Good dwarves of this land, today we have a special event for you. The fight master has prepared five of the greatest fighters of this holy arena of combat to face a creature largely considered a myth, but today you shall see otherwise." The announcer motioned his hand and a gate opened, five dwarves of varying gear walked out proudly, but their minds were worried. The last time an event like this occurred all the fighters died, they feared what stood on the other side beyond that iron gate, waiting to feast on their flesh. The announcer motioned his other hand, a creature that dwarfed dwarves rose. "Good citizens, I present to you, a hill giant!" The crowd erupted the loudest of the day yet. Bets flung and liquor spilled in surprise. The people already drunk with excitement.

The hill giant looked at the tiny foes it was pitted against, nearly sighing. If it hadn't been caught while asleep this wouldn't have happened. The command to fight burned it through the collar, it could not disobey. "BEGIN!" and it charged. Immediately the dwarves rolled away to avoid the terrifying limber monster, as its fist sailed into the earth dust tossed like a cloud. The closest dwarf was unable to react to the sudden combo attack of the hill giant as almost immediately its fist landed, a kick slammed the dwarf into the crowd burying him into the stone. The crowd went silent, then roared as most were not just drunk of excitement but actually drunk, which is impressive for a dwarf. The unfortunate dwarf was, however, dead on impact with the crowd. Of course, so were seven members of said crowd, but still.

One of the dwarves lunged for the ankle of the hill giant, only to unexpectedly be stepped on mid-flight like a cockroach. The other three were also quickly dispatched before they could react, one of them having pissed himself in fear. The hill giant having defeated the five turned its gaze to the crowd, angered at being captured and forced to fight, but restricted by a command to stay still just before it could begin.

"Give a hand for our newest monster, the female hill giant, Cestrium!" Cestirium grew annoyed at this sounds that pounded her ears, however, her limbs began to move her back to the gate against her will. As the gate shut the announcer spoke once more "And with that ends today's events, please do return tomorrow for more events of combat and prowess!"

Cestrium was shackled back into the cell as the fight master smiled at her. "You are going to earn me quite a bit of money my little hill giantess." He laughed as he walked away, though Cestrium's thoughts were of the tiny being calling her small, what do insects know after all. Cestrium gave her surroundings and fellow prisoners and slaves a once over, the sense of doom permeated this place, all of them knew their only chance to live was to simply not die in the arena, but someone has to, someone always has to. They all knew only half of those who come in survive, those were the odds. It was rare for anything besides a one on one, and if it was, it was two to five against a powerful monster, and in those none of them were meant to win when it came to the odds. The man who won the last fight shivered in his cold damp cell, tears in his eyes. He had lived this way for so long yet he was one of the few who imagined freedom, for it was his sole motivator to not forfeit a fight, of course forfeiting means dying without really trying.

Everyone knew so long as they wore collars and the fight master wore the ring, they were trapped in their little cages. Well, everyone save a hill giant. However, Cestrium realized there was nothing she could accomplish at the moment and settled against the stone as best she could attempt to get some rest with one eye open of course. She would dream of mashing all the dwarves she could get her massive hands on and make dwarf stew, she liked stew. Especially when her mother made it. When she would wake, a lone red tear would stream down her face as she thought of home. After all, giants and hill giants cry rivers of blood or so they say. Several steps rang out silently entering her hearing range, her gaze turned to whence they came from, rather interested at just what would transpire, and if she could already escape these shackles that bound her.

Very curious, for a hill giant that is.