This, you muse from your position in the stands, is the first time we're using the arena as an arena.

And also for the first time, the stands are relatively packed. The twenty odd Longtooth goblins have been let out of the pit, and they're getting along surprisingly well with your own forces. Charlemagne handing out small packets of toasted bugs, a little like woodlice the size of his thumb and tossed in salt, certainly lends the fight the air of a carnival show, and the excited chatter of voices fills the room.

The weapon stands have been left in place, but you don't think that the blunt practice swords and cheap slat shields are going to see much use in what's to come. Both combatants are armed for blood.

Peanut, as you called him, had a rather brutal looking jagged edged sword – apparently made of the jaw of some kind of large predator – but he put it to the side when Feathers entered the ring. Instead, he's equipped himself with a weighted net and a mace. The net is more hole than rope, but it would do its job if he managed to snag someone with it. The reasoning behind his choices are clear enough to you, as close as goblins get to symbolism.

Capture and brutalise, but not mutilate. He didn't want to damage his 'prize' after all.

Feathers is simpler. Her glaive is stuck into the sandy floor, the blade held high and glinting in the torchlight. She leans on it, nonchalant, even as Peanut leers and jeers. You let yourself smile. As much as he blusters and growls obscenities, you can see it in his eyes – with each threat ignored, and each howl returned with nothing but quiet confidence, he wavers. He won't see Feathers as a threat. He can't. But he's wary of betrayal, glancing up at the ring of faces watching him, wondering if the smallest kobold in going to put an arrow in his back, or if the human woman is going to summon her pets to swarm him.

Baseless of course.

You won't need to cheat.

He's a level about Feathers, nine to her eight. But a level is nothing to a smart opponent, as you have demonstrated repeatedly since your lair was founded.

Finally, the last watcher finds a seat. Charlemagne approaches you with the last bag of bugs, and you throw one into the air before snapping your jaws around it.

“Hmm. Not bad. What do you call them?”

They're slightly nutty, and crunchy – with a satisfying pop as you crack the shell, but there's something else to the flavour.

Your goblin chef grins. “Call them Pops, because of the texture. You got to feed them right. Couple of the search parties bring back new foods they find and if there's not a lot I give it to these guys. Apple pops are alright, celery pops aren't. This batch got corn.”

You throw another cornpop into your mouth.

“I'm not sure why, but that makes me happy.”

The goblin grins at you.

“Not as happy as watching Feathers murder some fool though?”

You grin back. “Naturally.”

Feathers is looking up at you, even if Peanut is still ranting.

Time to begin then.

You stand up, and the crowd goes silent. Even Peanut trails off without the hollering of the crowd.

“Ready?”

Feathers nods. You don't care about Peanut.

“Then begin.”

You sit again and settle in to watch the slaughter.

Peanut starts almost exactly how you'd expect. He charges directly at Feathers, screaming, and waving his mace and net in the air. Feathers stands straight, leaving her glaive in the floor.

The net is hurled once he closes within five feet, and to be fair to him it's a good throw. The stones tied to the edges swing wide, snapping the rope out in an ensnaring web, but Feathers was moving when he shifted his arm back to ready his throw. The net goes wide, by less than an inch, and you smile.

Feathers is showing off. The final bit of tension leaves you. She's not a fool, or full of pride. She wouldn't show off if there was any danger.

Peanut keeps his scream going as he closes the difference, swinging at her wildly, spit flying from his mouth and eyes wild as Feathers dodges by the absolute bare minimum. Each strike, foiled by a single step, or a simple lean. The speed and power of the blows, irrelevant.

Sand sprays up from a missed strike that hits the floor, leaving Peanut open to a blow that if Feathers had a knife or sword, would have ended the fight. Instead, she looks at it for long enough that it's clear to everyone watching, then steps away once more, farther from her weapon.

Peanut screams again, swiping at her wooden leg, and with a horrible cracking noise Feathers leans back to put her weight to her good leg, and extends the peg in a perfect kick to Peanut's chin that sends him sprawling. The crowd roars as Feathers holds the position – torso shifted for balance, thighs nearly one hundred and eighty degrees apart and peg nearly pointed at the ceiling. The position draws a lot of attention to the bunching muscles of her legs, and you see Sapphire shift slightly in her seat.

Peanut is still for several seconds, and you shake your head.

Pathetic.

Then he shifts, pulling himself to his hands and knees, and spits out a bloody tooth.

Then the screaming starts again and you roll your eyes as he charges at your woman. He only gets up off all fours half way there, arms wide, fingers hooked like claws.

Sometimes you wish you could see in slow motion.

Feathers, still stood on one leg, squats and then leaps into a twist. Her body pivots in a violent snap than puts her entire body weight and the entire momentum of her spin into her natural leg, which punts Peanuts head sideways so fast you swear there's an after image.

She lands lightly on her peg leg, her face totally serene and the message is clear.

I don't need my rage to beat you.

Peanut lands after she does, but stands quicker this time. Although there's a definite wobble to his stance.

Feathers doesn't press him, giving him several breaths to collect himself, and to realise he left his mace ten feet away.

Your barbarian only puts her second leg on the ground once Peanut has retrieved his weapon.

Sapphire shifts again.

He's more cautious now. And his screaming has finally stopped. He holds his mace in both hands, the leather grip creaking. You can see the sweat dropping down his arms.

“You cheat. You no be this strong.”

Feathers doesn't grace him with acknowledgement, but this time when he comes in for an attack she punches him in the stomach so hard he folds around her fist, and when he hits the ground you're all treated to the sound, sight and smell of a goblin noisily emptying his stomach.

And if the positions were reversed, you muse as Feathers steps away, shaking her head, He's the kind of man who would kick his opponent into their own vomit. I wonder if he knows how outclassed he is?

It takes nearly thirty seconds for him to stand again, and the crowd are baying for blood.

Feathers turns away from him as he finally staggers upright, so she's facing you. She looks up at you, and you grin down at her, before subtly eyeing Sapphire. The gobliness' eyes follow yours, to see the kobold squirming in her seat. Feathers eyes snap back to yours, and you wink. The calm mask breaks just for a moment as a flush creeps across Feathers' cheeks, before it's back.

She closes her eyes, and the crowd gasp.

Most of them can't see it, but the ones that can gasp and the rest follow along, sure something gasp worthy must have happened.

You nod.

End game. She's used both feet and her off hand.

Out loud, you say “Next move ends it.”

Charlemagne side eyes you, then grunts. “Pity. Was hoping for a bit more blood.”

Peanut stumbles towards his weapon as Feathers turns to where he was, eyes still closed.

He glances at her, and anger and shame war on his face.

Anger wins.

Unsurprisingly.

He reaches his mace, and passes over it. He keeps going until he reaches Feathers' glaive.

“Ah yes. The 'I'm losing, so let me try a weapon I've never used before. That will help' tactic. Not seen very often.”

Sapphire laughs, so you'll take it as a win.

Although there may be more thought than you credit him with behind his decision, as he uses the glaive as a crutch, hobbling toward Feathers who still hasn't opened her eyes and is still looking to where he started, the small pool of goblin spew.

The crowd can sense it.

Peanut can't.

You nearly feel sorry for him.

As he gets within striking range, you wonder what his thoughts are. What's going on in his head?

He lifts the glaive up.

Does he think he's going to win? That this clumsy strike has any better chance of bloodying Feathers than any other?

Half the crowd goes silent.

The other half goes “Oooh,” and crosses their legs, then goes silent.

Peanut goes “Urglemumble” and goes very, very still, as Feathers opens her eyes. She's on one knee, and her good arm is outstretched, her hand disappearing behind Peanut's loincloth.

Peanut's eyes are so wide they're in danger of rolling out of his skull, his mouth agape as tiny sounds emerge, synced with tiny movements of the muscles in Feathers' arm.

You wince, but you're smiling too.

Peanut screams, a high, keening wail that goes on and on and on as Feathers pulls him down to his knees. The crowd bellows in approval.

They're face to face, and she leans in till his rolling eyes meet hers. She reaches up with her free hand and almost gently removes the glaive from her foe's grasp. She sets it beside them, then rests her hand on his head, winding her fingers in his hair. Then she whispers something, lost in the shouting of the crowd and the scream that still hasn't ended.

A beat passes, and Peanut finally runs out of air, his scream petering out.

Then, in a show of brutality that silences the crowd in a single moment, Feathers tears his testicles off with her bare hands, and shoves them down his throat.