Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20140112004028/@comment-3293219-20140115000243

"Heh, that's a lot of questions..." Bologra replied, trying to process all of the information.

"Well... you see..."

Several weeks earlier
Bologra had been moving south for some time now, the Dawnguard had little to no presence in Cyrodiil and he enjoyed the weather more than that of Skyrim. The hot weather really got the blood boiling and he relished every minute of it.

Bologra started off in Bruma but quickly grew bored, it was too quite and there was just no threat in the wilderness as anything that was remotely intimidating had frozen to death, long ago. The orc went to the Imperial City, in the hopes of finding a bigger challenge along the way and maybe find some work that would suit a warrior like him. He'd always fancied being a bouncer or a hired guard, someone who was paid to punch people. Bruma offered no such opportunities and even if it did, the dark nights were quickly depressing him and he needed a change in scenery...

The orc had fought tooth and nail to get to the Imperial City as he had to fight every bear he encountered, constantly looking for bigger bears to take on with nothing but his bare hands. The wilderness was full of surprises as bears weren't the greatest danger that the orc had faced, spriggans littered the road and he even encountered a creature that was some man/bull hybrid, which was truly a worthy opponent. After brutally beating his way through the countryside and putting nature back in its place, Bologra had arrived at the Imperial City and he immediately began to ask for any leads, if there was anywhere that a brute who enjoyed punching things until his hand turned red could find work and everyone he asked pointed him in the same direction.

The fabled 'arena.'

Bologra sought the arena out, it took him the best part of twenty four hours as he couldn't read any of the signs and he was too proud to ask for directions, he also had little memory of the Imperial City, other than the White Gold Tower, which bought back bad memories. He considered going back in there and seeing if the blood stains were still there but sadly, the White Gold Tower was closed off to visitors.

Finally, after navigating the mazelike layout of the Imperial City, Bologra had arrived at the Arena. The crowd's roar was almost deafening and he could see the excitement of everyone who entered and the burning rage of everyone who left. This place was like an afterlife for the orc, endless battle, reward and the admiration of wenches who would flock in the thousands to watch him pummel some weakling and turn his head into soil.

The orc confidently strolled up to the front gate and he was greeted by a bosmer, quite an old bosmer, who still seemed enthusiastic. "Ah, hello good sir..."

"I'm here to kick some ass!"

The bosmer was surprised at the orc's interruption but he was used to dealing with all kinds of customers... "Of course you are sir, I take it that you want to compete?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" Bologra replied, confused by the elf's confusion.

"Quite, just making sure... Now, we have positions open in both the Blue Team and the Yellow team right now, so..."

"Which one's got the strongest fighters?" The orsimer asked, eagerly.

"Oh... that would be the Blue Team, there hasn't been a yellow team grand champion in almost two hundred years, not since the 'Grey Prince' was defeated." The representative explained, Bologra's enthusiasm seemed to make him happy, it was rare these days.

"Right, sign me up with the yellow team." Bologra requested, hoping to battle the strongest fighters that this pitt had to throw at him.

"Yellow team? Are you sure?" The bosmer was confused, what was the point in asking if... Oh... I see. "Excellent!" He exclaimed, "just go through the door on your left and speak to the master, a nord fellow, he'll set you up with a match and some opponents to fight."

"Great!" Bologra replied, with some relief that there was no background check or anything.

He walked into the 'bloodworks,' he hit his head on the door frame but other than a small grunt of annoyance, he showed little reaction to it.

The 'Bloodworks' was a name that Bologra was rather fond of. ''If I ever buy a cottage... I'm calling it the 'Bloodworks!' Gonna have one of those tacky, wooden signs hanging outside with some red paint on it with 'bloodworks' written on it. It'd be sweet!''

He stepped into the place and it lived up to it's name, a stream of blood ran through the drains beneath his feet... There was equipment that fighters could train with, all day and so many misplaced combatants stood around, aimlessly. Awaiting a chance to sink their blades into the flesh and the vitals of their enemies... it was beautiful.

"This isn't the strip club orc, you here to fight or stare at my fighter's asses?" A redguard snapped at him, he looked like a seasoned fighter but he was getting on in years.

"Erm... can't I do both?" Bologra replied, trying to make a good first impression.

"Sure, if you want to have your head chopped off, is that how you lost your hand?" He gestured to Bologra's 'stump.'

"No..."

"You're handicapped, what could you possibly do?"

Bologra wanted to show him what he could do, he could remove all of his teeth with one, swift punch and then laugh at him as he crawled around on his hands and knees, trying to pick them up off of the ground. "Well, I pack on hell of a punch, I'm good with a hand axe but I rarely use it, 'cause I love punching stuff..."

"I see..."

"Oh and I have this..." He reached into his pocket and drew the bayonet, slotting it into his arm brace to show his prosthetic bayonet.

"Right, well I've signed up worse I guess... Welcome to the blue team!"

"Blue team? I don't wanna fight for no 'blue team,' I came to fight for the yellows!"

"What? You serious? You're suicidal aren't you? Look, no yellow fighters have the grand championship... ever!"

"Erm... so?" Bologra didn't care what this idiot's history said, Bologra would smash anyone who got in his way or die trying.

"Fine..." He turned around and approached the yellow blade master, "stupid, horse's ass..." He muttered, possibly about the orc.

"Hey Kelv! We have another tormented soul, who can't take it anymore, who wants to join your team!"

A beaten down old nord hobbled into view, he used a stick to support himself and he didn't look like much of a fighter but looking at his scars, his milky eye and the experience that lay dead in the other? You could truly see the proud and powerful warrior that he once was, tragically reduced to a decrepit old blade master.

"So..." Kelv began as the redguard walked away, "you here for a fight?"

"No, I'm here to look at ass..." Bologra replied, sarcastically.

Kelv rolled his eyes, hopefully this fools blade is sharper than his tongue. "So... you want to fight do you?"

"Yep, wanna crush whatever you can throw at me... Give me a challenge!"

"Oh... I got just the thing..."

The arena
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer cried out, riling up the crowd.

Jeez... empire loves their spectacle... The orsimer rolled his eyes, impatiently awaiting the go ahead.

Just let me in, so I can kick some ass! Bologra's knuckles were growing 'itchy,' they hadn't been 'scratched' for a long time.

He looked down at the yellow 'dress' that he was wearing, ''Dammit... remind me to kick my own ass, once this is over, for agreeing to wear this shit!''

"LOOOOOWER the gates!"

The gates lowered, groaning and creaking as they did, Bologra stepped out and embraced the roar of the crowd. A grin slipped across his lips as he imagined all of the disappointed idiots who bet against him.

What the... tell me that's not. He looked up, to see three khajit in rags.

''God dammit! I could break these assholes by sitting on them!'' The orc carried on marching, wondering if it was too late to request a change... maybe some flower girls or a moth priest would provide a better challenge, though one of them did have a nice ebony hand axe. A fine trophy...

Bologra emerged, victorious in a record victory of 1 minute and fourty three seconds.

Though it was, slightly, fun to swing a khajit around by the tail, it wasn't the challenge that he had signed up for.

"Ladies and gentlemen! You have your winner, theeeeeeeee Yellow team combatant!" Some cheered, some booed and other's threw things at him in a tantrum, Bologra took comfort in knowing that he was making rich people suffer.

He picked up the Khajit's hand axe and made his way back to the blood works but he was stopped by Kelv...

"What do you think you're doing son?"

"Going back in to wash my hands..." Bologra replied, smugly.

"I mean with that!" He pointed to the axe, "No looting!"

Bologra looked down at the axe, "Why not?"

"Those are the rules, it's disrespectful to loot off of the dead, you agreed to that when you signed up, I explained it to you... remember?"

Bologra didn't... he remembered something about rules but he had zoned out, at the time, thinking about his disappointing fight...

"Disrespectful? Bashing his head in, isn't 'disrespectful?' Besides, he's dead, he don't need it!" Their tradition baffled Bologra, it was illogical and impractical.

"Now... you've had a good start to the arena, don't throw it all away for a hand axe..."

Kelv was wrong... it wasn't about the axe, this was about principle, about standing up to a system that he had no belief in.

"You aren't leaving with that axe... give it to me or you'll never fight in the arena again."

Not much of a choice...

"You aren't walking out of here with it either... my best warriors are down stairs, so you have three choices. Do the right thing..."

Bologra tightened his grip on the axe, his blood boiled as this old fool had tried to command him.

"... And so, two counts of murder and twenty assaults later and I'm here in Cheydinhal! Keeping a low profile!"

"By the eight! We've got a man down!" A guard called from the distance.

"Sort of..."