"Comon ya litl runt!! Swing dah axe harda!!"
The massive weapon feels like a boat's anchor in my little hands. It is heavy and unbalanced, not at all like my beloved dagger.
The frothing beast lunges at me again, its razor sharp tusks nearly slicing me open. However, I am too quick for the starving boar and I deftly jump to the side. If I could use this stupid axe I would carry through with a killing blow. My feeble attempt to swing it is met with roaring laughter and cheers from the assembled crowds in the arena.
"Meekha git stronga, swing dah axe!!" my father yells to me from above the fighting pit. I look up to see his disgusting, pale face glaring down at me.
The boar pauses for a moment, as it lifts its head up to squeal ferociously at the crowd. Once again I miss an opportunity to finish it off because of this axe. Instead I retreat to the far edge of the fighting ring, dragging the useless weapon with me. The crowd boos my actions, I hear someone call me a coward.
Suddenly, I trip on something and fall hard on my backside into the blood stained sand. At my feet is a splintered leg bone.
The boar notices me again and charges. I try to scamper back away from it but it is on me in an instant. I grab its tusks to keep it from goring me, the beast bites and snorts frantically. My little arms can't hold the monster for long and my life flashes before my eyes.
Above me I see the crowds looking down on me. They all have an eager blood lust in their eyes. Here it doesn't matter who I am, where I have been, who I have loved, or who loves me. Instead I have one task, to die in the most memorable and grisly way to appease the masses. I look into the face of the Orc that I am told is my father. I don't see love or compassion. He's not going to jump down and save me. Instead I see what I think is anger, perhaps he is displeased that he will lose the money that he bet on me this night. What should I expect, he is a Death knight, I remember hearing someone say he lost his soul a very long time ago.
Without warning, the frothing boar whips his head to the side, tossing me through the air like a rag doll. I hit hard against the side of the arena and slide down into the dirt. Ragged and battered I look up to see the beast preparing another charge against me. I frantically feel around for something to fight with. Then, my hand lands on the splintered leg bone I tripped over before. Gripping it tightly, it feels like a dagger in my hand.
The boar squeals loudly and charges me in a flash. I hold my makeshift weapon up to protect myself. As the boar crashes into me, the bone pierces its tough flesh at the neck. Blood sprays everywhere as the boar screams in pain. The crowd roars with delight.
I jump to my feet and scurry across the ring to my axe. I grab its handle and put my back against the opposite wall. Meanwhile, the beast whirls in a circle trying to pull the bone out of its neck. Then it stops and looks at me hard. It's milky eyes filled with pain fuelled rage.
Time slows down again, as I watch the beast preparing to charge at me. I smell the stench of sweat, blood, and orcish ale. I once again look up at my so-called father, he glares at me with those hollow glowing eyes. I long for the love that I felt from my Master, he would never have subjected me to this nightmare.
The boar charges, its horrible squeal rising above the roar of the crowd and echoing through the arena. With all my strength I dodge to the side, and watch the boar smash hard into the arena wall. The beast stands helpless as I raise the axe into the air.
I swing the axe downward with all my might and watch the sharp blade bite into the back of the beasts neck, and slices through before jarring hard against the floor below. In an instant the horrible screaming stops and the beast falls down. Blood flows like a river across the ground.
The crowd roars again. Their blood lust has been fulfilled, and to my amazement it is not by my blood.
I look up at my father, hoping to see joy that I survived. Instead I am faced with that terrible glare. He does not celebrate with the others, instead he sits in disappointment, as if somehow he lost.
I watch as another Orc steps up to him with his hand out, and my father, Goregreedy the Death knight, presses a bag of coins into his hand.
