Thank you and welcome. Please have a look at the other stories as well. On the whole, the quality is quite high here in my opinion.
Oh, and is that Ethan from ctrl-alt-delete? I read that comic from time to time, it's funny.
Now without further ado, meet the next chapter.
Chapter 2: Pit of sand, well of memories.
Aran walked through the Imperial city at a brisk pace. Those who were walking outside as well had to move aside when he came through.
,,Lower the price? What is the Emperor thinking? Did he lose all sense of finance? And doesn’t he realize the importance of healers? When the healers can no longer support themselves, then who treats the wounded, or the sick?”He came past the Black Horse courier. The latest edition had been pinned to the wall. Aran stopped to read the headlines.
EMPEROR SENDS HEIR AWAY. ‘A school in Hammerfell. Is the next emperor being trained to be a new conqueror?’
TENSIONS RISE ON ELSWEYR-VALENWOOD BORDER ‘The latest chapter in the neverending conflict’
QUEEN OF MORROWIND FLEES TO HIGH ROCK ‘Local nobles claim to be pleased to be rid of the Dark Elven queen.’
DARK BROTHERHOOD STRIKES AGAIN ‘An ancient guild of assassins plague our lands. Will the Legion do something?’
With each headline, his frown got deeper. Unlike most Dunmer, the hate towards queen Barenziah meant nothing to him. Where he was born, her rule was as strong as the morning breeze. The queen had never been an influence on his life, nor would she ever be.
What bothered him was that there seemed to be only tales of violence. War, a conqueror in training. As if Tamriel hadn’t seen enough blood in the past.
,,I make no sense. I protest against war whereas my life has been nothing but one great battle, fuelled by the blood of my opponents and I.”Silently, he continued walking till he reached his destination. The Arena.
The Arena looked from the outside like the city on a smaller scale. Only the great tower was missing. He took the fighter’s entrance, where he moved through the training area. Gladiators where demolishing bags, putting holes into wooden boards or simply breaking each other’s noses. In here, it seemed as if time did not exist. The only sign of time passing would be the replacement of old gladiators with new ones.
Aran walked up to the desk at the far end of the room. An old Orc sat behind it, his face disfigured from his own career in the arena. The Dunmer waited patiently to be noticed. When the Orc looked up, his eyes shone with recognition.
,,I don’t believe my eyes! Aran Geydar, the spearwielder! What can I do for you?” He asked and took the Dunmer into a crushing embrace.
,,I need money. Let me enter the arena.” Aran answered. Instantly, the Orc let go and took a step back. He tried to keep his eyes focussed on the man’s face yet couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at his left hand.
,,Can’t you find a different way to make money? Face it, my friend. You’ve had your days of glory. Now they’re gone, they fled when you lost your hand.” He complained.
,,You’re a cripple, Aran Geydar. I understand that a warrior’s true wish is to die by the sword. But you’re too young. You should find a woman first, pass on your blood to a new generation of warriors. Don’t throw your life away.”
Aran looked down at the cloth covering the stump. His hand had been severed at the wrist by Erinus, after an axe had turned it into a bloody pulp of flesh and bone. With his hand, most of his skill had vanished. He pressed his remaining hand into a fist. He would not give up, even if injured.
,,As long as I have a spear. I can still fight! Let me do this, Ghorak! Let me.” He demanded. Ghorak sighed, an unusual thing for an Orc to do. Then again, just being a respected citizen was a miracle for an Orc.
,,You have courage. I respect that. Very well, follow me.” He said and moved away from behind the desk. The Orc’s stomach bulged over his belt, yet the muscles underneath his skin remained strong.
He led the Dunmer into the trophy room. There, he moved to an exhibit composed of an axe and a spear. Both were stunning examples of workmanship. Steel mixed with gold, emeralds embedded into the hilt of the axe and the shaft of the spear. Runes engraved into the blades. Ghorak removed the spear from the wall and held it out.
,,I made this spear before your last battle. If you became the champion, I would give it to you. Alas, you did. Only to get dragged off to prison. Here, take it. It’s yours.” He said with his rough voice. Aran didn’t take the spear outright but instead looked at the axe.
,,The axe?”
The Orc looked as well and shrugged.
,,I can’t play favourites. I worked on that axe as long as I worked on your spear. If he had won, he would have received it.” He explained.
,,He was a worthy opponent.” Aran claimed and reached out to take the spear. With a sudden movement, Ghorak pulled the weapon out of reach.
,,Just promise me one thing.” He said.
Aran looked intensely at the Orc. He had never asked for a promise before.
,,What?” The Dunmer asked warily. Ghorak forced a grin.
,,Don’t kill your sponsor.” Now Aran grinned as well.
,,You have my word.” He said and received his spear. His first impression was that the weapon was remarkably light and exceptionally well-balanced. Truly, with this weapon the loss of his hand did not matter.
,,Just why did you kill your sponsor after that battle?” Ghorak asked as they walked up to the gates. Just a moment earlier, the Orc had shouted at one of the gladiators to get ready for a match.
,,That man slaughtered most of my tribe, tried to take our land. I vowed to avenge the Urshilaku who had been slaughtered and then left for the Nix-Hounds to feed on. I followed him all the way here and fought in the arena for eleven years before I got my chance. He sponsored me, so then I could get close enough to kill him. What happened to me after that was not important. He’s death now, and the souls of my ancestors have found peace.”