Chapter 1 - Fresh Meat

The Gladiator’s Prize
Chapter One: Fresh Meat
                Under the relentless Stranglethorn sky, the gladiators trained. It was still early morning, but the men and women of Crazk’s gladiator stable were already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The men were paired off and fought with various wooden weapons; some of the women lifted heavy stones and large blocks of wood, while others ran laps. An old orc, grey haired and slightly stooped with age, covered in scars, cast an iron glare over the sparring pairs of men; he barked an order, in the common tongue, at a night elf and blood elf who were engaged with a pair of wooden shortswords. An equally aged pandaren woman was giving orders to a pair of women who were taking laps.
                “Well, this is it,” the goblin told the human man as they dismounted walked towards the gladiator’s sanctum.  This isn’t so bad, at least not as bad as I thought, Quentin thought, trying to re-assure himself. Sure, the sanctum itself was rather plain, a collection of unassuming, ordinary buildings, but the surrounding forest had its own beauty. Quentin could also hear waves lapping the shore of the nearby beach. Yeah, I could deal with this for a few years, no problem, the human told himself. “I’ll give you a little tour before you settle in.”
                “We’re just a few miles from the Gurubashi Arena,” the goblin continued, “we prefer to have as few distractions as possible for you gladiators, you understand.” The goblin saw the human glance at the practicing, scantily-clad women and raised an eyebrow at him. “And separate quarters for men and women, of course, strictly enforced,” the goblin finished, shaking his finger and chortling. 
                “Of course,” the man said, with a smirk. 
                “Don’t say much, do ya?” the goblin asked him, not exactly expecting an answer. The conversation on the trip to the compound had been heavily one-sided in favor of the goblin.
                Quentin shrugged his shoulders at the goblin. It was true: he preferred to keep his lips tight, especially in a new situation.
                “Well, suit yourself I guess,” the goblin responded, “we don’t have to be friends; you just need to bring in a lotta coin for me,” he said, winking. “Don’t worry too much though, you’ll get a chance to blow off steam when we visit town for the games,” the goblin reassured him. “I ain’t no prude, you understand, but it helps everyone stay focused if we keep the funny business to a minimum.”
                The pair was starting to generate some attention, particularly from the male combatants who were in the sparring circle, since they were closest to the goblin and human. The night elf and blood elf had stopped their sparring session and were eyeing the human up and down. 
                The night elf, wooden shortsword resting on one shoulder, smiled and said, “You have some fresh meat for us, Crazk?” “Boys,” he shouted, looking over his other shoulder, “I believe Crazk has brought us a recruit. FRESH. MEAT” The blood elf, with whom he had been sparring, gave a snide chuckle.
                “I do not think he will last the week, Ellern,” the blood elf told his night elf partner, as the former regarded the human standing before him. The other men were starting to break off from their tasks and were amusing themselves at the expense of the newcomer.
                “I’ll take that bet, Sanren,” the night elf Ellern replied to the blood elf. “The rookie lasts any longer than a week, you owe me a round and a poke next time we’re in Gurubashi.”
                “Deal,” Sanren shot back, with no small amount of cockiness
                Crazk had allowed this to continue up to this point, but, humor still in his voice, he shouted to the old orc who was standing on a small wooden platform:” Sorek, I see a lot of men standing around playing grab ass. Best give em’ somethin’ to do, huh?” The old orc, who had not so much as glanced at Quentin, gave a curt nod to the goblin.
                The orc’s voice cut across everything, gruff and full-throated, with absolute authority: “Enough. Fun’s over. Back to sparring or I’ll thrash the lot of you.” The men obeyed and returned to what they were doing, some still shaking their head and laughing as they matched up against their sparring partners; one was slower to returned to his duties: the draenei had a small group around him, a mixed-race assortment from various corners of Azeroth, but he towered over all of them, a mountain of muscle. They were all still smiling and laughing, but there was no laughter in the draenei’s glowing blue eyes, no smile or smirk creased his lips. It was a predator coldly surveying his prey. Pure calculation. The draenei finally broke eye contact and brought his weapon to bear on one of his group as they began to spar.
                Quentin and Crazk continued their walk.
                “You’ll eat shit from these guys for a few weeks here, but if you’re tough n’ ya take your licks, the boys’ll see that, and accept you. I got no doubt you’ll make it through the first few weeks a’ trainin’. I got an eye for talent, and I see somethin’ in ya,” Crazk explained to his companion as they walked towards the women’s side of the training grounds.
                “I can handle it,” Quentin told him, rather impassively. In all honesty, the razzing had not phased him at all; it came with the territory. However, he would keep their laughing faces in his mind, and revenge would be served in time. 
                “I like the attitude, but don’t get too cocky, kid,” Crazk said, “it ain’t gonna be easy,” he added. “Enough of that though, let’s set our eyes on more pleasant company,” the goblin finished, as the two strolled towards the area where the women were training.
                Like the men, the women of Crazk’s gladiator sanctum were drawn from a variety of Azeroth’s races. The pair closest to Crazk and Quentin, a draenei and dwarf, were locked in a vicious tug-of-war match over an open pit. Both were drenched in sweat, eyes bulging, teeth gritted, trying not to cede the other an inch. The draenei dug her hooves into the dirt, and the dwarf redoubled her efforts on the rope, the veins in her neck looking as though they were ready to pop out of her skin. It was clearly becoming a losing effort for the dwarf, as the draenei let out a guttural grunt and used the last ounce of her strength to pull the dwarf woman, who let out a surprised yelp, face first into the pit. Crazk and Quentin heard a loud thud as the dwarf landed.
                The draenei stood at the edge of the pit, laughing, and said, “Good effort, Esta. Almost had me zat time.” She took the rope and dropped an end of it into the pit, and the dwarf climbed out.
                “Hand…. slipped…. next……time……. yer……. mine…. lass,” the dwarf sputtered out, still gasping for breath from the exertion. She looked over and noticed their audience for the first time. “Mornin’ boss,” she said as she adjusted her skimpy gladiator’s garb, with a small amount of embarrassment. 
                The draenei turned to look and regarded Quentin, “Good morning Crazk, I see you brought us a delicious snack for breakfast,” she said, pointing at Quentin. 
                “Hardly enough meat on him tah even be considered a snack,” Esta the dwarf replied to her draenei friend, sizing up the new gladiator. 
                “I have a snack for you right here, little woman,” Quentin shot back at her, smiling wickedly.
                “Oho, the snack has a mouth on him, Salle,” Esta said to the draenei. “Well come on an’ show me, lad,” she said, half threat, half flirtation. 
                “Alright, girls, don’t scare him off,” Crazk bemusedly cut in. The women laughed but let the matter drop. “You two had better be ready to bring me some coin in the games in three weeks,” Crazk reminded them. 
                Quentin didn’t catch their response because that was the first time he saw her. She was carrying two heavy blocks of wood on her shoulders while in full gallop around the track that surrounded the compound. Her green skin was covered in perspiration, and her muscular legs were pumping hard as she sprinted towards the finish line. The orc’s loincloth barely concealed her muscular, ample behind. Gods, she is perfect, Quentin thought. He couldn’t remember feeling such instant attraction, certainly not for an orc. A work of art, truly. When she crossed the finish line, she dropped the blocks of wood on the ground and waited for the other women to finish their lap, most being at least half the track behind her and unencumbered by weights. As they crossed the finish line, the orc woman clapped them on the back, and they began conferring as a group. They were a group of beauties, but Quentin’s eyes never left the orc.
                “…. Quentin……. Quentin,” Crazk’s voice faded in as the goblin tugged on the edge of Quentin’s shirt, trying to get his attention. “Somethin’ catch your attention, boy?” The goblin asked with amusement in his voice.
                “The orc woman……. who is she?” Quentin asked, still stunned.
                “That’s Sohka, the finest female gladiator I’ve ever had,” Crazk said, with no small amount of pride in his voice.
                “Fine indeed,” Quentin replied softly.
                “Ya ya, okay rookie, stop gawking and let’s finally get you settled in,” Crazk replied impatiently. Crazk started to lead the still stunned Quentin towards the men’s barracks, and, as he took a last look at the orc woman, she glanced up and held his gaze for a few moments; Quentin thought he caught a quick smile across her lips before she returned her attention to her group. Quentin turned and entered the men’s barracks with a grin spread across his face.
