Chapter 4 - The Great Arena

Chapter 4: The Great Arena
                Quentin woke to a large, calloused hand shaking his shoulder and looked through squinted eyes to see Brenan standing beside his bed.
                “Crazk wants ta leave fer the arena soon,” he said, shaking Quentin a few more times. The human groaned and felt a bolt of pain shoot through his head as he opened his eyes fully to the sun shining brightly through the window. Quentin waved the dwarf away and sat up, causing another jolt of pain.
                “Drank too much last night,” Quentin said, holding his hands to the sides of his head.
                Brenan laughed. “Lightweight.”
                Quentin looked across the room and saw that Ellern had made it back last night; the elf was snoring loudly, dressed only in his underwear, with his blanket coiled around his body. Sanren’s bed was vacant, as it had been when Quentin and Brenan got in last night.
                “San never did come back,” Brenan said, following Quentin’s gaze. “And tryin’ ta wake the other’n is ‘opeless.”
                Quentin shrugged at this information and lifted himself out of bed and dressed in yesterday’s clothing, still lying crumpled beside his bed. Brenan was putting on his final pieces of armor: he pulled an open-handed gauntlet onto his left hand and retrieved a small item from his pocket that glinted in the morning sunlight. Quentin realized it was a ring, and he caught the sad smile on the dwarf’s face as Brenan slid it on his finger.
                “Well?” the dwarf said, standing in front of Quentin, arms cast wide, ensemble now completed.
                Brenan was equipped in an unadorned silver breastplate that shined as though it had been recently polished. His leggings and boots were brown and made of thick leather. Around his waist, he wore a black belt with a scabbard, and, when Brenan unsheathed the sword, Quentin saw that it was a simple, well-crafted shortsword that, like the breastplate, looked freshly maintained. Slung over the dwarf’s back was a hard leather targe shield encircled in iron with two thick metal strips that formed a cross upon the shield’s face. Brenan wore an iron helmet with a slit in front from which his blue eyes could be seen. His great red beard poked through the helmet’s bottom. 
                “You have the look of a champion,” Quentin said, placing a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and giving him a smile.
                Quentin and Brenan left the room and the snoring elf and joined Crazk and the growing crowd of gladiators, downstairs in the inn’s common area. Those who were to fight in the day’s games were already clad in their armor, and those who weren’t fighting dressed casually. Sanren had reappeared, seemingly out of nowhere, Quentin and Brenan greeting him but left the matter of his whereabouts last night and that morning alone. Quentin searched in the crowd for Sohka but didn’t see the orc anywhere.
                “Sohka and ‘acut’ll already be in the arena,” Brenan explained, seeing Quentin’s roaming eyes. Quentin gave the dwarf a sharp look. “Ye ain’t exactly subtle, lad,” Brenan said and laughed. “I knew ye were lookin’ fer ‘er last night, and I’ve seen the looks ye give ‘er when we cross ‘er path in the compound. Dinnae be ashamed, Quent. A fine lass, Sohka is. Draws the eyes o’ many. Anyway, Crazk likes to get the two of ‘em to the arena early, avoidin’ the crowd, ya see.”
                Quentin could offer no counter-argument to the dwarf. Missed her again, he thought.
                Crazk was again acting as conductor to the group. The goblin stood on the front counter of the inn, counting heads, but the numbers didn’t add up; the goblin gave a curse, before realization quickly dawned on his face. Crazk looked at the blood elf.
                “San, go back upstairs an’ get that layabout elf outta bed and get ‘im dressed,” Crazk shouted at the blood elf, who obliged and swiftly climbed upstairs. “They can catch up, let’s get going!” Crazk told the noisy crowd and clapped his green hands together. Quentin’s head throbbed from all the commotion. 
                The party left the inn, and, as soon as they were in the streets, Quentin got an idea of the arena’s popularity; Gurubashi had been busy yesterday, whereas today, it was packed, swarming with bodies pressed close together. Every person seemed to be heading in one direction: the arena, which loomed over the town in the distance. The rest of the town seemed to be shutting down for the afternoon as everyone went to witness the games first hand. 
                Quentin had seen the arena in passing when he came through Gurubashi with Crazk, but he had not been close to it. The Great Arena was a massive oval-shaped stadium, whose main entrance was flanked by twin snake head statues. The enormous wooden gates were raised, and a river of people were flowing into the entrance, buying tickets at the gates. On the arena’s rim massive spikes jutted up intermittently, to which large bamboo poles were attached, the poles pointing inward; cloth flaps hung between them, providing shade for much of the arena’s seating. 
                Crazk’s posse was not making for the main gate, however, as they swerved around the massive line of people, Crazk leading them down side alleys and by-ways until they came out at the right side of the arena, where they follow the wall until Crazk stopped at a large iron door built into the side of the arena. The goblin gave a sequence of knocks, and, after a few moments, several locks could be heard turning as if in response. The iron door whined opened to reveal a torch lit vestibule with a troll standing guard. The troll greeted Crazk like an old friend, and the goblin told him that a blood elf and night elf would be following shortly behind him; the group continued up a series of low lit stairs, and Quentin was thankful for the dim light and slow pace as he felt his hangover abating. 
                After some time, they reached a point where the stairs diverted into two pathways: one set led down, and the other set led further up. There, those who were to fight said their farewells to their comrades and many good lucks were exchanged. 
                Crazk looked down from the top stairs to those who were about to take the downward stairs.
                “I ain’t much for inspirational speaking and all. You all know what’s comin’. Mind yer trainin’, pay attention to what Sorek tells ya, and go out there and do this sanctum proud,” the goblin said. He paused and thought for a moment. “And put on a damn good show and make us lots o’ money.” The gladiators gave him a cheer at the last part and started to file down the stairs. Brenan turned to face Quentin. Quentin offered his hand, and the dwarf grasped it, giving him a firm handshake.
                “Give ‘em hell, Bren,” Quentin said.
                “Will do, lad, see ye on the other side. Drinks’re on me when I win this thing,” Brenan said as he turned and walked down the stairs. 
                Those who remained in Crazk’s party climbed until they came to another door. Crazk gave another series of knocks, and a guard opened the door, let the group through, and locked the door behind them and handed Crazk the key. The party emerged into a large walled area on the right side of the arena and had a front row seat to the action. A large awning provided the box with shade. The gladiator’s piled into what Quentin found out was Crazk’s personal box seats. The spacious box had walls on three sides, with a rope and waist level netting on the side facing the arena grounds.
                Sanren soon appeared through the door, and, greeting a few of the other gladiators, sat beside Quentin.
                “Will Ellern be ready?” Crazk asked, breaking off his conversation with a handsome, finely dressed, older human man that Quentin did not recognize as a member of the party. His rich brown hair was shot through with silver, matching the brown and grey stubble on his jaw. He must have arrived before us, Quentin thought.
                “Yes, I believe so,” Sanren replied, to which the goblin shook his head and gave a frustrated sigh before returning to his quiet conversation with his guest.
                The stands were filling up; men and women of all races and of all ages came to see the games. All stations of life were represented: whores, merchants, laborers, nobles, and housewives were just some of the game’s attendees. Quentin marveled at the size of the crowd; there are thousands upon thousands, he thought, as still more piled in. The crowd was pressed closely together, making Quentin thankful for the goblin’s spacious box seats.
                “It is something, is it not?” Sanren asked when he saw Quentin’s face.
                “I’d heard it was popular, but I had no idea.”
                Most had settled into their seats and were starting to quiet down to and excited chatter, and Quentin could feel his anticipation building as he could feel it building in the crowd. 
                A goblin’s voice crackled throughout the stadium, out of a series of large black boxes that Quentin assumed were an invention of goblin origin.
                “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Great Arena of Gurubashi.” The crowd clapped and cheered. “Today’s games are brought to you by Jazzik’s Meats & Treats, stop by after the fights and enjoy their brand new, exclusive, deep-fried mistvale giblets. That’s Jazzik’s Meats & Treats, located at the corner of Third & Gallywix.” The announcer paused to let the anticipation build. “Now, let the games begin!” The crowd gave another round of cheers and claps.
                The announcer allowed them to settle down before announcing the first competitors in the day’s games. A human and troll, both women, were to fight one another; neither had any association with any of the gladiator sanctums. Sanren explained to Quentin that one could prove themselves in underground, illicit fights that sprang up around town and if they caught the eye of someone involved in the games with an impressive showing, they could earn a shot in the Great Arena. The opening rounds usually consisted of such fights.
                The fights began. The two women battled until the troll eventually overpowered her opponent, holding the tip of her polearm at the disarmed human’s neck, the human signaling for mercy before swatting the tip away. The first few rounds went by quickly, matches alternating between male versus male and female versus female.
                Brenan was the first of Crazk’s gladiators to fight.
                “Now, representing Crazk Fizzhook, born and raised on the streets of Ironforge, until he saved Magni Bronzebeard from an assassin’s blade…”
                Quentin shot Sanren a confused look.
                The blood elf chuckled. “These introductions are largely nonsense, shot through with just enough truth to make the masses believe in them. The audience likes larger than life characters with a simple backstory.”
                Quentin had to laugh at the thought of Brenan first rescuing Magni Bronzebeard, then being recruited by him and rising through his ranks.
                Brenan’s opponent was an orc named Brold, who wielded a massive waraxe. The orc was helmetless and bare-chested, wearing only a pair of thick leather pants and a bulky pair of boots. The orc charged Brenan as soon as the match began and swung his axe in vicious arcs that Brenan dodged or glanced off his shield. Brenan’s strategy was clear from the start: let Brold wear himself down, and it was successful as each swing moved slower and slower, until Brenan hazarded a deft slice with his sword on the orc’s shoulder after dodging one of the orc’s clumsy swings. The crowd gave a cheer as the exhausted orc dropped to one knee, Brenan now attacking aggressively, getting another slice: this time across the orc’s exposed back. The axe slipped from Brold’s hand, soaked as it was in blood and sweat, and as he bent to pick it up, Brenan used the opportunity to drive his shield into the orc’s exposed flank, sending him sprawling in the sand. Brenan moved quickly to the orc, who was trying to regain his footing and smashed him with the shield again; the dwarf was upon the orc before he even drew another breath, his boot upon Brold’s injured shoulder, holding the orc to the ground and placing his sword across the orc’s neck. Brold squirmed under the dwarf’s boot, but the fight was out of him; he sheepishly gave the sign for mercy.
                “Victor: Brenan,” the announcer boomed.
                The crowd, and the gladiators in Crazk’s box, loudly cheered the dwarf. Brenan raised his sword in the direction of the box and saluted his comrades.
                The fights continued. Esta and her draenei partner, Salle, gave Crazk his first loss of the day; a pair of amazonian night elf sisters bested the dwarf and draenei in a hard-fought, violent and bloody match. Crazk cursed loudly, and the whole box felt the disappointment of their loss. Ellern fought a worgen and beat him soundly; the night elf fought with grace but was indolent and looked tired, the worgen leaving a few claw marks upon the elf’s body as both a souvenir and a lesson. 
Evening overtook the sweltering afternoon as the arena was cast in shadow and a cool breeze blew in that smelled of saltwater.
                The goblin’s voice crackled through the arena. A hush fell upon the audience, but Quentin sensed the eagerness underneath.
                “Now, representing Crazk Fizzhook,” he paused. “She is said to be the bastard spawn of Varok Saurfang and a shivarra.” The announcer paused again, as a few loose cheers rang out, but most of the audience waited. “The pride of Durotar, and the women’s champion of Gurubashi.” Another pause. “SOOOOHHHKAAAAAAA”
                The crowd roared with such force that their previous efforts paled in comparison. They stamped their feet and chanted her name; some held up homemade signs. The box went wild, and the gladiators shoved towards the front to greet her as she emerged from the gates below, into the arena.
                She wore a scarred, supple brown leather jerkin that covered her torso up to her neck; a single leather pauldron sat upon her left shoulder. She had a dark leather helmet covering her head. A strip of hard leather covered her nose and two flaps with eyeholes protected her face; another strap ran across her chin, her lips barely visible. The helmet was fastened with thick leather strings underneath her chin.
                Scaled leather covered her arms to the elbow, where a thick leather gauntlet took over and protected her forearms. She wore a pair of fingerless leather gloves. Upon her legs, Sohka wore a pair of tight, dark brown leather pants that ended in a pair of matching leather boots.
                Like Quentin, Sohka fought with two shortswords, whose sheathes were strapped to her back. She unsheathed the sword and hailed the cheering crowd and her fellow gladiators. Quentin saw that the swords were copies of one another: the grips dark red, the guard deep grey, and the blades themselves were completely black but for the tip, which matched the red grips. 
                It took some time before the raucous audience quieted, allowing the announcer to introduce Sohka’s opponent: Mizu, a towering dark grey draenei woman, representing Lord Ryston’s sanctum. She was covered head to hoof in dark, heavily used chain mail and wielded a black halberd. The slit in her chainmail helmet revealed that, where her left eye should have been, there was nothing but a cavernous black hole. A mix of boos and cheers met the draenei’s introduction. 
                The pair stood across from one another. The audience subsided, waiting.
                “Begin,” the announcer shouted.
                The two circled each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Mizu gave a sudden scream and charged Sohka. When she reached the orc, Mizu stabbed towards Sohka with the halberd’s end; Sohka deftly stepped aside and swung a blade at the draenei’s head, Mizu ducking just in time as the blade scraped her mail helmet. Sohka pushed back with her heels, creating space between her and the draenei. This time, the orc charged the draenei; Mizu aimed her halberd at the approaching orc, who knocked it aside with her swords. The draenei again ducked under the orc’s swing aimed at her head but couldn’t move aside in time to avoid the second blade, aimed at her chest. Sohka’s sword caught Mizu in her side, biting through the chainmail, red blooming on the draenei’s flank, blood dripping down her hip and thigh.
                The crowd roared their approval and began chanting Sohka’s name as the two separated and began circling again. Sohka retained focus on her opponent, drowning out the roar of the crowd. The circle drew tighter. When Sohka was within reach, Mizu swung the axe end of her halberd at the orc but missed. The orc swung both swords ferociously, trying to quickly dispatch the draenei, but Mizu dodged backwards, leaving Sohka exposed and off balance from the force of the swing. 
                “A rare mistake,” Quentin heard Sanren over the groans of the crowd.
                Mizu seized the advantage, and jabbed her halberd just under the orc’s arm, piercing the orc’s breastplate. Sohka grimaced in pain under her helm but managed to fall back from the draenei.
                The crowd was dismayed, many crying out; Quentin could feel the tension among Crazk’s gladiators. Blood dripped off both women and mixed with the sand, but neither wanted to show vulnerability. For a third time, they stood across from each other.
                Mizu and Sohka moved slowly towards each other. When she was close enough, Mizu stabbed at the orc. The halberd grazed Sohka’s side, but she closed her arm upon it and grabbed the shaft with her hand, dropping her off-hand sword. She made a quick, vicious stab at Mizu’s chest, but the draenei stepped aside, refusing to surrender the halberd, catching the orc’s arm between her torso and forearm; she held the orc’s sword arm tightly. Sohka and Mizu now had each other locked in a tight grip, facing one another. Mizu lowered her head and growled in the orc’s face; Sohka reared her head back and smashed it into the Mizu’s lowered head, slightly staggering the draenei.
                Mizu suddenly released her hold on the halberd and cocked a gauntleted fish and hit the surprised Sohka square in the face, smashing the leather helmet into her face. Mizu drew her fist back and hit Sohka again, shifting the orc’s helmet and impairing her vision. Sohka grunted and staggered back, dropping her second sword. The crowd gasped. Sohka made a sudden, desperate play and threw her body into the draenei’s midsection, sending them both sprawling on the sands. The disarmed orc sprawled on top of the draenei’s chest before she could rise; she sat astride Mizu’s midsection and held her on the ground with a forearm and hit her full in the face with her free hand. The draenei was stunned for but a moment before grabbing a handful of sand and throwing it in Sohka’s face. The crowd booed, but the orc managed to bring her arm up in time to block most of the sand. 
                Still, this cheap move gave Mizu an opportunity, the draenei using what remained of her strength to shove the draenei off her. Again, standing across from one another, both bleeding heavily, each woman eyed the discarded weapons lying a few feet from them. They looked from each other, then to the weapons. They rushed towards one another. Mizu aimed a punch at the orc’s face; Sohka dodged it and grasped the collar of Mizu’s mail coat. The orc pulled the draenei in, upper-cutting her fist into Mizu’s stomach. Sohka then drove her knee into Mizu’s injured flank, which caused the draenei to cry out in pain. Sohka repeated the move, leaving the draenei gasping for breath. Still holding Mizu by her collar, Sohka spun the draenei around, Mizu now facing away from the orc. Sohka wrapped her forearm around the draenei’s neck. The orc dragged the exhausted draenei over to where their weapons were scattered. Sohka pulled Mizu to the ground and cast her free hand behind her, searching in the sands, finally closing upon the grip of her sword. She held the blade across Mizu’s neck. The draenei kicked and squirmed and cursed but couldn’t break the orc’s hold. Finally, sensing futility, with fury and hate in her remaining eye, Mizu signaled for mercy.
                “Victor: SOHKAAAAAAAAA,” the announcer screamed.
                The crowd erupted. Sohka broke the hold on Mizu, who managed to stand and stagger away from the orc. Mizu peeled her mail helmet off, and Quentin nearly gasped. Her hair was snow white and tied back in a pony tail. Her face was covered in sweat. An ear, on the same side of her face as her empty eye-socket, was partially missing. Two old, parallel scars ran across her face from the bottom of her chin, over her lips, and past her remaining eye, ending at her forehead. She had a snarl on her face as she held a hand on her injured side. When the first medic, a young blood elf man, reached her on the sands, she shoved him to the ground, cursed and kept walking.
                Sohka raised her uninjured arm to the crowd, and they somehow grew even louder, stamping their feet, chanting her name, and clapping wildly. The medics came out to meet her, and she walked with them back through the gates below.
 
 
                The crowd relished Sohka’s victory for some time, before eventually quieting enough to allow the announcer to continue.
                “Quite a show from Mizu and Sohka, eh folks? Give it up for those gals,” the crowd gave a round of applause. “Now, for the main event.”
“Representing Crazk Fizzhook,” a pause as an awed hush fell over the crowd. “Never has he drunk the draught of defeat in the arena,” the announcer’s voice echoed through the stands. “Men want to be him, and women want to be with him.” A number of distinctly feminine cheers could be heard. “None stand his equal. The men’s champion of Gurubashi,” the announcer gave a final, agonizingly long pause. “HAAAAAAA……CUTTTTTTTTTTTT.” 
                The crowd went wild. The men, women, and children in the stand were all standing, whistling, clapping, howling, and stomping. A few bold women pulled their tops down and shook their exposed breasts. Quentin looked at Sanren, who was beaming with pride.
                Hacut slowly made his way out. He was resting his great mace on his shoulder; it was a simple, brutal instrument, with a metal shaft that ended in a ball covered in spikes. The draenei was clad in beautiful black armor that was inlaid with flecks of gold. His tail snaked out from a hole in his pants and slowly swung back and forth. Hacut stopped and raised his mace above his head with both hands and slowly turned, saluting the crowd; men pumped their firsts, women blew him kisses and flashed him, and children called out his name.
                The announcer introduced Hacut’s opponent: Barihn, fighting for Fes Starkcoil, a great black bull of tauren with red tattoos on his face and across his shoulders. He stood a half a head taller than Hacut and wielded a black shield with red markings that matched those on his body and a curved, dark red sword. 
                Hacut and Barihn stood across from each other.
                “Begin,” the announcer boomed.
                The tauren and draenei closed in slowly, and each tested the other’s strength when they finally met. Hacut dodged Barihn’s slice.  Barihn’s shield absorbed a blow from Hacut’s mace, the sound of their meeting ringing throughout the stadium, as though someone walloped an enormous gong. To the surprise of many, and to the dismay of Sanren, Barihn struck the first blow, slicing the small gap where the draenei’s breastplate was clasped to his pants. Blood spattered from the wound and coated Barihn’s sword. If it hurt the draenei, he gave no indication. He tested the tauren, arcing his mace through the air and smashing it upon Barihn’s shield. Unlike Brenan’s fight, Hacut didn’t seem to be tiring from the swings. Rather, his blows seemed to come harder.
                Hacut smashed the shield; Barihn’s hooves dug into the sand. The tauren was panting under his helmet, and he took a sudden stab at Hacut’s chest, the draenei dodging the sword with surprising grace. Barihn snorted in anger and kicked up sand with his hooves and charged the draenei, missing him badly. The tauren was clearly growing desperate and gave a few more charges, which Hacut easily dodged, seeming almost bored. The tauren fell back, trying to regroup and gather himself. Blood dripped from Hacut’s wounded hip, staining his armor. He stood across from Barihn and goaded him with a come-hither gesture. The tauren growled and took the bait, charging the draenei, and this time, just as he missed Hacut, the draenei smote the back of the tauren’s shoulder with his mace and sent a sickening crunch through the stadium. A spike punctured the tauren’s armor, drawing blood. He tried in vain to raise his injured sword arm and threw his shield to the sand and dropped his sword; he signaled defeat. The audience gasped, shocked and disappointed at how quickly the match had been decided.
                “Poor showing from the tauren, I expected a greater challenge,” Quentin remarked to Sanren, who had wide grin on his face.
                “None stand his equal, as the announcer said.”
 
 
They met the gladiators below, in a small ante chamber below the arena, where they waited before fights. Esta and Salle were lying on tables in the corner, with healers and medics tending to them. 
Sohka sat with one arm behind her head as a grey-haired paladin held one hand on her exposed wound; he had his eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration and held a libram in his free hand. The paladin was reciting verses under his breath, and Quentin could see a dull golden light pulse between his hand and the orc’s wound. The wound was but a small dot now and bled no more. She caught Quentin’s eye and gave him a little grin from her bruised face; he returned the grin.
 A pretty troll girl, a shaman judging by her appearance, held her hand to Hacut’s still bleeding hip and drew water from a basin and again placed her hand on the wound, chanting something that made the water glow bright blue, staunching the blood flow a bit. Sanren ran to the draenei and grasped Hacut’s hand in his, the two falling into private conversation.
                Quentin saw Brenan, now wearing just a tunic and pants, chatting happily with Ellern, and strode over to them and embraced the dwarf.
                “Good show, Bren. And you as well, Ell. Bren’s buying tonight,” Quentin told him, giving the dwarf a smile. Ellern grinned with him. Brenan let off a booming laugh.
                Quentin heard Crazk’s voice behind him. 
                “Not tonight, I need ya for other business,” the goblin said. “An opportunity really, we’ll talk later.” Crazk didn’t wait for an answer, turning his attention elsewhere.
                Brenan gave Quentin a cheeky wink. “Told ya.”
                “Another night, then. I’m holding you to it, Bren,” he told the dwarf. “The two of you aren’t drinking without me.”
 
 
                Quentin held up the scribbled note to a torch that was ensconced on the side of a building in the alley and once again read over the Crazk’s scrawled handwriting. This has to be it, Quentin thought as he peered down the narrow alley that lead to a set of double at the back of a large building.
 The goblin had left him the note at the front desk at the Half Moon Inn, writing that he had to leave ahead of Quentin, to oversee preparations and that Quentin was to follow the directions in the note. His fellow gladiators had revealed nothing further about what might be in store for Quentin. 
                Quentin walked up the doors and gave the sequence of knocks as indicated in Crazk’s note. One of the door’s cracked open.
                “Come in,” Quentin heard someone say, a goblin, judging by the voice’s tone.
                He entered, the door shutting behind him. Quentin found himself in a large, dimly-lit back room. He thought saw Crazk talking to someone and strode over to the goblin.
                “Ya made it, just in time” the goblin greeted him. As soon as he reached upon him, Quentin noticed the goblin stood beside Hacut, who was dressed only in his loincloth. Crazk started his sales pitch before Quentin even returned the greeting. “Now I want ya to keep an open mind on what yer about to see, might not be exactly what ya had in mind when ya signed up, but the money is extraordinary,” he said, emphasizing the last word. 
                “Fair enough,” Quentin responded while thinking: What am I in for?
                Quentin took in his surroundings and quickly suspected what was about to transpire. They were in the back room of one of Crazk’s many properties. In the middle of this room was a circular stage, and, through the dim light, Quentin saw a luxurious, round flat bed in the center. The stage was encircled by seating, enough for probably a hundred or so people. Each section of seating had a waist high table in front of it with a black sheet draped over it.
                Quentin looked at the goblin and raised an eyebrow.
                “Open mind, remember,” Crazk said. The goblin produced a small glass vial from his pocket and threw it to Hacut, who carefully tapped the light pink powder out on his finger. He covered a nostril and snorted the powder with the other, rubbing the remnants of the substance on his gums and tongue.
                “Nearly show time, big boy, get up there,” Crazk told Hacut, who obliged and clopped onto the stage, walking to the far side. Quentin could hear murmuring amongst the audience, but he couldn’t quite make out faces in the dark; the silhouettes he did see seemed to be wearing party masks to disguise themselves.
                “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to our private little afterparty,” the announcer said, his voice echoing through the room. Quentin realized it was the same goblin that had announced the gladiatorial games, but he had switched from his bombastic arena voice to a smoother, lower, almost sultry tone. Bright lights suddenly hit the stage. Hacut stood at the far end of the stage; his body was oiled from top to bottom, and he shone in the light. Every inch of his dark blue, immense, muscled body glistened as he stood proudly on the stage.
                “Oh, my,” Quentin heard what sounded like an older woman moan in the audience. There were wolf whistles throughout the audience and some bashful giggling.
                “Now,” the announcer started up again. “Most great warriors dream of saving the world or helping those in distress. Let’s be thankful that our champion here has baser motivations.” Cheers and whistles sounded through the crowd. “This stud from beyond the stars desires only three things in life: gold, glory in the arena, and the company of our beautiful women.” Quentin saw that three cloaked figures now stood beside Crazk, waiting for their queue. Crazk gave a signal, and the hooded figures stepped on the stage, standing on the opposite side from Hacut. More whistling could be heard in the crowd. “Tonight, I want you, the audience, to keep the husbands of these three women in mind. Their wives are about to be conquered by a true champion, in every sense of the word. Maybe one’s husband is some great fat merchant, who hasn’t seen his cock in an age, and, once or twice every year, he’ll crawl his sweaty, grotesque body on top of one of these fine ladies, and pump a few times before collapsing beside her unsatisfied form, exhausted. Maybe one is a sunken chested banker, and like our fat merchant, will hop on his wife a few times a year, and will thrust his little cock and skinny shanks a few times between her legs, give pathetic grunt, a weak spurt, and then he’ll roll over and fall asleep with a satisfied grin on his face; she’ll lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling wondering what pleasure really is. Tonight, these ladies will wonder no longer. So, let’s keep those poor men, who are probably unwittingly funding this whole venture, in mind as their wives are forever ruined for them, and a real man, a real champion, shows them what pleasure truly is.” The audience clapped and whistled as the announcer finished his monologue. 
                The three cloaked figures stood huddled and were conversing nervously; Quentin could hear three feminine, refined voices and caught most of what they were saying, as they were on the stage close to him.
                “I can’t do this,” one said, her voice quivering.
                “What if I’m recognized and my Chauncey should find out? We all have children for goodness sake. We’d be ruined. They would run us out of town. We should have worn masks at the very least,” another voice added. “Or done this in private.”
                The tallest figure among them shook her head under her cloak. “Privacy would defeat the purpose. We all agreed,” she said, frustrated with her partners. She paused for a moment, the room now completely silent, summoning her courage. “Oh, sod this.”
                She threw her head back and strode towards Hacut, and, when she was a little way from her group, she let her cloak drop to the ground. Her long, red hair flowed from the cloak as it fell to the ground. Her pale, white skin seemed to glow in the bright light. Her large, exposed tits sagged only a little. A lacy, thin black thong ran between her huge pale asscheeks that jiggled as she walked. A tuft of bright red hair could be seen through the fabric of her underwear, just above her netherlips. She had a pretty, freckled face that had but a few wrinkles from age and piercing bright blue eyes that hinted at mischief.
                Unlike her partners in crime, this wasn’t Red’s first dalliance. She was already bored in her marriage bed with her husband by the end of their first year as a couple; they were now in their twenty third year of marriage. She had endured it for more than two decades, growing ever more bored and depressed as time ticked by. It started innocently enough when she took her first extramarital lover two years ago: a dashing blonde guardsman that patrolled near her estate, but he became too attached, risking the exposure of her secret. She used her connections to have him reassigned to a post far away. Since him, she had taken a series of lovers, the most recent being a handsome night elf blacksmith. No, tonight wasn’t a first; it was an escalation. 
She skirted the bed and advanced on Hacut. When she reached him, she stood on the tips of her toes and put her hands on his broad shoulders. He stooped down to her level, and the two met in a passionate kiss. He grabbed her pliant buttcheeks and lifted her off the ground; the redhead gasped before wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, the pair’s tongues dancing in each other’s mouths all the while. She ran her hands over Hacut’s massive pecs and, her fingers twined the black hair that was peppered over his broad blue chest. She broke their kiss and moved her mouth to each of his purple nipples and suckled on them and kissed them, the draenei looking down at her approvingly. 
When Quentin saw the redhead’s face, something stirred in the back of his mind. I’m sure I know her from somewhere, where have I seen that face? He just couldn’t quite place it, though. It sat gnawing on the edge of his memory.
The second cloaked figured finally summoned her courage, after seeing the wanton display that her friend was putting on, and cast aside her trappings, revealing her shoulder length blonde hair, lightly shot through with grey. Her skin was a shade darker than her redhead companion but still pale. Unlike the redhead, she wore a bra, though it concealed very little of her ample bosom. She wore a red see through garter belt and stockings but went pantie-less. She had a nice wide ass, with big doughy cheeks that she swayed back and forth as she crossed the stage.
When she reached the redhead and the draenei, she knelt before him. She cautiously ran her hands up and down his thighs and calves, exploring every inch of his thick muscles. She cautioned a few light pecks with her lips and her tongue. Growing bold, she came to his loincloth and bit her lip and licked her lips. The garment was practically begging to be taken off, straining and bulging from Hacut’s growing erection. Untying the knots at the side that held it together, she finished it off and let it drop to the stage.
In the crowd, some gasped, while a few women let hungry moans. The ever-hardening dark blue cock that popped out astounded the wide-eyed blonde, she eyed it with both awe and an incredible lust. It was roughly the length of Blondie’s forearm, the shaft thick and veiny. A hefty ball sack swayed under, and the tip was the same shade of purple as the draenei’s nipples. 
Blondie had been married off as soon as she came of age and had been with the same man her entire adult life, though she often found her thoughts straying when she encountered a handsome stranger. Once, she had thrown on her sexiest dress, left her wedding ring at home, and visited a tavern, alone, in a seedy part of Stormwind where she caught the eye of a handsome half-vrkrul sailor, who still had the smell of the ocean upon him, in town for the night, the pair flirting heavily. They were about to retire to a private upstairs room when she lost her nerve and ran out of the tavern in tears, embarrassed; tonight, she would move from the realm of fantasy and indulge.
Deciding that she had her fill of staring and that the time for indulgence had arrived, the blonde grasped Hacut’s shaft, her thumb and fingers never meeting due to the draenei’s girth. She kissed the head and started pumping with her dainty hand, her huge diamond wedding ring still upon her finger. She alternated between kissing and licking the tip with running her tongue down the shaft before burying her nose and mouth in the draenei’s swaying ballsack, taking a large nut in each mouth and swabbing it with her tongue.
 She finally took the chance and throated some of the draenei’s meat, getting an impressive amount in before she had to surface for air, leaving a trail of saliva between her and Hacut’s mushroom tip. She bobbed her head up and down on Hacut’s shaft, taking more of his rod each time. The blonde had it nice and coated in saliva, and Hacut must have sensed it, because he broke his kiss with Red. He gave the redhead a saucy look, and she returned it. His hand went from cupping one of her buttcheeks and found the black thong that was dug up her ass. He gave it a sly tug, and she squealed, the draenei giving her a mischievous grin. She playfully slapped his pec. In a single motion, the draenei ripped the thong from her body as though it was made of nothing and tossed it on the bed.
“Put inside,” Hacut commanded, looking down at the blonde, who was still sucking the draenei’s cock and fondling his balls.
She obliged, letting the rod fall out of her mouth and giving the tip a goodbye kiss. Blondie turned Hacut’s shaft upwards and pointed the tip at her friends waiting folds. The blonde held it stead as Hacut lowered the redhead slowly onto his pole. Red gasped when the tip touched her entrance and moaned as the first few inches penetrated her depths. 
The audience gave a soft round of applause when Hacut entered the redhead.
Hacut eased her onto his fuckmeat, getting more and more inside with each tentative thrust, before Red threw caution to the wind and told the draenei:
“Take me all the way, you fucking alpha stud champion.”
He gave her a wicked grin and tightened his grip on her fleshy hips. He pulled himself nearly all the way out of her pussy, until only his tip was inside her. In one swift movement he pulled her towards him, hilting her to his balls. As she bottomed out, she threw her head back and cried out in ecstasy.
The knowledge hit Quentin like a bolt of lightning. He barked laughter and had to put his hand over his mouth to stifle any more. Crazk gave him a quizzical look.
“I know her,” Quentin said, between his fingers. “The redhead, I remember that face: she was the chairwoman of The Committee to Restore Stormwind’s Family Values, or somesuch organization. They were trying to get rid of the brothels in Stormwind, outlaw gambling, limit tavern hours. That kind of nonsense. Very religious organization.”
Crazk cracked a grin and laughed right along with Quentin.
Indeed, the chairwoman of The Committee to Restore Stormwind’s Family Values and distinguished mother of three was, at that moment, being fucked senseless by a big draenei cock. Her pale freckled ass rippled each time she hilted on Hacut’s shaft. The sound of their flesh smacking together echoed through the room. Red’s tongue lolled out of her mouth, and she was grunting like a cheap tavern whore. Hacut’s brow was furrowed as he concentrated on his work. Her toes suddenly curled, and her grunts turned into a scream as she squeezed on the draenei’s prick and came. He stopped thrusting as she squirmed in his arms.
Her juices flowed down the draenei’s shaft and onto his balls, where Blondie happily sucked down every drop. The audience gave a polite round of applause.
“The fuck did we put the bed there for?” the goblin asked no one in particular.
As if in response, Hacut carried Red, who was sweating and panting, still trying to recover over to the bed and threw her on it. Blondie followed them over, and as soon as Red was out of his arms, Hacut turned and embraced her, the pair sharing a wet, sloppy kiss, Red’s juices mixing with their saliva. 
“On the bed. Hands and knees,” the draenei commanded her.
She obeyed. As she crawled on the bed, Hacut gave her a firm smack on the behind, causing her ass to jiggle.
Red lay spread eagle on the bed and was lightly rubbing her clit, eagerly waiting for the two to begin. The third woman still stood on the stage’s edge, cloaked, but now had her hands under her robe, playing with herself.
Blondie, now on all fours, looked back over her shoulder.
“Take me champion, conquer me, ruin me. Show no mercy.”
Hacut kneeled on the bed, and it sagged under his weight. He aimed his meat at the middle-aged blonde’s cunt and grasped her shoulder with one hand and her hip with the other.
“No mercy,” he snarled, thrusting his hips.
He pounded the blonde’s pussy relentlessly; she moaned and gasped as his thick stud cock filled her again and again. Hacut looked at Red, now vigorously fingering herself, and nodded towards the ripped thong he had thrown on the bed. She crawled over to it and threw it to him. 
Hacut took the ruined underwear and put it in Blondie’s mouth and wrapped two strings around the back of her head on either side, fashioning it into a makeshift bridle. He fucked her as he held the ends of the thong behind her head, and her ragged, muffled moans emitted from around the undergarment.
“A champion’s steed,” Hacut sneered. 
He got up on his haunches and loomed over her, still holding her bridle. Hacut started giving her slow, hard strokes from his new position, intent on finishing Blondie off. It did the trick. Hacut gave a thrust and felt the blonde’s insides tightening as she reached her edge. He thrust again, squeezing his cheeks, giving his stroke more power, finally sending the blonde over the edge. She collapsed and writhed, screaming around the thong-bridle that the draenei still held in her mouth. Red gathered her in her arms and kissed her forehead and stroked her hair and grinned at the look of satisfaction on her friend’s face.
“Glad we took the leap?” the redhead asked her.
“Mmm,” the blonde agreed through her bridle.
Hacut released his mount’s reins and kissed the blonde, who was soaked in sweat.
“Husband ever do zat for you?” Hacut asked.
An exhausted laugh was all she could muster.
The third woman, still cloaked, watched the three lying on the bed; Hacut was lying in the middle of the bed looking very comfortable, with his hands behind his heads and a woman on either side of him, exploring his body.
If she didn’t do it now, she never would. She walked to the bed’s edge and dropped her cloak. She was the youngest of her companions and was dark brown in complexion; her hair was black and pulled back in a bun. She wore a see-through white teddy, her perky breasts on display though the mesh. The teddy ran up her crack, between her little bubble butt.
Hacut caught her out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to look at her.
                “Finally. Come, join,” he told her and grabbed his still-hard shaft and gave it a few pumps.
                Her friends rejoiced when they saw she had finally dropped her cloak and urged her to join the party, extolling the virtues of the draenei’s fuckmeat.
                Raven wouldn’t have even considered something like this, until she found out about her husband’s activities. After a decade of marriage, word reached her of the true nature of his “business trips” and how her husband, while abroad, would find men pleasure in the company of other men. She heard lurid tales of him with beautiful young blood elf men, or spit-roasted on two orc cocks, or tied up and used by a tauren bull; he seemed to have fucked or sucked any willing filthy horde cock that passed his way. 
But Raven was bookish and shy and did not confront him. No, this would be her revenge. It took all the courage she had, but now she almost hoped that he would hear of this: how a burly draenei gladiator ravaged her in front of an audience.
She crawled on the bed towards them. Red gave Raven a kiss when she reached them and made way for her to climb aboard. She nervously approached the lounging draenei and seemed about to lose her nerve and give up when Hacut took her gently by each arm and pulled her on top of him, sprawling the dark woman across his wide chest. She gasped but found her mouth quickly filled with draenei tongue; she overcame her surprise and countered his kiss. She let her hands explore her lover while they kissed, enjoying the feeling of his perfect chest. She found boldness in herself and gave a pinch and twist to each of his purple nipples. Much to Raven’s joy, this must have pleased Hacut because he moaned into her mouth as she pinched.
“He likes that,” Red remarked, giggling.
Hacut broke off the kiss and commanded the two women at his side:
“Ready her.”
He then pulled Raven’s breasts out from the teddy and sucked on each her dark nipples, giving each one a little nip with his teeth as revenge for the pinch.
Blondie and Red had moved below the draenei’s waist and were preparing their friend for her ride. Red moved Raven’s teddy aside, revealing her dark pussy lips and grabbed Hacut’s mighty shaft and aimed it towards her friend’s folds; Blondie had intended to help but found herself so mesmerized by the draenei’s ballsack that she just had to taste it again. 
When Hacut’s tip touched her folds, Raven took a deep breathe of air and sat down, hilting herself instantly on his cock. Her eyes shot wide and her breathe left her as she cried out in surprise at how much the thick blue invader stretched her walls. Her two companions gasped, and the audience cheered and clapped, clearly impressed. Emboldened, Raven placed her feet flat on the bed and grasped Hacut’s abdomen for support. She started riding him as hard as she could handle, lusty moans escaping her mouth as she hilted the draenei’s cock again and again. The sound of smacking flesh again filled the air.
“I think she’s found her courage,” Red noted as she stood on the bed. She walked to Hacut’s head and stood above it, facing her dark-skinned friend, who was aware of little that was going on outside of the world of pleasure that she was in. The redhead placed a foot on either side of the draenei’s head and squatted down just above his face. Hacut knew what to do, and, since Raven was doing all the work herself, he had his hands free and pulled the redhead’s pale cheeks apart and started tonguing her asshole.
Red’s body shivered happily. “Straight for my butt. Atta boy.”
The four worked like a well-oiled machine: Hacut exploring Red’s asshole, Red massaging Hacut’s chest and pinching his nipples, Raven vigorously riding Hacut’s shaft, and Blondie cleaning up their mess, licking Hacut’s balls and shaft. They did this for some time, before Hacut dropped his hands from Red’s cheeks and pulled his head back and gave low grunt, spilling his seed inside Raven’s tight cunt. Cum flowed down shaft, and the blond eagerly and greedily licked it up.
                Still, Hacut did not stop. He neither grew soft nor slowed down. He was a professional, and he had a job to complete. He pushed the redhead aside and drew himself into a sitting position. Raven put her arms around his neck, and Hacut grabbed her around the knees and stood on the bed. He worked her up and down his shaft; the two made quite a sight: the dark skinned, raven haired beauty, wearing a see-through teddy clinging to her sweat-covered body being fucked without mercy by the thick veiny meat of a champion gladiator, shining from the oil and sweat on his statuesque body, muscles bulging as he plowed the married woman.
                Raven finally shuddered and gasped, cuming all over the draenei’s cock, her juices pattering on the bed below. The crowd whistled and clapped loudly at the performance and many remarked on the newfound courage of the once-shy raven-haired woman.
                Hacut reclined in the bed again and had Red and Blondie lying beside him and Raven panting happily on his chest. He put an arm around the redhead and the blonde.
                “You vill thank your husbands for me, yes?” Hacut said as the lights dimmed.
 
 
                Crazk let the mood settle down before turning to Quentin and asking:
                “So, ya interested or not?”
