Trapped ((IC))

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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Seth howled in anger - and a bit of fear- as he was lifted from the ground and launched onto his back. As the massive sword began to accelerate towards him, he did his best to roll out of the way, only to still have the side of his leg get cut open. Crying out in agony, Seth did his best to stand up. The crowd began to boo and hiss, apparently the didnt care that Seth's life was in danger right now.

As the warm blood began to gush down his leg, he took out his daggers and thrust them towards the human as fast as he could manage.
Somewhere during the day, Gavoon had dozed off. Awakening, he saw that most of the prisoners where, apperantly watching some sort of fight, following suit, he walked out and took up position and watched the fight.

He watched as the human he had seen earlier, Bah, it's the negative one. He thought sourly, as he saw the worgen, apperantly a rouge, and the human battle. Sighing slightly, Gavoon watched the battle anaylizing both of the opponenets strategies.
Sammuroth heard laughing, laughter that had haunted him ever since he had heard it for the first time, Krystala, she is as insane as ever it seems, figuring she had either found something to torture or a means of escape, Sammuroth decided it was best to leave it alone. Even if he had been an actual guard of this prison he would have wanted the insane Elven Witch gone as soon as possible, so to him the sooner she was gone the better. In the end it didn't really matter, if he had his way everyone would be free from this place in due time, but for now Sammuroth decided to go for a little walk, he would be back before the fight ended, but for now, he just wanted to be alone.
Ashok smiled wickedly, like a hunting wolf as he saw Seth limping, easily side-stepping the rogue's weak attempts at attacking him. "Come on rogue is that the best you can do?!" Ashok shouted as he kept his distance now waiting for the rogue to make the next move tilting his head as he watched Seth, Ragnarok held loosely at his side the blade gleaming in the light as the crowd cheered for Ashok to finish the worgen off.

"KILL HIM!" They chanting, pounding their feet and clapping their hands as they sought the sight of more blood.
The crowd was already growing anxious.Apparently a big group of criminals enjoyed watching people get slaughtered. Along with that, he was being mocked by the warrior as well. With a make-shift strategy in mind, Seth grabbed his last two throwing knives in his right hand, and concealed a smoke bomb in his right. Drawing his arm back, Seth launched his knives. the knives went right past his face as planned to provide a distraction.

Right as the knives went by the human, Seth dropped his smoke bomb and prepared to flee at a moments notice.
The golden-eyed man strode down the hallway with a natural languor and a studied indifference to the world around him. Ahead, the cheers of spectators rebounded off the walls of the arena and roared down the hallway. The apparent human smiled coldly at the noise, running his tongue over his teeth, as though able to taste a phantom arterial spray. It sounded and smelled as though blood had already been drawn. The man took a deep breath, his lean chest swelling as he took in the putrid, gory scents of the prison's bowels: he had forgotten how relaxing this place was. The clanking of his protectors' boots on the hard stone floor was nothing but a nigh imperceptible distraction now, rather than the usual nuisance.


The cry echoed down the hallway, seeming to gather in strength as it came. The human gave a predatory grin, more teeth than smile. Perhaps he would surprise his... acquaintance in the prison. Chuckling inwardly at the thought, the black-suited man made his way up a smaller hallway, one that was meant for the private use of the warden of the prison only: no guard in the prison would dare set foot in it. The bronze-complexioned man, however, was no guard. With a motion of his hands, the two elite soldiers set up position just outside the entrance, becoming as apparently immobile as statues. The man continued up the tunnel.

The human strode onto the balcony and leaned over the railing, looking down into the pit just in time to see a worgen launch a hail of daggers at a heavily armored human. The man looked over at the warden of the prison. His shoulder-length, lank, greasy black hair hung down to wreath his face, while a few stray strands drifted across his innumerable scars, and somewhat hid his one greatest scar. He gave a wide smile at the one-eyed orcess that didn't quite reach his eyes. When he looked at the cat by her side, his smile turned into something considerably less benign.

“Warden Nek'mashra, my dear friend.” All of his sheer arrogance, the haughty, aristocratic belief that all life was his own personal plaything, nothing more, was contained in that one word. The man continued with a studied, languid drawl, one hand loosely resting on the hilt of the saber he wore at his left hip. “I've been gone for so long, I do hope that you have a better crop this time around.”

Looking down at the blood-soaked sands of the arena, Moloch von Zinzer inhaled deeply and gave a predatory nightmare grin, his unnatural golden eyes gleaming in the light.

As Nek'mashra watched the fight, her interest heightening here and there, the guards outside her balcony had allowed someone in. Her ears had picked up on the man's footsteps long before she saw him and an immediate scowl flashed across her features. Cat supressed a hiss, her hair rising on the back of her neck.

"Warden Nek'mashra, my dear friend. I've been gone for so long, I do hope that you have a better crop this time around."

Without any hesitation, Nek'mashra's voice alone let her authority be known as Moloch tried to talk her into yet another fight. "It is Warden Bonebiter to you, and that hasn't, and won't, change. Ever." Nek'mashra barked, not whipping her head away from the fight just yet.

Cat finally hiss, glaring madly at Moloch and it took Nek'mashra hissing right back for Cat to calm herself down. The orcess finally gave Moloch her attention, a glare and scowl far too evident on her face. "And my crop is my business. I can pick whoever I want to fight, whenever, and against whoever. My prison is not run by you and your money, Moloch. Let me make that clear. Again."
Ashok saw the knives and raised his right arm up to deflect them, feeling one bite into his arm. Roaring in rage the warrior lowered it and saw that Seth had disappeared in a smoke bomb and he howled in anger. "COME OUT LITTLE DOGGIE!" Ashok roared, moving slowly and trying to discern between the noises of the crowd and the small amount of noise that the rogue was making.

It was hard as rogues were trained to avoid making noise and now here Ashok was trying to find one. Swinging Ragnarok about his body a few times to make sure he was not right behind him Ashok got an idea and he roared again, building up his choler as he planted his left foot and spun off his right. He lowered himself into a crouch and suddenly he was a whirlwind of destruction, Ragnarok's glowing red thrum and his red eyes spun around in a circle and the crowd roared in approval as Ashok moved in a small circle, his sword humming as it spun faster and faster.
Seth had actually landed a blow on the warrior, but now he was in a fit of rage. Before he even had a chance to react, Ashok began flailing his sword around, one coming inches from his face. Soon the warrior began to tuck into a nearly feral position, then spun around at incredible speed, while moving around the ring at the same time.

Seth would have to run or take away Ashoks weapon if he wished to stay safe, and it would be near impossible to dismantle that sword while he was spinning that fast. To make matters worse, the entire arena was roaring with joy at the human. Moving around the perimiter of the ring, Seth's leg wound was causing trouble, as it was bleeding very heavily and makeing it painful with each step. Seth had run out of throwing knives, and the warrior wouldn't stop spinning any time soon. Seth tried to inch his way toward the warrior to stab him one more time to get more poison in his system, but even going as fast as he could, Seth got slashed right across the chest, breaking a few bones and his ribs. Seth hardly had time to cry out in agony.
Moloch became vaguely aware of the warden snapping at him, but all else faded as the human below scored a hit on the worgen rogue; a chest blow: that had to hurt. For all he knew, the rogue might die: a minor consideration, and his cry of agony was sweet, sweet music to Moloch's ears.

Eventually, though, the incessant buzzing in his ears solidified into words. von Zinzer grimaced just a bit inside. crop is my business. I can pick whoever I want to fight, whenever, and against whoever. My prison is not run by you and your money, Moloch. Let me make that clear. Again."

Moloch mirthlessly chuckled, and turned away from the arena to stare at the warden and her cat, meeting the orcess eye to... well, eye. Singular, as it were.

“My dear, dear warden. Whatever gave you the impression that I thought I ran this prison?” The voice coming from his mouth was sweet as honey. “I assure you, I have absolutely no intention of attempting to run this prison for you. I merely expect a decent return on the rather exorbitant sums I have lavished on this... delightful facility. Oh yes, and by the way...” his voice instantly sharpened into a flat, atonal tenor that seemed to grate against itself. “Since we're being formal, it's Earl von Moloch. Don't forget all that I have invested in this place, by the way. And never forget that I am not constrained by the petty rules and regulations you are ostensibly bound by. If I so desire, I can bring this whole operation to the attention of the appropriate authorities: I am sure that they would be fascinated by all the trivia I have to offer them concerning your... informal activities. Or are you telling me that all of this is sanctioned by your higher-ups?” For a moment, Moloch glared daggers at the warden: his golden eyes shone like a topaz flame. After a few moments, though, his scarred face broke into a wide smile.

“But why should we concern all ourselves with this meaningless minutae? Since we're here, we might as well enjoy ourselves, eh? Care to make a friendly wager?” He flipped out a silver coin, more for the spirit of the thing than any meaningful gamble. “Bet you that the human down there”, this was accompanied by a gesture at the armored human, “wins this round, and the next two fights he's in.”
Krystala growled, paceing around in her cell, bored and irritated. She needed something to torment, something to destroy, something to cause pain to, it was like an addiction. She stopped and looked up at the bared windows that streamed light into her cell. The Witch sighed, longing to be free fo this place so she could return to her castle in Northrend, her home, where her 'assistants' awaited her return. She looked at the cell door, looking at how weak it was if it weren't for the rune magic that was used to strengthen it from her spells, it made her growl.

As she watched, some strange fellow came in with two guards at his side, obviously some paying aggrogant punk that came looking for people to fight. It made her curious at first, but right now, she needed to break lose a little bit. Taking a stance facing the cell door, her arms began to swirl with shadow, light murmuring escaping her lips as she charged up a few shadow spells. When the spells where ready, Krystala began to hurl them at the cell door.

As expected, the cell door absorbed the attacks easily, but it was not her intention to break it down in the first place. The Witch threw a barrage of spells at it, the noise of explosions would echo through out the halls as she threw spell after spell. Krystala honesetly didn't care if the guards noticed her; she was bored and was taking out her boredum on the barrier that was placed upon her cell. After a few minutes of throwing shadow bolts and spikes at the door, the Witch stopped, sighing as the cell remained unharmed and unscaved from her attacks.

Walking up to grab the cell's bars with her small hands, she poked her head out to look around for the man that just passed. Smirking, she called out "Hey, guy with the signal gold eye, with hair that looks like rats tails, and the stench of arrogance so strong that it can put an orge to shame!" she called, as usual, throwing insults as a way to try and get his attention "I don't know what you're doing here, but if I were you I would leave, I can bet that everyone in this prison is more stronger than you, no matter how 'fearsom' you think you may look. Honestly, I feel like you came here to waste your money on something that will be a waste of what time you even have!"

She enjoyed trying to tick people off, it was one of her joys and pleasures, it made her feel stronger in a way, feeding off the emotions emitted. She wanted to fight, and she wanted to fight now, to pass the time while she waited for the rune to rust. With a large insane grin on her face, she pushed back against the bars and awaited the mans response.
Sammuroth heard the explosions, must she really make so much noise, he supposed he couldn't leave it alone this time, he had to keep his cover after all. He made his way to Krystala's cell nearing it in time to hear her shout insults at a passing visitor, he didn't really care who he was, probably someone who paid the Warden to watch the fights or something. Ignoring the man he stopped just to the side of Krystala's cell and sat down, "Your little tantrum interrupted my quiet walk Witch, must you always be so violent. That anger and violence just doesn't suit you in my opinion, not that you care about my opinion anyway." He paused for a moment, he could feel the "other" stirring, shaking it back down he continued, "So I assume by now you have figured out a way to escape, when you do could you please do some damage to that Warden, and her little lackey." These last remarks he whispered, in case there were prying ears about.
Ashok heard the cry of the rogue and smiled as he stopped his spinning, catching his balance as if he had consumed too much alcohol. When he regained his senses he looked over to see the rogue reeling in agony from a chest wound. He smiled wickedly as he stalked forward ready to lay the rogue low and finish this contest, the crowd cheering him on to further displays of bloodshed. "Aw, little dog seems hurt! Let me make the pain go away for you..." Ashok sneered as he heard the crowd roaring in approval.

There wasn't much Seth could do.... he was bleeding heavily on the ground, the crowd was getting anxious, and the human was right over him. !@#$.... nobody ever said that someone wont get killed in here...all I can do now is try and survive until I pass out. Seth slowly reached his shaky arm to his dagger on the ground, When Seth reached it, he lunged it toward the warrior. While doing so, Seth roared again in pain.
Knives sat in the corner of his cell, knees drawn close, staring blankly forward. There must be a way out of this, if I could only see it... He heard voices, but cared not for them, in his eyes, he was alone. It was all he could do not to burst out in a bout of rage and start breaking anything possible within his reach. Knives grinned to himself, and called out for anyone in the vicinity, "Is there anything that gets us out of our cells? Even for a short time?"
Gavoon looked away from the warrior and the rouge, No matter how times it happens he thought I still hate to watch it happen Hoping no one saw his weakness, gavoon turned around, not looking at the combat, his eye wandering the arena.
Calasia sat watching the fight, still tracing over the runes, which were now letting off a dark glow. Her ears twitched at the Worgen's cry of pain, and she raised an eyebrow, looking over to the Warden. Odd... she thought, She should have called the fight off by now... A smirk tugged at her lips. "What are you planning, Warden...?" she muttered to herself. She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure no guards where nearby; she knew that her runes weren't exactly allowed in the prison. Hardly any magic was, but that didn't mean she didn't use it when she could.
Dristis' legs still dangled through the bars of his outside area. He watched the Rogue and Warrior exchanging blows, the warrior seeming to come out on top with this one. The Rogue was wounded badly, taking risky, sloppy strikes. Leg and chest wounds, while the Warrior's armor had clearly saved him in this one. His plate would stand little chance against the blizzard of infected shards of ice. The very freezing wind he could create carried infection, causing immune systems to falter, nerves to cripple, and the blood to even boil. Whether or not these fights were to the death or just a beat down, he always fought as if it were to the death. His ferocity was his strength in battle, switching perfectly between spears of ice and strikes from his sword.

"Oh bloody finish him, already," he shouted. He didn't want to see this Rogue killed. He had no qualms with him, but he wanted to see how far these fights were taken. He studied the fighting styles of the two. The rogue using evasion and hit and run tactics, the warrior using a flurry of anger to make slow, powerful strikes. He had already made plans for each of them. He would prefer to be one of the last to fight out of all of them, to learn everyone's fighting styles, but he would fight when chosen. He wouldn't even mind fighting next, his pent up anger was causing him physical aches in his body. He felt naked, quite literally and figuratively. Though he had long cotton pants and sandals on, he missed the weight and feel of his armor and cloak.

He listened to everyone chanting the words kill, kill, kill. He remained silent. He had done his fair share of killing in his past, but he was far from finished. He just stayed quiet and watched, causing dancing wisps of cold air to form and shimmer in his hand.

He noticed a water section of the arena, "Oh, perfect," he said loudly and smirked.

As Moloch spoke, Nek'mashra stared at him with the blankest of expressions. Nothing he said, or ever had said, could penetrate into her emotions. If he wanted to destroy the prison, then so be it. It didn't much matter to her anyway. All she was here for was a place to stay, though if it all ended, she could easily return to her home in Ashenvale.

What he did cause her though was anger. Fury. And he was just a pesky fly that she could never catch and swat properly.

"Shut. Up!" Barked Nek'mashra, baring her teeth at Moloch. She stood herself up out of her seat, glaring at him. "You talk far too much! I don't give a damn about your irrelevant Earl title! You are in my prison. If I haven't made that clear. You go by my rules and mine alone, Moloch. I will call you what I wish! As for these activies, they are allowed by the higher-ups, as you so call them. You fighting here, though, is not. So I suggest keeping your damn muzzle shut if you wish to continue doing business here."

Nek'mashra glared at him one last time, taking a lump of spit from her mouth and shooting it directly beside his feet, only an inch away on purpose. She took her seat, ignoring Moloch's attempt at a bet. It was obvious who would win. She wouldn't waste her time on such petty things.

Her eyes were now glued to the fight, the rogue and warrior going at it, the crowd cheering on and on, and it only infuriated Nek'mashra further. They all knew who the winner was, there was no doubt anything would change in a matter of seconds, or even minutes. It was no longer fun.

Nek'mashra reached for the green button in front of her, pressing down on it hard, Cat watching with intensity as she knew that her mistress was trying to keep herself collected.

"The fight is over!" The orcess's voice boomed, silencing the shouts for a second. It only made them louder within the minute, and Nek'mashra pressed the button again. "Guards, please escort these two back to their cells and collect their belongings. The winner is Ashok Longshadow!"

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