Of Orcs and Men

Barbella and Henshaw breathe a deep sigh of relief when they see their equipment neatly laid out on the long bench/table of the prep-room. Even more so, their gold, gems and especially their recently acquired magical items.

Not entirely sure what to expect, despite the Pit Overseer; Astley's brief explanation, they quickly help each other don their armour and re-arm themselves.

Doberman however, is still drooling at the myriad weapons hanging on the wall. Despite regaining his masterwork cold-iron longsword, he reaches up on tiptoe and grabs a two-handed Great axe. As he licks the blade longways to test its sharpness, his smile widens to the point that his rubbery lips seem at risk of splitting.

As soon as they're all ready, a guard, from the safety of being on the other side of the iron gate, instructs them to advance into the main arena itself. Once there, the trio of soldiers feel the three suns beat down on their three heads and hear the roar of the morning crowd.

Opposite, on the far side of the circular combat field, they spot their opponents. Three goggle wearing Orcs. Youngish but full grown... 

Barbella mouths to Henshaw,

"Three verses three... So, it's to be a fair fight?"

The straw-haired Henshaw looks over to Barbella and nods before placing a restraining hand on the already growling Doberman's shoulder...

"Stay." 

An abrupt chorus of bronze horns signals 'Ready?' and the leather clad Orcs make a series of threatening gestures with their axes. The gathering, morning crowd roar their approval.

Multiple shouts rise from the audience.

"Fifteen gold on the Orcs!"

"Ten gold against!"

Henshaw, sensing that winning the audiences' support is important, raises his shield and adopts a defensive pose, while signalling his cohorts to do the same. Barbella, crouching low, thrusts and twists his magical cold-iron short-sword, while Doberman grins stupidly, blood from his cut tongue staining his teeth red, as he chops at the sand with his oversized axe. 

Suddenly, the bronze chorus sounds for a second time and Henshaw releases his grip on Doberman's shoulder. Doberman instantly sprints forward, his speed incredible, considering his squat build, clumsy running style and burdensome chainmail armour.

The opposing Orcs also charge without regard to their own safety. One almost immediately clashes with Doberman, each slashing wildly at the other, their axes clashing loudly. The other two charge headlong towards the ready and waiting Barbella and Henshaw.

Henshaw in his newly acquired magical Breastplate, steps in front of Barbella and raises his large, magical, steel shield, making himself an obvious a target as possible.

It works, with both remaining Orcs attacking him on their charge.

Henshaw's defence though, is solid and holds against both attacks but his counter is weak. Almost half-arsed, with no real threat behind it. Barbella's however is vicious! Sneaking around to the side, he drives his magical, cold-iron short-sword deep into the exposed back of the distracted Orc warrior, who squeals, pig-like as he crumples to the ground, his blood already staining the sand beneath him.

The entire fight's over in less than a minute, with the dissatisfied crowd booing at the end. 

Doberman's opponent lies brutally dismembered; unnecessarily chopped into pieces, while the other two Orcs lie bleeding out on the sand in front of Henshaw and the rat-faced Barbella. 

Looking up, Henshaw nods at the nobleman's signal from high up on the carved, stone throne and lowers his sword in response. The battle is over and there's no benefit in killing their fallen opponents. Why not let these two Orcs live to die another day?

Finally, a third, sustained, horn chorus sounds and, even as stretcher-bearers run in to tend to the wounded Orcs, the iron gate the three Humans entered through, reopens and they're ushered back inside.