The small Orc stronghold of Gomora was unusually alive today. The clang of steel rang out from its crude coliseum, where two warriors clashed in a frenzy of muscle and rage. The arena shook with the roars of onlookers, eager for blood and glory.
"Cut his head off, Bahamas!" a tusked brute bellowed, foam and spit flying from his mouth. "Show him who you are!"
"You'll drink on my cask tonight if you beat him, Sothwid!" another roared, lifting his ale high. "Split him open, and the night is yours!"
Inside the pit, swords met with bone-jarring force. Sparks leapt into the air as the two Orcs circled, their breath steaming in the dusty heat.
Far above the rabid crowd, seated apart in a raised stone dais, the Great Chief watched the fight with narrowed eyes. His massive frame was draped in wolf pelts, a crude iron crown resting upon his brow. Beside him stood Rikon, his half-burnt face twisting into a grin as the duel raged below.
