Circus Freak

Metal chains and thick iron groan against one another as great gates gradually close.

Roika, an infamous warrior orc stands at the ready before the closing entrance.

He walks into the arena, chest thundering beneath his armour with excitement, the comforting weight of his sword at his side.

Roika was a substantially large orc, even among his kind, he stood at an impressive nine feet with heavy armour and small doses of herbs and potions hanging around his neck.

He looks above him at the thousands of folk roaring in welcome, raising his arms he acknowledges the cheers with three firm beats to his iron clad chest, a sign of pride among his people.

The crowd, if possible, roars even louder.

Roika grins, showing off his tusks, as he allows himself to soak in their praises.

Rows above him stood a male goblin, dressed in fine wear, on his ****** was a purple flower called an 'ampiro' one of the many magical plants growing in faerie.

When triggered, an ampiro absorbs surrounding sound waves and echos them through its other flowers that scattered across the stadium.

He takes a visibly deep breath, then his voice thunders through the crowd.

"Let the fight... begin!"

Roika stiffens, his opponent was already in the arena? He spins around, scanning the arena.

'But i feel no presence,' He thought '... unless'

"Gon!"

A second, thats all it took. Pure reflex had him in the air and on the other side of the arena in a second, sword drawn, chest thundering and he was stunned. A fraction later and it would've been off with his head.

He could've died.

"The Glamora Witch steals firstblood!"

As if on cue, his string of potions fall from his neck and shatter on impact, colorful liquids seeping into the earth.

Roika touches his slightly stinging neck and surely, green blood coated his fingers.

"Roika doesnt seem to bee taking this seriously folks, does he not see the witch as a worthy opponent?"

The warrior grinds his tusks in annoyance,

'that was close' He thought, 'too damned close.'

*Laphy- a type of glamour used commonly among thieves, assasins and spies. It allowed the complete concealment of ones presence and makes it almost impossible to be retraced.

Almost.

Gon- a vision enchantment that gave the ability to see sources and traces of casted spells. Laphy included*.

Roika shakes his head, 'No!' He cannot afford to lose his head right now, this opponent was fast and cunning, with her small size and strength she made up for speed and agility. He'll need to spot her, predict her next move, then strike.

The cloak disappears from his sight and he immediately shifts into a battle stance. "Gon!"

This time, he was ready for her, his eyes were peeled and his guard was up.

She reappears in the corner of his eye and he strikes, fast and strong.

The ground shook at the force of his blade, splitting into numerous cracks. The crowds silence broke into cheers and applause, but a dark heavy feeling settled in the orcs belly.

He'd forgotten something... something vital, but what?

Suddenly, his tongue is flooded with the taste of copper, bitter and disgusting.

The pain hit him at the same time realisation did, and he let out a terrifying scream of agony.

The audience clutched at their ears as the ugly sound echoed through the battlefield, and not a soul dared break the silence among them all.

Roikas bloodshot eyes were wide and wild, and yet he could only make faint silhouettes of objects around him. Amidst his chaos he sights a disgusting dismembered limb, too large to belong to the witch.

He screams again, or maybe he'd never stopped, but the pain seemed to increase ten fold as he realises his arm had been completely removed from his body.

'No no no no' He chanted, violently shaking his head. He spots his rival several feet away from him, hed bowed, cloak nowhere to be seen.

'A diversion' He snarls nastily.

"What kind of sick illusion is this, Witch?" He spat at her.

"Nothing here is real," but it felt like it,

"this is all a charade" but what if it wasn't?

He reaches for a healing potion around his neck, but found nothing there, then he remembered.

"The Glamora Witch steals firstblood!"

As if on cue, his string of potions fall from his neck and shatter on impact, colorful liquids seeping into the earth.

So she hadn't missed after all.

Roika was seething, tears poured from his red eyes, drool dripped through his tusks, with his remaining arm he grips his sword and charges for her.

"YOU'RE JUST ANOTHER CIRCUS FREAK!"

He was inches away from her when she looks up and smirks. That fraction of a second in which he hesitated was his ending.

Everything seemed to stop, his surroundings, his body, his pain, it was as if she'd frozen time itself.

'So pale,' He thinks, the witch was... so pale.

Almost deathly, her hair and her skin, almost as white as the small dress she wore.

Only, had different shades of blood stained all over it, there were iron cuffs on her wrists, bare feet, and neck, scars there too.

But her eyes were what terrified him most.

They were mismatched.

Although it was not unheard of in both mortal and fae realms, mismatched eye color was one of the worst omens in faerie. So much so, any mother to have birthed such an abomination would've murdered the child there and then, or discard it to ultimately meet the same fate.

'So this is what the cursed witch looks like,' He thinks, 'The rumours do her no justice,'

But she replies, "Oh?"

Her small head is tilted to the side in a questioning manner. Her voice is soft and angelic, and yet striking and dangerous

Roika gulps, unable to nod or respond.

"I am going to kill you now," she states calmly, one of her shackled hands rises to his forehead, and she lightly brushes it with her fingertips.

"P-please," Pride be damned, Roika pushes away his shame. "I-I have a family, a son and a daughter. Spades had cheated our lands and taken my home, I do not fight of my own free will but to protect my family, please, they need me."

The witch pauses, and looks him in the eyes, he watches in fascination as he glimpses his children in them.

"Your actions are admirable, Chief Roika," The title warmed him, "and your spirit is strong, i feel your love for your people and your children."

The warrior suddenly felt unsettled, panicked even. "But mercy is not mine to give," she says as she draws back, Roika shakes his head and time starts to move again.

"and as you fight for your family-"

The orc falls to the ground, "NO! NO! NO! PLEASE!"

"I fight for mine."

A great thud shakes the ground as the giant falls before her, and the crowd was deathly quiet. The commentator scrambles to seek words, "A-and the witch... is VICTORIOUS!"

The crowd hesitantly begin to applaud, a nervous air settling upon them. As the seemingly child-like vermin exits the arena.

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