Promises. [Complete]

[Hawk]

Freedom.

It had always been something that Hawk valued over many things. One of them being disregard over one's safety. You have to dive in head first, as he would put it. Though there is such a thing as valour leading to disaster, as Hawk would soon find out. He found himself surrounded by people of all sorts. Humans, Trolls, Gnomes... they all looked over the corpse of a pregnant woman, with a dark skinned man known as Jeremy, sobbing as he cradled his head in his hands - the same hands that killed the fallen beauty when his mind had been possessed. The group were once stranded on an island, captured and left to die. However, with combined efforts they escaped, only to be hunted down once more. History would repeat, as again, they escaped narrowly after facing what seemed to be the end of everyone's life, but at the cost of innocent blood. Hawk and another Troll buried the woman and they left the swamp in silence.

Hawk sat in a chair. Despite the always rowdy tavern of Ratchet, it all seemed silent to him. The world around him didn't even seem real. Was he dreaming? He knew he answer, just didn't want to believe it. So there he sat, sipping on a tankard of rum whilst mulling over thoughts which lead to more memories of the mistakes he had made in the past. Though soon his trail of thought would be put to a halt as he saw a Goblin in a smart tuxedo accompanied by two Ogres, presumably bodyguards. He seemed to have an aura of authority on him, as most of the patrons focused their gaze onto him. After clearing his throat and taking a seat on a table, he soon spoke.

"Ladies, gentlemen, shemales or whatever the hell comes here nowdays. Allow me to introduce myself. I am known as Sniks Broadpocket, and I come to you today with an offer. I'm giving any one of YOU <The goblin pointed a finger towards the crowd> the chance to earn respect, gold, women, power and fame as you pit yourself against the Gurubashi's fury! Now, how do you sign up? A good question! Simply come and sign this charter and walk a new dangerous road, or regret a mistake for the rest of your life! Who's got the balls to become GLADIATOR?"

At the end of his speech, the Sniks let loose a signature goblin grin. This guy knew what he was doing - he could charm the mane off a lion with that tongue. And it seemed to work as 9 willing warriors were signing the charter and making their way to a carriage that was at the port. Hawk eyed the Goblin as he saw people begin to put themselves forward. A gladiator? It would certainly get him far, he knew that much. Besides, he could use the money and after being shipwrecked 3 times, he knew it was time to sort himself out. Possible risks were a lost concept to him at this time, and without even another moment of consideration he stood up from his seat and walked over to the Goblin. They gave each other a firm nod as the Goblin went to write onto a sheet of parchment with a pen.

"Name?"
"Hawk."
"I actually meant your -real- name not your arena name, but y'know that works! I like it. Now if ya just sign this contract we can be on our way hotshot." Sniks grinned again as he handed over a contract for him to read. 'Screw reading!' thought the eager Troll as Hawk scribbled his name onto it, much to the amusement of Sniks.
"I'm beginnin' to like ya already. We're gonna get along fine I reckon. Now, let's get going..."

The group boarded the boat to Stranglethorn. After a couple of days of drinking, gambling, and throwing up over the deck for some of them, they were finally at their destination. Amongst them was three Humans, two Orcs, a Tauren, a Dwarf, a Night and even a Gnome. They were all quite distant from each other and throughout the trip there wasn't much chat, except then they were drunk then they had a good time, and there's pictures to prove it. Sniks and the combatants were about to enter the pens before a skinny Human with clothes too big for him stormed up to them angrily. After a few moments of yelling about how they were supposedly late, Hawk had enough. Seeing as he was at the front he took the chance to knock him out cold with a punch straight to his face. After they just carried walking.

"Who was dat guy..?" Hawk questioned.
"Bah, we call him Weed. Some punk who keeps trying to command everyone despite having no authority. f**k knows why, but he deserves whatever he gets." Sniks grunted as they made their way to the pens. Hawk was surprised at how many Gladiator's were here. Most were sparring against each other or against test dummies, others were resting or eating. They almost seemed like a small army just waiting to conquer something. Their gaze rested on the newcomers momentarily before they continued their activities. It wasn't long until a one-armed Orc walked to the group.

"Welcome to the arena. I'd say enjoy your stay but I doubt many of you will even pass the incoming gauntlet that you'll have to go through tomorrow... get prepared for it. Those who survive will be trained to become a Gladiator." The Orc smirked coldly.

"Now, disperse."

[Hawk]

A light snoring sounded through the resting chambers. The faint sounds of sparring could be heard outside, caused by restless gladiators. Whether they were victims of insomnia or were too wired to stop training was anyone's guess. One victim of insomnia was Hawk, who was tossing and turning in his hammock uncomfortably. He couldn't stop the same thought sequence from repeating his mind. Marooned. Escaped. Hunted. Captured. Escape. Slaughter. Over and over. With a growl the Troll slipped out and crept across the floor, careful not to wake anyone (or anything) up. He began to make small talk and spar with the other gladiators to pass the time. What else could he do down there aside from count the bricks in the room? After what seemed like entire days, a loud gong obliterated the silence, and was replaced with groans from groggy fighters. They all looked to who was responsible, and they were met with a Tauren wielding a large mace. He snorted at the lot.

"Time to test yourselves, runts. Be ready in 20 minutes." Was all he said before turning about and placing the rusty hammer onto the floor. Another groan was heard and they all began to get ready in a militaristic fashion, once finished taking a seat in the dining halls and muching on meat. At some point, one of the newcomers chomped down on a bullet that was inside it which resulted in a small laughter. Turns out they just use beasts that they kill in the arena instead of getting more animals. The one armed Orc from before and the Tauren gathered everyone into the cart, along with Sniks, and everyone was blindfolded so they couldn't remember the trip.

When they finally arrived they had their blindfolds removed and stared down at the huge gauntlet, slackjawed. It was a gigantic area just filled with different courses for each one to take. Spikes, caged opponents, nets, ropes, dummies, traps, any sort of obstacle that could be put in this insane trial was there. The Orc and Tauren smiled proudly, seemingly just waiting to see their reactions.

"Isn't she a beaut?" Sniks said to the lot. A Gnome whipped his head towards him.
"That's no beaut! That's a monster!" he exclaimed. With a grunt they were all shoved into a different gauntlet.
"This has to be done quickly, as well... if you don't do it fast enough, well... you'll see." That was the last Hawk heard before he ran in.

Spoiler:

Possible music? I love Crash 3 so much...
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAtwAL7yRNg[/youtube]

Hawk eyed the cage near the end of the gauntlet, noticing that it was rattling ever so slightly but he couldn't tell what was in it. He took out his rifle and after a few failed shots, eventually hit padlock and saw the cage door burst open. Charging out was a horde of flailing zombies who were completely oblivious to the gaping pit which they all tumbled into like dominoes, but not before Hawk showed off by nailing a few zombies with some headshots. Before he could bask in his success he had stepped onto a thin vine without realising, and from above a giant stone fist was plummeting towards him. He hastily dived out of the way and remained prone as he eyeballed a flying blade soar over him. He crawled across the floor as more blades sliced over him, once out of their reach getting up and breaking into a sprint and leaping over the pit that the zombies all fell into, laughing as he saw them.

After landing he was suddenly swept off his feet by an alien creature that Hawk had never seen before. Most likely from Outland, but there was little time for ponder as the beast went to skewer him with two bladed arms, possessing four of them. Mokaku rolled out of the way and drew his sword, parrying more relentless assaults before unleashing a deadly swipe to two of it's arms, chopping them off cleanly The creature shrieked in agony, then it was silenced once it was decapitated, black blood spewing from it's stumps. He continued his sprinting and jumped onto a ledge, then bounded through pillars that were a few feet above the water which were cackling with electricity. He let out a grunt as he vaulted over a barbed fence and cut down a few more zombies. At the end was a wooden door leading to a small room. Seeing no other alternative he opened it with heavy breaths, tilting his head at a sign that said "FINISH!". Hawk walked further into room before suddenly the floor collapsed as soon as he stepped on it. He yelled as he fell through, the force of the drop rattling a few chains that were hanging. Wait, chains? Spikes at the very bottom? Hawk got the idea. He desperately attempted to grab a chain and cling on, luckily succeeding.

He began to scale the chain and finally reach what was the real end. He lumbered over to the finish line and collapsed into a seat. He grabbed some water and chugged it down, then peering around as he noticed out of 10 gladiators, only 5 others were present. Two Humans, the Orcish pair, the Night Elf, and somehow the Gnome had miraculously survived all this. The one armed Orc, who oversaw the gladiator's trials, grinned as he addressed them all.

"Good. Here I thought none of you would have made it, but you've surprised me... Get into the cart and we'll make our way back to the arena."

[Hawk]

Day 3.

Hawk had managed to survive a perilous gauntlet, and now he was being lectured by an elderly battlemaster. You wouldn't think he was one from his appearance. Deep wrinkles, average build and height, slow movement and all the other old man stereotypes. One of the Blood Elves loitering in the area made a comment about him, next thing he knew he was laying sprawled across the floor with a bleeding nose, much to the enjoyment of the crew. The old timer had already proved himself to not be underestimated, probably something he did often so the new cocky generation wouldn't start taking charge. After a few hours of eating and resting, the newcomers were given the privilege to be in their first match as a team, which was to come shortly. It was a fight to the death, and it was compulsory. They were to fight another gang of fresh newcomers, built of only Alliance races. They were known as "Extermination Nation", and they had already been in a few matches.

"So. Extermination Nation, eh? Sounds like the name given to kids playing fantasy." A Human remarked.
"Hah, yeah. We'll floor 'em." The Gnome said with a grin. The group all let out a grunt of agreement.
"Hold up! We ain't got an arena team name yet!"
"Ugh. I've never been good with names..." An Orc grumbled.
"How 'bout... Dragonkillers?"
"What? That's worst than Annihilation Station!"
"...Extermination Nation."
"Shut the f**k up, Phil."
"Be quiet, all of you." The Shu'halo overseer bellowed. "The name isn't as important as actually winning. Besides, you won't often be fighting as a team unless you register... though, you do need a name..." the Tauren put a hand to his chin in thought. "Hrm... Bloodmaul will suffice." It seemed the group didn't have much of a say in the matter. Even if they wanted to protest they didn't have the time, as the gates were already opening and they were ushered out.

Hawk shielded his eyes with arm as the scorching sun nearly blinded him after being used to the darker rooms. The crowd burst into cheers at their presence, and the team grinned and accepted it gladly, returning their cheers with waves. From the other side of the arena the second gates open, and running out came six Humans, all wearing the same coloured armour, tabards, even hairstyle. Hawk thought they were a joke, but the audience seemed to disagree as they too were greeted by excited applauds. An announcer took hold of a voice amplifier and tapped into it, clearing his throat and finally speaking.

"Welcome everyone, to the arena! Today we have two teams of fresh meat just waiting to rip into each other! LET'S GET IT ON!" he yelled into the mic, getting the audience hyped up. That was apparently the signal, as the team of Humans were all running towards them with weapons drawn. A particularly scrappy one was heading for Hawk, and he was even bouncing slightly as he stood still. Either this guy had a serious sugar rush or he was just mad. He had claws attached to his wrists and slashed wildly at his Zandali enemy, who could only parry so many before getting a deep gash across his wrist. The crazy Human laughed madly and continued to hop on the spot. Hawk growled and retaliated with several attacks from all directions, though his attempts were futile as they were all dodged by the seemingly drugged up being.

Hawk was slashed again and decided he had to go onto the defensive. He had to evade enough assaults until he could slip in an attack of his own, this man was just too quick for him and trying to hit him without exploiting a weakness was a fool's choice. His strategy seemed to work at first as his counter attacks were proving successful, even managing to chop off a finger. But the speedy Human caught onto this quickly, and through a ludicrously quick series of attacks, Hawk lay onto the floor now disarmed.

"Byebyebyebye!" the Human cackled as he went to take Hawk's sword and drive it through him. He had his chance. As the Human lifted up the blade Hawk kicked him in the groin, causing him to drop the sword and stun him. He got up and delivered punch after punch furiously, even going as far as breaking one of his arms, then grabbing him by the neck and slamming him into the floor. Hawk grabbed his sword and stomped onto the man to keep him still.

"Bye." He stated before skewering the man's skull, afterwards yanking it out and letting his fallen opponent soak in his own blood. Hawk looked to see his Gnomish ally headless, but the rest of his team were victorious as Extermination Nation were now resting in pieces. Once the battle was over the commentator took up the amplifier and spoke again.

"Did you see THAT? Those Humans got chopped up quicker than cows at the slaughterhouse! Let's give it up people, for Team Bloodmaul!" The enthusiastic cries of the crowd echoed through the hallways of the preparation room as they returned to their quarters, seeking first aid and a cold beer.

(( EDIT: Edited slightly due to not realising how many times I used the same words. ))

[Hawk]

Warning: Contains minor gore.

Hawk was up in the early hours of the morning, delivering several punches at a punchbag hanging from a rusty hook on the mossy ceiling. The beautiful light of sunrise crept through gaps in decrepit doors and the aged stone, casting Hawk's shadow across his new prison. His fists hit the leather bag in a calm and steady pace, though they were great in strength. The bag swayed slightly with each blow and a small crease had been moulded into the sack. This area hadn't been used in a while as it turns out, not many gladiators go for unarmed combat. After his morning training had finished, he collapsed into the hammock. This was how Hawk forced himself to be able to sleep. Train until he felt the fatigue set in, and then pushed it one step further until he can only just about stand. Hours later, the one-armed Orcish Battlemaster, later revealed as Mosh'grokk, stood silently as he watched the fresh meat as they peacefully slept, taking note of Hawk's red knuckles before banging the gong they all dreaded to her.

Mosh'grokk resisted the urge to let a smirk spread across his aged face as he heard gladiators groan. It seemed he enjoyed the suffering of the newcomers until they had made a name for themselves, then they earned his respect. Though that couldn't come for a long time. Not at this rate...

"Hurry up. Each of you have an individual challenge in the battle ring in half an hour... and you are to go with only a wooden training sword. Be ready in half an hour..." The grin he had been struggling to let loose finally showed itself.

Hawk thought Mosh'grokk was joking, but as it turns out, he was dead serious about the wooden sword. A wooden sword? Guess it was just one of the many absurd antics a Gladiator had to go through in his training. He looked down at his black leather armour as he began to put it on. He had to get some decent protection. Leather wasn't going to get him far and he could certainly handle the weight. His armour had several scratches and cracks, and it had been stretched from his growing muscles.

Throw it away? ... Nah, I couldn'... A fond smile showed itself as he stared into the armour. He had it since his days of piracy! He couldn't get rid of it. Too many memories had been burnt into that armour... memories.

Crookie. Rachella. The island. Dammit, Hawk! Think of something else... You can't let the past burden you. Not now.

He tried to think of something else. He was in luck, as it was his turn to go next. He was handed his wooden sword, surprised at how well made it was. He expected to be given some sort of twig. The crowd let out a moderate applause at Hawk's entry. He hadn't quite made a name for himself, only expected that the crowd didn't care about him. To them, he was just a blue bag of flesh waiting to be gored open. But it would all soon be worth it... soon. The commentator's electrifying voice sounded through the arena.

"We have an interesting match for you all today! This Troll shall face 4 enslaved Bloodsail Pirates, with only a wooden sword! Fresh from capture--"

The commentator continued to speak, but none of the rest reached his ears. Hawk snarled at the very name of Bloodsails and his grip on his sword tightened. He was already scouting for his opponents, ready to rip them apart in rage and bask in their defeat. He saw the 4 come out of the gate all charge towards him roaring, which even gave the crowd a spark. Hawk wasted no time. He let out a long bellow and even continued it as he ran and brought down the carved branch into a pirate's gut, yanking it out and then skewering him repeatedly in a large display of blood as the man's intestines leaked out of him. Hawk had gone mad. Blooddrunk. But the crowd loved it.

As the second pirate came closing in on him, he managed to deliver a punch of Mokaku's gut and then send him to a knee. But this only enraged him further. With a blood-curdling shout he picked up the Human by his throat and raised him into the air, afterwards slamming him into the ground, causing the ragtag man to wheeze. As he went to deliver the killing blow, one of the pirates leaped on his back and tried to send him to the ground. Hawk's sturdy frame let him keep his ground as he grabbed the Human and threw him into the already prone pirate. Whilst they were on the ground trying to recover, he noticed the remaining standing enemy running towards him and attempting to kick him in the groin. A Troll grinned and laughed as he caught the leg, then brought up his knee to crunch the leg in half, causing flesh to fly into the air. A common pirate trick, the crotchshot. Hawk had seen it too much. The villain howled him pain, and his suffering as ended with a loud crack as Hawk had already advanced to break his neck. By this time, the furious Troll was now nearing the edge of the arena ring.

He let the man slump to the ground and then, as one pirate was standing up,, grappled him and then threw him aside. With his adrenaline rush letting him fight and ignore the nagging fatigue burning his limbs he took the second pirate's skull and smashed it into the wall repeatedly until what his head was reduced to pulp. One remaining. With the final pirate's rage growing, he recomposed himself quickly and dashed towards his enemy, roaring all the while. Hawk scooped up his wooden blade as he broke into a rapid speed, returning the bellow. And the finishing blow was laid. The wooden sword destroyed the Human's skull, the sheer force causing the wood to splinter and break it half. Hawk looked up at the crowd and dropped the crimson hilt and, after receiving a booming applause, flung his arms into the air in a victorious gesture.

Hawk breathed heavily as he stood in that position for a few seconds before leaving, washing off the blood from... all over him, practically, and then getting some well deserved rest. The rest of his team would give him the nickname 'Goretalon'.

[Hawk]

Hawk stood in the empty arena, eyeing the crowd as they cried out for blood. A blood-hungry audience were facing him after witnessing his previous butcher of the Bloodsail captives, now they were hoping for an equally exciting match. For a moment, time seemed to slow down. Was it the heat? The lack of sleep? Whatever was responsible made Hawk see the crowd in closer detail now that they had slowed down. He eyed a particular Blood Elf who seemed vaguely familiar, who seemed to be paying close attention to him. He also took note of how many ugly people came to the arena nowadays, but mostly the suspicious Blood Elf. But now was not the time to think. He had an opponent to kill...

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A Blood Elf rubbed his chin as he eyed the new Troll in the arena. He had a thin coat of stubble on his face, and his fingers traced the bristles on his cheeks. He was as average built as your usual Blood Elf, that being quite slim in comparison to many other races. His shortened black hair reflected the sun brightly as he stood up, his cloak swaying slightly, and he clapped in time with the crowd. The Troll seemed to be doing well. He succeeded his first team battle, took on 4 slaves at once in which he seemed to be strangely bursting with rage, and now he had successfully defeated a pair of harpies. Though he did take a lot of damage from their teamed assault... but he had managed to scrape through. Perhaps this Troll could be useful... perhaps. Or he could be a pest. A small smile wormed his way onto his face as he exited the stand, slithering his way through the crowd.

He made his way to the stand after the guards had let him through and tossed a quick glance at other warriors before going into a room and locking the door. Inside, surprisingly, there was sofas. Drinks, fine meat, hookahs and exotic weaponry. Powerful gladiators occupied the seats, most with a prostitute in their arms. There was four people in total. A Forsaken, an Orc, a Dwarf and a Human. All of them looked rugged and experienced, and it was clear they had been here for a long time. The Blood Elf shooed the women off and let out a sigh.

"Must you bring them here? I didn't provide this room for it to be turned into a 'nightclub'."
"Relax, man... wha's up wit'choo anyway?"
"The Troll... seems to be doing well." The Dwarf looked to the Blood Elf.
"Pah! 'oo gives a damn? 'e's just a Troll. 'e'll end up like the rest of 'em: their entrails strewn aboot the arena." The Elf frowned at the response.

"The rest of Bloodmaul are doing well too... in fact the Troll is the least of my worries out of all of them. Perhaps they'll dead within the week, but we should still keep an eye out. We don't want rhis team to be taking -OUR- money, do we now?" A pause.
"Well?"
"No..." they all muttered, as if they were a child being scolded.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Hawk blinked as he came back through the arena. His team members were all stood up, as was Mosh'grokk. Their eyes stared at him.

"Get some provisions ready, Goretalon... we're going for some outdoor training."

[Hawk]

The warriors all stood in a single line as they got off the boat and exited into Ratchet. This place seemed so alien after being away from it for such a long time, but there he was. Bustling gamblers, merchants and brothels walked the street. The air was filled with the never ending noise of bartering and drunken speeches. Hawk eyed a casino he used to be a regular for with a grin. Good times. Mosh'grokk paced up and down, arm behind his back as he addressed all the Gladiators, clicking his fingers to get their attention.

"Alright, whelps... Usual Gladiator training requires you to work your ass in the arena every day. Which is what you expected, no?"

The Gladiators nodded.

"Well, you're NOT going to get what you expect!" The Orc barked. "Being a Gladiator means being prepared for anything. Being prepared for any enemies, any lands you step into. This is MY training style, so you had better learn well... a true warrior can adapt to any environment and slaughter new foes. Claiming that you're strong when you're only in the arena? Bah! You must be able to harness power and use it for many purposes, young warriors... otherwise it is all for nothing. Unusual for a gladiator you say? True. It is. But perhaps our journey will give you tips for the arena... after all, anything comes out of there nowadays..."

The men remained silent after Mosh'grokk had finished his fierce speech, using hand gestures to exaggerate his points.

"We will be travelling around, but for obvious reasons we won't be going near Horde or Alliance territories..." he eyed the Night Elf and two Humans. "Now. I want all of you to go the nearest weapon merchant and purchase a weapon you don't normally use. Get new armour, repairs, or whatever. We're going to be here a while until you at least get -some- skill in adaptation. We will be doing acts of small effort to the extreme... Disperse." He shooed them away.

What did Hawk do? That's right, head to the tavern and grab a mug of ale before he did anything. Wiley was surprised he wasn't dead yet. With a grunt he headed to the weaponry store and grabbed the first lethal looking thing he saw, seemingly not caring for whatever he took. In his grasp was a well crafted voulge. Light, but strong. He went to the armoury and grabbed some plate armour. Not of greatest quality, but it would keep him alive, which is all that mattered. Survival of the fittest was all Hawk's life revolved around, it seemed. It must have been used by others, judging from the dents and scratches in the gauntlets. Hopefully he won't end up like they did. He donned his black armour and deposited his previous attire into the bank, afterwards meeting the group upon a hill and trekking towards Stonetalon mountains, but not before giving the Quillboar a visit. Mosh'grokk pointed a finger towards a camp of pigmen, who were ravaging a Horde caravan. The Orcish gladiators were already enraged at their presence.

Must've 'ad a bad history wit' dem...

"There. There's not that many of them. Only 20 or so... Go on! Get them!" He snapped. The gladiators charged head first into the group of Quillboar, who squealed a war cry as the two forces clashed. Hawk clumsily parried two incoming swords by raising his spear and pushed them back, swinging it haphazardly in an attempt to get used to it. To his surprise he managed to kill both of them within a couple of assaults. Hawk let out an 'oof!' as he took a stone mace to the gut, leaving a small dent in his armour. Snarling, he advanced towards a quillboar and skewered it, the spear's reach letting it gore another opponent. Mosh'grokk yelled from far away.

"FOCUS, Goretalon! Do not hit and hope! Attack with precision!" The Troll threw a glance behind his shoulder to see where the source of the yelling was before swiftly spinning around on his feet and looking to more pigmen. Despite his offensive not being as good as it should, his defensive skills were certainly noticed. He blocked and dodged incoming assaults, but often failed to succeed with a counter. After the quillboar had worn themselves out, Hawk grasped the polearm at the very bottom of the hilt and spun the blade around wildly like a steel propeller. Whilst not working as well as he hoped, he did managed to cut down a few. By the time he was about to strike more, the battle was over. Mosh'grokk was already stomping towards them.

"C'mon. We'll be heading to Stonetalon to take the pass through Ashenvale... we'll keep going until we hit Winterspring."

Winterspring? Cold wasn't Hawk's speciality... but later he would find it to be the least of his worries.

[Hawk]

Mosh'grokk and his gladiators halted at the entrance to the Stonetalon Mountains. Their eyes were laid upon some old ruins and an abandoned Horde camp, something that they all found a bit worrying. After being tasked to kill an animal for food and then drag the carcass back to the camp (which they were informed of after they killed the beast), they started a fire and began to cook the carcasses. Hawk wasn't amused, as he chose to end the life of a strong zhevra, so his legs were already exhausted. Once his meal was finally prepared, he ate it in pieces whilst sitting against the tree as he rested, tucking into some ribs.

The Orcish battlemaster kept his eyes open. There was no signs of civilisation at all, and there was supposedly soldiers stationed here. Hoof tracks on the soil caught his attention. He knelt to get a closer look and traced a hand over it with rough fingers. Rattle. He stood up to try and see where it came from, but he was already tackled by a black, tattooed Tauren who leaped out as if from nowhere. The enraged Tauren went to stab him with a wooden dagger, but Mosh'grokk already had a powerful grip on his throat and eventually the life was trained from him. He yelled back to the other gladiators.

"AMBUSH! Gladiator's, prepare yourselves!" He looked around to see a vast amount of black Tauren and the occasional Forsaken charge with a roar, forcing Mosh'grokk to back away as he would've stood no chance. He went back to the camp to assemble his pupils, his axe drawn. Hawk's head snapped towards the stampede of Tauren, and battle broke out. Taking out his dual pistols and climbing up a hill he took point and fired round after around rapidly. Most of the bullets bit into their backs which merely slowed them down, but he managed to land the occasional headshot. Having no time to reload more were pouring through he draw his polearm and booted a Tauren in the chest, causing it to loose balance and tumble off the hill and knock down other incoming bandits. He pierced a raider in the gut and yanked it out, afterwards parrying an incoming sword but the strength of the Tauren send him on his back.

Seeing no other alternative other than to sit there and get his face broken by a broad hoof, he rolled off the hill, the friction scraping off his skin. He got back on his feet and joined his fellow combatants in defending against the onslaught. They all stood in a tight circle as the Grimtotem surrounded them. Mosh'grokk seemed to have been amused by this. Despite having only one arm, he was completely unharmed.

"Keep in this formation..." The battlemaster uttered. Suddenly all the gladiators sprung to life with a roar, the Night Elf being the first to attack. His claymore ripped through their flesh like a knife through butter and his ability to remain standing after taking a lot of blows was impressive. The Orcish pair and the Human trio were also making messy work of them, the occasional limb flying into the air. Mosh'grokk on the other hand was in a league of his own. The crippled warrior proved himself a deadly opponent as he cut down warrior after warrior, all of them meeting the same end. Hawk was beginning to feel the fatigue, and his choice of weapon was one he was regretting now. But he had to keep practising. After pulling out his blade from the skull of a Forsaken, Mosh'grokk stabbed his blade into the air.

"Move forward!" he roared as his band of warriors lined up in a failed phalanx formation. As they went to kill off what remained, from the sky came several green vials. When they shattered on the ground a toxic gas was released that knocked them unconscious. When they woke up, they were tied around a large totem pole. Hawk hung his head.

"Loa dammit."

He was captured. Again. One of the Humans frowned deeply as he eyed the Grimtotem sat around a campfire, seemingly unaware that they were all awake. After a while, the Dwarf spoke.

"If anyone asks... there was a hundred of them." He said with a grin.
"Very funny..." An Orc muttered, growling low to himself.

Hawk shook his head with a grunt.

We need to get out of here.

[Hawk]

Dim fires illuminated the barren campsite under the twilight sky. Dusk was dangerous and yet beautiful at the same time. The black fur of the Tauren made it hard to distinguish between them and their shadows. They were like ghosts. Angered, bloodthirsty. Unmerciful as they haunted the valleys and preyed on travellers. and their feud with the world would never cease. On the other side of the camp, there was movement. The Dwarf growled as he attempted to wriggle his way out of the ropes, muttering some curses and wincing through gritted teeth. The rest of the gladiators were less than hopeful about their escape, they just let out a sigh at the Dwarf's attempts. His biceps by now were red raw, but he seemed determined to escape. An Orc snarled at him.

"Give it a rest, will you?"
"Well, sorreh fer not wantin' ta die like this! Ye best be thinkin' 'bout how to get outta here."
"Shut up--" The Orc spotted a Grimtotem approaching. The gladiators' attention was captured as it growled at the Dwarf.

"Hmph. Pathetic. You're like a parasite, feeding off the lands... Uninvited guests." It snarled. The Dwarf was equally feisty.
"'least Ah ain't no treehugger 'oo needs ta have over twen'y cow friends take down 6 people!" His remark would be met with a huge tattooed fist heading toward's the Dwarf's nose, breaking it. Blood flowed from his nostrils as he yelped and yelled.

"BAH! YA FUCKIN' PIECE O' RAM SHIT! AH'LL TEAR OUT YA GUTS AND MAKE 'EM INTO SAUSAGES!" He roared as he thrashed around in the ropes, trying to whack the brute. The Dwarf would be hit by another solid punch, and with nothing to defend himself, he was knocked unconscious. The rest shook their heads and the Grimtotem grunted.

"Henry wishes to see you..." He muttered, snorting as he allowed a Forsaken to approach them. His hair was like mouldy hay that stuck out as if he had just woken up, and he wore dull white robes. He had various satchels around his waist that were filled with herbs which emitted a sickly odour. His hollow sockets eyed the group with a crooked smile.

"Well, well, well. It seems as if you've gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle... indeed. Now. I WAS going to test these on a few animals, but with humanoids such as yourselves being a better alternative..." He cackled as he let his new subjects finish his own sentence. Out of his satchel came a vial, and then scratched wooden dice. He assigned each gladiator a number, Hawk being number six. After rattling the dice in his hand he let it soar onto the barrel. The victims looked at the dice nervously, worrying about the results of this test. Only Mosh'grokk was the one who kept his cool. A bead of a sweat trickled down Hawk's forehead as he watched it tumble and tumble. This was dice was clearly designed to roll for longer periods of time. It rolled until it reached the end of the barrel where it was tipped onto a corner, but he let out a sigh of relief as the Forsaken judged it to be a 2. A Human whimpered.

Thank Loa for--...

He watched in horror as the dice began to slowly tip.

Wait! NO! STOP YOU MOTHERFU--

It was too late. It tipped onto the 6. The luckiest number to get on a dice turned out to be his unluckiest. The Human was laughing in reflief. Hawk? Well...

The angry mutter of "f**k my life!" echoed through the mountains. The Grimtotem laughed at Hawk's bad luck... He was in for a rough ride. Damn apothecaries. As Hawk was untied, he was brought to his knees and arm was gripped by two colossal hands. The Forsaken grinned.

"Open wide. Here comes the aero-pain!"

[Hawk]

"Not QUITE the effect I expected... but it's certainly something useful."

The Grimtotem and the Forsaken known as 'Henry' laughed as they watched Hawk suffer the effects of the unknown, but dangerous potion forced into him. Soon after, they paused and looked over to the north. The roars and cackles filled their hearts with terror as they had nothing to stop what was coming.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spoiler:

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGVQrmblQAc[/youtube]

Swirls... dozens of multicoloured swirls... On the floors, the walls, the ceiling. Did he get a prank pulled on him and he got high or something? Or is this what death was like? What the hell did that Forsaken do to him? He wasn't even breathing in this place, and his heart was still. Yet he was still alive, but he knew this wasn't real. Whatever he took in, his mind felt as if it had forced inside-out, which caused him to have bizarre hallucinations.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Leave the prisoners! We must leave this place!"

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

More swirls, patterns and shapes which changed colour repeatedly. He felt different. He didn't feel like he was himself. He inspected himself, flexing his hands as he looked down at his feet. His movements were slow and his body blurred as he moved into the strange mental world he had just entered. He was walking on air, and each time his foot touched a different part of the 'floor', it would ripple like rainfall onto a river. His body was still blurry, so it was hard to see where he was going. But then again, there wasn't anywhere to go at all. This world was endless.

As he kept walking, the shapes were abruptly beginning to form into familiar sights. People, places, objects. They began to dance around and float in the air like the floating wreckage on the broken world of Draenor. Suddenly his view shifted. He was no longer controlling his own body - he was watching himself. He was still just as blurry. The people soon descended onto Hawk and carried him away like pack of gargoyles, who were met flailing arms in an attempt to escape their grasp. The display wasn't in fluid motions, more like a presentation of photographs that left an imprint in the air. The world was still engulfed in swirls, now of darker shades. Hawk looked his way. A hand went out to reach him, and it was completely in focus. It was the arm of young girl, and after Hawk had disappeared, the hand turned to ashes. The imprints turned to smoke.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What th' hell's wrong with 'im?! He's gone nuts!"
"Just grab him and get out of here! We're leaving, now!"

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His view soared up to where Hawk was dragged to, almost like a winged predator pursuing it's prey. He saw himself fighting silhouettes of unidentifiable people. Once the shades were defeated he began to plummet in between two cliffs, the ocean was at the bottom. Everything was clear, the waters sparkled as they reflected the radiant sun. A ship, with black and red sails. A Troll with dreadlocks stood at the wheel and had a wide smile on his face as the wind kissed his face and neck. He was looking at himself once again. A pair of golden flintlocks were at his waist and he had a golden medallion. In his cabin were treasure droves, coffee stains, kegs, and crude drawings strewn about a wooden deck. Crewmen paced up and down. Some were recognisable, but 3 men were just shadows with no expression on them. But after an explosion went off, he saw only darkness...

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The effects of the extremely potent drug was wearing out. Hawk slowly pried his eyes open, which were intent on sealing themselves shut again as their soreness was only increased at the light. A pang of confusion hit him as he saw a glimpse of a raging fire that was shrinking in the distance. His stomach was churning and felt like burning, and his mouth tasted like vomit. A layer of green and ooze was coated around his dry lips. Drops of blood crawled his knuckles, and he had only realised he was slung over someone's shoulder when he noticed the ground kept coming closer but jumped away again. After a while, the bouncing stopped and he was laid down onto his back. He heard some mumbles and the face of a Human before passing out once again.

[Hawk]

When Hawk woke up, he was greeted with a hard smack across the face to prevent him from nodding back off into slumber. His stomach rumbled his hunger and he craved for a tall mug of cold rum to quench his thirst. His mouth still tasted like vomit and his eyes were sore. A thin layer of ooze was smeared across his mouth, and quite frankly he'd rather not know what it was. But something was odd. They were no longer in Stonetalon. Or Kalimdor for that matter. His gaze rested once again upon the ancient walls of Gurubashi. Was he in a coma for 2 weeks straight? Was the trip cut short? And where the hell is everyone? It was only him and Mosh'grokk, who was presumably the one who slapped him. Seemed like something he would do. Hawk began to spoke.

"Wha..." He croaked before he had to stop and be given some water to let him speak.

"Wha' happened? Why a' we back 'ere?"
"The trip had to be cancelled, Goblins too greedy to allow a whole team outside the Arena for too long." The Battlemaster scoffed as he stood, leaving Hawk to be at peace. He looked up towards the ceiling after he heard the crowd cheer at whatever opponent had been mutilated. He let out a sigh and laid back in his hammock. Hawk would find himself stationed at Stranglethorn for a while, constantly in the arena.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Failure.

The fiery orange-haired Dwarf was walking up and down a common room, his hands clasped behind his back and a frown stained on his pale face. In the other room, an arguement was brewing.

"Listen to me. Many Gladiators are doing well. There's no reason to get so irrational. It can be easily solved--"
"I don't want to hear your Gods-damned excuses and stories anymore! Either start bringing in a better income or all of your damned arena team will be slaves. Including you. I didn't assign those Gladiators to you because I wanted YOU to profit, I did it so that -I- could profit from either their opponent's death, or their own! You don't get it do you? Actually, to hell with it. Get the hell out of my office."

A Blood Elf with black hair clenched his fists as he rose from a wooden chair and stormed into the common room. They were all watching a prostitute dance. Snarling, the Elf send a blast of arcane energy at her head, which made it explode instantly. Blood and brains flew onto the walls and the Gladiators, who were seemingly at loss for words. But that didn't matter, they'd be interrupted.

"Listen you flea infested, good for nothing hounds! You better start getting your acts together, or it'll be YOU working in the Cartel mines! There had better be some huge amount of gold pouring in on your behalf within the next few days, or so help me I'll tear out your heart with my bare hands and sell it to a Troll for 45 coppers!" He screamed as his hands became engulfed in flames due to his raging anger.

"Now get out there and start doing THRICE as many matches! MOVE IT!"

(( I know, this one's fairly short, but there's more to come! ))

[Hawk]

Goretalon.

Hawk had slowly become used to the nickname. The name almost seemed to fit, like a piece of a puzzle missing in his identity. It was the arena's welcome, which was slowly becoming known. Over the passing weeks, Hawk was noticing differences. His muscles broader and toned. His reflexes quicker. His stamina increased. Every swing of his sword and thrust of his polearm felt natural. It felt right. The rush of landing the hit, and the crowd urging you to land that final blow. But soon, he would find himself facing a trial. Not by order of the arena, no - by his strict Battlemaster. The one armed Orc knew how to train a Warrior, but Hawk signed up to be a Gladiator. But he had no complaints. Approached one afternoon, he was told about how he would be going through 3 trials that Mosh'grokk himself had organised, paid for and scheduled. The first one was about to happen in 5 minutes: Skill.

Mosh'grokk was never one for preparation. The trial basically entailed him withstanding waves of incoming enemies. They were fairly weak and the kill count was of great importance. He would be judged on how many he took down. He grabbed his weaponry, polearm in hand as he marched out of the arena gates. The announcer grasped onto the microphone and began to introduce the event.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Behold now, a special event organised by our very own Battlemaster, Mosh'grokk!" The Goblin soon pointed towards the Orc, who was sitting in a V.I.P box. The crowd cheered, and were soon silenced.

"Our gladiator is to survive waves of incoming enemies, and depending on how many he kills he gets in 10 minutes, is how valuable is reward is! We've gotten the walking dead, wyrms from Quel'thalas, mutants from Azuremyst and Lost Ones from the Swamp of Sorrows! Easy pickings! Let's begin!"

Spoiler:

Music! 8D

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZQpkkyRYUQ[/youtube]

Hawk was curious what beasts would be thrown to him. He had never gone to Quel'thalas or Azuremyst. Or the Swamp of Sorrows. He had no idea what most of the creatures were. But time to think had been cut short, as the various arena gates opened. He scoffed. Skeletons? What sort of enemy was this? But then again, that wasn't his goal. Kill as many as possible. A wide grin spread across his battleworn face as he drew his pistols and spun them in his hand after clipping his polearm back onto his back. His fingers were held over the triggers, waiting for the right moment.

Suddenly he heard a screech behind him. He abruptly turned about and fired a bullet. The skeleton's head shattered. They were coming from behind? No -- everywhere! This was harder than he fought. His gaze was never rested on one target. Constantly changing like a machine. His gun fire tore through the air, shattering skeleton after skeleton. Hawk's recently repaired armour proved resilient to their claws, but his arms were still scratched. Over time, all that remained were piles of bones at his feet. Hawk dropped his pistols back into their holsters. He couldn't shoot forever. He whipped out his blades and got ready for the next assault.

"WAVE 2!"

The gates opened once more, revealing a rather strange sight. The Lost Ones, who, oddly enough, seemed completely confused at where they were. They had never seen these sights before. Regardless, they all saw the Troll standing before them as an enemy, and the frail things swarmed.

Hawk quickly advanced towards the first one and drove his blade into the flailing monster's chest, puncturing his lung and falling to the floor. The black blades rose to block a pair of balled fists, which were soon chopped off with a swift strike. The creature wailed, then collapsed in a headless heap. More came. He figured the best way was to ensure there was none behind them. He swung his blade wildly in an attempt to cut out a path so he was a few yards away from the arena walls. Hawk parried more of the feeble creature's blows and let their blood flow freely underneath him. His swords almost danced to the stomps of the footsteps and heartbeats, their flesh ripped apart by blackened steel. He had managed to survive the next wave. His slaughter continued until there was none left standing.

"WAVE 3!"

What... the hell?

Mana wyrms and mutants crawled out the gates. Hawk had never seen these... but he had to use his pistols. The mutants were too small and the wyrms were probably very agile. He wasted no time in drawing his pistols and loading bullets into them. The mutants small frame exploded into crimson goop when the projectiles broke through their flesh. Fortunately, they were slow. The wyrms were proving more difficult. Several of them broke through and bit into Hawk, clinging onto his limbs and torso, determined to take down their prey. he simply because he couldn't shoot them all down in time. He roared as he dropped his pistols and whacked the flying wyrms away with clenched first. He drew his sword and slashed at them, cutting a few of them down.

His free hand scooped up a pistol and fired a shot. Click. They had ran out of ammo.

Damn small chambers!

Suddenly, all the enemies had fallen dead by bruisers who sent a volley of bullets at them. The announcer's voice boomed through the ring.

"And that's time! He managed to get 36 kills! Not too shabby for a newbie. Not record breaking, either. Go now and rest, Gladiator!"

[Hawk]

(( I haven't posted here in a damn long time. Mainly been busy with other stuff. ))

The last month had been the usual for Hawk. Wake up, eat whatever's on the menu. Choose a weapon, beat some guy up or kill him. Occasionally be given a 'surprise' and have to deal with it. Eat whatever's on the menu, and get some sleep. And so the day repeats itself. Eventually, Hawk was approached by Mosh'grokk. He looked exactly the same, with the same frown stained on his face. He gave Hawk a pair of knuckle dusters and led him to the lower levels of the training areas. The Gurubashi arena obviously had more secrets than he thought, because after brushing past some vines he was led to the outside. A back exit. After an hour's journey, he was led to the same training facility as he did when he took part in the gauntlet. Mosh'grokk stood before a chamber door.

"Alright, Goretalon. Hopefully you've had enough time to prepare for this, even if you weren't aware of it. No audience this time. Speaking of time, to save some for all of us, I've decided to give you two tests in one. Endurance and Reflex. The task is simple. Once you've entered the chamber, you'll see vast amounts of boxes. You are to break the boxes with your fists, and kill whatever is inside. Your endurance is tested by how many boxes you break and your stamina when you finish. Your reflexes are tested on how you kill the creature, and how many wounds you have. The room will only have a dim light to guide you. This isn't something to be rushed, either. Do it in your own time." Hawk nodded slowly as he slipped on copper-coloured knuckledusters. As he went to enter the room, Mosh'grokk put a hand in front of him.

"Remember, Goretalon. Just because you pass 3 Trials it doesn't mean you're a Gladiator yet. It merely shows you have the strength to become one. Your path is far from over." He let his hand drop to the door handle and turn it. With a small click and firm nod, Hawk entered the room.

On the ceiling was a small light which barely increased his vision. He could still see nearly nothing. All he could see were the surfaces and corners of boxes, some large and others small. He could hear rattling, whimpers and growls from the unrest of the untamed beasts. Some were frantically scratching walls, trying to get out, others were motionless and patiently waiting. Hawk peered over a particularly noisy box and clenched a first. He delivered a crushing blow to the box, making it break with ease. Inside was a kobold who foaming at the mouth, who went into a frenzy after being cornered. But however angry it may have been, it didn't stop the knuckles pounding on it's long jaw and then breaking it's weak neck.

Next box. His punch pierced the wood, but it didn't break the box. Hawk let out a yelp as he felt something bite at his fingers. In anger, he grabbed whatever the creature was by the mouth and then ripped it out the box. It was a murloc. He grunted and grasped the murloc with both hands and slammed it into the box. The creature gurgled as splinters of wood punctured it's lungs. Hawk dropped the murloc onto the floor and looked around, looking for the biggest boxes. He saw a Human sized one and decided to topple it over first. The thing inside shrieked. Skeleton. With little visibility, he simply had to punch randomly and hope he hit the head. After shattering some brittle bones and leaving half the box in splinters, he crushed the head.

The demolition continued for a while. Most of the boxes he found were broken with ease and had small creatures inside. Some had multiple. Hawk took in a few breaths as he looked around at the very last box. 19 boxes so far had been obliterated, as well as the creatures inside. Each step Hawk took, he felt a squelch underneath his feet as he stood on torn, bruised flesh and bloody entrails. He now stood before one large, square box, with steel framing. He knelt down and tried to find something that he could strangle with. But all he could find were intestines. He began to bash the centre of the box repeatedly at a rapid speed, until suddenly a side burst open. Hawk was knocked onto his back and looked up at the creature he was facing. A Dragonspawn. Before he could react, it promptly breathed fire.

Hawk hastily rolled out of the way of the fiery blast. Whatever pieces of wood weren't too dampened by blood to be burned were set ablaze, making things much easier to see, incidentally. He quickly rolled forward, dodging a swipe from a talon without even realising. He let loose a flurry to it's flank, several cracks echoing in the small room from fractured ribs. Whilst it was in pain, he climbed onto it's back and sent punch after punch into it's skull, even when it was still dead he continued to strike the fallen creature until it's head no longer had shape. It was a pile of mush beneath his feet. He made his way to the door and shoved it open.

Standing in front of him was Mosh'grokk, who had a proud grin on his face.

"Goretalon... your journey has just begun."

[Hawk]

Hawk followed behind Mosh'grokk through the jungles Stranglethorn, his wounds screaming to be cured. Each step he took, they began to sting, and parts of him wanted to wince and curse in pain. But he couldn't do it in front of his mentor. He couldn't risk embarrassment. There's only one way to the top, and that's by being strong. No weakness, no second chances. And this was the life of a Gladiator. If you lost against a fellow combatant? You become stronger than them. The crowd loses respect? You get it back. You die? You die. No second chances. In the after life the lives you've taken come across your path, seeking morbid justice. Do you let them?

Never.

Mosh'grokk suddenly came to a halt, gesturing Hawk to do the same.

"Wha' is it?" Hawk questioned. The grizzled Orc narrowed his eyes as they prowled around the vale.

"We're being followed..." He growled as he drew his wicked blade, the ringing of the metal piercing the silence. Hawk wasn't wearing any armour, and he didn't have any weapons on his person either. Save for the knuckle dusters. He looked down at the floor and picked up a broken branch, afterwards placing the bloodied fists over his own and clenching them one finger at a time. The warriors' eyes darted towards the faint rustling of leaves amongst the trees. Suddenly a multiple spears soared out of hiding. Hawk felt one of the blades graze his shoulder, opening another wound. Mosh'grokk simply let the spears miss him without so much as flinching. He stabbed his swords into the earth and picked up a spear, hurling it into wherever it came from. A gasp of air was heard and a Troll fell out of the brushes.

Without warning more Trolls flocked to the Gladiators with all sorts of weaponry clutched in their hands. Two of them charged towards Mosh'grokk, yelling as they raised their weapons into the air. Once within range, Mosh'grokk let out a loud roar as he lifted his sword out of the ground and unleashed a brutal cleave, cutting them both in half. Hawk watched in amazement at his mentor's feat before catching a Troll with a battleaxe dashing towards him. The Skullsplitter Tribe were always a nuisance. As the Skullsplitter brought his axe down, Hawk brought up the branch to parry it, but the force of the attack made it fly out of his hand. The enemy went to attack again, but Hawk grasped the axe with both hands before it fell onto him. He kneed the Troll in the ribs and yanked it out of the tribesman's hands. He swung the axe in an uppercut and sliced his face in half.

Hawk looked back to Mosh'grokk. The frightening Orc impaled a Troll on his sword and then whipped the blade, letting the bloody Troll fly off into another incoming opponent. Whilst he was on the floor, Mosh'grokk stomped onto his head, crushing it instantly. Hawk held his battleaxe horizontally to block an incoming sword and rose both their weapons above their head. But before Hawk could headbutt him, he was already beaten to it, and blood was flowing out of his nostrils. Whilst on the floor he hastily grabbed onto a spear and skewered the Troll's gut as it leant in to cut off his head. He scrambled to his feet and threw a spear at a Troll creeping behind Mosh'grokk, who had yet to notice it until he turned around and saw it crumpling at his feet. The pair gave each other a nod before fending off more Skullsplitters.

He tore the spear out of the corpse and looked about for more enemies. He threw the spear once more, but it narrowly missed. As adrenaline pumped through his body he sprinted towards a Shaman and evaded a crackling lightning bolt. He delivered a punch to the old Troll's gut and then moved behind him. He grappled his wrinkled skull and pulled it down. As he was falling onto the floor, Hawk smashed his face into Shaman's face, the force breaking his skull on a rock. He advanced towards his next and final enemy. As the Skullspliiter charged haphazardly towards him, Hawk quickly stepped to the side and then grabbed his neck. In the same motion, and using the berserker's force for a more brutal impact, he proceeded to ram him into a tree. He breathed deeply, already exhausted from his final trials, and looked towards Mosh'grokk once more. Beneath him were Trolls in bloody heaps. He nodded at Hawk.

"Good work, Goretalon. Your fists are weapons themselves. Let's go back to the Arena..."

Hawk nodded at his Battlemaster before kneeling down and picking up an axe with excellent craftsmanship. With a shrug and took it with him and continued the tiring walk back to the barracks. He couldn't help but shake off the feeling that this wouldn't be the first time he would be ambushed, especially with that raven haired Blood Elf constantly watching him at the Gurubashi.

[Hawk]

The raven haired Blood Elf was sitting in chair, leaning back so it teetered on it's two back legs. His feet were propped against a desk which had papers sprawled across it, littered with rushed writing. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and wedged it between his lips. With a snap of his fingers, a small flame flickered around his thumb. He brought it to light his cigar and puffed on it with a relaxed sigh. His weary green eyes were opening and closing as he tried to stay awake. The door he was sitting opposite of creaked open, and to his surprised, it was his arena team as well as a Goblin in a tuxedo. The tired Elf peered at the gathering before placing his feet onto the floor and standing up, slowly pacing around the desk for a while before finally facing them.

"Well?" He asked as he rubbed as his eyelid, rubbing the sleep form his eyes. A Goblin frowned deeply.

"Well, Ran'falah--" The Blood Elf took a step forwards him, pointing a finger at him with a sharp glare.

"I told you not to call me that!" he snapped back. The Goblin put up a hand to interrupt him.

"I can call you whatever I please. Now be quiet and listen. We have good news and bad news."

"Please, do tell..." Ran'falah replied sarcastically. The Goblin narrowed his eyes, but carried on speaking regardless.

"Your rabble of fighters," his hand gestured to them all behind him "have managed to get within the top ranking list. Income is high, and it'll likely stay this way."

"-Likely-" The Elf angrily questioned.

"This is where the bad news comes in. Goretalon didn't die. He was with his Battlemaster at the time. Even if the oaf is one armed he can still put up a fight." Ran'falah paused for a moment after hearing the news. He turned around to his desk and slammed a fist into it.

"Damned Trolls! Even bribery doesn't get you far with them! I should have just done the job myself, rather than relying on a bunch of blue monkeys..." His fist remained clenched until he took in a few breaths to calm himself down. "Alright. I guess I'll just have to-"

"Ran'falah, just face it. You're not going to be able to kill this guy quietly, and you just seem to be getting bad luck." The Goblin had a smirk forming across his face, giving the suggestive look that he had some sort of scheme brewing in his money-filled head. The flustered Blood Elf just looked confused.

"Then what do you suggest we do? Bribe him onto our side?" Ran'falah questioned once more. The devious Goblin held up an official looking sheet of parchment.

"This is a contract, forged of course, which transfers him to an entirely different arena. He'll be out of your girly black hair. But I have to ask, why Goretalon?

"Actually... I'm following orders of someone else. Not my choice, and the boss didn't tell me why. I want him out of here as soon as possible. See how many others of team Bloodmaul you can either get killed or gone without causing too much suspicion... now go."

Two Hours Later

Hawk smirked to himself as he clasped his hands together and held them behind his head, laying down in his bed. Bandages were tied over his hands and torso, already bloodied. He lit up a cigar and puffed on it, heaving a relaxed sigh. As he was about to drift off, he heard a voice that he hadn't heard in a long time. Sniks. A grin spread across his calloused face as he dragged himself out the bed. As he peered around the corner, he could see that Sniks wasn't alone. He could see shadows. Armed Ogre shadows. There was an argument brewing. As voices began to raise, the Ogres barged past Sniks and one of them pointed a meaty finger at Hawk.

"Goretalon?" One of them bellowed. Hawk rose a brow as he tightened his grip on his axe, ready to strike.

"Aye... I am. What's it to ya...?" Hawk replied, the pair of Ogres staring intently at him. Without warning one of them drew their maces and attempted to deliver a concussive blow to the Troll's head. Hawk quickly evaded and used a table as a stepping stool and jolted towards an Ogre, giving him a solid kick the head. The behemoth stumbled backwards and held it's bleeding nose. It roared in anger and attempted to slam the mace directly onto him, but Hawk managed avoid the blow and watch the table shatter in half. He grabbed a spear from the wall and hurled it towards the Ogre at the back who was beginning to advance. It impaled his shoulder, the fat on his torso jiggling as blood dripped down the guard's giant frame. The fighting would end to a screeching halt when the first Ogre thrust a massive fist which connected to Hawk's head.

Though not knocked unconscious, his vision was blurred for a few moments. He felt his wrists being cuffed together and his legs drag across the floor. He could hear Sniks yell behind him as he was taken away.

"Someone else did this! We never ordered a transfer! We're gonna get your ass back here, don't worry!"

Motherfuckers.

[Hawk]

Slam.

Hawk felt his face collide with the sands of the Ratchet Arena. It was far from being a match for the Gurubashi. It couldn't even fill a quarter of the population of the ancient Troll stadium. The place reeked of booze and sweat. Not that the Gurubashi didn't, but it had the fresh smell of the jungle mixed into it which Hawk missed. The crowed seemed more angry than excited, and they were more likely to jump you if you made them lose a bet, regardless if you're the one who won or lost. As Hawk fell to the ground, he pushed himself up and spat out a wad of blood. A Tauren, broad like all of them are, stood over him and let out a deep laugh. His eyes were piercing and his horns were wide and sharp, unique to the usual gorefest style horns that nearly every Tauren seems to have.

"How about it, Troll? Ready to give up? You can just let me break your neck if you want and save the pain." He exclaimed, loud enough so the crowd could hear to add to Hawk's humiliation. The audience let out a quiet laughter at the Tauren's performance. But the toughened Troll wasn't going to go down without a fight. He staggered onto his feet and spat out another wad of blood.

"I don' go down easily, Steakboy." Hawk growled. "Want my blood? Come and get it!" The Tauren was vexed at his opponent's refusal to just let him win. Neither of them were planning to die so quickly. The shu'halo combatant released a humongous fist towards the Troll's crimson, beaten face, but he found himself punching the air. Hawk was lucky that that though this Tauren was accurate and powerful, he was slow. As the two-fingered thrust flew over his head, he crept up behind him and pounded the Tauren's kidneys, stunning him for a moment. But the moment was all he needed. Whilst the warrior was dazed, Hawk fastened his hands upon his left horn. He let out roar as his weakened strength was strained when he pulled on the Tauren's horn as hard as he could. It broke off with a deafening crack and the crowd burst into uproar

The Tauren howled in anguish as felt the sharp pain course through his mind and fell to one knee after receiving an elbow to the back of the neck. Hawk made sure that he suffered for trying to humiliate him. And of course, try to kill him. He pleased the crowd further as he used the same horn he ripped off to gouge out the Tauren's eyeballs. As the screams of pain intensified, as did the crowd's screams of joy. He then skewered the Tauren's jaw and yanked torture tool back out. He gave the gladiator peace of death by finally driving the horn through his skull with a loud crunch. He kicked the body over and decided to keep the horn as a trophy. He spat on the corpse and muttered Zandali words to himself before exiting the arena sands, leaving bloodied footprints with the crowd chanting at him.

Yet another Tauren crossed his path as he strode out of the ring. This was gave him a cold smirk. He was of an unimaginably giant built and height which even gave Hawk a small nervous feeling in his gut. The monster produced a fair of strong, reinforced cuffs and slapped them onto Hawk's wrist, afterwards locking them with a small key. His motor coordination was surprisingly good. Something Hawk hated.

"Let's go, slave." The Tauren bellowed as the captor tugged him along like some mongrel pup. Hawk hated that name with a passion, and each time he was called, his body would burn in anger, only reignited by the fact that he couldn't do anything to help himself. He had to get free. This was not in destiny.

But he would lay patient. He would be waiting. He would break his chains of slavery.

He was seated in the tavern of Ratchet whilst the Tauren exchanged words with a Goblin outside. He would lay patient, and waiting for his chance.