Song of Freedom, 2,380 words

Grifiel heard a mild tapping on the bars of his cell door. The stooped human called Gofer was there. He brought Grifiel his meal. The manacled lizard bent towards the small human.

“Next challenger is ogre.” He whispered.
“Thank you.”

Grifiel rarely thanked skinks. It felt weird to thank a human. He pitied the humans, but he recognized a sort of kinship. They lacked his strength, but they were victims just as he was. Gofer and Tad were willing to give Grifiel information. Grifiel in turn maimed their least favorite guard, Beluar, last year. At least he thought it was last year. Seasons do not pass normally here; time was difficult here.

Grifiel understood some Eldarin, but he struggled to recall what “ogre” meant. Ogres are what elves call the larger members of the Fifth Race. The Big Eaters.

The Crowd loved to see death, but they also liked interesting fights. Grifiel had won most of his fights. Without the Crowd’s support, Grifiel could not survive even one loss. Exotic fighters were prized. An ogre gladiator was almost as rare as a saurus.

Grifiel remembered what he could about big eaters. Back home, He fought a group of raiders that included some Big Eaters. Their weakness is their stomachs. Skinks scared away most of the easy game to make the Eaters hungry and irritable. The saurus solution is to cut open the Eaters’ stomachs and watch them die.

Eaters are strong on the charge. Faster than kroxigor but softer. Must deny him the charge. Too many humans and elves, don’t remember the last time I fought something with a longer reach than me. Need to get in close. Eater will protect stomach. Feint for limb, THEN hit stomach.

Tad brought his next meal.

“They will put Gofer in Blood Rites.”
“Mahrlect!”
“What?” the Human asked. Grifiel switched back to Eldarin.
“I not want Gofer die like that. Set him free.”

The Blood Rite involved slow torture of slaves inflicted by the Witch Elves for the Crowd’s delight.

“What he do make angry the Master of the Games?”
“I not know. No talk more. Not want be next!”

Grifiel pondered the events. The elves liked to cause pain on the humans. They tried physical pain of all sorts on Grifiel. This did not work. Saurus are used to pain.

The elves often make humans harm their friends. They tried to hurt Grifiel by making him fight captured skinks in one of his first arena fights. This did not work. The skinks did not fight back and Grifiel was happy to set them free, they could not endure like Grifiel. They tried to make him fight a Cold One. The saurus joined with his “adversary” and the two killed or crippled several guards before Grifiel was incapacitated while the Crowd watched. The Crowd was so amused that they demanded Grifiel get to live to fight again.

Grifiel won three fights after that the elves intended to be his execution. The last was against, Abarat, a guard who lost a hand to his Cold One. He affixed a sword to his stump and held a shield in his other hand. Grifiel was unarmed and had had his claws manacled behind his back. Abarat walked away missing both hands. The crowd demanded both fighters live. Grifiel earned his title: Bloodjaw, the Flesh Biter. Abarat began a celebrated career as a professional gladiator (now with blades for hands): Two Swords, the Terrible, winning seventeen fights before perishing. He was free of his ridicule. The Crowd's decision to let him live was not out of mercy.

Grifiel knew making it home was impossible. Lustria was too far away the wilderness was too cold to survive. His escape attempts had a different purpose: Destroy the Fallen as great Sotek intends.

Grifiel would eventually kill enough elves that they would no longer justify keeping him alive, then he would be free. His ultimate goal was to kill the Master of the Games or else enter the stands and lay waste to the Crowd. Both the Master of the Games and the elves who watched the games were a pox on the Great Plan that needed to be cleansed.

Eight guards came to drag him to the arena. Beluar limped to the fore.

“You’re dead! Unlike you, the ogre never lost a match! I’m just sorry I won’t get a chance at you first!”

He hit the saurus with a scourge. It would have stripped flesh off a human’s back, but the saurus barely felt it. Grifiel laughed.

“After I give ogre first defeat, you can go next. Get nice title like Two Swords the Terrible. One Leg the Wondrous!”

The other guards all laughed. Beluar drew a blade. Another Elf interjected.

“D’arvit! Beluar, take it easy.”

The guards laughed some more, Beluar bashed the other guard with his blade hilt sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

He raised the blade towards the manacled Saurus. The guards shouted out, some admonishing, some encouraging.

“Stay your hand, Beluar!” the Master of the Games stepped forward from the shadows. The guards fell silent.
“I would not see our prize fighter damaged…not here.”

The guards began leading Grifiel away. A stern look from their leader signaled Beluar was not follow.

“See you in the Arena, Beluar.” Grifiel grunted.

Grifield heard Beluar mutter “D’arvit” as he was led away.

The elves love to deliver cuts and cutting remarks, but they cannot take what they serve.

Grifiel was led to a cell adjacent to the arena. He peered through the bars. He could see the arena and hear the roaring of the Crowd, their chants, boos, cheers, exclamations and curses. Above them rang augmented voice of the Master of the Games.
The pompous Fallen liked to make up elaborate stories about each fighter. Grifiel usually tuned it out. First some human slaves were fed to hungry animals. Next two elves fought to the death for either a title, a mate, a pile of coins, or something else equally worthless.
Next was reenactment of a famous battle against the Elves of Ulthuan. The Prodigal “elves” played by human slaves armed with shiny and functional weapons and armor but absolutely no training.
Next some untrained slaves fought each other, the Crowd found this hilarious. Next came an actual warrior. Grifiel forced himself to pay attention in case they had to fight later.

“NEXT UP WE HAVE A WARRIOR OF THE EMPIRE. EXILED FOR MURDERING A COMMANDNG OFFICER, HE BECAME A PIRATE HARASSING HIS FORMER KIN. THEN HE TRIED TO ATTACK ONE OF OUR SHIPS! ONLY THIS HUMAN SURVIVED! CAN HE SURVIVE HIS NEXT CHALLENGE? FOR HIS FOURTH AND GREATEST BATTLE IN THE ARENA, ALDRIK OF THE CRIMSON BLADE!”

Aldrik fought seven untrained Humans in a loose circle around him. If they all rushed him at once they could have beaten him, but they hesitated. A seasoned warrior, Aldrik did not hesitate. Grifiel carefully studied his fighting technique carefully.

Grifiel was dragged on deck for the match after next.
“DEEP WITHIN THE JUNGLES OF LUSTRIA—"
“Bloodjaw! Bloodjaw! Bloodjaw!”
“—THERE WAS A CROCODILE WARRIOR SO SAVAGE, SO BESTIAL THAT HIS TOAD-LIKE MASTER DROVE HIM OUT OF HIS CITY OF GOLD AND LEFT HIM IN THE JUNGLE TO LIVE A SAVAGE BEAST—”
“Bloodjaw! Bloodjaw! Bloodjaw!”
“TILL HE WAS CAPTURED BY OUR BRAVE SOLDIERS AND BROUGHT HERE. PRESENTING KARON KARR’S OWN CHAMPION, BLOODJAW THE FLESH BITER!”
“BLOODJAW! BLOODJAW! BLOODJAW!”

The elves made human slaves unlock Grifiel’s manacles. Today it was Gofer. Gofer handed him a shield and a weapon.

“I not want go Blood Rite.” He whispered.
“I set you free.”

Now unshackled, the saurus raised a massive fist and brought it down on the human’s head, crushing his skull instantly. A quick death. The Crowd roared in delight. Grifiel shouted the line he was forced to say before every match followed by his favorite Saurian line disguised as a bestial roar.

“Blood for Khaine! Sotek consume all the false gods!”
“BLOODJAW CANNOT WAIT FOR THE CARNAGE TO BEGIN! BUT CAN HE DEFEAT HIS NEXT CHALLENGER? DRIVEN FROM HIS TRIBE AS A THREAT TO THE CHIEF. THIS OGRE HAD SLAIN NUMEROUS MIGHTY BEASTS IN THE WILDERNESS BEFORE FALLING TO NAGGAROTH’S MIGHTY HUNTERS. ALL THE WAY FROM NAGGAROND, THE UNDEFEATED WINNER OF FORTY-TWO CONSECUTIVE MATCHES. GARLOCK, THE CRUSHING FIST!”
“GARLOCK! GARLOCK! GARLOCK!”

The ogre had his own shout to the crowd.

“Khaine can bite my tail!”

The crowd booed at the insult to their deity.

He has spirit. Tail, he couldn’t have meant “tail” Didn’t translate it right. Not important. What do I have? Shield, that’s good. A Bloodstick. Stupid gimmicky weapon.

Bloodsticks are sticks studded with blades. The blades small but razor sharp. They drew blood easily, which the Crowd liked. They were fragile, so the blades broke easily, which the Crowd liked. To keep the blood stick from breaking, a warrior had to strike fast, shallow, and often, slowly bleeding his foe to death. The Crowd liked this best.

The ogre charged. Grifiel jumped to the side. He’s not as big as a kroxigor. He’s as big as a big kroxigor. The ogre charged again. Grifiel side stepped him again. The Crowd was not pleased.

“Quit dancing and fight!”

The ogre had a massive spiked club. He certainly had the reach advantage. Grifiel raised his shield to fend off the Eater’s first blow. His arm ached, and he staggered.

“Garlock! Garlock! Garlock!”

He dove forward and swung his blood stick and the Eater’s gut…only to stop it an inch from contact not wanting to break his weapon.

Mahrlect and D’arvit! They gave him some kind of stomach shield?

He swung at an unarmored leg drawing several gashes and rolled away out of club range.

“Bloodjaw! Bloodjaw! Bloodjaw!”

The Eater shouted something hostile in his own tongue and advanced swinging his club. Grifiel dodge a blow and blocked another, but his shield shattered under the second blow.

“Garlock! Garlock! Garlock!”

Grifiel swung at an exposed arm and drew blood. He drew blood from the ogre’s right leg and Garlock’s counterattack missed the saurus by less than an inch making a gouge in the dirt. The Crowd shouted themselves’ hoarse cheering on both fighters.

Grifiel was faster but Garlock had better reach. They tried and failed to hit each other several times. Some of the Crowd started to boo. The ogre backed up to get ready for a full charge. Grifiel prepared to sidestep the next charge. This time Garlock anticipated his move and jumped sideways to meet the saurus swinging his club. Grifiel instinctively raised his blood stick and when the two weapons connected the blades came loose and tiny blades went flying in all directions. The bloodstick was now simply a stick. The Crowd went wild.

If some of the loose blades didn’t fly into Garlock’s forehead he could have ended the fight there, but hot blood was pouring over his eyes. The saurus dove for the ogre’s uninjured leg opposite the club and bit into the Eater’s calf. The ogre instinctively kicked him loose. Bloodjaw fell backward with a jaw full of bloody tissue. The Crowd roared. Garlock swung his club down but missed. Grifiel pounced on the club, drawing small cuts from the spikes but wrenching the weapon from his foe. He rolled the club away and bit into the ogre’s other leg sending him crashing to the ground. The fight was over. He couldn’t tell if the chants of “Live!” or “Death!” were more numerous. Grifiel spoke to the wounded ogre in Saurian out of respect.

“You have a strong spirit. I set you free now.”
“I CHOOSE—”

Before the Master of the Games’ decree was finished, Grifiel ripped out Garlock’s throat.

“—DEATH!”

Elves came to re-chain him while several weapons were leveled at the saurus or aimed at Grifiel as a precaution. Tad, an expendable slave, was made to lock the manacles within range of Grifiel’s biting distance.

“If I picked to the Blood Rites, will you set me free?”
“Yes.”

The human left the manacles closed but unlocked. Grifiel waited till the Games were over and the Master of the Games came to speak with him. He would not be pleased that “Bloodjaw” did not wait for the Master to pass sentence.

“Bloodjaw, greater fights will come—”
“RIGHT NOW!” Grifiel replied.

He swung the empty chain ring straight at the Master’s face stunning him and confusing the guards as their leader fell back to the ground. The saurus punched one guard in the gut while biting deep into another’s collar. He grabbed a set of keys and freed his legs. Two guards were already striking him but the wounds could not penetrate his hide. His tangled his closest attackers’ blades with a chain and began biting, punching, kicking and tail slapping every bit of elf flesh within reach grabbing a spear Beluar’s dead hands.

Soon all the guards were dying or dead. Grifiel turned to the Master of the Games and tossed his spear aside. After working him over with his bare hands, he grabbed the master’s keys and opened every cell, freeing every human. The saurus tossed the bruised elf into the mob of humans.

“Here is your tormentor. Do as with him as you will.”
…..
“Let me help you up, Master.”
“I’ll clean your wounds.”
"Lean on me."

Every human moved to help the elf, even Tad.

“NOOO!!! Humans too broken to be free. I kill you all. First the elf!”

Shadows congealed revealing a female elf. More shadows poured from the sorceress’ fingers and the saurus crumpled to the crowd weak as an infant. The witch taunted him.

“Not today, reptile, though I am pleased I got to watch you rough up the Game Master.”
“Necessary to prove a point, Valna. I am many things to many people, but to my slaves, I am Sotek.”

He switched to Saurian.

“Some elves collect trophies, I collect broken wills. I’ve broken many creatures but you are my first saurus.”
“I’ll kill you first, and your minions will set me free!”

The elf laughed.
“When you address me as ‘Sotek’, then I’ll allow you the freedom you seek.”

---

This was a piece I wrote for the October-November 2016 Lustria-Online Short Story Contest. It's a testament to how much I loathed my cubicle job that I daydreamed much of this story of a rebellious gladiator slave during a rough few days at work.
This was also inspired by the series finale of the 1990s cartoon, Superman the Animated Series.
I borrowed "D’arvit" from the Artemis Fowl series and use it as a generic swear word for elf characters of all three WHF elf factions.