Role

Chapter 3

A mixture of cheers and boos echoed around the arena as Dhuzok stepped in.
The cheers came from his boys: the underdogs, slaves as the royalty liked to
call them. Those who had fought and proven their way into the Elite Guard. To
Dhuzok they were everything, they'd trained, fought and bleed together. He
would die for them. He would also fill their beds with whitesteel shavings
later that night, but such pranks were expected in the barracks.

Raising his favoured daggers, Dhuzok nods briefly towards his opponent: Lord
Dergrumi. In a flash Dergrumi is upon him, heavy axes swinging wildly. Never
before had he moved so fast and it took all of Dhuzok's natural talent to
evade them, never able to return a blow.

On and on they fought, confidence slowly returning Dhuzok as he began to
realise that whilst his opponent was faster, he still fought exactly as he
always had.

There, his favourite combo: a low sweeping swipe, followed by a wild overhead
swing. Dhuzok steps in and slams his blade into the Lord's thigh, punching
deep into the armour. Dergrumi releases out a roar of pain, as blood pumps
out of the wound at an unnatural pace.

"Magics! Ah shoulda ya known yer dirty cheatin' royal rat!" curses
Dhuzok, "Even still, look where it got ya, yer Lordliship, squealin' like
a stuck pig." Laughing loudly, Dhuzok turns and strolls out of the arena.