The Breton female ran the back of the wooden spoon through the slop inside of the small wooden bowl - which appeared to have some of the remains of yesterdays slop crusted around the rim. She may be a snob, but she had gone too long without eating to continue to be spiteful over it.

She sat closest to the bars of the prison - the reason being that the guards had decided it would be amusing to give her the pleasure of spending her stay in the dungeons in the call they fondly referred to as the "shitbox". The reason for this name being that there was a connection to the sewers by the window, and it would occasionally run through into the call. Thus, it was quite literally a shitbox. This was of course the best place to stuff a hoity-toity Breton witch. But really, it was a combination of everything. The smell of shit, the smell of other prisoners, the 'food', the dirt, and the fact she was forced to wear hemp rags.

She took a mouthful of the porridge, and had to force it past her own pursed lips. It tasted of nothing, and had the most disgusting texture of anything she'd ever eaten. It was no roast pheasant supper. She gagged on the slop but somehow managed to get it down. That was enough, she couldn't eat the whole bowl. Turning her head to the right, she got to watch an older Nord man shovel the very same putrid porridge down his gullet. "Disgusting..." she said to him, with a snooty look that she fired over in his direction. He blew her a kiss in response, oats slipping out of his lips as he did so. She heaved.

She wasn't sure how she had found herself in the Dragonsreach Dungeon. It was surely a misunderstanding. All she'd done was slip her hand into a man's pocket - but it had been a trade of services! She had healed him of his wounds, and - yes, he may have been passed out and drunk - but a deal was a deal. Anyway, the Whiterun guards had plucked her out of her seat, stripped her of her robes and belongings, and shoved what was probably a potato sack over her head and tossed her into the shitbox before she'd had enough time to explain.

It had now been 3 full days of guards and disgusting prisoners alike blowing her kisses, whistling at her, and gawping at her bare legs. The rags were not doing a good job at covering her up. She supposed it was on purpose. Her hair was dry and knotted, in a pile upon her head tied in place with a leather strip. She'd be damned if she was going to get her locks dipped in excrement.



On day five she was taken from her cell and into the guards area. She wasn't sure why until she saw that one of the guards had been the victim of a run in with a frostbite spider and it's venom was working it's way through fast. "Oh my..." she said softly, in a husky tone. "That looks rather nasty.. You better get yourself to a doctor..." a smile played on her lips. She had a position of power here.

"'E can't. Cos we's not supposed to 'av them spiders down here..." said a large and... well, stupid looking Nordic guardsman.

"Well gentleman, my hands are tied... I'm a prisoner, I shouldn't be doing my Magics down here - you took away my things..." she made eye contact with the man with the wound, she could see the pain in his eyes, he was biting down on his lip to stop from crying.

"Look, wha dya want, scrub?!" asked the big one. The Breton thought on it for a moment.

"Well, for a start you can take me out of the shitbox. I want a proper meal, and I want proper clothing."

"You can av one of dem fings."

"I will have all three, or no dice."

The guards then began to look to each other, whereas the poor injured soul was pleading with his eyes for them to relent.

"Fine, we'll move you down to the uvva block, we'll share our meal tonight, and we'll give you pants."

She smirked, knowing that she had gotten her way and so began to get to work on the Guard. Making sure to take longer, and poke the wound just a little bit too much...



The next morning, Raelynn Hawkford found herself in a new block. Away from the scum of the other side, perhaps now with some more distinguished criminals. She was in pants, and a lighter shirt, and she had a belly full of roast chicken and Nord Ale. It could be worse, but really it could not be any worse at all - she was still a prisoner after all.

As she surveyed her surroundings, the cell opposite hers took her attention. There was a man in there, lying on the floor facing the wall. She couldn't see his face but she surmised from his backside that he was an Imperial. His arms indicated that he was some kind of swordsman or mercenary. She smirked. This could be her way out of here. This man wasn't a petty pickpocket or town drunk. He wasn't a lowly peasant just thrown in a cell for nothing. This man had done something major to get himself tossed in here.

"Hmmm... now now, what's an Imperial like you doing down here in the gutter, huh?" she asked, standing up, hanging her arms through the bars, standing seductively against them, ready to catch his eye when he turned over to answer.

The stone floor wasn't as uncomfortable as one might think. In fact, compared to the other two dungeons he had the misfortune of being dragged into, Dragonsreach was a veritable inn. So far he had only seen two rats in the three days he had spent here, the place was well furnished for a prison, and the walls and floors were well carved. If only the guards fed him regularly, he wouldn't mind being in here too much, other than the very real possibility he would be hanged within a day or two.

The mere act of letting out a frustrated breath caused him to realize just how much he truly wanted to live. He'd rather a quick beheading or an arrow from a bandit ending his life than kicking and gagging until the life was chocked out of him. He very much wished he had his sword in his hand to at least practice some of his forms to pass the time. He suddenly felt his thick mane of dark hair tickling his neck, the hair covered a handsome and somewhat noble visage, though there was definitely a rakish quality to him. With a groan, seemingly more annoyed he found himself in a deadly situation than afraid, he sat up and scratched his head. He felt both tired yet restless, and yet again lamented on the fact he felt like living.

"Hmmm... now now, what's an Imperial like you doing down here in the gutter, huh?" a honeyed voice purred, reaching his ears. He blinked, never having thought he'd hear a sultry woman's voice in Dragonsreach. The young mercenary turned to see a shapely blonde woman gazing at him from across the way, similarly imprisoned.

Markus fancied himself a savvy man, and indeed he was most of the time. He knew a con when he saw one. The glint in her eyes and the smile had him suspicious at least. However...his stay in Whiterun had been particularly dry, and he was a man first and foremost. The spellsword did take a second to drink in her curves and smile, and realize one last time how much he wanted to live, and at this moment it was for a very particular reason. The unguarded moment passed quickly, however. He was still very intrigued at her interest, but he wasn't a slobbering guard. Still, after considering he realized there was no harm in humoring a lovely woman.

"Would you like the long version or the short version?" He asked, amusement clear on his face. After a second, he slid over to the cell door and, while still sitting on the floor, one knee up and one leg out, he faced her and held the rails, his sleeves sliding off to reveal toned and scarred arms. He shrugged. "I had a bounty to collect. Turned out it was more of an illegal hit and I was blamed for being misled. Slaying a Jarl's brother is considered..." He looked out at down the hall to the sleeping guard, propped on his chair. His voice grew both wry and tired simultaneously. "...bad."

Grunting, he pulled himself to his feet with merely his arms holding onto the rails, and patted himself off. "How about you? A woman as pretty as you is rare in a dungeon from my experience."

She listened to his words intently. So he'd killed a Jarl's brother. Interesting. He was obviously capable, Imperials usually were. She noted how dull his tone at the tale. She did wonder had he given up - was he just going to accept this fate? Or was this an act - or, more believably, was he just tired and feeling like shit?

She looked him over a few times before she answered him, choosing to ignore his compliment of sorts, in a coy fashion she spoke with a hint of humour lingering "oh you know, a simple mistake." She smirked as she answered, she wasn't going to hint to any level of guilt to a soul in here. Lord knew who was listening in. "Didn't kill anyone though, that's a slight pickle you've gotten yourself into there. Would be a shame for someone like you to just.... rot down here."

She heard the guards upstairs pottering around, their boots shuffling. Gods, couldn't they pick up their feet when they walked? It was so uncouth to drag around. Besides, they were soldiers. They should have manners and finesse and military discipline. She bet that they had probably committed more heinous crimes than any of the peasants locked down here. "I would really like to get out of here though. That would be nice."

She looked at him again, and at his cell. A slight feeling of resentment towards the fact that this individual had slain someone and had been put in a nicer cell than she had for her slight crime. Of course that was the case, they loved to make a woman miserable. Still, none of them had tried to violate her at all which she had been slightly fearful of. Although, the more she thought about it, she had indeed been violated. Her senses had been violated. The smell of shit still burnt through her nostrils.

"My name is Raelynn, by the way..." she stuck a hand out through the bars, as if to shake his own - knowing full well they would never reach - she found humour in it regardless.

Someone like me? he thought. Even if she was in fact considering him an easy way out, he had to admit she knew how to butter a man up. Whether or not she was being sincere with her compliments, he would find out. But the way she spoke was a hint he caught on, that she still had an inkling of hope getting out of here. He hadn't entirely given up either, but his escape plan would be somewhat daring. Lifting a sword off one of the guards as they escorted him to the gallows, sort of daring.

As much as he enjoyed risking his life, it was already forfeit at the moment. He had nothing to lose making acquaintances with a beauty and perhaps making an escape out of here. What could the guards do to him? If they have their way, he would be dead in three days. "Seems to me it would be doubly shameful to see you waste away," he said, leaning forward, his forearms resting on the horizontal bars connected the others at the center of the door. "If you just made a small blunder. Nords can be a bit rash apparently."

His next words were earnest, and he mirrored her hand shaking movements. "Markus." he said with an easy smile. "Markus Flintbrook. Sword for hire until it got me sentences to death." He was indeed tired of his time in this cage. Normally, he would only be this easygoing if he were to find Raelynn in an Inn or at a social gathering. He never imagined showing a flirtatious or cordial side in jail, but he was.

He would rather fight his way out as he'd always done, or maneuvered and vaulted over guards and chairs. But they had caught him with overwhelming numbers, and he didn't know any spells to get him out of this cell.

"Tell me Raelynn, would that simple mistake you made have anything to do with sleight of hand?" He said, smiling amusingly. Nine Divines he must be tired, for him to make light of this situation.

"Sleight of hand?" She replied, her eyes locked onto his own with a devilish smile playing across her lips; "perhaps, but really, a Lady never tells."

She drew away from the bars, pulling her arms back inside as she took a slow backwards walk to the small bed at the side of the cell. She exhaled as she sat back onto it. Thinking only of a way to get out of this miserable place. She had so far managed to hook her neighbour - or at the very least pique his interest.

She looked up at the insultingly small barred window of her cell, taking yet another deep breath as she thought about it, before turning back to Markus, less of a spark of excitement in her eyes, and more a touch of desperation. Truth be told, she was. She had no idea how long she'd be left to wilt down here. There was something about the Imperial that suggested that he was the way out - and from what she could father, she had him on board now.

"So how are we going to do it then? Need me to seduce a guard while you pickpocket him? Or, would you prefer that role?"

-

"I've never been in a predicament like this, Markus. So you might have to lead the way. I promise that if you get so much as a scratch during our act of escape, that I'll mend it for you. So what do you say? Care to tell a Lady how to break out of jail?"

He wondered if Raelynn was up to the task. She seemed a bit too good to be true. Markus had to admit this woman was as attractive as they came, in both body and manner. And more importantly, she seemed as if she listened to every word he spoke about how to escape. Unfortunately, he would have to take her up on her offer of healing. By the time they escaped, he imagined he would have plenty of wounds and cuts. And so he told her his plan...

An hour later, the guards gathered around Markus' cage, for Raelynn had screamed that he had escaped his cell. Three guards poked their heads around the corner to gaze into the cell, to see Markus wasn't there anymore. "What in the nine?" one of them mouthed, only to receive a kick to the face by Markus as he let go of the rafter along the ceiling, swinging down like a swinging axe and knocking the guard across the way to hit Raelynn's cell. If she could grab the keys from his belt without him noticing, then they were as good as gone.

However, it would take time. And before that happened, Markus would need to deal with what he started. The guards opened the cell, cursing and glaring at him as they advanced, unsheathing their clubs. Markus backed up, knowing there was no way to escape or win after having pissed them off. Perhaps he could beat three guards unarmed, but even he did, there were more further down the hall.

He ducked the swing of a club and punched the guard in the gut, kicking the shin of a second man and bringing him to a knee. Before he could knocking him into the ground, the third club caught Markus on the back, and he staggered, only to get pummeled merciless for a full minute, doing his best to cover his head as the guards had their fun. By the time they were finished, he had blood blurring his vision and more than a few new bruises. Luckily, nothing seemed to be broken.

He simply lay there for a short while, a bit too numb to check on if Raelynn had been successful. Once he regained his senses, he groaned and sat up.

The Breton didn't want to disturb Markus as he lay back. She had had far too much fun watching him swing at those guards. She merely stood at the door to his cell, leaning against it with an elbow resting on the bars. She held out a hand into his cage - knowing that the door was hoping, wondering if her did. He held out the keys to him on her finger, and watching him come up for air. "Well, that was exhilarating to watch," she purred in a soft tone to him, "but you may have to deal with some more. I hope you're ready and capable."

She took the opportunity while he was lying on his back to eye up him in his entirety. He was tall, strong, and his face was rather handsome. Maybe she could have a little more fun with this one. It had been a while since she had fun with someone, and there was no better time than now. She was still in his company, at least until they had gotten out into the wild. Maybe then they would go their separate ways. But until then...

"So how do you propose we continue our great escape, Markus?" She wanted him to believe he was the brains of the operation, men liked it when they felt in control and when a man was happy to be in control, he was easily exploited.

Markus took a deep breath, his long dark mane splayed out on the floor as he looked up toward the ceiling. The world had come back, and if he was less dazed he might have noticed Raelynn appraising him, but he decided to just wait a bit before he spoke, just in case the guards were close by. "Well...we wait until dark and then you get us both out of these cages." he whispered, and sat up. He was scuffed and bleeding slightly from a split lip, but he seemed fine otherwise.

In fact he seemed more than fine. He seemed dangerous. The marked cuts on his toned arms and the ease at which he spoke after he had just been beaten near to death showcased that. "If I can get to my sword and we get the drop on them..." The idea of incapacitating guards was more welcome than killing them. He didn't want death on his hands, particularly because it would mean they might be pursued far more than a few knocks on their heads.

"We're not too far from the edge of town. We can make it over the walls easy enough. Just stick close." He spat out a small bit of blood and wiped the rest from his lip. Soon the sun would set, and Raelynn would go to work. They had been here long enough to know when the guard shift changes were done with, and the night guards were more lax in their perception, usually close to midnight. What's more, they were busy eating their dinner then too. They might be able to steal some fruit or meat to take with them. Markus grinned at the thought.
@Stormflyx

As the Breton watched him in his cage, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt over him getting so hurt. She could leave him in there as he suggested, but she was feeling impatient and slightly sorry for him too. He hadn't noticed the key dangling from her finger either - he was more hurt than he was letting on. So, with a soft sigh she clicked open the lock of his cage with the key, and with a gentle push it opened. "I think you're slightly concussed, Markus." She strolled into the cage and paced around him, eyes baring down upon him.

"You know, I may be able to... whip up a distraction of some kind." A twinkle of mischief fell on her eyes and her lips began to smirk. She brought herself down to her knees, bringing her face to face with Markus, she moved her fingers ever so, and they lit up with a warm golden light that she brought to his lips carefully, slowly tracing the outline of his mouth with the very tips of her fingers - her touch barely there and yet very present, enough to mend his open wound. She could sense from the way he was slouching that the beating had been hard on him.

With another motion of her hand, she brought it down slowly to his chest, her piercing gaze never faltering from his eyes. She placed her hand on his chest and released more of her magicka into him, finally she closed her eyes - as if to feel what was happening inside of him. "Mmmm, that feels painful, no wonder you're riled up. A little magic touch should have you feeling better..."

Feeling that she had done enough, and feeling that she had gotten close enough she quickly got herself back to her feet and scurried out of his cage before he had time to respond, abruptly closing the door behind her and sashaying back to her own cage, hiding the key inside of her shirt.

"So we wait til nightfall then..." She sighed, staring out of the slotted window and up to the sky.

Markus tried to gather himself as best he could, but to his surprise he saw Raelynn throw caution to the wind and saunter over to his cell as if this was a conjugal visit! He didn't have enough wits about him to stand up immediately. "What are you-" he asked, before her eyes bored into him and she knelt down, placing her hands on him as she began to perform healing spells. He felt the restorative magicka flowing through him.

He couldn't look away from her eyes, the blue orbs swallowing him up. His own dark eyes would look even darker, akin to chocolate shadows of night. Once she was done, he placed a hand to his chest and steadied himself, letting her scamper off. He had never felt odder than that moment. That wasn't what he would fantasize about a woman as beautiful as her, but it was nearly as pleasant. In fact he felt vaguely uncomfortable, because it was so pleasant and intimate, and it was in such contrast to the woman he thought he had gotten to somewhat know.

He turned in time to catch the sway of her hips as she entered her cage. "Thank you." he said breathlessly, though it sounded all too soft and quiet for the large favor she had just done him. Perhaps she had wanted to get even, for him taking a beating for her. Maybe she simply wanted him at peak performance to escape? He didn't know.

Yes...they would wait for nightfall. Markus declined onto the sidewall, resting his head. It wouldn't be long now...

---

The moon had risen, and the cool air of Skyrim had turned far cooler. Many would call it frigid, and even inside they felt the nip of the chill. The guards moved about methodically, their footsteps audible over the stone. And in the spellsword's cell, Markus stirred and opened his eyes, having kept his gaze away from looking further within the jail to let them get used to the dark. He had no idea if Raelynn was ready, but he gave one snap of his fingers.

To anyone not privvy to their plan, it would sound like any creak, or crackle of fire, or any other mindless, numerous noise of the dark. But it was close enough to feel keen in Raelynn's ears, and to Markus' hearing, he had just stopped hearing the guards movement down the hall.

The time was now.

The cold air was indeed frigid, and Raelynn felt it rustle through her hempen tunic - which was really beginning to scratch at her skin now. Oh how she longed for something soft - even a simple linen would be preferable at this point. She almost moaned audibly, slipping into daydreams about silken gowns and velveteen jackets... Finery that she had taken for granted. She certainly wouldn't again.

As well as clothing, she was thinking about a nice bed. With a fur throw, by a hearthfire. There was even wine on a table, flowers in a vase. It smelled nice in the room. Dimly lit with a soft orange glow illuminating the bare wooden floorboards. "Mmmmm.." She sounded out, with her eyes closed. The next layer of her fantasy involved a plate of food that was solid and not slop. Where the vegetables served had a crunch and a taste. There was even a chocolate pudding. "Hmmmmm...." she sighed longingly again, propped up against the wall of the cell, one leg outstretched and the other pulled towards her chest, it swayed back and forth as she felt herself drifting in and out of a sleepy daze.

It wasn't until her neighbour snapped his fingers that she was pulled completely from it with a start. Gone was the heartfire, the furs, and the food - it was just iron bars and cold hard cobwebbed floors again. Not for long.

She scooched over to the bars and nodded in his direction, acknowledging his snap. She stuck an arm out of the cage, twitching her fingers as a spell began to form there - a blue light swirling around her hand until it was the size of an orb in her palm, with as much concentration as she could muster, she fired it as far down the hallway as she could. A portal opened, and out jumped the ghostly apparition of a wild wolf who immediately began to howl. It echoed through the silent hall and was music to her ears. The next noise was the percussive stomping of the guards rushing to check out the sound. Off the wolf ran, out of sight.

"Can't hold it for long I'm afraid, but it'll give us a minute or two." With that said, she took the key out of her shirt and opened her own cage first and then Markus's second. "Now what?" She asked, a dangerously wicked grin on her face.

His eyes opened. Even with their dark coloring, the moon outside lit them up like a demon's eyes. Terrible yet entrancing simultaneously. He rose up in front of her, moving the fringe out of his face. There was the makings of a small beard on his chin and upper lip, though at the moment it simply looked like shadow. Perhaps in a few days it might become a goatee. He gave a smile that showed his teeth. "Now we escape." he told her, the words coming out as if he had already slit the guard's throats himself.

"Stay close to me." He whispered, and headed out of the jail cell, holding her hand gently until they were in the hallway, his mind purely on their surroundings.

Men loudly cursed and yelled as the wolf apparently had one of the men's hands in its mouth, snarling and yanking. Swords were drawn and the telltale footpadding of the wolf running out of the doors was evident. Markus pressed against the stone wall and took a breath, before stepping out into the main hall of the prison to see one guard, alone and spreading his hands over the desk at the front of the corridor, searching for something.

"Hey," Markus said casually, grabbing his attention after already being a mere four paces from him. The man's eyes widened. "Looking for the keys? We found a few back that way."

The guard's hesitation was all Markus needed, and as he drew out his sword, the rakish man sprang, grabbing the man's drawing arm and keeping the sword in its hilt, before allowing it to be yanked out. He kicked the guard's leg, sending it in an awkward angle and subsequently disarmed him with a well timed elbow strike and quick hands. The guard was felled after he was pummeled by the hilt of his own sword.

Despite the fact he was armed, Markus didn't want this blade. He tossed it on the ground and approached the weapon's rack, finding a bastard sword that he greeted like an old friend. The door open, cool air flowed into the prison. A kiss of freedom. After he holstered the weapon to his belt, Markus gave Raelynn a look. "We need to make it to the walls before they get back."

Raelynn could feel it in her body that the spell was waning, the expulsion of her familiar always gave her a slight sting in the chest. It was such a part of her own soul, she assumed, and tied so closely to her flow of magicka. Of course she would feel it. She squeezed on Markus’s hand when it happened, it was just the two of them now.

While he took care of the guard, she had made her way to a cloak stand, taking from it some kind of weathered tunic. It wasn’t hempen and scratchy, and the sleeves were long and warm. It felt at least soft, and while Markus’s back was turned she slipped into it with ease, feeling relief on her skin as she did so. Now, now she just looked like a guard on her first day of work... An innapropriate laugh escaped her lips as she joined Markus back at his side.

The Breton was grateful, however, that the tunic didn’t allow her too much safety from the cold - because the breeze of fresh air that greeted her at the open door was splendid, she gasped and allowed herself less than five seconds to inhale and taste it. “So let’s fly then, Markus,” she said with a genuine grin that held warmth and gratitude in equal measure.

Then, it was Raelynn who led the way.

The blonde reached for Markus’s hand and she grasped at it, running out in the darkest, safest direction so that they could make it to the wall, and make it as soon as possible.

---

---

The land of Hammerfell is known for three things. Opulent wealth, vicious warriors, and heat the likes of which no one has ever dreamed. Markus had experienced the latter in spades, the former not at all, and he was about to see if it was true what they said about their fighters, for he found himself in a rather 'precarious position,' one blonde woman might have said. A woman he had known only for a brief time, but one that had saved his life, as he had hers.

"GET UP, you scum!" a rough voice ordered, drawing Markus out of his sleepless daze. The spellsword looked around the cramped waiting cell, seeing the other fighters in fear, some ritualistically scarring themselves to atone to their gods, as others simply seemed excited to shed the blood of others. Well, there was one thing Markus could say about the prisons in Hammerfell that was a stark contrast to those in Skyrim.

They weren't boring.

"Move! Move, you rats!" The jailer ordered, getting his goons to pick up any stubborn prisoners and whipping those who moved too slowly. "Get out there! The crowd awaits and they will get what they came to see! If you die with a clean sword, you'll not receive a burial. We'll feed you to the pigs!" The cries echoed into the weapons room as every man grabbed the weapon they felt most comfortable with. Markus was lucky his own sword was among the inventory, and he grabbed it before anyone else could.

Briefly, he wondered how he had gotten himself into this mess, but he remembered far too quickly. One of the local lords or satraps, or whatever they were called, had taken offense to him as a foreigner. True, Markus had not given the man a wide berth in the barroom and had killed two of his guards when they had tried to throw him out. He had never had a healthy trust in authority, and it had gotten him into this.

Now the lordlings father was outside now, watching the fighting pits and expecting to see the prisoners and slaves to fight their utmost best to survive. If Markus had heard correctly, they would not all be fighting one another at the same time. They'd be cordoned off to different fighting pits, killing one another or fighting animals to see who would make it to a second, final round, as even most winners died of their wounds before the last fight.

The shadows played off of Markus' rugged visage, the swordsman wrapping cloth around his forearms to help in case he needed to block without the use of his blade.

With their blades and weaponry handled, they were sectioned off and sent into different tunnels that snaked through the hard rock of the underground. Each had a guard behind them, dripping blood on their shoulders and holding a torch to guide their way towards the gate, though after a few steps it was easy to see. It was where the only light came from. As if on cue, the portcullis creaked open as Markus approached, and the crowd roared.

Markus stepped out, dark hair as thick and long as ever, and with a few more scars along his jawline and shoulder blades. He looked roughened, but still somehow refined in his current state. Squinting, the sun without a cloud in the sky to hamper it, he attempted to look around for any escape route. He saw none, but his gaze kept returning to a blonde haired beauty that he could swear was looking straight at him. There was something familiar about her, but the light of the day obscured his vision, having just stepped out of the shadows.

The gate opposite him began to move, gears churning as the steel gave way and allowed his challenger to enter. Luckily, he needn't look up to see he was fighting a brutal looking Orc. Leather straps across his broad chest, his eyes were bloodshot as if he was under the effects of some drug, and dual axes were clutched in the gladiator's meaty fists. He had faced Orcs before, but there was a measured way in how it moved while still twitching in an alarming fashion.

Briefly he glanced back up at the beauty, and there was something there that he swore he recognized. It looked like she was someone he had met before. He was delving into his mind on this very fact when the gong was struck by the hammer, and it was all Markus could do to survive the first axe that had been aimed at the crown of his skull. He took one step back with a guarded look, taking his sword out of its scabbard as the second axe swept in. He had moved on instinct, and it was the wrong instinct, as the blow was far too heavy to block and it knocked his own sword into him. Luckily, it was the flat of the blade and he merely stumbled back with nothing but a split lip.

The Orc now had his full attention, and as the Mer waded in with a series of X slashes that Markus ducked and caught with his blade to redirect it rather than parry. The spellsword was not weak by any stretch of the imagination, but the Orc was built like bull and it was all he could do to keep himself from being split in half. Markus stabbed forward, the Orc's axe blade turning his own, and he attempted to counter with an upward sweep. Markus spun and sliced, yet again his sword was caught by the under end of the axe head, the Orc grinning terribly before he realized his error, as the axe had only redirected it. Markus stepped forward and simply continued to move his blade, half-swording for a moment to cut open a deep gash into the Orc's midsection.

To his credit, the Orc didn't seem too phased other than giving a small shriek before headbutting Markus. The swordsman blinked, his vision growing blurry as he backpedaled and nearly fell prone. On instinct, the correct instinct this time, he flung himself to the side as the axes sliced downwards. When Markus hit the ground, he saw the Orc's groin was open and he didn't need to be told twice. He pushed his blade deep into the Orc's lower stomach, probably cutting the gladiator's manhood as he did so. This time, the Orc felt it and he let out a heavy grunt, dropping his axes into the arena dust as he desperately tried to hold in his intestines.

"Fucker," Markus breathed, managing to groggily get to his feet with his blade. The Orc looked down at the ruins of its body, then back up at Markus just in time to see the end of its life, and its head flew from its shoulders to land noisily on the floor of the coliseum. What happened next was pure, utter silence.... And then the crowd roared, and as the rugged swordsman tried to realigned his thoughts after having been knocked in the head, he attempted to look up one more time at where the woman was. But she was gone, and he was ushered out to have his wounds tended to and food to be brought, going back into the darkness as if he had never left it, save for a bright dream of blood and dirt.

"Suppose I should be thankful," he told himself.