Anyways hello everyone that may remember me I did some fan fics that I never really had time to finish or just didn't have the inspiration to continue so I decided to write a short story...that way I would be sure to finish it...right well here it is. If you take the time to read this I hope you enjoy.
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Of all the Khajiit slaves trained to fight in the arena Ramir Sugar-Tooth was by far the most overzealous. He was always the first of all the students to rush into everything, including fights against opponents he'd never even seen in action. Promised fame, fortune, and freedom by wealthy slavers, he was too eager to do anything it took...which eventually led to his downfall. His final fight occurred after he met a dark elf named Dorik in the arena...the battle was epic.
One day after training he entered the room where he would draw his next opponent, wiping sweat from his whiskers and taking a long drink from his guar hide canteen. He closed the top of the canteen and tied it to his belt slowly before pushing past the other fighters and reaching into the small metal container on the table, drawing out a small piece of paper. He opened it and stared at the name for a moment before giving it to his Dunmer master, who stood beside him.
"Dorik? Never even heard of this kid...here's a bit of the money you made Sugar-Tooth...use it to buy equipment for the next fight. It won't be much longer before you're a free Cat." The Slaver said, taking a large portion of the winnings from the last fight and giving Sugar-Tooth only a small amount
"Yes Master." He nodded in obedience
Sugar-Tooth turned to leave the room and began to walk but his arm was grabbed swiftly by the slaver.
"I'd like you to watch the next fight your opponent is in so you can learn his style and assess his skill." The slaver said
Sugar-Tooth nodded but had no intention of following through, he had never taken the time to observe an opponent before and he'd never lost a death match before so he reasoned that he was good enough with a blade that he didn't need to waste his time watching his enemies when they would soon be corpses.
He stopped at the local armorer and slowly opened the door, looking at the man's wares.
"Can I help you?" The armorer said in distasteful and almost mocking tone when he saw it was a Khajiit entering
"I'd like to see your blades, my last one was broken in the arena." He hissed
"Well take a look around then...lots of arena fighters buy the cheap, low quality stuff but not so many of them are repeat customers if you take my meaning." The old man laughed and pointed to the wall to his left.
"There's the stuff you'll want to look at if you want to live." He added
After a few moments and some negotiating later Sugar-Tooth left the shop with the most expensive sword he could afford and a new bonemold chestplate...fine armor for a fine fighter. He returned to the small farm outside of town where he lived and entered the wooden shack where he lived.
He passed the night drinking ale and eating kwama eggs, his favorite meal. The morning after was the big fight with Dorik. On his way to the arena he pushed past the commoners eagerly and disrespectfully, even causing some to fall to the ground. He truly felt better than them, even as a slave he believed himself superior.
He spent the next few hours training on one of the hay filled fight dummies and drinking ale, not even fazed by the fact that he would be fighting within the next few minutes. He left the training room and walked down the hall, sitting down on his bed in the fighter's quarters shortly after.
"Are you sure you should be drinking that right before your big fight?" One of the fighters asked
"Ha! Do you know who I am?" Sugar-Tooth hissed in his belief
"Hey whatever you want to do its your funeral." He said
"You fool...I hope to meet you in the arena some day...you will be the one worried. Not I." The Khajiit said in anger
The other fighter rushed off angrily, slamming the door behind him. A quiet tap came at the door shortly after.
"What does it want?" Sugar-Tooth said darkly
"Sir your fight is due now." A voice said
Sugar-Tooth stood from his place and walked down the halls and to the door leading to the pit. He listened to the crowd roar outside and the announcer speaking loudly, calling his name. He entered and looked around at the people filling the stadium, smiling arrogantly...sure of his coming victory.
His opponent emerged from the door across from him slowly. Sugar-Tooth laughed at the dunmer boy before him, dressed in chitin armor and wielding an old rusted blade.
"How did this boy even make it past the amateur rounds?" He thought to himself
The announcer counted down.
"Three"
Sugar-Tooth smiled in anticipation.
"Two"
His heart beat sped up, ready for the fight.
"One"
His feet began to move toward his opponent and he dropped into an offensive stance.
"Fight"
Sugar-Tooth charged at the young dunmer before him furiously swinging his blade and missing. The Dunmer was surprisingly agile and strong, nearly striking the Khajiit many times in a short period of time. The Khajiit drew back his blade and brought it down hard upon the blade of the Dunmer, forcing him to the ground.
Dorik rushed to his feet and threw sand into Sugar-Tooth's eyes. As the Khajiit recovered and wiped his eyes he swung his blade wildly with his other arm, barely managing to cut the arm of his attacker. The battle continued for the better part of an hour before it ended.
Finally with one lucky blow Sugar-Tooth managed to get past Dorik's defenses and cut a wide gash across the dunmer's chest...he fell to his knees and the crowd grew silent. The Khajiit stood for a moment and marveled at his work before drawing back and dealing the final jab, killing the dunmer. The crowd seemed somewhat displeased at the outcome...it was clear they had expected Dorik to prevail.
Sugar-Tooth threw his arms into the air and smiled a wicked smile, bearing his sharp teeth and widening his eyes. The crowd applauded and he exited the arena, making his way to the fighter's commission to collect his pay.
He felt even more confident now than he did before and he decided to take silt strider to Balmora where he would enjoy his freedom, granted by his old master. As he walked across the bridge past a group of fans he saw a young boy blocking his path...the boy couldn't have been more than eight or nine. He stopped and stared at the boy in anger, the fact that such a small boy stood in his way infuriated him. The dark elf boy wore ragged clothes and had dirty hair as well as a crooked smile.
"Move out of the way boy! Do you know who I am?" He hissed at the boy
"Yes...you're the man who killed my brother Dorik." He said sadly
"Yes and I'm proud of it too! He was little more than an obstacle on my road to fame and fortune...and of course my freedom." The Khajiit said arrogantly
"You'll never be free if I can help it." The dunmer boy said drawing a dagger
The Khajiit laughed and drew his sword, drawing back to kill the child before him. As his blade fell in anger the boy's face tensed up and he stepped to the side, perfectly jabbing his dagger between the opening between the Khajiit's chestplate and greaves in one fluid motion. A self proclaimed master of swordsmanship bested by a small child, seemingly defenseless just moments before.
Sugar-Tooth fell to his knees and stared at the boy in confusion and surprise. The boy now stood before him with the dagger at his throat.
"How did you?" Sugar-Tooth gasped
"Jamja has watched every fight since you started years ago Khajiit..." The boy's father said stepping from the darkness
"You've always been so quick to be rash and violent with little thought about the consequences of such action." The man drew a longsword and jabbed it through Sugar-Tooth's chest
"And it would seem that in this case...overconfidence killed the Khajiit." The man said
As blood began to flow from the open wound, Sugar-Tooth pondered these words as he died. The skill of a fighter is not measured by the quality of his armor or the power of his blow, but his grace and bravery in the face of danger. Overconfidence is weakness.
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Hope you enjoyed this one.
