Conquest of the Horde

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, Date Unknown, Y 33.


War created a scar which ran bone deep. Be it carved in the flesh of a man, or the soil of the land. As I gaze into the mirror the scars remind me of past feats and failures, a gruesome insignia worn for all to see. I remember father saying that the past is the torch which lights our way. If only the present where bathed in light as he had claimed.

You may ask yourself who I am, but before you judge me I dare you to gaze into the mirror in contemplation. Does the sight of yourself cause you to wince within, does it turn your stomach and send chills up your spine? do your kin shun you, and are they right in doing so?

People tend to forget those who protected them when the enemy stood upon humanities doorstep. The said metaphor of the past being a torch lighting our way succumbing to the darkness that is reality. The army molded me into a man, one who shed the blood of the enemy without asking, one who burnt and maimed at the utter of an order. I was once a believer in a greater power looking down upon our mortal souls, protecting the righteous as they charged the scourge in Tirisfal.

Are you familiar with the third war?

No, you could not grasp the hardship we endured.
As we where shipped over to Lordaeron I had grown hardened. Yet within each soldier there is a distinct fear, an anxiety which churns within as a battle beckons. Long did I and my brother suffer in the trenches, the howls of the enemy piercing the darkness day out and day in, no sunlight breaking through the darkened clouds above. The torturous screams of our fallen rising to the sky in a far stretching plead.

Bathed in dirt and blood we fought on, cutting into the festering frames of the enemy. I can still remember the stench which rode low over the battlefield, creeping over the thousands which littered the ground in morbid heaps.

As fear got the better of me, Said was always there to pick me up. As was I when emotion got the better of him.

We where born and bred for war, schooled in combat, baptized in the heat of battle. If you spend enough time in the trench you will know a descention, one which slowly consumes your humanity. You forget the taste of bread, the longing for home. You soon begin to realize the predicament your in.

You died the moment you enlisted, now all that remains is battle. All that remains is death, that of the enemy. And eventually, your own.

Fury guided my hand in my wavering gait upward in the hierarchy in the army. Like a monster I would charge the enemy, taking no prisoners. Dealing no mercy upon their souls. I came to find that when you do battle with beasts you will slowly become the very thing you live to destroy.

The same fury foolishly possessed me to defy clearly stated orders. Me and my brother where to mark what was to be an encampment in the festering depth of Tirisfal. I lead our unit deep into the murky woods, and without warning we where charged.

I can still remember Said go down, and arrow plunging into his chest. Digging deep, drawing blood. As I gazed I could see the eyes of my brother slowly roll back into his skull, slumping onto the ground.

I could only hear my heart pound.

My brother laying in my arms.

Said, why you. Why not me?

I felt fury wash over me, nestling deep within my mind. As I rose nothing mattered, nothing existed but the need.. The urge, a compulsion bent on death and revenge.

I lead the remaining unit into the jaws of the enemy, and there was only death and screams echoing throughout the rot. They all died that day, and their blood is on my hands. I was discharged, dishonorably so.

Stripped of my identity as a soldier, expected to return to a normal life.

If I only had died beside you my brother, if only you had not fallen.

I fled the plague and the battle, returning to Azeroth. Fifteen years has passed since last time I faced our father, since I had held our mother.

I couldn't face them.

The shame was too great my brother, you must understand. I have nothing left except a strong arm and the guilt of my deeds. I have to fight again, only in battle may I redeem my folly.

Only in death can I make things right.

ChapterⅠ: To Rise above

After being dishonorably discharged from the army Saif grew to be only a hollow shell of his past self. The clash of steel and mighty roars of battle would soon to fade, leaving him bitter and unfulfilled. Solemnly aging as his mistakes tormented him. Not only his mind grew frail as years passed, but the skills he had honed in the army as well. The image of the unwavering warrior he had once been reduced to nothing but a distant memory.

In his depression Saif grew self destructive and increasingly bitter. No longer tending to his health as one should. He would spend his days in sorrow filled contemplation, tormented by the guilt of his deeds. Searching for soothing in his time of need, mostly in the form of strong beverage.

The more he drank, the more he began to dispute the society. Alcohol his unfailing remedy, as if searching for the solution to his misery in the bottom of the tall mugs once having emptied them.

one day he found himself in an argument with a young man who insisted the he owed him money, for reasons to Saif unknown. As the verbal exchange escalated the two of them where approached by an arena organizer. He persuaded them to settle their differences on the blood stained sands of Gurubashi arena, not only for a fee. But the chance to humiliate the other in front of a crowd.

Saif was in terrible shape and had not wielded a sword for a long time, the young man who was to be his adversary seemingly more prepared and heavily favored to win the bout. In his mind, this was to be his last stand.

Yet as Saif found himself standing a few feet away from his opponent clad in borrowed armor and donning a borrowed sword the roars and chants of the crowd invigorated him. A powerful rush of adrenaline infusing his body, a sensation he had not felt for several years. The battle was a harsh and grueling one, both relentless in their attacks. As the dust settled however, Saif remained standing over the limp body of his opponent. Experience having beaten youth.

The surge of adrenaline wrecked his aged frame as he took giant breaths to ease the fire burning in his chest. He raised his arms to the crowd and took in their chants, letting them empower him and rid his mind of bitter thoughts. For the first time in years Saif felt a burning will to live, a fierce desire to fight. His love of battle had been rekindled.

On that day Saif rose above the bitter husk he had descended to, embracing the turmoil of hardening his body and honing his skills. With but one desire, to hear to roars of the crowds once again. To raise his fist in victory as they chanted his name.

Saif would come to have four fights after his first, all gruesome and demanding. Yet, having returned to the discipline and training which he had used himself of in the army he always seemed to manage to find a way to win. The organizers where happy with his showmanship and signed him for bouts both in Gurubashi and Ratchet arena. To Saif there was nothing more intoxicating than the vicious roar of the crowd, the sound of steel burrowing into flesh and the violent dance which was battle.

The sixth fight of his career was unexpectedly to be the hardest one in years. Saif had began to wander astray from the life style which came with being a fighter, the guilt of his past deeds reminding themselves as he laid himself to sleep at night. He began drinking again, abusing his body and growing increasingly self-destructive.

He took a fight with a gnome who in his mind had no chance of defeating him given his small stature, regretfully he was about to find out otherwise. The fight took place in Ratchet arena, and it one of the bloodiest to grace Its malevolent spectators in a long time.

The gnome wielded a terrifying blade, It's edge vibrating from a compact engine attached to its hilt. Saif was seriously wounded during the bout, yet even when his own blood colored the sands below red he managed to make the gnome yield.

Saif was now 6-0, yet the cost of his sixth bout would grow to be much greater than what he was being paid. He was rushed to the nearby infirmary, his body in a horrid state. The last thing he heard before his eyes rolled back into his skull was the chants of the crowd, and as he drifted of that very sound infused his mind. He would do anything to hear them chant his name again, if only for a moment.

Rising above the predicament he found himself in would be a gruesome experience. The state of his body would not allow him to fight nor train. Saif pondered over what lied ahead for him and how he could achieve it. He realized that if he was to fight again he would have to find himself a trainer, he would have to dedicate his life to the art of combat. Inspired he pushed through the road to recovery, longing to hear the roar of the crowd once again.

Living only to regain his past glory as a soldier, and in his mind to justify his mistakes through battle.

Chapter Ⅱ: Grueling Tutelage

With his health regained Saif sought himself to the Gurubashi arena deep within Stranglethorn Vale. Once there he inquired about tutelage from the goblins, and was given the name of an old soldier which had wandered down the same path as himself. Humans where in short supply within Gurubashi, thus they where likely to draw a big crowd. A fact which worked in Saif's favor.

They spoke as they observed the brutal skirmish in the arena below. An enticing sight of professional gladiators doing battle, neither giving an inch to the other.
The old soldier agreed to bring Saif with him to a training camp located in the outskirts of the jungle, more as a favor between one veteran to another than anything else.

He reminded Saif of the drill instructor he had served under in his youth, a man who was harsh but fair. Someone who could help him regain his skill of old and possibly expand upon them.

They met the following day at the break of dawn, readying themselves to venture into the jungle. Other aspiring gladiators and martial artists alike coming together to expand on their abilities.

Once arriving at the camp little time was wasted in equipping the trainees with raiments and the most necessary items such as a small whet stone, a razor and and a pouch of herbs to sooth the various bites one would receive from the treacherous insects of the jungle.
Saif would come to find that the camp resembled that of the ones in the army. The trainees being ordered around by a distinct hierarchy of command. An environment he felt comfortable in at first, yet he was soon to find out that the training which awaited was to be more grueling than he had expected.

They first week was extremely demanding. The trainees would be awoken at the crack of dawn for a long run down the jungle trails, an indulgence which wore heavily on Saif. Once finished they would return to the camp for a meal of to most vile gruel, very much like the one served in the army.
They afternoons would be spend sparring with all kinds of weapons in the merciless heat of a nearby jungle glade. Once the sun began to fade they would repeat the running session from before, only this time one was forced to carry a heavy log in pairs. Then sprint up and down the jungle trails.

Saif realized that the trainers where in the process of sorting out the weak from the strong, separating those not fit to compete in the arena from the would be gladiators. Keeping this in mind he pushed through, yet as he laid himself to rest each day he would feel weaker and weaker. As if his past feats where catching up with him.

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, "Week one", Y 33.


I breathe fire

Acid searing in my joints

A stiffened ache embracing my back

Each session is grueling, on the verge of unbearable. To the others I am just an old man, an ironic notion considering the 33 years I've spend upon this earth. I ponder over the significance of my age, wondering if perhaps I am indeed too old.. Too strained and grizzled. For in truth I have lived through feats worthy of a century, be they good or bad.

I feel weak as night comes and I lay down to rest. The humid climate of the jungle does little to sooth me, not to speak of the insects which would eat you whole if they where given the chance.

I still say prayer five times a day. Fathers teachings has remained with me, if only my prayers where answered.

I pray for you brother, my thoughts with you in these times of trials.

My hands never shook before, why is it that they fail me now?

The coming weeks will be tormenting, I am sure. The encampment holds only younger and stronger fighters. I myself have wandered astray from the lifestyle of a soldier for too long. I crave the forceful embrace of alcohol, the pleasant sting of tobacco in my lungs.

Yet as I find myself in my darkest hour, I have no fear of what awaits. I long for battle, I long for the malign chants of the crowd.

Pray for me my brother, for I am in need of the might passed down from our ancestors.

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, "One Month In", Y 33.


The strangest feeling has come over me of late. Once having reached the third week in camp my body took a turn for the better. As if having adapted to the daily punishment we endure.

I feel stronger, faster, better. I feel like I haven't felt in years. One by one the others have folded, and only ten of us remain. There is rumors of a tournament where we will be able to prove our worth, I would lie to say that I'm not anxious my brother.

There is no feeling like the anticipation of a beckoning battle. The nervousness churning within ones stomach as you size up our opponents silently. The others are indeed both younger and stronger, yet I feel that no man can break my spirit.

My body may bruise under the force of a fist or bleed at the mercy of a blade. But the focus which has infused my mind speak of good fortune to be had.

I wait patiently for my time to redeem myself in battle, verily I long to listen to the clash of blades again. After all, that was our purpose was it not?

I still remember how we used to train when we where young.

Its hard to believe that it has been eight years since I last saw you, if I could endure. Surely I can endure another month.

Pray for me brother.


Chapter Ⅲ: The Spirit Of A Fighter

Saif pushed through the strain of the hard training, slowly growing more confident with each day. Many had folded and where thrown out of the camp, being unable to muster enough might to continue. The old army veteran which had taken Saif under his wing was a man of small stature with a gentle appearance to match, yet his mastery of the art of combat was more than evident.

He would discuss and reflect over the philosophy of battle with Saif, uttering one wisely spoken quote after another. The most relevant one being the claim the the greatest opponent one has to face is oneself. No enemy can control you as you can, no man can break you in the way you can break yourself.

You stand before multiple opponents each day, and to win you must conquer them all. Be it the ache in your body, the wariness of your mind or a physical opponent with whom you must do battle. The spiritual aspect of fighting had until now been lost on Saif, and it was occurring to his trainer what he had been lacking. For a true warrior is a weapon in himself, his mind sharper than the edge of any blade.

He excelled in the various weapons which where to be had, slowly regaining the past prowess of his youth. He was told the significance of being able to handle all weapons proficiently and to eventually master one through hard training and determination.

Saif's choice of the scimitar was an obvious one. The weapon having been passed down to him from his father in ceremonial tradition many years ago. Yet to master a weapon one must be able to let it become an extension of ones arm, being able to know its movement and weight by heart, to predict its speed and power. Honing the ability to cleave through ones opponents without effort, a prowess which does not come easy to anyone.

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, Date Unknown, Y 33.

I'm losing track of time my brother.

An eternity seems to have passed since I sat down to write to you. From what I understand it has been several months.

Forgive me.

I breathe, eat and live combat to the fullest. The sound of my blade cleaving the air has grown as familiar as my own heartbeat, my mind as sharp as its edge.
My body has grown strong and durable, and I've given up the poising I used to fill my lungs with. The only thing that matters now is battle.

It has been hard to reform back to old ways without you brother. Yet I take solace in the fact that you watch over me and listen to my prayers.

The tournament beckons, and another six has folded under the pressure. Us four remaining all hunger for battle. Like animals starved, forcibly contained by a leash. Whispers slither within the camp that we will be returning to Gurubashi within the week to fight for the coveted title of Gladiator.

There can be only one, or so they whispers claim.

Now that the battle of my life beckons I cannot help but to feel frightened. Not by the possibility of my demise, but the mercy of the gods. Will they forgive my failures as a man once I pay the ultimate price? will they lift me up so that we may never be apart again?

Fathers words remind them self as I contemplate.

"Death smiles at every man, the only thing one can do is to smile back."


Chapter Ⅳ: A Warrior Reborn.

The seemingly eternal months of training where to come to an abrupt halt. Saif had dedicated his time throughout the gruesome journey to his combat prowess. He had subdued himself to the words of his trainer entirely, returning to the mentality of the army which had made him a decorated sergeant during the third war.
Each weapon now felt as if it had been molded for his hand alone, each restless hour training rebuilding the confidence which had made him into a fierce soldier so many years ago.

His body which had been in a terrible state now had transcended into one suiting a warrior. His joints strong and durable, his muscles chiseled and powerful. His old injuries seeming to have faded from the time spent tending to himself.

The old army veteran which had took him under his wing was pleased by his progress, yet he spoke no compliment. For the mentality of the gladiator is not one build on kindness. Emotional attachment control and weaken, yet a little fear or a little anger can take one to heights unimaginable.

The spiritual study Saif had indulged himself in had by far been the most awarding. He had learned to in patterns where no man could step on him, where he was the deadliest weapon forged in the crucible of merciless training.
He would spend hours learning the exact measurement and weight of his scimitar, leaving him able to swing it effortlessly from all thinkable angles.
The sound of the razor sharp blade cutting through the air in both compact and wide arced slashes had truly grown as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Four other trainees has excelled in the camp as well, and soon enough there was made no secret that only one man would fulfill the graduation. Each of them where set down and questioned of which opponent they would like to face and why.

A tournament was to be hosted with the glorious title of Gladiator on the line. There could be only one, and soon enough the reality of the bloodshed to come settled in Saif's mind. For to him this would probably be his final battle, be it win or lose he would redeem himself as a true warrior and be at his brothers side again, with the honor of his demise echoing in eternity.

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, Date Unknown, Y 33.

The battle is mere minutes away.

My hands are steady, my breathing calm, collected, focused.

I am scared to death my brother.

Yet, as I ponder it is not my impending death that frightens me. One can never escape the fear rooted deep in the heart of man, I have reflected over this notion and found it to be true.

The fear is what keeps me sharp in this moment of redemption, it peaks my senses leaving me with an heightened awareness of my surroundings.

The rhythmic claps of the crowd can be heard from where I am sitting, the heavy stomp of their feet seeping through the wooden ceiling of the room. Shaking the constructions very foundation.

My hand closes firmly around the hilt of my blade. I rise, and pass through the gates.

Redemption is upon me.

Pray that I die with honor, pray that I live redeemed.

So be it.


Chapter Ⅴ: The Tournament.

The four trainees who had survived the grueling training of the camp where driven back to Gurubashi on a wagon which defied the harsh terrain of the jungle. The tension was a harsh and obvious one, each one eying the other in turn. As if searching for a moment of weakness. Like wild animals, aching to rip into the flesh of their prey. Saif sat next to Juba, a dark skinned warrior which he had befriended during the months in camp.

Much like Saif, Juba differed from the others greatly given his deviant culture and appearance. Both knew that if they survived the first battle they would surely have to face each other for the coveted price. Saif tried not to reflect over the possibility too much, instead he kept his eyes transfixed on the others in contemplation. Watchful of their mannerism and gazes, searching for a single moment of weakness in their behavior.

As they arrived the trainees where quick to scatter, not wanting to consort with one another before they had to do battle. Saif sought himself into the under works of the arena where he was suited out with both battle raiment and his choice of weapon. The anticipation of the beckoning skirmish soon crept up on Saif, forcefully embracing his mind.

The first battle was soon announced, and it was Juba who was called along with Kaa'fon. A fierce jungle troll almost double his size. Saif sought himself up to the massive steel gate which separated the fighters from the blood stained sands which covered the ground of the arena. The malign roars of the crowd soon intensified as Juba and the troll entered to do battle.

Saif watched the violent face off intently. Neither of the fighters giving an inch to the other. His eyes dilated slightly as the troll drew blood, staining the sand below red. He watched on in perplexion as Juba countered, digging his spear deep into the stomach of the troll. The troll fell heavily onto his back followed by a torturous roar which surely struck fear into the audience of the front row.

Still the malevolent chants of the crowd where soon to return. Their mutual demand for gore becoming evident. Juba let the blade of his spear sink between the ribs of the troll, obeying the wish of the crowd. So it was that he stood as the victor of the first battle, leaving him one step closer to claim the coveted price which awaited.

Saif's disfigured lips parted in a rare, grizzled smile as his eyes lingered over Juba as he celebrated his victory. Yet soon enough he realized that if he indeed survived the first battle, he would not only have to fight a foe, but a friend. Reality soon put his contemplation to a halt however, before battle he was to take the time to say prayer.

Saif knelt down on the filth of the under works, not minding the rats which curiously skulked around the the old pots and armor racks which stood upon the floor, carelessly tilted against the murky wooden walls. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes as he recited the words of his father, a prayer which would bring him fortune. Be it before a hunt in his youth, or a battle in the present.

"Ancestors I bow my head to thee
Humbly I kneel in awe of your deeds
I sing thy song of great feats and courage
For I am in need of the might that you posses
Lend me the strength of your blades
The unwavering might of your hearts
Lift me up so that I may vanquish my enemy
Bless me so that my sword strikes true
Bless me so that my heart wont falter
I ask thee now
To place your hands upon my shoulders
And guide mine in battle."

Saif then rose and made his way out through the gates as he and his opponent was called. Each step seemed longer than usual as he threaded over the blood stained sands with the cheers of the crowd surrounding him. Stopping in front of his opponent which much like himself seemed overwhelmed by the predicament he found himself in.

Saif soon managed to pull himself together, he inclined his head to his opponent in honor of tradition before slowly beginning to circle him with his scimitar raised. Ready to carve into the flesh of another, without qualms of the bloodshed which awaited.

He had never caught his opponents name as they had crossed paths during the camp in the jungle. The rather lithe human tended to keep to himself, not uttering more than a few sentences at a time. He donned a pair of mid length daggers and where usually quick on his feet, a trait which Saif had come to notice as he had observed him during training.

Soon enough the two engaged in combat, the clash of steel and roars of battle rising to the sky. The battle soon turned in Saif's favor after having landed a forceful punch to the mouth of his opponent. His teeth had been sent flying in random directions along with blood splatter which soon seeped into the soil as he fell to the ground.

Saif placed his boot over the neck of his opponent, no trace of mercy within his heart as he listened to the vicious chants of the crowd. His opponent showed no fear as his skull was crushed under the force of Saif's boot. A quality which brought honor to his death.

Saif adverted his eyes to gaze over the crowd which erupted in a frenzy of cheers and chants. In his mind there was no guilt in the deed he had committed, for the praise of the crowd was enough for it to wander elsewhere. After all, Saif was not a stranger to the act of dealing death. He exited the arena solemnly, the thrill of the victory soon transcending into bitter contemplation given that only himself and Juba remained.

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, "Post Battle", Y 33.


Ancestors favored me today my brother.

May gods greet those who have fallen as friends, verily they died with honor. I've pondered over the notion that the true nature of a man is exposed once he meets his final moment. Most break down, plead, as if in denial of the inevitable.

Others meet their final moment with a firm gaze, a chiseled expression. Knowing in their hearts that they gave their all, and was merely bested by a superior foe. No guilt clouds my mind when ending the life of such a man.

I have no qualms about what awaits.

I do?

You always knew when I was lying brother.

To face Juba bothers me, I must admit this. He fought like a true warrior today, fearless as he took the life of his foe. He reminds me of you my brother, perhaps he is more worthy than I?

I wonder.

If the gods favor him over me?

So be it. If I am to die, be it under the strength of a friends hand.

Pray for me.

Chapter Ⅵ: Hesitation.

The two combatants remaining had their wounds tended to and given a nights rest. Yet for Saif, there was no sleep to be had. As much as he had grown used to the anxious churn within his stomach before a battle the reality of that he was to battle a friend to the death bothered him, greatly so. Their fight for the coveted title of Gladiator was to open the the coming day of games, they would come to face off as the sun reached its peak.


Time passed slowly, the hours before the battle seeming like an eternity. Saif said prayer in customary fashion before readying himself for the confrontation which beckoned. He entered the arena clad in borrowed raiment, stopping as he reached the middle leaving him standing before Juba. They looked at each other as the sun glistened over their blades, both inclining their heads respectfully. Two men, Two friends, each an epitome of combat prowess.

The roars of the crowd matched the clash of their blades as they engaged, the rays of the sun caressing the blood stained sands below. Fiercely they battled, more like animals than men. Yet even given the brutality they exposed one another the mutual respect they shared was evident.

As the battle progressed it soon became obvious that Juba was stronger, perhaps even hungrier for victory. Saif soon began to accept the notion that the gods favored his opponent. From a violent kick he was sent onto his back with a heavy thud, the point of Juba's spear placed on his throat.

Saif soon realized that he had been bested, yet as he was about to come to terms with his impending death a glint of hesitation could be seen in Juba's eyes. They looked at each other, and his hesitation became evident. He had succumbed to emotion, the greatest sin a Gladiator could commit. Saif felt the point of Juba's spear slowly being removed from his throat. His eyes widened, heart pounding fiercely within his chest.

In a sudden slash Saif cleaved the spear in two, sending splinters flying about. Juba just stood there as he did, hands closed firmly around the severed wood remaining of his weapon. Saif placed the tip of his scimitar against his throat, much as he had done to himself, yet as he looked into his eyes emotion consumed him as well.

The crowd held their breath in anticipation given the suspense of what they witnessed. The two warriors looked at each other, and without words they seemed have gained the same mind-set. Both rendered unable to kill the other, at the cost of the coveted title meant for the winner. Saif slowly lowered his weapon, and a cascade of boos and profanity soon erupted from the crowd.

They exited the arena without speaking a word to one another. They both knew that they had succumbed to emotion, they both knew that they had failed. And for Saif, there was no redemption.

Chapter Ⅶ: Relapse

Saif and Juba where greeted by a profane verbal lashing from the old army veteran which had trained them as they exited the arena with a cascade of boos in their backs. Both had committed the greatest sin of a gladiator, to falter due to emotion. If they had the chance to redo the battle the outcome may had been different, however the harsh reality awaiting was soon made evident.

They where both cut loose from his tutelage and sent on their way, having dishonored themselves as well as their trainer. As they made their way down the jungle path from Gurubashi no words where spoken between them, for both knew that no words could redeem their mutual failure. Their gazes met as they reached the outer rim of Stranglethorn which held the entrance to Booty bay. They exchanged an incline of their heads, more as a farewell than a sign of respect. In truth, they more than disgusted each other.

No words where spoken between them, and so it was that their paths split. Saif sought himself to Ratchet, morbidly depressed by his failure. He now stood without tutelage and a trainer, leaving him to seek solace in the self-destructive manner of past.

The pleasant sting of fadeleaf filled Saif's lungs as he sat himself down in the local tavern. Washing his sorrows away with strong ale and liquor, as if searching for the answer to his predicament in the bottom of his glass. He had not killed once given the chance, he had lowered his weapon from the throat of his opponent. A deed which may seem noble to some was nothing but an disgrace in Saif's mind.

He had failed the teachings he had indulged himself in, he had brought dishonor over himself and his trainer. In bitter contemplation he drank himself towards destruction that day, eventually drifting off into a troubled sleep after having rented a bed.
They following day he spend much as the first, poisoning himself with alcohol and drugs. The traits of an addict where rooted deep in the mind of Saif. The strength he had built from months of training where surely to fade at the rate of his self-destruction. With no one to rely on but past memories and the delusion of his brother watching over him, Saif's darkest hour was still to come.

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, Date Unknown, Y 33.

I have failed you brother.

Verily, I have failed myself and our ancestors.

As I gazed into his eyes with my blade pressed against his throat I saw the same glisten in them that rested within yours in Tirisfal. The same moment before you closed them forever passed during the end of of the bout.

I was weak to have let him live, I was weak not to end him honorably.

Now both are faced with the dishonor of our failure, and as you probably know brother. I have not been treating myself well.

To drink takes the edge of things, and in honesty I wish I was rendered numb to the guilt which haunt me.

The sting of the fadeleaf sooths me, embracing my mind in comfort of my failure.

I couldn't do it.

Forgive me.

Chapter Ⅷ: Darkest Hour

Saif continued to drink and smoke recklessly, as if making up for the months where he had been deprived of his self-destructive remedy. The days where long and depressing, most spent in bitter contemplation. He had began to abandon his hope of redeeming himself on the battlefield, slowly descending into the shattered husk of himself which he had been after being discharged from the military. The more he would drink the more he would crave the forceful intoxication which claimed his mind, not judging or enforcing the bitter thoughts within.

He stopped praying as he had, finding no answer in the honoring of his ancestors. He had grown to be a disgrace, a useless husk without purpose. He would wander the town with a solemn mask covering his depression, longing only for another chance to make things right.

A week would pass in his self-destructive state, the sleepless nights and days of intoxication taking its toll on his body. As he had sought himself outside the tavern to gaze into the distant sea before commencing his regular routine he noticed a gnome sitting on the wooden ledge beside him. He didn't think much of her as he reached for the pipe in his belt. He carefully placed a shriveled mixture of fadeleaf and tobacco within it as he placed it between his teeth.

Regretfully he had misplaced his matches and without means to light his pipe he let a bitter sight escape his scarred lips. The gnome turned and eyed him curiously through her goggles, she seemed to recognize Saif and began to exchange words with him. It would come to show that the gnome in question was Raya Handcannon, one whom he had crossed paths with in the past. He was perplexed as she claimed to have followed his bouts within Gurubashi, and her intentions where soon made obvious.

After an alleged successful career as an author which had made her an handsome sum she explained that she was well connected within Ratchet arena and could offer Saif management. His eyes squinted in thought, perhaps there was a way out of his predicament after all?
Saif inquired further about her capabilities as a manager and after a long conversation she invited him to the tavern to sign a contract.

Saif knew that he was in a bad state, one not suited for a battle. Yet as he was left without choice as he signed the contract, agreeing to give Raya a percentage of his earnings. The gnome seemed excited and her mannerism spoke of high hopes given the signing and the business which awaited. Saif on the other hand did his best to hide the fact that he where in no state to compete. Raya asked him if he was up for a bout shortly after and foolishly Saif accepted. Not wanting to make a bad impression.

Raya displayed her talent for the business as she was quick to approach an orc sitting at the end of the bar. The fearsome male donned a heavy suit of plated armor as well as a gigantic mace and a sword. Saif noticed who was to become his opponent, a strange feeling of emptiness coming over him.

He clasped his hands together in prayer for the first time in a week, yet sadly it failed to give him the might it had in the past. They made their way to the arena, and soon he found himself moments away from the bout. Raya seemed confident, yet there was a hint of worry in her words. Perhaps she had noticed his unfocused demeanor, or maybe it was just a trait of her nature as a gnome.

Saif had little time to reflect over his thoughts as he soon found himself standing before the orc, the claps and chants of the crowd rising to the sky. Raya moved around the bleachers above gingerly and took bets. And soon enough the battle commenced.

Saif dug deep to counter the attacks of the orc, but his blades soon got through to pierce his flesh. He fought back fueled only by the adrenaline which surged through his body given the roar of the crowd. He managed to disfigure the orc by plunging the point of his scimitar into his cheek, and soon blood began to flow freely from both combatants.

Saif felt fatigue set in given the grueling skirmish which went on for longer than he was used to. Both equally matched as they battled on fiercely. Suddenly it came to be that the orc grabbed Saif by the throat, in turn he dropped his scimitar and shield to fend of the attack, but the exhaustion made him unable to loosen the hold of his opponent. He could see fragments of his life pass before his eyes as his throat constricted under the strength of the orc.

Eventually he fell onto his back, unconscious. The orc celebrated his victory by roaring loudly, the crowd erupting into a frenzy given the violent display. Saif eventually came to, and the reality of what had transpired began to sink in. He had been defeated for the first time within the arena, something which weakened him utterly as he rose to his feet. Wheezing for air, covered in sweat and blood.

He stared at the crowd as the defeat sunk in, the world around him slowly fading. All his senses seizing to exist except the chants of the crowd. Saif knew that it was not for him they chanted, a fury slowly rising within his heart. He exited the arena after having calmed himself at the account of his manager which waited outside. Raya seemed shocked given his previous performances within the arena, she rambled on about the battle and asked Saif various questions.

He would nod and answer, but his mind had simply wandered elsewhere. There was no honor in defeat, and he decided that day that he had to break the chains of his addiction once and for all. He would show them all that he was a force to be reckoned with, he would live only to fight again from that day forth.

Chapter Ⅸ: In Debt

Saif found himself in a harsh predicament given the last bout which he had lost. It would soon become evident that his manager, Raya. found herself in one even worse. Having had high hopes for Saif she had placed a bet higher than what most would deem to be wise. As a result of his loss she now found herself in debt with the goblins, a harsh predicament given their ruthless nature.

Saif had been unaware of this at the time, realizing that his loss was a result of lacking effort in his training regiment he decided to devote himself restlessly again. Wanting to claim another victory to his name. He would come to have two bouts against lackluster opponents which where easily dispatched after having pushed through a grueling week of training, the damage he had inflicted upon his body in the form of drinking slowly healing as he tended to himself. He longed for the soothing of alcohol, yet he had a goal in mind which would not be hindered by his craving of the poison which had caused his relapse.

Raya had kept her debt from Saif, this because he had confined in her about his destructive drinking and battle with addiction. She later explained that she had done so because she not wanted to put any more pressure on him, fearing that he might indulge in drinking again given the stress it might had created within his mind.

During a conversation Saif had noticed that something was off in her mannerism, he confronted her and with a deep sight she had asked him to take a walk with her. Raya imparted him of the drudgery she had had to withstand after his loss, being threatened and abused by the goblins of the arena given her debt. Saif was enraged, but the seriousness of the situation soon settled in his mind. Being in debt to the Steamwheedle cartel was something to be avoided at all costs, yet as he had been imparted his anger clouded his judgment. He would seek himself to the arena along with Raya, seeking an audience with the arena battle master.

The goblins sneered maliciously as they caught sight of Raya, their hostility towards her an evident one as the two made their way to the depth of Ratchet arena. Saif tried to reason with the battle master, but to no avail. He even insisted that if anyone should lose their freedom because of his loss it would only be fair if it was him instead of Raya. Sadly the battle master was not letting herself be persuaded, a crooked grin visible on her face as she explained how Raya would be claimed as a slave and sold onto the goblins within Ratchet, assuring that they would be willing to pay well for a gnome woman.

Saif was disgusted by the battle masters words, even if stern and sometimes cold and calculating he was a man of principle. Considering those who would defile and use a helpless woman no less than scum worthy of the gods torment. As the battle master tired she had both Saif and Raya escorted out with a word of warning, win or all was to be lost.

Fear would come to manifest upon Raya's face as they exited the arena, Saif moving up the the edge of the great hills looming over Ratchet to gaze out over the corrupted town which had come to be his home for the past weeks. The reality of the situation had sunk in, and rage soon began to bubble in Saif's veins. He had to win, or Raya's freedom would be lost. He remembered how she had rescued him from his destructive addiction as he had felt secure enough to confine in her. Time had come for his debt to be repaid, there had to be victory. Nothing else existed as he turned to her, his scarred lips parting as a commanding voice escaped them 'Get me a fight, NOW!'

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, Date Unknown, Y 33.

There has to be victory, as I gaze over the corrupt pit that is Ratchet I know this to be true. How one would use a woman and defile her honor is beyond me brother, verily. Such scum should have their tongues cut from their mouths and fed to themselves so that they may never speak such profanity.

I will make things right, for my back is broad enough to bear this pressure. My arm in strong enough to cause great pain, my blade is sharp, and my mind just. Verily, I will strike true and hard against my enemy.

Pray for her, and for my victory.

Chapter Ⅹ: Fighting For Freedom

Said and done, Raya sprung to action. Scouring the Ratchet arena for a challenger for Saif. He gazed out over the town. The salty smell of the sea carried up the hill upon which he was standing by a gentle wind. He looked down at his hands, most of his crude fingers scarred and bent. His knuckles callused and hardened, fading scars slanting over his palms and the back of his hands. Still, his grip was firm as it tightened around the pommel of his scimitar. If he lost now, where would that put him?

The distinct anticipation before a bout soon reminded itself within his mind as he gazed into the distance. The familiar feeling of an anxious churn within his stomach soon becoming evident. He turned at the sound of vague thuds closing in on him, it was Raya who sprinted as fast as her small legs would let her. Her cheeks where flushed and she struggled to catch her breath, she soon managed to exclaim that she had found an opponent.

The nervousness she surely felt wrecked her otherwise professional mannerism as her eyes wandered to Saif's. She had wished him good luck, yet one could wonder if her words where more aimed towards herself. He entered the arena solemnly, making his way to the small space which served as both a training area and a place where one could dress and say prayer.

Saif knelt down and spoke under his breath, clasping his hands together firmly in solemn prayer. He knew that whoever awaited within the massive steel gates of the arena he had to win. Not as much for himself as for Raya, yet he would soon come to find out that not only an opponent awaited within. After all, Raya had picked him up and sent him on the right track when he was at his weakest. And with that in mind he rose with determination in his heart, entering the arena after having strapped on his armor and sharpened his blade.

The applauds of the crowd invigorated him as he threaded upon the blood stained sands, his opponent sat leaned up against the distant wall. His face covered by a hood woven from both black and maroon thread. Saif tried to place his opponents attire to a face, and as he slowly circled the man he began to realize who it was. Saif slowly approached and as their eyes met his identity became evident.

Raya had booked a bout with Aroes Blackstone as a opponent, a man which whom Saif shared a past. The two had both served in the Frostband Marines for a lengthy period, where they in Saif's mind had become friends. He had himself enlisted for the training aspect, yet due to unfortunate events he had been fired. It had all begun after Aroes had saved his life during a attack on the ship. A deed which made Saif feel as if in debt to him. The said debt had soon been called upon as Aroes alleged lover, Clover had been kidnapped by a group of mercenaries. This to Saif reasons unknown.

The two man had fought alongside each other and reclaimed Clovers freedom, yet an unforeseen consequence had followed. Aroes had ingested what would later be exposed as felblood before the battle to gain strength, Saif had then realized that his friend indulged in the more darkened aspects of magic. He had offered Saif a small bottle as well, which he had ingested without further thought.

Once back at the ship the felblood had begun to leak from Saif's nose, ears and mouth. He had been unexpectedly poisoned and his mind had soon been claimed by the madness which is fel. Aroes and Clover had been the first among the crew to spring to his aid and tend to the malicious poisoning, yet as the captain who went by the name Clovis heard of the incident consequences where to follow. Once having come to his senses Saif had taken the blame, claiming that he and he alone was responsible. A feat which had came to him more from principles than empathy, wanting to give Aroes and Clover a chance to be together. The cost having been his employment, and if Clovis had been more stern consequences would surely had been worse. Still, it had been the right thing to do.

He now found himself facing down the very man which he had come to consider one of his few friends, a harsh predicament which made his battle with Juba spring to mind. A cascade of impatient boos erupted form the crowd as Saif spoke to Aroes, imparting him of the predicament Raya would find herself in if he lost as well as that he had no desire to cause him harm.
Aroes might had been a man of small stature, yet Saif knew that he had a proud heart. Which was reflected in his words as he responded. He wouldn't come easy, and in truth Saif had expected no less.

The battle soon commenced to quench to crowds thirst for violence. Both saluting each other respectfully before charging, their styles differing greatly given as Aroes empathized magic, whereas Saif wanted to shorten the distance and let his scimitar do the work. Both fought fiercely to the delight of the crowd, Saif eventually managing to slash Aroes over the chest. Yet as he seemed to be in control the tide turned abruptly, Aroes conjuring a lance of frost which he shot as Saif. The lances sharp point dug into his shoulder, blood splattering over the arena sands before it slowly began to crystallize given the cold. The pain was no less than unbearable, and it brought Saif to one knee. In that moment he wanted nothing else but to yield, the cowardice which exists within every man reminding itself. Yet soon the thought of Raya's freedom sprung to mind, and with that empowering him he rose. Dragging his feet towards Aroes.

The crowd chanted, enticed by the violent display they witnessed. And after shortening the distance Saif managed to land a forceful slash against Aroes shoulder, the blade biting deep into his pauldron. With that Aroes yielded, something that surprised Saif. Perhaps the pain from the blow had made him do so, or perhaps it was that he had pitied Raya. Either way, the bout had been won. And the crowd erupted in malign cheers and chants. The chants honoring the "Wastelander", a nickname which Saif had been given as his battles had became known among the gladiator enthusiasts within Ratchet and Gurubashi. He inclined his head to Aroes respectfully, and the two soon made their way through the steel gates. Raya stood outside, awaiting them. She seemed relieved, and grateful that her freedom had not been compromised as she was now able to pay off her debt to the goblins with the earnings from the bout. And so it was that what had seemed as a hopeless predicament had turned into a day of great feats.

Chapter Ⅺ: Choices

Saif continued on with his routine, training twice a day and fighting regularly. Yet he was soon to be sidetracked by a gruesome injury to his knee, not tending to it properly as he had always been inclined to ignore pain, as a result it would often buckle. And soon enough it got to a state where he had to have it looked over. He sought himself to the infirmary within the Ratchet arena and the doctor who assessed his injury was all but positive. Apparently the ligament within his knee had been badly torn and would require surgery, yet the surgery itself was expensive and the repercussions would be more expensive still. It would surely never heal properly, and Saif was not getting any younger. The many injuries which had accumulated within his body seemingly having added up over his years.

This brought a deep contemplation to his mind, concerning his future. Not only within the fight business, but in general. When pondering over his past perception of how his life would be it didn't match the present in the least. He had dreamed of raising a family a few years after his enlistment, maybe meeting a girl to take as his wife. Building a home for her with a white picket fence close to the Elywynn forrest, maybe even raising a child.

Those dreams had descended to nothing but shadows over the years. Sadly, as the war had come to an end Saif expectations of the future had been permanently altered. No longer did he find himself intrigued by the soft spoken and gentle mannerism of women, no longer did he feel as if he had place in his heart for another person. He remembered his youth where both he and his brother had been arranged a girl to wed from a neighboring tribal family, a tradition which had been practiced for many centuries. He pondered over how his life would had turned out had he married young and stayed within the tribe, perhaps his brother would be alive still. Perhaps his parents had been proud of their sons.

His contemplation was soon put to a halt as he realized that he would have to make a choice, either he would push through and get the surgery needed to complete his training or he would simply gather his earnings and settle down. Perhaps purchasing a small cottage where he could sit on the porch and smoke his pipe, perhaps whilst his wife prepared a lovely stew of meat and potatoes on their oven. Maybe she would birth him a son, or a daughter whom he would love more than life itself.

Then again, who would want to wed a broken man such as himself? the scars on his face marred his handsome appearance, the countless marks of war upon his body putting his built to shame. Lastly, how would he be able to let someone in after all that had transpired? in Saif's mind, he was not sure if he was even capable of loving anymore.


Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, Date Unknown, Y 33.


Thoughts churn within my mind as of late my brother. Verily, I contemplate over the choices I have made during the 33 years I have found myself on this earth. If only my body would not break under the weight of training. Perhaps then these thoughts would not pester me?

For the first time in a long time I am unsure of how to act. The consequences of my choices will surely shape the future which beckons for me.

Why is it that a family suddenly appeals to me, as if the gods had planted a compulsion within my mind?

Why do I feel a earning of being comforted by the warmth of a woman?

Much like old times we where taught that there is no retreat, nor any surrender. Yet as I ponder, surely a few quiet years would be bliss in this time of trials.

I have to choose, if only you could guide me in my decision.

Chapter Ⅻ: Forgiveness

Saif had gathered his earnings and sought himself to a surgeon which practiced his craft in Ratchet arena. He knew that if he was ever to fight again he would have to have his knee tended to. The surgery itself cost him a smaller fortune and the recovery would prove to be more grueling than he had first imagined. He would come to spend the following two weeks in one of the filthy beds which where used for either those operated on or those who had painfully passed over to the other side. The pain in his knee was torturous, as was the fact that he was not allowed to venture from the small space which was his bed. The nights where humid and marred by the agonized moans of others who found themselves recovering from whatever surgery or injury they had contracted.

Refraining from once again turning to alcohol in his time of trials Saif let solemn prayer sooth his mind, during his stay he would come to feel deeply connected with the traditions and faith of his ancestors. The pain would seem more bearable as he focused on the ancient nomadic verses he had been taught as a child. As the two weeks had passed Saif was a changed man, having grown increasingly spiritual and religious in his time of need.

With crutches steadying his wavering gait forward he made his way to the docks where he awaited a ship to Booty bay. Yet before boarding he left a letter with a goblin courier, one which where to be delivered to his manager. He made sure to leave a large portion of his earnings for her as well, out of sheer principles given their contract. Saif was many things, yet never would he want to be viewed as a thief or a liar.

Feeling that he had covered all bases he ventured forth, he would come to spend another week in the bay. Doing his best to rehabilitate his knee by himself so that he could walk without the aid of crutches. Still the injury had left its mark in the form of a slight gimp in his step.

His strength had faded during the long rehabilitation process, still he knew that he had to seek out the person he had dishonored many months ago. Namely the old army veteran which had took him under his wing, only to throw him out after the shameful battle between himself and Juba. He would find his trainer of old, and simply beg for another chance. Saif hired a horse and wagon which he used to defy the treacherous terrain of the jungle, his eyes lingering solemnly over the exotic fauna as the wagon rolled down the path to Gurubashi arena.

A humid wind caressed his cheek as he found himself standing before the great entrance which had been carved from massive blocks of stone. He ventured forth and as he gazed into the pit a violent bout was in full effect, much to the crowds delight. He scoured the bleachers in search for the familiar face of his old trainer, and sure enough he found him standing near the edge of the pit. Gazing down at the gladiators in solemn assessment.

Saif had not prepared anything, he simple approached with heavy steps and carefully fell to his knees in front of the man. The old army veteran looked down at him in perplexion, another verbal lashing where soon be had from the man. Yet Saif remained on his knees, suppressing the dull ache as he pleaded for another chance. A chance of redeeming himself and regaining his honor. The old army veteran seemed tentative at first, yet soon enough an amused laughter escaped his lips. His words had a stern hint over them, yet given the submission Saif had displayed he decided to give him another chance. Little did Saif know that his past opponent and friend Juba had sought himself to the man with a wish for redemption in his heart as well.

Chapter XIII: Redemption

Saif was offered broad amongst the other gladiators, and his trainer appointed him with a group of trainees which he was to teach himself. There was no doubt in his mind that his trainer had used his plead for a second chance to his advantage, leaving him with the responsibility of training these would be gladiators. He would run basic combat drills with them, being sure to include sparring as well as cardiovascular and strength training. A few days in Saif would come to realize that his role as an assistant trainer was not one appointed as a form of punishment, but rather a way for him to experience the training from a different perspective. The old army veteran remained mysterious, solemnly watching as Saif drilled the trainees in all forms of combat. He had realized that his student was not in need of further combat prowess, but rather the psychological aspects which came with being a professional fighter. Alas, one cannot home to achieve ones dreams if one mind is not in the right place.

Saif's trainer would disappear from time to time, a pattern which he found perplexing. Still, the trainees kept him busy so his ponders where soon seized. He would drill them much like an army instructor, emphasizing the value of working together over individuality. He would be stern and punish them as a collective did one falter, a trait which would surely make them grow to hate him. Yet the more they hated him the more they would learn, the more they would thrive in the harsh environment they found themselves in. Saif knew this, for he had experienced it himself.

His role as a assistant trainer proved to be awarding as he was given a brand new perspective on his goals. To see the burning will within the unexperienced lit the fire in Saif's heart anew. He longed for his second chance which he had been promised, and soon enough he was imparted by the old army veteran of in which format the battle would be set.

Saif was caught off guard by what he was imparted of, apparently Juba had returned in search of redemption as well. He had been appointed a group of trainees much like Saif and both of their apprentices where to do battle before the old friends would meet again within the arena. Only this time, two men would enter. Only one man would leave, honored with the coveted title of Gladiator no less. The way it should had happened, all those months ago.

Saif could feel his heart pound fiercely as thoughts swarmed within his mind, this was his one chance of redemption. Be it through death or victory, his failures would be forgiven. Only through the ultimate price of claiming another's life or losing his own would he be able to move on. Further more each of the trainees where given two days to put their affairs in order, as for Saif. These two days would feel like an eternity.

Saif Al-Essa. Journal Entry, "Waiting", Y 33.

Long have I waited for this moment by brother, sadly is seems like time itself does its fullest to keep me unfulfilled. I await the final song impatiently, the calling of my name and my entrance.

Yet, as I venture into the pit I will fear no man. Neither anger nor compassion will befall me as I battle my dear friend.

Friend?

There is no friends, only enemies within the pit, I see this now. I will not deal mercy as I strike him, for one of us must fall. And be it me or him, we will do so in honor. Our transcendence echoing in eternity through the words of those who will witness our bout.

I must lay myself to rest now brother, tomorrow I will seek my redemption.

The day where the battle was to be fought had arrived and sure enough Saif soon found himself standing before his group of trainees which where to fight before himself. He paced slowly over the filthy floors of the under works, eyes wandering over those he had hardened into fighters during the last couple of weeks. The ambiance was tense and sweaty, the fear which churned within their stomachs reflected in their eyes. Saif knew what they where going through all too well, a moment of sheer terror before the gates where ripped open and the pit would be stained with blood. That of their enemy as well as their own. Saif's disfigured lips parted, his voice dark and raspy. Yet powerful enough to fill the under works. He quoted the creeds of the army, in hope of inspiring them.

"Long have you suffered the gruesome indulgence of training, I know this. For I have done everything in my power to break those of you not fit to take part in this moment. Gallantly will you show the world that you are specially selected and well trained warriors. Your heart and your souls will be the fuel to carry your bodies when your limbs are too weary. You will never falter, you will never lose focus as long as there is hope in your mind and your hearts still beat. You will never give in to the evil that is weakness and you will fight that evil until your dying breath!

You will acknowledge the fact that you are an elite warrior who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by any means at your disposal. You will accept the fact that your brothers expects you to move further, faster and fight harder than our enemy. Never shall you fail your brothers. You will always keep yourself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight and you will shoulder more than your share of the task whatever it may be. Now rise, and move out!"

With that the trainees rose and ventured forth through the gates into the pit. Saif closed his eyes for a moment, saying a breif prayer over their lives. Sadly, he would not have the time to watch the skirmish. For he had to prepare himself for battle as well. The roars and clash of steel cold be heard as Saif's strapped on his armor and sharpened his scimitar, judging from the booming claps and stomps of the crowd which seeped through the ceiling of the under works they where witnessing a violent display. A notion which pleased Saif, yet his mind soon seized its pondering as he knelt down to pray. Knowing that his own battle was mere minutes away. With the distinct possibility of his demise he spoke an ancient nomadic prayer, asking the gods themselves to forgive him.

"Verily, I have squandered my days with plans of many things. This was not among them. But at this moment, I beg only to live the next few minutes well. For all we ought to have thought, and have not thought; all we ought to have said, and have not said; all we ought to have done, and have not done; I pray thee Gods for forgiveness."

As the clash of blades seized within the pit Saif rose, placing his shield in front of him and a hand gripping the pommel of his scimitar firmly. He passed the surviving trainees as he ventured through the massive gates. Yet he did not speak to them, for his mind had been set on nothing but battle. He did his best to hide the limp in his step as he sought himself to the middle of the pit. As he gazed around he could see morbid heaps of trainees which had fallen during the skirmish. The sand below had been colored in a distinct red from their blood, the air marred by the scent of death. The pounding within his chest intensified as the gate before him opened. Out walked a black skinned man clad in gleaming armor, donning a vicious spear as well as a shield molded from the sturdiest of iron.

Juba had not changed since they had last met, yet Saif's eyes had deceived him. For the hunger Juba carried within his heart for redemption surely matched his own. Saif inclined his head slowly, yet the respectful gesture was not returned. At the the sound of malevolent cheers from the crowd Juba charged viciously, demonstrating his speed and agility early on. Saif did his best to keep up, yet the ache in his knee rendered him unable to match his opponents movements.

The battle soon grew dire, both drawing blood over and over. Steel piercing flesh, knuckles cracking bone. In the end they found themselves exhausted, a single mistake from either man more than enough for him to receive the killing blow. Saif was tackled to the ground and landed hard on his back, Juba posturing up before reigning down fists. He could feel his knuckles sink into the soft parts of his face, bludgeoning it beyond recognition. He turned to his side out of instinct, his mind pleading for the pain to end. He received a hard punch to the temple which rendered a stunning flash to course through his head.

Saif could see his life slowly pass before his eyes in the form of images, his childhood, his enlistment, the war and last but not least his brother. That very image brought him back into consciousness, if only for a moment. He received another crushing blow to his mouth before he could reach the dagger resting in his boot. With what he thought to be his last ounce of strength he drove the blade in between Juba's ribs, the punishment seizing. If only for a moment. He raises his leg and kicked him back, the violent chants of the crowd bringing strength to his battered limbs as he rose only to dig the blade into Juba's stomach. He pulled him in close, embracing him as the dagger carved deeper into his flesh. He leaned in to whisper in his ear before letting the blade wander upward to slit his throat.

"Forgive me"

Saif carefully lowered Juba down in his arms onto the ground, his eyes where fixed at him as he slowly choked on his own blood. Saif placed a hand on his cheek as he exclaimed through wheezing breaths 'Close your eyes saib.. Don't make this face the last thing you'll see'. With that, Juba's eyes slowly rolled back into his skull, the gurgling sounds from his severed throat soon seizing. Leaving only the eruption of applauds and praise from the crowd. Saif used his scimitar in his wavering gait upward, he closed his eyes and took in the praise. He had redeemed himself, and the tremendous weight which had been carried on his shoulders slowly lifted. There was only honor in victory.