Creative Writing: Arwe's Cages

“Enjoy your last meals boys!” Shouted the large Arab as he smacked the slave, unfortunate enough to be serving in the belly of the Colosseum that day. His massive hands shook the bars of the prisoner’s cage, intimidating many of the men held captive inside. “You’ll be dead and burning on the pyre as I feast and fuck this night.” The current prized gladiator climbed the bars and thrust his hand through, gripping one of the larger men about his throat, “Will you be the first to fall to my sword,” He laughed as he shoved the man away and pointed to the one who sat in the corner of the cell. His head was down, elbows pressed to his knees, and although there was a crust of bread still in his hand, he had not eaten it, nor had any of the other prisoners yet deemed it fit to take it from him. “No, it will be you. HEY! LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!!!”

Arwen ignored the loud man for a long while waiting until the guards moved away, waiting until the men around him had become nervous, as the large man beat his small dagger against the bars of the cage and challenged Arwen to look at him.

He didn’t. Not while he sighed and slowly rose for the corner and paced towards the man, appearing weighted and tired as he shifted so close the man could almost reach him. He tilted his head and flicked his eyes to pierce into the Arabs face. One sea green, the other gold as the shifting sands of the desert Arwen had been taken

from.

The Arab had only split second before Arwen snapped forward and yanked the large man against the bars as he took the small dagger from him and shoved it into the Gladiators neck. Long minutes passed as the stunned man bled out, silenced by the dagger still lodged in his throat, and shaking as he fought death, sinking to the floor in a slow descent. Arwen was back in his corner, the blood wiped from his hand by the time the guards had come back to see why it had suddenly gone quiet. The Emperor was not going to be happy.

~~~

Thousands of lords, ladies, and subjects had packed the colosseum, clambering to see the Arab as he slaughtered the newest captives, were disappointed, and yet intrigued when instead, a team of elephants charged into the stadium, laden boxes heaped with gold and silks and gems and wooden and wicker trunks of every shape and size. They completed a lap of the colosseum before stopping near the Emperor’s box and being surrounded by guards. “Let it be known that the soul survivor of this days games will be awarded quarters within the palace grounds, wealth, power, and fame. Let the games be ventured!”

Greed had a way of making men bold, but not smart. Arwen remained stoic, holding back as the first wave of men rushed forth, sprinted and crashed together, only stepping in to help the under dogs with a quick well-placed jab, or cut as they fought to survive against the more seasoned warriors. This was not charitable on Arwen’s part, as the one by one, all that had survived the first wave of fighting, soon fell to the quick precision of the foreign captive amid a cacophony of cheers. As the stones formed rivers of blood of the fallen, Arwen looked up at the man that would decide his fate, expecting that, despite what had been said, an arrow would be shot, and he would be ended too, but this did not happen, and Arwen was soon “escorted” to claim his rewards.