The Small Cuts

        The gladiator strode forth, a cloud of dust following in his wake and beads of sweat rolling down his chest in the scalding sun. His helmet's visor kept the blinding rays from his eyes and skin. Thickened from years of training in the Shear's harsh climate, it offered some protection from the burning orbs intensity. He breathed in deeply, his scarred chest expanding massively; he had made it through four battles and defeated all his challengers. Throk was a half giant, large in frame and bulk, a good combination for the rigorous life of a gladiator, one of the few professions a person of his kind could pursue. He lifted his hammer to the air and shouted, the excited crowd of desert peasants and merchants cheering at his victory. The stain of his opponent's dust caked blood was splayed across his hammer's head. Today was a good day, he thought, but stopped as out of the corner of his eye he saw his next and final challenger approach from the gates.

        Kit eyed the massive creature with her dark green eyes as she stopped 20 paces away from him, two short curved daggers hanging loosely from her delicate hands. She was a short athletically built woman in her early twenties; her attractive face and short cropped blonde hair marred by the dust and dirt common to towns around the Tyr. A small scar was drawn horizontally under her left eye and small bone rings dangled from her earlobes. Her garments consisted of a form-fitting leather tank top with a pair of loose brown pants overlapped by knee-high laced boots suited for desert life.

         Her eyes flicked up to the stands. Ignoring the cheering crowds, her emerald eyes focused on a hooded man standing amongst the horde of dirty townsfolk. Aware of her gaze, he raised his hand to the sky revealing a red eye tattooed upon his palm, the signal that the guild was watching. Now was her chance, the guild could give her the life she wanted if they deemed her skilled enough to function as one of their skilled treasure hunters, a title she desperately wanted. She had lived her whole life on the filthy streets of Tyr. Now was her time to break free of that poverty. She adjusted her three belts, the lot of them carrying a total of twelve daggers in various sizes, her specialty weapons. A gong sounded through the jeering crowd signaling the start of the match, she gripped her trusty daggers and loosened her body for combat.

           With scrutiny, the giant-kin sized up the light framed young human woman who was his new opponent. He had fought women before, but most of them were savage Halflings or Orc women from the north, and none of them wielding daggers. He gripped his enormous hammer firmly in his hands and yelled powerfully; surely he could defeat such a small woman he laughed to himself. He charged at his opponent, his massive feet thundering against the packed dirt of the arena.

             Kit waited patiently for the giant to make his first swing, her light build steady and laced with readiness. The woman lithely dodged the large hammer's first swing and slipped around it, slicing two neat marks across the huge man's forearms as she shifted behind him. The large half-breed spun around, laughing at the insignificant cuts across his arms. The thin lines had begun to bleed, but to his thick skin the wounds seemed superficial. He swung slowly and powerfully at the small woman. However, quickly and efficiently she dodged his attacks, all the while leaving numerous and precise rose ribbons across his body, her short dusty blond hair feathering in the breeze. Kit's jade eyes darted around judging each strike with precision; she had trained hard on the streets, and her experience as a highway bandit served her well. Each one of her measured cuts perfect and intentional. She smiled, the big ones were always the easiest, the bigger they are the harder they fall she mused. Kit quickly hopped away from the giant assessing her damage and grinning slyly, her trap of tiny blades had sprung perfectly, the huge creature's chest and arms had been crosshatched with a plethora of neat red lines which were beginning to bleed heavily.

                Throk licked his cracked lips, the sun seemed to beat down more harshly than before and his legs had begun to feel sluggish. Exhausted, he breathed heavily and looked down through the mesh of his helmet, his hammer uncharacteristically heavy in his hands. When did he get so bloody? He had felt fine a moment ago, but now his breath seemed shallow and his arms felt as though they were dragging through water. He looked up at the young woman to see she was smiling slightly and had relaxed her combat pose, as though the fight was over. She wiped her blades across her loose tan pants and sheathed them. Still smiling coyly, she turned away from him and began to walk towards the arena's exit.

She turned away!

                 Rage flooded Throk as he raised his body, it felt slow and stiff, but pumped full of adrenaline his wounds began to bother him less. No small woman would defeat him, not the champion of the Tyr arena! He charged, warhammer poised to strike; his corded muscles rippling with anger. He was satisfied to see that the lightly built desert woman was apparently unaware of her danger. Unfortunately for Throk, it had been another trap. Like a small desert lizard Kit deftly spun, a small dagger already prepared in her hand. It flew through the air quickly, lodging itself deep into the giant's throat. He stumbled towards her and finally fell into the dust, pale and soaked in blood. Kit had become accustomed to the bloody corpses of her enemies, the sheer amount of blood being her calling card. She didn't enjoy killing people, but the sensation she felt when wielding her daggers was indescribable. Although not a cruel hearted person, the look on her once cocky enemies face as they realized their doom was exhilarating.

                He had thought her soft without armor, unthreatening without a large weapon, and that had been her plan all along. After retrieving her dagger from the pale and gasping half giant, Kit looked up to the audience, the scalding sun beating down on her sweating form from a unforgiving and cloudless, sand hazed, blue sky. She found the hooded figure had disappeared, but she was not surprised; the trade of a treasure hunter was an dangerous one and their members were nothing if not secretive. If the guild accepted her performance she would be contacted in secret at a time of their choosing. If not, well, that wasn't an option she was willing to consider.