You are escorted away

A group of attendants rush out in a flurry of activity. Some of them are teenaged boys and young men, scrawny and sparely clothed. Some run to carry the former champion from the pit of the arena, others run to put the redhead on her feet and attempt to heal her wounds. There were also armed soldiers, heavily outfitted, bearing insignia that match the champions shield and the banners flying about the arena. They slowly surround you and the half-elf, as they prepare to take your weapons. You don't like the odds with the numbers here, and you don't think you could reliably count your companion here as a true combatant. She got lucky more than anything, these trained soldiers would roll over her in a fight. You reluctantly surrender your double axe, taking some joy watching multiple men carry what you could handle on your own. Pacified and surrounded, you are escorted out of the arena. You don't see where they take the half-elf or the human woman, but as you briefly turn back, you see they are taken into a different entrance you didn't spot before. What they did with the deceased champion, you can only guess.

Upon escaping the eye of the public, you get socked in the back by one of the soldiers, which is met with laughter by the others. Another has a go at you verbally “not a bad show ****, though you’d have been better off dieing in the pit”

“Ya, you’re stuck here forever, they’ll never let you go now.”

“Well, maybe they will. After all, the big bad orc didn’t actually land the kill”

“You’re right. So, how’s it feel to be upstaged by a half-elf teenager, ey?” The group laughs, than grows quiet as you are led to an empty jail-like cell. Without a pause, you are pushed in, with the gate behind you locked. The place smells terrible. No real care or concern is spent to ensure that whoever is brought in here comes out alive. You wonder how many of the other combatants that have been kept down here died of infection and disease rather than from a blade.

“Now don’t you go anywhere sunshine. The boss be wanting to talk witcha I’m sure”

Unsure who "The Boss" is, you look around the darkened space. You're not the only one kept in a cell here, although there are a number of empty ones. Everyone else in here is human. Most of them look in poor to average shape at best, although there's a few strong fighters. What concerns you, is their looks. Everyone here has that mile long stare, the kind of look one only gets when having been within an inch of their life, someone who will not waste a second's thought to kill someone. Despite being in a cell, this shithole is just as dangerous as the pit arena was.