Stand My Ground

While I'm stronger than I appear, I'm no match for the much larger orc. I struggle to maintain any semblance of balance as he grapples with me. His meaty hand wraps around my weapon arm's wrist, while the other hand grips my leg, lifting me effortlessly. I curl my free hand into a fist and jab it into his nose, drawing blood, but it barely phases him. He merely winces, then with a roar, he raises my body off the ground and slams me down into the center of the ring. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I gasp for breath, stars dancing before my eyes.

His hand releases my wrist only to deliver a strong backhand across my face, followed by the heavy pressure of his knee pressing into my stomach, just below my ribcage, restricting my ability to recover my breath. He could claim victory here and now, but he doesn't. Instead, his large hand tears at my deerskin, the leather straps that are my only modesty at the torso. The crowd reacts, whispers and murmurs rippling through the spectators, especially among the other fighters.

"What are you doing?" Andin calls out, his voice a mix of concern and accusation. Dagul ignores him, continuing to tear at the leather straps over my chest. Andin steps into the ring, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?!"

A few others stand, voicing their protests, but Dagul's grip on my arms tightens, and he takes a step closer to Andin, his voice a low growl. "No rules being broken," he says, his breath hot on my face.

Andin tries to push out of the grip, stepping closer, but Dagul matches his steps, better positioning himself. My chest is now fully exposed, the leather torn and pulled down my legs, revealing my hairless nethers. Dagul places his hands over mine, gripping them tightly in one of his massive hands, and reaches down with his other hand to take hold of his own leggings, his intent clear.