The man with the wooden leg looked from Garagogarag to the cart, then back again. He looked at the cart once more as if working out how long it would take before the weight of the beastman would bring about its assured destruction. If he could fit on there at all. Even if there weren't already more than enough creatures crammed on there. The wooden-legged man turned to the driver and consulted with him. Garagogarag imagined him saying something along the lines of, 'how in the world are we going to get this buffoon on to the cart?!'
The driver merely shrugged. Giving an exasperated sigh, the Tree-Leg - for that was what he was - gave a swift order to the driver who quickly jumped down and ran off. The Tree-Leg turned to the beastman and appraised him.

Here he was, this astoundingly large wall of muscle, standing before him completely unchained, and yet he made no attempt at escape, nor did he attempt to maul, kill or otherwise place in his mouth or rend with his claws anybody in sight. It was either a very stupid creature or a very intelligent one. And something in its eyes told him it was certainly not the former.

Then there was the issue of the damned child on his shoulder! He wouldn't come down at all! When they spoke to him he ignored them and when they attempted to get him down the beastman would growl threateningly, forcing them to leave him be. They certainly could not have this. Could the beast be reasoned with, perhaps? He would have to try-

Before he could attempt to communicate with the thing, the driver had returned, a long chain in hand. The Tree-Leg gave a quick order, at which the driver visibly paled. A quick shout and a strike on the buttock with the cane ensured the driver got on with it. Very carefully, he approached the beastman and placed the chain around his waist - he had to circle him completely to avoid getting too close and personal, but otherwise, the beastman remained still and looked on curiously - or it appeared curious. Before long, they had tied the chain to the end of the cart and were ready to set off. If the beastman could not get on the cart, then he would simply have to run along behind it - or get dragged, if he so preferred.

Without further ado, the driver jumped into his seat and the Tree-Leg followed him on, with far less agility. He whipped the reins and the four horses set off. The cart began to move, the chain became taut and Garagogarag stared on in fascination as the cart came to a sudden halt and began to creak from the two opposing forces acting on it. On one side, the horses were trying to move forward, while on the other, a fascinated beastman stood staring, barely noticing the pull of the chain.

'Get a move on you buffoon!' the voice of the Tree-Leg came and Garagogarag blinked a few times, flexed his leg muscles and began jogging forward. With the force preventing it from moving removed all of a sudden, the cart jerked forward and nearly sent driver, Tree-Leg and everyone else flying. They managed to stay on, but gave the beastman many a poisonous glare. If looks could kill, he would have died many times over during that jog.

'You know, we coulda got him to pull the cart and carry the horses,' the driver said to the Tree-Leg.
'We could have had the cart ride him,' the Tree-Leg muttered unenthusiastically. 

They soon arrived at a rather staggering building. Garagogarag could neither see where it began at one end nor where it ended at the other. Everyone on the cart was forced in and Garagogarag, after having the chain removed, had the good sense to follow without pause. The glare of the Tree-Leg alone assured him that now was no time to be testing the little plump man.

Inside, he was set upon by an orc who tried to manhandle him roughly before realising it wasn't getting him anywhere. He looked up at the huge beastman quizzically, wondering how best to deal with this little problem. There was only so much a seven foot tall orc could do against an eleven foot monstrosity such as this. The Tree-Leg soon arrived and pointed Garagogarag to a strange thing.
'Get on the scale! Stop buffooning about!' he certainly seemed to enjoy calling him a buffoon, Garagogarag could not help think of the monkeys which inhabited his forest home. He doubted he looked much like them, perhaps the Tree-Leg thought he was a monkey of some kind? That was certainly amusing!

Doing as he was told, the beastman stepped on the scale and measurements were taken.
'Uh...the scale doesn't go high enough. I think he might have broken it.' there was a moment of silence as the Tree-Leg registered the Orc's words, looking above him as if asking whatever gods may be why they had blessed him with such imbecilic creatures - it just had to be too heavy didn't it! He quickly scribbled an estimate before commanding the beastman to move towards a series of metal bars which slowly lifted to reveal a rather large pit beyond. Without question, Garagogarag moved out and the bars came crashing down behind him.
'We didn't give him a weapon!' the Orc's voice came.
'Does that thing looks like it needs one?' the Tree-Leg hissed in annoyance, and a yelp from the Orc pointed towards another victim of a caned buttock.

The other end of the pit also had bars, which slowly lifted. From beyond the darkness, Garagogarag could feel a most ominous thing approaching. Even where he stood, he could hear its breathing and its heartbeats, he could sense its blood lust. The darkness gave way, slowly, as if attempting to cling on to the creature making its way into the pit.

It was black as night, a great amount of grey fur cascaded from its head. It was, as far as Garagogarag could see, a very strange lion of some kind. It raised its tale and he saw that it ended with a rather vicious spike, and something told him he did not want that touching him at all. With great care, he removed the child from his shoulder and placed him by the bars. The child sat down, completely unperturbed, and watched.

The beastman turned to this strange creature as the bars closed behind him. They immediately began circling each other, slowly at first, but faster and faster, closer and closer. Both predators had eyes only for one another. The lion's tail was raised high, poised to strike. Garagogarag had his arms raised, his vicious claws prepared to tear flesh, his razor teeth only too willing to sink into this fine meal - he had not eaten in far too long, and raw be it or cooked, meat was meat. 

The lion's tail struck forth, aiming straight for the beastman's lowered head. With alarming speed, Garagogarag shifted his head just to the side, and the spike passed him by. Without hesitation, he grabbed the tail with his left hand and wrenched upwards. Had he used less force, he would have achieved the desired effect of lifting his opponent from its tail and having it dangle there helplessly as he contemplated how best to deal with it. As it were, he used far too much speed and strength, and the lion was a bit too heavy to be lifted from the tail. 

What followed was a gruesome sight. The creature's tail, along with its spine and much of its attached innards, were wrenched right out. It gave a horrified squeal, attempting to escape the deadly grasp of the beastman. And it did, only to stagger and fall, spineless, lifeless and dead. Bloodied and rather disappointed, Garagogarag approached the creature and explored the gaping hole of its back. He managed to get a good two mouthfuls before the voice of the Tree-Leg reached him, commanding him to stop. Garagogarag could smell his fear, but he obeyed nonetheless.

He returned to the child, who swiftly climbed up a bloodied arm and on to his sanguinary companion's shoulder. The beastman was led away and ushered into a small, cramped cell. Its door, unlike others, was of metal. Though that would not be of much use, Garagogarag could sense strange energies emanating from it. This was a cell which was far more powerfully guarded than a simple one of metal and stone. They placed a plate of brew and some water inside. Not feeling very hungry, Garagogarag allowed his little companion to have it. The child ate without fuss or complaint, and once he drank his share, he gave the water bowl to the beastman who drank deeply.

Satisfied, Garagogarag curled up, and his little companion curled up beside him, and both slept. One of the beastman's eyes remained open.
[h2][centre]***[/centre][/h2]
The next day was very active. Garagogarag was up early, as always, pacing his cell. He wanted to walk, run, hunt. This was a very cramped space. Soon enough, the door opened and he was led away, child on shoulder. He was left by the Orc near a group of slaves, some whom he had seen the day before, others new to him. He ignored them all and stood quietly to the side.

Before long, the Tree-Leg arrived and began speaking and gesticulating wildly. He was indeed a most amusing little man. Even if he thought that Garagogarag, the mighty Tree-Claw, was a 'buffoon-monkey'. Once he was done, and Garagogarag had the impression that he was making an offer, the other slaves began muttering amongst themselves. Three in particular were the most outspoken. A blonde creature which looked much like the Tree-Leg yet moved with a very different air, the second was a creature very similar to the first, and the last was an Orc. He had come across Orcs many times during his hunts. The tribal hunting lands, it seemed, fell within their claimed territory. Not that it ever mattered, they tended to avoid him, unless in great numbers, and when they were in great numbers, he was more than capable of evading them and withdrawing into the tribal heartlands.

Garagogarag had no plans to speak at all. The Life had led him here, and the Life would do with him as it pleased. The child on his shoulder, however, had different ideas. He spoke, and despite his small size and innocent appearance - why, he could not be older than five or six in human years - his voice was full of maturity, ever so different from the first time Garagogarag had spoken to him.

[color=a0410d]'Do not belittle the pit. You will die as surely in there as you will fighting the city guard. It is simply a matter of choosing a quick death, fighting for your life and freedom, or a slow, humiliating one as entertainment for the blood-deprived masses. It is a choice between living and dying as slaves, or living and dying free, to the last. Either way, you are all dead.'[/color]

Garagogarag stared at his companion, wondering how a thing so small could come out with such a speech. He gave a low grunt, clearly disapproving of the words spoken.

[i][b][color=007236]'We Fight. We Will. We Live. In the Pit. On the Field. It Differs Little. But Here, If We Survive, We Can Grow. Stronger We Can Become. We Can Thrive.'[/color][/b][/i]