For the final match, they had put an older goblin up against a nervous goblin with shifty eyes and a jagged cleft mouth. Durwith raised an eyebrow at the announcement of the odds being in the older goblin's favor and at the whispers of said goblin being a magic user. Although he couldn't tell for sure whether Old One could use magic or not, Durwith decided to bet his 4 gp on him anyway. The fight that followed was a pathetic display as Cleft whimpered and moaned, refusing to raise his claws against the old goblin, merely allowing himself be beaten to a bloodied stump with a rock. The spectators jeered and booed at the poor excuse for a fight and Durwith won 4 more gold pieces.

Once he'd collected his winnings, Durwith walked up to the ringside to get a better look at Old One, thinking that a closer and longer examination would tell the dwarf if the goblin could use magic. Two slaver's fitted the aged goblin with ropes as it barked and spat and the lead slaver slapped a collar on him. "This ones all used up!" the leader snapped "We're not going to make any gold if none of these scrappers will fight him!" Durwith took a closer look at the Old One. Cloudy eyes, elongated claws, and a tattoo scrawled on his withered chest, faded and easy to miss. A rune of Nerull, one that gained notoriety when the City Watch struggled against the Shadow Cult two years ago. It was a good bet that this goblin could indeed wield magic. But that didn't matter to Durwith anymore. He knew that rune tattooed onto the goblin's chest all too well. The people who served under it, killed a good friend of Durwith's 2 years back. Now all that mattered to Durwith was killing that goblin.

"I'll fight the little bastard!" Durwith called out to the slaver "I might not be a goblin meself, but I'd very much like to dice the rancid thing anyway!".
The lead slaver looked over to Durwith and shook his head. "You and about a thousand others would like a try at these scrappers" the leader replied "But ifin 'ee be dead, I don't make any gold, see?".
"And 'ee ain't about to make you gold if the other scrappers won't go near 'im" Durwith replied "Besides, after that farce you just put on, I think you owe the crowd at least 1 last decent fight".
The slaver rubbed his stubbled chin for a moment in consideration. "Alright" he finally said "let me clear it with the ringmaster". The lead slaver walked over to the ringmaster. After a brief exchange with the ringmaster, the lead slaver returned. "This ain't exactly regular, but he's agreed" the leader said "Just put on a good show!".
"Oh, I intend to" Durwith replied as he vaulted over the ring border.

As the slaver led Old One to the other side of the ring, the ringmaster's voice carried out over the crowd, who had just started to leave. "Ladies and gentleman!" the ringmaster called out "One more fight for your viewing pleasure! Behold the mighty Dwarven Grimblade! A newcomer here in Haven living out in exile from Razor Mountains for his sheer butchery! And with us now, intent on killing goblins! 3:1 Odds for our Dwarven hero! I know you all cannot pass up that action!". The crowd shuffles in closer to the fighter ring, holding pouches of copper and silver for betting while Old One hissed and spat as the slavers prepared to unleash his collar. Durwith donned his shield, drew his battleaxe, and pounded the flat of the blade against his shield in a gladiatorial manner. "Let's see how you do against someone who isn't afraid of you, ya filthy goblin!" Durwith exclaimed as he prepared to fight.

The slavers pulled the collar free, and Old One's eyes darkened toward Durwith. "Sho gro la' gahmuush!" the goblin snapped. Suddenly, Durwith felt an energy surround him, similar to an electric charge at the onset of a storm. The ground trembled and out of the rock and sands at his feet, thorned vines sprouted with incredible speed, spanning the entire fighting pit. The crowd made a collective gasp as they saw the vines entangle Durwith's feet, reach up to whip across his arms, binding them tight, and creep up ever closer to his throat. But before they could get that far, Durwith summoned up his strength and broke free of his bindings. Upon freeing himself from the vines, Durwith charged the goblin and struck him across the chest with his battleaxe, cutting through the tattoo as it went. Old One howled in pain, stumbling backward from the blow, its legs bent, squatting low to the ground with one claw firm against its bleeding wound. "R'mash! R'mash!" Old One called out suddenly. About fifty feet from the fighting pit, there was a large cage that housed the goblins. They began jumping and hooting at Old One's words. One slaver, standing to close, was pulled tight to the cage, claws reached out and sliced his throat while others groped at his leathers. "Secure that cage!" the ringmaster hollered.

Old One's lips curled up in a whisper as a fog formed around the cage, enveloping it, concealing the dying slaver and the caged goblins. Durwith's shield then slammed into Old One's face. While taking advantage of the goblin's momentary stun, Durwith then severed Old One's right arm at the shoulder. The left arm was quick to follow in a similar manner before Durwith moved onto the legs. With a single sideways slash, Durwith severed both of Old One's legs at the knees. With the goblin now prone on the ground, Durwith lifted his his battleaxe into the air and brought it down a few inches to the left of Old One's head, embedding the blade into the ground. Durwith then dropped his shield, placed a foot on the goblin's chest, reached down, and ripped Old One's head from his shoulders. Durwith lifted up the goblin's head for the crowd to see, but quickly realized their attention was focused on the cage. After dropping the head and reclaiming his weapon and shield, Durwith walked towards the cage. The countless growls and barks of the goblins filled the air behind the smokey veil. "What are you waiting for?!" the ringmaster shouted to the slavers "Get in there!"
"After you!" the lead slaver barked back.

Suddenly, goblins came pouring out of the cloud. They leaped at the slavers, claws and teeth ripping into flesh as they pounced on them. Panic set into the crowd and they turned to run in all directions as small goblin forms lunged out of the cloud in all directions. "Well shit" Durwith said before pulling out the horn he used during his time in the watch and blew into it as hard as he could in the hopes of summoning the watch and drawing the goblins' attention so that others could get away.