At the fighting pit outside the arena, the long drawn note from Durwith's horn echoed through the square. Goblins, pouring out of the cage, turned toward the source of the note in a frenzy as the slavers struggled to hold them back, fighting them with swords and whips, the ringmaster stood off to the side paralyzed in horror, and the few brave commoners that hadn't run away in terror prepared to fight the monsters. Once he had placed his horn back in its holder, Durwith looked over at the ringmaster. "Y'know, if yer not goin' ta help you should start runnin'!" Durwith called out him.

The ringmaster blinked, yet seemed to remain frozen in place. Ahead of Durwith, a pair slavers fought the goblin horde as they poured out of the mist. The lead slaver, with a howl, swung his sword down on the goblin ahead of him. The nimble creature attempted to dive out of the way, but not before getting a large gash across its arm. "Good hit!" Durwith called out. Ahead of Durwith, the slavers struggled against the onslaught of goblins. Three of them took on the lead slaver, their claws tearing at his leather armor, one of them armed with a jagged scimitar. The blade plunged into the slaver with a shriek from the little terror. Meanwhile, a trio of goblins rushed towards Durwith, angered by the sound of his horn. The goblins struck at Durwith, their claws scratching at his armor. For the most part they couldn't get through, but then 1 of the goblins managed to jump up on Durwith's shoulders, digging his claws into a vulnerable spot on his underarm.

Dropping his shield, Durwith grabbed the goblin on his shoulder by the throat and threw it down into the ground. Durwith then gripped his battleaxe with both hands and attempted to bring it down on the goblin's neck. However, the goblin rolled clear of Durwith's strike. Cursing in dwarvish, Durwith quickly picked up his shield in preparation for the next round of attacks.

Behind Durwith, commoners rushed forward to aid the dwarven fighter, they surrounded the closest goblin and struck with fists and daggers and rocks, injuring the goblin. "Get yerselves ta safety, you lot" Durwith said to the commoners "I can handle the goblins". Although he appreciated the aid, his watchman instincts kicked in and told him to order the commoners to safety. Heeding Durwith words, the commoners made a run for it. The goblin attempted to lash out at them, but missed since it was still stunned from the blow. Suddenly, Durwith felt an arrow bounce off his chain mail. Durwith glared in the direction the arrow had come from. "Watch yer aim, boy!" Durwith called out to the archer before re-focusing on the goblins, not catching the archer's aggressive reply. The goblins surged forward, howling into the night air. They assaulted the slavers with a flurry of blows, however most of the attacks were turned by the slaver's leather armor. Meanwhile, the goblins spit and howled at Durwith, 1 of them jumped up on his shoulders again, this time slashing at his neck and face ineffectively. Nearby, alarm bells could be heard from the battlements. Shouts were heard from the south, and the gallop of horses.

Swatting the goblin down with his shield this time, Durwith attempted to decapitate the goblin again. But once again the goblin rolled clear. "Hold still ye little bugger!" Durwith snapped. To the south, three officers of the watch appeared, mounted on horseback. The three of them drew their swords, preparing to attack the goblins. One slaver brandished his sword against the goblins, swinging it through the air and sinking it deep in 1 goblin's shoulder, cutting down to its midsection. "Good hit!" Durwith called out again. The goblins, seeing the oncoming guards and the alarm bells striking fear into them, began to make their escape. One goblin, holding a slaver's mace screeched at his brethren. "Graoot! Velmash g;nash nash!". The goblins nimbly rolled away from their attackers, hooting and hollering as they fled into the darkness, some fading from view as if from some dark arts.
"That's right! Run ya bloody cowards!" Durwith called after the goblins as they ran. With that said, Durwith sheathed his battleaxe and put away his shield.

Once the mounted watchmen had passed by and the watchmen on foot began securing the area, Durwith walked westward out of the goblin pit. As he did so, Durwith noticed that the ringmaster was still there. When he reached the ringmaster, Durwith stopped and looked up at him. "I liked that introduction ye gave me earlier" Durwith said "And the name ye gave me too. Grimblade is far more apt a name fer a pit fighter than Durwith".
"W-what?" The ringmaster uttered, still in shock. "Oh yes.... theatrics you see. After tonight I think I'm worn out on [i]that[/i] for a long, long time."
"I'd probably be worn out too were I in yer place" Durwith said, looking over at the aftermath of the battle before returning his focus to the ringmaster. "I apologise fer my part in all o' this" Durwith added "Do let me know if I can make it up to ye in any way".
The ringmaster twirled his mustache in thought. "Hmm.... there is one thing you could do" he replied "The one lad who died, killed by those wretches, I'll need to notify his brother. He's hotheaded at the best of times. To hear this, he will be sore indeed! Do me this favor and notify him. This time of night you can bet he's getting pissed in the Trotting Mule - a tavern just off Hero's Square."
Durwith nodded at the ringmaster's request. "Very well" Durwith said "Give me his name and I'll give him the news".
"You will?" the ringmaster said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Paxton Truter is his name. Best ease him into the news. Like I said, he has a fiery temperament."
"Thank ye fer the advice" Durwith said "And again, sorry about the mess". With that said, Durwith turned and walked off in the direction of the Trotting Mule.