What the actual fuck? Rufio appeared in Novus on a day when the autumn sun was hot and high in the sky. Blinking, he opens his eyes, finding himself somewhere entirely different than where he’d started. Where he expected to see the lush jungles of Neverland, to hear the whispering chorus of the sea, there was only desert. Far as his eyes could see, the dunes stretched high to the heavens… and Rufio knew that the magic had screwed him again.
Dusting himself off, the stallion sighed an audible sigh, stamping about in the soft sand. His chains glowed hot from the sunlight, jingling with every step. From the look of him, it was clear to the average passerby that Rufio was a punk. His fur is dark, except for where it blends to zebra-like stripes on his legs. Atop his head is a red and black mohawk mane, adorned with golden baubles and chains. His lips twist into a sneer as cold silver eyes peer over the landscape. Desert. Just great.
Neverland was a veritable sort of paradise – so unlike the harshness of Mors. Instantly, he began to miss the lushness of his home. He missed the brine of the sea air, the cry of the gulls, the wash of the waves. Though some might find beauty in the golden dunes, there was little more than disdain given to the land by Rufio. All he wanted was to go back home.
How he’d gotten here was something of a mystery too. He’d been fine, alone and minding his own business, when the magic had sucked him up into a vortex. Something deep within him worries that perhaps Neverland was gone entirely now. Already, it had been abandoned by the rest of the orphan lost boys. Even Pan, who had told them over and over that Neverland was his one true home, had gone again. For a time, Rufio had thought the green boy would return to them. For a time, he’d almost forgiven Pan for the first time he’d left. Showing his true colors though, he’d vanished once more. It was hard to trust a child with wanderlust in his veins… for even though Pan had a home in Neverland, he was never satisfied with staying in one place.
Rufio on the other hand… Rufio never wanted to leave. Though he doesn’t wear the same mantle of youth as his once-friend Pan, he had never lost his child-like attitude and angst. There is a callousness with which he views the world, disdainful of “adults” who put themselves into petty squabbles and drama. In truthfulness, the black and red stallion wanted to stay out of such politics. He wanted to just be left alone.
And now, that’s what he was… alone in a new and forlorn place. Accepting this fate, he gathers his wits about him, and starts walking. After all, if Rufio couldn’t change his circumstances, he’d be better off getting out of the heat than sweltering to death with no one to hear his cries.
mischief managed.
@Raum | "speaks" | notes: <3 let's get this party started!
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
This day it is Legion who moves ahead of Raum. His forked tongue tastes the air with every other stride. It guides him this way and that and keeps him free of obstacles. The monster was rapidly finding ways to make up for the loss of his sight (for still Raum keeps his scarf bound tightly around the monster’s eyes).
So it is that together the familiar and his master move through the endless plane of the Mors desert. The citadel was a gleaming light upon the horizon at their back. It was as if carved in gold, for the sunlight caught it so. Raum might have noted its majesty, if he were not hell-bent upon its destruction.
They make for the Oasis, the only natural water source within Solterra. About its borders great barriers have been built. They reach for the sky and at their feet laborers toil in the sun. Legion stands, skull now tilting avian and predatory as he listens to the sounds of construction – the shouts, the hammering, the clanging.
Yet a glimpse, a spark within the corner of his sight, catches Raum’s attention. He turns away from the labour and gazes out into the belly of the desert. Someone moves, their skin a dark shadow against the bright glitter of their outfit.
Another stranger.
“Come.” Raum commands Legion (as he has a thousand times before) and moves away from the construction. Their pace was rapid and direct. The sand fought against him, but the Crow had learned how to walk upon the desert so long ago. He reaches the stranger, a boy of black and red and glittering gold metal.
“Who are you?” Raum murmurs and turns to circle the boy, to stop his path. Behind him Legion rises, formidable, and sets his blindfolded gaze upon the boy. They block his path and do not move. “What business do you have here boy?”
The autumn wind is brutal here, stinging against the stallion as it tossed up golden sand in his face. He hated here, immediately. It wasn’t his home.
For many, home brought to mind smiling faces and feelings of love. None of that rang true for Rufio. The faces he’d once cherished were gone, but the land… the land was a place that would always hold a special place in his heart. Rufio was born for Neverland – born to run its wild lengths, to sleep beneath the stars, to dance along the surf. If anything, the island kingdom had given him a feral sort of peace and stability… but gone was that now too.
He saw Raum approaching, saw the large creature at his side, and was struck with a sense of uncaring indifference. Perhaps the ashen stallion had come to kill him or banish him, which was alright with the red-and-black stallion. He didn’t want to be here anyway. Still, as the king and his basilisk grow closer, Rufio has to admit to being a bit indimidated, swallowing his feelings of inadequacy and fluffing out his chest in a show of defiance. If he was going down, it wouldn’t be without a fight.
Biting his lip, he lets the stranger speak first, his silver eyes flashing hot with defiance as he scowls at the stranger. Who am I? I could ask you the same thing old man… and what’s with your blind lizard? Unsure of the mythical creature with his eyes bound in silk, the bejeweled stallion shifts a bit further away. Best not to be too laise faire around strangers in a strange land, he supposed.
Begrudgingly, he asks the question that lingers on his tongue. Where am I? I have no business here… hell, I don’t even know where “here” is… and I certainly don’t want to stick around in this shitty sand pit. Score one for class.
mischief managed.
@Raum | "speaks" | notes: <3 let's get this party started!
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
The boy is tired, sand smudges his skin in brown and sweat glistens like glue. The gold of his armour chinks and gleams. It flashes like a dragon’s hoard and for a moment Raum wonders if a Night dragon might descend with eyes gleaming to claim this boy and his treasure for its own.
Raum’s skull tilts as the boy’s lips twist in distaste. Something violent thrums within the Ghost’s veins. It echoes a carrion cry of death and that sound rattles bones like bars of a cage. Can Rufio feel that dangerous hum – the song of lands quaking as the earth moves. The air trembles, it hangs heavy and thick and all between them is bated breath. Far away the sound of building clangs and bangs and hammers on. It is Raum’s Regime ascending, it is the sound of war with its metal teeth and rule of steel.
The boy speaks with a tongue he can ill afford. “Talk like that again,” Raum hums, “and you will have no tongue to speak with.” There is no deception hidden within those words. Each one is stone and oh how Rufio is set for stoning. “Blinded lizard.” The king corrects gently, each word a potent promise. “Carry on as you are and you will discover just how well the lizard can see.”
And how Legion claws at the earth, how restless he grows when he thinks of his sight restored. The creature’s feathers rustle like the voices of the dead, his teeth are the clacking of the chains that bind them to Sheol.
The boy curses this land of sand – sand that reaches from horizon to horizon. Oh how such words might bring a smile to the Solterran king’s lips! Raum knows those feelings, the disdain for this land of sunbaked earth and banished shadow. “You are in Solterra and I am its king. You would do well to be silent and let me ask the questions. Freedom has no value to those who have never lost it. Do not lose yours because you are a fool who cannot restrain their tongue.”
The boy has little admiration to offer to a desert king for a land he gave less than two shits about, but he knew better than to play with fire. There is something just ominous enough in Raum’s tone that has him biting his tongue, chewing on the inside of his cheek until the sanguine taste of blood meets the grinding of his teeth. It is little more than a reminder to the boy, to watch himself. Rufio never did have much class, but he should have the common sense to carry himself with a bit more astuteness in a strange place.
For several moments, the red and black colt is silently sulking, his silver eyes roaming curiously over Legion in particular, as he ponders the circumstances that led to the lizard being blinded by what Rufio could only assume to be his master. What is he, anyway? He shifts the conversation away from himself as only an uncomfortable child can, taking a step away from Legion as he hissed once more and fought against the chains. There is something untamed and feral in the beast, something that has Rufio standing a bit wary in his presence. There is something that hints at more than a little danger.
I’m not going to bow. he offer stubbornly, finally giving Raum a snarky sort of half smile. I don’t bow to anyone… it’s nothing personal. Still, he would begrudgingly offer a tenuous respect to Raum, if only for the fact that he tamed the basilisk. Walking ahead, he sank deep into the sand, grumbling as it pressed deep into the black of his fur and beneath his golden chains. How anyone could think this land a paradise was far beyond him. Without knowing the history of Solterra and the lore, it was simply a wasteland to his eyes.
Does the king have a name? He looks back at the pale stallion, mischief banked within his eyes, hiding beneath their exterior a boy more lost than found. There is promise in his gaze, and potential just waiting to be reined in, harnessed for some larger purpose… but it would take a heavy hand to get him there, and Rufio wasn’t exactly a cordial sort. Perhaps Raum would see past his haughtiness, to find the utility in the boy… or perhaps it wasn’t worth the effort.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Legion preens before the boy. His beak, fanged and sharp, burrows into his crimson feathers, pecking and tugging at their quills. As if sensing the dark of Rufio’s eyes upon his scaled skin, the monster pauses and slowly twists his head. Angular, sharp fierce, the beast stares at where the boy stands, his crimson eyes gleaming from behind the barrier of azure silk.
His beak tips up into the air, nostrils flaring as he scents where the colt stands. Then slowly his beak parts, neck lowering, her serpent’s tail whipping through the air, this way then that. A hiss, coarse as a swan, as aggressive as teeth already in Rufio’s skin, slick with blood and venom(ah the monster can dream), rattles from legion’s throat. Venom strings between his fangs and lower jaw, yet slowly he closes his maw as Raum shifts lazily.
So the bond between Raum and his beast grows. It is nothing of love, or devotion. It is an unrequited bond, yet it festers deep. It sinks through skin and desire and settles deeper still into need. The basilisk and the king need each other, their nerves are now one, laces together by magic and circumstance. Legion screams at his master, fury alighting through his every nerve. Oh it sets Raum ablaze, yet Raum is ice to his monster’s fire. What is there to fear when everything you love is already so very, very lost?
Blank eyes turn back to the boy. The orphan stood gleaming beneath the Solterran sun. So much reminds the Crow of himself and fondness burns through hatred. But it is just a drop, only a drop of water landing upon a hotplate. “I did not tell you to bow, Rufio.” Raum says softly, uncaring. “Yet you would be surprised how fast people fall to their knees when their needs are not met.” Raum says, casually, as if it is just conversation.
Slowly his gaze peels from the stranger-boy and off toward the walled Oasis. Beneath his feet are carcasses. Already Solterra’s people are dying, already they come to him demanding, hating, begging.
The boy asks another question and again there is sarcasm in his tongue. A misplaced haughtiness clings to him. Oh Raum sees, not a black boy adorned in a golden outfit, but a boy of silver with raven black eyes. There is so much of who he was in Rufio, it fills him with hatred and yet stays his hand.
“When you learn to ask politely, then, I will give you my name. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asks idly. Raum is not Isra, who can make the world give her bread from water or wine from stones. But he is a king and his resources are vast – for those within his Regime…
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
