Rufio,
The day was hot and sticky, for though fall had come to Novus, Solterra didn’t seem to have gotten the message. He hated this place – every inch of it. He hated the sand, he hated the heat, and most of all, he hated the pious who prayed to a god that genuinely didn’t seem to give two licks about them. They were blind, Rufio decided – blind to reality and blind to what was truly a god’s curse, being trapped in this desert. Maybe they just didn’t know that life could offer so much more. Neverland had been more – it had been perfect… but Neverland was gone, leaving nothing but the salt of bitterness on his tongue.
He sharpened the tools of war, finding peace in the mundane task of rubbing iron against flint, letting the chip on his shoulder fall as he worked. Nearby, his hyena companion snoozed atop of some dusty blankets, chortling a bit in her sleep, and causing the blacksmith to smile briefly to himself (for no one was here to see). At least he’d found her again. He would have been lost without Asha by his side… it would have been too much to lose his home and his only companion too.
So lost in his thoughts is the boy that he nearly misses the hiss of an opening gate. Curious. Today, there wasn’t meant to be a fight in the Colosseum. Laying down the sword which he sharpened, he moved quietly toward Asha, nudging her awake with a quiet hush. Do you hear something? He asks her telepathically, noting her hackles beginning to raise.
And that was all the warning he got.
The manticore turned the corner, its voice tinny and eerily cheery as it locks eyes with Rufio. There is hunger within them, so he immediately knows that danger is eminent. "What the fuck?” Rufio’s exclamation is exasperated, even as he reaches to gather a handful of hot coals, flinging it at the creature’s face as he pushes past it toward the narrow door. Asha, run!
He could only hope that the singe of coals against its skin would give enough distraction for Rufio to escape the confines of his workroom, but the boy doesn’t wait to see. Instead, he slings the newly sharpened blade against him, racing the clock as he slams the door closed to trap the manticore inside, knowing it would only buy him a short time.
For he knows this place is a trap, hopelessly tangled webs of basement halls beneath the stadium stage… and he knows too there was only one way out.
Fight, or be destroyed.
mischief managed.
| "speaks" | @Official Day Account
