"Nature is cruel," Smildon once heard from another talking creature of Prexxor. In fact, the only other talker he's ever encountered who was born here… The only other gifted, or burdened with wisdom.
He was only a cub then, an orphan wanderer with no recollection of his family. How he wound up beside that creature faded from memory. It was at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a sparse woodland. A growth of the large crystals that formed here rimmed the bluff in a slanted wall. Atop one the creature rested, Wiseman as Smildon calls him for what he gave. The creature, short yet brawny, gazed out at the land beyond, his face hard like stone. One of his cold gray eyes, well the socket, had been clawed and gouged. It sent chills throughout the little Smildon. He still held some innocence.
They had a conversation he could not recall, other than those three words… And the two would never meet again. Wiseman looked older, some solans past his prime, much like Smildon has… He is probably gone now, but the words stayed.
In time, Smildon realized their truth. Indeed, Nature was a harsh mistress. Nature made him exist when he did not wish to. She let his family perish, or abandon him, and he would never know. Left him struggling to survive his entire life, and be chased by the Blight for days on end as everything it touched was incinerated. Even when he and the human, Tom managed to kill the living slime, almost all life in Prexxor had been wiped out. Who knew how long it would take for the Chasm to recover?
Food was scarce now. Between then and now, he has lost half his weight. So much, too much muscle had atrophied, strength that was already waning. His last meal was days ago… the other creatures could kill him. The threat of death was constantly on Smildon's mind, and it only lingered more after the Blight.
With what energy had had left, the withered hunter prowled a part of the barren lowlands, the sun finishing its descent below the canyons. Another day of sniffing the air, of surveying the ground for tracks passed… and once again he found nothing, absolutely nothing. Was the Chasm on its dying breaths, he feared?
It was getting dark, and he was beyond exhausted. Smildon scuffed back to his dwelling empty handed. His body, and most noticeably stomach ached, and his vision blurred. He needed to rest before collapsing in the open. Perhaps tomorrow he would have luck… He thought the same yesterday.
For solans, Smildon had felt hollow. Not only in starvation, but… loneliness. He could trust no one in Prexxor, not now or never. It all made him empty, so empty.
Would Tom ever return? He found respect for the boy, and enjoyed his company. What about the one he called Codemaster Crellan? Both could give him food, he knows they have some in their 'court'. He would take his chances with poisoning if it meant learning theirs was safe to digest.
Whatever a 'Codemaster' was sounded dominant. Perhaps this Crellan could do what their Chaotic players cannot, what he desired for countless solans now: Help him escape. Leave this forsaken location at last. Break from the cage…
And be free.