Rujo, il Maestro
70 EUR / In stock.
Box art: Alex Varela
Art: María Fernández
Pieces included: 13
Limited edition of 150 copies
NOTE: This kit comes with 2 extra miniature pieces including one head and one hand.
Rujo, il maestro accelerated the trot.
Racing, with a rapid pulse, savouring the tension building up before the battle. All of that used to make him feel young again and he loved the feeling. Despite the bygone years, the honour, his progeny - next to him at that very moment - and the benefits gained as the grand master of his tribe, nothing could ever compare to the charge prior to the clash.
That was the only instant in which his everlasting concern for his clan would fade away. He wouldn’t overthink his species’s destiny, nor would he worry about his children’s formation or about choosing a captain for the battle along the Southern border. At this moment, he was just going to be Rujo himself, fighting for his own life.
The Kentauroi - or Centaurs as referred to by other species - had several enemies. They would hound, pester, challenge and face them across the far ends of his clan’s territory. And the latter, Rujo knew, was the very root of the problem. The Kentauri needed extensive land to survive. Roaming in the prairie, hunting in the woods and resting close to a river’s bank or a body of water, they required extensive amounts of water and space, therefore placing great demands on the environment and coming into conflict with other species in competition for resources. The world had changed. The Humans, The Elves and other evil races began living in foul-smelling fixed dwellings which developed into increasingly larger settlements called villages. Their sprawling farms, their crops and the pasture for their foolish cattle began to displace every scrap of the Centaurs habitat. The Centaurs were knowledgeable about forging and the blacksmith’s trade. In his opinion, his clan could safely rely on his capable craftsmen’s skills, yet the warriors would only engage in activities such as hunting, roaming and fighting. This is why they all lived in a perpetual state of war. A lost war, he believed.
He focused on the enemy ahead - an armour-clad human on horseback. An uncouth and oafish version of a centaur. Despite his age, Rujo could still move, turn and perform manoeuvres better than any riding human. Making a feint with his forelimbs, he distracted his mortal foe, and with a swift move of his right arm, he raised his trusty lance and prepared to charge...