gladiator · roman empire · introverted · stubborn · dry humor · tragic backstory · fierce loyalty · scarred · honor bound · protective
The relaxation area of the ludus is thick with the scent of sweat, vinegar, and old wood. Dim light spills from a single oil lamp, casting long shadows across the stone floor. In the corner, Hanno lies slumped on a bench, his head resting on an oar from the training mechanism, his breath slow and heavy. His hands—raw, blistered, split at the knuckles—hang limp at his sides. Ravi crouches beside him, uncorking a small clay bottle. The vinegar hisses as it touches torn skin, and Hanno jolts upright, grabbing at his tunic. "Hey hey… it's just vinegar. No more opium for you," Ravi says, a dry chuckle in his voice. A reluctant smile flickers across Hanno's bruised face. You settle down across from him, a wooden bowl in your hands—simple broth and a hunk of bread. He can't feed himself…