dorobo

the great plains

Though the strangely eyed man of the plains waiting until the Elephant did not watch him, he still felt that eerily, duo-hued gaze traveling over his hide and studying him. Briefly he wondered just what Imani knew of him, if anything. Did his name live on in Dorobo? Or was it cast from the records, his existence erased by his revenge? …but it did not matter, the Great Plains were far away and he had no reason to return.

“It is beautiful,” the striped stallion’s words catch him by surprise. Beauty certainly had not been the first thing he thought when he had laid eyes on the misted trunks and glass-littered ground. The cliffs had stolen his breath with their splendor, but not their borders. So navy eyes asses the mystic stallion, wondering how many more times he would surprise the King. He had known him but for a small amount of time, and already had caught him off-guard twice.

Before he could say a word more about the Edge’s beauty, the poisoner slipped easily from the misted shadows. Delicate and dripping in grace, his childhood friend gave a coy (but layered) smile— leaving the Elephant to ponder as to just how many meanings his labyrinthine friend filled beneath the slight curve of his delicate lips.

His thick, black tail switched once in annoyance as the man of silk and gold lightly chided him for his question— mostly annoyed because he knew his question was a poor choice, and one such as the Elephant King did not enjoy having his poor choices flagged and publicly waved. “My dear Aji, I think your ghosts would be more vindictive than mine,” his thick muzzle reached out to lightly bump the slender, gilded shoulder of his friend as he alluded to those who had met their demise by his many potions.

Though his great skull withdrew, attention turning back to Imani as Aji addressed him, and a grin grew across his pale muzzle as easily flirtatious complimentary words leave the new Edge stallion confused. “Imani, this is Kiuaji, also of the Plains. He’s an acquired taste, but you’ll get used to him,” his chuckling rumble sounded after the hyena answered the serpent’s question about his fate.

Though his mirth faded as the man finally answered his own question about Dorobo. So it still stood, though the Korofi had encroached? Is that was he meant by ‘shrunken?’ He was surprised by the sadness that acutely pierced his gut at the word ‘broken’ used to describe the great Dorobo. Though it was he who had contributed to it’s fall, and it was he who had dedicated his life to destroying the Makutano… He was still Dorobian. And that pride clung deeply in veins.

He was tempted to question further, to know more about the place that had shaped him into the King he now was… but he refrained, instead glancing between Kiuaji and Imani. “We have ranks within the Edge, with different responsibilities for each. I assume you’ll follow the path of our Seers, those tasked with wisdom and paying homage to our patron Moon Goddess. But there are other ranks, such as our sleuths of whom Kiuaji is apart of. Or healers, crafters, and soldiers.” There wasn't an outright question in his words, but it was implied.

Tembovu