Though his trunk successfully twisted around the Mountain’s clawed limb, he underestimated the strength of dragon wings. Their large, aerodynamic, sail-like spread harnessed power more efficiently than the feathered appendages of those he had fought thus far. Not only did the powerful flapping twist of dragon-Isopia’s mismatched wings strongly buffet his body, but it also wrenched the scaled skin free of his grasp before he could put any true leverage into the downward arc of his swinging trunk. A deep, guttural grunt of annoyance at himself rumbled from his elephantine chest—but he could only hold this heavy, wrinkled body for so long.

Given his immobilization during his transformation and the snapping of tree limbs that marked Isopia’s brief, thrashing pause in her aerial pursuits, the Elephant King opted to take advantage of his opponent’s brief entrapment with the tree boughs. So he shifted his weight to his right to relieve the pressure on his injured left shoulder while he was frozen in transformation, and slowly began to morph back into his (still large) equid form.

The pounding, deep ache of his shoulder—amplified greatly has his rippled muscle and clipped bone reshaped itself—briefly caused a single note of discord to flash through his mind. He was fighting this battle as a King with the thoughts of his old, General self. Yet, he had left the warm bed of his lover, the mother to his children. He was a father now again, as well as a lead to this herd. Though he felt he owed it to the Edge to be their Champion, what did he owe his family? The dark skin around his eyes creased in a combination of pain and unsettled thoughts. All of this over a set of leather bags? Where it seemed Isopia’s youth had her mired in principles (he had once destroyed an empire on the basis of principles…and some vengeance), the Elephant was no longer as blinded by them.

Yet, the earthen demigoddess had not revealed all of her magic. So the King was yet again frozen (although only partially, this time) as the rocky earth beneath his barrel suddenly erupted into the soft flesh there. However, the slight right-ward lean of his changing mass caused the mound of magicked earth to cut into his left flank, rather than opening his barrel and eviscerating him on the spot. A low, rumbling groan ripped from his throat as the sharp edge of rock opened the softer skin beneath his flank before ripping into the oblique muscles that spanned between his ribs and hip. He was stuck, grappling for the earth with his right side in his half-frozen state. The pain burning from his left flank and bounding from his left shoulder hindered him using them to stop his awkward, off-balance jostling.

He did not know know where the Mountain was, her reptilian body masked by mists that were as much of a boon as a burden. Mbwene’s trunk twisted anxiously in the air before her as she watched the very earth upend her bonded, a distressed chuff pushing out of her wrinkled lips. She may not wish to join or approve of this fight, but she still concerned about her Elephant. Her sharp, worried, pained blue gaze darted to Hubris accusingly. Her mind, in its anxiety and (relative) youth, displaced some of this fight’s blame onto the bronze dragonet. She tooted a short, brassy trumpet at him before turning and giving him her viciously twitching, tasseled tail.

Then her gaze widened as she searched the skies for her bonded’s opponent. Isopia was well hidden in the mists, a mountainous shadow in the opaque, white soup. However, mountains didn’t move—or, at least, the ones that studded the Edge’s cliffs did not; and there was a vague shadow moving in the skies (or so she thought). She sent the image and location of the misted body to her bonded. There, she tacked on the word, but still remained on the sidelines (much to Tembovu’s relief).

Thus, while regaining fully-equid limbs beneath him and severely favoring his doubly injured left-side, the King’s mind grasped onto the fiery, enraged magic that forever burned in some crevasse of his chest. He sent out the silently trumpeting, molten rock elephant from his breast in the general direction Mbwene had shown him. Its angry, magma eyes blindly searched for an opponent to explode upon, compelled to charge forward by it magical make-up. The King hoped his wrathful magic would somehow find its mark—or else both Mbwene and Hubris needed hide behind trees (the first) or take to the skies (the latter), for this magic his had no preference for morality, right, or wrong.


WC: 793
A: 2/4
Damage tracker: Gnarly, deep left shoulder wounds, yo; ripped flesh on left flank;
Summary: Iso's earth-rock-mound rips open left flank. Mbwene tries to show him where she thinks Iso is, and he sends a magma elephant in that general direction.

Tembovu

the elephant king