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03-12-2016, 12:57 AM
“Are you really blaming Mauja for what you did?!”
An elephantine trumpet echoed distantly in his skull.
“Don’t blame others for not having your demons in control.”
It echoed louder stronger, as the venom in her voice awoke an anger amid the guilt in his skull. Dull eyes hardened, glinting at her accusations and angry snorts. It seemed that their clearing was awash with the hot emotion, it hardening the King and raising the Doctor’s voice. Her shouts brought pinned ears and a clenched jaw— “I am the one to to blame others for my lack of control? I, who sought solitude in my dark hour, who knew my demons were beyond my control— I know the darkness that lives in me,” his voice thundered as an elephant roared in his skull, and he was growing larger, skin rippling between buckskin coat and grayed, wrinkled hide, “And never will I blame those who suffer at my lapse in judgment or at any other injustice.” A powerful, roaring snort shook his nostrils, “I will not stand and—” he cut off his furious words, for they were mounting in anger rather than fizzling out.
And, more importantly, all he heard were elephantine booms in his skull and frantically he internally felt his chest— but it was still locked in coldness; shockingly cold in contrast to the fever of his body. This was different, the only anger radiated in his skull. Either his body was too sick or his fear too great to allow any molten elephants to burst from his chest. But his body— it felt frozen, and his teeth were growing into tusks. Mbwene trumpeted in both alarm and excitement— the change she felt in their bond was so familiar, almost like herself.
Navy eyes close, a deep controlled breath passing through his flared, shifting nostrils. Why was he raging? What was it that Alysanne had said that had so thoroughly destroyed his control? Was it her implication that he shifted blame to Mauja, the victim of a burning? Yes. It had struck to close to him. Tembovu, the Elephant King, who had lost everything but justice, had been accused of being unjust. And blaming Mauja for having been burned (blaming Mara and Faxr for dying in the fire).
His ears pinned back as Alysanne snorted and challenged, now shouting at him about his wounds being more important than hers. The thought chilled his anger, slowly bringing his partial elephantine shift under control. His body folded to its smaller (but still massive) size, skin returning to silvered buckskin. Navy eyes open, seeing the Doctor advance on him, stubbornness and anger rolling off of her in waves, as palpable as her refusal to heal herself.
A deep breath, a clenching and unclenching of his jaw, and he slowly mirrors her steps towards him with and awkward, painful, three-legged gait. Only the smallest grimaces crease the corners of his eyes as he brings himself closer, closer, until he must avert his massive horn to the side of her infuriated, lovely face— so near that he can feel the anger of her hot breath on his muzzle. “A King is no more than those he rules. A good and just King sees to those under his reign before himself,” his deep voice rumbles resolutely. “Please allow me that, Alysanne,” only now do imploring undercurrents weave through as the low boom faded.
An elephantine trumpet echoed distantly in his skull.
“Don’t blame others for not having your demons in control.”
It echoed louder stronger, as the venom in her voice awoke an anger amid the guilt in his skull. Dull eyes hardened, glinting at her accusations and angry snorts. It seemed that their clearing was awash with the hot emotion, it hardening the King and raising the Doctor’s voice. Her shouts brought pinned ears and a clenched jaw— “I am the one to to blame others for my lack of control? I, who sought solitude in my dark hour, who knew my demons were beyond my control— I know the darkness that lives in me,” his voice thundered as an elephant roared in his skull, and he was growing larger, skin rippling between buckskin coat and grayed, wrinkled hide, “And never will I blame those who suffer at my lapse in judgment or at any other injustice.” A powerful, roaring snort shook his nostrils, “I will not stand and—” he cut off his furious words, for they were mounting in anger rather than fizzling out.
And, more importantly, all he heard were elephantine booms in his skull and frantically he internally felt his chest— but it was still locked in coldness; shockingly cold in contrast to the fever of his body. This was different, the only anger radiated in his skull. Either his body was too sick or his fear too great to allow any molten elephants to burst from his chest. But his body— it felt frozen, and his teeth were growing into tusks. Mbwene trumpeted in both alarm and excitement— the change she felt in their bond was so familiar, almost like herself.
Navy eyes close, a deep controlled breath passing through his flared, shifting nostrils. Why was he raging? What was it that Alysanne had said that had so thoroughly destroyed his control? Was it her implication that he shifted blame to Mauja, the victim of a burning? Yes. It had struck to close to him. Tembovu, the Elephant King, who had lost everything but justice, had been accused of being unjust. And blaming Mauja for having been burned (blaming Mara and Faxr for dying in the fire).
His ears pinned back as Alysanne snorted and challenged, now shouting at him about his wounds being more important than hers. The thought chilled his anger, slowly bringing his partial elephantine shift under control. His body folded to its smaller (but still massive) size, skin returning to silvered buckskin. Navy eyes open, seeing the Doctor advance on him, stubbornness and anger rolling off of her in waves, as palpable as her refusal to heal herself.
A deep breath, a clenching and unclenching of his jaw, and he slowly mirrors her steps towards him with and awkward, painful, three-legged gait. Only the smallest grimaces crease the corners of his eyes as he brings himself closer, closer, until he must avert his massive horn to the side of her infuriated, lovely face— so near that he can feel the anger of her hot breath on his muzzle. “A King is no more than those he rules. A good and just King sees to those under his reign before himself,” his deep voice rumbles resolutely. “Please allow me that, Alysanne,” only now do imploring undercurrents weave through as the low boom faded.
Tembovu
the Elephant King
@Alysanne
Please tag Tembovu.
