the Rift


[PRIVATE] Different types of solitude

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#1
I have loved so hard
that it broke my heart—
It seemed he was drawn to water in hours of internal unrest, just as he was drawn to forests and shadows in the dark hours of his soul. After the closure of his meeting, after being beneath all those eyes (subjected to all those emotions of others that he must care about), after Mauja, after speaking with the precocious but judgmental Naerys (she must get it from her mother, he thought to himself), after confronting those who had not attended, after all of that,  the Elephant King sought escape. Even from Mbwene-- the elephant calf remained in the Edge with Tsavo and her lion cub.

And so, in his mental disarray, he was drawn to the Grove and its pond, as history is wont to repeat itself. His massive, heavy hooves were rooted to the icy edge of the pond. Frostfall was temperate; the water had only partially frozen over. Great skull was bowed, thick crest arched, as he stared at the spindly white veins that fractured the ice.

His mind, it worked, mulling and turning thoughts that all thrashed and screamed to be addressed first. In a way, it was welcome, for how could his demons rise in the face of such chaos? Even they were cowed by the pandemonium in the King’s skull. He sighed a vaporous breath that hung around his broad muzzle in the still, cold air.

Almost idly, as if to draw his attention away from his head, a thick leg stretched out, hoof hovering over the frozen water. And then slowly, deliberately, he pressed down, sending white spiderwebs exploding through the ice as a soft splintering slipped into the air. Easily, he broke through the thin layer, ivory weapon quickly hitting the frigid water and sinking to the shallow bottom. It wasn’t more than pastern-deep, but the sharp cold still pushed a snort from his nostrils.

His tail swayed once, clouded eyes staring at the broken ice.
—only to build me up
stronger again.
tembovu
image | table


@Orithia sorry it's kind of boring :|

Please tag Tembovu.

Orithia Posts: 59
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 4 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Eris
#2
ORITHIA


He had left the meeting in an easily disguised rush, something easily dismissed as kingly duties or a warrior's hatred for public speaking.

But she had seen the pain in those endless pools that paraded as eyes.

So she followed him from the air, savoring in the feeling of the drafts and currents curling beneath her wings once more. It was an odd feeling that swirled about her head as her hooves touched down upon the snow dusted earth some distance behind her matriarch. Her thoughts were clouded and she felt a sort of unexplained pull toward the ponderous beast that served as her King, though the desert rose dismissed the oddity with a quick shake of her head; there was no time to sort through the tangled mess that was her mind and she wasn't sure that there ever would be.

Head dipping low, Orithia moved to stand beside her Elephant King, staring at his reflection with the flat expression that had come to be her signature characteristic. The silence stretched on, thickening and laying over the pair like a safety blanket; she began to relax. Shifting so that her left wing - the one Tembovu had shredded and shattered only weeks before - was held aloft, the pale woman draped the coral and ivory appendage over the stallion's shoulders; her silent apology for something she didn't understand.

Winter birds flitted through the trees that stood back from the shore, their trilling cries the only true interruption to the silence that had settled over the glen. Here, within the bubble of heat provided by their bodies and the shelter from wind that was offered by the surrounding forest, Frostfall didn't seem so bad. In fact, the maiden's brows lifted in mild surprise, the frigid season seemed almost peaceful. But would she deign to break that fragile peace that hovered, glasslike and pure, over their union? Could she shatter the careful world that they had built without thought in order to help the one creature on this earth that seemed to truly see her?

Without a doubt.

"I know you don't kiss and tell, mfalme tembo, but your heart is weighted down."


@Tembovu
[Image: ypCJIiV.png]
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#3
I have loved so hard
that it broke my heart—
Those of flight always amazed him— the soft sound of great equine hooves landing gracefully on the earth. He might have missed it, if not for he the still silence of the wintry grove. Black and cream leg withdrew his ivory hoof to solid, frozen ground while his thick neck bent slightly, head turning to catch the sight of the desert rose alighting the ground behind him. A black-dotted ear swivel backwards, catching the soft crunch of her slim hooves in the snow, but otherwise silence reigned as he watched her approach.

But now, unlike before, her cobra hood is folded and no venom spits from her blushed eyes. It is she who is the snake charmer, as he is entranced in watching her calm approach— muscles that had instinctively stiffened at her landing relaxing with the rhythmic dance of her hooves. But the lull in his mind was short-lived, for his thoughts take advantage of the calm in his mind and leapt back into their clamorous roar.

His head swung away as she neared (their stare was too close, too intimate), dark eyes staring across the partially frozen pond. Though an ear remained pointed towards her, and he watched her beautiful head dip head from the corner of his vision. But silence held— not strained, but comforting— between the two; one of the desert, one of the plains.

Thickened buckskin hide rippled as the soft, silken whispers of her rose feathers slipped against his scars. A small puff of air pushed out of his nostrils, eyes slightly creasing with surprise at the gesture. But either he was too weak from the clamor of his thoughts or too comfortable after their spar to resist, for the mild surprise gave way as leaned his great and hot bulk against of her slender, athletic frame exposed beneath her outstretched wing. He was glad she had seen after her wing; how mangled and blooded it had been after their spar not too far from this quiet place. How different that encounter had been— so much rage and destruction had billowed from those peach-stained wings.

“I know you don't kiss and tell, mfalme tembo, but your heart is weighted down.” Surprise returned, along with his gaze to her face so close to his own. “You are of Korofi? I though of you as waridi jangwa*,” He had not smelled the Dorobian heat or the wild plateaus on her ivory skin. No, only the metallic scent of fury and sand rolled from the blushed rose’s petals. Neither did she look of the Korofi, no wild patterns of raptors painted her coat. But her ferocity easily fit the barbaric plateaus.

Still studying the close, lines of her blushed face (the beauty leapt out at him now that they were no longer masked by wrath) he found her curiously expressionless. He blinked, navy eyes softening slightly at the possible closeness of a long-dead home. A soft sigh pushed past his nostrils, gaze drawn to the winter birds flitting through the barren trees. “Yes, my heart is weighed down, and that is how it should stay. It leads to too many places, all of them painful and troublesome,” though his deep voice was hushed, the rumble still shattered the calm with its sadness, “There was a time when I thought a heart’s path was a simple one. Time here has taught me otherwise.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and a shard of hardness sliced into his softened eyes as Mauja’s mouth gripping a staff came to his mind; Rein’s red-marked face stared up at him; Alysanne’s hatred burned from her eyes.

His head bowed, shoulder further pressing against hers.



*waridi jangwa = desert rose (or rose of the desert)
—only to build me up
stronger again.
tembovu
image | table


@Orithia sorry for the delay, this will be fast from now on <3

Please tag Tembovu.

Orithia Posts: 59
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 4 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Eris
#4
ORITHIA



An Elephant King and his Dove embraced on an icy shore...

The tension that gripped his muscles at her approach had melted away, leaving behind something akin to vulnerability. Heat blossomed over her side as he leaned into her and despite her best efforts, the roaring flame that engulfed the pale mare's heart began to lower and spit. There was the urge to pull away, to separate herself from that which threatened to douse her rage.

But here, in the midst of a frozen world where something could mean anything, the desert child let her flames sputter out.

He broke the silence, her Elephant King; his words laced with a pain she could not place, but understood all the same. She toyed with the idea of not responding, of keeping her secrets and her past locked tight behind pressed lips. They had stayed there for so long, crammed into the tangled spaces of her soul, a self-made bomb shelter, shielding her waking mind from itself.

Looking at him now, though, seeing the one creature that had seen into the savagery and brokenness that built her, how could she remain silent? Tembovu had marched into her fire, had breathed in her ashes and her smoke only to exhale something livable; something like oxygen. Something like trust.

And so the words spilled out, cracked and quiet.

"The pleasure houses of Uumalah welcome the patronage of many Korofi warriors. It is not uncommon for those born into the life of a whore to speak the language of our more frequent customers." Pale rose gaze had fixed upon a shard of ice that had wedged itself into the sandy muck beneath her hooves, something like shame creeping up her spine. Orithia had never spoken of her origins with words; the blushed woman had always preferred to communicate through action, through words painted in spatters of blood and sick. 

There was a breathy laugh, barely more than a whisper, and a cruel twist to her lips that preceded her monologue. A conscious effort to invalidate that which pressed upon her being with every breath.

"My mother was the house favorite and my father was keen to continue his business through both her and her advertised progeny, so here I am," she found she could not drag her eyes from her hooves, could not look at the monarch that had given her so much more than a home. "A nursemaid named Taht raised me until breaking day. I think those are the only good memories that exist for me in this life. After that..." Pale sides heaved as she fought with her self, struggling against the memories and their gripping fingers; they scrabbled for purchase on her tongue and lodged themselves in her throat.

They would choke her if they could. 

"After that I was used up, just like any of my sisters and brothers beside me. I was the only living daughter begat from my mother, and news quickly spread that I was of age. They..." Her teeth clenched of their own accord and this time, she let the hands of the past pry them apart, "Held a celebratory auction. The highest bidder won my first... Won my first... He took..." 

She moved on, to words that would come out.

"I think I killed him, that first stallion. I think I killed him when I made my escape. Father had come to my chambers, had been drunk off of something found in whatever gutter he frequented. He told me I looked like my mother. He said he was proud of his work." The embers in her chest stirred, "He took me, then. Like so many patrons before him, he took me. Told me I was just as fresh as my breaking day, as if it was a compliment, as if it was something I could live with. I don't remember what happened after that. I don't remember who died or who lived and I can't recall whose blood stained me when I woke up in a forest."

She looked at him, finally, the agony of reliving her own stolen youth etched into every line of her frame. She searched the sharp contours of his face, the endless depths of those blue eyes, she searched and prayed to find something like absolution. 

"All I know," her voice had quieted to a fearful whisper, eyes wide and desperate, "is that a heart of ashes will blow away on a breeze, but a heart with substance will keep its home in your chest and sometimes.." Those peach hued eyes slid to a close as she leaned into his side, fooling herself if only for the moment, that she had found asylum, "It won't let you forget."

An Elephant King and his dove. 

SORRY FOR THE SHIT POST ITS MY FIRST POST I TYPED FROM MOBILE SO LIKE WOOPS.  But ily and ori ily
@Tembovu
[Image: ypCJIiV.png]
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#5
I have loved so hard
that it broke my heart—
Silence settled after his words— it cloaked the beast and the beauty in stillness for a few, long moments; heat seeping from his hot hide into her blushed skin, her lack of rage submerging his chaotic thoughts. Until—

Until her rose lips parted and hell spilled from the mouth of the dove.

“It is not uncommon for those born into the life of a whore to speak the language of our more frequent customers.” Never had he expected such an answer to his question; he supposed that something must have happened to elicit such destructive fury in the woman. But this? His silence held, even as the mass of muscles beneath his hide corded and rippled, growing taut with each cathartic word. Ears twitched backwards with her breathy laugh— there was a cruelty beneath that moving air, in how empty it could be.

The Elephant had heard whispers of Uumalah and the pleasure that could be found there. He had no interest in it, but he knew many of the Council did. They coveted the Korofi’s relationship with the oasis city in the desert beyond the plateaus. Some of the Makutano had wanted to be the ones ‘frequenting’ those pleasure houses.

He watched her closely now, softness fleeing the cobalt gaze that studied her downcast stare. A pupil-less stare that had been bold and defiant, until now. He felt her pale sides heave against his slabbed ribs, the signs of struggling with memories. He saw the delicate muscle of her jaw stand out as she clenched her teeth— teeth that parted to spill the auction of her virginity. His expression hardened, lips pursing as his silence still held. He did not dare interrupt her— it would be an insult to the trust she was placing in him.

“Father had come to my chambers—”

—that was, his silence held this. A deep, enraged, guttural grunt ripped from his throat, reverberating in his barrel against her side. Teeth creaked as he gritted them, neck twitching as a familiar heat arose in his chest and a trumpet to echo in the back of his skull. For a father to defile a daughter— for the one who was meant to protect the fruit of his lions; be it in his own perverted way of controlling who mounted her with money (for that was the only twisted logic that the Elephant King could reason and grapple within his own morals)… But to stir his own lions and move to shove himself inside her? Inside his daughter?

Anger (not pity, for this woman did not need pity; nor did she need more anger, so overflowing was she with it; but, still, his anger came) heated his eyes as she finally looked at him. Though, the raging inferno within him quieted to simmering coals beneath the agonized stare and desperate whisper. His stare gentled as she whispered, jaw unclenching as her eyes slid closed.

“Apologies mean nothing to you now, Orithia. And you are a woman who does not need commendations for surviving that. But know that I am sorry you ever had to endure such things. A father should protect, not…” his quiet rumble trailed off has he realized his own shadows were beginning to blend into hers. So he did not speak of fathers (or failed ones). Instead, he continued about her, “You are no waridi jangwa. You are a njiwapavu*, and I am proud to know you, and to have fought you.” And, almost possessively, his great mass absorbed her weight as she leaned against him. His muzzle stretched out, protectively, to touch the juncture of her jaw and neck— a breath in time where a man’s advances on the woman were not intended to be sexual.


waridi jangwa = desert rose (or rose of the desert)
njiwapavu= valiant/fearless dove
—only to build me up
stronger again.
tembovu
image | table


@Orithia I'm awful for the delay, but it was hard for me Tembo to reply to this. I'm sorry <3

Please tag Tembovu.

Orithia Posts: 59
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 4 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Eris
#6
ORITHIA


From behind closed lids, soft pink light filtered in, casting her poisonous thoughts in the warm shade of blood and skin. She tried to fool herself into believing that she was done, now; that she could simply keep those lovely pastel eyes closed and hide away behind the thin membrane. Reality was an unnecessary privilege, she reasoned, many of the brothers and sisters she had encountered in the pleasure houses had said as much.

They told her of how it got easier, of how after so many visitors, they all just blended together. They said that there was a breaking point and once you found it, all that was left was to crawl inside of your soul. The children of Uumalah had said that the dregs of your spirit would buffer the pain, paint reality into something manageable.

But countless patrons later and the child found that she could not break.

The mare's lip trembled as she found that even now, even faced with a past laid bare before her sovereign, she could not retreat into herself; there was no where to go but forward and no where to look but to the bloodied horizon.

His weight pressed further into her own, mammoth body riddled with scars and bulges of muscle. She felt each dip and ridge and bone as he held her, she felt each breath and beat of his heart as she cradled the remnants of her fury. What would the beautiful behemoth find beneath her words? Would he see the agony and the ashes? Or would he simply view her as something used up, something unworthy of his affections? Lips pursed and teeth clenched - anything to keep the sob that had lodged itself in her throat from escaping.

But there, suddenly, her fears were erased in the wake of her King's words.

Apologies mean nothing to you now...

Her breath hitched, caught on the surge of gratitude that welled in her chest as the rumbling voice swelled and ebbed against her skin. Pastel eyes opened wide, surprise marking her pale features. Valiant Dove... Orithia resisted the urge to deny him, to reassert her self-discrimination in the place of such high praise, yet as Tembovu pressed his ivory nose against her skin, the protests died on her tongue.

The blushed woman let the comforting pressure rest against her for a few moments more before turning her dished skull toward that of her King. Pastel eyes meeting those endless cobalt depths, Orithia said nothing as she pressed her nose gently against his, inhaling as he exhaled and vice verse.

Out of all the things she had been forced to give, forced to share and have stolen away, the Pegasus realized with a start that this moment was the first she had ever experienced that she could call intimate. That she could call her own. There was something about the gentle nature of the beast that stood beside her, the carefully hidden demons, the demanding solidarity that he provided, that felt like peace. Her gaze was no longer the flat, hateful thing it had been only moments before, nor was it the desperate plea; no, there was something akin to warmth in those pupil-less coral eyes as she looked on at her monarch.

Was this what home felt like?

Carefully, as if any misstep would shatter what they had so delicately wrought in spoken words and unshed tears, Orithia's whispery voice floated from her lips. "Your turn, tamu mkombozi. What ghosts haunt your halls?"


@Tembovu sorry it took so long to reply, Temby's post just got my right in the soul ;.;

tamu mkombozi - sweet savior
[Image: ypCJIiV.png]
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#7
I have loved so hard
that it broke my heart—
The rose petal is as smooth as he imagined it would be beneath his broad muzzle— and relief nestles amid the warm comfort that floated in his barrel (floating atop the hot anger at hearing her story). He had not been not sure she would allow his touch— so when his lips met her skin it was a surprising balm. But then she is moving her throat away from him, and he understands; for this simple touching and exchange of words is so much more, and so intimate— it is nearly too much for himself to bear, and he has not laid his heart upon her wings (yet). His ears tilt backwards, beginning to inwardly berate himself for pushing his touch (even if intended to comfort) onto her after such a cathartic release of her past. Did she not just say how her sire had raped her? Why would he press her—

But her blushed muzzle presses against his, their warm breaths mingling as clouds around their mouths. Coral eyes stare into his own, warmth leaking out of their pupil-less pits, replacing the desperate fury that had lived there just moments before. His own gaze widened fractionally as he saw the change, his own nostrils flaring to take in the sweet rose’s breath. Gently, he returns her touch, pushing his plush muzzle deeper into her own.

Though her whisper drifts into his ears, her lips moving against his own in their small movements, causing him to draw away slightly. He was still a stallion, and she was still a woman of intoxicating beauty (now even moreso in this untainted, open light). He did not want to tempt the man within him or his demons at their closeness; he could restrain himself beneath her scent and touch; but the tickle of her blushed lips against his own might be his undoing. So he withdrew his breath from hers, ears flicking towards her as her words— her question— sinks in. He blinks once, the only break in their close gaze.

He had littered few ears with parts of his past— but never had he given another the entirety of himself, of his story. At first, it had been because his sights were set on the future; he did not want to bring a past to tarnish or endanger the promises Helovia held. Now, he realized, it was because of the mixture of guilt and anguish that hung so heavily in his mind and soul. They kept a close guard on his story, only in rare moments did their watch slip and allow a morsel of his history to roll off his tongue. But in the face of all she had shared, so simply given without manipulation or duplicity, his lips parted in candor.

“I do not know what news Uumalah received of Dorobo. We, on the Plains, knew of your pleasure houses and market for other luxury in the Oasis. It was whispered about in Makutano, our Great Pillar. Some with disapproval, but mostly with envy— envy that grew greed, and greed that amassed power. But it was corrupt, yet the corruption was hidden beneath the call for the great spirit of Dorobo— a call I answered proudly, without second thought. And my answer— my answer burned my mate and son alive,” his voice grew deeper, “The council could not have their generals distracted by family. They must expand Dorobo. So I buried them…” his eyes are unseeing as his voice trails, silence hovering for timeless moments.

“My life’s purpose was then to make the Debwani— those blamed for such awful acts— pay. But eventually, after spilling more blood than I can ever atone for, it began to become apparent that it was not the Debwani who were moved to greed against the Plains. It was Dorobo. The very nation I threw my soul into had killed them— had murdered my love and son. So I avenged them; I took, I manipulated, I used— I did what needed to be done to make Makutano fall…” a timbre of guilt shakes the depth of his voice as it faded once again.

“I did not know the anger that lived in me— or, perhaps I did, but it was something I had used; an advantage, a weapon. Magic is dead in the Plains, killed by decades of greed and the survival of the fittest— but here— here, in Helovia, magic veins the earth, the soil, the trees— and it found purchase in me. Or, I should say, it found purchase with my demons. After the gods-battles, when I had embraced the anger to fight the battles only to be abandoned by the woman who had kept my demons controlled— but Rexanna left because of my selfish actions…” he pauses, getting lost in the tumultuous flow of emotion that spun his words. He shakes his great skull, muzzle still close enough to brush against Orithia’s velveteen maw, eyes clearing to focus on her face (like a lifeline) before continuing, “She left me and had a child with another man. And myself, the man I had become to destroy and avenge, he resurfaced— but now with power, a power of a Kingship and a power of deadly magic. And he— and I— I used that power against the man who offered me a new beginning. Mauja, my friend…” his savior? “We spoke after, but he asked me to kill him…” this was a guttural whisper, “But I couldn’t, even though he would not die. I could not do that for my friend…”


“And so I am the very man I vowed to destroy: a selfish King with more power than he deserves.” Silence reigns from the desolate King.
—only to build me up
stronger again.
tembovu
image | table


WHELP sorry this took forever, but it killed me. I think Tembo's soul just bled all over my keyboard. I've never been this close to him before ;-;
Ori, ily <3
@Orithia

Please tag Tembovu.

Orithia Posts: 59
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 4 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Eris
#8
ORITHIA


A small noise slipped unbidden from her lips as the Elephant King returned her gesture, his wide muzzle warm against her soft skin. She breathed him in; the waving grasses and daytime heat of the plains, cool mist and whipping winds on a cliffside, a grassland general and a forest monarch, blood and sweat and passion comingling in his soul. With each exhale, she took a piece of him with her.

She cradled those tiny, glowing bits of him. She kissed each one with everything she could muster and prayed that there was enough of her to return the favor. She would place them in the threadbare remains of her own heart

And she would guard them with her life.

He retreats from her touch, if only by an inch and the dove watches the flickering behind his eyes. Briefly, worry settles over her. Had she asked too much of him? Had she hurt him in her curiosity? Lips parted, an apology perched upon the tip of her tongue like so many pleas for pardon, "Mfalme..." But her regrets were silenced as the deep tenor of his voice broke the short silence.

At the mention of Dorobo - at the knowledge they held of the pleasure houses - Orithia had to resist dipping her head in shame and instead forced her chin higher; she would not let her defilement claim her now. Jaw clenched, she let the horror of her Elephant King's past unfold. Muscles tensed and brows creased at his admissions - his mate, his child, his entire universe burned to the ground and he was left alone to fill his lungs with smoke.

How he must have choked on that acrid fog as he lowered them into the earth; twin graves left unnamed and unknown amid a sea of loss. 

Breath hitched and her heart stumbled at the break in his voice, at the raw anguish lining his confession. Rage boiled within her veins, flame searing her throat into silence as she watched him, helpless as he fought a battle she couldn't see. The pale maiden shook with the painful fervor of her hatred and she tasted the echo of iron on her tongue - Dorobo was not all that far and their warriors were not all that strong.

If there came a day that her Elephant King no longer needed her, the blushed woman would burn the forsaken plains and all their bloodwashed children into oblivion. The seed of depravity had been sown by the forefathers of Dorobo and the earth was due to be purged of their influence. Of their very existence.

Tembovu had made Makutano fall, she knew this in her bones, but what was one more clean sweep, a final elimination of the wretchedness that dwelled there? She would avenge the future that they had destroyed.

But - the tale had shifted to the present, to Helovia and the pain he had endured even here. Words of inner demons and conquered gods fell to the frozen earth, a pair of names spoken with painful tenderness and a voice cracking under the weight of its own admission. Orithia's eyes narrowed for a moment, rage billowing and settling upon two identities; Mauja and Rexanna.

Her jaw clenched so hard that she feared her teeth would shatter, but the pain in her mouth was only a small deterrent for her anger - she would see to it that they, too, paid for the hurt they had bestowed on her valiant savior. Did they know? She wondered briefly, did those two know what the Elephant King had endured? Had they not seen the invisible weight that pressed upon those broad, beautiful shoulders at every turn? Did they truly, truly believe that they could just burn their identities and their selfish actions into his heart?

She cut herself short, staring into those cerulean eyes with a fire burning in her belly.

"Shut up." Her voice was the stinging lash of a whip and the frigid breeze that ruffled at her wings was no contest for the ice found in her gaze, "You are better than that, Mfalme Tembo. You are stronger and more substantial than that which marrs your soul. You know this and yet you stand here before me in your pain and in your regret." There was a flame rising within her, the heat forcing its way to the surface in a wave of passion and fervor.

"Listen to me, tamu mkombozi, you are enough. You are the light that guides my steps and that of many others. You are the hope that shines down from our heavens and lets us breathe when the darkness threatens to squeeze the life from our lungs. You are home and I will be damned to the deepest pits of hell before you insult me like that ever again."

Pastel eyes were ablaze - she would be listened to and she would be obeyed.

"Look at me now and pay attention." She made to bump his shoulder with her own, a physical punctuation mark. "On the days our gods forget to ignite the sun, I will be there to light the fire in your heart, mfalme tembo. I will be there to fan your flames until there is nothing left of me and until the light is gone from this world and the next."

Her blood sang songs for him, lullabies for the lives lost and of the home shattered; but somewhere in the crooning melody, it blossomed for the future and the dreams it held.



@Tembovu

THIS TOOK MY ENTIRE SOUL OUT OF MY BODY
[Image: ypCJIiV.png]
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#9
I have loved so hard
that it broke my heart—
“Shut up.” The lash of her words comes harshly, the sting deeply felt on the rawness of his spilled past— so tender and exposed were his sins to her blushed judgement that his thick hide and muscle actually flinch beneath the sharpness of her tone. How long it been since another’s mere words had made him flinch? Since he was an oversized colt?

But flinch he does, and his head turns away, no longer wanting to look at the wrathful rose, the waridi jangwa, that held so much of him— so precariously on her thorns. A deep breath expands his barrel, and he keeps it in his vast lungs, waiting, eyes slipping close as horrors of his past and failures of his present threaten to swamp him.

“You are better than that, Mfalme Tembo.” And his eyes open, the air leaving his lungs in relief as she trades thorns for the silken, but sturdy, feathers of a njiwapavu— lifting him. Not absolving his sins (for none could do that), but giving vindication to the scars on his soul— releasing him of a least some of their guilt.

The passion in her voice leaks into his ears, her candid intensity pooling its warmth around the shackles of icy fear that had entombed his heart that fateful night he incinerated Mauja. Her words, her sentiments, her conviction, they glowed warm and steady amid the dark demons. It wasn’t like the flaring rage of his magic. It was different than the unsteady heat of passion. This was consistent, hopeful, and warmly glowing within him.

“You are home and I will be damned to the deepest pits of hell before you insult me like that ever again.” The smallest of half-grins crossed his face— not because he found her words amusing. No. But because her dove-winged words buoyed him up. To be someone’s home, to be the good rather than the destruction— the thought (the realization) pushed a small smile across his thick lips.

His shoulder instinctively leans into her own as she bumped against him. “Look at me now and pay attention.” It was rare that the Elephant King took orders, but at that moment, he did, shifting his great mass out from beneath her wing and facing her as she spoke. Navy eyes deeply and closely watching the rose-tinted face. “On the days our gods forget to ignite the sun, I will be there to light the fire in your heart, mfalme tembo. He could not allow her to finish, neck reaching out, lips parting and aiming tag a mouthful of her silken hair and braids. He tried to roughly pull her against him, his chest colliding with hers, as his neck engulfed her own; his great skull fitting between her wings, jaw resting on one while his lips tickled her spine, “Njiwapavu, you have given me more than you know,” was his fierce, hoarse whisper.

Tightly he held her, the Elephant and his dove.
—only to build me up
stronger again.
tembovu
image | table


@Orithia <333333 my heart & his imploded. We can have it fade here?

Please tag Tembovu.


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