The Mountain’s voice calls back, clear and confident—surprisingly so for one whose youth still clung as vestiges to her neck and chest. His brows raise slightly, sending a crease around the base of his thick horn, as she continues. Anger would change the nature of this challenge, she claims? Navy eyes narrow slightly at her contradictions: words the preach cold logic with their adherence to justice interspersed with allusions to emotion, anger, and blame.

Lips purse slightly—where the Mountain is long-winded, he is not inclined to lecture. She is too stuck in her beliefs to hear the King; he has seen such obstinance in young, Dorobian recruits. Though her argumentative nature and stalwart stance does not, initially, lend her towards the Elephant’s good graces, some semblance of concern lances through his features as the newly crowned Czarina claimed that she will ‘rectify’ the hypocrisy he has alluded to.

Though the King has not spent as long as others in the leadership position of a herd, he does knot that a ruler who immediately alienates their people is not a ruler that will last. Despite the misunderstanding that soils his initial perception of the demigoddess, it is clear to the King that she is attempting to right by her herd. To the Elephant, that, alone, speaks volumes more than any of her verbose proclamations.

So, the stallion simply states, “We exist as much to serve as to guide, Isopia,” his deep rumble is clear and level, “You lead your herd. They do not lead you.” There is no anger or condescension in his voice; though some part of him hopes she will heed this small proffer of advice. For all that he disagrees with her, he cannot claim to wish failure on her fledgling reign. Perhaps it is because the appearance (and disappearance) of his children has rekindled the strong, paternal instinct in the King—and thus it is transferring to the the woman with a god, rather than a mortal, for a father.

Regardless, his muscles slowly stiffen beneath the influence of adrenaline, preparing for battle. Despite her willowy frame (at least, in comparison to his heavy build), her massive wings, size, and quad-horned skull will be a challenge. The King does not even know what types of magic run through half-divine blood—

The thought is quickly answered, causing the Elephant’s narrowed navy gaze to grow wide in surprise. He has seen others within Helovia shift; some into other horses and some into creatures. Yet, never has he seen another transform into a mythical beast—a dragon. Despite his training screaming at him to move as she swiftly approaches on black, leathery wings, he remains still and staring for long, critical moments. It is only when he realizes that she is much faster as a dragon than any other pegasus he has fought, that he begins to shift into his equally large, elephantine form.

Yet he has waited too long and has (with the mist) misjudged the time it takes her to reach him, and thus he is frozen in transformation as the gleaming talons on her hind limbs reach out and tear through the half-buckskin hide, half-wrinkled grey skin of his left shoulder. A painful, mangled half-trumpet, half-stallion’s bugle bellows out of his chest as the dragon’s talons rake deep furrows through his flesh. The longest of her claws just barely clips his scapula’s spine. Pain travels in white-hot tracks from his shoulder, up his neck, and shimmers as a distorted film behind his eyes; and it sits there to haunt him for the remainder of the battle. His demons are split between cursing and clapping; they relish the Elephant’s pain, but could they eke out more mental torture from this fight if he has all his mental acuity?

Once his transformation is complete, his trunk snakes out with speed belying an elephant’s plodding gait. The long, shockingly dextrous and strong appendage seeks to grasp any part of the dragon’s body and swing her to smash against the thick, ancient tree trunks to his right. Despite their strength, he knows from his fights with Elsa that wings can be delicate, easily broken things. His gnarled, stocky haunches squat back and down to act as an anchor for potential leverage, should his trunk successfully snag the flying dragoness. Truthfully, the backward rock of his weight also offers relief to his throbbing left shoulder, as well.

Mbwene, upon reaching the cliff’s rocks as the fight begins, looks from black dragon to elephant and finally to the hesitantly friendly bronze dragon. Though her trunk lifts in greeting (she is not inclined to join this fight), her large ears pin back as her bonded’s pain pulses to her.



WC: 795
A: 1/4
Damage tracker: Gnarly, deep left shoulder wounds, yo;
Summary: Iso's attack hits his left shoulder while he is frozen in transforming to and Elephant; Once elephant, he tries to grab her with his trunk and slam her into the tree trunks. Mbwene waves 'hi' to Hubris.

Tembovu

the elephant king