leaving well enough alone is no choice of yours to make
guilty says the proof, this town has no room for you
He isn’t smart enough for this, he never has been. But he’s strong, perseverance settled hard in his bones. His father was born to win and Sunjata had never gotten the chance to – too soft, too much like his mother, too useless and pitiful with that victorious blood within him. The Arbiter born and raised, a victor of battles and fights, of laying down the law, and Sunjata had always been the one that never wanted any of it.
He’d laid awake for days before his first Trial, hoping he wouldn’t make it through. And here he was, challenging the man that kept that tradition alive and well and Sunjata had been the one that suggested it. So it’s no surprise that he still isn’t prepared for his father’s quick movements – has he ever fought back? No. But the hand that grabs his arm flashes him back in his memory and he falters, the memory crashing into him just about as hard as the fist comes to his diaphragm and Sunjata’s coughing – choking, trying to swallow down some air even though it seems like it won’t ever come.
Somehow he manages to keep the blade in his hand, though he doesn’t know how when his jaw cracks, and he can’t keep the hold on the shifts in his skin. Another growl of pain that shifts to something other when the leg sweeps out and he finds himself with his back to the grasses, rain pouring down onto him heavily now, glinting through the thin stream of light.
He shifts, a snarling panther in his place, bleeding from his side still, growling and baring his teeth, rising and launching with claws outstretched to take Shaju down with him, shifting back into himself when he makes contact.
He’d laid awake for days before his first Trial, hoping he wouldn’t make it through. And here he was, challenging the man that kept that tradition alive and well and Sunjata had been the one that suggested it. So it’s no surprise that he still isn’t prepared for his father’s quick movements – has he ever fought back? No. But the hand that grabs his arm flashes him back in his memory and he falters, the memory crashing into him just about as hard as the fist comes to his diaphragm and Sunjata’s coughing – choking, trying to swallow down some air even though it seems like it won’t ever come.
Somehow he manages to keep the blade in his hand, though he doesn’t know how when his jaw cracks, and he can’t keep the hold on the shifts in his skin. Another growl of pain that shifts to something other when the leg sweeps out and he finds himself with his back to the grasses, rain pouring down onto him heavily now, glinting through the thin stream of light.
He shifts, a snarling panther in his place, bleeding from his side still, growling and baring his teeth, rising and launching with claws outstretched to take Shaju down with him, shifting back into himself when he makes contact.
so look out, i fear they follow near
from the gallows you'll swing for all the kids to see
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
