Duel:Mihael v Orikahn

Location: Winter Berry Garden
Duelists: Orikahn (Team Hildegarde) and Mihael (Team Balgruuf)
Judges: Emilia, Jesen, and Pilar
Stakes: If Orikahn wins, the snow bees' queen is protected, and Frostmaw's delicate ecosystem preserved. If Mihael wins, the snow bees' queen hive is trampled in battle, she dies. The entire forest ecosystem harmed by the loss of the bees, which will take time to recover. 

Winter Berry Garden

Following the tiny passage through the hedges brings you into a secluded niche, a private garden sprawling out before you as a growing oasis in this frozen land. Bunched so closely together they create a living fence around the garden's perimeter is a sea of Winter Berry bushes, their tiny, snow white berries hanging heavy upon black thorned branches as strange insects hover about them. Upon close inspection, these creatures appear to be a species of bee, blue and white striped and far fuzzier than their warm-landed cousins, with even their wings and antennea coated in the insulating fur. Dutiful as any bee, these insects bustle about the garden, flitting between the various flowers with merry buzzing. Frost-Fire Roses, with their ghostly patterns of azure flames and glistening cloud of pollen, can be seen gathered in regal arrangements throughout, often nestled near patches of Blood Blossoms, strikingly beautiful with their deep crimson petals and toxic-yellow stigma. Other arctic or nocturnal flowers are visible throughout, clearly well tended by a determined soul to allow them survival in this harshest of climates. But most elegant of all in this floral display is the center piece, a Winter Willow, bent with ancient age but regal despite the kink in its thick trunk. Its gracefully bowed branches sprawl in all directions, leafy fingers brushing gently over flower heads and ground alike in an eternal caress, as if it were the loving gardener itself overseeing its charges. A peculiar space is found directly in front of this arboreal sentinel, where snow is unwilling to fall and only a blanket of alluringly scented malanga plants can be found, alongside a man-sized, gray-yellow flower bulb. Not even the waving vines of the Willow crosses into the dead space, always sweeping past it as if brushing against an invisible bowl in the air. Those that enter the ring's borders will feel a subtle, slow draining of their energy, much like the sensation of weakness inflicted on those fed upon by a vampire, and death is a very real risk if they remain too long within the patch of vampiric magic. That is, if the large flower doesn't strike first, as it unfurls fleshy petals and beckons with a tongue-like vine covered in toxic barbs, a bestial purring coming from the depths of its 'mouth'. There is no doubt this sentient plant is carnivorous, and thrives by joining forces with the scented malangas and life-draining circle to entice prey into its murderous grasp. You can linger in and take in the pleasantries and oddities of this secluded nook, or you can return to the path by weaving through the enormous hedge once more.

Orikahn prowls low among the flowery blossoms, stalking silently and keen to keep his distance. The well-oiled plates of his armor are unnaturally noiseless as he creeps, one padded footfall at a time, toward an ideal vantage point. His bow, thick enough to be a club in its own right, rests in his hands, already knocked. He draws. The smell of lycan blood touches Kahn's memory, and the sabercat licks his chops. Drawing back, the bow groans in protest, and herculean cat's muscles strain against wood and sinew, hundreds of pounds coming to rest of the leathery tips of his feline fingers. Whiskers aquiver in the arctic breeze, Orikahn gauges his wind, gauges his distance, holds his breath, and holds a prayer in his heart. A twang, a hiss, and the feline shoots, glinting flint fluttering feathers sailing straight for Mihael's heart, in hopes that he may sever the lycan's aorta.

Mihael was seated silently with eyes closed as he meditated. The occasional puff from his pipe sends trails of smoke up to dissipate the cold air. Upon hearing the groan of the bow in Orikhan's possession, his eyes flick open and he spins to rest his gaze upon the headhunter, taking in his opponent as an arrow sailing towards Mihael's chest is the greeting offered. The shapeshifting pipe becomes fluid like and lashes out towards the arrow shaft. The liquid metal snapping the arrow in two, retracts returns to its original form. Flames ignite and encompass the ancient lycan's body as his aura flares up and melts the ice beneath him, the broken arrow pieces burn as they near the man. The sudden heat blast emitted from the man sends some nearby bees in a swarm. Without thinking twice he grabs hold his own bow from his back and notches an arrow. As he pulls back his eyes narrow upon the third eye of his new found enemy. As his fingers release the sinew, the bolt shoots forth for its target, the black shafts gleams with a blood red hue. The tip draws closer with anticipation of tasting the flesh of the stranger.

Orikahn startles, eyes widening in surprise as the not-so-inaminate pipe leaps to Mihael's defense. Seeing that his ranged assault has been effectively negated, the hunter wastes no time switching tactics. Deciding he can't waste any precious moments sheathing his bow, Orikahn tosses it aside; he dives to circle his quarry and find a new angle from which to strike afresh. Call it timing or luck or miscalculated vectors, but an eye is small, and Kahn moves swiftly. Mihael will doubtless see and hear his arrow ricochet off the bulky feline's left pauldron. The snap, rustle, and tremble of stalks offer many clues to Orikahn's position and progress, and the keen observer will be able to catch glimpses of him as he moves between the rows, spiraling inward. As soon as the moment feels opportune, Orikahn leaps upward in a pounce, surging up out of the flowerbed like shark propelled out of water, leading with his feet to kick and rake with splayed claws. Momentum carries him onward, nearly a thousand pounds of cat and armor sailing airborne for Mihael, and all of this formidable bulk is prickling with flailing claws and gnashing fangs.

Mihael keeps his gaze upon the stranger watching as he moves out the way to have the arrow miss its intended target. As his enemy disappears in the brush the hermit breaks into coughing fit, falling to one knee as he does so and coughing blood and silver upon the ground. The ink blots upon his mask kept their gaze upon the creature that leaps out at the opportune moment. As Mihael lifts his head his face is met with a kick that sends him flying backwards away from the feline. In doing so he leaves behind a trail of burning earth. Further agitating the already swarming bees of the garden. A bloody fist digs into the ground as he slides to a stop with a smile upon the mask as well as his own hidden face. He lets loose a cloud of smoke that descends upon the garden's outer perimeter. The moment the smoke makes contact with the lycan's flaming aura it ignites, the flames spreading across rapidly to try and trap the battle within a soon to be flaming bubble. Meanwhile Mihael began throwing poisoned needles at his adversary. The poison would not kill but rather paralyze someone within minutes depending upon their build.

Orikahn roars at the feel of his foot finding flesh, a mighty cry of triumph and dominance that rips through the sweet garden air, and the jump carries him through, right into Mihael's trap. The bees, yes, but also something more sinister. There is first a cloud of smoke, and by the time Kahn hears the "whumph" of ignition, it's much too late. His roar turns to a yowl, and he ducks his face behind his forearms. A feline's reflexes may be fast, but not fast enough to save Orikahn the embarassment of singed fur. Leaping again, and landing outside the inferno, he rolls to extinguish any lingering flames before popping back up onto his feet. Though a lonely little tongue of flame still clings to one whisker, charred though he may be, Kahn is undaunted. Studying his opponent, he spots something though the wavering heat-haze of Mihael's flaming form. Peering past the lycan's shoulder, Orikahn can make out the strange, thorny tendrils of the kraken bloom. The feline grits his teeth and charges again. Several of Mihael's needles bounce musically off Orikahn's plates but a few, a good few, find purchase in his furry hide, and their poisons will soon go to work. No matter now, though. Kahn is charging straight into the heart of the flames like a locomotive engine, driving forward and faster with each pounding footfall. Like balls on a billiard table, the Prime Hunter hopes knock himself into Mihael and, according to the laws of motion, subsequently knock Mihael into the kraken bloom's waiting tendrils.

Mihael remains where he stands as he hurls the needle darts, many bouncing off and others finding their mark. Seeing that Orikhans figure keeps advancing he drops the bow and grabs an abnormally larger arrow. Charging himself towards the feline foe, the ink blot eyes upon Mihael's mask scan the surroundings. As he runs forward he snatches up a rock in his right hand with the pipe already in it. As both men advance the hermit holds out the arrow as if it were a spear and places the pipe between the base of the arrow and smooth flat stone. Once they get within 3 paces of each other, the flaming man tears flesh as his bare feet dig into the earth scraping over small rocks bringing him to a sudden halt. His hands drop along with his body in the process, the tip of the arrow aimed for the center of his adversaries chest. Slamming the makeshift spear into the ground the rock slams the pipe into the arrow base. The impact cracks the arrow shaft open and from within the shaft eject ten medium sized arrows at Orikhan, while the original remains in his hands pointed for the feline's chest used both to aim the other arrows and run him through using the momentum of both men to hopefully achieve his goal of impaling him with arrows. All the while after the pipe entered the shaft it too began to grow and sharpen into a spiked shield in front of the ancient hermit.

Orikahn throws up his forearms, presenting his greaves against the mounting heat and hoping, perhaps in vain, to shield his face from the burning flames. So dedicated is Kahn to his charge that he does not divert, does not change course and, sure enough, the force of his impact shatters the makeshift spear asunder. Arrows glint and wizz every which way as though bounce off his massive armored plates, throwing sparks with every impact and careening off at odd angles. His mass meets the shield likewise, and only fate can say how far the two may be carried by the cataclysmic impact. One thing is for certain, Kahn isn't walking away from this without burns, stings, and some very inconvenient paralysis. If fact, his fath ith alweaddy tharting to feew pwetty thwange...

Orikahn wins!

Orikahn's momentum carries through, and there is a horrible crash as the armored cat connects with the spiked shield. When all the forces have resolved, it's Mihael who comes out for the worse. Like a roman candle, the flaming lycan sails throug the air in a graceful arc to land, "crunch," right amid the kraken bloom's tentacles. As the thorny, vampiric vines begin winding to grasp and prick at Mihael, Orikahn is busy grunting in agitation, snorting and scratching away the venemous needles that stick to his face and neck. He'd like to take a moment to pluck the projectiles out and address them properly, but the thrum of angry bees warn Kahn to be on his own way. Fair enough. Trusting the kraken bloom to do its work, Orikahn flees the scene; or so he had planned. Instead of making a clean getaway, the feline siezes up, goes stiff and lands in a dense flowerbed, vanishing entirely from sight beneath the leaves, blooms, and berries. Hopefully, the bees don't take too much interest in him, still as he is. It would be nice if this poison wore off soon.