RP:Hunters at the Gorge, a Clash of Alphas

Summary: Jesen and Orikahn run into one another on the road. Each sensing dominance in the other, the two break out in immediate, deadly combat. The two sustain injuries, but they find themselves at an impasse before the final blows can be struck. The fight dissolves, and the two begin to get to know one another. With an unlikely acquaintanceship thus begun, Jesen and Orikahn agree to meet again before long.

Overlooking Gorge

Orikahn comes prowling out of the west. The massive sabercat is, at the moment, displaced, and it's putting him in an increasingly sour mood. With a frown tugging at either side of his feline muzzle, he plods along, clad in full armor with a bow and quiver at his back and a hood shading his eyes. Behind him, a thick, bushy tail sways, striped black and brown as, presumably, the rest of him would be beneath his full plate. Pawlike hands clench and unclench within his gauntlets, and it seems rather like he's... looking for something. Trouble perhaps? Coming upon the smoking gorge, the feline pauses a moment in curiosity. First he cranes his neck, trying to get a glimpse down and then, apparently intrigued, he actually lays down on his belly and scoots right up to the gorge's lip to grip the edge with his gauntlets and stare down into the smoldering abyss.

Jesen comes into view from the east. And as if to continue the contrasting comparisson between the two the high elf isn't massive, nor in a sour mood. He seems calm as he walks along the oft traveled path that leads from the coast and into the heart of the mainland. Where the sabercat is armoured with fullplate, the highborn noble has leather. Where Kahn has a massive bow and quiver apparent, the rynvalian seems unarmed. Tanned skin makes vibrant green eyes stand out, and his short and well groomed hair almost seems to paint him as more of an aristrocrat type rather than what he truly is. A ranger. Leader of an elite band of rangers that patrol Rynvale isle and stem the tide of ogre attacks and even dragon rampages. The lords of the dragonlands who stalk the jungles, fog forests and every inch of their home with unmatched skill. Looking at him though, one would be hard pressed to imagine such being the truth, as his black leather armor vest is covered by a red trenchcoat that falls down past his knees. He doesn't even seem to have any weapons about him either, but the moment his keen elven eyesight catches the large feline perched to pounce in the distance, his attention is drawn down the gorge and into the very same abyss that Kahn seems so enthralled by. Maybe today he would find something of interest to end the tides of boredom that have plagued him since his arrival upon the shores of Lithrydel's main continent. Or maybe its just a cat that sees a red dot in the gorge? Who knows.

Orikahn stares onward until, as signified by a twitch of feline ears beneath his hood, his senses alert him to the presence of another. A quick double-take, and the hunter is hopping up to his feet, hastily knocking the dust off his chest, middle, and thighs. He tilts up his chin to look down his nose at Jesen and, in doing so, affords the elf a glimpse of the feline's eyes: three of them, all glowing with an aberrant phosphorescence, two in their ordinary places and one at the center of his brow. If there's something in the gorge that grabbed Kahn's interest, one could only guess. Perhaps the chasm's endlessness provided fascination enough? He turns his head and spits down the gorge.

Jesen has seen many things in his travels. From monsterous creations of necromancers, to the denziens of hell itself unleashed by Timelords and Fallen Gods. Even still, the look of this feline is something new, and in that stare he senses it. A primal force that calls out to him, a challenge of a wild nature that must be answered. Here now, in this desolate part of the world, as smoke rises from the bowls of the earth itself do these two alphas meet. Such a contast in everyway, but the fact remains the same. When two alphas meet, it usually ends in a clash to establish dominance. A smirk forms upon the highborn's face, as his own primal force seems to answer in kind. These two hunters have travelled to the ends of the wildest lands, faced beasts of legend and horror, to only be left wanting. Leaving only one thing left to hunt that can truly fill that void. Hunting hunters. Its not a matter of good vs evil. And often it isn't about life or death, it is about the hunt, and that urge that only a few will ever understand. And so Jesen extends out his right hand and utters the words that summons forth the bound bow that is mystically bound to him. Letting this be his call to arms to the sabercat, Jesen draws back upon the silvery drawstring of his bow, a single arrow forming from out of nothing before the arcane archer unleashes it. The arrow flies with incredible speed and force straight towards the other alpha hunter. This clash of hunters has begun.

Orikahn is just wiping his muzzle on the crook of his elbow when Jesen's words strike him, and his eyes flicker over to the fellow's outstretched hand. A bow. The primal hunter needs no further prompt or invitation. Bidden by instinct, compelled to action unhindered by thought or judgement, the cat turns and sinks his stance, claws gritting dirt beneath his sabatons and throwing a spray of dust and gravel behind him as he scrabbles against his own inertia. It doesn't take long. With alarming acceleration, Orikahn lunges, his body driving low and fast and *forward*, and not a fraction of moment too soon. With Kahn's body tilted into the sprint, Jesen's arrow strikes the cat's plates at a forgiving angle, singing with a trail sparks to highlight the angle upon which it ricochets away. The cat roars, a terrible sound that rips through the rapidly-shrinking space between the two, and he lunges at the fellow ranger. One arm is outstretched, fingers splayed to grasp Jesen if he can, for he intends to pull the fellow into the opposite arm and a waiting elbow. He can almost hear the satisfying crunch of bones already...

Jesen feels the rush of battle in every fiber of his being as his arrow strikes true but does not fell it's intended mark. That beastial roar that erupts from the feline as he lunges would make lesser men run in fear, but to this hunter it is a battlecry that must be answered. The moment Orikahn lunges forth, so does Jesen. With naught but a few words does the bow vanish from sight to be replaced by two blades in each hand. Larger than knives but still smaller than short swords, these slightly curved blades are the favored weapons of the ranger when martial combat is called for. One has a black blade with red inscriptions runnin about the length of the blade, its twin is a white blade with blue inscriptions. Both have bone hilts that house glowing orbs within the center of the pommels. Pushing off with his left foot, the high elf leaps forth to meet his rival hunter with the same primal insticts driving his actions. Orikahn's extended claw is parried with surprising force by the black blade the highborn uses, the clash of blade upon guantlet sending sparks flying as Jesen quickly shifts his leaner frame at just the right angle to dodge the majority of the incoming elbow while still sending forth his second blade in a powerful thrust towards the sabercat's juggular. Orikahn's eblow still manages to land a vicious blow upon Jesen's collarbone, and the resulting impact carries with it the strength to do considerable damage. But these two men are fueled by the ancient primal force, making them almost more beast than man, and because of such these two alpha hunters can endure more than their own normal share of pain. Jesen's blow still manages to follow through, and is still capable of dealing life threatening damage should Kahn not pull back in time. But never one to believe himself the victor until his prey is mounted upon his wall, Jesen follows up his attack, hit or miss, with a fast sweep of his legs that is meant to drive his oppenent off balance. The more this battle continues, the more it shall turn into a clash of raging animals than civilized and thinking men..

Orikahn sails forth with ample speed, enough to whip his hood off his head and onto his neck, and he feels his hand parried by what he had expected to be a bow, for surely it had been a bow a moment ago. The sight of knives is startling. More angered by trickery than disconcerted by the unknown, he follows through with his elbow, letting it drive hard, even as the knife sails for his jugular. No matter. Rather than ducking away, the feline ducks into the blow, letting the blade slash down his cheek and jaw instead, opening a red line that bleeds brightly and freely. First blood. He throws his weight forward. It works only something like he had expected. Though the cat had intended to bull rush his adversary right over the lip of the gorge, it doesn't quite look like this is going to work now that his legs are tangled up by a tripping sweep. This charge is going to look somewhat more like a tackle, then. Well, if he's going down, he's certainly going to try and take this elf with him. His jaws spread wide, predatorial fervor flashes in his eyes, and his hands scramble to fight for interior control. Kahn's won many a fight with a pin, but can he pull it off against such a wily one as this?

Jesen is far from stupid, and the moment his sweep topples the beast he faces he is already planning for a ground battle. The twin blades are brought to bare once more, as the butt of their hilts are planted against the ground close by his side, just as he wrap his legs around the sabercat's waiste in a guard like manner. This position ensures two things. One: With hsi legs wrapped about the larger predators waiste, the smaller hunter has a chance to at least stem an absolute dominance by the feline by arching his own hips to drive back his opponent, or even bring him in close so that claw and tooth cannot be used to full effect. Two:The blades are set to use Orikahn's weight against him, as due to the sheer force of the fall, should Kahn not stop himself quickly, he will find that the magical blades are set to impale him as he falls atop the high elf, leaving his two options. Divert his fall and allow his foe to escape, or take the blades to the gut and suffer a severe blow. And, with Jesen's legs wrapped about his waiste, his options are limited indeed. For if he tries to drive himself down and crush the elf, Jesen is capable of at least stopping that with his current position. But should the cat try to shift his position in any manner that plays Jesen in unfavorable odds, the high elf will use his leg lock to dive the beast down and into the blades anyway. It seems the high elf is leaving his opponent the option of continuing their fight on even terms and back on their feet or facing a deadly blow. Either way the hunter is ready to face either choice with a wicked smile on his face, for in Orikahn he has found a rival worthy of respect.

Orikahn has to suck in his gut! As the two land together, Orikahn finds himself arched like a bridge, perched precariously over the elf in a crescent. One arm braces against the ground, the cat's only saving grace, for he's managed to catch himself upon it. His other arm is enforcing a necessary and rather uncomfortable gap between them. If Kahn wanted to crush Jesen now, he could, but the blades hold him at bay. Similarly, Orikahn imagines Jesen could still get a blade shot up into the cat's gut or inner thigh, but then Kahn would have no incentive not to bludgeon/tear the elf to a ragged, dismembered pulp. The cat's jaw grits, and he sort of hovers above his adversary, eyeballing their rather unfortunate tangle. "Well," he snorts a dusty snort, his low voice rumbling in resignation and rather strained with the effort of keeping his middle tight, "this got tricky." Orikahn's gaze swings down, hoping to connect with Jesen's. "How do we resolve this?"

Jesen smirks as the pair are now a tangled mess of deadly possibilities. But, as stated earlier this was never about good or evil, life or death, but somehting more primal. These two alphas have shown the other what they are made of, and now they have ended this brief but powerful clash in a stalemate. So, in responce to Orikahn's question, he says. " I think we've seen all we need to see. " Shifting just a bit, he drops the blades so they no longer present a threat, and loosens his grip with his legs so the sabercat may rise freely. Many believe honor to be a knightly thing, but in fact it is more prevelant in the wild than in civilized lands. " I am Jesen, of Rynvale." He states. " Commander of the Ranger Regiments. Who are you?"

Orikahn takes the cue from Jesen and rises, letting the encounter diffuse. He scoots back and shoots to his feet, bouncing on his toes to let out a bit of the pent-up adrenaline. Broad hands pat over his own middle, searching for any punctures, and Kahn nods in relieved approval as he finds none. Red blood continues streaming down his face, adding a rather grisly element to his appearance, but he seems fairly unconcerned about the cut; rather, the savage feline is returning his attention to the elf. "Rynvale," he mutters after the introduction, "Jesen. I am Orikahn," the cat indicatively touches his own chest and lets his legs relax. "I think that's mine," Kahn points to a bit of blood splatter on Jesen's front, and amusement flickers through his eyes before turning to curiosity. He cocks his head, giving the elf a sidelong glance. "Ranger Regiments?"

Jesen goes to rise but has some trouble. Orikahn's first blow dislocated his shoulder, and in the midst of the fight he hadn't noticed due to the adrenaline coursing through him. He smirks though, as he rolls over and used the ground to "pop" it back into place with a pain filled grunt before he too would rise to his feet. It seems both men have taken a good amount of damage in this fight, but nothing life threatening. Smirking as Kahn points out the blood on his tunic, Jesen nods. But chooses not to boast or gloat on the matter of drawing blood, and instead replies about Rynvale. "Yes. The high elves of Rynvale are broken down into houses, and each house plays a role for the iland. My house is that of the rangers, and I currently lead the ranger regiments on the ground, while my father leads as more a political figure."

Orikahn perks both ears at the sound of the pop, but he similarly refrains from comment. Though he continues to evaluate the rival-turned-acquaintance, it's with a somewhat less critical eye now that they've had a chance to measure one another's mettle. All this talk of houses and politics seems to kind of sail over the cat's head, and he crosses his arms over his chest. Fuzzy brows knit upward. Rynvale. Elves. Regiments. Rangers. "But you hunt, yes?" Kahn turns a palm upward, as though offering Jesen an opportunity to appeal to the cat's interests. "You carry a bow," he glances up and down the desolate path, "you wander the wilderness." Glowing eyes return to the fellow ranger. "You are a hunter, yes?"

Jesen said to Orikahn, "Yes. I stalk the jungles of my island, hunting ogres, creatures of the sea and even dragons in the wildlands."

Orikahn brightens at this confirmation, eyes widening eagerly. "And you know where to find them?" These beasts all sound formidable, and there's no secret in Kahn's eyes. The prospect is terribly exciting to him, particularly . "Would you hunt with me?"

Jesen looks over at the sabercat and smirks. "Aye, I know where to find these beasts. And after this meeting at least I know you can hold your own. I'll hunt with you." The highborn extends his hand out to the saber, a cool smirk upon his face.

Orikahn leans back as the hand comes toward him, but recollection strikes him. Ah yes. A sign of *trust*. He accepts the hand and takes it in his own, shaking affirmatively. "I've been longing for a breath of island air. When I make it to Rynvale again, I'll seek you out, and we'll amass trophies and tales."

Jesen said to Orikahn, "Sounds good. But for now I must venture forth. I'm stopping in Larket for a bit to buy a horse before I make the treck down to Vailkrin to speak with the Knight, Hildegarde. I hope I make it in time, I wish to see her take back Frostmaw before too long!"

Orikahn is pleasantly surprised again. "See that you do." He releases the fellow ranger's hand. "She's in need of allies, now more than ever." The cut on his face has begun to clot. Perhaps it will develop into a good souvenir scar. "Good ju-ju, Jesen Whose-Bow-Is-Blades. Until our next."