RP:Planning (Or Lack Thereof)

Part of the The White Hunt Arc

Eastern Frostmaw Gates

Having both agreed to hunt the beast, cat and knight each march north to Frostmaw. They bump into one another on the way into town.

Orikahn progresses out of the south up the snowy path, hunched beneath his pack and staring at his trudging steps. A change in surroundings startles him out of his mindless marching, and he blinks out of his daydreaming to look up and around himself. The cat snorts a white puff of satisfaction. Frostmaw stands before him, a welcome sight at the end of a long, difficult trail. It's a short walk, now, into warmth and shelter. Kahn's brows furrow, and his thoughts turn to Rile. The brawler knight had been interested in the hunt, or, at the very least, willing, the feline concedes. Had Rile beaten Kahn here? Was he close behind? Was he coming at all? The massive cat snorts again, steeling his nerves. Either way, there was a monster waiting to be slain, and no one was going to beat Kahn to his claim. Gauntlets creak as he stiffens his grip on his packstrap and resumes trudging, pointing himself at the open gates and willing his tired feet forward.

Ivorile had been following Orikahn's trail. Earlier he had tried to with the cat, but he was mysteriously assaulted by a sentient log. After managing to escape the dreadful battle, Ivorile found Khan nowhere to be found. So he began the perilous pursuit, arriving at last. He would be panting, slowly walking up to the Hunter, appearing quite exhausted. "....Tired...trip...." He panted as he strode over to his friend. "Log...." He then fell over, face first onto the ground. Moments later he would get back up, and seem to be fine all of a sudden. "Ah! It has been quite the perilous journey, we have finally arrived!" He would laugh in his usual fashion, putting his hands on his sides as he did so. The blood that was also previously staining the ragged robes of the Knight had been removed, after he used the strange vile of liquid given to him by that...Avian. He would shake his head at the thought before giving Khan his full concentration.

Orikahn is about to pass beneath the threshold of the gates when he hears a noise behind himself, and he straightens, ears perking beneath the fabric of his hood, and he turns his visored face back toward the sound. Would you look at that! "Rile!" Orikahn calls back and waves, only to falter as the knight trips, hesitating uncertainly, then turning to trot back to greet him, armor jingling and rattling all the way. By the time Ivorile is back up on his feet, Kahn is there to greet him with a fraternal punch to the upper arm. "Looks like you've made it for the hunt. I was worried you'd forgone the honor." The cat gives his slipping packstrap a tug, hoisting it back onto his shoulder. "There's little time to lose; I've wasted too much already in the lazy south. The cold infects my blood with purpose!" Kahn bangs himself noisily several times on the chest, and it echoes off the massive city wall, then the mountains beyond. Clearly, the sabertooth is getting himself psyched up for the hunt.

Ivorile nodded at his psyched up friend, he had a curious expression as he was confronted with his new pal. "Well, yes! The cold, though frigid, unlike the sun, is still a...Invigorating substance," He cleared his throat and glanced around his surroundings. "Alright!" He declared, standing up straight "Where is this beast we must smite, in the name of the fair people of Frostmaw!?" He would twitch one time, before making a "Hrm" Sound, then suddenly acting as if nothing had changed at all. "I did come all this way! It's what I'm here to do." He stated, curious of the beast he would have to assist Orikahn in hunting.

Orikahn turns to resume walking as he explains. "In the western wilds," he points to the west, "around the ancient ruins and battlefields," his voice echoes as they pass beneath the broad stone arch of the city gates. "There are many restless spirits there, and its presence has has disturbed them." He looks to Ivorile. "The beast has, I mean. I think I told you about the shrine business." Orikahn sighs gravely then looks back up the path as they pass into the city proper. "I'm weary from my travels, though," the cat admits, "and would like a brief reprieve before we abandon ourselves to the wilds. What say you we make a stop at the tavern?" Kahn cranes his neck to look down the path, and he points at a distant column of smoke.

Ivorile would laugh heartily as he heard his friend mention a visit to the tavern. "Well I guess there's no harm in having some time for, good ol' relaxation." He chuckled as he looked in the direction his ally was pointing. "Restless spirits? Hrm, usually they're the ones people want gone. But a great beast?! Hrm, I guess it can be done." Ivorile would then follow Orikahn if he started walking, if not, he would stand there quietly, his favorite activity.

Orikahn does, indeed, continue walking toward the tavern. "It can be done," he assures the paladin. "I am certain the beast is mortal. Mighty, but mortal. It is like an ox. An 'R'-ox. 'R'-rock. 'R'-rocks. Aaargh-rock." Kahn struggles with the word. With a huff he snorts, white breath blasting out from between the slots of his visor. "It is like a very large ox. At the shoulder, it stands twice, perhaps thrice as tall as I. To meet its horns or hooves, either at all, is death. But I have my bow." Kahn's tone is confident. "And you have your sword." Snowy storefronts slip by as they walk, and eventually they come in front of the tavern. "I can go for its eyes, and you can go for its liver." He shoulders the door open, to push his way inside. "That's the plan," Kahn announces with finality, apparently confident that it's going to be plan enough.

Frostmaw Tavern

Ivorile entered the tavern with his associate, he usually never went to such establishments, as after all, he didn't have much free time as a independent paladin. He would most likely just stand around, not really doing anything, just kind of following the leaf of his friend. "Rox..." Ivorile quietly said to himself, before pondering it aloud. "I know nothing of it, I'm sure we'll do just fine!" He chuckled, continuing on as normal.

Orikahn barges into the tavern, glancing sharply around, before, relaxing a bit, he fills his lungs, taking in the heady, frontier atmosphere or the outpost tavern. Arriving at the bar, he unceremoniously drops his pack (it brushes against the bare, jawless sculls hanging from his hip, setting them a-rattle) and leans in to flag down Drargon, the frost giant who tends the bar, already procuring a handfull of coins. There is a muttered exchange before the bartender nods and looks expectantly down to Ivorile. Kahn sets himself on a barstool, dwarfed (for once) by his surroundings and company. Expectantly, his thick bushy tail swishes behind him. Reaching up, the cat draws back his hood and unfastens his visor and sets it on the bar with a metallic clatter. "Rile," Kahn addresses the knight, "what do you know of ghosts and spirits? The kind that live in shrines and battlefields?" The question is sincere, because Kahn looks uncertain and concerned as he asks. Whatever Ivorile orders (provided he pays), it will arrive shortly along with Kahn's order: a steaming leg of boar and a sudsy flagon of ale. The cat's eyes light eagerly, momentarily forgetting his concerns.

Ivorile didn't order anything, but he did sit next to Khan, appearing much smaller than the colossal creature that was the hunter, as well as the humongous giants that also 'chilled' in the establishment. "Spirits? Shrines!?" He laughed heartily, tipping his head back, as if it was so funny he simply couldn't bear the physical power of his own amusement. "I know nothing of the sort!" He continued acting hysterical, his amusement quite audible. He would then suddenly cease, wiping a tear of amusement from his eye. "Battlefields!? Those I know of, though I wish I didn't." He would stop seeming to unnaturally optimistic for the moment, as he put his hand on his chin, and pondered the ceiling, or at least appeared to. "Accursed lands, I stay as far away as possible. Dangerous even after one-hundred years." He would smirk, resuming his jolly nature. "Though, from what I heard, the undead hate light, which might come in handy!" He laughed once more, before going back to his quite state, in which it appeared he was always deep in though, thinking of something.

Orikahn startles at Ivorile's amusement, eyes widening and pupils narrowing, initially taken a little aback by the sheer volume of the knight's laughter, but soon he begins to find Rile's laughter contagious, and he cannot stop himself from smiling, then chuckling, then shaking with audible guffaws. "Neither do I!" He confesses, a rare admission of incompetence before, as talk turns to accursed battlefields, he sobers. "The undead..." Ponderously he leans forward. Grasping the leg of boar by the exposed bone, he lifts it to his jaws and noisily rips off a strip of meat and contemplatively chews. "When I spotted the beast," Kahn speaks through his mouthfull, waving the leg indicatively as he stares off in thought, "it was at night. I had no luck during the day. This could be a problem," he stops speaking a moment for a foamy swig, beer trickling down his chin and whiskers before he sets the flagon back with a rattle, " because we won't have the benefit of the sun then," he chokes down the strip and tears off another, "to keep the undead away, unless you have a trick."