Fatch vs Sagetip

[Fatch of Southsward]

OOC: Sorry I haven't been around much lately. We've taken so much time already I figured I'd go ahead and start, and we'll figure out what's going on as we go

BIC:

The sun was rising, and the dark of night was only just fading. The sky above had transformed into a range of dark blues and slight pinks and orange. The first rays of dawn touched the horizon as the stars retired. This new light reflected and shimmered on the softening snow and the rumbling river. A lone figure stood on the overhang, leaning on a stick and welcoming the morning for himself. This was Khale. The old squirrel was bundled up under layers of leather and fur to keep him warm and the brisk breeze bit at his hair and clothes - searching for a place to chill him to the bone. It would not succeed, many years of experience in this polar environment had sharpened Khale so much so that he practically fit into the scenery himself.

Khale normally wasn't awake at this sort of hour, but something was amiss. The cracks and lines in his face revealed a deep rooted fear - not for himself but for another. He had been following tracks for almost two days. Occasionally he passed patches of snow stained red with blood, or signs of struggles. Despite his skills he was not sure what to make of it. A hunter and prey perhaps. Maybe a prisoner and an enemy. Perhaps a scout for a horde of ravaging savages. Whatever the case, he knew better than to let the matter slide. The past Khale left behind him, but the present was ever his concern, in interest of his future. In the Northern regions, unsolved problems and unanswered questions were all to often forgotten and then answered later, in a more undesirable way. Khale knew better than to allow anonymous strangers to roam unchecked and investigated within these lands.

For these reasons, he now appeared in a calm relaxed state - an old creature watching but another sunrise, one of a shrinking number of sunrises he might yet live to watch. In actuality, he was alert. His eyes darted throughout the numerous pines, the dark boulders and ragged cliffs. Searching for signs of life, of movement. His ears were rotating and adjusting, scanning for the sound of footsteps or scuffling. But alas - the only sound he heard was a distant bird, welcoming a new day. A single snowflake hovered in the air, before landing on his nose. He closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead against his staff. Willing the fates to give him knowledge. What sort of creature alluded him, what was it that lay before him? The fates were silent to Khale, but not far away, another set of eyes too had welcomed the new dawn...

[Hickory]

OOC:

The Foxwolf, Urgan Nagru, prowled among the cold stones of the north. He had decided that it was time to do a little hunting on his own. The large fox used the metal claws attached to his wolf skin to haul the carcass of a otter behind him. A kill for the books. But his victory was offset by the beast tracking him. Why or why he did not know, but sooner or later the beast would show themselves, and then the Urgan Nagru would end him. The Foxwolf decided that he would let the beast take the initiative. He stopped by a boulder to sight out where he would head next. That way the beast would spot him easily, and hopefully appear.

[Fatch of Southsward]

Some time had passed, and Khale knew he was getting somewhere. He traced bloodstains and pawprints with his own paw, and now moved with more stealth. His care was rewarded - he spotted his quarry. He now observed from behind a small group of pines - leaning against one and allowing his head to tilt just enough to award a line of sight.

The creature was massive and its form alone seemed to emulate power and strength. A slain otter lay at the monster's feet, and it appeared to be sighting out a path, looking away from Khale's trees. As the squirrel took stock of this terrible foe, for one fleeting moment, Khale saw images of his past.

Pretty squirrelmaids of his youth, and good friends long gone. He let the images float away - and he felt deep in his heart, a weightiness he had long expected. He had felt the weight on several occasions. When he had to pause to catch his breath, when the last friend of his youth passed away. A feeling of helplessness and time. He knew his age was getting to him, and that his life was perhaps reaching an end. He had never felt the weight of his age as much as now. It was as though he knew that a fight with this creature would be his last. He closed his eyes and allowed the wind to caress his face freely. He thought he heard the whispers of those this creature would go on to slay. He could save them if he only acted now. He had little to lose. Why not, after all? What was his old life anyway? To sacrifice one for the sake of many was a selfless act, and a great one to end a long and tiresome journey. Khale was no longer afraid to let go of this life - who knew what strange things lay beyond?

With these thoughts on his mind, Khale freed his longbow from his back. He knocked his favorite shaft - a black one made of elder. Small notches marked the lives it had claimed. The shaft never broke or corrupted - would it fail him at last?

He stepped out from the tree into open view, drawing the arrow as he did so. His ears twitched at the familiar sound of his old bow. It rumbled and creaked with strain as it was tensed - like a great tree being bent. He lifted it, creating in his mind an arch, starting at his ear, traveling up to a maximum, and then curving back down to land in the back of the Urgan Nagru's head. He paused briefly, ensuring his aim was true.

[Hickory]

The Foxwolf heard the creak of the bow, but stayed still. Slowly, he raised the body of the otter so that it covering his flank, upon which he turned to the left 90 degrees, as if he was sighting out the land that aways. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the beast with the bow. This was a good position, he decided. The fox could always dodge the shaft, or block it.

[Fatch of Southsward]

Khale knew he had been discovered as soon as his enemy raised the otter. He wasn't sure what had given him away, but that hardly mattered now. It was time to act swiftly before Urgan Nagru charged.

He lowered his aim - sighting in on the Foxwolf's paws. It would be more difficult to avoid or block the shaft than if he had fired kept his previous aim. He released the tension, and his prized black elder arrow sped away with an angry hiss.

Although the elder arrow had never failed him, Khale knew instinctively it would take more than an arrow to stop the massive creature. He swiftly drew another arrow, and hurried to notch it. He raised the bow again, finally taking a moment to assess the damage the first shaft had caused.

This was an unusual thing - Khale had never attacked a creature without explanation or reasoning, but this one was so dangerous in appearance, so evil, that he took no such chance. Urgan had already slain an otter, after all. Furthermore, there was little chance he would take kindly to being followed and questioned. 

[Hickory]

The Foxwolf grunted in pain as the tip of something pierced his own hide. The thick wolf skin he wore stopped the arrow from killing him, but he still felt some blood. Reaching behind him, he yanked out the shaft and dropped the arrow to the ground, alongside the otter carcass. The Urgan Nagru withdrew a hefty sword from his coat. He faced the squirrel with a gleam in his eyes. "Who dares to face me, Urgan Nagru? Come forth, and show yourself... only cowards fight with bows!"

[Fatch of Southsward]

The squirrel shrugged, and released the second arrow he had notched - this time aiming for the Foxwolf's chest.

"I know not your name, only what I have seen of your character. Perhaps I am a coward, perhaps the otter who was slain was brave. I'll happily take intelligence and strategy over stupidity and bravery. I can see in you the lives of many that you have extinguished. Perhaps that reign of terror ends today."

He notched a third arrow and drew it taunt once again.

[Hickory]

Like lightning, Urgan dodged the shaft and snatched it out of the air. Growling, he barked out at the figure. "Talk will not save you!"

He started to run towards Khale.

[Fatch of Southsward]

Khale loosed a final shaft, as close to the last second as he dared. He knew it would be easily dodged, but he had another purpose in mind for it.

As soon as it was loosed, he stepped nimbly to the side and spun - swinging the oak bow like a club. The idea was the Urgan would be preoccupied and off balance from avoiding the arrow.

[Hickory]

Caught by the ruse, Nagru was caught by the club and knocked on his back. Leaping up, just a quick as the squirrel, he swung out with one of the long, metal claws that replaced the wolf skin's original ones.

[Fatch of Southsward]

In his younger days, Khale would have escaped the swipe with ease. This time, however, he only mostly avoided it as he lurched himself back. He felt the edge of the claw part his leather and skin. From an outsider's viewpoint the wound may have looked deadly, but the old squirrel was so thin only a very small bit of his flesh had been grazed. He felt a thin trickle of blood, and glanced down at his torn clothes. This one was going to be a handful.

Nevertheless, there was no going back now. He eased a staff off his back and held it at the ready, stepping back and allowing both of them to retain their balance.

[Hickory]

Annoyed at the squirrel's resolve, Nagru bared his teeth to show his own. An old squirrel with a staff couldn't be too hard to fight. Eventually it would be another kill to his fame. The fox charge forward, ready to gouge with his claws.

[Fatch of Southsward]

Khale feigned a step, and stood his ground. His staff became a blur as he twisted and swung it, putting the strength of resolve between each blow. They came one after another: One cracked a tooth, one smacked a cheek, one clobbered the fox on the top of the head. Still, the fox came forward, seemingly unaffected by the blows, or perhaps only infuriated. Khale backpeddled, feeling his heartbeat jump, as the fox closed to a distance close enough to strike back.