RP:A Risk Worth Taking

From HollowWiki

Synopsis: Lanara arrives at the cliff, only to see Ranok tumble off. Hurrying to save the shadowed runesmith, she instead aides in the rescue of a sick kitten. Ranok, true to his gruff nature, enjoys a cigar, while he watches the witch fuss over the feline. Both parties agree that the kitten will die without extreme care, and fast, as it's far too young to be without its mother, and is already showing signs of weakness and disease. Lanara, fearing for the cats life, leaves the area and seems intent on giving the animal a fighting chance.

Ranok || The summer's strength was waning. The hot nights had turned to warm ones, and are now turning to cool ones. The mountains weather had just that bit more bite, tending towards the cold. The leaves were in agreeance, beginning their turn with an eagerness that bordered on the morbid. This night was one of the last warmer ones, the temperature that bordered just on comfortable. Gentle zephyrs played over the deadly cliff edge with no cares in the world, flinging themselves from stony soil to open earth and over the view itself. What was set out was something to be beheld. Kelay was a gentle glow down below, lights oranges and reds and flickering with the warm promise of torch and hearth. Overhead, moonlight drifts down from among stars shyly hiding their faces with clouds that scuttled on important business. Among it all stood a giant of a man, clad in leather and shadows. Bathed in the moon's cool light, face hidden in darkness thanks to a hat of questionable purpose in the night, the figure paced. Clad in a duster that was as worn as the man that wore it, stitched and patched that one might wonder whether it held any of the original article at all. Boots that were equally scuffed and world worn, that held the soil of multiple nations stuck fast in treads, carried the massive giant of a man here and there. He was pacing slowly, a path etched out with a seemingly aimless drift. Punctuated by small pauses, and a tilt of the hat, eyes seemingly pointed out towards the view below. Tracing after him were three points of light that left small contrails of light, drawn out. Progress seemed to be slow, but with some purpose. His path was not oft repeated and denoting a slow, but steady drift. Off towards the cliff and those playful zephyrs.

Lanara is apologizing profusely, while a woman with a chef’s hat is frantically waving her hands and screaming at the top of her lungs. A lioness is lying on the grass as the witch’s feet, repeatedly licking her front paws, and every so often raising her amber eyes to peer at the chef. As the women continue to banter, one wildly gesticulating, Lana shakes her head and reaches into her satchel. An exchange of coins takes place, before the women part ways, and Lana throws her satchel to the ground. Waiting until the angered cook is out of earshot, she shakes her head and bends to gently tug on the cat’s velvety ear. “What a bitch! But seriously, Taylor! You need to behave! I happen to like that Inn. There was no reason to destroy the kitchen.” The large cat, feeling chastised, lowers her chin to her paws and peers up at the witch, those soulful amber eyes doing their very best to make their mistress’ heart soften. “Let’s go…” The witch murmurs, though it was obvious her anger was waning. The witch and her familiar follow a short path and suddenly stop, to take in the breathtaking view that rested just beyond the cliff. A low growl alerts Lana, and she looks to the left and the right, her chocolate gaze settling on the trio of lights that were emanating from footfalls, only to fade away. Knowing she was no longer alone, and being that it was rather dark, and the figure was mostly encased in shadows, she merely stands in place. Whatever or whoever it was, seemed intent on heading nearer to the cliff’s edge, and that’s where her vision would rest, trying to see what was going to occur.

Ranok || The light that caught Lanara's attention were of a particular sort. Electric blue and each small in nature. Under the moonlight, they resembled stars that took a shine to the runesmith and decided to follow him. As she kept her distance, a closer look was not feasible. The man took his paces, a pause. The lights paused, too, and then flit rapidly. Arranging themselves into a triangular formation, facing Lanara, they flare ever so gently. Head turns, the shadows shifting, and the dustered man's head faces towards the woman and her feline companion. Eyes seem to catch the light and they briefly flare with it, much in the way a wolfs would. Left hand is gently brought up, and one might swear that it slowly became etched in lines of warm light. Then something suddenly snaps the man's attention back towards the cliff. A pause, his left fingers gently undulating, as something must be considered. Then right hand sweeps up and his mouth moves, some low down grumble or curse. Hat is knocked off, set to the back of his head to hang by a string and a mussed head of hair is exposed to the moonlight. Two ears, which twitched madly, here and there, sat atop. His face was a series of lines, a roadmap of harsh life. Mouth was drawn into a disapproving look, and his head was half towards Lana, and half towards the cliff. The wind shifts slightly, and what seems to be a pathetic cry ebbs with it. The man's head snaps to, ears suddenly alert. A moment taken to point a finger at Lanara, a silent rebuff that she not approach, and he's drifting closer to the cliff edge. Dangerously so.

Lanara stares, speechless, wondering what sort of magic was afoot, when the figure’s head turns her way. Not one to frighten easily, she instead appears entranced by the beautifully lit eyes, fingertips, and she finds herself taking a single step towards the lighted figure. As the wind shifts, ever so slightly, her long hair gently sways in the breeze, and she stops, wondering if it was the shadowed figure controlling the element, or if it was just that, an autumn approaching breeze. The hat is lifted off of the form, and the outline of what she assumes to be cat ears, are seen, twitching. Taylor stiffens at her side, the fur bristling along her spine, and her amber eyes taking in the sight before them. Thankfully, the large cat stops growling, and Lana obediently stays put, as the male raises a finger her way, as though to tell her to hold her ground. The witch stays silent, though her eyes never drift from the figure, even as he dangerously approaches the cliff’s edge. If the male was able to control the lights that followed him, he surely was capable of maintaining his footing.

Ranok edges up to the sharp divide of earth and air, seemingly unfearful of the harsh drop. There was no hesitation in the movements, and an almost dismissive air of how the deadly fall might be. As if a stern look and an admonishing finger would, too, cease gravity's cold calculations. But in reality, there was none crueler. Gravity is a harsh mistress, demanding and spurnful when denied or dared. Today, it seemed, the man's number gets pulled. The wind shifts again, the hair of his lupine ears tufted here and there and again the sharp cry. As well, the words from his lips, a graveled rumble, "There you are, you bastard." A lean, his weight pushed more and more onto a single foot as he views something over the edge and then a sudden strike. Weathered soil, subject to millennia of wind, ice, and rain, protests under the sheer bulk of metal and flesh that made up the runesmith, and all at once, throws its hands up and gives way. With no support, the smith's cheeky defiance of the primal force slams into him, seizing him and thrusting him downwards. The man's arms snap up, but to no avail and the wind gives a fitful jostle as if it were as surprised as Lanara might be. And, just as quickly as gravity pounced, the smith was gone downwards.

Lanara motions for Taylor to stay, and inches nearer to the male, as soon as he begins to speak. Who was he speaking to? There was nothing there… Except for the wind. As the unseen assailant seems to strike and the runesmith is downed, the witch springs into action. There was little for the young woman to do, given the fact that she couldn’t see what it was entirely that was occurring. You couldn’t defeat that which you couldn’t even catch a glimpse of. So, uncertainly certain that she –should- save the smith that was bound to tumble from the cliff and perhaps fall to his untimely death, she sprints to the edge to close the distance. Outstretching her left arm, she screams, “Hold on!” as her fingertips grab onto a fistful of dirt at first, and then what feels like cloth. Did she catch the edge of his duster? Was it just a dry piece of earth? The witch oomph’s as she tries to drag whatever it is that she’s grabbed hold of up the side of the cliff, using all of her strength to not let go, even when it feels as though her hands are slipping. If she were to fall off the edge when risking the life for another, it would be a rather depressing demise, but the woman’s intuition told her to fight and to help those in need. So, using her one hundred and twenty five pound frame, she grinds her teeth and pulls and pulls, not even certain if she was pulling on the smith, or something else entirely.

Ranok was not so easily outdone. Gravity was a bitch, but this was not the first altercation he'd had with her. As he fell, instincts took over. A wrench of his body to twist himself around. Arms flung out to seek some sort of purchase, fingers aching to grasp, but to little avail. This failing, left arm rears back and thrusts forwards, a powerful blow that could chip rock. Skipping off the weathered face of the cliff, a determined attempt and unyielding steel in spirit and in the literal sees the hand grab purchase. Caught in a crag, there was a heavy wrench as the sudden stop thrusts a growling yell from the man as pain flares in his shoulder. It was lucky that his construction was so well, or else he'd have dislocated his shoulder right then and there. The fall stopped, and duster settled, he hangs. Lanara was too late to grab him, that space he'd been so adamant that she stay away the downfall in the scenario. If he'd not been so standoffish, perhaps he might have been spared the burning in his left shoulder at the moment. What she'd grabbed was important, however. His hat, which had snapped the string that held it when it caught the rock and entangled in a bit of brush that eeked out an existence on the heady drop. And so, Ranok found himself hanging. Feet were brought up to bear, catching rock and relieving some pressure on his shoulder, but he was careful not to press too hard. The hand was largely insensate, and so he could not be sure of the grip. Eyes look up, and perhaps they'd meet Lanara's, his grays to her browns. As he looked up and the moonlight caught his face, again that predatory glow. A snarl was on his lips, no less relieved when he saw her, but it was more aimed at circumstance. Bloodied fingertips of his right probe the surface, seeking a stronger purchase. And, as well, as soon as he got the chance, a litany of curse words, both in Common, and some flowing, strange language, made for an interesting intermix of words.

Lanara peers over the edge of the cliff, wondering what in the hell was so heavy. Men weren’t supposed to weight –that- much, were they? As the hat comes undone, and her head pops out over the top of the cliff, she peers down at none other than Ranok, himself. The male was snarling, and appeared to be rather upset, be it from the fall or her presence, she couldn’t be certain. Unsure of whether she should offer her hand to help him back up, or merely hand him his hat, she merely kneels at the edge and waits for further instruction. Taylor, not wanting to be left out on the excitement, wanders lazily over to the cliff’s edge, and peers over. The ears of the lioness twitch as she inhales the scent of the blood on his fingertips, and her tongue extends fully to hungrily lick her lips. At this, Lana swats at the cat’s haunches, and speaks sternly. “No. Taylor. He’s… Uh… Hurt. We help those in need, not eat them… Plus, you already ate a ton at the Dancing Destrier. Don’t you remember?” Shifting those big brown eyes back to Ranok, she only now offers a dainty hand, which was muddy from the dirt she was grabbing at earlier. “Here…” She mutters her voice softer, and less demanding than when she spoke to her familiar.

Ranok takes a breath. His hand had been scrabbling at something. Perhaps he'd been seeking that purchase. But now it was dangling free, with a tuft of what looked like mud and some sort of plant. Lanara's hand was just out of reach in that way helping hands offered to cliff struck heroes were. But, his feet find purchase. Two shoves and a push and he's lifting upwards, right hand stretched and into Lanara's hand is pressed not his hand, but a small bundle of shivering fur. A small kitten, to be precise. Those pathetic cries from earlier were the small thing, which had wandered into the wrong place and may have been struck by the same fate Ranok was. Stranded on a jut of rock, slowly wasting away, the sharp ears of the smith's curse had caught it. Intrigued, he'd sought the source before Lanara came along. The rest, as it were, was known. Straining, "Take the damn thing!" Ranok ensures she's got a grip on the thing he'd risked his life for before he releases and he's sent back to his hanging fate. The poor thing was a thin mess, left in the elements and cold a touch too long. Covered in mud, bits of twigs, Ranok's bloodied handprint, and what seemed to be a nasty infection around its eyes, the prospects it had were not so strong. Exhausted by the crying it had done, and now roughly handled by a man with hands so huge, it couldn't even struggle or stir much in anyone's hands. Ranok, for his part, was slightly less grumpy now that he'd made sure the kitten was safer than it had been. He could focus on saving himself. Fingers, stiffening from their ordeal, pat his chest and pockets, "Where are you, you bastard...there." A thin metal spike is withdrawn and placed against the cliff. There's the sharp crack of a report and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Birds flutter off in the distance, disturbed by the sharp crack. All through this, those lights that stuck close to Ranok were watching, burning. So close, Lanara might see small arcs of what seems to be electricity dart between them.

Lanara accepts the kitten with her open hand, gently tugging on its neck and cradling it in her open palm. Instinctively, she brings the kitten to her chest and coos softly, even going as far as placing her lips against its head. The witch didn’t seem bothered at all, by the infected eye, the bloodied handprint, or the matted fur, she merely cuddled the kitten with love and care, as though she were its mother. Ranok is momentarily forgotten, as she rises to her feet and retrieves her satchel. Taylor continues to peer at Ranok, tilting her head in curiosity, and deeming him not a threat, retreats to her mistress. The milky mucous is gently washed from the kittens eyes, with a clear liquid that was kept in small flask, and the shivering feline blinks quickly to rid its eyes of the newly formed tears. “I know it stings, baby…” Lana murmurs, while pulls a thick scarf from her bag and wrapping the small kitten into it, hoping that it would provide enough warmth until it received better care. The smell of gunpowder stings Lana’s nostrils and she bites back a cough as she hugs the cat to her chest and meets Ranok’s gaze, her eyes widening slightly. “You saved its life… And nearly lost yours. Do you need me to help heal you, too? I can make do with what I have in my pack.”

Ranok kept himself busy while Lanara administered to the kitten. Once his anchor was sunk into the stone, he could use it to give himself additional leverage. Feet are propped onto the cliff face, and it looked like he was in position to rappel down. Feet heave and he strains upwards and outwards. His hand was firmly stuck by the weight of him pushing downwards. With his force up, it budges, then all at once, goes free. Suddenly, one of his two anchors to the cliff face was no longer in place. Arms wheel back for a moment, and then he rocks forward, as if he were stuck fast to the cliff face. His implanted anchor wiggles slightly, and a hand is placed onto it. A cautious eye used to inspect the article. It would do. Probably. Fingers probe the rocks for purchase and his boots do the same, sending a small shower of rock and dust scattering down to join the plants below. Once he's centered himself over his spike, his lights surge and the air reeks faintly of ozone. A sudden thrust and he's sailing upwards. The wind gusts and another sparkle of light and he's on the cliff edge, boots settled to earth, duster flapping like a thing alive. Acting like suddenly all but flying was absolutely normal; the man brings his right hand over to his left shoulder, working it in circles, "I was never in any significant danger." Merely discomfort, but that hardly needed be said. A disapproving eye is cast onto the sickly kitten, "That is all that it was? Here I was hoping it was more...important." Nevermind what else it could have been. What else cries like a kitten? Having determined that his damn shoulder wasn't going to be any much better the more he worked it, his right hand is next. Left fingers, a dull glow of moonlight reflecting off ghroundium digits, fetch a canteen. Unceremoniously, it's dumped onto the hand to wash away the worst of blood and newly made mud. Fingers flex, and the seep of blood can be seen through the black weave, "Bruised hard enough to split the skin. That'll be a bastard healing." But his fingers still moved, so it wasn't all that bad.

Lanara regards Ranok with confusion at first, followed by contempt, and ended with merely being amused. The man risked his life for a near-death kitten, which wasn’t deemed worthy enough of such life saving measures, and then he tended to his own injuries? Hm. Perhaps he was an animal lover and just trying to show her his grumpy side, to mask his love for felines. The witch nods her head, to which statement she is responding to is uncertain, and she rocks the kitten gently in her arms. “I think it needs a bath… Some milk. Rest. And of course, affection and attention. I don’t think it’s more than four or five weeks old… It’s so tiny. I can’t even tell its gender, its fur is rather dirty and matted in that part. I doubt its mother is around… Well, I’m sure he or she will recover, if tended to, closely.” Lana was of course, trying to remain positive, knowing that the kitten was incredibly underweight, had some sort of eye infection, and was likely to develop pneumonia or something similar. Also, the chances of a kitten this young being away from the mother would raise concern. Often, when an animal is left behind from its siblings, it’s because it’s far weaker than the others, or sick. The witch wasn’t going to voice the negative thoughts to Ranok, though, as he went to such lengths to save the kitten in the first place. “Well… On the plus side, it doesn’t seem to have fleas. Or they would be biting into me like it’s nobody’s business.” Extending her arms, she wraps the kitten tightly in the scarf, and holds it out to Ranok, eyeing his injured fingers. “I can wrap those… With tape. If you like?”

Ranok was used to injury, that much was certain. How else would he come to wear such a beaten garment as his duster? Or that scar across his face. Ears lay back in slight displeasure at something or other. "Yes, a bath, to be certain. Likely wandered off from the mother. Or she's lying around here, somewhere, less then lucky." It was harsh, to be so blunt, but cats were not the sturdiest of creatures. And a number of predators were in the forest. As for sparing his feelings... "Rather sickly, isn't it? Perhaps I should put it out of its misery. It's breath is bubbling." Those sensitive ears of his were a little better than most. He could hear the phlegm in the kitten's chest from where he stood. Or, he'd heard it when he'd held it. A slightly downturned expression as he's offered the kitten. "To give up on it so soon, though?" Head was canted just slightly. Somehow, he'd doubted she'd let the thing back into his clutches after his offer. A cold grip, indeed, that metal hand. To speak of which, left hand was digging in a pocket for something. His right flexing, "I have endured worse. I will bind it later." There was a slightly cool and standoff way in which he spoke. It seems that Lanara wasn't trusted quite yet. Blue lights had settled down back to specks, hiding among the stars of the night sky. He'd found what he sought: a small case, pulling out a cigar, pre cut and looking like it'd been a light at some point. With no preamble, it's stuck into his mouth. Left hand cups it, and again that warm glow, like sunlight in the palm of his hand. The cigar is a light, releasing a sharp and sweet smoke, and he puffs it to get it going.

Lanara gasps, immediately pulling her arms back and hugging the far from healthy kitten to her chest. Dark brown eyes glare up at the man, who was now smoking a cigar quite casually, as though they were discussing politics or the weather. “I… No. Um… I will tend to the kitten. If that’s alright? No need to give up on it… Just yet. At least give it a fighting chance.” The witch takes three steps back, as though she intended to dart off into the night and catnap the feline, whether its savior approved or not. “I am Lanara. My sister is Talyara; I know that she used to work for you… Pruning your peaches or something.” Lana actually had no idea what Taly’s true job description was, or if peaches needed to be pruned, and she only knew that the man’s name was Ranok, and that he was a pretty big deal in Rynvale. Other than that, the man was a stranger to her, and she to him. “Give me a week with the kitten. If it should pass before then, or grow worse… You are free to put it out of its misery. And if it’s improving, you allow me to nurture it to full health. Then I will return it to you, as you technically are its rightful owner, now.” Lowering her eyes to the tiny kitten, she dabs its right eye, which was now coated with that milky substance again. It was going to be a long night, if Ranok agreed to let her look after the cat. But she was up to the challenge.

Ranok lows the hand that had so coldly offered 'salvation' to the kitten, turning away from Lanara. Was that the quirk of a smile at the edge of his mouth as he hid his face, gazing outwards at the splendor of Kelay and the Sage Forest below? Perhaps just a shadow interplaying. Such a man couldn't be pleased at fostering weakness, surely. Fingers reach up to his cigar, and surely enough, he'd found a roll of thin bandage from somewhere. "Very well. Your choice, truly." With the cigar clamped between teeth, right hand is faced palm up. There was some black material, the underweave of his armor. Without prompt, it seems to pull aside, unthreading itself to reveal the wound beneath. Red blood glints in the blue light of the moon. It was not so bad, merely a pressure prompted slit, but it'd be annoying as it healed for a workman like the smith. Ranok grimaces, less then pleased. Still. What was simply was. He begins administering the refused first aid himself. Half his face was towards Lanara at all times, almost as if he were expecting her to do more than simply clutch the poor lost soul to her chest. "I admit, I'm surprised. That she spoke of me. And that you recognize me. But then." Another twitch of the mouth, the cigar bobbing, smoke contrail it released and cherry red nub drawing a line, much like the blue lights over his shoulder had not much before. "Not like I enjoy the benefits of anonymity anymore. Yes. I am Ranok." Head turns further, and his hands stop their wrapping, "What makes you think that I have time for that small thing? Take as much time as you wish. My offer was one of ending its suffering. If you wish to try to save it, you may. My intervention on the matter has been spent, I think."

Lanara narrows her eyes and stands on her tip toes, as though she wanted to gain a better vantage point and see his wound. As Ranok declines her aide for assistance with bandaging the appendage, she purses her lips and shrugs one shoulder, while the other continues to clutch at the kitten. “Well met. I suppose.” She mutters, though her tone was much softer than when she was bargaining for the small cat’s life. She, also, didn’t have time for such a thing, as her own life was semi-unraveling from day to day. Perhaps a sick kitten was just what the healer ordered? Placing her worries on something so fragile, and tending to something other than her own matters, would surely distract her from the more pressing matters. And so, it is with Ranok’s final statement, with relinquishing his attachment to the kitten, that she half smiles. Good. It was settled. Lana would be the caretaker of the cat, and decide its fate, from this moment on. As the witch opens her mouth, perhaps to thank the man, the small kitten releases its firs ‘mew’ and peers up at the woman. “Oh… It’s hungry. I… I better be on my way, Mister Ranok. I have much to prepare for, and time is of the essence when saving a life. I… Thank you. You did a very brave thing here tonight. I admire your bravery.” With that, the witch would tuck the kitten into her satchel, and leave the top open, so it could breathe. Taylor, as though she understand the severity of the situation, for once, behaved and merely walked beside her mistress. Lana peers once more at Ranok, enjoying his cigar, and gives a short wave, before exiting the area.

Ranok might have reconsidered if he knew how much Lanara was floundering. But then, could he be trusted with the care of such a small creature? Those hands of his. The glance Lanara got showed a palm as worn as the face. One of a workman and warrior. This new wound would turn to scar, and find camaraderie in others on that flesh of his. Still, the choices had been made. "Be safe, now." were the words offered to Lanara as she scurried away to rescue the kitten. Be that he'd had something in those pockets that was useful to saving the thing he'd risked so much for, but much of it was towards the taking, and not giving, of life. The realization turns his mouth downwards just slightly. But that particular reality had long since been buried and made peace with. The hand was finished, wrapped securely to prevent further damage, and the bandage roll tucked away. A fishing of something further from a pocket, the flash of copper as it spins from a downthrown hand. Another ripple of blue light from his orbital companions, and then he's leaping out into the air, off the cliff itself and disappearing from view. Intentionally, this time.