RP:Iscattiva meets the Blacksmith

From HollowWiki

Ranok shouted, "[Flaming debris, streaming down from the abandoned city of Armantium, freely falls downwards in several streamers of smoke and flame. The worst of it seems solely concentrated in the northeastern part of the Sage Forest. Echos of an enormous explosion might filter down to those sensitive of hearing, but no other sound accompanies the show.]"


Boundary of Sage Forest

The boundaries of this majestic forest have met, a forested corner, with a high wall of stone. Shriveled tufts of grass sprout outward from the craggy face of the cliff, some of the jagged areas inhabited by browning nests. A small opening in the side of the wall releases a chill breath, emanating from the endless darkness within. The wall turns both eastward and southward.



Jerica is close enough to hear that explosion and look up to see a body falling. Just why she is wanderig throuh the forest this time isn't important. She will hide beneath the relative safety of trees as bits and pieces of city fell, letting out a yelp, twice. Once when Ranok lands and again when his head is almost crushed. One hand comes up to cover her mouth to smother another scream as even more chunks of blown city fall. For a while she finds herself huddling under the branches of her tree and wide brown eyes dart about seeking Ranok's familiar form to be sure he still stood. Or was mostly standing.


Ranok was leaning against the tree that had, at first, broken his fall, and then secondly, sheltered him from the far more deadly debris. Those boots of slow fall were heavily being reconsidered for being scrapped. All the things they could do just wasn't enough when you couldn't not hit a tree when jumping out of a partially exploding city like a boss. One arm was up, and Draeta blazed gently. Black tendrils were oozing out to lightly touch wounds where they could be seen on his body. A whispering voice, speaking another language. It was assessing the damage. It could have been worse, certainly, but it could have been better.


Iscattiva has forgotten her father's most repeated lesson. Watch, listen, and focus. The young Gold has been doing none of these, lost in the simple pleasures of gliding through the skies and riding the various air currents that were slowly drawing her near the curious airborne city. That is, until an explosion broke the peaceful silence and disrupted her flight with violent suddeness. The burst of heated air and noise is enough to send the Gold backwinging in a recoiling reflex, and cost her altitude where thermals were struck. But it's the debris that follows afterwards that truly gets Icattiva, a hail of flaming splinters that shred easily through the thin membrane of her right wing and a single well-aimed chunk of stone that strikes the main joint of the already damaged appendage. With a roar, the saurian plummets toward the ground, flames streaking off her burnt wing to make her seem like a golden comet set to crashland in the forest not far from the two humans.


Iscattiva shouted, "(A dragon's roar follows shortly after the explosion, the pained sound partially lost beneath the other noise.)"

Jerica ventures out from her protective spot and was making her way towards Ranok when something else blazed through the sky. Looking up sharply, Jerica watches the rapid fiery descent of the gold and she wondered what else could fall from up there. One quick look at Ranok and Jerica lets out a heavy sigh, "Do you never do anything that doesn't lead to someone getting hurt?" She's exhasperated, sure, but it's mostly worry for the man that has her in a tizzy and stalking off once it's determined he is fine. The dragon? Jerica never was one to volunteer help to those she doesn't know or had a vested interest in helping.


Ranok was confused, and still partially keyed up on that whole 'just jumped off a place higher then most men ever reach after exploding it' bit. The crash made him jump, initially suspecting a huge ass chunk of rock to have struck. But the bellow of a dragon in pain was unmistakable. Jerica surprised him further. And once more when she stalks off, apparently angry. "Vat...? Vat deed Hy do..?" It was too late. He shakes his head, "Vomen." That said it all. Draeta was speaking again. He waves the lights off, "Yeah, yeah, Hy know my own biology." He was moving again, towards the source of the crash. Slowly and painfully at first, but loosening up as he moves closer.


Iscattiva lies in a battered golden heap, right wing stretched out at an awkward angle amid the rubble of her crash site, half-pinned by broken branches and shattered slabs of earth. Ears still ringing from the assault of the explosion, she doesn't immediately hear the man's approach and instead spends the next few moments giving her horned head sharp shakes in vain attempts to rattle scattered thoughts back into proper focus. Each movement draws a dry, rippling rustle of scales that course down her entire length, ending in a snarl of pain whenever it shifts the broken joint of her wing.


Ranok holds a hand gently on his side. His own rib was cracked, there, and he was doing his best not to move it. Whatever he did by virtue of his 'own biology', it seemed to have helped enormously. Draeta flares, the trio of blue lights spiraling outwards, signifying its interest in what it beheld, <Gold dragon, evident. Young. Female. Injuries seem to be along dorsal surface, moving towards ventral. Wings, damage. Further observation for details needed.> "Vat iz a gold doink down here? Now, uf hall times?" The smith shakes his head. Speaking louder, so as not to be startle torched by the gold before him, "Hey, dragon! Don' moff much. Hy'm komink in to help. Hyu seem to be in a bad vay."


Iscattiva's eyes snap open in a flash of amber even as her head whips around to face the strange voice, tentacled whiskers rattling against her horns in a facsimile warning of a rattlesnake's shaking tail. The thick accent and his sudden appearance are enough that she doesn't catch the meaning of his words, still adjusting to her recent aquiring of the Common tongue as she is. "S-stay away from me, sir! I might be downed, but I am still capable of defending mineself if I am forced to!" The dragon's wavering voice, a peculiar mixture of lilting, child-like tones and abrupt halts of a foreigner's tongue, coupled with a serpentine form alternating between rigid and quivering with anxiety, makes it clear she's more startled and possibly frightened than truly hostile.


Ranok sighs. Just *once* did he want to hear 'Thank you, please help in any way you can' from someone in this sort of position. It would be a really nice change of pace. "Draeta." The lights were much more of a spokesmen then Ranok ever would be, if a little sterile. <Ma'dam, you appear to be injured. My compatriot are here to assist. Please do not worry. We are what you could call experts at this sort of thing.> Ranok looses a weak chuckle. Experts, nothing. His week wasn't average until he pissed off a super being, blew up something, killed a dangerous magical creature, or some mixture thereof. "Kalm you dragonfires, if hyu vould. Hy chust got dis duster kleaned; please do not ruin it again."


Iscattiva blinks. The sound of her scaled eyelid closing comes as a sharp clack. "Oh." As quickly as she'd bristled, the Gold relaxes, settling back against the broken earth with a soft groan, both for the movement of her broken wing and the release of muscles clenched tight with nerves. Self-conscious of her reaction, the dragon dips her muzzle and begins nibbling at the scales on her left forepaw where they've been scraped in her crash. Occasionally she glances up from beneath her horned eye ridge to peer at the human, an almost sheepish expression. "My apologies, sir ....s?" She can't place where the second voice came from, and is thus uncertain if it's the man speaking in two ways or something unseen is also present. The latter option makes her scales itch with unease. "I reacted badly and befitting a common beast. I would be appreciative of any assistance you can offer. My thanks." While her words might be too formal and measured, but the note of gratitude beneath them is genuine. Iscattiva is trusting, if nothing else.


Ranok walks closer to Iscattiva, becoming fully realized in the dim twilight of the setting sun. He was same as he always was, well worn duster, riddled with new holes (again), a stylish hat that seemed to be in perfect shape (as always), and the same trio of electric blue lights following him. The smith's face carried blood of his own, but it was ignored. The hand that had touched his side leaves it, to push the hat up further on his head. "No problem, gurl. Hy'm gonna need hyu to hold schtill, tough. Don' vant to klip me vith a vink, now, do hyu? Nize und easy." <Please remain calm and still. We are about to determine the extent of your wounds. If I may make contact?> The lights needed to touch, in order to tap Kirien's blood. The empath's empathy would be useful, here, used in dregs to peer into Iscattiva's body. Easiest way to do it, short of bombarding her with its sensory array, which it was already doing. More words in a strange language, the one of Ranok's own, as the lights shared its current findings.


Iscattiva, although she doesn't know it's Draeta, is quite thankful for its words. Without them, she'd still be puzzling out the first thing Ranok had said to her and likely trying to scare him off with a show of dragon bravado and bluster. Instead, however, she's able to understand his request and comply with a nervous rustle of scales, sitting as still as is possible for one as young as she--which consists of forcing her body into an unnaturally rigid state while her neck swivels and twines every which way in earnest curiosity to see just what is going to be done. One such movement is, of course, a nod granting him permission to approach.


Ranok hops onto the scarred earth. The lights flicker into amber, the metal plate, which could merely be glimpsed from the open duster, reflecting that change. Draeta was getting much, much better at harnessing its abilities. <Please do relax.> To save Iscattiva some craning, Ranok opts for her snout to lay his hand on. Once contact has been made, the dragon might, perhaps, feel a flutter onto her mind as contact was made. <Link established. One moment longer.> Draeta's presence was utterly, massively large. It would be akin to looking up and discovering an entire city had suddenly hung in the air above you. Thankfully, Iscattiva wouldn't have to deal with the sensation for long. It got what it needed. <Results: extensive wounding to the wing with support structures. Advisement: do not use it until it has been tended to. No major internal bleeding. Bruising through front, as you no doubt are feeling. Prognosis: relatively minor to a dragon.> Ranok helpfully supplies, "He means hyu'll be right as rain in a fev veeks, or however long it takes to heul a healer here. Hyu got lucky, gurl." The smith pats her reassuringly, even if she couldn't really grasp what he was saying.


Iscattiva snorts at the touch and utters a odd snarled whimper seconds later when Draeta's overwhelming presence swoops over her mind. In a way, it's not unlike the powerful aura her father's mind exhibits, although this one is far more alien a sensation than she's felt from kin. Once the entity's prognosis is given, the dragon blinks again and takes on a sullen expression as her forepaw rubs at the bruised scales of her chest, as if to say 'It feels worse than 'minor' though...'. What she says instead, however, is, "I thank you for your help, good sir...s." She's still trying to figure that bit out. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a healer, would you? As well, do you think any souls require help up there?" She looks worriedly toward Armantium then, where columns of smoke are still visible to the dragon's keen eyes. Leave it to Iscattiva to worry over strangers when she has her own wounds that need tending.


Ranok drums his fingers, right on Iscattiva's snout, like you would on a table as you thought. "Sirs iz a goot tink to kall it, Hy suppose. Tvo present here. My name iz Ranok. Dese lights here are Draeta. A pleasure." Left hand touches the brim of his hat. <While you are able to move, I would recommend against it. Especially in your large state. Are you able to shift to human form? If so, we will be able to carry you.> Nevermind Ranok's own internal injuries. He would take them as he always did, which was to say stoically. A glance, upwards, at Armantium hanging in the sky, "No. Dat place iz dead. Noddink but magic und material movink up dere. Don' vorry about it. Hyu're in no shepe to fly up to help. Hy kan get hyu to Yerrel. But hyu'll need to be schmaller if Hy em to support hyu. Hy'm a tall guy, but hyu're a dragon."


Iscattiva goes slightly crosseyed trying to peer at the fingers drumming upon her snout, only to give up the attempt seconds later as it proves headache inducing. Instead she arches her neck back to escape the touch and shakes her head in response. "My sire always advised me not to alter my form when injured, as it risks worsening the damage. I do not wish to discover what will be broken in place of my wing should I take the shape of a human." Admittedly, she is rather curious, but she's at least prudent enough not to try. At least this time, when there isn't a healer on hand. With a snort at such thoughts, the Gold sinks her talons into the ground and heaves her body upwards with an effort, struggling to right herself with as little movement of her wing as possible. The debris covering it tumbles away in a shower of dust and splinters to reveal the various lacerations the flesh has suffered, but aside from those and the fact that it doesn't tuck tightly against her side like its twin, the wing doesn't seem in terrible shape. "I believe I can manage to walk there, if I am careful."


Ranok backs away to allow Iscattiva room to stand, "No shepe change...? Oh. Yerrel vill be most upset." The healer would have many a tut and gentle chidings to deliver to the smith. Ranok had a bad habit of pulling in people who were hurt to the Kelay Healer to be fixed up. On the upside, he had someone he could at least trust to fix him up there. Yerrel wasn't as potent as some others, but he had a good heart. The wing was examined by the smith, as well, when it was put into view, "Dozen' look too bed..." <Please do not stress yourself. I cannot understate how little we are able to assist you should you fall. Ranok and myself will escourt you to the healer ourselves.> Ranok was pulling a stave out of a pocket, wholebody. The duster and its curious 'has everything in the entire world' tendencies. Ranok was going to be needing the thing, shortly, to suppose *him*. He would do his best to hide his injuries, and for the most part, would succeed. This was not his first rodeo by a long shot. "You fadder sounds like a vise man. Hy vould tink dat he vould be a goot man to shere a drink, vith. Kome along, den. Ve hef liddle daylight left to us."


Iscattiva wavers a moment, unbalanced by her crash as well as having a wing sprawled out, but quickly enough she adjusts enough that she can begin walking. As she pads along with the heavy, crunching thuds of dragon paws on a leaf-strewn floor, she works her way through Ranok's words to eventually offer a reply. Delayed, but it's earnest nonetheless, "Yes, he is very wise. I am sure he'd enjoy a drink with you as well. He carries a fondness for humans." She pauses then to squint at the blacksmith's back as if to make certain he's actually human before continuing, "He says their ingenu-... ingenui-.... skill at survival is second to no other race, even the dragonkin. That's why he tasked me with learning all there is to know of their kind, and of the others, so that I may learn more about mineself." As she talks, she grows more animated, easing into her words so that they don't come as halted and uncertain as before.


Ranok was keeping his hand from straying. It seemed to be itching to wander towards Iscattiva, and more specifically, the wounds which dripped blood. Draeta seemed to be getting greedy. He counteracts this by placing the stave firmly in the grasp of that hand, to stem any further wanderings. "Learn more uf de human vorld, huh? Dat sounds like a pretty goot schtory. Hy tink Hy've heard it before. Heh." Moments were dedicated to making sure his gait was smooth. No weakness. He can be strong. Pretty sure that rib is cracked. Hard to breath as he once did. Draeta fills in the silence, <Humanity does indeed have a remarkable tendency for adapatation. It is a trend that seems to remain even beyond a single locus, though they are not the only race that carries the trait. Merely, perhaps, the most ubiquitous.> The lights were bobbing close to Iscattiva, though they were incapable of absorbing blood. There would be no fear of that as long as Ranok kept control of his own armor. "Hyu hefn' mentioned you name yet, gurl. Lest hyu vant me to give hyu a nickname, hm?"


Iscattiva's eyes carefully follow the lights flitting around her much like a cat tracks a spot of reflected sunlight, and also like a cat, the tip of her tail twitches with unspoken desire to try and capture them between her claws. Ranok's words distract her, however, as she's forced to focus on deciphering them through the accent. At the mention of a nickname, the smaller horns framing her jawline perk up in excitement. "A nickname? I have never had such a title before, unless one counts... ahem, I believe the Common term would be 'Blunder Claws', as given to me by a lairmate over a mishap. Aside from that, I am only referred to as Iscattiva, daughter of Rhavid the Fire Fanged."


Ranok hehs, "Vell met. Tell hyu vat. Hyu gimmee a nickname, Hy'll giff hyu vun. How it vorks. Hy've Named a person or tvo, at der insistence. Used to be referred to as 'Blackhends' by vun gal. Hefn' seen her in avile. Hm." Nicknames meant his real name wasn't spread around so much. Subtly, here. No use being famous if it made you a target. He was also, very, *very* glad that Iscattiva was too distracted to pounce at Draeta. The sight and thought of a several ton large cat analogue frankly scared him. Oh with the claws and the scratching and the hurting. He shakes his head, dismissing these thoughts. Whatever he did to himself was making him more whimsical, it seemed. Dangerous in Ranok's eyes, amusing in everyone else's.


Iscattiva looks positively ecstatic--or hungry, dragon expressions tend to consist of more teeth than people are comfortable with and are difficult to interpret--once she works out Ranok's latest remark. In her excitement, she tromps forward until she's hovering over the man with her muzzle pointed straight down to peer at him with that same toothy version of a saurian smile. "You will, truly? I promise that I shall guard it well and wear it with pride! And to think, I had begun to believe this would end as a dark day after such an unpleasant conversation with that Black, and my mishap in the skies." The Gold is all but prancing by this point, a fact that's both risky to the nearby smith and her own injured wing. Honestly, you'd think Ranok had promised her a king's treasury to sleep on and all the deer she could eat.


Ranok uses the stave in his hands to jab at Iscattiva as she gets bouncy. Oh god, she was really acting like some sort of big cat. He could almost hear the purr. Not that the stave would do anything, though Draeta might be able to sum up the energy on the smith's behalf. "Ah, yah. Hy take de issue uf Namink qvite seriously. Nicknames are earned, after hall. But hyu seem to vant a nev moniker? A Name, not chust a name?" The capitalization could be heard. How Ranok managed to do that, it would never be known. "Chust kalm down, now. Hyu don' vant to hurt you vink, eh?" Or him, for that matter.


Iscattiva catches herself then and hastily shuffles backwards, once more mindful of herself and her wing. "Ah, my apologies. I do not know what got into me," the dragon murmurs, dipping her horned head solemnly. A champion of Cyris should not be prancing about like some lovestruck poet. "I have even forgotten to ask your own name in return. How rude. My sire would be very disappointed in me." Maybe she could blame it on hitting her head when she crashed. ...although she'd then get chided for crashing in the first place.


Ranok lifts a brow, "Hy've already given it. Hy em Ranok. Dis iz Draeta." He was glad, at least, that she stopped bouncing. He idly wondered what would happen if he fished out some string, or the like. Another head shake and he clears the thoughts away. It was getting bad, now. This was usually the point where he sequestered himself. "Hyu're an eksitable vun, hain't hyu? Enddusiasm uf hyuth." A sidelong glance at the gold dragon. "No need to be ashemed. Hyu're vell meanink, Hy kan tell. Life's moments schould be savored. It hall turns to ash in you mouth if hyu don'. Und, really. Take a vord uf advice, here. De herder hyu try to maintain dignity, de herder de Kosmos pushes to break it. It's a lav. Bend a liddle."


Iscattiva pauses mid-step, head cocked to one side. "Oh. Those were your -names-." She hadn't quite understood what he'd meant earlier, but that would explain it, yes. Shaking her head then, she resumes her pace, this time careful not to trample too close to Ranok or Draeta. His other words do manage to draw a rustle of scales as she straightens, however, lifting her head to a proud height. "I must conduct myself with dignity, as I am representing my clan and Cyris himself with each of my actions. It would not be proper if I shamed them by scampering to and fro like a hatchling. The skies are where I can engage in idle antics."


Ranok continues the walk forward towards Yerrel, "Dignity, noddink. Trust me, here. Hy'm really schpeakink from eksperience. De dignified must be brought low. It's a balance tink, hyu see. No matter vat, ve're hall livink kreatures. Even de Kink hes gotten de runs before. Konduct vith dignity, but do not be afraeed to be vo hyu are, now und again. My mistake vas lettink bitterness over take me, und it vas vat Hy became." Overhead, Draeta led the way with its lights, like a trio of fairy lights. They even left lovely contrails of afterimage. "Vear de mask, become de mask. It hain't as fun or as desirable as it sounds." Was that sadness or regret in his tone? It was hard to tell. "Take de advice or leaff it, if hyu veesh. Hyu'll see, in time. Besides, it's really funny to see a dragon chasink after lights. As long as Hy'm not in de vay."


Iscattiva had been staring at said lights again when Ranok makes that comment, a fact that causes her to glance away in a poor attempt to mask her stare. "Funny? Ah, but, yes, I shall heed your words, I think." Another quick, involuntary glance is given to Draeta. "From what I am able to make of them, they ring with wisdom similar to my sire. Are all humans this sagely? The way in which they run about when I fly overhead, I had begun to worry they were not strong witted."


Ranok on a whim, swirls his fingers. Draeta complies by mimicking the action. They bob, swirl, and dance, weaving a pattern of contrails as they do so. Speaking over, so as to torment the poor girl by forcing her to divide her attention, he says, "No, not hall. Dere are schtupeed pipple, chust as dere are vise vuns. De same to be saeed uf dragons, yah? Chust because hyu kan schpeak doesn' mean de vords dat schpill out are vorth listenink to."


Iscattiva manages to watch both the swirling lights and listen to the words--the former more than the latter--for all of a minute before she goes cross-eyed with the effort and plunks down on her haunches. That, -that- was most definitely not a wise thing to try and do, especially when their are vitality-sapping injuries thrown in the mix. Ranok is a cruel, cruel man. The God does however, after a prolonged moment to gather herself, reply as she rises to her feet and shuffles after the blacksmith. "The same as dragons... Yes, in a way, yes, I think you are correct. My sire often said as much, although other dragonkin do not seem to agree with him. The Black I met today seemed to think they were only suitable for food or playthings. Horrid." She snorts in disgust at the thought.


Ranok was telling Draeta to write words in the air. Mostly alphabetic letters of Motan, his native tongue. But he slips in a word in Common here and there. "Hyu know, dat vole Lesser Race business? SCHtupeed. Dragons are big, yah. But...vun kritical tink mhenny over look. Dere are more humans den dere are hyu. Und ve breed faster." A grin. He knew just what humans could do to dragons, after all. He still carried around the scales of the deep dragon who saw fit to lose his head over a meal. "Blacks seem to be a particularly prickly breed. Tell me uf dis vun, dat vould eat humans." Draeta spells out 'idiot' further up the path.


Iscattiva's scales bristle like a sea of golden nettles as she recalls the Black's insults to herself and those she was willing to protect in the name of Cyris. The earth beneath her feet suffer the kneading of vexed claws with each step as she speaks, "I explained as much to him, that those he called 'Lesser Races' had their own valuable skills, skills our kind could benefit from, just as they can benefit from our own skills. He laughed, and called me a fool, that they were only worth eating or tormenting, nothing more. I wish I had obtained his name..."


Ranok || Draeta was sketching out the word 'gambit', now. "Felis, dat mentality reflects in hall men. Kinks tink demselves higher den de peons. Vampires see de livink as blood dolls. Hobbits tink doze larger folk are klumsy und incompetent. Hall races karry der hubris. It iz our greatest, most shered veakness. To look down on doze dat look down on odders iz herdly betta. Vere does de chustification kome from? Are hyu superior for tinkink youself aboff zumone? Its kircular. My recommendation? Go beyond it hall. Hyu are hyu, dat iz hall. You skills are sherper in areas, zum not. Dat iz hall. Hubris kills hyu incredibly qvickly if hyu let it take hold."


Iscattiva lumbers along mulling over the words and occasionally squinting at Draeta. For while she does know her letters fairly well, she's used to them in a much larger, dragon-friendly form, and so the tiny script is not easily discerned, which leaves her frustrated in much the same way recalling the Black, and Ranok's words have. "Pride is... a poison, I was taught. It does us little harm in small forms, but when it becomes us, it warps our minds until nothing matters but you and your pride. I refuse to become as that Black has. I am proud to serve Cyris and to fight to keep his blessed freedom for all beings, but I will not let that pride consume me. I... cannot. It is the bane of dragons."


Ranok wasn't sure if his nickname, whimsically chosen, fit the gold dragon or not. He was still mulling it over. A brow raises, "More uf you fadder's visdom, hm? ...Hy vould really like to meet him." The smith allows his hand to drop, and Draeta winks out, returning to a much dimmer light. They were drawing near the Kelay Healer, "Hubris und pride hain't qvite de same, in my eyah. Hubris gets hyu killed, vereas pride in eksess chust makes hyu a jackass. But dat's chust me. Dere hain'tink vrong vith beink proud uf beink in de Service uf Life. Doctors, healers, de like. Dey get a great deal uf respeck from me."


Iscattiva nods solemnly in response. "Indeed. He spent a great deal of time among the other races, learning, and he taught me much. Although, I feel he purposely withheld information so that I would have to discover it mineself. Such as not crossing paths with exploding cities in the sky." She gives a comical, if painful, wiggle of the shoulder to emphasize her words before she's distracted by the sound of the forest's healer tutting at the sorry sight of battered blacksmith and broken Gold.


Ranok chuckles a little, "Ah, yah. Sorry about de kity. Hy didn' mean for hennyone else to get kaught in de fallout. Hy forgot de first Rule uf Eksplosives." Before Iscattiva could ask for elaboration, he moves forward to greet Yerrel. The soft spoken elf was shaking his head, once more. "Ranok, you really must just *visit* me for once...who is this, then? My. Her wing. That won't do at all, dearie." It was hard not to like Yerrel, really. He just wanted to help the world. Why else would he be in Kelay, of all places, to ply his trade if he didn't? It wasn't exactly for the people who didn't give a damn.


Iscattiva finds herself being ushered off by the dutiful man and very quickly distracted by all the fantastic sights one can find in a healer's shop--a place she unfortunately can only fit her head into, but it's enough for her.