RP:Misunderstood... Intentions, good?

Summary: Lanara is verbally assaulted by her reindeer, Rude-Off, when Ranok wanders along as he's out patrolling the area. Lana, mistaking him for an enemy, stabs him with a dagger, and upon realizing her mistake, the two have an enlightening conversation. Their chat is filled with both insight and insults, as she tries to convince the smith to live on the edge, and as he nears the cliff's edge, a lightbulb flashes in her head. She would come clean about the secrets she kept from Talyara, regarding Eirik, in a no-holds-barred match. She quickly leaves the area to go find Orikahn to plan the event.

The sun is slowly descending behind the Xalious Mountain’s, and nearing of dusk is soon to follow, as a figure sits at the edge of the cliff, her long legs dangling off the edge, as she watches the sunset. Lightning bugs slowly make their appearance, their golden aura gracing the area, as they flicker off and on, in a synchronized rhythm. It’s a peaceful time, as there are no current wars in this section of the lands, and the area is seemingly vacant of any passersby, aside from the figure sitting at the edge of the jagged rock. An owl hoots in the distance, the sun disappears completely from the sky, and choirs of crickets begin their night medley. And then, without warning, the peace is disturbed, as a reindeer flies into the area, only to land on the grass, with his hooves making a thunder of sound, as he frolics around the area. Setting his sights on the being in the hooded crimson cloak, he canters forward, wraps his mouth around the hood, and firmly yanks it back. His large teeth tear into the fabric, as he chokes the slender form, which is now revealed to be a beautiful elf, with flowing chestnut hair. “Hey! Get off!” Lifting her hands to claw at the knot around her neck, she undoes the tie, and the crimson cloak is torn off of her figure completely, as she crawls away from the edge and kneels. Fingertips rub at her throat, as though making certain that her tender flesh was still intact, and she narrows her chocolate hues on the ill-mannered reindeer. The deer shakes the fabric from his head, though the cloak dangles haphazardly from an antler, and he fixes his mistress with a glare, before he issues a response. “Are you stupid or something?! Quit crying over that loser! He didn’t deserve you. He’s a big jerk! And why did you have to adopt his two stupid wolves? All they do is run wild and nip at my legs! But you’re too selfish to care what I think, huh? I told you we shouldn’t have left Frostmaw. Years ago! But did you listen?! Nope! I know elves are supposed to be intelligent! But you are a dumbass!” Lana frowns at his words, as she often would have a retort for her beloved companion, when he scoffs and flies off into the night, leaving her to sit in the dark and reflect, with nothing more than a tattered cloak for comfort.

The night never bothered the smith. Those that feared the darkness and the night feared what could spawn from it. But when you've faced the worst it had to offer? When you knew the unknowable? What then? But Ranok was no Dark Avenger, full of darkness and horrors. Or, at least, in the sense that any of it controlled him. But simply, he could see. There was no issue with his navigation of the rocky path up to Xalious even as the sun slipped away and the moon and stars peeked out , booted feet carefully walking among the loose stone and scree. He's taken to prowling even outside of his city. The world was in turmoil. Some evil despot? Burning and the persecution of witches? Insanity. While it wasn't his responsiblity, sometimes it felt good to do good. And, frankly, having a guilt free reason to crack some skulls was sometimes just what the doctor ordered. A fingertip to the underside of his hat to tip it upwards. A moment taken to survey, and mostly to listen. Freed from the confines of his hat, ears swivel, taking in the sounds. Nothing seemed to be wrong, and he was about to turn on his heel when the sound of something big moving through the air tickles his senses. Instinct kicks in, battle born reflexes automatically forcing him to duck just slightly before he can arrest the notion and look for its source. It seemed to be...what was that? Fingers reach to the small of his back, curling around the grip that lay there. A tug and his specialized crossbow springs free. Moving as quietly as he can, as fast as he could, his ground gain was not all that spectacular. So it was for that reason that when he finds Lanara and her troublesome reindeer, he only sees the struggle over the cloak before springing free. Unquestioning, it seemed that Lanara was under attack. But as he squares his stance, raising his weapon upwards, there was speech. From...a reindeer? That fact alone was what saved her animal companion, or there would have been a bolt loosed. Insults fly, and then the reindeer does too, leaving a somewhat confused smith standing there with a weapon drawn. Looking up after it, he mutters to himself, "Well that was kind of rude."

Lanara sighs as Rude-Off had another one of his dramatic fits and flew into the night like a bat sprung from the fiery depths of hell. She was used to his antics, though she was surprised at the anger in which he plucked the cloak from her body, and the onslaught of insults that poured from his serpentine tongue. It had been much the same with her menagerie of pets, since she’d left the home she shared with Eirik in Venturil. The animals had liked it there, and quite a few of them had bonded with the lycan. Gathering the cloak to her chest, she shakes her head, and aims to slip it over her slender shoulders, when she hears a voice from behind. Rising to her feet, she spins around, draws a dagger from her boot, and comes face to face with a man wielding a crossbow. The night is in full swing, and though she can’t make out the face from her position, she knows it to be a large, male figure, based on his silhouette. His weapon remains drawn, and the crimson cloaked woman fears that the big bad wolf has come to claim her, and so she snaps her wrist back and expertly hurls her dagger through the air, aiming for his chest. Her years of practice in throwing knives made her a rather good shot, though she doesn’t stick around to see if her knife had met its target. She turns, about to flee the area and the presumed hunter, only to find that the edge of the cliff is her only source of freedom. “Damn it!” Unleashing a plethora of curse words, she darts to the right, and scales a tree, only to climb onto one of the lower branches, and peek through the leaves at her assailant. Obviously the tree doesn’t provide ample coverage, and she wasn’t exactly camouflaged in the bright red cloak, but she uses this time to devise an exit strategy and another plan of attack, should the man still be in pursuit.

The smith really couldn't look any much more imposing, but that simply came with the territory. As he looked out towards the woman he'd happened upon, she'd get a glimpse of two eyes, gleaming brightly, the same as if she stared down those of a wolf's as the moon caught them. And then she's throwing a dagger at him. Instincts kick in again and a hand is thrown up in defense, seeing the dagger go straight through the palm. Given that her flight path was to scale a tree, Ranok has ample time to stalk the distance between them, his legs eating up distance alarmingly quick. While his stance had 'murder in it', his right hand was stowing the crossbow back into the holster at the small of his back, seeing him seemingly disarmed. When he arrives at the tree, face scowling upwards, craggy features bathed in moonlight, right fingers grasp the hilt of her thrown dagger. "Well that," words spoken shortly, and there's a gentle rasp of steel upon steel as he draws her dagger gone through the mechanics of his artificial hand, "was kind of rude."

Lanara watches as the man takes the wound like a champ, and she’s equally impressed and horrified. The fact that he merely raised his hand and allowed it to go –through- his hand like that, showed she wasn’t up against any ordinary man. Her eyes dart wildly around the area, looking for another method of defense, as she knew he was in close proximity and calling upon her magic would take far too long. Plus, he had a crossbow! She presses her palms to the thick branch, and steps off, dangling in the air for a few moments, before she drops to the ground. Another dagger is plucked from her opposite boot, and she glares at the male as he makes his advance, though her anger fades as he’s easily recognized. “Ranok?!” His name hangs in the air, her lips purse, and she watches as he pulls the dagger from his mechanical appendage. “I-I didn’t know it was you! You came up so quickly from behind me, and you had your weapon drawn. Plus, it’s dark. I’m sorry… Are you alright?” She tilts her head up to meet his gaze, as he towers over her petite form, and her expression is sincere. She hadn’t meant to strike Ranok, it was an honest mistake.

There was a frown, on his face, and still that gleam in his eyes as the moon hit them. Left fingers open and close once with no apparent difficulty, and he's leveled eyes on her. Only to find that she's scrambled down the tree with yet another sharp instrument. The frown grows just a touch deeper, and sparks flicker on his fingertips and the smell of ozone seeps into the air. At once, the steel dagger in her hand is tugged hard, as if an invisible hand had seized it. The force pulls harder and harder until it's free of her grasp, even to the point of dragging her along with it. Ranok catches the blade, too, point first, though not through his hand as he had the last one. Fingers make a V and it slides home precisely between, the hilt stopping it solid, "I think, perhaps, I'll take these until you don't go throwing them at people who happen to be taking a walk." Nevermind that he almost shot her reindeer. A pause, as she recognizes him, and he's wracking his own brain. "You are...the woman I gave that kitten to. No?" That night was barely remembered, all that time ago. "What, exactly, are you doing out here in the dead of night again? I do not hear anything down the cliff this time." He transfers both knives to his right hand, leaving the left free and open.

Lanara had forgotten she was even holding a second weapon once she recognized the older man, though apparently he hadn’t quite forgiven or forgotten her latest transgression. As she aims to speak again, she feels a pull on her knife, despite the fact that Ranok hadn’t moved. Clearly, there was some sort of magic at work, or perhaps he had similar Psion abilities like her friend Meri. She stands there, aiming to keep her ground, though being only a hundred and twenty or so pounds, she finds that she skids forward a good six inches, and she lessens her grip on the hilt. The knife flits from her hand and into Ranok’s, and she narrows her eyes as he keeps a hold on it, as though in fear that she would strike again. “Yes. I –am- the cat lady. And Konar is doing well… I think.” Those big brown eyes glance away, feigning innocence. In truth, she had no idea where the cat had ended up, after her first death. Upon returning three months later, he was nowhere to be found, though his last whereabouts were in Frostmaw. Thankfully, the topic is changed as he asks why she’s near the edge of a cliff, late at night, utterly alone. “I-I….” Lana pauses, the urge to keep her privacy is great, though she did just stab the poor man, so she relents and gives him an honest answer. “I’m heartbroken. I called off my engagement to Eirik. So… I came here to clear my head, and just cry in peace.” A beat. “Why are you here?”

Whether he was impressed at her ability to hang onto the blade didn't show on her face. The second the steel slapped into the metal of his palm, the rising feeling of static in the air, and the smell of ozone seeping, cuts out. An eyebrow raises, just slightly, "You...think." Was that a note of disapproval that crept into his tone? "I would have figured you'd keep a closer eye on him." When she looks away, he does not. Still, the matter isn't pressed all that hard. Rather then holding on to both her knives with one hand, he sticks one into the inside of his duster. The other he plays with, spinning it in his grasp. Throwing knives had good balance, so it was an easier task then some. Slightly distracting, perhaps, as the metal glints as he twists and turns the blade. Even so, he listens gravely as she announces her heart break. "Quite fair. An evening walk is good for clearing the head. Perhaps you ought to suffer less abuse from you...whatever the hell that flying thing was. Emotions are valid. Makes you know you're alive. No one is a fool for loving. Perhaps we might make better choices. But that, too, is life." Lana's 'borrowed' knife is gently tossed into the air. "I'm out looking for trouble. Sometimes I even find it."

Lanara sighs, having the feeling that he was somewhat offended by her answer, regarding the fishing cat. “Look. The cat was healthy and happy. I, uh, died. And that was the last I saw of him. He’s probably still lurking near my sister’s cottage.” She doesn’t mention that said cottage was blown to bits, as was she, over a year ago. Ranok’s feelings would be spared. The smith had risked his life to save the feline, and then she had wrongfully taken her life, along with her father’s. She secretly hoped the cat had made it out of Taly’s cottage before the explosion, but she couldn’t guarantee anything. Thankfully, the topic shifts to matters of the heart, and though it makes her slightly uncomfortable, it was safer territory than the possibility of a dead animal. “Yeah. Love. Life. It’s all so tragic.” She clears her throat, about to head home, when he mentions Rude-Off, and she can’t help but laugh. “Oh! That’s Rude-Off, my ill-mannered companion. He’s a royal pain in my arse, but I love him. And that was him in a good mood. You should hear some of the things he’s said to my sister.” Lana smirks; unable to wipe the mischievous grin from her full lips as Ranok states that he’s out looking for ‘trouble’ and that sometimes he finds it. Tonight, he met Miss Trouble, her very self. Along with her blade. “Hm. Well, I wasn’t exactly looking for trouble, though it always seems to find me. And, uh, how’s that working out for you? Did you run into any misbehaving folks, by chance, before meeting my dagger and reindeer?”

There is a pause, and his head slowly turns to Lana. An ever so slight tilt of the head, as he looked at Lana. Finally he says, "You look pretty good for having died." Was that a ghost of a smile that quirks the side of his mouth as he was turning his head back over the cliff? So hard to tell in the darkness. "A messy process, death. I don't recommend it for anyone. But it's the coming back that hurts the worst." Fingers absently rub the breastplate above where his heart was, reflexively. "The cat will turn up, no doubt. They're good at it." A sudden sound has his head turn from the night view back into the wilderness beyond. The pass was not so heavily traveled now, not like it would be towards the spring. Sometimes the weather turned back and got nasty, making treks unideal, even with the short distance. A long moment passes, and Ranok's ears, free of the hat which hung on its string around his neck, twitch slightly. Ultimately, he decides nothing was coming of it and turns back towards Lana, "I would advise picking a more respectful partner. There is something to be said about tough love, but brutality for the sake of brutality is...poor." A slight rise and dip of one shoulder was the final say on the matter he'd place, however. If Lana wanted to keep company with the abusive reindeer, it was her choice after all. "Tonight...?" Eyes flick to Lana's own for a moment. And again, that bare ghost of a smile, so hard to see, "I think your poor aim does count, so yes. Beyond that? No. Plenty of it to be found, if you look in the right places." Fingers wave her dagger, which was scoured by its encounter. Ranok's hand and arm were made of stern stuff, tougher then steel, so of the two the throwing weapons came off the worse.

Lanara laughs as he says she looks pretty good after having dead and been brought back, her cheeks lightly turning pink. “Well. Thank you…That was the first time. The second time I died and was brought back seconds later? I didn’t look so amazing. I had so many injuries that I was drinking bone fusing potions for several weeks. It almost ended my career in dancing.” Her gaze trails up as he glances away, after mentioning that should she find love again, for it to be with someone who was more tender to her feelings. It’s then, in the dark, as he’s looking off into the distance, that she extends her arm. “You have ears! Furry ears! They are so neat!” If he’d dip his head, she’d give a quick rub, patting him as she would one of her beloved direwolves. The little elf ignores the dagger that he had stolen from her, or the fact that he was expertly maneuvering it around, as though he knew his way around a blade. Typical. The woman would risk getting shanked, at the edge of a cliff, to rub something furry. What could one say? She was notorious for rescuing strays and had a soft spot for anything canine-related. “I don’t have poor aim! I meant to, uh, disable you! Not actually kill you. And it worked. And you aren’t even a threat. So, win-win.”

Gone was the smile, or its ghost. In its place, confusion, "Twice, really? Are you one of those daredevils? Deathseekers?" Idly, the tip of her knife was used to scratch his chin gently, "If you are, I wonder if that makes you very good at it, or very bad at it. Hm. No matter." Again, Lana is regarded with his somewhat piercing stare, his mouth slightly downturned. His gaze flickers over her, taking in her garb and stance, though his expression doesn't change. There might have been additional comment, but she was reaching upwards and towards his head. Instinct takes over and he, without ceremony, slaps away the questing fingers. In no way does she get an opportunity to touch them, and as a matter of fact, his expression grows cold. A purposeful step from outside her range, "You failed on both accounts, as I was neither disabled nor harmed. Even had I but a flesh bound hand, it would not have stopped me." Head tilts slightly, eyes thinning, "What just makes you think I am no threat? Do you trust all men you meet on the dark of night?" Right hand gestures, the steel of her stolen dagger flashing in the moonlight in a harsh reminder, "Do you see one act of kindness done as fit to make a judgement on character? Foolish." He's towards the edge of the cliff, now, as if about to simply step off.

Lanara wonders if he actually wants an answer to that first question, and she can’t help but smirk. She was rather fearless, though she didn’t know how to be any other way. To live without inhibitions, was to live fully, at least in her book. She’s amused at how the smith toys with her dagger, and steps beyond her reach, though his final words wipe the smirk from her fair face. “I find that I prefer men that walk amongst the dark of night, yes, actually. You can’t trust anyone these days. If it’s someone that you meet in a shady situation, then you already have you answer. He or she will betray you at some point down the road. It’s all about preparedness, truly. However… I find that the ones that live on the edge, are the type I love to run with, it’s freeing.” Not getting the hint, the elf trails after him, eyeing the cliff’s edge briefly, before giving him a sidelong glance. “Let me guess. You’re one of those do-gooders who always play by the books, huh? Well… Where has that got you? You’re out here, at this hour, alone. I don’t see any friends. Or companions. And I’m going to take a guess and assume you’re single.” She pauses, her words not meant to mince his feelings, though she was generally curious, and despite the possibility of getting stabbed with her own dagger, she seemed to be having a good time. “I’m alone, yes. But by choice, and I’m only passing through the area… You frequent this place. You’re a creature of habit. How is that working out for you?” She looks up at him, her dark hues sparkling in the moonlight. She was hopeful that he’d live a little more on the edge, or take her advice. Too many let their lives slip past, without ever recalling a time when they truly lived.

"Interesting." This was said in a tone which said a good bit more then just the words alone. He was skeptical of her, now, and an ever so slight edge. Perhaps it was in the way he was distancing himself from her reach, and an eye kept on her hands. Or, maybe, he really didn't want her to make another attempt at the ears. "So you trust the untrustworthy. Small wonder you've died twice. Running free with murderers, and the wolves of society...?" Head was shaking now. Was that pity in his expression? Her guess of who he was has him stop fully and stare at her for a full few seconds. A mixture of shock and a creeping sort of amusement, "Do gooder." The words are rolled around on his tongue a moment, "You have no idea who I am, do you?" Arms outstretch, one hand still holding the knife fast, "I am as far as you can get from the concept. I do not do *good*. I simply do. Good and evil are for lesser men, lesser drives. What success is there to be measured in companionship? A relationship with a man is your yard stick? What has that gotten you?" Fingers flick and steel flashes in the night, and the point of her own knife is now squared at her, "Crying alone in a forest, a reindeer heaping abuse upon you. Good choice, eh?" Feet carry him to the utmost edge of the cliff. A stiff wind could shove him off, and still that knife in his grasp, "My habit is not the path my feet tread, but the choices I make. And that is to carry out my own will."

Lanara laughs as he throws her words back on her, the witch crossing her arms over her chest and nodding. “Alright, alright. You got me there. I just like living on the edge, I guess you could say?” As he claims he’s a badass, and toys with the dagger, her gaze flashes from his face to the edge of the cliff, which he was nearly stepping off of, causing her to blanche. Was he on some suicide mission? Maybe he could fly? She knew some avian’s, though they had extravagantly feathered wings that gave them the gift of flight, as well as incredible upper body strength. She hadn’t seen wings sprout from the smith’s form and it was too dark to eye his physique, so she inches back a bit. Oftentimes, misery loved company, and she didn’t need a jumper on her hands that would take her down with him. His next words, about her abusive reindeer, and the fact that she was crying, cause her to bristle, and she rolls her eyes. This man knew nothing about her, and he didn’t deserve an explanation, though she gives one to him. “I wasn’t here to cure a broken heart. I was here to figure out how to make things right… I, uh, kept the engagement and break-up from my little sister. You know her, Taly, she rubbed your apricots, or did something in your backyard.” She tended his orchards, and nothing more, but Lanara could never quite get the story straight. “Anyway… I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell her and I think you just gave me a bright idea! Go big or go home, right!?”Clearly, she misunderstood his entire speech. “I have to go, right away, and plan! You can keep the knives, and I really hope you don’t jump, but… Thank you…” At least the thank you comes out as sincere, and she is gone a moment later, all that remains is a shred of her red cloak, dangling from a branch.