RP:Music Boxes and Mirror Scales

Faux Twilight Cavern

Satoshi stands vigil over the four freshly dug graves, their fluorite headstones aglow with the blessed fire of Redovian's prayer and serving to cast a flickering white light on the foxkin's form where she sits crosslegged before them. The magus is sheathed in fire herself, a bright blue that offsets the white to produce a dance of writhing shadows, but Satoshi pays it no mind. For the Lady of Frostmaw is lost in her meditation, determination creasing her brow and accenting the drawn, gaunt lines the last couple days have wrought on her features. If she is aware of the presence of visitors, she does not outwardly show it immediately.

Ranok steps into the twilight cavern. Why he was there could more or less be quantified as 'shenanigans' or 'its Ranok; stop asking questions'. However, he was brought up short. Four new graves, tended well. They weren't there before when he hatched those mist dragon eggs. Two plus two made four. This was the entrance to Sato's home of dwelling and no other he was aware of. The gifts, on the ground. A child's toy? Flowers? And the expression on the face of the kit. The smith bows his head. He presumed them important to Sato, that they received such a treatment. Stepping forward towards the graves, hopefully the spirit wouldn't stop him. He meant no harm. From a pocket, he pulled a music box. A work he put together after taking apart Crispin's mechanical musical dove to repair it, his own attempt at creating such a thing. Thankfully for all involved, the music wasn't written by him but bought from some enterprising bard. A little tinky diddy, perfect for the young, he was assured. The box would be set near the graves, a moment spared to wind it. Gruff words of apology towards losses weren't his style, nor did it mesh with the stoic nature he carried like a chip on the shoulder. This would be abouts the only gesture he could make. No comment offered the kit but a tug of his hat, not at least until it was all said and done.

Ignatius had heard of the attacks on the people of Frostmaw, a terrible thing in his honest opinion and one that he would gladly see paid back for in kind should the queen ask him to do so - he was a knight of Frostmaw after all and duty bound to perform such acts at his lord's behest. He had come to pay his respects to the fallen before seeing the queen about any errands her knight-errant could provide and had not at all expected to find her here as he made his arrival with mandolin in hand. His intent had been to play the dead a knell of passing, a song to see them off to the here after but perhaps now he would not. That would be for Satoshi to decide. "La mia regina, veramente, I am sorry for your losses." He said quietly, his tone solemn and his head bowed as he took a spot next to her. A nod of acknowledgement is given to Ranok for the time being and little else otherwise.

Satoshi's ears twitch in response to the music beginning to play, the sound gently drawing her from her trance until, with a series of blinks, she opens her eyes to gaze down at the little box. She remains silent a long moment, not acknowledging the smith and knight until she speaks, voice barely creeping above a whisper, "She loved music even more than I do." Managing a faint smile, the foxkin glances between the pair, brow lifted in mild curiosity at their presence. But then, after a moment of thought, the curiosity is sated. When has Ranok ever needed an explanation for his uncanny habit of showing up without notice? And Ignatius is hardly out of place himself, sword to the northern city as he is. So it's with a more welcoming smile that Satoshi climbs to her feet and nods to them both gratefully.

Ranok had a healthy respect for Ignatius, mostly because he made such a handy projectile. Though he, in a fit of morbidity, wonders if Ignatius is technically qualified to play off anyone for death. That aside, the smith offers another somber nod, but allowing Ignatius to finish his piece. Hardly any need to speak above the singing swordsmen's mandolin, after all.

Ignatius tipped his hat to Satoshi, his face as downcast as his undead features would allow. Truly it was quite bothersome to Ignatius that death had befallen the citizens of Frostmaw while it was his duty to prevent such things as often as he could. This was made worse by the fact that Ignatius had been busy training for the tournament when this had happened - his oaths failed by the desire to gain glory in the arena of spectated battle. "Sul mio onore, I will serve you with all that I am in hunting down those responsible. Moriranno o lo farò." He spoke as he drew his mandolin up into playing position, fingers stroking at single notes to bring forth a slow and sad tune. But the longer he played, the more that slowness gave way to something faster and single notes became whole chords strummed with a heavy hand.

Satoshi closes her eyes anew to simply listen to the melody, while the swaying of her tails follows the tempo involuntarily. Throughout the playing she says not a word, content--as content as she can be at present--to absorb the music and await its end before she speaks. Once that time comes, the kit murmurs, "Thank you. Both of you." She neither accepts nor denies Ignatius' offer to help hunt down the dragon responsible, as she's still wrestling with herself over how to carry out hers and Kasyr's revenge. The time will come when they make their decision, and either slip off to pay Ishataulak a personal visit, or they'll call on those sworn to the city to serve her Frostmaw's brand of justice.

Ranok remarks, rather quietly, "De chains uf responsibility are heavy und de need for revenge hot, are dey not? Hy've been dere." He'd had a healthy dose of each in his life, "Hy don' presume to know de right choice for hyu to make. Hyu hef my help if hyu need it, tough." With all the offers of help, that dragon was so much toast. Regardless of how much he understood what drove the need to personally settled matters, he'd hoped that Sato would see sense and not take it on one on one. Or some variation thereof. The man lifts off his hat for a moment to run a hand through the hair underneath, "But, might Hy be so bold as to make a suggestion? Perheps a valk? Our ondead friend dere kan oblige us vith de music, if hyu are so inclined. Perspectiff?"

Ignatius brought his song to a close soon enough, keeping the music a short affair so as to not borrow too much time of the dead - they had another place to see and had earned their right to be there. He gave a tip of the hat to the graves and found himself glancing towards Ranok now. "Estraneo, perhaps a walk would do us good. I have some business with you, se non siete contro di essa."

Satoshi nods in silent agreement and climbs to her feet, albeit a hint unsteadily from some many hours spent seated and unmoving. Shaking herself to get her limbs working again, the magus makes for the caves entrance even as she tacks onto the Ignatius' remark, "And I do too, come to think of it. They're odd requests, but if anyone can manage it, it'd be you, Sir Clink."

Ranok was secretly hoping the suggestion of a walk was to be refused. Out into the cold again, then. An internal sigh later, and he walks to the door himself, "Into de kity or into de vilderness, den?"

Ignatius was well on his guard as they made their way for the mouth of the cave, hand clutching the hilt of his sword against the pommel and eyes - empty as those sockets were - faced forward and presumably very alert. This city had become a home to him in such a short time, Satoshi as good a lord as any he'd ever had. He was determined to protect these things even if his actions seemed so out of place in a city of giants and barbarians. He had not drawn his sword since he heard the news of the deaths either and Ignatius was itching horribly for a reason to split flesh and draw forth the blood of an enemy - a sensation that left a bad taste in his mouth even as he embraced the idea of it, wrath had no place in his fighting style. "Straniero, sono interessato a new sword and I am told you are a man who knows well how to craft such things." He began at once, right to business. "Che drago, I took whatever I could carry from it and I would like to have its bones forged into a sword most excellente."

Satoshi visibly twitches at the mention of 'drago'. She doesn't need to understand Ignatius' foreign tongue to know that word's meaning. With a slight frown she continues on, taking the lead so that the other two could talk business while she leads them to one of the refreshment areas recently set up to accommodate the influx of people for the tournament. Set against a snowbank rests a large merchant stall decorated with glowing mage lamps, stools of varying sizes available for guests to seat themselves before the stall that doubles as a counter, where the vendor offers his freshly prepared wares, gossip, and all other manner of casual business. Here Ranok will find warmth, a specially crafted enchantment placed upon the lamps to give off heat that specifically warms cloth and flesh while leaving the surrounding snows unmelted--for the sake of not flooding Frostmaw in snowmelt. And it's here Satoshi will claim a seat and order herself and her companions steaming mugs that give off a peculiar, enticing scent of chocolate and honeyed mead.

Ranok frowns enormously at Ignatius. To talk of weapons and the like when walking away from the grave of a child...even he really didn't go there. But, he understood the request regardless. "De bone. Yah. Hy remember." Regardless of the outcome, being eaten wholebody by a dragon was an experience he wasn't eager to repeat. "Makink dragonbone into veapons hain't so much forgink as it iz karvink. It iz de magic uf der blood und life dat imbues it vith schtrength. Dey vould kollapse onder der own veight oddervise." Save for the borrowing species, anyways. Those ate the ground and passed trace metals into their bones to reinforce them. Sato leading them to a warm area was much appreciated. The mage lamps were of interest to him, but he didn't have the time to inspect them. Draeta, however, did. The lights erupt from their 'bright as a star' levels into 'candle' and float to the nearest lamp to peer at it. Sato's further offer of a mug of warm stuff was dubiously accepted. He didn't take food or drink from sources he didn't really trust, but he was fairly sure he'd be fine, just this once. Habits didn't die easy though. He was a little twitchy at first before he'd just drink the thing. Any visual reactions at certain words was also dutifully filed away.

Ignatius held up a hand to decline the drink. He did not need it in any physical manner and it would probably be unpleasant to see the stuff seeping out of any holes on his person so he would save them from having to see that. "This is why you are the smith and I am the knight, si?" He gave a quick nod. "Senza riguardo I feel that it is time that I have a new sword, one that can perhaps pack a bit more punzone. These are volte triste we find ourselves in and anything I can do to be better suited for defending Frostmaw is all the meglio."

Satoshi sips from her own drink while listening to the back and forth of business, mildly intrigued by what Ignatius was requesting and why. Although, intrigued as she is, the magus still can't help having her eye drawn to the mote of lights that are hovering about one of the lamps. Curious sources of magic and the like do tend to catch her interest, after all, as the foxkin is a scholar at heart and ever. It takes a great deal of resistance to stop her from interrupting Ranok and Ignatius to ask just -what- the lights are, but Satoshi manages. Barely. It's at least a sign her state of mind is on the slow road to mending.

Ranok sips from his mug, "Hy'm not a mage. Hy kan' enchant it. Und de voman dat Hy vas lookink to take on to help me vith it hes subseqvently disappeared. Chust a forevarnink. Vatever inherent magical nature dat lies viddin de bone iz vat hyu'll get. Hy kan vork around it und not sheke it out, but, no promises. Bone iz herd krap to vork vith." Meanwhile, Draeta was moving away from the magelight, having seen all it could see. Now it was tracing the corners of the room, seeing out enchantments carved into the wood. Whatever powered the 'warm but doesn't melt snow' effect the building seemed to have. The avatar of the intelligence imbued in Ranok's armor was leaving contrails of electric blue light for a foot or so where it went. A characteristic unusual for those that knew it, but it meant that it was, more or less, 'looking carefully'.

Ignatius nodded, only understanding part of what Ranok said - which was at least something that they had in common with each other. "Very good then, I'll see to it that the osso e la scala are sent to you as I do not have them with me at this moment." He stood up. He had been uncomfortable this entire time and he could not be entirely sure as to why. To be sure, the deaths of Frostmaw citizens had bothered him deeply but he had felt ansy ever since he drew his name for the first round. Maybe he was nervous? "Devi scusarmi, I must be off. I feel a doloranti bisogno to patrol a bit. Satoshi, another time, si?" He gave them both a tip of his hat before he started for the streets.

Satoshi salutes Ignatius with her mug while offering a quiet, "Another time, Nocturne. And good luck in your coming match." It wasn't so much the kit reading minds, as simply carrying a desire to see those of Frostmaw do well in the tournament they're hosting. Especially against the drow that had left such a rude and threatening letter in the cavern for her as way of entering himself in the matches. With the knight's departure, Satoshi looks toward the smith and jerks her chin to his lighted companions. "Just -what- are those? I've seen very few things remotely similar to them. ...and are they going to damage anything? I'd prefer if they didn't." She's speaking words that the hovering merchant plainly wished to say, judging by his expression as he warily watches the motes scuttle about his stall.

Ranok watches the knight-errant go, "He vas up against de drow, vasn' he? ...he'll need dat svord. Best hope he gives me de materials soon." He wasn't much of a fan of Kuzial, either. Sato's question provokes a sly grin from the smith, though. "Its name iz Draeta. It's a...shell ve kall, a kompanion? He's very useful. Und very kurious. Probably lookink at doze mage lights. A kreature uf magic interested in magic hain't so schtrange? He von' pry hennyddink apart. Lacks de hends to do so. If he hed dem...vell, ve'd probably be hevink a very different konversation right now." Whatever that meant.

Satoshi's curiosity is slowly, bit by tiny bit, overlaying the distant, indifferent mindset she'd carried for the past two days. Enough so that she reaches out cautiously with a finger toward one of the lights, interested in seeing if it was an entity that could be touched--and all too prepared to yank her hand back at the slightest hint of harm, as she can't afford permanent damage coming to her only remaining hand. "Draeta..."

Ranok || The lights had floated back at mention of its name. The things avatar was immaterial, but the closer one got to trying to touch the light, the more static buildup that would...build up. Resulting in a slight static shock. Merely a byproduct of what made it. The massive influx of a blue dragon's blood, yoinked from Kas before the kensai knew what was happening. A voice whispers from the very air around Ranok and Sato, giving a hard time determining where it was properly coming from. Tone neutral, utterly devoid of emotion or accent, it said, <Draeta is indeed my designation. A pleasure to meet you. I would assume this is your work?> A flurry of movement that sort of resembled a point. The thing must have meant the enchanting.

Satoshi gives her whiskers a twitch to shake off the rigid stance they'd taken upon contact with Draeta, looking only marginally miffed at the tiny burst of static--why does it always have to be -lightning- people carry around, anyway? The toneless voice catches the kit's attention readily enough and banishes any ill feelings over disliked elements as she nods numbly in reply. "Mine, modified off another's wo-" Abruptly she cuts herself off as she remembers that the design was from the wizard Basil, who had first created the perpetual source of warmth as a way to stave off illness when Satoshi and Kasyr had first brought the infant Aurelia to their chilled home. Another shake, and Satoshi shoves those thoughts away and adopts a blank expression, trying to pick back up where she left off seamlessly--and failing, "another's work. Clever wizard, applied it to crystals and had the magic feed off the gem's own powers."

Ranok could say the same about Sato's frosty nature. Why did it always have to be cold? The smith hides a smirk at Sato's statically charged whiskers. To do so, he speaks up, "Krystallized magic? Or zumddink else? As far as Hy'm avare, de krystallization uf magic und energies iz zumddink dat hain't uften replicated. Hy hed to tvist arms to acqvire it." Bugged Nirrien, who then bugged The Fold, who then gave him the info and it backtraced from there. Sensing that the kit might like to have herself distracted, Ranok fishes out one of Mirabelle's shells. A polished thing of quartz, wrapped in a white wax shell. At close inspection, it vibrated with the compressed energies therein. Ranok's own personal mana or energy sources. He could tap them, but couldn't cast spells. At this rate, he never would learn how to.

Satoshi leans forward to better examine the polished quartz, a claw extended to give it a gentle tap as ears flick to pick up the faint noise. "Similar, but not quite the same. I place spells -in- the stone. Certain gemstones have a tendency to hold and maintain spells, while others function to augment magic, and others distort, and many work well as magical reserves where you can siphon your own spare energy within them to be called upon later. It's part of why so many arcane tomes, items, and so forth have some sort of gem on them, as much based on its properties with spellwork as its affinity to the creator. Myself, I use fluorite, which is common here in Frostmaw. It sings well with my magic, and its different colors tend to produce different results." Although, of course, she favors the uncommon pale blue coloration above most others. Again she taps the shell Ranok holds. "This, however, is not something I've tried. Crystallized magic, you say?"

<Experimentation has found that the crystalline matrix of most mineral formations conducts well to holding magic. I suspect that what we speak of, which is to say, the storage of magic or spells into these matrices is one and the same.> Draeta, ever the eager one to discuss magic or new findings, jumps in before Ranok can. He shoots a sour look at his belighted companion, and reaches out for the shell back, "Hy'm not a mage. Imbuink pure energy into a shell iz hall Hy kan do, personally. It gets de basics uf vat Hy need done. Energy in, energy out. No doubt Hy kould vork my vay up. De more 'pure' de krystal, de more hyu kan pack into it, Hy find. Qvartz iz dirt kommon und holds enough to be disposable." Anything that had a 'crystal' make up could work, with varying efficiencies. It'd be rather humorous to see someone using something like tablesalt, though. "Never knev about kolor changink de vay it vorks, tough." The whispering of Draeta sings out of the air, but in a strange language. The one of Ranok's homeland, given how he shrugs his shoulders in response and says, "Maybe. Viable."

Satoshi eyes Draeta a moment, trying to determine if she likes the thing or not. It's difficult to dislike something that carries no tone of voice, but it's even harder to -like- such a thing. Although, there's certainly something 'textbook' but the entity which appeals to the kit's magus side, a sort of comfort as if one of her books have developed the ability to speak its volumes outloud. The foreign exchange has Satoshi blinking, however, obviously at a loss. "Viable..? What is?"

Ranok scratches the back of his head, looking suddenly at a loss. "Vell. Uh. Vat he saeed vas, more or less, dat different gem types make different results because a ruby iz not a diamond. Hyu see?" The lights swirl on themselves a moment. Ranok's expression rather told how much he cared about magic: not much. Probably to the extent of the question: Can I use it as a weapon? Can I use it to stop people using it as a weapon against me? The smith was nothing if not predictable in certain regards. Then again, he does surprise every now and again.

Satoshi decides, for now, that she'll like Draeta. Warily. It at least seems to carry her same voracious appetite for knowledge. Under normal circumstances, she would have happily delved into a conversation about magical theories, anomalies, and likewise with the being, but these are not normal circumstances and old, well-loved passtimes don't carry much of a pull for the foxkin at present. Plus, Ranok's expression openly screams this isn't his cup of tea. So it's with a nod and clearing of her throat that she jumps into a subject more suitable to both their desires: Business. "How skilled are you with putting," a short, sharp pause precedes her next word, which is forced out with a hiss, "dragon-scale to use? I have a particularly rare hide in my possession, and I have three things I want created with it. There isn't enough to spare for mistakes, so obviously I want the best to handle it."

Draeta would be disappointed, had it the capacity to feel so. Maybe when it learned more if would learn how to imitate emotions. That thought disquieted Ranok for reasons he really couldn't explain. <Another time then. Ranok speaks highly of your magical abilities, so I look forward to seeing more of your work.> Tell you what, though, it knew how to flatter. Ranok was scratching his chin, "Vell, de materials are rare. Hy only hef liddle ecksperience vith de schtuff." He was thinking. "De goot news iz dat Hy hef a large amount uf material, now. Dragonscale iz dragonscale, no?" Killing the deep dragon had functionally put him in the money in terms of rare materials. It was all handy, eventually. "Vat do hyu need made? Und uf vat sort uf dragonscale?"

Without preamble the kit fishes out a small handful of glistening silver chips and places them on the counter near Ranok. Each scale is a perfect, round-edged triangle and with a surface that reflects back its surroundings as perfectly as the most polished of mirrors, so much so that even the soft glow of the mage lamps are absorbed and reflected into a dazzling array of colored lights sent dancing across every surface. If Satoshi is at all awed by the little spectacle, she doesn't show it, only nudging the scales closer and thus setting the lights to skittering about like rainbow-hued fairies. "From a Mercury. Kasyr brought it back almost completely intact. My best tanners were able to remove the hide in full. What I want for the main of it is the inner lining for my coat, if they can be woven together. Ignatius, I'd like to gift a gauntlet to, using these scales as its surface. And finally.... can a sword be made of them? That still carries their mirror-like properties?"

Ranok picks up a scale. "De linink vould be easy. Chust get a seamstress to sew dem in. If it iz zumtink like chainmail hyu vant, de interior vill be zumvat less...spectacular. Every link needs a hole." He shows about where he'd put them. Something so small would be largely taken up by the connections. Just how it worked. Linking them together made a veritable scale cloak, but sewing made it prettier, in other words. Still running his edge on the scale, "Kurved surfaces...hard. Very. Scale dozen' like to bend, hyu see. Mirrored surfaces even less. Quite a tall request. Maybe. Hy don' know. A svord vill be easy by komparison. Chust need vun big scale to vork down. Now...vether it vill be a goot sword." He gives a huge shrug, "Hy don' know. It vould be sharp, Hy kan promise dat. But kan it take a blow in return? ...probably not. For de same reasons as to vy it dozen' bend."

Satoshi watches the smith examine the scales with a stoic air, absorbing his remarks and concerns in equal measure and not outward reaction. When he's done, she simply nods. "I didn't expect it to be an easy feat, or such things would be a common sight. The beast these come from is rare in its own right, the use of its scales even moreso." Plucking one of the scales up and holding to the light, she adds quietly in a voice almost as flat as Draeta's, "But can you do it? If you can make those pieces, their owners will see they're used properly. And what scales aren't needed, will be yours. Or other payment, obviously. You know I'm good for it, if you're willing to take the job."

Ranok shakes his head, "For vunce, it hain' about payment. Hy've gotten to de point vere Hy hain' scrabbling hennymore. Hef resources, dat sort uf tink. Now Hy kan settle in for favors und makink nize. Tough havink de scraps vould kertainly not go amiss. Hy vill see vat Hy kan do. How much do Hy hef to vork vith? Dis material iz...somewhat unfamiliar for me. Hy vould need zum to functionally break to learn vat it kan do." File it. Stress test it. Scratch it. Forge it. Test the limits, the stresses, the way it wore on the body. All materials weren't created equal, after all, and dragons might be tough sons of bitches as a general rule, but their scales were adaptations. The mercury seemed to have changed its scales more then was par. Most dragons just settled for 'impervious to own element'. <The learning experience alone would be well worth the attempt, Lady Sato. Perhaps we can begin a work on dragon related materials and methods to handle them and their previous owners?> Ranok winces. That probably wasn't a good thing to say. At least it wasn't *him* stepping it in verbally this time.

The amber flecks of Satoshi's eyes spark with venomous light at Draeta's words, and for those at home keeping score, the odd being has been brought back down a peg in her book. Aside from that, however, the magus again refrains from outward displays of her inner state, the writhing blizzard of murderous desire kept in check not for the smith, but because that emotion is being saved for a very specific dragon. And because the kit quite simply does not have the energy to leap into a fight over inconsiderate words. "I have an entire body's worth, save for some lost from the chest area where it suffered its fatal wound. I'll keep the scales from one of the wings for lining the coat, as they seem more flexible, but the rest is yours to experiment with." Rising to her feet and tucking the single scale she holds into her pocket, the magus nods to Ranok, obviously preparing to depart although she pauses to say, "I can have the lot delivered to you tomorrow."

Ranok can't cuff his own armor, though he wanted to. What a way to screw up. Draeta still had much to learn. With little in the ways of methods to fix such a misstep of his own, the smith merely nods. "Fleksibility doesn' matter. Vith dat amount uf material, Hy surely kan find a vay to put a linink togedder viddout punchink holes. Hy'll vork zumddink out. Hy alvays do. Be varned, tough, no matter how fleksible it iz, de koat von' be as...sveeshy as it vas." Simple weight, among other things saw to that. On a whim, he fishes out the Mirabelle shell again and offers it to the magus, "Here. See vat hyu kan make uf it. Hy vanted to know if my technique vas henny goot, hennyvays." A small peace offering. About as good as he could do, at the moment.

For a moment Satoshi doesn't seem as if she'll accept the peace offering but, after a time spent staring blankly at the crystallized mana, she reaches out to gently take it. Palming the quartz, she tightens her grip into a fist, the gesture almost possessive in nature, and nods once more at the smith. "If anyone can manage it, it'll be you, Sir Clink." It might not be the most obvious thing, but the use of that odd nickname is Satoshi's peculiar way of forgiving missteps from a still-learning piece of sentient armor. And with that, the magus takes her leave, opening her hand to peer down at the mana shell as she walks.

Ranok says one final thing to the kit, "Chust don' break it! It vill ecksplode!" Fair warning, after all. Now she knew and nothing could ever go wrong with it, ever. The day was saved.