RP:Paving the Way
This RP is part of the arc Arc:The Bones of a Dead City. In addition, all NPCing kindly provided by Jerica.
Eastern Bridge
At the eastern edge, the overpass sinks back down to level ground, opening into a wide, well traveled path that winds further along to the gates of Cenril. Travel north is not yet possible, the ground having caved completely in on itself as the great chasm appeared. Southward, a small trail has been started, cutting along the side of the gorge. Behind a few small bushes, the dirt is covered in large footprints, seemingly heading back under the bridge.
Ranok was standing underneath a ray of quite shiny light. He was fully dressed to impress, it seemed. Hat on firmly, duster buttoned up tightly, the works. Though, this really wasn't anything unusual from how he usually dressed. The only change of note was the very business like crossbow in his hands. A work of art, if killing people by putting new holes in them were an art. A repeating crossbow with metal trimmings in all the places you'd ever want to hit someone with it, topped by a spring feed clip and a spring repeater mechanism that allowed nearly full auto fire. A lever cock topped it off for when the spring gave up the ghost in the middle of battle and allowed for 'merely' semi automatic fire. It was probably made by the smith himself. He looked like he was considering that ray of light, or waiting for someone or something.
Jerica likes to wander it seems and that's what she's been doing all day. She really should be going back to Frostmaw but she just wasn't satisfied but what she had found in the Sage forest. She'll go back later but right now she had business in Cenril. That would by why she is now crossing the bridge. Odd, though, that she had never taken note of the light she now catches Ranok contemplating. Purposely, Jerica stomps her feet so as not to come up on the armed and well dressed man without his awareness. Tipping her head back to look up, the woman queries, "Waiting for something to come down?"
Ranok glances over at Jerica. He shakes his head. He was...somber, almost. Probably not a good sign. "No...not vaitink for zumddink to kome down. More like preparink myself for gun up." He looks back up. Armantium was rather hidden by the clouds, but it could be seen, bits and pieces. A set piece for the sky, likely being there for so long it was unquestionable, like a mountain. Hands heft the crossbow. The thing was in its compact mode, where the arms that held the string apart to fire were tucked in tight against the frame.
Jerica brought her soft brown eyes around to Ranok sparing a glance to the weapon he carried. "Why?" She had not been up there and though she might have heard stories that's all they were, stories. Jerica tended to dismiss things as such if she had not seen or experienced it herself.
Ranok says to Jerica, "Vy go up dere or vy vait?"
Jerica met that hard gaze, searching them for something she didn't find or maybe didn't want to, "Why do you want to go up there?"
Ranok had little idea of what Jerica was looking for. They'd already had their little Q and A session by the ravine towards the Xalious mountains. Both had kept secrets, but reached a sort of equilibrium, had they not? He shuffles on his feet slightly. Anyone else passing on the road gave the smith, at least, a wide berth. Jerica wasn't the only one with the sense to avoid scaring the big angry looking man with a crossbow that probably cost a month's harvest to buy. " Upvards lies Armantium, de avian kity. It's been abundoned, in various schtages, for vo knows how long. But de knowledge dat forged de kity iz a liddle more longer lastink den its pipple. Hy vant to learn vat secrets de place holds. No earddbound book vill tell me. Dat Hy em kertain uf."
Jerica should have known at least this much about Ranok. His drive to know things seemed insatiable. "It might be dangerous," she says after a while. "You'll need someone to watch your back." To her it seemed a foregone conclusion she would be it so she quickly checked her cloak, the pockets that line them, to be sure she had all she would need. Granted none of it was as powerful as the weaponry that Ranok carried but it might do in a pinch.
Ranok gives a dry laugh, "Dangerous? Heh. Yeah. Hy've been up dere already. A liddle scoutink, as it vere. De place iz kovered in foliage everyvere. Hy'm not really sure vat hyu kan do, Jerica. Hy've seen hyu fight, but..." His head shakes. "Hy'm not sure hyu kan take de schtress uf it. Hef hyu ever been to an abundoned kity? It sounds fine, but it's vrong. On so mhenny levels. Makes hyu jumpy." He glances upwards again. "Dat's vy Hy vaited. It's herd to not be effected. No matter how mhenny times Hy see it or zumddink similar. Chust kreeps me out. Ah. Oh vell." Hands manipulate the controls to his weapon. The thing gives an oiled click and blooms like a flower of wood and metal. "It's vun vay. Hyu kome, hyu kan' chust valk beck. For obvious reasons. Hy vould radder hyu schtayed. Especially since if hyu got hurt, Hy vould hef kertain zumvuns on my ass."
Jerica is not at all keen on going up there. She'd been to the Ruins in Frostmaw and she knew what abandonment felt like in a city that should have been bustling with life. Stepping back with a half grin she concedes, "You are probaby right, Ranok. I shouldn't go." A brow lifts at the last statement, someone going after him if something happened to her, "I told you. I am my own person. Who I'm with nor not with has nothing to do with the decisions I make."
Ranok gives her a shrug, "Don' vorry. Draeta iz here to vatch my back. Its vat he's done for longer den Hy kan remember." The avatar that represented Draeta was sitting in a low power state, and flares gently at mention of its name. <That is correct.> The man offers a slight smile. "Ve're a goot teem. It's probably betta dis vay." Hand reaches into pocket and withdraws a delicate looking scope, which he affixes to the crossbow. "Hyu are you own person, Jerica. But, even so." He cocks his weapon. Another oiled click comes from the thing of wood and steel. "Actions hef konseqvences. Und not hall actions are agreed vith for hall pipple. Obligations, irrationality, und de simple virtue dat zumone may be insane or free uf petty konstraints such as 'morals'...vell." He shrugs again. He knew how it was. Two steps withdrawing, now, he glances up one last time. "Ready?" Draeta flares in response. < I have gathered ample energies for a trip upwards. Proceed?> The man winks to Jerica, then, "Let's do dis." Legs flex, as if he were preparing to jump, and then he does. But then a crackling fills the air as the smith jumps, and he fairly rockets upwards, right into the sky. Lingering effects of the Blue Dragon's blood in use, the armor acts as a ferry attached to Ranok's body to carry him up into the ancient Avian city.
Jerica watched and listened and felt something kind of break inside. "Good bye, then," she starts to say but he had already lifted into the air. With a sense of sadness she couldn't quite put a finger on the reason for, Jerica watched the man raise into the sky and whispered softly, "Take care of him, Draeta."
Ranok doesn't think Jerica should be too sad, nor surprised. The man, as always, sought to protect his friend. Even if it broke her heart.
Port in the Sky
Stretching out from great floating isle of Armantium is the legendary “Sky Dock”. The Sky Dock resembles great marble pier reaching out from the side of the island, appearing like a pure white spear of righteousness, surrounded by fluffy white clouds that lap up the pier's lower section like the white foam of the sea. At the end of the dock, in the distance is a huge lighthouse that dwarfs ever the Xalious Mage Tower, with it's spiral form reaching out even upwards to dizzying heights. Centuries have past since mortals looked upon this ancient magical land. What wonders could lie beyond this place? Only exploration can tell you but for now you may wish to stay and peer down at the lands below you which are now barely visible, hundreds of feet below and shrouded in mist and clouds.
Ranok lands on the pier in a crouch. Duster spreads out behind him and he regains his feet nearly instantly. A hand rubs his chest, though. Speaking in his native tongue to his belighted companion, which shall be translated for the purposes of story here, he says, "Goddamn, Draeta. A little easier on the landing, next time." It must have knocked the wind out of him. The landing *was* a little hard. The smith shakes his head, and raises the crossbow, "Once more into the breech, then. Standard procedure, then." <Acknowledged.> Without further ado, down the pier Ranok walks, crossbow held close to the chest so he could move quickly without having to worry about shooting himself with it.
Deserted Street
This street hints at what once must have been the single most advanced civilization in Hollow's history, however that greatness and glamour are now gone… Empty vendor stands along the street have since filled with undergrowth but the usual rot and decay are not present, only natural growth seems to have crept. It is almost as if nature itself is seeking to reclaim this land once artificially placed here high above the clouds. The street leads off to a few areas. To the west appears to be the ancient spiral lighthouse whereas to the east appears to be a gigantic temple of some variety. To the north the street opens up into a boulevard.
Ranok moves swiftly through the foliage that fills the gap between the city proper and the pier. Nature might have reclaimed the area, but only partially. There were birds and plant abound, but nothing that couldn't fly. Some pets might have been released, in the early days as the city died, but nothing short of deliberate breeding attempts would have allowed a species to endure up here. The birds, of course, could fly, and the plants were the lucky seeds brought in the stomachs of the birds or from gardens running rampant. The smith had been in the city once already. The roads had been clear, then, and the forest in the sky something similar. But that didn't mean his guard was down. And that was a good thing, as today there seemed to be life in the city. Artificial life, but life nonetheless. Defenders, homoculi, charged with the defense of their home for time eternal. A fate that far outstripped the need in Ranok's opinion, but then, he was hardly one to judge. Rather then burst out of the foliage and have at it, he hangs back. That scope he attached to his weapon was handy right about now. His crossbow hardly had the range to get a killshot, but he could still use it to see. Raising the stock to his elbow, the smith gazes into the polished lenses. The scene on the abandoned and rotting street leaps into view. Now to see what the two guardians were doing.
Jerica || Two homunculus shuffled, their to scale human bodies moving by rote rather than with any sense of purpose. For millenium they had been here and for a millenium more they would remain. They paced their given sentry and one occasionally twitches a shoulder. Humoid, they are muscular. Bulging in fact and stronger more than they are smart which is to say they weren't. Mindless drones set to a task. They had not yet spotted the intruder. An about face and they begin the process again of standing guard to the entrance of the dead avian city.
Ranok lowers his weapon down. To Draeta, "Considerations?" The lights had piggybacked Ranok's scope, then, to get a similar view of the scene. A moment, then, <Pattern is regular. Standard guard pace, minor overlap. Sneaking by: probably low. Alternative routes?> The avian city would be a very upwards oriented city. With denizens that could fly, simply restricting oneself to the ground didn't make sense to anyone building a place to live. The buildings would have multiple stories and likely more then one way to get to them. But no stairs, not on the outside. "No. The road is too constricted. This foliage chokes the path. Can't sneak around, and its too early to waste cloaking. Through them it is." The homoculi had to be disabled. Ranok shoulders his weapon and carefully cranks a bolt into position. "Solution?" Another pause while Draeta forms into its triangular sensory array. <Wind: thirteen miles per hour, westward. Gusts of 25. A hard shot.> The smith raises his left arm, then. Wind wasn't so much a problem. With a burst of concentrated effort, the wind dulls and stills as the vambrace obeys his command and enforces it onto the wind in turn. Surrounded by plantlife as he was, the energy drain was heavily offset and nearly nonexistent to the smith. <Conditions now optimal as they will be. Fire on mark.> Ranok kneels down, exhales, slowly. Once. Twice. One of the homoculy in his sights. It was a long shot, but there was little to lose. He still had range on the guardians if they approached. <Mark.> Trigger is squeezed, and the bolt flies out. Then two more bolts, as the spring repeats and resets the string to let more bolts fly out. Just the three, as he wasn't going to spray ammo towards an attempted kill.
Jerica || The humonculi walked an opposite pattern and met in the middle. The first bolt whistles its way to the pair just as the converge hitting the nearest of the humanoid golums in the head. As he crumples, the second is winged by the second bolt and missed by the third. It stops and turns towards the direction the bolt had come from with blank eyes that still seems to see. A lumbering step is taken forward then another until it picks up pace towards Ranok's hiding spot. A slit of a mouth opened and a sound emitted from a dusty throat. It is an alarm to call more of its kind and an automatic response to an intruder. Hamfists raise ready to pound indescriminately into the over growth.
Ranok says, "Alarm bells. Yes. Why would have it been anything else?" Hands pump the loop cock near the trigger to prime the spring more as the lumbering homoculi approached. Every step it took was better range on Ranok, increasing accuracy, and more importantly, force. Seven more bolts in the spring clip, and he shoulders his weapon after three primes. And then five more bolts flying on automatic fire to cut short that wail. Two to the head, three to the chest. Enough to stop anything that was still alive. Then again, these things weren't exactly.
Jerica || The lone golem stops as its head snaps back with a double prong of crossbow bolts jutting from its forehead. It half spins with the first two punches to its chest and falls as the third lodges in its arm. This one is down but far off the steady thud-shuffle of back up can be heard along with something that could quite possibly be bigger than these created life forms.
Ranok doesn't wait for the third one to get there. Maybe a minute before it got to the street, to judge by sounds? Also something he wasn't sticking around for. He bursts from the foliage he had been using as cover. He puffs out as he runs, "Directions?" Draeta flares as it looks at its surroundings. The smith was asking for which crossroad to take. North, east, west. Not at all bothered by such silly notions as 'the need to breath', Draeta was able to fully converse, <To the west lies a lighthouse or some similar structure. It may be able to offer a vantage point.> Ranok nods and clicks the crossbow five times while he moves, motions oiled to machine perfection by training. Two bolts left in that clip, at least. Vaulting over the two bodies, whether they were moving or not, he heads west. Hopefully before what was coming got here to give him trouble.
Spiral Lighthouse
Tall, upright and proud would sum up the structure that feasts your eyes. Rising even higher into the heavens than the mighty city of Armantium itself is the legendary Spiral Lighthouse. The tower spirals up but it appears this is only for show as it would be impossible for mortals to climb such a large structure. It would appear the Avian denizens thought this structure too grand, too important or perhaps too valuable to be accessible on foot. The tower is a brilliant white that dazzles the eyes against a perfectly blue sky, the view from atop the tower would be an utter marvel but for the time being it would seem such an experience will not be possible. The isle appears to end here and beyond the lighthouse’s white walls there is only a sea of sky.
Ranok heads towards the lighthouse, running at a steady pace. He was no long distance runner, but he could manage a brisk jog for the length of the two streets to get to this point. The areas prior seemed to be empty of anymore guardians. That was a bonus, at least. He stops in an alley way to reload his crossbow, as well. Taking the short breather, glancing both ways. Nothing but vines, moss, and emptiness. Certainly disquieting. But, the adrenaline from the fighting was helping with that a little. Hands remove the spring clip from the top of his repeater and was fed a new one. The old one with two bolts still in it goes back into a pocket. Meanwhile, Draeta discusses the homoculi with Ranok, in a mostly one way conversation, <The size of those things indicates that kill strikes was unlikely. Incapacitation was more probable. Given simply circumstances as time, it is likely that these golems are rebuilt instead.> Ranok only gives a feh in response. Two primes of the crossbow to reload another bolt, and then he'd be moving to the lighthouse. When he got there, the two figures he saw again made him duck immediately back behind the corner. Those two homoculi looked...wrong.
Jerica || The only thing that moved on the golem was an occasional twitch in effort to rise again and continue its duty. The bolts will be worked out eventually and they'll return to their duties without thought to the man who had put them down. Now at the light house are two more of their brethren but something is deffinately wrong with them. Their movements are jerky, sporradic and once in a while the pair clash against each other before breaking apart as though they might remember they were allies and the others' enemy. There isn't any entrance to the lighthouse from the ground so why they are here and what they are guarding against is a mystery but they are here nonetheless. Jerky movements have them turning opposite directions and a step down brings them closer to Ranok's hiding place.
Ranok leeeeeans out from behind cover. Just enough to get a look. No entrance to the tower from this side. Considering that it was on the edge of the city, there didn't seem to be another one on the other side, either. He pops back into cover, leaning against the wall. "Okay. Seems like there's no route there from here. I have an idea." Hands click the crossbow's arms back into storage, folding them in. Scope was taken off, and the bolt ready to be fired plucked out and refed into its clip. He slings it onto his back, pulling out a leather strap from the stock to do so. He makes sure it would wiggle around when he moves. Thankfully, he had a better vantage point here then he did back at the entrance to the city. A grappling hook was withdrawn from his duster. "Give me a place to put this." The lights obey the request, drifting upwards to scout for locations that the hook could be sunk to take Ranok's weight. <Here appears to be optimal.> Grappling hook sails upwards, sinks, and holds. The smith climbs up, hand over hand. Upper body strength was so handy to have in his trade. He'd get to the roof of the building he was hiding behind, and clambers up. The grappling hook was retrieved. <Careful. Stress fractures indicate a weak roof. Proceed with due caution.> Ranok growls, "If it isn't one thing..." But he would. He walks along the roof, moving closer to the lighthouse out of reach, and hoping the insane homoculi don't look up at an inopportune time.
Jerica || The two very odd golems move with hurky-jery movements past the lighthouse. Neither of them noticed or heard the scrable up the side of the towering building nor did they notice the rope being pulled behind the grappling hook on retrieval. Their attention is set off into the distance as they moved about on their centuries old route. Suddenly, one stops and an arm spasms. A hamfist is raised and flailed about so it hit hits the side of the lighthouse with enough force to crack the constructs arm. A light tremor might, too, be felt along the tall lines of the defunct building.
Ranok kneels on the edge of the building he was on. Looking up at yet another structure he couldn't climb in the city. "What the hell was up with these avians? It's almost like they designed their city for people that could fly! Sheesh." A moment to smirk at his own joke, and then he was thinking again. "We need the vantage point. That tower could map out the rest of the city for us. Have you recovered enough to bolt us up there?" The lights swirl, <Partially. Blue blood is in precious reserves now. We won't be able to control the descent. You will have to rely on your boots. Proceed?> Ranok makes sure the things on his body are secure once more. "Yes. Let's do it." <Calculating trajectory...done.> Without further ado, the air fills with an electrical crackle and the smith lifts off in the same manner he did getting to the city. This arc was shorter, but more steep, resulting in another tough fall. It was more like throwing a ball then it was flight, but it was cheaper to apply thrust all at once and endure the results, rather then apply more careful and measured constant flight. The arc of crackling electricity would be hard to miss, but this city had precious few things looking upwards as it was. Landing with another grunt of pain, the smith coughs. "Damn it. I need to fix that." He gets up, then. The view was nothing short of awe inspiring. Likely among the highest points in all of Hollow, the air was thin and hard to breath. The smith didn't seem overly bothered by it, his breaths long and slow. Almost as if he'd experienced similar conditions and knew how to deal with them. "Yeah. The entire city is laid out here. Time for some map drawing. Draeta?" Hand draws out sheafs of parchment and charcoal pencils. <My pleasure. One moment.> Laid on a surface and held down against the wind, Ranok lays the other hand on the parchment a moment. The armor turns pitch black, like the empty space in between the stars. The effect was unsettling. Tendrils oozed out as Draeta evoked yet another bit of tapped blood. The lights arrange themselves into a triangular formation. One of the tendrils picks up the charcoal pencil, and the intelligence begins to copy. It was swift, efficient, and above all, eerily accurate. It was less a drawing then it was a photo done in charcoal. Ranok enjoyed the view and the rest while the armor worked. "Think we can get the lighthouse working again?" Draeta replies, perfectly undistracted, <Unlikely. This does not appear to be a bonfire lighthouse. Its workings are more magical then physical. A pity. The mechanisms may be repaired in time, but such projects are for a longer goal then our purpose here. I will record what observations I can cull nonetheless.> Ranok grunts. Fixing the city wasn't his job, but it was nice to have a good, old fashioned challenge once in awhile. Time would pass, the sun changing position as the armor draws a map, and then detailed workings of points of interest, along with observations of the movement of homoculi and anything else that was large enough to spot. The trip to their next goal would be that much easier, with that info in hand. Eventually, <Map detailing complete. We are ready to move on.> The smith grabs the last sheet, folds it, and puts it into the duster. The armor returns back to its bone white coloration, the tendrils receding. He cracks his back and stretches, returning blood flow to the dormant limbs. "Finally. Okay. Now the drop. This won't be pleasant." He leans over. There was one way down: a leap. And right into those homoculi, too. "We'll have company down there. Up close and personal, too. I don't think bolts in their heads will do them in as swiftly. Or the opposite effect. I suppose we'll find out." <Evade and eliminate, then. Suggest using the stave.> The smith was pulling out the stave as the lights suggested the notion. A moment with his eyes closed to prepare for the fight ahead.
Ranok then jumps. Duster spreads behind him as he falls, the boots kicking in. Feather fall, imbued into the armored leather. Not as effective as it could be, the boots carrying a trio of enchantments and resulting in reduced effects. But any fall became non-lethal, albeit painful. He deliberately tries to avoid landing on the homoculi down there, nor does he do a dropping smash with the stave. Either action could shatter his bones or break his grip on the weapon. Instead, the instant he lands he moves to strike, aiming to knock the feet out from under the closest homoculi he was near to neutralize it for a precious few seconds, and then whipping around to bring a smashing swing on the weapon hand of the one that would be moving at him. Or he assumes. The things were unstable, who knew how they'd react?
Jerica || Slow and clumsy are the humoculi. The first is in mid turn when the stave sweeps his feet out from beneath him. Being mindless things, the one on its back is still swingng the huge war hammer clenched in a large fist. The follow through misses Ranok completely and instead hits the light house. This was the same golem who had flailed its free fist and hit the building. A fist is not a hammer that is meant to crush and break things. When the hammer hits a bit of the facade crumbles at the base and a few fissured cracks appear. The second is indeed swinging it's own hammer in a two handed, over the head fashion. Rather, instead of being aimed at Ranok the largh flat head head of the weapon is aimed for the head of its partner. As it comes down, the other is too slow to block and its head is soon pancaked into the unstable and uneven ground. It is on the upswing to turn and take care of the other intruder that the stave meets weapon hand. Twisted at what would be the waist on any other regular nonconstructed person, it simply stops. Frozen in place as layers upon layers of instability try to process what had just happened. Never had such a thing happened. It had always managed to scare or mangle, even kill, those who should not be where they shouldn't. Confusion is what locks the thing up and more jerky movements are made as though trying to decide whether or not to continue the fight.
Ranok was beaten to a coup-de-grace by the homoculi's partner he swung at. The smith was almost as stunned as the thing that got locked up. It was certainly unprecedented, flat out. It said something that Ranok was surprised. Maybe the one that smashed held a grudge? A few seconds pass, as this wheels through Ranok's head. Then he was brought back into reality. He moves in, again aiming for a leg sweep to knock out its knees, smashing in sideways in a blow that was tempered by the strength of the blacksmith. It could crush iron into shape, and would hopefully bring the titanic homoculi down onto a knee, or better yet, collapsed, so then he could swing again to smash its head in.
Jerica || A creak, a groan, and the monstrosity topples to land atop its companion. Golem legs kick spastically as though the thing had fully locked up. Those are the last movements it makes before a gray world goes dark forever with its head caved in.
Ranok spares a moment to wipe whatever gore was on the stave end and inspect the corpses of the homoculi. "I'd like to see them get back up from *that*. He bends over, to touch the golden vitae that seeped from the ruined heads. "Wonder...Draeta, can you absorb this?" The lights were flaring, <Interesting. It is not quite blood. But an abstract form of it. I believe I can absorb it. Whether I can make use of it remains to be seen.> Hand reaches out and touches the blood, or whatever fluid that served as a likeness to it for those golems. Drawn in towards the metal plate of the armor, it takes some minutes to complete to drain the first corpse in this fashion. Then the other. It seemed agonizingly slow, but draining such large bodies took time, even if the blood was magically influenced to behave strangely. And then it would be time to move. Referencing the map drawn mere minutes before, the smith heads back east, and then to the north. Supplied the overarching movements of the guardians of the city, avoiding them became a mostly trivial matter, since he knew roughly where they would and would not be, and simply looking beforehand to confirm prevented any mishaps. Up north was the most easily accessed defensive platform of the city, and the ultimate goal. Disable the thing and allow a functional shortcut into the city, bypassing guardians, organic or not.
Ancient Tower
In front of you is an impossibly tall tower. It stretches so far into the heavens the pinnacle is not visible. The tower does not seem to be fashioned to exacting standards of the other buildings and retains a rough weathered look and is evidently quite ancient. It is made from some kind of sandstone and is etched with what appears to be billions of tiny inscriptions of an ever increasingly intricate design, starring at the inscriptions too hard could cause somebody to go cross eyed or at least get dizzy. There appears to be no entrance to the tower and the area surrounding it shows signs of neglect, including a crumbled wall and out of control shrubs. This area appears to be both ancient and out of use, possibly it's function is long since forgotten.
Jerica || Through out the abandoned city, many ways seem blocked by overgowth while others are guarded by empty-eyed homonculi. Devoid of emotion they stand sentinal and only seem to come alert when preceived danger comes within a certain distance of them. Otherwise, they appear to be in shut down mode, not like the others who roamed. Perhaps these were sentinals for private citizens rather than the lost rulers of the floating city. Looming farther to the north another tower rises. At its base stand two platforms that served as a defense for the city ages and aeons ago. They now stand silent. These are a testimony to engineering, a feat not seen since. Or so far as anyone knows. Standing guard over these weapons are more of the constructs of combined mechanics and magics. The seem quiet for now. In each one's hand a long curved blade is clutched, the wicked ends are resting just above the ground. These are a good three times the size of the others Ranok has faced, which is to say, they are rather huge. Further off in the city, the previous rumbling from that first encounter can be heard and it seems to be getting closer.
Ranok once again finds himself hiding out of view behind the edge of a building. That next guardian looked like a real doozy. The others were big, but then this was even more titanic? "I guess those avians really liked to build bigger and bigger things. Doesn't that sound familiar?" This was said with an infinite amount of dry sarcasm. The lack of elaboration or reply from Draeta likely references some old history shared between the two. "All right, give it to me." Draeta supplies the intell again, "It seems to be a dormant guardian, or rather, a collection of them. Probably served as shock troops once before, to supplement soldiers. No projectile weapons on their person, armor seems to be minimal. Sheer bulk is their protection here. Standard giant fight procedure, I would wager. Immunity to shock and awe tactics, no doubt. From what analysis of the blood I absorbed, too, there are no shattering weaknesses. Class four threat." Ranok groans, "It just had to be a four. Right. Where is the ammo dump?" <Located thereabouts.> The lights sketch out the rough location, seen through a crumbled bit of wall. "Immunity to shock and awe tactics, my ass. I think I can swing this." The crossbow was brought out, and put back together. This time, sans scope. It wasn't needed. A specialty arrow, marked with green and black stripes, brought out and loaded before the spring clip. "It sounds like the city is waking up. Probably automatic defense systems responding to the scattered casualties. I'm hoping there's a break in the system, somewhere. We'll have to kill that some time if we ever come back. More research, I suppose." He leans out again. He was looking at those dormant guardians, checking to see just how still they were. If avoiding them completely was an option, he'd do it.
Jerica || The rumbling got closer and the platforms remained silent. The homonculi guarding it slowly raised their heads. Up until then they had remained silent sentinals. There was a creak from disuse as sword arms raised as though in response to whatever was coming faster and faster judging by the increased volume of that rumble. The rumble is caused by heavy footfalls that should have shook the ground. It's amazing that the floating city didn't dip and shudder in the space it hung in. These golems aren't insane and they aren't quite as mindless as the sentinals that wandered the city streets. These had eyes that glowed an eerie electric blue when the slits opened. Suddenly, they came to attention with what seemed to be choreographed precision. Meant to haul and pull, but they also defended in the event an enemy broke the lines. Ranok may feel a tremble in the ground as the massive hulk of a stone golem approaches. The connection this thing had to the city itself meant it knew where Ranok is. It's simple mind had felt every foot fall and kill he had made. It had drawn on those actions to increase its own power, feelng no remrse for its cousins who fell to the soldier's cross bow. Electric blue eyes spark as they lift to the looming stone figure that approaches. They did not seem to notice Ranok just yet.
Ranok heaves a sigh. So, sneaking by wasn't an option. He had scarcely much time to react. An entire host of enemies, golems meant to protect, all converging right onto this point, at this moment. "Well, it had been easy. I guess it was all just an elaborate set up." He was good. Very good. But he wasn't really equipped with heavy ordinance that you'd normally want for these sorts of things, such as cannons. Or much other then the explosive bolts he carried, with were more concussive then they were sheerly destructive. "Okay. Okay. Wait. I think I have an idea. Spring Heeled Jack, eh?" His jaw sets. Hand cocks the crossbow laden with the explosive dart. Feet grip the ground and he runs out of cover, heading right at one of those formerly silent sentinals. The crossbow was raised, and fired. The black and green stripped bolt flies out, to whale the homoculi right in the chest. But, Ranok wasn't stopping. Whatever window afforded him he was taking, since he was jumping right at the thing, even through the fire and flames and the shrapnel of his own weapon. Feet would plant, and then jump anew, to another one of the moblising things, closer to the tower. He wasn't so fleet of foot, normally, and wasn't really. Draeta was helping by extruding springy tendrils out of his heels to give those leaps more oomph and to launch him further. The smith was trying to get to the tower, and the defensive platforms that laid within.
Jerica || The bolt hits its mark. As if that wasn't going to happen, and the sentinal explodes. The concusion of that takes out the two nearest on either side of the construct. A roar of anger from somewhere close shakes the very air and the lumbering grind of stone on stone quickens until, there, arises a massive stone figure. The rock golem, a last ditch defense in place should the armies of the previous occupants fail and the homonculi fell, this thing was made of the very bedrock on which the city was built on and set to floating. Boulder-eyes swivel in stone sockets, searching out the cause of the disturbance. Boulders, rocks and other small stones make up this construct, jointed where elbows and knees would be. Bulky arms end in massive granite hands that reach for Ranok as he lept from surface to surface in a bid to reach the tower and platforms. It's goal is clear, crush the intruder and bring peace back to the dead city of Avians.
Ranok was glad he was jumping through the air then staying on the ground. It was swiftly becoming crowded down there. Landing on the shoulder of the second guardian in the row, a moment spared to sink a crossbow bolt into it's eye to blind it on one side as a matter of pragmatism, and then up and away again. That huge golem was bearing down, now. The smith hoped it shoved down one of those other guardians and save him the trouble. Landing a little ways away from the tower on those springy stilts of sorts, he was always on the move. To be grabbed by the biggest one would be sure death. No real way to break its grip, and no ordnance on hand to take it down...luckily, he had some nearby. On the ground, the tower was scanned for any breech, any place he could use to worm his way inside. He'd run around its outside onto the ledge overhanging the clouds if he had to. But, that crumbled wall, among the shrubs seemed to be his best bet. With time against him, a leap and a flying dropkick of the wall to put his weight against the wall in a fairly flashy move, to kick free enough stones to get in. Sometimes it wasn't so handy to be so large. Black tendrils snapped out and grabbed at rocks, too, flinging them at the smith's pursuers to score a hit or two while it cleared the way in a two for one.
Jerica || The rock and stone creature did not seem at all adverse to knocking a few of his compadre's aside to get to Ranok. Rocks bounced off as it drew nearer and nearer and that hole got bigger and bigger. Enraged, it roars again its grating challenge and large feet smoosh the last of the sentinals ringing the tower. Which leaves only itself and the ever elusive Ranok. Lumbering up to the base of the tower a rather large head swings to and fro in search of the little gnat that threatened the peace and tranquility of its makers long gone. Movement and the trajectory of the rocks draw the golem's attention and he ambles forth again reaching a stone hand to squash Ranok like a bug against the exterior of the tower.
Ranok knows an opportunity when he sees one. Rather then tug at the wall to try a last second escape, he turns to face the approaching behemoth. Perched on the balls of his feet, he waits, drawing the moment out. At the last possible second he throws himself out of the way of the slamming hand, vaulting over it, the only direction that it could be gone. Using the tower itself as a boost, tendrils gripping and flinging, the springy stilts, and good 'ol fashioned adrenaline, the entire point of the exercise was to have the golem do the hard work for him. Bleeding from stone chips that had exploded from the impact, hopefully the hole would *now* be big enough to get inside as the thing winds up for another strike. A bit of a long short, but at least he could simply jump off the ledge of the city if things got too impossible.
Jerica || Big stone Guy couldn't alter his actions once they began. Either his momentum wouldn't let it or the thing was too slow in the head to realize his target had so inconveniently moved. Indeed, that grasping hand slams into the side of the tower's week point and creates an even larger hole, one big enough for Ranok to scramble through. Curling its fingers with the expectation of coming away with a bloody broken mass of squish in its hand, the stone golem draws its hand away. Ranok should have plenty of time to make good his advantage as the construct stares with confusion at an empty palm devoid of the expected stain of lost life. Its slow lumbering mind worked over time to figure out just what had happened.
Ranok was bounding forward like some deranged rabbit. Thank the Gods that Draeta was the only witness to all this. Ranok, the massive smith, bounding around like a stupid fairy? He'd never live it down. Draeta kept secrets well, and was a good friend. He couldn't even get drunk and spill the beans. Sometimes, the smith really loved his belighted companion. Especially since it was the armor's guidance that performed the exacts of the maneuvers. Slight twitches or contractions, here and there, to give superhuman precision. That Ranok was, more or less, a puppet at times was something else he *also* didn't want out. As the Big Guy inspects his palm for a curious lack of squished human, into the hole Ranok goes. The springs withdraw to allow him traction, and gray eyes take in the dusty and dimly lit interior. His plan was simple: turn the cannons of the city against itself. As Big Guy outside gave up or decided that the didn't take too kindly to being escaped, whichever, Ranok would be busy. Up onto the defense platform he goes, looking for controls. Mechanisms for turning and firing would do, as well, as they weren't electronic. A gear can be turned by hand, if need be, and you had the strength.
Jerica || Big and Dumb eventually realizes that he missed. By then it's too late and it is looking around for the intruder. He won't find anything. Inside the tower, as sophisticated as the outter defenses are and were, the machenations of the platforms were simple. Cogs and wheels with levers were all that was used to aim the gigantic weapons. Nothing more was needed as the spotter simply looked out a slit in the tower wall, since covered by a sliding door, and called out whether they need to go up, down, left or right. Outside, Big and Dumb moves off in search of his lost quary.
Ranok was checking the ammo dump for anything that kept. Unlikely, given the stupid amount of time that had passed in between when it was in service and now. And all the lack of maintenance. To say nothing of the wisdom of using a gunnery platform you have no training in. But, if stick and stone deathtraps can last a few millennia and work perfectly, why not the bones of a technologically advanced magical civilization? Selecting a shell he was *pretty* sure had a good chance of being live still, and treats it with absolutely the most loving care. Old explosives had a tendency to 'sweat' out some of their nitro or the chemicals that gave it a kick, and were as fragile as the chemical's reputation was. Draeta was studying the platforms and indicates a hole, < I believe this is the feed. Luckily our target is stationary. It will simplify the aiming process.> Ranok sticks the shell *very* carefully into its slot and closes the chamber up. A lever worked to no avail. Something was probably jamming the gears. "Damn it! Draeta, see if you can worry the gear loose. I'll see about calibrating the aiming process." It was at that point that the two split ways, albeit minorly. The armor was capable of self locomotion, as seen by its drawing and much earlier, in the aftermath of the tower. Practice and learning had refined its movement skills. A crack and unsealing, and Draeta steps off of Ranok like some metal shell, sealing back up again. Ranok kept the vambraces and boots, as well as the duster, and Draeta had the rest. It wastes no time in sending a tendril into the mechanism that operated the turning of the platform they were on, unmindful of any gears that might crush as flesh and blood maintence worker would have. It would physically address the problem. Ranok hops up onto the spotter's seat, to see if any of *those* controls were operational. Seemed not. The measuring devices were, while sticky, useful enough for his purposes. <This platform has not been oiled longer then we have been operation, I believe. That it has not deteriorated is nothing short of a testament to magical design. No mundane metal or alloy in my memory is able to last this long without breakdown. I believe the issue is simply stuck gears.> A massive groan as the armor brings to bear its own strength to attempt to move the thing. <Ah. Wait. One moment. Mechanical intervention here. There is a lack of tooth to prevent the platform from being brought to bear upon the city. Bridging the gap...> It forms its own tooth to sub in the missing one, so the gear catches. The thing rumbles, and slowly, oh so slowly, turns. <The damage to this platform will be irrepairable without extensive overhaul. Perhaps we should revisit to make the attempt to determine its makeup.> Ranok was hopping down. He didn't even touch much of anything. There was a wall there, after all. Couldn't see through it, after all. "Maybe. Thereabouts is where the big guy went?" <Affirmative.> "Right. Let's light this badboy and get the hell out of here." When it was lit, the cannon probably wouldn't fire. What was much, much more likely was that the entire tower would go up in flames. And explosions. Both, likely. Hopefully *something* would fly out at that fellow to take him out. Either way, the tower was in its final minutes. The concussive force from the thing firing would set the unstable explosives off, over there. The smith walks back into Draeta as the armor puts itself on. A fuse, fished out from a pocket, "Let's see here...thirty seconds ought to do. No. A minute. Long as it takes, on this fuse at least." He takes a few moments to hop himself up, since what he was about to do was utterly insane by every account. Then, he sticks the fuse into the fuse socket of the cannon, lights it, and then *runs*. Feet pound for the hole made in the wall by the golem and then through it. He doesn't stop. He runs right off the edge of the city, out into open air. The bulk of the mountain the city was would protect from the explosion: nothing else would. This was, more or less, all or nothing Hail Mary at its finest.
Jerica || The fuze hissed as it sped towards the explosive, sending off angry sparks. It disappeared down the barrel just as the golem disappeared behind the rise of buildings. For a moment, just a second really, it was quiet. That quiet that usually preceded something big. In this case it would be a big bang. Not the kind that results in sudden apparent life, but the kind meant to end it. It started with one then just expanded from there. The bottom of the tower blew out, sending a spray of shrapnel in all directions. Concussive booms came after that as a cache of bombs and/or missiles over heated and the charges exploded as well. Soon, that tower and a wide swath of the city around it, would be nothing more than a smoldering black hole of nothing.
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.
Ranok was preoccupied with falling more then anything else. He had a long way to go. But it would only take a minute or two. Just long enough to orient out of the free fall position to face feet down. The slow fall enchantment in the boots took over then. They were just effective enough to stop the lethal fall and turn it into a painful one. And that was unfortunate for Ranok, as there was a lovely tree looming on the ground in his landing zone. He had just enough time to say, "Ffffff...!" before he crashed into it. It wasn't pleasant in the least. Branches whip him, one after the other, "Dammit! Son of a...! Motherfu...!" Eventually, he would land on the ground proper, bruised, battered, bleeding, and with stone chips embedded in what flesh was exposed. Insult to injury, next. Debris from the city he'd partially wrecked was steaming down. He rolls out of the way as a stone chunk as large as his head buries itself where his head was. Hugging the tree trunk of the thing that had broken his fall, it now breaks the fall of several pieces and bits of Armantium. The streaming fire and smoke from the debris would be fairly visible for all around.
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.]"
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 fascimile 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."
You said OOC, "Please don't pretend we're stupid, Aria. We already know who you are. It's okay."
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. Ranoks 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.
Ranok || Yerrel steps up, magic welling in between his finger tips. He was by no means the best healer in Hollow, but he was earnest. "No worries, dear. I'll have you flying again in no time." True to his word, the elf would work on fixing Iscattiva's wing foremost, applying his magics over the thing. Then, next, as much as he was able, the small little hurts on the gold's body. Ranok, of course, refuses treatment as he always did. Suffice to say it would be a fairly long process, given how large Iscattiva was. They were in for the long haul, which, at least, gave the pair the opportunity to talk more. Or for Draeta to draw pretty lights for 'Felis'.