RP:Ranok vs Grimorie: Round Two
Background
This is part of the arc: The Mystery of the Wandering Grimoire
Black Library
As you climb down into this room its immense size is the first thing that strikes you. The old wooden ladder creaks un-nervingly as your foot rests on it. This dimly lit room is huge and filled with dusty ancient bookshelves. On examination you can see the shelves are carved from solid black oak, strong sturdy and known for its arcane properties. Lining every shelf is thousands of books all colors shapes and sizes. All the books appear to be about necromancy and black magic and thus the whole subterranean chamber is filled with a most ominous evil aura that seems to sicken right to the soul of any who enter. The smell here is of stagnation for not much fresh air reaches this place; it seems to invade the nostrils like some strange miasma adding to the sickly sensations the room seems to invoke. On the walls hang various ornaments from candle stick holders that bring a tiny tinge of light to certain areas and preserved skulls of all kinds of creatures from Human to Dragon, Drow to Centaur and things even stranger than that. Faint but heavy footsteps can be heard against the cold stone floor distantly so it would be wise not to stay too long without sound reason.
Ranok drops down the last few feet into the library. Dust kicks up around his feet, but little sound. Same old enchantment in the boots to muffle sound. Not that anything was in the library, or alive to hear it. Even so, the dust was thick. "Yeesh. Hyu tink dat dey spread de schtuff ven hennyvun komes through?" Looking distastefully at the grim and the such, he claps his hands to remove any on his hands. Over his shoulder blazed the trio of lights that was the intelligence's imbued in his armor's avatar. <Perhaps deterioration of books contributes to the accumulation of dust?> The smith gives a shrug to the suggestion. Looking out over the rows of books, he exhales. Ranok had come here hoping for information on this ancient thing popping up now and again over Hollow. He knew precious little, only that it served as an oracle, and had some great magical ability. Needle in a haystack, if at all possible. But, hey, everyone needed a hobby, right? Ranok didn't seem too perturbed by the skulls, not even sparing them a glance as he moves through the library, Draeta acting as the light for his passage. Finger wipes the dust off a tome or two. "Encyclopedia for Myddological Kreatures? ...doesn' dat seem a liddle, Hy dunno, oxymoronic? Eh. Dis doesn' seem to be sorted...hell."
Redhale 's library was about as silent as it ever got when Ranok entered, but that did not mean all was still. Besides the odd book struggling to free itself from the shelf (in some places entire rows had been tied in with fine chain) there was the steady whumph of light feet upon the ground, shuffling about the maze-like array of bookshelves. Their direction seemed to indicate no response to Ranok, however as the man browsed for useful information one of the owners of those shuffling feet rounded the corner and began to walk straight towards him, most of their body obscured by the light spilling from some kind of lantern. It trundled right on, pushing rudely past Ranok to continue down the way, a teetering tower of books heaped in its arms. It seemed as those not fit to serve in Redhale's army had been cursed to shelve and sort books down here in the darkness for all of eternity.
Ranok was actually sort of startled, to see that book carrier. Hand goes to dagger, steel halfway drawn before he's pushed past and left behind. Brows beetled, mouth set, Ranok blinks once, and then eases his half drawn weapon back and smooths the duster again. "...Hy guess zumddink needs to maintain de books. Hy really tought doze footsteps vere for ambiance...vonder if Hy kan vrangle vun to help me look?" Brief plans to bookend the next one that happens along and yell out 'Nerd!' were formulated and just as quickly forgotten. Waiting for the next one to happen along so he could apprehend it to attempt to wrangle some sort of help from it, Ranok instead inspects one of those books struggling to free itself. This one appeared to be wedged in between two utterly useless books. One on curalls for various sorts of foot fungus and a popular, if trashy, Cenril romance novelist. But Ranok leans in to inspect the entrapped book, wondering just what sort of tomb would be actively struggling to escape its impromptu (probably) prison. Meanwhile, Draeta floated down row after row, efficiently reading spine after spine. A minor static charge to remove the dust to aid the process, a literal row of significantly less dusty books left behind. <This place is quite unusual. Though I suppose I should not comment. My own properties are not within the realm of usual.>
Redhale ::The spine of the book Ranok peered at read only 'Aadk', a one word title in a not uncommon language, and bore no author to speak of. It had managed to wriggle about two inches out of the shelf and was making a good effort to wrench itself free, jostling from side to side so that it could shuffle forward while the books surrounding it were pushed outwards. Before long it had slipped far enough that gravity began to do the work for it and the tome fell open upon the floor with a bump that went almost unheard under the excruciatingly loud noises which issued from the open pages, each turning leaf replacing one grating sound with another, rapidly shuffling between coughing, explosions, screaming and even some kind of music. The disturbance seemed to rouse a few other nearby books, as several of the shelves around Ranok began to jostle with the energy exerted by the eager volumes.
Ranok pounces on the book and flicks a boot under one of the covers to flip it up and then close the thing. Hopefully that would stop the awful cacophonous racket. And Ranok's prodigious weight would hopefully ensure no escape for the book before Ranok can decide what the hell to do with it. "By Jimbob. De hell iz vith dis place? ...judgink by de odder books, dis heppens regularly. Hoo. Vat vould hef heppened if it vas a book on fire?" He had no idea what 'Aadk' meant, really, unfamiliar with *any* of the languages of the land. Save Common, and what languages he spoke in his homeland, of course. Looking around, Ranok was waiting for the other book to drop, really, by this point. Draeta floats down, hovering just above Ranok's head. <Perhaps an aid will come to fetch the book? To judge by the lack of books freely roaming, perhaps a sorting system is involved.>
Redhale 's shelving assistants did not disappoint. At least, they didn't disappoint much. Not thirty seconds after the book had fallen two shambling zombies appeared, one at either end of the aisle. They hobbled slowly forwards to converge upon Ranok at roughly the same time and, both of them seeing the other that had come to clean up, turned around to find other work to do. Surely one of them, or another one, would be back before long, but the fallen tome was hardly struggling. Having had its short taste of freedom seemed to have calmed to book down, and likewise most of the other books had become still again, although an alarmingly large one continued to bounce around about two metres above Ranok's head.
Ranok was beginning to see Redhale's frustration with his minions. "...den again, zombies hain't known for dere schmarts." Ranok saves the minions the trouble and, once he's made sure that book probably isn't going to struggle again, picks it up to wedge back in there. Easier said then done, as the shelf was jostled to cram it back in. "Hy'm tinkink dat dis vas a bad idea."
Redhale ::Just as Ranok pushed 'Aadk' back into its place the shaking book a few shelves up was pushed out of its own, and seemed to confirm Ranok's supposition by falling right onto his head. This tome, however, did not scream, or do anything else peculiar, where it lay on the ground. It didn't snap at Ranok's heels, it didn't belch out fire, it didn't even try to walk away. The most likely reason for this was that the book had no reason to be on the ground; that it had no way to get itself there; that it didn't even want to be on the ground, assuming it was even able to want anything. A cursory glance around would reveal the truth: It had been pushed. In the spot on the shelf which should have been vacant stood a book which was seated with its pages, rather than its spine, facing outwards. A great many, black pages.
Ranok looks up, "Oh. Dat book." He remembered the thing. Rather then try to run, Ranok simply accepted the inevitable. So, he grabs the first wriggling book he could to yoink along with the trip. Maybe the thing would be useful. In some way. If not, the vacancy would be noted by a minion and the grimorie would probably spit him out. Probably. It was either that, or tie a rope to something to have it eaten or cut on the other side. Ranok knew how these things went. With a sigh, he says, "Halright, let's get dis over vith." And reaches for the book before it could eat him. He'd go a little more dignified, this time.
Redhale 's grimoire took advantage of Ranok's generosity and engulfed him almost immediately. It didn't take much anyway, with the room already as dark as it was, to blot out the world around him so that the realm within the pages could replace it, but the book spewed out sheaves of black paper like a deck of cards being sprayed forward to engulf the aisle far more ferociously than it had previously taken Ranok. Even without any visible walls, or any sort of object, the space didn't feel open; if anything the ill-defined space Ranok found himself in was more claustrophobic than the narrow aisles of the library. The phenomenon was explained by a gently growing light: Far down the end of a long hallway a small window in a paneled door bloomed with a pale glow.
Ranok reflexively throws up a limb over his face in a guard position. Old habits died hard. He made sure not to drop whatever the name of the book was that he'd yoinked. He wasn't a hundred percent sure if it was actually one of the moving ones. In the moments of quick action, he was pretty sure it was moving, but, well, it was hard to decide. Upon finding himself in the enclosed space, a glance around was afforded. Draeta had streaked along with, of course. Even if the grimorie had left the lights that served as the intelligence's avatar, it was still bound to the armor and went where the smith it was attached to did. And, the armor had better sense with which to analyze the environment, the hallway, the window with. Magical senses expand, energy spent to try to pry information out of the latest trip. Ranok did the same with his own more physically based senses, keeping a firm hold on his ill gotten spoil. Booted feet start towards the only thing worthy of mention: the window of light.
Redhale 's world would give nothing away other than what was seen. Indeed, if one managed to reach beyond those walls in some extrasensory way they would either find thick, infinitely dense space or absolutely nothing. Ranok must have been reading the situation all wrong. Still, upon nearing the door a world beyond was offered through the glass: A street bathed in the plain white glow which had defined the forest, and indeed all objects in this world, somehow simultaneously sterile and organic in its stark definition. The road was cobbled stone, and the buildings along it were dense enough to indicate some sort of town, though the streets were entirely empty. It was possible that such could be explained if it were night-time, but there had as yet been no evidence that the world within the grimoire had any such cycle.
Ranok only gave it a shot. To gather information, one began with the senses. A scientist in this day and age only had what he could see, feel, hear, or smell, after all. Draeta, having gotten nothing of note, simply reports, <No anomalies.> Information was survival. Even small facts could save your life, if you had just the right ones. Clutching tight the pilfered book from the Black Library, Ranok halts before the glass. The scene beyond was inspected carefully. "Buildinks...kivilization...no pipple, tough." At least none that could be seen. He recalled the figures and the old boy from the last trip. <A catalog of memories, perhaps?> Ranok grunts in response. He was trying to place the architecture of the buildings. Cities, eras, regions, each had their own mark. A house needed to stave off heavy winters was not the same as the one that only needed to last through breezy mild ones. If it was a replication of Valkrin, Draeta would recognize it before Ranok did. The city was one that had a feeling of stagnant development. With undead lasting tens or hundreds of years, why build anew? Though, of course, this inspection would come to a halt with no further information to be gained. At that point, Ranok would reach out to test the glass with a hand. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, after all.
Redhale ::Much of the street was difficult to see through the glass, and it definitely was not recognizable as any present-day settlement, but there was a definite air of familiarity as more of the picture came into view. The glass held to Ranok's touch just as any other pane would, and no adverse reactions occurred as a result of his timid exploration. It seemed that at least this area of the grimoire was stable.
Ranok withdraws the hand, flexing it as he looked upon it. Glass felt like glass. "Hm." It was, at this point, does he offhand the book to Draeta. The lights lacked hands, but it soon didn't. Tendrils of darkness ooze from the very armor plates to coil tightly around the book. More specifically: they came from about Ranok's shoulder blades. Rather then piercing the duster, they simply went through holes that were present in the things make. One may presume they were located there always, or were placed for this sort of thing. Ranok's hands thus freed, he promptly takes the opportunity to fish out a big ass hammer from an interior pocket of his duster. A nice, old fashioned sledgehammer. <Are you sure this is wise?> Ranok grips the hammer with experienced hands. No smith worthy of the name couldn't heft one. "Not at hall." Without further ado, Ranok proceeds to wind up. From timid to simply wrecking things. Or, was it simply violence, a soldier's old standby, coming to the fore? Either way: a hammer with the full force of a seven foot tall smith was brought down onto the glass to see just what would happen.
Redhale ::Ranok's sledgehammer smashed easily through the glass, and the wood beneath it, and likely into the floor at the man's feet. The handle and catch hung momentarily to the door frame before clunking to the ground amongst the flinders left of the door. Despite the racket that had been created not a soul appeared; all of the other buildings stood silently with their own doors intact and, more importantly, shut. Despite this, Ranok's action did herald a greater reaction than pressing on the glass did, as it seemed to have prompted a thick wooden stick to swing down from above to bat at the man's face.
Ranok || "Ow! Blast it!" That stick got him in the eye. Luckily, he didn't swing the hammer around like a ninny. That could have been *bad*. The head of the sledge thunks down and Ranok grabs at the offending stick, trying to get it to stop hitting him. With one hand, and if that didn't work, two hands, and if *that* didn't work, more tendrils from the armor would erupt to join the fray. Half an eye kept on the smashed portal, however. He half expected a new door to grow in. Not that he'd really *seen* the door in the first place, assuming the whole thing to be a window. He needed to pay more attention.
Redhale :: The dancing pole was drawn quickly back up into the shadows as Ranok's clutches for it grew increasingly intense. Its tip drew a few lazy circles in the last visible space before disappearing completely into what must have been an unusually high corridor… Only to jab at him angrily from behind, one sharp prod with insult added to injury, "Who wants you here? You're a disaster."
Ranok growls, whipping around. He was ready to duck any more blows that he could see coming. "Iz it too late to say Hy kome in peace?" A hand goes to grasp the sledgehammer that was resting on its head. Not swinging it, not yet. But he was considering waiting for an opportunity to try to knock whatever, or whoever, was poking him with that damn stick, if it didn't show itself. "Und vat deed hyu vant me to do? Try de handle uf de door?" Real men crashed hammers through doors. True story. The tendrils that had snaked out to try to hold the stick seep back into the armor, which had turned pitch black from the use of the darkness incarnate's blood to manifest them, off from its normal pure white.
Redhale 's emissary had drawn back a fair way before Ranok had even completed his turn, the red face of the forest hopping stranger grinning out of the darkness in the hallway, "Doorknobs are a profoundly useful way of moving through the space interrupted by a door. Knowing how to fight is nice, but it seems like that's -all- you know how to do, which only makes me wonder even more what reason there could be for you to be here."
Ranok leans on the handle of the sledgehammer. "It vas seekink a reaction. Hy got vun. Vy Hy'm here...Hy suspeck dat's de book's business, hain't it? Not hall violence, boyo. Hy chust like ansvers. Und knowledge. To schpeak uf vich..." He curls his fingers. The pilfered book was deposited into his grasp. It wasn't very lively. "Hy brought hyu a gift. De vay Hy figure, dis book ve're in...place...it may like to learn. Or it's chust an asshole, hefn' figured it out. So Hy brought a book vith me, dis time." The volume, which was either very docile or simply *just* a book was held out to be taken as it would. The whole point of why Ranok yoinked the thing from the library in the first place.
Ranok did have a book that the man couldn't have possibly read. He knew so, because he had the only one in existence. At least, on this plane. The rejected book was dropped onto the ground with a thump. So much for that. He wasn't going to pull out his book, though. Not yet. See if he could pry more answers out. So the man in crimson left? Then the chase would have to be on. Either that or wander the empty streets until he got bored enough to destroy more property. So, with a few bounding strides of his own, he'd go through the opened door, out onto the street. If the thing had closed, he'd just open it this time. If that failed, he still had the hammer, which was drug along. Draeta trails after like a will-o-the-wisp. Those tendrils of darkness coil, growing thicker and push against the ground, testing its solidity. Once satisfied, Ranok backs up, and then gets a running start. No fancy flight this time: that blood had been more or less used up. But the tendrils could spring him, and that was what they did. Assuming Newtonian physics were working properly, or barring any further shenanigans, Ranok would be propelled to the same rooftop the man was bounding away from, "It iz not about de teachink! But de learnink!"
Redhale 's masked inhabitant was surely out of earshot by the time Ranok called out to him, having crossed miles of ground in just a few steps. It wasn't that the street went on for miles; the boy had in fact ditched the rooftops to sprint along a vast plain, the end of which was only confirmed by a horizon dominated by mountains surely as high as the plains were long. Ranok may have fairly presumed that it would be easier to navigate an empty plain than an unfamiliar city, but the ruby-masked ruffian thought otherwise.
You was soon left in the dust. He could cover tens of feet, maybe even a hundred in a single bound. But miles? Not even close. Ranok wouldn't even have left the city before he gave up the chase. Standing on some rooftop, which was rather presumptuous, given that the roof would probably shift as it desired, Ranok lands in a crouch. He was frowning heavily, "Hy don' tink Hy like dis bloody place vun bit." Every chase turned up empty, the rabbit hole not only deeper then it seemed, but could change itself. It was cheating, basically, in Ranok's eyes.
Redhale 's representative disappeared into the distance, getting lost in the plains and whatever waited within them. Really Ranok was lucky he hadn't followed; if he didn't like the city he would have hated that vast, broken desert. The town itself surely hadn't done much to deserve his ire, at least when one considered he had been the first to attack it. Still, now he was left alone in a cold and alien world, and without direction one could easily be sent mad in this place, or worse.
Ranok wasn't driven mad quite so easily. Give it a few weeks, and then he'd probably get edgy. He spends a few minutes deciding what to do next. Random destruction of property was certainly still on the table, but wanton violence lost its amusement after awhile. Setting fire to it all to provoke a reaction wasn't a bad idea. But, he figured he'd mix it up a little now. He hops down off the building he was lollygaggin' on. Simply walks up to a door and...knocks.
Redhale ::At the moment of the knock a loud crash was heard from inside the building, followed by a string of swears that would have done any typical sailor proud, "Shut up and move!" Came a hushed whisper, and all at once the area around Ranok was filled with activity. The most notable movement was likely that which came from within Ranok himself: A ghostly pale hand reaching out from where he stood to open the door and let it the shouting spectre which had materialized there, who walked inside just as another silvery figure smashed out the window to the left of the entrance and sprung through head first, an accomplice following right on his heels. The two disappeared into a jumbling crowd which had appeared in the streets, all wandering this way and that, bartering with stall owners on the street side and bumping into pickpockets all over. The two who had flown through the window were small and agile, slipping between the bumbling pedestrians as they made their getaway with a small wrapped parcel.
Ranok is utterly unsurprised by the bazaar that sprang up at the slightest provocation. As the figure had apparently reached right through his chest, he came to the conclusion that the things were immaterial. Had he had access to illusionary spells, he'd have given that a swing and saw if it stuck onto the ghostly figures. As he didn't, he was mostly stuck to stepping out of the way of the one that wanted to go through the door. And waited for being chewed out for not stopping the thieves. He half expected it. Glancing around at the phantom hustle and bustle, he mutters to himself, "Are dese...memories? Uf a place und a time long gone? Fiction uf dem? Memories uf a schtory? De rules change, de ground schifts, und figures leap in und out. It's like Hy'm hoppink trough pages. Vich vould make sense, given my location. Hrm."
Redhale ::The owner of the building, which appeared to be some sort of shop, exited swiftly afterwards, but instead of chewing Ranok out or walking through him again attempted to shove him out of the way with a forceful thrust of some sort of staff. Once outside the man began shouting again, and though his words were muffled and in need of translation the entire crowd began to scatter in panic. With people shutting themselves indoors and cowering against buildings the offenders could be seen again, apparently not possessing the skills of the masked one despite both wearing their own, if lacking the brilliant red coloring. It seemed unfortunate for them because the man after them -did- apparently possess some trickery, and it wasn't long before they were dodging huge spears of ice flung from the end of the man's staff.
Ranok muses to himself if *he* was the intangible one and not vice versa. Reflexively, he steps out of the way of the man wielding the staff. Ghost or not, whichever way it cut, he didn't want to be in the way when the rules of this universe, however they worked, changed again. The scene unfolding was watched, the words strained to be heard. More and more the man was suspecting that this was either a land lost to time, or an entirely fictional story come to life. Extra attention was paid to the spears of ice flinging about. Ranok was ready to dodge out of the way if one headed his way, for the same reasons as to why he stepped out of the man'so way in the first place.
Redhale 's little thieves ran fast, but the shopkeeper was surely adept, and his bolts flew faster. They had almost reached their salvation too, a corner to round and disappear beyond, when one of them was cut down. The spear of ice plunged right into his back and through his chest so that when he fell the body slowly slid down the shaft before slumping on the ground. The small moment of glee the store owner allowed himself could have let the second boy, the one with the parcel, get away, but instead he skidded to a stop and turned about. Apparently he had only been running for the sake of remaining with his friend because in the time it took for the mage to fire another bolt the imp faced boy managed to tuck the stolen property under one arm, hold up two very rude hand gestures and vanish into thin air. Or at least, that's what the shopkeep would have seen. Ranok instead saw the city vanish, catching a glimpse of the thief turning about to race down an invisible road before being left in darkness, the sort of complete darkness which made one feel all alone and awkwardly claustrophobic at the same time, at least until one of Redhale's shelving assistants shuffled past to shed a weak golden light on the bookcases surrounding him.
Ranok tried to study that boy's face. The way things seemed to focus on him...either that or the shopkeeper. He didn't know. He felt like a student stuck into a class with a lecturer on two times the speed. Things kept changing and he was stumbling along, trying to keep up. That did not make him happy in the slightest. Ranok wasn't a man that tolerated being made a fool of. At least, not when anyone was looking. The tug of disorientation as he was deposited back into the real world left him pinned for a moment. He didn't even realize he was back until one of Redhale's minions came by. "Urhg." Frustration, confusion, and disorientation, all rolled into one handy package. "Hy don' even..." He'd nearly forgotten why he came into the library in the first place. Suddenly, he wasn't in the mood anymore to try to find a needle in a haystack. The smith picks himself up, dusts himself off, and tips a book off a shelf in a moment of juvenile revenge to make himself feel better. Take that, books! Shortly thereafter, he'd pick his way out of the stacks. He could only hope it wouldn't take too long to get back into the (relatively) fresh air of Vailkrin.