RP:Tea Time at Yerrel's

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Mystical Aura

The great ashen woods of the northern forest cede their hold here, whether by natural or man made means, though, you cannot tell. Looking up, the overhang of density has parted, once again allowing sun or moon to shine down at will. Huddled in the far easterm corner of the clearing lies a warm, inviting hut, shaded by smaller citrus trees. Thriving gardens skirt the exterior, and as you approach, the air becomes thick with the aroma of the flowering plants and vegetation. To the north, the shimmering mysts hinder sight again.



Iscattiva shouted, "(A dragon's gleeful bugle can be heard from the lands around the Sage Forest's healing house.)"


Iscattiva stands just outside the healer's shop with her four taloned paws planted wide apart, neck and tail stretched to their full length, and wings doing the same from her burnished sides. Although the right wing doesn't expand quite as far as its leftmost companion, the Gold dragon still nods in approval when she swivels her head back to examine it. "By Cyris, it is nearly as good as it had been, sir Yerrel! My thanks to you," she proclaims to the nearby elf in tones both rapid with childish excitement and halting with a foreigner's tongue newly grasping Common. Yerrel seems to detect the young dragon's exuberance as she raises her wings to give them a hearty flap and he lifts a calming hand in reply to her then. "Still yourself, miss. The bones aren't fully mended yet, you won't be able to fly with it for a few days more. Just stretch it now and again to ensure it doesn't grow stiff, and avoid knocking it against anything or forcing it to bear your weight." Obediently the Gold nods before giving the wing one more experimental extension and slow flap, then tucking it against her side so that she can lower herself onto the grass to idle in the sunlight.


Sharliark was standing on the very precipice of the cliff at the Scenic View, glaring down over a sight which is begrudgingly pulchritudinous even through the eyes of a black dragon, when sensed close a member of her mighty race. Many she had talked to, but there were still many more to come. So with a snarl the large dragon walks back from the edge, before turning and running on all fours directly over the high drop. Wings flare wildly to catch the updrafts and her speed is enough that she doesn't fall to a painful undignified death. Unused to flying and far more graceful on the ground, the dragon is thankful she has not far to go. Lush forests pass beneath her, before through a gap in the trees she spies the young golden dragon, Iscattiva. A roar of triumph comes from deep within her ebon body, before she adjusts her flight and soars down. It was her intention to land within the opening, but unused to flying she ends up landing too close to trees. Her large ebon body crashes through the wood, sending an explosion of splinters and dust flying out in every direction. From within the storm of granules she staggers out, a full ninety feet in length, yet possessing an almost feline grace, she tries to keep whatever dignity remains by roaring loudly again; there is no challenge in the sound, it was merely a primal greeting.


Ranok had heard the glad bugle of the gold, from thereabouts of the Kelay Healer. Having been the one to injured her, albeit in a roundabout manner, he decided to drop on by. He'd promised Yerrel a visit without anyone bleeding, anyways, and it was really the least the smith could do for the soft spoken healer. He'd even gone and gotten sticky buns, from a place in Cenril that sold such delights that even Ranok couldn't resist them. Right about as he was emerging in the clearing where the glittering form of Catti was did Sharilark explode overhead. The smith's reaction was more instinctive then anything. The black form of something way too goddamn big (in his opinion) to be flying made him take a step back into the treeline, the stickybuns in their wax bag being dropped to the ground. Ranok was dressed as he always was, which was to say, the same well worn leather duster that billowed in a breeze of its own, the same stylish hat, which perched upon his crown in a set up so right that it simply never blew off despite the shenanigans that Ranok underwent on a daily basis, and the same trio of electric blue lights that bobbed over his right shoulder. Hands rip open the duster front, revealing the armor underneath, bone white metal. It goes to the small of his back, to grip some weapon that laid there, just in case. Gray eyes that flicker locked onto Sharky even as the black careens out of control to crashland. Those same eyes thin, slightly. That was a might wonky landing for a dragon so old. Perhaps she was sick? In which case...she was here to see Yerrel. In which further case, the healer would positively rend him in twain if he brandished a weapon at a patient. Ranok was a wise one. He rightfully feared the wrath of gentle man. Hand releases the grip on the strange contraption known as Mirabelle, though he leaves the duster open so he could grab it swiftly if need be. Other hand scoops up the wax bag of sticky buns, and forwards strools (yes, strools) the smith into the clearing, "Felis, Hy see dat you vink iz healed nizely. Vere iz Yerrel?"


Iscattiva's wings snap open suddenly in her surprise when another dragon, another =black= dragon, crashes into the clearing. The twinge of pain this motion induces causes the young Gold to throw her head back and snort, a small utterance of her discomfort coming as unintended answer to the Black's greeting. Before Iscattiva can correct herself and response in like, 'though, the elven healer is bustling forward with hands raised and soothing words spoken as he asks after the dragon's health, his kindliness outweighing any inclination to avoid large, dangerous predators. Iscattiva head swivels back and forth to look between the two and her lips draw back in a toothy version of a dragon's grin when Ranok steps into the clearing. "Sir Ranok, greetings! And to you as well, stranger," the Gold offers to Sharliark with a polite bob of her head while Yerrel insists on fussing over the Black's possible injuries.


Sharliark stops Yerrel's movement towards her with a glare rich with the promise of swift death. It was clear she wasn't injured by her rather undignified landing - black dragons were never the most graceful in flight. She stares for a moment at Ranok, her eyes mere slits, before attention returns to Iscattiva. When she speaks her voice is like an avalanche; deep and rumbling, coming within her large body. "We have much to discuss, you and I." For just a moment those cat-like eyes return to the smith. "But not in the company of those who seek our death. I am Sharliark, and though our kinds have been enemies far longer than we have been alive, know I am no enemy of yours." Her large head nods, then; scales rippling with the movement, sending the viciously sharp protrusions on her back swinging back and forth.


Ranok steps in to assist the kind hearted healer. A large hand on the elf's shoulder, and the seven foot tall smith gently, but firmly, steers him away, "Here, Yerrel. Hy hef visited hyu, hyu see? Und Hy hef brought schticky buns. Vy do hyu not make zum tea? Ve kan chat in a bit. Hy promise Hy'll make sure it hall schtays hokay out here. Hyu know me...yah, yah, Hy vill be sure to keep my blood in my body..." He was pushing the elf back into the house, while snippets of conversation floated back. A few scant minutes of solitude between Sharky and Catti, and the smith would be returning. Hands in pockets, duster billowing behind him, the lights flaring, the smith would return to stand next to Catti, boldly as you pleased. He didn't really question how Sharky knew that he'd killed dragons before.


Iscattiva arches her neck back in a gesture of surprise, the dry sound of rustling scales following the motion. " ..'those who...seek our death'?" Confusion evident in amber eyes, the dragon looks toward Yerrel and Ranok as the elf is guided away, she seeming half-afraid they'll suddenly draw weapons on her. Wings shuffle anxiously against her sides and she looks to Sharliark again. "I do not understand. These two saved mineself, and they returned to me Cyris' blessing when I thought it lost. In truth, the only soul that has made mention of desiring my death was one such as you, although a male." The memory of the other Black's words to her causes the young Gold's scales to bristle with unease, likely a positively noisy affair for Ranok when he appears beside her.


Sharliark narrows her eyes again, though the anger is not directed towards Iscattiva or Ranok. "I will address that." There is a certainty in those simple words, before the black dragon shifts a few steps back. "You are young and easily led. Be wary of the path they lead you upon." It is clear Sharliark wanted to say more, but when Ranok returns so boldly to Iscattiva's side, she stops herself. "They will speak of me in days to come, but remember Cyris preaches free will. When you wish to hear my words, seek me out. You will come to no harm, nor will I attempt to lead you anywhere you do not wish to willingly go." The dragon turns, then, and begins to walk into the heavy forest, weaving her serpentine body like an over-sized snake. When she has almost vanished into the gloom of the trees, her final words ring back. "Your wing is injured. I bet it was no dragon who gave you the wound." Those are the last words heard, before the dragon is gone from the area, moving with a silence learned in the swamps of Gualon. Noisy dragons are rarely well fed ones.


Ranok watches the black dragon go with an impassive expression. If he was impressed, or worried, or any variation thereof, he wasn't showing it. "Hm." Then, brightly, to Catti, "Vell, dat vas forebodink. Black dragons are rarely pleasant. Vunce hed vun poison an entire forest vith aceed rain. Tea?" No doubt Catti would be raising the subject of Sharky later, and if she didn't, he would. Young easily swayed, indeed. Two could play at that game.


Iscattiva dips her snout dejectedly, watching the Black's soundless departure. However, like a sullen child she can't help muttering through her teeth, "It was not a dragon that saved it and mineself, either." Giving another snort, this one accompanied by a short burst of flame from her nostrils, the dragon tips her head to fix a single large eye on Ranok. "Tea..? I have heard of it but I have not tried it. I would like to." Even as she shuffles backwards to although the blacksmith room to head back to the hut, she can't resist another glance in the direction Sharliark left. Blacks were certainly peculiar, from what she's found so far. But at least this one didn't threaten to maim her the next time they met.


Ranok walks forth to the hut, not even glancing back. Sharky's exit wasn't all that spectacular, and really, the smith had lost all fear of dragons after hacking his way out of the throat of one. Such things gave you tough skin. "Hy'm not much uf a tea drinker, myself, but an old friend used to enjoy de schtuff. Yerrel hes dis eksellent blend uf zum sort uf berry tea...hyu'll probably hef to schift form hyu enjoy it, Hy'm afraeed." Draeta bobs closely along to Ranok. The smith opens the door with a single hand, "Not onless ve're gunna schplash de pot on you tongue. Heh. Seems de vink hes healed up, no? Hyu are korreck. Zum pipple in dis vorld chust vant to help. Yerrel iz vun uf doze pipple. Vy Hy like him."


Iscattiva follows Ranok until she reaches the entrance to the hut, from there she hunkers down as carefully as she can. Unfortunately she does manage to flatten part of a flower bed with a wing tip, something she does not notice as she slips her head through the door until snout and eyes are safely past the entrance, but not so far as to get her horns jammed. By way of explanation she says, "I am still learning to maintain control of shifted forms and would rather not risk sir Yerrel's home with a mishap." The elf seems relieved by the words, the expression quickly turning to one of alarm when the Gold's tongue darts out from between her teeth, snakes around the teapot with surprising dexterity, and promptly disappears into her jaws. From behind the barrier of scales and fangs can be heard a piercing crunch of shattering procelain, followed by a blissful thrum from Iscattiva. "Tea is delicious!"


Ranok || Yerrel simply says, "Oh dear..." as Catti shoves her enormous head into the hut. Ranok was pinned against the one wall, as he'd been holding the door open. "Uh. Hyu don' really grasp de kvuncept uf meeshep, do hyu?" He grunts as he tries to draw breath. Yerrel only sighs, "At least you enjoyed the tea, deary...I'll go get another pot." He bustles off to the kitchen to prepare another set for Ranok, at least.


Iscattiva doesn't have a concept of indoor manners either, honestly, but after a moment more happily crunching on the former teapot she draws her head back out of the hut and turns it aside so that a single eye can peer within. "Why do you suppose the Black dragonkin have such a hatred for your kind? I have yet to see a reason to dislike you." Poor, naive Iscattiva, she hasn't properly met Lord Ranok Sourpuss yet. But at least she's stayed true to his predications and brough up Sharliark once more.


Ranok wasn't always a bad guy. Just nearly all the time. "It's a long, long history. Dragons are scary kreatures, und magical. Humans lose livestock to hungry dragons, hunt down dragons...dragons take revenge. A horrible kycle. It's herd to break. Fear und misunderstundink are enormous detriments." He fixes his duster from where it was ruffled from Catti's head. He glances at Catti, herself, "Vell. Enjoyed de tea, deed hyu? ...remind me never invite hyu to a tea party. Kome, on, den, vy don' ve enjoy more outside?" Nothing to be done for Yerrel's china, but he could save the small hut and structural damage.


Iscattiva backsteps until she's removed herself from Yerrel's doorway and can sit back on her haunches with a thoughtful huff. "I can understand as much. It is in our histories, even mine clan's, the two Blackscales I've met simply seem particularly hateful. I know there are humans that slay dragons, for good or bad, and there are dragons that eat humans in return. I will not be one such, however." The Gold snorts proudly. "I want to forge partnerships with your kind and mine in ways that we can both benefit. Mayhaps it will never change how others feel, but if I can change the minds of a few, it will be enough for me."


Ranok assists Yerrel in carrying his secondary tea set, "Vat a fine vay to see de vorld. Not hall dragons hete humans, nor do hall humans hete dragons. Personally, Hy em fascinated by hyu dragons, und take kare uf a mist dragonette myself." He offers up the wax bag, "Sticky bun?" Frankly, Catti's eating of the tea set was downright hilarious to him, but he wasn't so rude as to say when Yerrel was out and about.


Iscattiva lowers herself further so that she can rest her head on the grass and be at eye level with the elf and blacksmith, thrumming a small laugh. "I might be young, but even I know I cannot change the entire world. I will strive for as much change as I can, and I shall be content with tha- Sticky buns?" Oh so carefully her snout inches across the lawn to give a delicate sniff of the proffered bag, her tongue unconsciously darting across her scaled lips at the scent. "Those smell divine." Is it blasphemous for a God's Champion to say such things?


Ranok fishes a single sticky bun out of the bag. They were still warm. "Changink de vorld, yah. Impossible. But, hyu kan change schmall parts uf it. Pipple, places, tinks. Vat hyu touch kan be changed. Fear not. Dat black dragon's vievs hain't taken so heavily in odder places. As a matter uf fact, Hy'm attemptink at gettink a dragon und humanoeed vorkink relationship built in Rynvale. A large amount uf mounted riders, to keep de peace. Vat do hyu tink uf dat?" He tosses the bun out into the air to be snatched by the gold. No way he was putting his hands near *that* maw.


Iscattiva moves like golden lightening out of pure instinct, head rising from the grass and neck arcing as jaws part to snap up the tossed treat. Letting the pastry rest on her tongue, the dragon processes the unique flavor. Eyelids close with a prominent 'shnk' and a shudder runs through her entire length as she hums loudly. Never has she tasted anything quite like this. Yes, her father had introduced her to a few forms of humanoid food, but those had been plain fare such as breads, cheeses, and cooked meats, things she was likely to encounter in the common taverns. Desserts, however, he had neglected to show her. And likely for good reason, as the young Gold seems so positively lost in the pleasure of dissecting all this sweet has to offer that she's forgotten to reply to Ranok with anything more than a soft, "Mhm."


Ranok has the creeping feeling that he just started the grand daddy of all sweet tooths. Still, Catti's reaction was very well warranted. The sticky buns were just *that* delicious. They had to be, for even Ranok to take food from another. Death was worth the risk. He nibbles on his own, relishing the taste. He did fight dirty. Tasty treats, tea, and then a favor asked. "De Dragon Riders are a long tradition, gun back ages. A goot sign uf humanoeed/saurian interaction vorkink. Uf kourse, not viddout its issues, und dis particular branch vill be fledglink. Vich iz vy ve are attemptink to drav in dragons such as youself. Intelligent, villink to vork vith a partner, dat sort uf tink." Yerrel pours the smith a cup of tea. The elf was careful to hide the pot from Catti, afterwards. He might have been soft spoken, but he wasn't stupid. And that *was* his former best china set down the gullet. He wasn't upset, at least, not as far as he could be upset...it was hard to tell.


Iscattiva sends the sweet bun off to spend some quality time with the ruined china after one last satisified hum. Slowly her eyes open again to fixate on Ranok. Or rather, the wax bag that had carried those delicious treats. But at least now she's a little more focused and can properly response with a slight tip of her head. "I know of Port Rynvale. It is one of the closer settlements to my homelands." Where exactly, she doesn't say, but even the most trusting of dragons doesn't freely give away the location of its lair, that's just plain instinctual. "I would not mind seeing this group your propose, if I can be of any help. I am sure there is much I can learn from the land and people there."


Ranok holds the bag a little protectively. It still had one in it, after all. That was for Yerrel. "As uf now, dere are no dragons in de group, saff for my own dragonette, und eggs dat ve've recovered. Dere are hyung soldiers around dat ve've sorted trough und vould likely make goot matches. Dey're hall eksperienced vith animals in zum measure, und ve've gotten advice from de kurrent military uf de sky, de Eyrie. Facilities are planned, but Hy vasn' sure vere to put dem. Likely, Hy'll schtick dem towards de mountains. Henny suggestions on natiff hebitats for dragons vill be velcome, at least. Hyu're free to meet henny uf de men hyu veesh. Hyu von' be treated like a pack animal, but it *vill* be a military application. Dat means you life iz to be put on de line schould hyu be ordered to do so. It vill be for de protection uf Rynvale, tough. No vorries on hennyddink dark. Militaristic kampaigns in dis vorld seem to be...minimum." He hands off the wax bag to the healer, who was looking about fussing more with Catti's injury. He did that, as long as a patient was around.


Iscattiva, between keeping an eye on the bag's travels, Yerrel tapping at a loose scale, and deciphering Ranok's speech, is late in responding. Additionally so as she has to give the offer some consideration. "I... would like to see this, yes, and assist where I am able, although I do not think I can join it. At least not at this time. I must devote myself to finding the other followers of Cyris in these lands and aid them firstly, as well as learn from them what they can teach me. Deovting myself to a military will interfere with that." She clacks her teeth together then, but not in finality. Yerrel simply chose that moment to pluch the damaged scale off her hide. The sensation is similar to if he had pulled a hair off Ranok's scalp, so Iscattiva isn't hurt by the gesture as much as startled. The elf offers her an apologetic grin and a pat on the side at her look.


Ranok holds a hand out to Yerrel, "Yerrel, if hyu vould lemmee hef dat..." The smith was always looking for new materials, and had been working on a spate of dragon related materials. He was getting better at working them, to be certain. The elf had no reason to distrust Ranok, so the damaged scale was forked over. Muttering as he turns it over, regardless of what Catti thought of the matter. He'd then reply, still inspecting the thing, "No so mhenny, around. Only vun Hy know uf around vould be Redovian...Hy belieff de rest vere Kanos. Vich vas de fadder uf Kyris, or konnected to him...Hy tink. Never much hed time for de gotts, really. Redo iz in Kenril or Frostmav dese days, from vat my...friends tell me." The smith had a minor network of informants that passed along new developments with major players in the land. Nothing like a spy network, but it was enough to know where someone roughly was or what they were doing, if it coud be known. "Hyu herdly need to schplit you duties, really. Hyu're not schtupeed, Hy know dat. Hyu vouldn' hef to be reared like a dragon velp. More or less, hyu'd schortcut much uf de teachink process. Tink on, it, hennyvays. If noddink else, hyu kan help eliminate krime in Rynvale, vith odders." He pats the scale against his hand, then, as he thought.


Iscattiva can't fathom what Ranok could possibly want with garbage. Lost and damaged scales are of no value to a dragon, after all, no matter how prettily they shine. His words draw a nod from her. "I will visit Rynvale when my wing is mended, and I will seek out this Redovian in the mean time." She's about to say more when she's interrupted by Yerrel, "In this current mean time, you will not be seeking, you will be resting. A broken wing doesn't heal quickly if you're running about the lands all day." The Gold looks rather put out by the declaration but she puts up no fight. Arguing with a healer, she's found, is as useless as arguing with your mother. It never ends well for you, no matter what species you might be. Said healer is now in the process of trying to shoo Ranok off as well under the premise of his 'poor recovering patient requiring proper silence, she's been over-stimulated enough'. This leaves Icattiva murmuring to herself while watching, "Cenril... Redovian.... Hm."


Ranok wasn't gonna argue with Yerrel, either. The smith offers a touch of the brim of his hat, and now that his plot expositionary role was complete, makes like a tree and gets out of there.


Iscattiva uses her wing to wave a farewell to the man and, while Yerrel is preoccupied cleaning up the remnants of Sharliark's landing, she helps herself to the second teapot.