RP:The Birth and Death of Treasures
Cerulean Flowers
Ranok was tending the eggs, of course. The cave was sweltering, even for him. Stripped down to the underlayers, sweat was dripping off him. The cave's moist air from the geothermal venting was exacerbated by the proximity with which he was working with it. The contraption he'd built to cradle and care for the eggs wasn't anything special to look at. But, the man had always strived for utility in the things he made before aesthetics. Two leather and cloth tubes strung out over the cavern. One tended to an outpouring vent, the other led outside. The cannibalized caravan wheel served as a flywheel to turn wooden pumps. Air was drawn into each tube and then poured out over a box hanging over the eggs. It'd taken awhile to get the proper levels hot hot/cold just right. But, the end result was perfect. Genuine mist was pouring over the eggs, not just hot and moist air. He was billowing the pumps down by hand, arms rhythmically pressing. Now was more crucial then ever, he figured. Because, for the first time, the eggs had shown a change. They were giving off tendrils of mist, not simply showing the image of swirling ones. He'd sent word out to Sato, figuring the kit would maul him if he hadn't at least made an effort to tell her that they were probably hatching and she missed it as a result.
Satoshi hurries into the cavern, strands of hair flying loose of the rough pile gathered behind her ears from her hasty trip back, and determined to fall into her face with every opportunity. Impatiently the locks are brushed aside with a fumbling gesture caused by an arm laden with a large metallic tome. Despite the restraints on movement the weighty book seems to be causing Satoshi, she seems unwilling to part with it for the mere sake of convenience and instead tolerates the drawbacks. The same cannot be said for the rest of her current collection, as is made evident when the lumbering form of her golem squeezes into the cavern, its massive, glacial torso almost completely obscured by walls of books piled in its thick arms. Some little magus has been busy with a pet project, it'd seem. But for now, that can wait, as Satoshi shuffles over toward Ranok--scowling unconsciously at the intense heat. "Is it happening?"
Ranok glances up at Sato and her absolute parade of books, "De humidity kan' be goot for doze." would be all that he said, at first. Another minute pumping the air. Mist was absolutely pouring all over the eggs, and down onto the ground. Anything that got close would be soaked in quite short order. Ranok already was, so he was fine with it. When the pumps had been primed as much as one could ask, the wheel spinning with a wheezing series of clicks, the man says as he wipes his brow, "Hy kan' be sure. But Hy belieff so. De eggs look like dey're breakink, or schreddink. Zumddink. At least vun uf dem, hennyvays."
Satoshi follows Ranok's glance and curls a brow in response. "They're being carried by an ice golem and normally reside in a frozen library, I promise they're well warded against such damage." She pauses to look pointedly at the mists flooding the area and attempting to cling to her form, only to have their intangible fingers slip away from her as if the foxkin has been coated in a sheathe of glass. "As am I." Satoshi may be warded against undesirable dampness, but the glistening fog gathered about her shoulders in the shape of a phantom limb is all too eager to reach out and scoop up any mist that gets close enough, drawing it into itself in a constant feeding.
Ranok releases a feh, "Magic." About all he'd say. But if the kit was afraid to get wet, that was her choice. He wasn't afraid to get dirty. Though a hot shower would certainly not go amiss by the time this was all said and done. Alright, alright. Protection against dampness. Ve hall hef our vanities." Most of the mist was concentrated on the eggs. The tendrils that were pouring out of the makeshift nest could be caught, if they didn't evaporate too quickly. Otherwise, it was the sauna-like heat. Ranok doesn't question the mantle. It was a sign that such things didn't phase him, anymore. But he'd stopped worrying about if that was good or bad by now.
Satoshi twitches her whiskers impishly at the smith, "Magic." With that, she brings her attention to the stars of the show where they rest bathed in mist. A lingering moment is taken to regard them before she comments quietly, "They do look different, yes. Any sounds from them? Or just the change in the way the shells are moving?" Those shells are still a peculiar thing to dwell on, with their tendencies toward both tangible and intangible, a surface as volatile as the magus' own moods.
Ranok releases a sly smile of his own, "As silent as de mists." He frowns, then. "Vell, vun uf dem at least. Hy'm a liddle vorried. Vun uf de eggs hain't really schowink signs uf development at hall. It's herd to tell...trough de shells und de mist Hy'm pourink on dem." One of the eggs was looking perfectly healthy, the shell looking like it was unraveling. The other was mostly still, barely any at all. One couldn't expect the eggs to all hatch at the same time, but it was cause for concern.
Satoshi moves forward, peering closely at the pair of eggs. Her gaze wavers on the healthier-seeming of the two, noting its features and appearance of hatching, until she's drawn back to the other one. Tentatively, book still clamped beneath her arm, she reaches out a finger to give the shell a gentle poke. The faintest spark of magic is fed into the contact, a querying touch of one element seeking its distant kin beneath the wispy shell, a single, faint bell note calling to a fellow water-weaver. "Are you lost, little one~?," Satoshi murmurs, eyes flitting about in search of some change in the egg, some answer from the mist dragon within.
Ranok would step forward, to lay a hand on Sato's shoulder, "Don' touch dem. Please." He was serious. "Hy hef no idea vat kan kill dem or herm dem at dis schtage. Hy tink...de shell hain't gunna onravel henny more. Dis iz de first test for de hetchlinks. Hennyddink but mist might herm it. Hy kan' be kertain." Disturbing the hatching process was a tricky business. Maybe Sato knew better, but he wasn't taking chances. He literally put his ass on the line for the eggs, and had spent a god awful number of hours cooking away, so he damn well was a little protective. For the egg's part, no response can forth from the egg, save, perhaps, a chance parting of the mists of its shell, revealing the draggonette inside. It looked frail, even more frail then its nearly ready to hatch sibling.
Satoshi dons a miffed expression and rocks back on her heels. "Fine, fine, I'll leave it be. But it's kin to one like me, I couldn't -not- give it a call, in case it wasn't beyond reach. Perhaps it's just a slow bloomer, or a runt." Or a dud. But the curious kit doesn't want to dwell on that possibility.
Ranok adopts a helpless expression, "Hy tink it's...sick. Or dyink. Hy don' know. De time from betveen nest und gettink dem here vas traumatic. Or maybe only vun hetchlink iz supposed to surviff in a batch? Dere hain't mhenny mist dragons around, hyu know? It vould eksplain der scarcity...but ve don' know." And that irritated the man. Of course, conjecture would be the name of the game. Hatchings didn't take only five minutes, generally. Ranok returns to pumping, the eggs soon lost in an impressive shroud as the smith's body works. Said in between pumps, "Hy suggest...hyu find...zumddink to do...be a long vun..."
Satoshi looks sidelong at the blacksmith and promptly takes a seat on the ground near the eggs. Her silver-bound book finds itself propped open across her knees and gilded pages regarded with a half-absent gaze as the kit flicks her attention between watching the eggs and reading. Idle it may seem, but the magus is studiously devoting attention to two little known subjects now, attempting to log away the combined information in the span of time offered by the hatching. Shortly after Satoshi's engrossed herself in dual-studies, the ghostly arm poised above her shoulder draws a quill from Sven knows where and begins scribbling seemingly illegible notes upon a scrap of parchment the kit's given it. Seems the mist-weave mantle doubles as a scribe during study time.
Ranok would be amused, were he not busy nearly doing the same. Eyes were on the eggs, and the construction he'd build to maintain them. Later, he would give Sato a sketched out copy of its make, a small gift to her to file away in whatever library she wished to. Notes on the observations done on the eggs (of which were basically all the same), notes on the actual nest of the mist dragon as he'd managed to see it with (very rough) sketches of it. The list went on and on. In his defense, however, he was bored out of his skull while waiting for the things to do something. As the time passes, nothing really seems to change. Until the man's hand shoots out and inserts itself into the makeshift flywheel. The smack of flesh, the straining of his arm as he halts his own construction, and a sound. That sound had caught his attention. Sato might have missed it, unfamiliar with the machinery as he was. Perhaps attributed it to the arcane workings of the thing. But, Ranok knew his work. What it was and wasn't supposed to do. That sound wasn't on the list. The only conclusion, of course, was the eggs. The mists stopped pouring forth, the machine had halted. Now only the drips of condensation and the sounds of two living things, and soon to be three, in the cavern. In case she wasn't aware, "Sato."
Satoshi's gaze has left the book's pages the instant Ranok had made such a sudden movement, an instinctive wariness driving the vixen to a defensive alertness in that moment. But thoughts of self-defense quickly give way once her mind has caught up with her reflexes and informed her of the smith's reasons. The eggs. With a dull ring of soft metal, the book is closed and set aside, Satoshi's desire to witness this event enough drive the valued volume from her mind as she inches forward in a crouch, silently watching.
Ranok holds the wheel for a few moments. It struggles against him, heaving. The machinery gives a tired click and gives up the ghost. A muttered, "Probably schnagged de schprink...ah, dammit." But such worries were put aside. To the nest he goes, to peer down in. The egg seemed to be hatching...if one could call it that. The hatchling was kicking and moving around in its shell. The shell had unraveled, partially. More a basket of reeds with spaces in between the fibers then a blanket frayed. Hissing was issuing forth. The dragonette was certainly making a ruckus now. Soft claws hook into the spaces afforded by its shell, the hatchling's strength too weak to do anything but shove. The creature's frustration was clearly mounting, until something breaks inside it. Or, rather, breaks through. With a hiss that sounded more like an exhale then anything, the new born mist dragon eases into its semi corporeal state, sliding in between the bars of its former prison, as it were. The egg became a shell, then, its form solid and churning still. Ranok would reach over to spin the wheel once, the wheel turgid in response. A sacrifice of a sliver of his energy to the vambrace, and the mists were borne on a current which curled around the newborn. He had its attention, at least. The thing was still only semi corporeal, in a resting state. The hatchling didn't pay attention to much at all. But the second egg...if anything, it looked like it was fading. Tightly, the man says, "Sato. De tink hyu deed vich Hy told hyu not to? Do it again. Hy tink dat egg iz dyink." Perhaps a call would bring the creature around to fight. If it didn't, Ranok was prepared to kick the natural order in the nuts in order to free the other hatchling, if necessary.
Satoshi has to fight to tear her eyes from the hatchling, a moment more taken to stare at Ranok uncomprehendingly until, with an almost audible snap, the kit jerks to attention. "R-right," she stammers, caught flat-footed but recovering quickly as her hand reaches out to the second egg. This time instead of just a finger and spark of magic, the Ice Magus presses her palm against the shell and feeds a thread of her arctic essence into its depths. To observers it'd appear as if Satoshi is merely sitting there touching the egg while humming, but to those attuned to her brand of magic, there is much taking place beneath the surface. That thread of magic slowly swells into a rope that hums with the mage's musical tendencies, a melody that calls to others of her elemental affinity, coaxing them toward her with an invitation of reunion. The nearly tangible magic gropes outward, searching for something of a similar construct to latch onto and draw forth. Whether the combination of tune and arcane lasso works on an unborn creature made of something as insubstantial as mist, Satoshi doesn't know, nor does she know if this will alter the dragon's essence in any way, but the song of the Elementals is the only method she can think of that might draw the hatchling out.
Ranok more or less stands by as Sato attempts to revive the other egg. Whether it was too late or just in time remained to be seen. The man tries to gather up the other hatching, but stops before he does. "Perheps if hyu held de egg? Mist, at dis point, hes keased to matter." Touching the egg wouldn't do any more damage, anyways. Sato would probably handle the egg with kit gloves, all puns aside. As for the egg, the hatchling might have stirred. A shifting of the egg, looking turgid. The elemental connection was likely to do nothing for the hatchling either way: the creature may have been in a fragile state, but the elements of mist and frost didn't interact anymore then the breezing breath that the mist dragon could summon already did.
Satoshi sends a final pulse of magic through the shell before she slumps back, every line of the kit's normally proud form turned toward dejection. Slowly her head is shaken, and when she speaks her voice is hardly audible, "No other can bind to me again. I know this, but still try... And every time they slip through my fingers like... like -mist-." The last word is snarled, her hand gestured violently at the runt egg. Failure is not something Satoshi lives well with, it'd seem, and it's with rage barely controlled does she lay the egg upon its side in the nest. "I'm sorry, little treasure," the magus murmurs with genuine feeling, "your kinds' fate is cursed in my hand. Even if you succeeded now, I'm certain you'd meet the same fate as he did.." Satoshi shakes her head, stoops to collect her book, and turns veiled eyes on Ranok and the other hatchling at last, "Thank you for letting me witness that, and allowing me to try. It unfortunately seems not every aspect of my fate was altered when my cards were dealt anew." With a curt nod, the foxkin withdraws, heading toward the cavern tunnel with her book-laden golem in obedient tow.
Ranok looks surprised as Sato simply sets down the egg and walks away. A few moments spent piecing it all together, "It vasn' you fault, Sato." He wasn't going to pep talk her, but blame laid incorrectly isn't something he abided, not usually. "No, Hy don' tink so. Hy tink Hy killed de tink. Takink it from de nest." Usually deadly to baby creatures. "Or maybe it vasn' meant to be schtrong. Every litter hes its runt, und Hy em no qvality inspector. Dese vords probably rink poorly, but...it vasn' you fault." The surviving hatchling was stirring, delicate limbs stretching out and tendrils of mist solidifying, "Und dis vun schtill needs you help. Hy'd hef not gotten dis far viddout hyu. Chust a bit furdder, Sato. Yah? Hy need to learn how to take kare uf dis liddle vun. Und giff it a name. Her? Him? How do hyu gender dragons hennyvays?" He'd have picked the hatchling up to see if he could see himself, but even he wasn't that stupid in regards to newborns.
Satoshi stops, a slight nod directing the golem to continue onward without her as she turns halfway around toward Ranok. "Not my fault, my fate. It's not something I can explain, but it was something I hoped to dodge this time. As for the other one..." With a hint of reluctance the foxkin turns around and approaches once more, only to come to a halt and crouch down paces away. The frail dragon is stared at a long moment, Satoshi seemingly in thought, before she speaks, "From what I've found in the various documents, they thrive on meat like most other dragons, but in smaller, lighter quantities and more often, as opposed to most eating large meals and going weeks between feedings. One text suggested soaking the meat in water." A wrinkled nose from the kit tells Ranok what she thinks of this idea. "Supposedly to allow the dragonling to absorb more of that vital element to produce its mist, even if it makes the food far heavier in its delicate gut. I assume as far as gender goes, it'd be similar to other dragons with how their appearances vary between male and female. If this one starts to sprout horns, crests, or whatever dear mummy sports, I'd say it's female. If not, male. Otherwise, your guess is as good as mine."
Ranok looks a little helpless. He hadn't really thought he'd get this far. Thank Jimbob that it was just a dragon. He didn't think he could handle an actual child. "...maybe Hy need to schneak back to de nest to see if Hy kan gadder more information." Then he shakes his head. Like that would be a good idea. "Soaked meat...? Dat does sound plausible...de modder vould digest it first, surely. Hokay. Vell. Guess Hy'll be terrorizink de local rabbit und game population for zum time." He almost wanted to cling to Sato and beg her to help him through this the whole way, but that would be undignified. He didn't even know what he was going to name the tiny thing.
Satoshi reaches out her hand to lightly pat Ranok's head. "Congratulations, daddy, it's a bouncing baby... lizard. Aha~." She snickers then, seeing that lost look in the blacksmith's eyes. She's seen that face a time or two, when a young rider's companion has hatched in their hands and they've been suddenly made responsible for another life. "At least it's a dragon. They're such durable beasts, even the ones made of mist. But I wouldn't feed it anything from around here. Our meats are heavy and fatty, I don't know what that'd do to it, when it's designed for light game."
Ranok knew about lives. Commanding men to live or death. A little clinical, to put the words to description. But to raise something from being born and being responsible for its views, life outlook, and morals? Knowing himself like he did...he suddenly didn't really want to do it anymore. But his jaw sets. The good old fashioned bloody minded determination settles in. Not like he had a choice. "...at least no diapers? Eh?"
Satoshi rises to her feet with a laugh. "Is that a good or bad thing, though~?"
Ranok frowns. "Hy...don' know. Hm." At this point, the mist dragon(ette) was making some exploratory movements of the nest. Including nosing its perished sibling's egg. Ranok picks it up with a bit of a rush, "Ah...not goot to traumatize early, Hy tink..." He had no idea what to do with the thing. Information could be learned, but he didn't know if Sato would bite his head off for coldly suggesting cracking open the thing for a dissection.
Satoshi would crack open the egg herself if Ranok didn't. The dragon inside is dead, she's not going to dwell on it, not when there's still a chance to learn about the shell. But for now, she's more interested in retreating back home.
Ranok finally lets the kit go. He'd certainly crack open the shell. See if any useful properties could be derived. In a few hours, the machine would be carefully dismantled with an axe and piled in a corner. Once complete, the man himself would departthe lands quickly. He wanted a bath and to do something other then stare at a rocky wall for a few hours.