1500-11-09 - Clever Manipulations
Summary: Past Lo: Brunnhilde and Amora take down a dragon and tempers run high with the Enchantress.
Related: None
Theme Song: Voluspa
brunnhilde amora 

Amora stepped delicately over the corpse of the dragon that was slowly cooling. It was a lesser wurm, but it had guarded its treasure well and for centuries unchecked. The simple village that had been its favored prey to torment would be utterly pleased with its demise, but The Enchantress cared little for /that/. Rather, she was much more interested in the necklace of gold that glinted amongst the horde. A fat emerald sitting in the center pendant, surrounded by roped braids of gold so fine it put the weaves of Alfheim to shame.

The necklace itself was rumored to have been tied to the Lady of the Lake from the mortal's tales of celtics. Supposedly the wearer would be unfathomably loved. Yet as she bent to pluck it up, holding it in the light of the sun that streamed in from the cavern's mouth, a frown pulled at her lips.

The rumored necklace was not in fact what she sought, and Amora threw it away from her with a snarl.


Of course, Brunnhilde came to assist. She knew Amora wasn't liked by many and was cruel to several others. So, she tried. She constantly tried, reaching out, doing what she could to help and show friendship to the woman. It was exhausting some days and Brunnhilde certainly had other duties, but letting Amora know she wasn't alone was important also. So, here she was, fighting in the rather violent battle at her friend's side. She's now ignoring the long cut across her arm (it will heal soon) and steps back up near Amora just in time to see the necklace tossed.

"…Not…what you needed? Amora, please… don't tell me you just came here for a necklace. This creature's death… Was it worth it?" The gruff voiced blonde asks throatily, breath caught, but a touch of passion piquing heat in her cheeks once more as she searches for SOME sense to this situation.


A growl followed and Amora waved a hand over Brunnhilde's arm, healing it instantly and cleaning up the woman's armor and hair as well. "The necklace was supposedly the necklace of the lady of the lake. With great powers involved in it. But it was just some blasted bauble. Not even a hint of magic. I swear, if I find whomever set those rumors, they will be screaming a different tune very shortly."

The green clad Enchantress stormed back down the treasures that were lumped high and back over the cooling corpse. "And if you /must/ feel over that pathetic creature's death, then know that you're going to be welcomed as hero in the villages nearby. It was preying on them for the last three centuries. They'll be feasting in your honor." She drawled.


"It's not… you don't…" Brunnhilde starts to protest as Amora waves at her arm, but then it's patched up. And her armor is clean. And her hair is back in place. Hell, is she not even SWEATY any more?! She blinks, smirking hard in Amora's direction as she double times a few steps to catch up to her side. "You know, some of us *like* keeping the feel of battle on us after. It's… the glow of it all. Well earned sweat and mess." She practically grunts those words. She might be one who is often with the dead, but the gleam behind her blue eyes say she still enjoys the fight too.

"…Yes, those villages were plagued, but we would have done better to meet with them, help them build a war party, and they could have fought with us. Several of them would have died, but it would have been a noble death and would have given them power to defend themselves — some sense of *control* over their lives. We can't always just sweep in and clean things up." The woman genuinely seems to believe that, even if it meant the death of more mortals.


A flicker of a glance followed and Amora waved her hand again, and minus the wound, Brunnhilde was returned to her previous state of sweat and blood and dirt. "What, you have no desire to be worshipped as a great and worthy hero? To have songs sung in your honor for a battle well fought as hero?" She smirked faintly, her own figure clean of even a hint of dust.

Then she was stepping out of the cave, peering upwards into the giant trees that loomed large above them in the great forest. "Honestly, I find it all tedious, and a waste of time." Clearly her idea of using her time wisely normally involved remaining in the palace and seducing men to do her bidding, but for the first time in years, she had bothered to traipse out and beyond the city proper.


A grunt of approval escapes Brunnhilde's throat as her appearance is returned to the battle-roughened state she was in earlier. She pushes some sweaty hair out of her face, so it's not in her eyes, and carries on in their stalking through the woods. Her hand instinctively remains on the hilt of her sword, just in case there are allies of the beast around. Or maybe it's simple paranoia. She sighs to Amora, "I would rather the honored dead be worshipped as the heroes they are. I needn't worship, I have my job." And, like the goodie two shoes she is, she genuinely seems to mean those words.

The next statement draws both of her brows up, "…if you find it tedious, then why drag us all the way out here? I mean, I am happy to see you getting out. You SHOULD get out of the palace more. I can't bring you things forever, you know… But why now?" She is genuinely curious about that, especially as her patience has been wearing thin with the woman as of late.


Amora paused, turning round to meet Brunnhilde's gaze as she balanced her weight on her heels, a hand settling on her hip. "You've the duty that entails escorting the dead, aye, a worthy duty in that. Yet what has always been mine? Dubbed The Enchantress. I am and always needs be 'enchanting'. The necklace was to amplify that power. I found it in a scroll some months back and tracked down the rumors." She shrugged, a roll of her shoulders as she snapped her fingers a portal wreathed in green appeared—the villages beyond inside the circle.

At this point in time, Amora had been lingering in the palace in an almost defiant rage since Thor and she had 'split'. Even going so far as to entangle herself with the younger, trickster, Prince to the point of stirring up rumors. This was the first time in a very, very, long time Amora seemed willing to leave Asgard proper. Even if it was in search of /power/. Perhaps it was a step in the right direction. "Besides, your duties have shrunk utterly since Midgard has ceased worship of us and our kin. You cannot pretend your days are so busy as to be needed /that/ frequently again."


As the strikingly beautiful woman turns around to meet her more rough and tumble counterpart, Brunnhilde stares at her through slightly frustrated, concerned eyes. She was more than happy to hike out here with Amora, get her out of the palace, into the fresh air, doing SOMETHING that wasn't lolling about with the men. Brunnhilde stops on her leather boots, far more grounded, both her hands resting on her hips in a motion that almost mirrors Amora's stance but is more confident, even, more balanced. She always was the forceful, forward one. "Amora…dear Amora — you are already enchanting. What happened with Thor… it wasn't you. And his brother was never steadfast, you know this. It wasn't about you. You need no necklace to be the most enchanting woman around." The other blonde genuinely seems to believe that, trying to give some comfort to her erstwhile friend, even if she might be rubbing salt in old wounds.

The commentary about her duties shrinking, though, that makes her less than comfortable. She can't deny it, but a tired sort of sigh escapes her lips. "…No. I am… not called upon… near so frequent as I once was. But Midgard still wars. They always will. Just because they do not call our names doesn't mean I should not go."


The mention of Thor, of what had occurred (years as the mortals would count it) a far too recent wound as far as she was concerned, brought a flash of rage to the Enchantress' verdant gaze. Her manicured fingernails digging into the armor wrapped around her hips hard enough to make a sound and the portal to the village beyond snapped shut with a crackle of magic.

"Most enchanting, most beautiful woman of all Nine Realms I am supposedly—but 'tis not enough for the Prince." Her teeth clicked and snapped around each word like a bear trap.

"No, 'tis not enough. I am well aware. When Lady Sif prances by with sword held high like a man, /that/ he dances to, or every villager that catches his eyne. But I be never enough for him as I am." She ground out, gaze sweeping over the woods and back.

"I need that necklace, Brunnhilde. And unlike you, my duties and my passions are aligned and forever will be. You cannot reap the souls of Midgard least they be true worshippers of thine and mine. What good is there to watch as they rip each other asunder and spread blood upon the ground, so quickly snuffed?" A toss of golden curls follows and Amora whips around to continue back toward the villages, this time without magic.

"Your blade has sat unused for how many a century? Untested? Unbloodied? Tell me how long /you've/ lingered and rotted within the gates of golden Asgard before you try to spread along false cheer to me."


The cold words from Amora draw a narrowing of Brunnhilde's eyes and a tightening of her jaw. While she knows all of this logically, having it so coldly tossed in her face certainly isn't comfortable either. She takes a deep, slow breath against her temper, biting back some cruel words in turn before she begins to follow after the blonde yet again. She isn't jogging to catch up this time. Amora can wait if she wishes company.

"…A necklace will not win you Thor's heart. It is… not meant to be, Amora. And do not take out your pain on others. I am one of the last that still practices patience with you because… I… I know you are not yourself. I know you are hurting. But you can only push so hard. I will not be your errand girl forever. I would learn to hold my tongue if I were you. It may help you in more instances than you know." The warrior woman warns coolly, her own patience indeed growing more thin by the moment.


The golden haired goddess spun on her heels once more, glaring at Brunnhilde for a long moment before she turned away. Magic crackling at the tips of her fingers with electric tendrils of sickening green light. "Do not /tell/ me 'tis not meant to be. You are no seeress. No Norn to cast thine eye above to the world's tree and spin the fate of all encompassed. There /is/ a way and that necklace will only aid me in finding it. I have /had/ his love before and I shall have it again. I will /not/ be so ill used to be discarded as a bar-maid when he is tired of me!" Her voice was a low hiss and she snarled, throwing the gathered magic at a nearby tree.

The ancient spruce groaned, shuddered and exploded at the base, wood chips flying away from the two of them. Then finally, the old giant snapped in half and fell with a loud crack and crash as it slammed into its neighbors, taking them down with it.


Not frightened of Amora, Brunnhilde doesn't pull back or startle as the Enchantress spins. She simply holds her ground, cool, forcibly calm eyes staring down the woman quietly. Her full mouth pulls into a rather deeper smirk, arms folding cross her armored chest and shoulders squaring off again. The more upset Amora became, the more calm and levelheaded her friend remained. She wouldn't let the woman get a rise out of her. "…Amora. Listen to yourself. You sound like a child throwing a fit. It's not about… necklaces, or forcing love of someone. You can't force a heart like that. It's simply not the way." She was trying to keep her voice low and even, wanting to coax the woman down, but she's seemingly made it worse especially as Amora tosses magic at a tree like that.

Brunnhilde just sighs deeply, shaking her head. "I am leaving. I shall find my way back alone. You are impossible when you get like this and our mission here today is done. Perhaps you shall calm your temper on the way back alone." Even her friend hits a point. And, with that, Brunnhilde turns on the ball of her foot and begins walking a different direction.


Perhaps it was the fear of being alone that gnawed at Amora's insides. The fear of forever being alone that drove her so very much in her desire of Thor. In that desperate scramble to ignite that lost flame he'd held for her for such a short time. It was cruel, to have given her a glimpse of that warmth. That belonging of a stable place in the world. Where she'd never be truly alone, and then snatch it all away.

Perhaps that was why, as Brunnhilde calmed her rage heated all the more. Only to be snuffed out utterly by a sudden, gripping, fear. Amora's hands shot outwards and Brunnhilde would find an invisible barrier blocking her path ahead.

"No, no. Don't. Please. I am sorry." She breathed, green eyes wide. "Please. Stay. Don't go. Stay.. the villagers.. they should be told. I can't celebrate with them. I'm not the sort. Please. I need you with me."


They'd done this dance before. Brunnhilde would be fed up, turn to go, Amora would come running. It was getting old, but Brunnhilde also had too soft a heart for a woman who commanded the dead. Perhaps it gave her more appreciation of those she cared for still living. She breathes out quietly and turns from that invisible barrier, after running one slightly annoyed hand against it. She doesn't force through. It wasn't worth the fight. Ambivalent, quiet blue eyes look over Amora for a few more heartbeats.

"You should celebrate with them. We both should. This was a shared victory today and, yes… Good was done. We gave these people peace. Together. Set your worries of a bauble aside and come, drink with me and the people you have *truly* served. See the goodness you can do in this world. Perhaps it shall warm your heart where no precious stones can." Brunnhilde murmurs reassuringly, reaching one arm out to lace her elbow through Amora's. With that, she begins leading them both down to the village. She will stay with the woman. Perhaps they will even have a nice night.

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