1963-09-23 - Amora's No Good Very Bad Blot
Summary: How can storytelling and blessings go so terribly, terribly wrong?
Related: Regale Me A Tale
Theme Song: Adele - Set Fire to the Rain
crystal fandral thor amora rogue 

The sun has set over the golden city of Asgard, and the hearths of those within run red with blood from their sacrifices for a good hunting season. Across the countryside, doors are shuttered now, and meals are set upon tables to celebrate the harvest. Far beyond even these, friends rode the distance out, a small hart taken down, and now, a bonfire begins its crackling, meat on spits settled just above the flames. Mead too is present, but brought within the packs of the horses as well as the tankards with which to drink.

Stars above, the cooling land beneath them… the evening is ready for food, drink and stories.

Thor sits upon the ground, his red cloak about him as he holds a stick with bloodied meat stuck to the end over the fire. "I have missed this, I will admit."


Fandral sits on the ground, not too far away from his crowned prince with a tankard of mead and a look of relaxation on his face as he enjoys a 'family' moment with those closest to him, "Yes…we do not do this often enough." He then flashes the ladies present a smile, "Remember the days of old when we would have these all the time?" Ahh yes, the old days when they played gods, warred with Frost Giants and partied like tomorrow may never come.


Low and behold, the Enchantress managed to drag herself out of the palace for the celebrations once more. A sweeping gown of green, edged in gold hugged her frame. A thick cloak of a matching hue settled on her shoulders, and she pushed back her hood, the fabric settling back on her shoulders. A smile pulled at her lips as she spotted the Crown prince and made her way toward him. A glance was spared partingly for Fandral, but she plopped herself down beside Thor. A golden horn of mead held in her delicate hands that she continued to nurse.

"So, will you regale me with tales of the hunt, darling?" She hitched a golden brow upwards, a grin pulling at her lips. Her magic seemed to pull at her skin, a intrinsic draw of the eye that was once again unmuted.


Somewhere, Crystal managed to find an utterly ordinary dress and cloak. All that effort to find fine clothes, and here she is in…wool? It's nice wool, really, but it's wool all the same, of an utterly unremarkable deep purple color. Between that and the black cloak she wears, she practically blends into the night. Or she would, were it not for the fire-bright glitter of her hair and her pale face as she sits next to Thor, watching him cook the meat with an amused expression.

"Amora," she greets warmly as the Enchantress settles on his other side. "I feel as though I've hardly seen you." Then again, she's been a rare sight herself. "How are you finding your home?"


The token human among nigh immortal company, Scarlett lingers almost perilously close to the bonfire. Long legs folded in a classical lotus position under her hunter green dress might be odd to the Asgardian eye; yoga is strange on Midgard anywhere outside the subcontinent, too. Her silhouette is made all the more dramatic by straight shoulders and spine, firelight rendering her coronet of thin plaits almost animated: living coils saturated to a burnished cascade almost to her waist.

Hands out almost as close as she can safely manage without a cascade of sparks burning her allows a forked stick to braise one particularly sizeable chunk of snow-cow beef to slightly less than still-mooing rare. Deft turns now and then even the surface, and then she reaches out to offer Fandral said stick.

"'Tis a very good time for storytelling, one must admit." A voice of consent for Amora's fine ideas.


"Odin's peace in the Nine Realms comes at a cost, my friend," Thor laughs towards Fandral. "Our boredom. But, at least Muspelheim gave us something in the last year. Not enough to turn our attentions to it, but enough that our boredom was recognized." Ah.. the old days! The meat is checked, or rather, blown upon and a testing bite taken tentatively. Seems cooked enough, and he holds his hand under the drips for Crystal to try. "The mead halls, the stories of battles done, and… I was just telling Lady Crystal about the sacrifices done for us in days past." Days? More like millennia! "The scent would rise to us, even on the battlefields of Svartalfheim." Ah.. those were the days!

Amora's approach gains some attention, and there's a lingering eye as she settles down beside him on that other side. He can feel the magic in her, the draw… she's not muted her ability any, and Thor can feel it like electricity. "Amora…" is said under his breath. He's not completely immune; he just has the benefit of Crystal on the other side of him to help keep … things at bay. "Stories will come when steeped more in mead."

Crystal's presence has been missed as well; he's been the terrible host, and it's only these last few hours that he's been able to tend to his personal responsibilities. "Try this.."

Scarlett is watched, and Thor looks between the Midgardian and Fandral. "Meat and drink. And a lovely young woman to serve it. Life is indeed complete?"


Fandral gives a flirtatious look when Amora looks his way but is by no means insulted when she takes her seat with Thor rather than the single man at the party. He laughs in agreement with Thor's statement, "Yes, Odin's peace is to be blessed." He does not comment on the boredom such things provide, "But I find projects…things to keep me busy even in times of peace." Or beds to warm by the wink given to Thor, "And you my friend must tell your beloved of the brave acts from times past that you have performed." He gives the Midgardians a smile, "If he has not told you…then he is being miserly with his greatness because I have never known a man such as this in battle."


Amora draws her knees up close, one arm bent and balanced to prop her chin up as she angled her gaze from Thor, to Crystal and back again. The parting flirtation from Fandral earning little more than a flicker of a glance. At least at present. "Oh yes, well, Muspelheim shouldn't be troubling us further. Though apparently the Jotuns wish to test their luck too in Midgard, perhaps you will not be bored for long, Thunderer." She smirked, full lips pulling into a wicked smile.

Oh yes. She was well aware that Thor and every red-blooded male in the area eyed her figure. But it seemed only the Crown Prince earned her interest at present. Her gaze practically burning with its own heat as she returned his brief stare.

Then her attention shifted away from the golden haired god, toward the mortal Princess beside him. "I have been about as I find my amusement. I find it boring to stay in one place overly long. It seems that you've had little need of me though, which is in and of itself a good thing. I would warn you though, that my sister has returned to Asgard. Pay heed not to let her cross your path if possible." Amora inclined her head toward Scarlett and Fandral briefly.

"Perhaps you might tell of your heroics in Muspell? No, Scarlett was present there.. Hmm.."


Crystal quirks a brow at Amora's warning, curious. If Amora thinks her sister is dangerous? That's certainly something to keep in mind. But Thor is offering meat, and it's been a busy day, leaving her hungry enough to try it. After a moment of back and forth, reaching for the meat with two fingers only to catch herself, she relents with a laugh and leans forward to delicately bite a piece from the stick, a hand covering her mouth afterwards.

"It's very good," she says from behind her hand, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile to Fandral's boasting. "Tales of glory are easy to tell, my lord. Tell me a tale of lessons learned. Preferably with a side of laughter."


Reference to Svartalfheim draws a curious look back over the slope of Scarlett's firm shoulder, and she reaches down to the plate laden by raw meat. Cooking in front of a roaring fire fed on the bones of slaughtered animals and trees old when Egypt was in its heyday is truthfully not that different from a grill in Greenwich Village. Everything is a matter of scale. "Someone hand me a skewer, please? This next piece may be a bit too large for the branch I have. Do share of whatever would please you to retell, for there are so many good stories that we might hear."

Feed the flames, feed the tongue-wagging going on around her. Her steady motions have a certain eloquent quality conducted through the deliberate roll of her wrist, the way she spears two pronged ends into a bloody slab of raw meat. Even that fed as a sacrificial offering holds its certain quality.

"Hail to thee, Father, hail, ye Bors' son;
Hail, Mother, daughter of Fulla.
With proud eyes look on them all,
And grant to those sitting here victory.
You who dwell on Hlidskjalf,
Wisest among the wise, lover of riddles,
Good counsellor, accept from us
Gifts and goodly intentions in this life."

It's an old prayer, that, an ancient song penned by some unknown skald in ages past, perhaps repeated from the Asgardian. But pray it she does in a low, quiet murmur, allowing the blood to tumble away into the hungry flames, consumed and released anew.


"And that is why it is a good thing to keep Midgard under your watch. They still seek to fight amongst themselves, even if they have grown in other ways." Thor holds the stick carefully so Crystal can take from it even as he's still addressing Fandral. "It is not for me to make my claims, brother, but for others to do it for me." He grins at his sword brother and looks to the gathered and begins to laugh, "There was a giantess, yes.. and Fandral had found himself in a particularly unique situation. It seems she was rather taken by him, yet.."

The story fades slightly as the warning is given across him, and it really is all Thor can do not to keep looking back at Amora. It's a draw, and each time he does, he pulls himself away to look at the ground, the fire, the meat in hand, and the mead. His jaw tenses as he looks back again; something said that strikes through the fog that the Enchantress is creating in his head. "Jotuns.. and Midgard? What?"

Thor looks at Fandral before he's back to Crystal. "Her sister can be difficult. Lorelei. I shan't let anything come of it.. you have my word."

Still, Amora is making things a touch difficult, and slowly Thor rises from his spot on the ground, apologies murmured. "Lessons are hard learned in my case, Crystalia. It usually requires much violence, and much head smashing for it to sink in."

On his feet, Thor paces near the other side of the bonfire now, and he catches the prayer to the All-Father. He looks up into the starred sky and takes a deep breath, one hand pulling at his face before he brings it back,

"Amora, stop it."


Fandral laughs deeply at the mention of the giantess and her 'kidnapping' of Fandral. He continues the story to entertain Crystalia and Scarlett who may not have heard the tale, "I was captured…" He points over to Thor, "As a bargaining piece against this one here. And while Thor and our cadre tore into the dungeons to rescue me, they found me not present." He takes a sip of his drink and continues, "Well…it seems her ladyship didn't wish me for torture but for other things." He makes a suggestive look that is sure to bring laughs, "And I did have to beg my friends to hold off the rescue so I didn't insult her by leaving her bed too soon."

Fandral loses his laughing look as Thor's discomfort becomes more present. He glances between the two of them, giving Amora a more pointed look as if to say silently if she wishes to play there is a man here willing to be a distraction. He then frowns as there is mention of Jotun in Midgard, "Whatever are they doing there?" He is not happy and despite his want to make the celebration light, Thor's protest is noted and now Amora is going to get a soothing aura from Fandral as he seeks to draw her away from baiting his prince.


A gust of a breath followed as the tale weaves on, but she had fallen silent, having delivered her warning to the Princess. Yet as Thor and Fandral both question the presence of Jotuns on Midgard Amora leans forward, taking a long drag of the mead in her cup. It seems that she hadn't once set down a goblet since her return to the eternal realm. And tonight was no exception.

"I know not what they sought there, merely that they had come. I was there when the Sorcerer Supreme was patching the veils they ripped when they came.." Her voice trailed off as Thor rose, and her features darkened as he called on her to stop it.

Her lips thinned and she ripped her gaze away from him, her fingers twitching against the mead cup- a flexing of her knuckles and digits that pulled her magic around herself tight once more. Her beauty, her enrapturing presence and draw dimmed to a dull torrent. Though it did nothing to dampen the natural beauty gifted to her.

There were no further words from her, and she merely filled the space with nursing her mead.


"Ah, the poor giantess," Crystal laughs to Fandral. "To have but a taste of heaven, only to have it stolen from her grasp." She winks at the warrior, reaching for a stick of her own to try her hand at the roasting meat. As Thor rises, she watches him, a flicker of concern stifled until he speaks for its cause. Amora.

Her gaze remains on the fire, intent, perhaps, on avoiding a confrontation. Or perhaps preparing for something else. The longer she watches the fire, the more her eyes glow, until they too seem wreathed in flame. With a wave of her hand, figures of flame rise from the fire itself in the shape of a giantess and Fandral. Really, Fandral even has a dashing little blue goatee. "How did you reach the rescue party?" she asks, smile faint.


The fire hisses and crackles, devouring the stick and the outer layer of the meat. It chars the edges, toughening up the exterior. Some kind of parable might be discovered from such acts of transformation, chemical reactions performed in front of Scarlett's faintly narrowed eyes. A smile that might wish to dawn when Fandral has the task of courting a giantess never sees the light of day for the discriminating turmoil wired between Amora and Crystal. Thin lines radiate between her eyebrows, curbing any response for the moment.

The bohemian glances up to the pale Inhuman royal, volumes of regret and apology burning in the submerged verdant fires of her eyes.

"I have not the hubris to presume they targeted me." She speaks to all and none. "Coincidence, perhaps, Prince Hrimhari came upon the jotun not long after that marauder happened through Central Park."


Thor takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, allowing Fandral his story and that moment of glory, such as it was. He takes a swallow of his mead, two, and soon enough, the tankard is emptied. Drink, the fire, the story, and word of Jotuns on Midgard.

"Why wasn't this mentioned before? Jotuns on Midgard." Thor doesn't sound very happy about this, and his shoulders hunch as he begins pacing, or more like, his feet are taking him towards the horses and more mead. "He told me about them in that… Limbo, but on Midgard itself.." There's a moment of pause before, "Fandral, whether my Father wills it or not, we may see battle before this month is done." Grim, absolutely. Resolute? Yes. Then Scarlett continues, and Thor stares at her before he looks to the others. "Exactly why am I only hearing of this now? Did no one think that I might have use of this information?"

The Prince looks to Crystal once more, and his jaw twitches. He looks apologetic, but once again, he simply has no control of where this is headed or what his part will eventually be. Things must be done for Midgard. "This was supposed to be a pleasant evening. You did at least get Fandral's likeness in the flames."

Now, however, Thor addresses the rest; those professing knowledge of the Jotun. "Here, on the eve of the meeting with my Father.. does he know of this? Or would you rather that he surprise me and leave me speechless to the information?" Of course Odin knows about it all, right? "As it is, I know nothing of it but the barest of information. One? Many? Was it equipped for war? Was it a scout?" This..

"Fandral, once we are finished with court, we will return to Midgard and see what we can discover before we go to Jotunheim. This will stop." Of course, the 'we' in this is the Warriors Three and quite probably Sif.


"My sword is your Thor if you have need of it," Fandral tells his prince and lightly fingers the sword at his side at the thought of Jotuns being in Midgard and then goes on to explain that he was just as in the dark about their presence as Thor, "I did not hear of any tales of Jotun. If I had, I would have brought it too you immediately."

Fandral turns his attention back to Crystalia, giving her an appreciative look at her skill, "My goatee, they rarely get it's flair correctly." He light fingers the real one, "But you have brought it to light. I applaud your skill with the flame."

Then when Thor mentions they will go back to Midgard after court, he once again nods to his prince in agreement, "Their presence in Midgard can not be left to happen again." He does not play god there anymore but Midgard holds a special place and the Jotuns are a big danger.


A curl of her lips followed Thor's questions on the Jotun and she shot him a look over the golden horn in her hand that never seemed to need a refill. "You spoke with the Sorcerer Supreme, I thought he'd told you, my prince." She muttered, flames reflected in her gaze as she watched him from o'er the bonfire. The distance he had put between them presented in her address as much as in her gaze. She doesn't reach for meat, nor does she move from her spot. For all her stillness her voice is still soft but clear enough to carry over the crackle of the fire.

Then she was looking away from him, sharp retorts on her tongue swallowed as they always were in regards to the golden Prince. Instead she bows her head, turning away from the sight of him in the fire's flickering light, to stare down at the ground beside her. A hand reached out, a manicured finger dipping into the chilled soil there and slowly, with an idle motion.. sketched several lines in the dirt.

Runes were drawn, and erased before they came to fruition, but none were pleasant. Runes of curses for everything from the pox to famine were shaped and erased beneath her fingers. Well on her way to getting drunk already, Amora didn't seem to lose the perfect shape of each line regardless..


Crystal lets the flames fade away as the conversation still turns to darker things, though there's a small smile for Fandral. More talk of war, of things said and unsaid. She watches her meat for a long moment, mulling over words, before she speaks up softly. "Thor. If you wish to stay informed of events in the way that a prince should be, then…I'm sorry, your highness, but in order for a ruler to be informed of events, they must be able to be found. Not knowing things is a side effect of choosing to avoid your duties here. But you've come home now. Soon, you'll make peace with your father. What has happened in the past isn't important. What you choose to do next is." Hopefully Odin has a bird nearby to catch that lecture.


Amora best appreciate what sacrifice the redheaded lamb is making for her, an altar approached one deliberate step at a time. "I am sorry, my lord," and contrition very much is present in the apology audible for anyone who wishes to sift through her words for a gem of insight. "Had I known Hrimhari — or the Sorcerer Supreme — lacked the opportunity to speak of it, I would have said something far earlier."

Without missing much of a beat in the vein of Crystal's guidance, Scarlett asks, "How may I make amends?"

She doesn't mince words. "One emerged, unarmed, not armoured as Muspelheim's scouting parties. I detected no disturbance nearby." Scarlett's eyes dim in deeper thought. She rounds off the sentences with a certain amount of polish. "It made the ground shake heavily and used a fallen tree as a weapon at one point. The Prince of Wolves dispatched it after a short, nasty fight. It dissolved into clay, mud, and boulders. I have a sample, somewhere. I will show you the route it took, what damage it did cannot be overgrown unless Doctor Strange repaired the wounds." Fear the age of science, come to Midgard.

Better for the Midgardner to focus on that rather than the perplexing runes, struggling to parse their meanings and revolting when she might guess.


"He is not mine to command, Amora. He does not have a duty to inform me of anything unless there is cause." Thor's tones are even as he makes the grand attempt not to lose his temper in it. "I asked you specifically what there was that you had not yet told me. And this.. this thing of the greatest importance you assume that someone else did and so your duty was dispatched and done? Amora, my Father was right. Maybe you should remain on Midgard for a little longer, out and away from Asgard as you seem to have forgotten what your duties and loyalties are. And here I thought you'd really changed."

Thor takes a deep breath and a deeper draught of the mead from his newly poured tankard, and he nods to Fandral. "Many thanks, Fandral. There was no doubt in my mind that you would stand with me in this time." He shakes his head and begins the pacing once again.

It's Crystal's words that bring him up short, and he stares at her for a long moment before he hangs his head, turning it to the side as Scarlett gives him the rest of the information. "Unarmed and unarmored."


Fandral is silent, deadly silent as he listens to the details behind the Jotuns visit. The censor that is given to Amora does bring a frown and he tries to play the diplomat between the injured parties, "I am sure there was no intended slight Thor. If any dereliction of duty was done, it was from trusting others to be more diligent." The gentle aura of peace is there with Fandral, trying to make sure the celebration doesn't fall to shambles, "I am sure Amora did not mean to keep this from you."

He then pauses as Crystalia makes her statement on Thor's choice to be in Midgard and wisely does not get in the middle of that. Instead he drinks his mead and waits to see how everyone reacts. There is a glance paid to Scarlett as her friend makes a small wave with her beloved. But he keeps his words to himself.


Thor's words drew a sharp inhale from the Enchantress, and she was on her feet before he finished speaking. Whatever cursed rune that she had been sketching was left to stand, interrupted as she had been. Her anger clogged her throat as she glared at him. One hand clutched the golden horn so hard the metal bent beneath her fingers. Mead went straight to her head with the movement, but the venom that laced her spine held her straight. She gritted her teeth and struggled to contain the words that leapt to her lips—the effort leaving her breathing hard as she stood there trembling, tears in her eyes.

Her rage so blindingly her that she pulled with the mental muscle that was her magic, the only comfort she ever reliably had. But there was less than there should be—Odin still holding the better part of her strength in hand.

So as she pulled on that force, pulled hard with all her emotions choking her, she pulled on the ritual magic that still clouded the air. The magic intended for blessings of a good harvest, of plenty and a forgiving winter twisted beneath her anger. Perhaps she knew what she was doing, or perhaps she did not, as she stood there trembling and backlit with the rune for her curse eating up the magic she held.

"I have done /everything/ you have asked of me. To my detriment, Odinson." She hissed, "You have used me ill and now spit foul lies at my personage, who has /only/ ever been loyal to you and your causes. Mark me," Her voice drew darker— her features twisted into something terrible. And she was not the Enchantress, but the Witch of Asgard. The strongest practitioner of magic currently not in the dungeons, save the All-father himself, in Asgard.


ROLL: Rogue +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 9


"Thor." Crystal's voice is a little sharper, chiding, as the prince takes Amora to task. Abandoning her meat to the flames, she pushes up from the ground to step to his side. When the prince is gentle, she's ever cautious of him, giving him his space, watching rather than listening. But now, when his temper threatens, she's bolder, reaching a hand for his shoulder as she steps between him and Amora, the other held out toward the Enchantress as though she could stay her.

"He is wrong, and he will apologize," she says quickly to the woman, clearly the bigger threat right now. "Thor. Look at me. Your friends, your kingdom, your duties. You've been away, and it's all been scattered. You cannot rage at others for not knowing what you do and do not know, or you will find yourself without the people who care the most about you. Please." Her features soften as she takes a step closer. "Please apologize. We'll work through this together."


Two conjunctions overlap, gods raging, magic torn free its moorings. Scarlett reacts on that sharpest feminine weapon, intuition. As Amora chokes in inebriated fury, the mortal shifts onto her knees, one foot planted to the ground. At the same time partitioned leather splits over her fingers, two bands loosened. A brief look her way, if anyone bothers, betrays purpose, determination, engraved upon her expression in the firelight. She strikes in flight when affronted passion scores the Enchantress' accusations, be they right or wrong.

Her arms wrap around the Asgardian goddess, one around the waist and the other encircling her clavicle. Her words might be lost, whispered then: "Please trust me." Then the Midgardner pours every ounce of energy she has into rocketing them both high into the starry night sky at speeds throwing out a sonic boom to rattle the ground. It's not a surefire way to halt the conflict nor guaranteed with the Thunderer on the ground.


Thor doesn't only control the weather on Midgard; he's got it pretty much everywhere he goes. The clouds rumble in and there is no question as to the cause of the thunder and the streaks of lightning that dance from cloud to cloud. Fandral is pretty good in terms of playing the peacemaker, but there is one quality that the Royal family does share-

Sheer stubbornness. Odin has it. Loki has it. Thor has it.

Amora's 'rising to her full height', that is, her potential here on Asgard is remarkable, but it is met with a lightning strike not too far from where the bonfire is lit, where the flames dance. "Do not threaten me…" The pulling in of magic no doubt alerts Odin as he undoubtedly feels the tug of magic brewing.. and it would be easy to sense the darkening clouds out in the distance.

It's Crystal's movement to put herself between them fights through that angry haze he's got, and for a moment he simply stands there.. blinking. Look at me. He shakes his head, his jaw setting, "There is nothing…"

In that next moment, there is.. the launching of Scarlett and Amora into the air. Only moments later, a dark shape on the wing flies high above.. followed by a second. As the shadows dip and dive, they're gone in the next moment, a single CAW! on the wind.

Thor looks at the fire, Fandral, and finally at Crystal. There, he pauses before he murmurs, "Forgive me.." and he takes the couple of steps towards his horse. Jumping up and swinging his leg over the back, he settles into the saddle. "Protect her, Fandral," and he reins the horse off and back towards the palace (not even following the women!).


Fandral watches the exchange play out between his prince and the Enchantress, knowing that there are limitations to him being able to bring peace. But then Scarlett grabs the object of Thor's anger and just takes off. The normally unflappable man's jaw drops as the woman takes off into the sky, "Scarlett…" What have you done, is left unsaid but implied. Then Thor is grabbing a horse and taking off. Fandral calls to the wind, "As you wish…" As his prince orders him to protect Crystalia. He waits till the dust settles and then turns to the woman, offering his arm, "Would you like to dance or should we return to the palace?" The celebration doesn't have to end for everyone after all.


Crystal's eyes narrow as Thor rides off, watching him. But then, at least he and Amora didn't end up actually fighting? And there go his father's spies. Perhaps one success may come from this. She takes a deep breath, forcing it out slowly before she looks back to Fandral, arms crossed over her chest. "What, exactly, does he think you're going to protect me from?" she grumbles. "Honestly, the two of them. I'm starting to empathize with his parents. He should be worried about that."


"Amora, stop." The air streaming around them might obliterate the words, and Scarlett shouts into the face of the wind for all the good it does. Perhaps it will. Maybe it cannot. But here the wind has ears, and those ears go to the All-Father or his All-Angry son. "Please, you have to stop! I don't want you — anyone — hurt!"

A vicious spiral midair spindles them around in a rapid roll that would jinx a Sidewinder missile, pulling gravity and offering an unheralded view of Asgard. A mere human might pass out. Her arms never loosen their sure embrace, though, for all she races against Mani and Hrimfaxi. "Don't do this, lady." Golden hair and fiery braids stream against the almost invisible meteor threading the night. Stars streak by, spilled wine and white diamonds, a blur of fire.

If the Enchantress seems at all ready to invoke that dreadful power, a mere shift of a fingertip evokes the curse riding in Scarlett's very DNA.

So begins Amora's no good, very bad blot.


"Considering the nature of his departure, I'm afraid Thor wasn't able to brief me on the matter," Fandral tells her with regret, "But I am sure it is not a reflection on your skill with the flame. You strike me as a woman capable of fighting her own battles." He gives her a playful wink, "If anything, you might be rescuing me some time." But there are matters to be scene to, "But I am blessed that His Highness offers me the honor of being your guard." Perhaps his smooth, silver tongue will mitigate any anger Crystalia has over his abandonment.


A snarl twists Amora's features as she struggled against Scarlett's grip on her with a look hot with rage. She angled her gaze downwards toward where the Odinson had stood when she'd last touched ground. Her hair whipping around them as sickly green magic rose and spun around them, her fingers curled like claws in the sky that whipped by them at dizzying speed. As thunder crashed and lightning struck the air hummed with unused power.

"Why not?" Amora screamed, "I shall be punished as if I did! And he deserves it. He deserves to feel my /pain/. He used me and threw me away. No one does that to me! No one!"

Even as tears pulled from her eyes, it was completely from the speed and sting of the wind that whipped up around them.

Separated as she was from the power source and the rune engraved on the ground, it was difficult to judge if she was actively trying to upkeep the spell to unleash it or only holding it in, poised on the knife's edge. Ready to unleash a blight upon the season and the land the holiday was meant to bless.


"Fire isn't the only thing I can command." Crystal wrinkles her nose, moving back to her abandoned stick to find the meat charred to ash. "There's air as well. And water. Which, in combination, allows me to play with electricity. My own lightning. And then there's earth…" Which is when she looks to the ground, finally noticing the runes drawn there with a slow frown. "Fandral…Should those be there?" she asks, pointing toward them.


Fandral looks down at the earth where Amora had been standing and finally notices the runes that the Enchantress was working on. He frowns at them and then grumbles, "This can not be good." In order to protect his charge. He sacrifices his tankard of mead by pouring it on the runes to try to disrupt them knowing it might backfire on him. He does keep his body between Crystalia and the runes so if there is backlash, it's against him.


Arguments on the wing ricochet across the autumn sky, the screams churning across the ten thousand foot mark in the stratosphere and ascending as Scarlett pirouettes them upwards. The redhead splays her fingers across the sorceress' hip to assure she cannot fall. Cloud-dancing is nothing to this searing burn tracing a Norse seal of knotwork, complete with stomach-flipping backbends to continuously throw off Amora's sense of direction and gravity. Those reversals take on an increasingly erratic and unpredictable course, following whims known only to her.

"Or be killed if you do. I care about you, we care about you. He hurt you, yes!" she cries back. "But Asgard did nothing to wrong you. Revenge like this isn't worth it. Don't follow Lorelei or Karnilla, be better than them!"

The holy day, the prayers, all stand to be warped by a twist in the distaff. One touch stands to rip it all away into a vessel unprepared for what that means.


Two things happen at the same time. Amora drags the power of the ritual upwards, pulling it up into the sky in a swirl of foul green and blighted anger. Her hair whipping in her face as they spun and hurled through the air in a fashion that made the already (very) drunk Enchantress even more disoriented. Unable to pinpoint the focus of her anger, her rage and her pain further brought howls of frustration from her. "Then drop me and end me. They care not for me! No one does! The court /hates/ me. I am nothing to them. So shall—"

While below, Fandral disrupts the runes drawn in the dirt with mead. The magical illumined runes fizz with a pop and smell of rancid flesh and fruit. Of rot and decay. Smoke drifting upwards in lazy puffs that seemed oddly inane for the force of the spell powering it..

The magic doesn't reverberate back at Fandral or Crystal either. Rather, the caster. Amora had drawn the bulk of the power toward her, and now, it no longer held the rigid orders as drawn in the dirt. While there was plenty of natural thunder around, there was a deeper noise not unlike it that rumbled across the area.

A scream peeled from her lips as the magic folded in on the Enchantress and doubled her over in the mortal's arm. The ill intent, the rage, the sorrow, the pain encompassed her. And she went limp in Scarlett's arms.


"Fandral, wait, I can-" Or he can sacrifice alcohol to the goddess of alcohol-fueled bad decisions. That works too. Crystal looks upward as they start to smoke, then summons a small funnel of air to corral them and drive them further up into the air. Just in case they're going to do something to those on the ground. "I'm not certain if it's a good thing you're all practically immortal, lest you kill each other, or if you all but kill each other because you're practically immortal," she sighs.


"Oh you had a better idea?" Fandral asks Crystalia with a rueful look, "I am sorry, I was only trying to disrupt the spell." He then glances up at the sky with a dark look, "It seems we might have caught it in time but I will have to inform All-Father and Thor of Amora's transgression on the celebration. He doesn't look thrilled at the task but duty is duty, "And sadly, we tend to play with each other's lives far more than we should." There's a glance at the sky and he sends word on the wind to Amora, "I would have been yours if you wished my dear." He would have given her face instead of this confrontation that now brews, "Loki is not going to like this." And that worries Fandral as well."


Amora doubling forward brings Scarlett forward with her, arms tightening instinctively to prevent their separation. They rush towards the ground in a dizzying arc until she pulls into another gentler spiral that visibly streaks towards the great palace of the All-Father, an infinitesimally small speck against the clouded sky. Not that the redheaded mortal intends to just blitz up to the highest point, intending to land before the entrance.

If they look hard enough, the two on the ground can probably trace the path one of them chooses.


"I think there will be many who won't like it," Crystal grimaces. "But I suppose it means that meeting the All-Father won't be boring." She wraps her cloak a little more tightly around herself, looking toward the palace. "Speaking of which, I should get some sleep. Walk with me back to the palace?" she requests, holding out an arm.

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