1963-09-28 - Day One Search
Summary: Amora goes searching for the implement that Karnilla used on her. She runs into Daimon and then Sif comes by to her 'teacher'.
Related: http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-09-27-heartless-is-next-to-godless
Theme Song: Halsey- Gasoline
amora daimon sif 

The Empyrean has a reputation among the sorcerous community, as a place of indulgence, of leisure, but also of safety. Here, one can pursue the arts without worry about alignment or morality, without facing the conflicts of being judged. Daimon Hellstrom, it says, judges no one and nothing - he'll inform you that's someone else's job.

Tonight, Hellstrom remains in the lounge, listening to Tchaikovsky on the record player, sipping a goblet of his favored sangria. The servants in the place all wear the same blank masks, with even their eyes hidden, just obscured white. One such approaches him, "A guest, my Lord, a lady of some quality. She appears quite powerful."

Daimon smiles and nods, "Send her in, Mephistopheles."


Amora had been stuck on Midgard before in ages past, but never to the extreme point that she found herself stranded now. The Norn Queen's magic still bound her powers taut, and the enchantments that held her bound to the two-day time span clung to her skin and hair. A reek that continued to drive her mad—as if the lack of a beat in her chest was the least of her worries or concerns.

Her usual avenues of funding, of aid, were utterly inappropriate given the nature of what had happened in Asgard's court and she found herself suddenly and for once, without any allies of note. She could not, nay dared not, ask after a single Prince of Asgardmuch less attempt to seek them out. She knew where Lokiwhere Louis King's alliances had been built and so she dared to go beyond in her scrying for places of power and magic.

So she found herself lingering about the club she had not visited on her previous exile to Midgard's realm.

Though her magic was lower than it had been in thousands of years, almost to the point of her own living memory, she was still more than capable of twisting a spell or two for her appearance to be more of a usual mortal to grace the city.

As a result she wore a surprisingly modern outfit of a lime green turtle-neck, clasped around the waist with a golden belt and a short white shirt and matching boots. She blended in remarkably well compared to her kin, and as a result was a bit surprised that she was escorted through the club toward management. Still, a confident smirk painted her fully lips as she practically sashayed into the room. "Hello.." She offered with a flutter of her eyelashes.


Daimon's senses, of course, have been finely honed, acute and terrifying in their own way. To Amora, she can likely see the aura that lingers upon him, the resonant overflow of his Darksoul like a cloak of ebon that wraps around his spirit.

Embers flare in his eyes as he looks over the modernized goddess. He can sense, at least, that she is Asgardian - he has spent too much time around Sif, attuning himself to her particular resonance, not to recognize that dimensional signature in the enchantments upon her.

"Greetings," he says, offering a bow. "Daimon Hellstrom, Son of Satan, at your service, milady," he says, approaching and, if allowed, taking her hand to kiss, "Dare I ask what circumstance might bring such a vision to my door? Or does so doing tempt fate itself?"


A glittering flirtatious smile remains on her painted lips, a curving smile offered as she offers her hand to him more than allows him to take it. She rolls her shoulders back, golden hair cascading over her back as a result as she offered a dip of her chin in response.

"Amora, though here on Midgard I have gone by a great many names. Helen Eve most recently. Though I suppose that name is lost to me as of yet in terms of usefulness." She murmured, her voice the soft promise of all sinuous things, though it lacks any magical influence behind it. Her smile, nor the inflection of her voice seem to match the emotion in her eyes—which is a softly cold and expressionless green.

"I have various needs, but I wished to ask if I might have a chance to look into some books. I have recently seen an artifact of some ancient make and have no sense for what it was. As I'm quite.. well," Her brows rose and fell, and she made a softly amused sound.

"I am quite older than I appear, I found it odd to have seen something I have never heard of its like before."


Daimon smiles, "Most Asgardians are older than they appear in my limited experience," he says, although he doesn't divulge his relationship with Sif or its nature. Discretion, after all, is the better part of valor. "Books we have in abundance," he says.

"Tell me more about this artifact. I, after all, have a rather different background, more esoteric perhaps, and I am more familiar with the magics of…Midgard, as you say," he smiles. It also always pays to have more information at one's fingertips.

"I must say, your realm seems to be interacting with our petty mortal world more and more often these days. I wonder if there's something in the air, some disruption. Should we be worried, perhaps? Are there…wolves at the door?" he says with a raised eyebrow.


An amused laugh escapes her and Amora tosses her hair again as she eyed him in surprise. "Aye, Asgardian. Though I did not offer it. You have a good sense about you, my lord. I figured myself quite cleverly subtle here while on Midgard, at least in comparison to others of my realm." She then sighed glancing off to the side in thought, folding her arms.

"The item in question is sliver, slender, a staff by all purposes, but at the end it had a sharp point. Much like a spear. It wielded a cold magic. Unlike those in other realms associated with the cold." She murmured. "I've never seen nor heard of an item with power of that description. Though staffs are a dime a dozen as the mortals like to say."

She paused, and tilted her head to the side in quiet contemplation for a moment. "As far as Midgard? Who can say. Things once forgotten are awakening. Perhaps it is as the Wyrd sisters have promised, and Ragnarok is afoot. Or perhaps it is merely the second coming of the ancients stirring themselves from their slumber. Who can I say? I am not a seeress, it is not my field of study."


Daimon smiles, "Clever I am, madame, and not like to pretend otherwise. Tis a subtle matter, though, and were I not quite familiar with certain strands of the Asgardian essence, I might have missed it. I doubt one in ten other sorcerers could have recognized your origin as quickly as I," he says, clearly not lacking for ego.

"A spear, eh? I can think of quite a few spears of note, but none that spring to mind made all of silver. My immediate thought was the Spear of Longinus, also known as the Spear of Destiny, which pierced Christ and soaked in the essence of his all-powerful blood. But, in form, that is but a humble spear of wood and iron," he says.

"Divination, in fact, may be the answer to your problem. There is always an apocalypse or two in the making, in my experience, but there are many ways to end a world, not all of them noticeable," he says. "Where did you encounter this spear, dare I ask?"


Amora sighed, moving to take up a chair that she spotted and settle down into it with a stretching of her arms over her head, her long legs crossing delicately. "Hmm, it was only partly a spear. Which is why I have such an issue with defining its origins. I know it not. I have seen images of the spear you speak of, and it most assuredly did not match. As far as where?" She shook her head, "That I cannot divulge. I can promise it was not of Asgaridan make either. I know my own kin's work well enough. Nor do I /think/ it to be the work of the dwarves. At least none of their work that is known."

She propped her chin up with the flat of her hand, her red lips pursed together in thought. "Oh, the end of the world worries me not. I care little for Midgard, or Asgard in all honesty. If they were destroyed I would shed no tears for them. At least in Ragnarok there's the unfortunate reality that it will all return regardless." She waved her other hand.

"Such a dull end for all. Always so foretold. If you know of any apocalypse elsewhere in the process of turning though, I would say I'd be simply tickled to hear of it occurring."


Daimon can't help but smiles, "Dwarves. Ah, tis truly the stuff of fairy tales, for I was raised a mortal man, even if I am most assuredly not," he says. "Sometimes I'm stricken by the wonder of it all, that I might speak with gods and spirits and fairies," he says. "Most of whom, of course, tend to have a foul opinion of myself due to my…particular heritage," he says.

"Such cynicism, though, to have no attachment to the realm. I admit, I have no deep affection for people either, but the world in which we live, the pleasures at our fingertips…I would be sadder for the loss of Mozart and Sinatra, of French cuisine and Italian suits. Of cuban cigars and long-legged women. These I would mourn, not out of sentiment, but out of sheer selfish desire," he says.

"A spear in part, you say? What, then, would constitute the rest?"


Another shrug and Amora sat up, her chin lifting to eye him up and down with a quirk of her eyebrow. "Oh, darling, I have taken people to bed with a father that's just as poorly thought of. Or at least was in one point in time. Depends on the pantheon." A curve of her lips followed and she glanced around the room idly, her head tilting back as she idly combed nimble fingers through her golden locks.

"I would only see it destroyed if only in as much to take away play things from others and see their toys broken. Would I actively seek it out? No, that is a dangerous thing to consider. But watch? Oh, I would watch as the Nine Realms burned and no longer would I raise a hand to offer so much as a bucket.." She fluttered her eyelashes up at him. Cold green eyes lingering on his figure. There was nothing in her gaze. No hatred. No anger. Nothing. Just a vast, yawning, emptiness.

"As for the artifact… Well, the top half.." She closed her eyes in thought, and gestured with her finger before her in a curving loop. "It curved about, it looked almost like what you'd consider a magic staff. But it was simply more. Again. Tis a poor description. But I had planned to seek your books first and foremost.."


Daimon raises an eyebrow, "Well, it's clear that the tendency towards altruism that seems so widely spread around this fair city hasn't infected you, at the very least, milady," he says with a laugh. "Rarely have I heard such indifference so plainly stated, but it's a position I can certainly admire. For similar reasons, I tend to keep myself neutral, beyond conflicts where I have a more personal stake," he says. "Voyeurism seems to be a vice you and I share alike and I would likely enjoy the view right alongside you, glass of wine in hand," he says.

"Please, consult my study as you see fit," he says, gesturing towards a nearby door. "Even I haven't perused all the tomes - many are on loan from other magicians and occultists, in an attempt to create a shared reservoir of knowledge. Not a lending library, though - any attempt to remove an item would be…unwise," he says with a smirk. "And I can send some feelers out amongst my own contacts. I know many in the world of relics and artifacts that might have some insight."


A brilliant grin that had clearly felled empires and seen Kings rise and fall, mostly at her feet, followed his comment on wine. "Oh, I do like you, darling. I have a great, many, vices. Honestly, I think I have very few to no virtues.. Unless you count beauty and a skill for magic. But I don't think that's what most people would count as a virtue." She rose, gaze raking over him again.

"Thank you for the use of the library, and the warning in regards to removing the tomes therein. I should have no issue with such a decree. There's no point in my taking aught from here." She gestured around them with a wave of her hand.

"As far as feelers.. It would be most unwise. My intent is to not broadcast that this item is even being looked for. I try the Wyrd sisters luck as it stands in my asking." Then she shrugged, a rise and fall of her shoulders as she came to stand before him. "Anything else?"


The entrance was grand of a sorts. Immediately there was a slight little commotion, words heard in the background that utter Korean, and BBQ, and now. One could only guess who that was.

Sif emerges from the throes of the entrance, dressed in usual garb. Armor, headgear, shield and a sword. Apparently her brief time and now stay upon Midgard did nothing new for the need to dress as a normal mortal. There would sure to be word of her appearance on the street; maybe whispers of a woman who walked right off a set of a movie and into the club to enjoy the proclivities it provides. Let's just go with that, shall we?

"I have returned." She announces, as if she held a place among those who carried magic, though with a cursory glance spots the two among whomever decides to remain here, and eyes narrow faintly, then ease as her shoulders slump from her proud stance. "I did not expect to see you here."


Daimon rises from his seat, about to respond to Amora when Sif suddenly makes her appearance, "Sif," he says with a broad smile, "Ah, I see the two of you are already acquainted. The lady here came seeking a bit of magical lore. And, well, I have the best library in town," he says. Strange's might be better, technically speaking, but Daimon isn't likely to give credit that no one has claimed.

"I am pleased to see you returned. You were very hard to reach whilst you were travelling," he says, "But I am pleased to have my favorite student back in arm's reach," he says.


Amora turned on her heels, a smooth motion as she stared at Sif in faint surprise. A smile curled at the edges of her lips as she moved toward the warrior woman, a hand settling on her hips before she came to a halt. "I had no expectations myself, but fear not.. my lone sword. The one and only that dared to offer what meager comfort there was.." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

"All else turned away. All else abandoned. Centuries and eons.. turned away.." She raised her hands up in a shrug and her smile widened.

"But, ah, how utterly my fault that no line of Bor's can suffer a woman her voice. But that is not what you wish to know. Is it? I have a notion, that you'd know why my presence is here.. when I was so kindly turned over to the gentle hand of the Norn-Queen… No?" A golden brow hitched upwards.

"You may steady yourself, for I am not long for this realm. Nor am I here without such a guiding hand.."

And then she was laughing as she glanced between Daimon and Sif, stepping back to view both parties in question. "Oh dear, I had no idea you'd know each other.. But it does explain how you were so quick to guess my guise. How lovely to have one mystery solved."


Sif's hand immediately rises, though Daimon was already upon his feet and there was no need for her to halt his standing. "We are very acquainted," she answers the man. "Though how much is left to be.." She quiets down once Amora approaches, Sif wouldn't dare show an understanding emotion or a look of sorrow in Amora's demise. The truth of her entire feelings on the condemnation was only spoken through the ear of one to another. A pledge of allegiance, yet now her face carries a mask as if it didn't happen at all. As if nothing happened at all to begin with.

"Amora.." Sif murmurs, taking a step forward. "I do not know why you are here. Yet I find myself curious and wishing that I -do- know." Her words were cautious, carefully spoken, though one eyebrow lifts, wary.

Glancing from Daimon to Amora, she quickly explained. "Upon the portal that so rudely dumped me here, Prince Daimon came to my aid. I have forcefully tuned him to my employ where he is to teach me the ways of this realm." And.. there goes that uncomfortable look. "Perhaps I should have not, if he so guesses us easily." She clears her throat then, her armored hand lifting in a slight wave. "But please. If business is to conclude then allow it. I am waiting for my bar-bee-cute."


Daimon raises a hand softly, "Worry not, I'll not spread how to identify Asgardians beyond my own knowledge. I may be trying to spread magical knowledge with this place, but I understand the importance of discretion," he says.

He can sense the tension between the two women, not that it takes a great radar to do as much. He tries to ease it, however, snapping his fingers for Mephistopheles, 'Bring the Lady Sif something to drink. And prepare the rack of ribs we've been saving for her. I'm growing peckish myself. Would you care to partake…Amora, was it?" he says.

"After all, research and learning are so much better done with a full stomach."


Amora reached out to try to settle both arms around Sif in a loose embrace over the warrior's pauldroned shoulders. Her golden hair streaming behind her in a loose halo of light around an otherwise pale complexion and an oddly blank expression. She almost looked doll-like. Her eyes resembled green glass than any true window to a soul, for if a soul was supposed to be present, some wisp of emotion? It was empty. Blank.

"I am not long for this realm.. I know not why I found myself here.. If you figure it out, will you tell me? I am quite used to my questions and words being ignored these days. 'Tis an odd feeling indeed, precious Lady Sif. Do me the greatest of all favors, and speak not to others of my presence, won't you please? I am chipped cup. A breeze may yet prove damaging." She untwined her arms, leaning back as her gaze shifted toward Daimon and back toward Sif.

"If you break me …I do not stop working, if you touch me..I may be snared, yet if you if you lose me..nothing will matter." She smiled then, and waved a hand to the offer of food.

"No, thank you, darling.." A smile glimmered into existence there on her lips, like a mask sliding into place that had been forgotten about briefly.


"And with that discretion comes an identity. Have you made progress, Instructor." T'was almost like a demand, where a question would be put, a down talking of one to another even though he was regarded a Prince in his own right. Once the decree for the food was made, that puts Lady Sif at an easier keel, a grin alighting her face yet turned to one of surprise as Amora leans forward to assault her with a hug that she never, ever saw coming. And it was.. oddly enough.. a relief.

Her hands lift to curl lightly around Amora's back as if she were to break her if she's hugged too tight. Though the berserkers incantation was one to damage and fell the very Asgard that she claims to love and promptly left there after, a slow, sorrowful shadow crosses Sif's face. It was an odd feeling.. as Amora had said. "I will tell you." She quietly speaks. "May chance we find recognition in each other once answers are revealed." Sif too, felt uncommon, unbelonging, lonely and cast out. Though it was clear if it was her own doing or not.

As women who never matter, the embrace was held for a second longer, tightly, and pulled away thereafter with a slight little sigh and a smile to air the sorrow. Though could Sif feel it? The absence of emotion? Of heart? She wishes that very thing for herself.

"You are wrong." Sif says, confident. "And you will partake of this meat before you partake of this world. The flavor will be a memory. Something to look upon and smile due to its simplistic preparation?" Sif was already moving away from them to remove her sword and shield. "It is insisted and may come as a show of force, Lady Amora. Eat. Try. Before our lights are willfully ended."


Daimon watches the interaction between the two women carefully, like a pair of porcupines trying to embrace one another. He could only imagine how much history lay there, for the Asgardians were immortal. They might have had a thousand years of enmity or a thousand years of love. They might have had both.

"I assure you, the food in question is particularly sublime, a concoction of the south here in this region of the world. Spicy, tangy and most assuredly meaty," he says. "I do enjoy dining on flesh. And I know, milady Amora, that you do not wish to linger, that you have no love for this world, but allow me, at least, to offer you, as well as Lady sif, a sampling of its charms with a hearty meal and a bit of music. I can put on some Mozart. You might even tempt me to get out my father's violin, should things go right…"


White arms wrapped around Amora's middle as she drew back and watched Sif demand she partake in the offered meal. Her eyes following the coal-black warrior's placement of her shield and sword, her had tilting to the side as she seemed to weigh the effort it would take to refuse. Then she shrugged once more, a rise and fall of delicate shoulders as a sigh escaped her lips.

"Very well.. I shall.. taste such a dish if only to not be rude for use of the library. I shall not, however, partake of this world… I was here previously for the past summer season. I am well aware of what there is to offer. I've not the time to enjoy such things again. If ever." She murmured.

How strange for an Asgardian to claim they did not have the time for something. Much less the time to explore a world before them. Yet it was all said in a flat tone, and the blonde turned her gaze Daimon. "I hold no love for any world at present, Midgard just happens to be the one I am present in to care little for." She then waved a hand summoning a simple ribbon and tying back her voluminous hair.

"I am familiar with these kinds of meat preparations here. I.." She broke off and pursed her lips, "I have tried them before, and I have heard of the music you speak of. Though I cannot put to thought exactly what he sounds like…"


On flesh. That causes Sif's brows to lower incredulously, like she was ready to leap and attack. Though she wouldn't readily try to battle the man in his neutral place of living, once they were outdoors there was no holds bar. The man was a cannibal. Possibly feasting upon the flesh of women. The odd fat man. Perhaps that's why none of them were in employ right now.

He was eating people.

"I.. believe we shall not partake of the meat and head to the library at Lady Amora's behest." Sif, ready to sit, stood again almost quickly. Now more than ever Amora needed protection from this man whom she wrongly called her Instructor. He eats flesh. And she welcomed him to a taste of an Asgardian Goddess. He must crave more. Perhaps that is why Amora is there in the first place?

The sword and shield were slowly grasped and hung upon one shoulder as she listens to Amora's words. While they shared the same sentiments, her words were most troubling. Thoughts gone to Heimdall, for she was sure that he had an eye everywhere. Perhaps.. he could see what the Queen of the Norns was up to. After all. She did secretly pledge her sword to Amora.. though her thoughts were to involve Daimon upon this quest was tossed aside. He was going to eat them.

"I.. am going to assume that there is no cauldron within the library?" Sif murmurs dangerously, her arm lifting outright to gesture towards the area. They just may have to make a hasty getaway.. after she lops off Daimon's head.

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