1964-03-18 - Between the Veils and Jotuns
Summary: Amora goes to try to track down Loki's spell work and ends up with something different.
Related: Asgard logs
Theme Song: None
amora sif sofia 

The wind blew cold and bitter, far more chilling than the weather of Midgard. Ice covered the otherwise desolate landscape. Distant peaks above whistled with wind on high. And snow banks long since blown to hard packed ice dotted the unforgiving hills around the little valley inlet. The sky above was black and clear of clouds, with stars spread out over the night, gently twinkling far beyond, and providing little light.

Amora the Enchantress, formerly of Asgard, most currently of Midgard and one of the last Asgardians with enough power to travel between the realms, blended in with the environment. White fur covered her, frop the tip of her very fashionable coronet to her thigh high boots. It wasn't necessary given her knowledge of magics to keep from freezing to death, but behooved one to look the part at least. Even if her boots had high heels..

Green eyes swept out to survey the landscape before her, and in her gloved hands softly glowed a small orb of the darkest obsidian. She whispered to it, frowning faintly as she walked along a narrow cleft in the snow and ice that towered over and around her. The portal behind her wooshing closed as she stepped away from it.


There's a brief flare of light from the portal. It's nothing really, just a blip. The thing which tumbled through the portal has no magic to call its own, nor is it possessed of particular size or significance. Agent Sofia Ariana Mendoza y Reyes comes tumbling through the portal, drawn forward by the raw magical energy of a channel between realms.

The young Filipino agent lands in a frozen snow drift. She isn't wearing clothing suitable to the area either. and comes up out of the packed ice with shard clinging to her coat and gloves.

Shivering as she climbs to her feet amidst the rough winds Sofia looks up toward the chilling blue sky, her pink lips forming a thin line as she climbs to her feet. She checks her belt. Gun. Ammunition. …Expandable baton? She then adjusts her bag, with the gear and reports she had been bringing back to SHIELD when she came across all of this.

"Well. This is different." The brunette can't help her teeth chattering. She turns just in time to see the portal disappearing. "W-wait a second…!"


Tendrils of magic lift in the aether. Magic left over from the dawn of time that spins; never destroyed but simply pulled and used for different purpose. The land of the Giants may seem more primordial, but the lay of the land in terms of magic is one that can easily rival other realms. It's the barest of hints now, the feel of the Trickster's hand in a thread of magic that can be discerned. It's there, though weakly pulsing as if it's a remnant of long ago, centuries or millennia past, or in the present and its master simply isn't there to give it support.


Amora's focus was set on the light lifting up from the little obsidian orb in her hand, her gaze narrowed in thought as she turned it this way and that. The ambient magic of the realm earned a smirk from the Enchantress, after all, anything was better than the Midgardian realm. A sigh dragged from her lips as she turned the orb over in her gloved hands, "What have you been up to my darling Trickster Prince?" She murmured to herself, her breath ghosting in the air around her.

Then that voice. That very, very mortal voice in an otherwise silent world.

The blonde Asgardian twisted on her heels, catching sight of one Shield agent covered in powdered snow and ice. Her brow lifted and she paused in her search to consider the shivering mortal. "You are going to freeze to death, following me like this.." She mused.


"Your p-portal from New York wasn't particular about whom it drew through," Sofia manages. That chattering is getting worse. She opens up her bag and withdraws a thick scarf, tying it neatly about her neck. The gloves are adjusted next and she straightens slowly. "I would preer not to. I think I can manage a fire for a short while, but…"

Sofia is watching Amora with wide brown eyes, her expression one of careful thought. Brows furrow as she looks upward next. "Where am I?" She asks then, tilting her head slightly so that her tresses fall to frame her shoulder. "It feels- strange. Different." She bites her bottom lip rather briefly. "Don't tell me I stumbled into Asgard or something."


It's weak, but there is something there that is uniquely signed in Loki's distinct hand. There's a twist to it, a scent, a sign of something that has modified it, teased it, tweaked it until it only has the undertone of the Trickster, but to one that knows the caster virtually intimately? It is unique.

In the folds of magic, far off there is a *clank* of metal, sword upon sword, and loud but indistinct sounds of battle. It is in no one direction, but rather in all, as if a pitched battle is happening, and those who stand are in middle of it, but aren't.//


ROLL: Sofia +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 36


A laugh, soft and low that did not carry far lifted from Amora's ruby painted lips. "Do not insult my magic-casting. Mortal. You stuck your nose where it was a nuisance. As is your kind's aptitude.." She murmured, turning and stepping lightly over the frozen ground toward the signature that pulled at her senses. Her lips thinning as she walked and sensed that all was not as it should be.

As she walked she continued to answer Sofia's questions, though she made no moves to stop or slow her gait. If the mortal desired answers, she could follow.

"You are in the land of Jotunheim." Her lips twitched faintly, "Tis a far cry from the Realm Eternal, and far less kinder to all who did not come from its chill-hearted bosom. Asgard is no ally of this realm.." She murmured, shrugging faintly as she came to a halt, listening for the sounds that distantly echoed around them.


"It isn't an insult to your spellcasting. Your magic is incredibly impressive. It does remain that I am not familiar with the mechanics of… magical portals to other worlds… And so here I apparently am." Sofia shrugs faintly at that and proceeds to follow after Amora, her footsteps clicking softly against the ice beneath her.

At one point Sofia briefly tugs at her slacks, adjusting them slightly. The shaking has mostly stopped with the addition of that heavy scarf but it's obvious she is still just barely edging from being in real trouble from the cold. "Jotunheim," Sofia repeats back slowly. "World of the giants." Her pronunciation of the Old Norse word is surprisingly accurate.

"It's- interesting. I feel like a great battle happened here. Is happening…?" When Amora pauses so does Sofia and she cants her head slightly. "Just at the edge of my hearing. Is that what you are searching for here as well?"


*clank* The sound of battle is like a shade, a shadow of that which may be happening around them, or had. It's a pitched battle sound ever distance, followed by an unsettled silence. Pain. Anger. The hard emotions rise, can be felt at the back of necks, and in the following heartbeats, there's a re-start.

Sif stands bloodied, her sword dipped, dripping with blood. Insults by the Jotun's blades, their spears are apparent all over her body, but the anger and resolve remains. She's encircled by a 'gang' of Jotun, bodies pulled from the 'arena' before battle begins again. The warrior maid is winded, and the sword is hard put to come before her in order to protect her. She's not yet ready to fall, and not by the hand of a Jotun.


Flattery will get you everywhere with a vain Asgardian. She softens her ire at the shivering mortal, noting the fact that the sub-zero temperatures will likely kill the woman before too long. A mental sigh follows a flick of Amora's wrist and a sparkle of green smoke whirls around Sofia briefly before winking out into nothingness. A small spell to ensure that she didn't freeze to death at least.

"Hush." She waves a hand in askance to pause the mortal's tread beside her as the sounds deepen and surround. Her eyes narrowing at familiar sounding cries of pain and anger. Even more so as the shade of battles past cement into a figure of black hair and armor, bearing a sword that Amora well knew. A frown marred at her lips, and with another wave of her hand, she banished the orb of obsidian she'd been using to track traces of Loki's power. Yet she did not approach. Did not call or otherwise interact with the glimpse between the veils.


ROLL: Sofia +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 26


Sofia falls quiet as ordered. She takes a slow breath inward, condensation rolling out in plumes as white mist. She stops, hands buried in her pockets, and waits. Her breathing is faintly audible but easily lost among the din of battle. The shivering slows and swallows hard, mouthing the word thank you without speaking. The brunette stops moving, holding position just beside Amora and cocks her head to listen as well.


Two, three Jotun move in for the attack, and Sif is hard-put in her current state. She can think of nothing but defense, the sword is pulled high then swung low to meet a force that pushes her back, but doesn't send her from her feet. She uses it and finds a breath in order to gain a little momentum herself, allowing her to launch forward in what could be an attack that some would consider suicidal. It's a tactic that works for her, though. In close, swing low and bring the blade up in a sweep, only to continue through and past, leaving backs exposed to her wrath. A shade, a shadow of the Vanir swords maiden that emenates from the magic in the air around. One can almost smell the blood in the air, feel the anger, the resolve, and the pain.

On Jotunheim itself, there is cold; bitter, icy cold and the rumblings perhaps of those who may have discerned a presence that may be most unwelcome.//


Amora's arms cross as she stands, watching the spectacle of the fighting that appeared. She knew enough that attempts at interference would be pointless. The scent of magic, the tang of cold and the spellwork.. while being tangled with hints of the Trickster.. it was enough for her to know that it was in fact, not the magic that she sought. The spell was different, and not one that she needed to figuring out what Loki had planned before his vanishing.

The blast of cold that wound around those alive on the icy plain, that gained Amora's attention with a sharp look around her. Still, all she could see remained the snowy landscape around them beyond the rip in the veil to the past.


ROLL: Sofia +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 85


Sofia takes another slow, deep breath. She's flexing her fingers, checking all of her muscles to be sure that she is in proper working order. It's a subtle shifting of her body weight against the snow, nothing more. Then the wind begins to whip past. With a hiss she drops her gaze to the ground in front of her, raising gloved hands to shield herself from the winds.

Then the woman stumbles. Her first instinct is dodge the sword that crashes down beside her. She's nearly atop Sif, it appears. The woman jumps back from nothing, something that becomes obvious as she passes "through" one of the Jotun assaulting the warrior. Then the smaller woman is shaking her head hard, sucking in a lungful of air, narrowly stopping herself from sliding off of her feet.

Sofia looks, to say the least, a bit bewildered. "What on Earth?" A beat. "…Jotunheim?" She blinks once and swallows. Hard. So much for complete silence. She's drawn her baton reflexively from her belt. It easily extends to a length of three feet with a snap of the wrist. Probably not much of a weapon to Asgardian eyes.


It's the cold of the world that blows now, the blast of frigid weather that pushes the shadows away. The battle in the mist ebbs and flows as it moves through, leaving very little but the impression. It's an imperfect spell, but it's a prison where the 'prisoner' simply cannot escape from, and the walls and door cannot be found easily in order to be broached. Instead of the magics of the aether, there's a different sort rising… the clear and present danger of those completely physical that are on the move. Magic tends to magic, after all, and those unwelcome on the world will be met with the same.


The danger carried on the wind was well known to the Enchantress, and while she longed to linger, to watch the battle between the edges of reality and elsewhere.. Even she knew that there were risks to remaining. Proud as she was, Amora was not a fighter when it came down to tossing up with creatures from other realms.

A grimace and a long string of ancient words and the two women were transported once again to the Midgardian city of New York. A flash of light, a sparkle of power and Jotunheim was left behind them. No portals this time to lazily walk between.

As they reappeared, Amora returned to her mortal guise. Furs not included.


When Sofia reappears she is still breathing heavily. She raises the baton for a second- then starts to look around. The city stands in stark relief compared to the crystal blues and pale grays of a world made of ice. She collapses the expandable weapon and tucks it back onto her belt beneath her coat. A few more seconds are taken to breathe in and out. Slowly.

"What is your name?" The woman asks, her Philipines accent shining through. Milan by way of Los Angeles. She striaghtens herself slowly and takes another deep breath, far less tensely than before. Perhaps because her lungs don't burn like a wild fire when the air touches them. "If I may ask. I am Sofia Ariana Mendoza y Reyes, Of Milan and Los Angeles. You might call me a supplicant?" Sofia might have caught wind of that weakness for flattery.


The blonde Asgardian, for her part, did not appear to look it now. Though she was still achingly beautiful, perfection in every curve of her lips and flutter of her eyelashes. She did hold the Asgardian height as she had before, and her clothes looked the height of Hollywood fashion, with an alarmingly large amount of green perhaps, but that was all. High heeled boots of a more modern cut clung to her shapely legs and she paused in her turn to go to consider the woman before her.

A golden eyebrow hitched upwards and Amora considered the mortal before her. "I have gone by many names, and more than the history of your world remembers. I have dabbled here throughout, and toyed with your realm as I have want." A pause, and a shifting of her figure followed, a manicured hand settling on her hip.

"Names have power, Sofia Ariana Mendoza y Reyes of Milan, and Los Angeles.." She murmured. Yet still had not offered her own name in return.


"Sofia is fine," the woman answers seriously. "I can only assume… That you have power over me already." Sofia can't help stare, though she remains composed as she does so. Sofia herself is a beautiful woman, in the way that one would be if they could have been, in another life, a pin-up or a performer. But she's nothing before Amora, and doesn't try to be.

"So I offer my name. If names have power then you can consider it- a gesture of friendship?" Sofia cocks her head slightly for a moment, studying the one in front of her with some care. "You could just send me back to Jotunheim. I have to admit I don't think there's any point in being more cautious than that." That comes with a quiet smile, however. Just to keep from swallowing, again. Butterflies in the pit of hte stomach. "And besides, you just saved my life."


Amora stepped closer, invading the woman's personal space without thought nor consideration of personal boundaries. She had never been very good with them. The stare was expected, and Amora seemed set at ease with it. A smirk tugging at the corners of her full lips. "Sofia," She murmured, her voice low and sweet and heady with the intoxicating effects of just how much power Amora had woven into the enchantments that made her attractiveness beyond even her natural gifts.

A smile. Wicked and delighted.

"Aye, that I could. What is one mortal amongst the masses. You, darling, are lucky to have caught my person in a good mood." She drew back her chin slightly, inhaling a breath and reached out to trace her index finger along Sofia's jawline unless otherwise halted.

"I am Amora the Enchantress." A slight pause, and she eyed Sofia up and down. "Tell me, what is your position in this mortal society?"


"…I am a field agent with SHIELD," Sofia responds immediately without hesitating. She blinks once then and shakes her head slowly. So much for being resistant to manipulation, it appears. A finger drawn across the woman's chin is not resisted in the slightest. She keeps her gaze locked onto Amora's features. Sofia gently purses her lips.

"An investigator, and sometimes a warrior. We protect Midgard from supernatural threats… Which is why I came close enough to be drawn in by your portal. I was- taking a record of the occurrence." That gets a rueful smile from Sofia. Just a flicker, really. She is far too distracted by what is occurring to waste time smiling.

"Amora, the Enchantress," the woman repeats then, nodding once. "It's a lovely name." She means it as well. For all that compliments seem to flow relatively freely not a one is given that isn't entirely sincere.


A grin, and Amora gently tapped Sofia's chin and drifted back. The scent of strawberries and vanilla heavy in the air around them, it was sweet and warm and enclosed the area just as much as Amora's magic. There was a reason other mortals didn't stop and gape at the beautiful woman having a conversation in quite a strange manner.

"So sometimes investigator and sometimes warrior. Tell me, Sophia," A flutter of dark eyelashes follows as Amora flashed a grin. "What have you recorded thus far about the other realms? About Asgard? You knew the name of the realm Eternal without my mentioning it.." There was a flicker of a threat in that voice. As sweet and clear as a knife's reflection in sunlight.


Sofia hesitates, visibly. She shakes her head faintly then, wrinkling her nose briefly and taking a deep breath. Strawberries and vanilla…? Oddly enough, at this distance, Sofia's scent is similar. Strawberries rather than vanilla, in her case, and certainly less pungent. She pauses.

"We've had contact with the ones known as Thor. And… Sif. Whom we saw today?" Sofia hesitates, canting her head as if to see whether or not Amora reacts to that statement. She can't be sure they both saw the same thing, of course.

Sofia then adds, "The name is recorded in our ancient literature going back dozens of mortal lifetimes. Anyone well educated would know the Realm Eternal. How could we not? Just seeing you once would be enough to spawn legends for a thousand years." She takes a deep breath and then slowly exhales. Once. Then twice. Still trying to collect herself.


A laugh, soft and gentle as Amora eased up on her magic, and her scent wafted away with a light breeze. "Ah, yes, that would be from their time acting as diplomatic ties to Asgard before Loki was … well," She smirked, and dragged a hand through her own golden locks. Fashionably curled in the style of the 60s, headband included.

"My appearances in your world have gone back beyond what you mortals dubbed the Viking age. And I have dabbled through history, bored and interested likewise." A pause, "But my name has been muddied through the years. Mortals love to apply my appearance to most of your idea of Norse Goddesses, which is quite frankly, an insult." She huffed. As if Sofia was responsible for such a loss of her proper place in the realm of myth and legend.


"I don't know if I can agree with that," Sofia responds quietly, though she smiles faintly as she does so. "None of them began to do you justice. Less stolen form and more homage?" She arches abrow at that, studying the goddess in front of her with more intensity now. "I can't compare those portraits and pictures of others to you. So I can't see how it could even be an insult."

Sofia draws herself to her full height then, adjusts her trousers lightly, and reaches up to begin unweaving her scarf from around her neck. "Thank you again for bringing me home. Have you been on Midgard long?" Then she pauses for a second, perhaps considering something. "Does the mortal tongue suffice for you?"


If Amora had been mortal, perhaps she'd roll her eyes as she turned and started to wander off. Seemingly finished with caring overly about the mortal puzzle before her. Answers given and taken and perhaps not interesting enough for the long lived Asgardian. "I am the most beautiful. Tis an insult to be compared with Sif. Who your tales regard as lovely, and as some maidenly goddess that fights not as she does. As you could see, she is of coal black hair. She is as ugly as most cattle." She huffs, old wounds. It would seem, at least to Amora, Sif was not a positive subject.

"So few still know my name properly these days, tis a curse and a blessing, I suppose. Though they know the intent behind their Spring rituals at least." She cast a glance back toward Sofia, as if expecting the mortal to be following even as she walked off.

"All tongues are sufficent for one of my kind. All-speak crosses realms and dimensions."


Normally Sofia would just walk away. In fact, she goes to do so now. She turns and… Finds herself walking after Amora as if drawn behind her on a line. So much for that, then. "Well, now I know your name. That is a start then." That is stated clearly and without much emphasis. She continues to walk because that look bakward seems to indicate she has been bidden. How much control does Amora actually have?

"All tongues? Hmm." On a lark, Sofia switches to speaking in Spanish. the words flow smoothly and easily given that she is, in fact, a native speaker. "You haven't had any encounters with the SHIELD of Midgard yet," she observes then, quietly. "Let me be the first to welcome you among us again. Are you here looking for something specific? I might be able to offer some assistance."


Amora didn't seem to have issue with the language shift, her own following to be understandable no matter what the native speaker spoke. She sounded as natural as someone born to it. The gifts of All-speak, it would seem.

"No. I have not interacted with this Shield." She arched a brow, and the crowded sidewalks seemed to just slip around them. Despite the flow of humanity around them, the two seemed to have no trouble at all with conversing. More magic at work, it would seem.

"This time to Midgard.. hmm, I have been here nearly three turns of your seasons. As Spring melts away Winter, I shall have been here through three full seasons." She tapped her chin, lips pursed together briefly.

"You are not allowed to speak my name to others. I think, or is that too cruel? I am attempting to be gracious." She added.


"You wish me to keep your name a secret? I would call that a bit cruel. Not being allowed to speak of your beauty?" Sofia shrugs her shoulders delicately. She walks easily in their little bubble of reality, relaxing further the further they travel. She has either acclimatized to the magic or given in. Which might be difficult to say.

"Nearly three full seasons. And this is the first we've met? You are much subtler than the other Gods who are about." Sofia purses her lips and adds somewhat ruefully, "They have a habit of smashing things and announcing their presence with shouts. This is far more pleasant."


Amora rolls her shoulders back with a faint sight. "I suppose tis cruel. Very well, darling. You may speak of me." She wiggled her fingers, and it seemed as if some manner of pressure popped and was gone.

"I am more able to flow between the societies of man for I have been here before. And I have been rather occupied else where." She smirked and turned to face Sofia. A finger reaching out to tap the woman's forehead with a gentle touch.

"I shall be able to find you, have I a need, Sofia of Midgard." She murmured and then vanished with a puff of green smoke that faded with the breeze.


When that pressure pops Sofia bites her bottom lip, leaning her head back slightly and taking a deep breath. The world around her springs ack into focus. The scream ofcars and smell of exhaust on the air. She clenches her left hand into a fist briefly, takes a deep breath. Exhales. One… Two… Three. Then the woman grimaces and reaches toward her neck, tugging at her collar.

"Ice down my shirt," Sofia mumbles to herself as she removes her coat. The melted snow has left her moderately wet. It chafes. She adjusts herself and sighs, shaking her head. "How to write this one down… I doubt Director Carter would accept a barbie doll with the memory recorded on it." She turns and sets her course of Wing Sing with precise steps.

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