1964-05-11 - A Dark Shadow
Summary: Amora's shadow reveals itself
Related: Gods and Shadows Log
Theme Song: None
amora thor 

The sky overhead was already overcast and grey above. Yet it certain didn't stop New Yorkers from going out and about for their day. It had rained the previous day and mud still clung to corners and dips in the sidewalks. Cars honked, people cursed, and pedestrians continued on across the street. It was at least, not cold outside.

Above it all, sat a shadowy green woman, gorgeous and perfect and wicked.

A few whispered words, a gesture and cars crashed into each other. Tires spun out, and victims poured out from behind the wreckage. Swears, fists and a fight broke out between two men. A woman cried for help for her child, who'd seemed to been cut up by the window glass being shattered.

A giggle followed and the figure leaned forward to watch the chaos with amusement.


A peal of thunder echoes overhead. Then, nearby, lightning flashes.

Wait— thunder, BEFORE lightning?

There's a grunt of effort and the fire escape chimes once, as someone climbs it. A blonde head, short hair soaked by the rain, pokes over the roof's edge. Donald Blake looks around, then clambers over the roof's edge. He's wearing an odd combination of clothing— a heavy grey t-shirt, jeans, and what looks like parts of armor from a local Viking exhibit at a museum. The armor looks new made, however, rather than the ancient rusty relics on display.

"Ho there! Who skulks in the shadows?" Donald demands, trying to make out the shadowy figure's outline backlit against the lights of the city.


A flicker of power and the figure appeared with another giggle. Despite the familiar curves of the woman, the familiar perfection and sculpted jawline, there was something inherently darker about her. Shadows clung to her in ways that were possible to the mind. It was as if, where Amora was made of spun gold.. this one was made of spun darkness.

"Hello, dar-ling." She drawled, coming up to appear behind him and skating her fingers against his shoulders. Her voice was clipped, edged in a hiss and held none of the warmth that Amora was gifted with.


Donald fairly leaps when the shadowy figure appears behind him, lunging a step away and bringing his hammer up between them to interdict the strange apparition should she come closer. "Ware! …Amora?" he asks, supicion write large on his rugged features. His eyes narrow to suspicious slits, and the hammer drops a fractional inch. "What mischief are you up to now? I could smell the workings of your magics a block yonder. And why are you wearing garb of shadow and dark? 'tis a look that ill becomes thee," he states, trying to regain his aplomb.


A laugh and a wink, and the shadow encased woman smirked as she eyed him up and down. "The stink of thunder is heavy on the air." The cries of the humans below continued and the blonde seemed to ignore them.

"I am both Amora and not. Just as you are The Thunderer and not." She fluffed her hair, turning her features up to the sky above. She inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, her eyes fluttering closed and open again to lock shadowed eyes upon him.

"A shade. A shadow. A darkness that all things hold. To light there must be darkness. To darkness there must be light."


"You use words but say little, and I ill appreciate a woman speaking in circles when people suffer," Donald says, scowl deepening. "If you are Amora, then say so. If you are not, then confess it and be done. But riddles and games try my patience, and I'll not waste my hours in such a mood with you."

"Now why is it you have wrought such perilous magics in the face of the mortals? Why do them such injury?"


The Amora-But-Not smiled and in a cloud of magic, breezed around him. "I am not what you would consider to be the Enchantress. Yet I am her equal. I am of her. A shadow birthed by her hand." She grinned, "In a way I am born of her desire to better herself from you. A child created." She laughed in wicked delight and reappeared upon the edge of the building, perfectly balanced.

"I an amused by their chaos. Tis beautiful in its own way."


"Well, you have that much in common with her," Donald mutters, as the shadow woman flutters into apparition on the building's edge. He watches her warily, fingers flexing against the leather cord that wraps his hammer's handle.

"I care little for your mixed words, and I am certain I am not your sire. Nor is Amora your mother," Donald remarks. "You are but a pale shadow of her, and I can sense the scorn and malice in your words. But, 'tis sporting to give you a chance to quit the field," he adds, pointing his hammer at the woman. "'ere I rebuke you and drive you from it."


Green eyes lit upon him as she turned away from her work, fingers directed downwards as she sent out more magic to cause further chaos. It was quickly spreading to other fist-fights, another car's tire screeched and a crunch of metal followed. A car had hit a fire hydrant, and a gyser of water shot upwards into the air with a bang.

"I am more real than she. I hold her hate. Her anger. Her rage. Her desire to see all of Asgard fall. The Trickster got a fresh start, so why not her? I am her start. And her end. As well as your's." She grinned as she eyed him up and down.

"I shall see all of thee broken and weeping at my feet."


Donald stalks up to the spectre, feet pounding on the asphalt under his heavy tread. "Enough of your words! You are not Amora— you merely masquerade as her, stealing her face and form and voice. But I hear your lies even through your honeyed words. Now we will quit this place, and you will answer to her yourself!" Donald reaches out to try and grab the shadow figure's upper arm, to bodily haul her away if need be.


Shadows were of shadows, and melted away under his touch. She vanished and reappeared behind him in a cloud of dark green smoke, laughter chimed high and bright around them. A mockery of what Amora usually sounded.

"I lie not. I tell the truth." Her features darkened with anger that lit the inner lights of her gaze. "You and all, all, believe me not when I tell truly. Exiled. I am through fault of truth. Accused of lies! And all! All! You and yours gloat above. The Enchantress will be replaced truly. She is weak, as are you."


"Empty words and hollow intent," Donald booms at the shadow, throwing his head back with a defiant laugh. "I see your ways now. Too cowardly to stand and fight, you sit from the shadows and launch cruel intentions at those too weak to defend themselves. A serpent striking from the bushes," he tells the shadow. "Scurry back to the night, demon, 'ere I decide to take it upon myself to chastise you properly."

Lightning peals overhead, as if in response to his words.


The shadow took care not to cast magic against the blonde, knowing what wards Amora had placed upon him in regards to its use. Still, his words had her drawing back, slinking into the shadows around the rooftop proper. "You may have the right of it, this once, Thunderer. But my creature shall destroy you. He is my champion, and seeks glory over you. He shalt not be stopped by your hammer, your power or anyone's." She smiled and laughed again.

"Take care of your mortals while you still can," She started to fade from sight, even as her voice echoed around him.

"Before your death and the death of those around you.."

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