1964-06-28 - Act XIV: Loki Bound
Summary: In which Amora goes rummaging around Svartalfheim.
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rogue amora malekith 


The Fount of Vyrhelr

Svartalfheim has few cities, fewer still along its boundaries. Dispel all notions of orderly grids and handsome buildings sharing any uniform architecture. Vyrhelr gathers around a series of broad pools bored deep into the bedrock. Cataracts prevent further travel and the river plunges into the stone, headed underground apparently. At those rocky gates stand the Fount of Vyrhelr, a series of buildings chopped into the terraces allocated to different shapes and forms. A few lanterns provide light but the main source seems to be captive, glittering water.

People who roam about here are almost uniformly indistinguishable in their dark robes and white masks. Dark elves predominate. There may be trolls and the odd giant visible by their stature. But those who go wear masks and nets and veils, the latest thing, making even gender difficult to surmise.

Amora the Enchantress was skilled in magic and in seduction, two traits that made her impeccable to casting illusions to make her the beauty of whatever realm she visited. A cloak and a mask that ended above her lips, aided the magic. Her cloak settled around her shoulders in the same darkened tones that were popular in the realm. She appeared to fit in, a traveler that while she drew the eyes, most assuredly didn't stick out like an Asgardian sore thumb.

A crystal hung in her palm, and the Enchantress had followed it toward those with the strongest, easiest wills that might yet bend to her manipulations. Off to the side, and with a white haired dark elf on her arm that she had met outside a drinking establishment, she leaned forward to steal a kiss and press her will down upon the male.

|ROLL| Lorna +rolls 1d4 for: 4

Those who come and go must negotiate the lifts between each level. Maybe waterfalls once tumbled where the vertical metal shafts travel, but the beds are dry and the gulches brutal. Pointed rocks reinforced by turrets of metal tines await those foolish enough to jump. On the bottom level are those shops and businesses catering to heavier industry. Perhaps homes dwell in the middle. The top levels are given to the stews, of all things, the least desirable quarters. Of course it's no easy task figuring out what anything is given the absence of signs or obvious marks.

Amora in her dark guise earns few looks. She has a company and her kisses disrupt their peace. They move around her, away from the clear water of the fountain where darkness goes undisturbed, not one light or star reflected in the shadowy ink. Her crystal doesn't give particularly good directions. She might be tugged to a lift or past a tavern, towards a quiet building. Then another line, slightly stronger than the others, heads to a stony breakwater leading into one of the deep pools.

The dark elf that Amora's lips had captured was released after a moment, a quick glance around she huffed a breath. "Tell me, my darling, how I can find the one I seek? Have you knowledge?" She whispered in her captive's ear, her kiss enough to leave a man floored and bent to her service yes, but it was the first time in a long while she'd used it to gain knowledge.

Then the crystal' tug gained her attention and she leaned away, her seduced servant following her willingly as she made her way toward the stony breakwater. Green eyes narrowed in consideration as she looked toward her company. "Well. Is there a passage beyond that?" She whispered.

The captive just blankly stares at her, too busy pulled this way and that. "We could go to bed," he says in a slurred voice, happy to offer her that promise. "Wicked minx like you. Would be memorable, you know. Imagine…" The sigh is almost a groan. He trails after Amora away from the 'city' or trading centre, whatever it is. Steps drag. He is moving away from his desired end rather than to it, and a protesting growl follows. "This is exposed…"

The breakwater reaches out some many yards into the pool. It ends at a jumble of dark, perpetually wet stone that might well be basalt. The slabs are surmounted by a modest hut of sorts, halfway to being a nymphaeum. Chains sway from the open spaces between slabs held upright as walls. Within is little room, just enough for a small banked fire that gives no light and a semicircular bench and a rack, upright and containing several wires and shuttle-lines.

Within a single figure stares at the rack and moves around the threads.

Amora's eyes narrow behind her pale white half mask as she walked along, dismissive of the groaning, that came from her enslaved elf. "Darling, you must wait. Till my duty is accomplished. Then all my glory shall be your's." She cooed softly over her shoulder, tugging him along.

She held her crystal close, following it to the end. At the hut's edge, just stopping at what might be considered 'polite' by any means the Enchantress paused.

"Hello." She offered, checking back at the crystal in the palm of her hand.

The dark elf carries along after his temporary mistress. He'll no doubt regret this delay until she returns and then promptly forget why. With his mask and robe, he's interchangeable with any of the other denizens who skulk along, and they walk all around the pools. Amora is no more than a few dashing paces from someone else.

Within the crude hut, the keeper is staring at the wires and the concoction set up. Nothing particularly distracts from the critical task that consumes him. Thin, long fingers pluck at them. What goes forth? The crystal tugs in that direction among the other possibilities.

Amora steps further into the crude hut at the crystal's tugging, the lack of response gaining a hook of her eyebrow behind the mask before the Enchantress stepped around to see what the dark elf crouched there worked upon. "Hello?" She tried again, her frame bending over slightly to eye whatever it was that he worked on, trying to figure it out.

Her gaze swung back to the dark elf that lingered along after her, her hand reaching out to snag his arm. A safety blanket among the hordes of unknown. He'd be her creature for at least a week. It was worth her time to keep him close.

"What do you want?" To the Aesir gift of Allspeak, it doesn't matter what the language is. Svartalfjar speak a very different dialect from their ljosalfjar cousins, more in common with the dvergr, in honestly. The space in the hut is too small to allow for more than the two of them. Boytoy just has to stay outside. The figure is masked and cloaked like the rest, and the grey fingers moving around the bits of stone and metal along the long wired strands pick almost carefully.

"I come seeking a ljosalfjar. Male. You wouldn't have happened to have heard news of one around here?" The thought arose that seeking Kai, or where he had been might gain her more answers than seeking Malekith the Accursed. She spoke softly, bending faintly as she considered the Svartalfjar before her, only faintly considering the boy toy left behind outside.

"He would've come here a few weeks ago.."

"Savages too soft never travel so far from their sunlit terraces," replies the svartalf. Another wire sings in a melancholy reverb carried toe to top of the frame. The other pieces capture the vibrations and reflect them further. "He goes back to the Fount to go forward, and travels down to go up."

A simple rise and fall of her shoulders beneath her cloak follows the explanation and she inclines her head as she rises. "This one was brought here to an end." She murmured, considering the wire the svartalf manipulated and worked. She tilted her head to the side as he spoke in riddles, her green eyes narrowing in thought briefly.

She had to catch herself from saying 'thank you' such a mortal custom that pulled to the tip of her lips that would aid her not in the realm of the dark elves. A slow exhale followed as she stood properly. "I see," Another glance at her crystal followed. "Down to go up."

"Then no." The dark elf flicks another bead along a wire. Teased fibres stretch under the pressure applied to them, one by one, no apparent pattern used. A low chuckle weaves through and the mask turns to the other woman in illusion. Those inscrutably dark eyes and the masked face is hard to gauge.

A hand settled on her hip, and Amora had to stifle the urge to threaten or demand, it wasn't Midgard and it wasn't Asgard. Such behavior would gain her nothing, and so the arm dropped back to her side. "I fear I do not understand your meaning. Then no, you did not see or hear of one if he was brought here to an end of some kind, or 'then no' I do not see your meaning clearly in regards to direction?"

Amora glanced back at her manipulated elf, and seeing as he gained her no new insight, returned her attention to the elf not in her thrall. Another glance was spared toward her crystal, her lips pursing together faintly.

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