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Central Park is weird: everything bad happens here. At the moment, with the sun just set, Anduvin finds himself at the edge of the park facing off what looks to be a group of small, person-sized trees. Is this an invasion from a plant dimension? Wild magic gone awry? He isn't sure, but the tall man dressed in a suit stands there between them and a couple of innocent bystanders who look none the worse for wear. "Stay behind me, children." They aren't really children, though they are young.
Anduvin extends his hand and space seems to fold open in his palm to become first a hilt and then a long sword that defies geometry. It is constantly in motion, folding in on itself repeatedly, always having at least two edges, but sometimes having more.
Sunset in the park is always nice; the temperature drops as the sun goes down and it's starting to cool with the ending of summer on top of it. So Jean-Paul was just wandering around, perhaps making a target of himself as well as sunset is also when the criminals come out. He wasn't expecting mobile trees though and the weird sword in the man's hand is a bonus. "I don't think so." he answers, taking a few steps forward to get a better look at the tree things. "Interesting sword, monsieur. Just how did you do that?"
The tree things have mouths, and look hostile. But they seem uncertain about Anduvin and his sword— all save for one that does a sort of scratchy growl and then rush forward. The sword swings through the air and sheers the thing in half: apparently verses wood it is very effective. Anduvin turns to regard Jean-Paul a moment, and he grins, "I made it, it is bound to my armor and may comes at my will." Of course he doesn't especially *look* like he's wearing armor. "There has been an elemental —" His words are cut off as two more tree monsters rush him.
"I see no armor." Jean-Paul states, taking a moment to flick a quick glance over at Anduvin before returning his attention to the trees. "An elemental…?" he prompts as the tree things get about halfway to them. You call that rushing? That doesn't come close to rushing and is nothing to worry about. The two trees collide as one gets pushed at about seven hundred miles an hour into the other. Jean-Paul barely flickers given his speed and the very short distance to the closest tree.
"The armor is ensorceled, so as to not alarm those who are unawakened." Anduvin looks surprised, but only briefly, at the speed. He nods slightly, "You are one of the humans that are evolving into a power, then." he notes, with 'the humans' quite clearly in tone not including himself in the list. Since apparently he has an ally, he runs to engage with a couple more, swinging his sword with clear expert skill. "An elemental wildness, this is magic that has gone out of control." Since he doesn't really care about his 'secret identity', just not causing panic, there's a flutter of light as the illusion falls away. The armor is intricate and covered everywhere in runes that glow lightly, and is more like clockwork then solid — and it contains a much smaller man inside. The 'head' is all mechanism, with Anduvin's true head seen just beneath the armor's neck.
"Non. I have never been human." Jean-Paul corrects. "But yes, the humans are evolving into us. The fortunate ones, at any rate. And you, mon ami? You do not seem to include yourself in that category." Magic. Fascinating. A topic he has little experience with. "Magic someone is responsible for?" In a blink, he's got one by the arm and rushes some others to use the first as a battering ram before letting it go and sending it toward a tree. "That is more a… Well. Armor then. Bon." Since he doesn't really have a word for it.
"I am Prince Anduvin Eitrison of the dwarven Kingdom of Nidavellir, and Master Runesmith." Anduvin allows the glamour to return, and with a shimmering light he looks like a tall man with a sword again. "My people are known for many things, of our mead and our ales, of which there is no finer— no matter what the ljosalfar, the elves, think. And it is by the works of our craft that the AEsir of Asgard are armed with glory. This, this is my first Great Work. It is a relic to serve and protect in my father's name." But he pauses, turning to look at the speedy man, "You are not human?" That just sank in. A tree-beast leaps on his back, and he grunts. He drops the sword and the moment it leaves his hand it … folds in on itself and vanishes. Reaching up with his hands he grabs the tree, lifting it over his head as it struggles in his hands, and he pulls it in half. "It *could* be wild magic, an accident. I can not tell without study."
"I am a mutant." Jean-Paul explains. "Homo superior, not homo sapiens. I am not in the process of evolving, I have already evolved. Quite well, in fact." Grabbing one tree, he quickly flies it up and leaves it at the top of a tree before returning to the ground where he was a moment before. "Ah, a dwarf of Asgard. I have met one of the Scandinavian gods. The one named Loki."
Reaching his hand out again, Anduvin's sword folds back into reality just in time for it to cleave through the last of the tree things, and that leaves him looking around for more foes. "I was not aware that mutants considered themselves a separate species. You are a son of Midgard: one that is coming into your inheritance, yes." he remarks, tone considering. But he wrinkles his nose a little bit, "Gods. Well, that word is — complicated. They were once like unto gods long ago before the High King declared that Midgard was to be sealed. In the days of my father we had some contact with the Scandinavian's as well. We armed some of the worthy with our works. Prince Loki has a .. nuanced reputation."
Jean-Paul keeps an eye on the one stuck up a tree. Surprisingly, they don't seem to be good climbers. Or perhaps unsurprisingly. "Oui. I read the myths about them once they made themselves known. Loki is reputated to be evil. Except when he is not. And even when he is being good, he is not very good at it, it seems."
"The dvergr do not see the AEsir or Vanir as the humans did, they are not our gods. Odin Borson, the All-Father, is King, and my father King Eitri bends the knee to the higher throne." Anduvin seems content by this, and gives a slight shrug, "But for all of his power he is old, and he will die, and Thor Odinson will sit the throne. The AEsir are long-lived, wise and strong, but it is not because they are gods that they rule." He lets his sword fold away into whatever that pocket universe its in when not wielded, "It is because the same reason any King rules. He commands the greater armies and enforces his rule with them." He grins, "As for Loki Odinson, I … will not gossip."
"That is usually how it is done." Jean-Paul agrees. "Force, violence and the threat of it." Not much has changed in two thousand years. "There is little need for gossip. The myths concerning them paint a fairly clear picture. Though I do not assume they are entirely accurate. Thor was said to have red hair. Nor do they mention such things as your armor."
There's a pause, and the illusion vanishes— and then there's clicking and swirling as the chest of the armor splits open and spreads wide. Anduvin steps out, and rolls his shoulders then pats his hands together. "Anduvinaunt, close." The armor closes. "Anduvinaunt, pace in a circle." And it begins to move. The dwarf— complete with braided beard with beads inlaid into the braids— looks up at JP with a grin. "Oh? Then you missed some myths! The fabled Constructs of the dvergr were an important element in the lore! The dwarves did not ride to war, we sent our machines. The armor… is essentially a Construct, it can just fit me in it."
"They did state that the best smiths were dwarfs." Jean-Paul notes. "They forged Thor's hammer and other weapons. But not…" He gestures at the armor. That. Glancing from Anduvin to the armor, he steps forward to study it more closely. "Interesting. And it protects you from harm?" It's not really a question. "It must weigh quite a lot."
"The uru— the metal used— is so laid heavily with runes that the armor is impervious to damage. Even adamantium can not cut that armor. That said, it is not perfect protection: there are several places where one could pierce through to me within. But those are hard to find with the illusion on." Anduvin has a justifyable amount of pride in his first Great Work. "It is not so heavy as it seems— there are some enchantment to mitigate that. And it moves under its own power: it magnifies my own strength but does so nearly five times. Its most important property is that it protects the wearer from the sun."
"The sun?" Jean-Paul asks, looking back at Anduvin before turning. "Do you burn to ash like the vampires of legend? And this protects you from the light? Useful. I've often wished for something similar though not because of the sun."
Anduvin blinks a moment, staring at JP with a tilt of his head, "I thought everyone knew that." Which since that's not true, is something he doesn't want to spread around. But its too late. "The dvergr are the Dark Children. We can not abide the sun— we do not burn but whatever the light of the sun touches turns to stone. Nidavellir is the Kingdom Under The Mountain." He considers, "Armor? What do you need protection from if not the sun?"
"Ah, I see. Just as bad though not quite as messy. And perhaps more aesthetic." Jean-Paul adds after a moment. Lawn dwarfs? "Well, it is not exactly armor I am in need of. None can land a blow against me if I do not wish them to." Which isn't really correct but close enough. "There are none faster. And while my power protects me, it does not do so fully."
Anduvin considers Jean-Paul for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't know about aesthetic, as a dvergr prince let me tell you I am not especially keen on being a statue." He snorts, but then he nods slowly, "Hmmm. So how fast *are* you? And what do you need protection from? Pressure?"
"Faster than anything alive." Jean-Paul answers. It not so much a brag as a statement of fact. "And faster than almost anything not alive." He has to consider the other question a moment. "I am not entirely certain. I am not a scientist learned in these things. Pressure, perhaps. Friction? Heat? I have noticed I am able to travel faster, more comfortably where the air is thin but breathing becomes more of a problem."
The dvergr is contemplative, "I will make you a sphere." he decides, "You will hold it and move as fast as you can— the sphere will study the conditions that surround you. I will then study the sphere and will know what it is that is limiting you. I suspect it might be air pressure: at a certain speed what seems to be nothing may as well be thick and hard. I can not promise that I will make you a thing to help you — but I will study the problem." He seems curious.
"I am certain it is. I am uncertain if that is all it is." Jean-Paul clarifies. "But I will do this. If nothing else, I am curious as to what needs to compensated for. I have been intending to ask one of the scientists who are particularly intelligent. I had not thought to ask a… smith."
Mike Matthews goes home.
"Runesmith." corrects Anduvin idly, bit he does head over to the armor, "Anduvinaunt, open." And the armor's chest splays open and he climbs in, it then closes around him. "There are smiths, and then there are runesmiths. A runesmith must be a smith as well— in fact, most are mastersmiths— but the art of runesmithing takes centuries to master." He nods, "The worst case scenario is you will learn something from the sphere. It will be… interesting."
"It will be." Jean-Paul agrees. "I have little knowledge of magic and those who use it. It is not something known here. Or not to any real degree though I have heard of those practiced in it. Who are not Norse gods, that is."
The dwarf prince pauses a moment, "I am an expert on magic, but not on *spells* — the magic of the runes is very closely related to magic of spells but the practice is completely different." The illusion wraps around the armor again and he looks just like Anduvin— only without a beard, in a suit, and tall. "I do know there are sorcerers in Midgard, though perhaps not as many as once there were. There is at least one who bears the mantle Sorcerer Supreme — all realms have such. For Asgard it is, of course, Odin All-Father… though seidr— magic— is considered womanly." He pauses, "No one really makes a point of saying that in front of the High King."
"I wonder why." Jean-Paul's tone is dry. Looking around them, and at the humans who stayed to stare, he asks "Why are you here? Midgard, as you call it. Not Central Park. You came with the Asgardians, I take it?"
"No." Anduvin's expression becomes grave, "The Heart of the Mountain was penetrated, and some uru was stolen— uru is the most precious substance in the universe. As a metal it is no better then iron, except for one property: its ability to hold enchantment is beyond compare, and the more enchantment is laid upon it, the stronger it becomes. I tracked the theft to Midgard. I do not know how it is the Heart was penetrated, or why they came here, but it is my duty to find the culprits." He shrugs, "As Anduvinaunt is my charge for my lifetime, I was considered best suited to this task." For obvious sun related reasons.
"And in short supply, I would assume." Jean-Paul guesses. "How do I contact you? And for that matter, what is your name? I am Jean-Paul Beaubier." Pulling a business card out of a pocket, he offers it to Anduvin. "You may reach me at this number when you have prepared your… object."
"Anduvin Eitrison." Anduvin accepts the card, and nods his head, "I will contact you with contact information when the sphere is ready; it will not take long. Perhaps tomorrow." But he does nod, "Yes, incredibly short supply." Which makes that armor made all of it? Worth a king's ransom, likely.
"Until then." Jean-Paul says, giving the dwarf a nod and then flying up into the sky at only a couple hundred miles an hour.