Summary:Another chance meeting with a God-Wolf and a Valkyr has Ambrose hooked into an adventure. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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There's a Shake Shack near the corner of Old Fulton Street and Water Street. It's in an old building that's seen some refurbishment but the original building still stands. At this time of day, twilight - as the light is dimming - it's not particularly busy. There's a handful of people queuing inside to order.
Outside on the street, it's relatively quiet, the odd passerby as they scurry on home, or maybe to work. No one loitering or just standing around. at least to the casual observer.
In the shadows of columns that line the front of the store, there's a flare of light - well, darkness really - and a tall, stern blonde steps forth and takes a deep breath, before looking around. On her left is a small round shield - very … nordic looking. And very, very, odd here in, Brooklyn.
There's a hunter in the shadows. He looks like a man, tall and dark of hair but a feeling of dread permeates the air around him. That is, aside from the late hour, possibly one of the reasons that there is no one loitering around.
He sniffs the air, this tall, dark man and cants his head slightly before crossing the street to the shake shack and greeting the woman.
"Welcome back. You ran late I see. Trouble in the underworlds, was it?"
Fenris, for this is indeed the Destroyer Wolf, glances about just to see if anything might have come through with her and hidden… but no. Doesn't look that way.
*
Tonight required a shake — well, the family order went out for them. Given Ambrose was in the area in order to access some reserve items squirreled away in his Jackal den along the river, he's making his way back with his satchel across his chest. The Shake Shack is due for his order!
However, two fairly familiar faces loitering nearby are enough to make the man freeze at the end of the sidewalk's corner. He's not under the spotlight of the street lamp, but rather just about to step into it. The underlighting catches on zippers and buckles and within his pupils. They flicker as he looks between Astryd and Fenris and stays very…very…still.
*
There's small icicles on Astryds long blonde hair and in her eyebrows. She shivers as Hunter approaches and shakes her shield - which forms into the 'basket' of a hairpin. A hairpin that she takes a moment to secure in her hair. "I believe, my heart, I am right when I expected to be …" she shivers again before pressing a kiss to the Destroyers cheek. "I must say, you're a sight for sore eyes."
Her grey eyes scan the street, stopping on the glimmers from Ambroses shirt "Someone watches." It's mild, but a warming.
"I wouldn't say I had trouble, exactly. But Nav can be difficult." Nav, she said Nav. The underworld from Slavic folklore. "Veles would not speak to me but … the trip wasn't a complete waste."
"I can't imagine any lord of the underworlds would refuse your charm." Fenris teases but his eyes cut away to the area that Astryd mentioned and… oh. Someone watches indeed. And doesn't he look familiar.
"With me." Astryd can almost hear the grin in the Wolf God's voice as he turns to head toward Amrose.
"Splendid night to be out for a walk isn't it? Though I'm starting to wonder if you're not following us perhaps."
Though not intentional there is a somewhat inevitable comparison to the way Fenris approaches and a predator 'stalking' a meal. The question that he's asking himself right now is 'will this one run'.
He'd give it fifty fifty at the moment. Though he hasn't run yet and that probably means that he won't just bolt.
Probably.
*
Hands immediately come up to flash palms at the Wolf as the attention slips towards Ambrose. No weapons means no harm intended! Sharp ears will hear the audible bobble of throat. He caught the impossible shift of shield to hairpin and the improbable presence of icicle on a spring night like this.
"Oh ho, no-no, I — ah, heh — I assure you, no one's following someone like you," the master-thief replies in a tone far more light than he feels. "It is a splendid night, but I certainly do not wish to be infringing in your conversation, especially given the presence of Fae and any lords of the underworlds."
Oops. Someone heard more than potentially expected. Ambrose takes his first slow step back and his entire mein speaks to caution despite his own aura of dark blood-magic.
*
"Not everyone in the Underworlds are the recipients of my charm, my heart. That is mostly reserved for a beast of a man …" Astryd teases back, shifting the small bag she has slung over her shoulder.
She smirks though as Fenris stalks off, matching his pace easily as they approach the man. "Ambrose, was it not? At least I don't need to reprove your tongue tonight." She falls silent, watching the man almost sweat and back away before saying "Peace. We are but enjoying the evening. If Fenris is hungry I shall take him hunting later - you're much too scrawny for his tastes."
But enjoying the evening - *sure*.
Fenris circles behind Ambrose or at least attempts to do so. The man may after all try to keep him in sight. Once he has completed his circuit - almost inspecting - he stands by Astryd and looks the man they are speaking to up and down.
"I'm not feeling like eating anyone tonight, it's true." Does he eat anyone ever? That's probably not safe to ask.
"Ambrose, I do believe he said, yes. A pleasure, Ambrose. I regret that there are no trees to climb this time. But you are not infringing no. Tell me, do you know much of fae or lords of the underworld?"
Fenris is familiar enough with the weft and weave of fate to be curious at two such 'chance encounters' happening in such close succession. And Astryd likely is as well.
*
"Er, yes, it's Ambrose," the master-thief replies distractedly as he does turn in counter to the other dark-haired man. The Bane is kept in close check given his uncertainties about the situation (and certainties that he's dealing with some major-league supernatural hitters). When he's not immediately threatened, Ambrose straightens in place. The gathering of his tattered dignity can be seen as he looks between the two strangers.
"Firstly, I am not scrawny. Secondly, I am not edible…at least, not by either of you," he adds with a quick curl of a smile. Clearing his throat and adjusting the strap of the satchel across his body, he then looks back up at Fenris in particular. "Thirdly, I know enough of the Fae to know better than to cross them. Call it unfortunate life experience." His smile is thin and cold. "I've no experience with any lords of the underworld beyond that of a pantheon far-removed from this place." His eyes narrow, partially occluding the crimson nightshine of his pupils. "…why?"
*
"Astryd." The blonde prompts with an air of amusement. "And Fenris." she indicates the man before turning those cold, grey, eyes back to Ambrose and giving him a good once over. "Alright. I was mistaken. You aren't *very* scrawny."
When he says he has experience with the Fae her gaze sharpens. "Are you familiar then, with those called Sluagh? Or is your experience from the books that Mortals have writing for centuries?" Because those books, whilst they're based on 'truth' have been watered down and made sweeter over time.
"Why? What if I was to tell you that Sluagh walk in this town?"
"Yes. That Fenris." The tall, dark man says, putting hands in pockets and watching with a faint half smile playing about his lips as Astryd confirms she had the same thought that he did. They might be able to use this one. He senses something about Ambrose though he is not at all sure what. A touch of the paranormal.
"Do you have family about, Ambrose? Parents? Kids? Siblings? How do you feel about world ending events? For clarity, I'm against them myself."
Oh yes. They're going somewhere with that.
*
Ambrose's jaw is hanging visibly open now and his squinting has intensified. "What in the bloody hell…?" he whispers before visibly sucking on one of his canines. Another shift in place isn't him running away…yet.
"Regardless of whether or not you are who you claim to be, you're both eerie," he informs them in that crisp British accent of his. "That I have family is none of your ruddy business, but I'll admit that I'm no fan of danger that encompasses the entire globe. Two world wars were enough. I wouldn't wish a third." He reveals an abnormal age in comparison to his youthful looks in this.
His attention flicks to Astryd. "You ask which Fae. The Hunt." The Wild Hunt, to be more precise, the howling horror that rides on the East Wind. "I do not know of the Slaugh, though I doubt I would invite them in for tea." A thin snicker leaves him.
*
Astryd snorts and bats her eyelids a little "Eerie? I'm a pussy cat compared to him…" She seems pleased though as she clears the last of the ice from her hair.
"If you know of the Wild Hunt, then you know of the Sluagh. It is an ancient name give to them. Born from the unseelie court, The Sluagh hunt those they are unleashed on. Tentacled faced creatures, countenances few can gaze on and incredibly formidable warriors."
"The dead that I spoke to in Nav spoke of an uneasiness. They've not received new arrivals, probably won't, but the ancients there speak of the Sluagh moving as well." That's *not* why she went there but that's good information, none the less.
Back to Ambrose, her gaze sharpens "What do you know of the Hunt? Have you … experienced it?"
It really ISN'T any of Fenris' business whether or not Ambrose has a family but he smiles all the same when the man gives away his age. He's probably got a few things tying him to this world. Which is good. It makes this pitch that much easier.
"We think this one was summoned. Called. And that it is here to attempt to start Ragnarok. And to stop it, or at least to give us a better chance of doing so, we need to find something that was lost long ago…"
The Old Wolf looks in Astryd's direction. "Weren't you looking for help with that, m'dear?"
*
Rubbing his hand over his mouth, Ambrose closes his eyes and turns his head as if it might avert the influx of memories. A little shake dispels them as if he might shoo away a fly and he looks back at the two beings with thinned lips.
"Given the information you're so cordially volunteering to me, I shall share in return that I have at least seen the Slaugh in the past. I experienced the Hunt in a manner I would prefer to not again: as the hunted. Consecrated ground is all that saved my hide." His tongue polishes his canine tooth again behind his lips, an old tic that's never died.
"Lost something, however, did you? Terribly presumptive of you, if you're thinking you wish my assistance. What gives you the impression that I'm qualified in the least for this task…?" he asks, looking between Astryd and Fenris. However, it's clear as day that the master-thief is intrigued by the subtle shift in his air from cautious distrust to cautious interest.
*
"I was in England during the second war world. Or at least for some of it." Astryd offers up, her gaze growing distant for a moment. "During the Blitz. So many souls …" Is she saying that … no, she can't be. Valkyries only chose Warriors to ascend to Valhalla didn't they?
Ambrose persnickety nature draws her back and she chuckles a little at the tone and the words "Then you will know how formidable these creatures can be and that they don't give up … easily." Hallowed ground works, if you believe.
"I did not lose anything myself, no. I *have* been asked to locate and retrieve something though. You seem like a smart man, an experienced one and you haven't run from us, so there's that." The blonde says lightly. "Do you know of something called God-Killer?"
Ambrose should. Loki's Bow.
Astryd hands the small satchel she's been carrying to Fenris. "I was able to retrieve this. I can't read it though. Maybe you can? Or …" her grey gaze slides to Ambrose.
"Call it a hunch, Master Ambrose." Fenris says, using an older form of address. "In my world there are very few coincidences and this is the second time we have met without looking for you. And without, it would seem, you looking for us. I thought I might take a chance and see if it is perhaps…"
He glances at Astryd and his lips curl into an ironic smile. "… fate."
Fate. There's an interesting topic between the two of them.
*
Ambrose remains silent as to the revelation of what they're hunting for…but the tells are there in the slight gathering of his brows and the way his breathing hitches the slightest. The legendary bow — yes, there are enough tomes back at his home to warrant knowledge of it, at least in passing. His blue eyes shift to the other man and he too smirks. The laugh to follow is dry and rueful.
"Oh bloody hell…fate," he spits. Another chortle behind his teeth and he grimaces more than smiles. "Fate and I are old, old friends…" He draws out the last consonant into a short hiss. "I could never escape it and it appears not again." His hands clap together quietly and then are held out at his sides in a gesture almost akin to a shrug.
"And since I cannot escape the vexation of it, I might as well embrace it. The God-Killer. I know of it through tales and naught else. I hazard you need it to kill the Slaugh. I also hazard that since you're speaking to me, you do not have it. A lord of the underworld has it…?" the Jackal asks, extrapolating on the fly.
*
Astryd opens the satchel and reveals a small tablet made of some sort of stone. Or maybe it's bone. Hard to tell in this light. There's a scripty sort of writing of it that Ambrose can see when she hands it to Fenris.
"Yes. Fate. The Norns weave their tapestry, binding Fenris and I to the wheel. We … well, he can tell you more on that." The blonde considers the man. "We don't need God Killer ourselves but its original owner does. It is he who tasked me to find it. It was last seen in the clutches of Mephisto but the demons location is, as yet, unknown and no one can confirm that he does indeed have it."
"Its recovery is of importance to … all of us."
The script is a form of cunaeiform. An OLD form of that. Possibly dating to it's first pre-Sumerian uses, in the form utilized by one of the first empires the world had ever known. One that celebrated the glory of a place called 'Akkad'.
"Fate comes for us all. Astryd and I have learned to buck it, though the effort is continuous and not always successful. Sometimes, though, the stories it weaves are useful. This script predates my arrival on this world considerably. It's not one I ever learned to read."
'Let he who has ears hear the words of this vision: And behold I saw four sons of the same father. In the eyes of one shown the light of the world. In the hand of one was the rage of a storm. In the heart of one was winter and darkness. The forth held a bow, but lo, the bow was lost in darkness. Let those who seek it at go down to the houses of Ishtar, to the place where Enkidu rests.' That's part of it, though there is quite a bit more.
*
"Mephisto…" The Jackal echoes the name under his breath. He seems to not know it, or at least not know it well. The tablet, however, garners his attention in a showcase of focus not too unlike a bird dog on point. He licks his lips and looks from it to Fenris.
"Were I not a victim of fate myself and privy to one who can trace its compass-flow, I would think this a very elaborate prank," he quietly informs the two beings. "Your tablet." Ambrose nods at it, a breathlessness now filling his voice, as if it is of priceless worth to him. "At least…1500 B.C. Post-Sumerian, pre-Mesopotamian. I believe…" A squint at it as he tilts his head dramatically to read it. He then repeats the verses to Fenris and Astryd and pauses, peering harder. A short bark of a laugh. "No deities that I am aware of are mentioned, but it goes on to laud them further."
Ambrose pauses and eyes Astryd. "…and you found this where, precisely?"
*
"Mephisto…" Astryd smiles not worried that the name doesn't seem to be recognised. Perhaps even relieved that it isn't. "… an ancient enemy of Asgard. Some might call him a demon lord, we tend to call him … Fred." She's kidding of course.
"I couldn't either but I've not made the study of languages that you have, my heart. The Allspeak…" that's to Ambrose now "… allows us to speak any language in the nine realms but reading and writing them? We have to *learn* those."
She's silent as he and Fenris speak, watching the pair with icy grey eyes. "Precisely? About 20000 steps along the path in Nav. I … had to convince a shade to part with it." Nav, the Slavic Underworld of Mythology. "Can you translate the rest of it? Not now, of course, but can you?"
"That at the very least would be a great help if you could. And if we might convince you to do more… for the sake of the world, of course." Fenris IS sincere about that part. It is for the sake of the world. He figures that's a better pitch than 'for his sake'. He is off putting at best to most people. And mostly, it's not 'best' that he projects.
Fenris catches a whiff of something up the street and his eyes narrow. "I'll leave you to handle the rest of this, dear. Ambrose… we'll speak again later."
With a nod Fenris jogs up the street. That scent he caught… might be the one he was looking for earlier.
*
"Of course I would be able to translate the rest of it. I consider myself the least-known, foremost expert on the script and its translation," replies Ambrose with a stunningly prideful scoff. He seems itching to get his hands on the tablet itself, but doesn't reach for it, not when he knows of the shifting propensities of both beings before him. Fenris's abrupt departure, however, has him straightening in place and watching the man leave with eyes gone narrowed.
"Yes, well…for the sake of the world is all well and good, but…" He seems to consider something before letting out a long, slow sigh. His eyes flick to Astryd again, their pupils flashing carmine for a last time. "Never I mind. And how shall I contact you again, milady Astryd?" Apparently, now that he of the aura of Doom-and-Gloom has gone off after a scent, the Jackal feels comfortable showcasing his charm. His smile is admittedly rakish now in the fall of the streetlight.
*
Least known, foremost expert. Astryd blinks and chuckles as Fenris stalks off. "I'll join shortly, my heart…" she calls after him looking back to Ambrose. "One gets used to it." She smiles.
"Just Astryd, Ambrose. I'm a fallen Valkyr after all." She winks. "We live in Queens. Ulric and Natasha Kerensky, in the phone book. Our human aliases for the time being." If Ambrose was to search for them, there's a full history and legal documents.
"I extend the hospitality of our home to you, Ambrose. Guest Right will be observed. Feel free to drop in or call, if you need anything or find something."
Oh yes, he's very charming. Astryd might be tempted … had it been another time.
"Now, if you'll excuse me. I will find my Lord." With a bow in his direction, the tall blonde heads off.