Summary:On the quest to regain his hammer, Thor crosses paths with Diana. Accepting her offer of assistance, the two get on their way to finding the lost Mjolnir. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The mystical storms have been fierce, a bizarre pattern of storms off and on over the course of the late spring, early summer: about five of them in total. They started months ago. It seems to have little pattern: suddenly the skies will react to powerful magic, churning, electrical sparks above, and then the storms will be gone as quickly as they arrived.
Last night, another such storm brewed, causing thick warm rain. It wasn't dangerous, more just turbulent, though the sky remained broody and weeping on the landscape for the whole of the next morning. The dawn has settled in, the sun warm, but the stress of the lightning in the sky clamps with booms of thunder now and then.
The rain has turned heavier, focused on the coastline, and has come with the shape, seemingly out of nowhere, of a large male figure. He's stayed to the beach so far, but he must have dropped out of thin air, or traveled quickly, to get there. The resonance of the magical storm may have attracted him: he's right in the middle of it, the broody wet shoreline making his squatting figure a low lump at most.
The apparent regularity of the localized storms have the regional meteorologists puzzled. This in combination with the nearness to a homeland dear to her heart has brought one Diana Prince into the area. Having eschewed her modern fashion for the trappings of her warrior caste, she's been patrolling the shoreline itself for many days now. A message from her homeland reaching her about a potential interloper on the beach itself has brought her out into the sheeting rain. It sleeks down her dark hair and shines on the gauntlets and greaves at her wrists and shins.
Espying the unknown lump at an appreciable distance, Diana slows in her tread of the wet beach sand. She doesn't draw either sword or shield, nor does she grab for the golden lasso at her hip. Instead, she takes a handful of steps more yet and calls out towards it, in case it's organic rather than a pile of boulders in the gloom.
"Are you in need of assistance?" Her voice carries, strident and true, through the light pattering hiss of rain.
The sky growls, drowning out the last word Diana's carrying voice tries to send. The growl is an upset sound, a wounded animal, that spatters into the distant clouds, bringing more of the spattering hiss of rain slapping into the ocean, the rocks, and the sand.
Still, the organic lump heard her, although it doesn't move right away. One hand lifts up and out, in a clear raised broad hand that emotes an obvious 'stop', or 'wait', or both. It carries with it that the figure may be injured, or focused, or some other thing: whether she chooses to read it as a warning or not would be up to her, in the gloomy dawn. Regardless, it's a very big man, on both knees, in the wet sand, a tangle of a dark crimson cloak shiny from water tangled against his feet.
The rumble of thunder dances in the metal of her shield and in the air itself as Diana stands there. The upkick of wind makes clumps of wetted hair briefly lift from her bared shoulders. She ignores this as she focuses on the being and especially upon the hand uplifted.
While she might normally heed whatever warning is imparted, the proximity to the hidden world beyond the invisible veil on the waters is enough to make her dismiss care in favor of concern. Memories jog at the front of her mind briefly; a crashed plane and a missing smile set the fall of dominoes that led her to here and now.
"Excuse me, did you hear me? Are you unwell?" she calls out again, now much closer to the man in his rain-soaked cloak, about a dozen yards or so. Her hands remain neutral at her sides, not yet grabbing for any form of weaponry.
The front of the blonde man's hair is pulled back in a loosened ponytail; the rain has slicked most of the rest of his wavy long hair down and forward on his neck and shoulders. He doesn't turn his head towards her yet, but adjusts the open palm to tick down each finger.
Five, Four. Three. Two. One. Fist.
It was a method of asking for just a few more seconds. He releases a jagged breath, then, and turns his head towards her, remaining still on his knees. In fact, he sits back against his heels more, and drops his palms to his thighs. It is a physical expression of a style of tired frustration.
"Yes," Thor calls back. The man can project; his own style of thunder. "I am merely attempting to concentrate, to discern my path," He drops his head some, pats his hands on soaked thighs once.
Thor is dressed in a version of his Avenger gear, more appropriate for an adventure in a less showy way: his dark crimson cloak is consistent to his 'costume', but otherwise he is in a mix of blacks and dark leathers comfortable to him, and not modern at all. This was a quiet quest, and his clothes reflect his mood about it as a whole. He doesn't appear to be armed, other than being very muscularly bulky. He hasn't stood up, but he's probably a mythic sized tower.
Diana is unashamed to admit that her hand strayed towards her sword at the sudden shifting of fingers. At least, she wondered at an ancient brand of magic, but swiftly recognized instead a count-down rather than a spell cast. Once the well-built man settles upon his heels, she does take a few more steps closer yet. The distance closes to about a dozen feet and there she plants herself, quiet and obdurate in her way. Behind her, the wet sand and rain swallow her bootprints.
"I apologize for interrupting then." The dark-haired woman speaks loud enough to be heard over the shush of in-rushing waves and another rumble of thunder. "I didn't expect to find anyone out in this weather. If you're discerning your path, you must be lost?"
The man stares out at the water for a long beat, and then laughs. The roll of his deep, rueful laugh is pleasant, but also blends well with the storm around them. He is laughing at himself, his situation, the world; it is not directed at her, or her question. "That is an apt judgement," Thor admits, looking aside at her again, a smile on his lips, tone relaxed, accepting.
"It is not enough to know where you are, if you know naught where you are headed," Thor says, with a thoughtful, softened tone. Softened for him, anyway: it still carries well over the beach.
"If you do not mind my asking, have these storms been continuous? Have they centered over an area in particular? I seek to find the source. It is that which I have lost."
Despite this blond stranger's melancholy manner, the Amazonian warrior finds the corners of her lips rising. Her expression remains watchful if enigmatic in turn, knowing of things she does not set free with words. She follows his gaze out towards the waters and marks from long memory where the veil falls. That he looks away from it in turn without noticeable marks of guile or recognition settles a low-burning worry in her mind.
"The storms have been frequent," Diana replies with a glance up into the pouring rain. She watches the crackling crawl of white lightning through the iron-bellied clouds before looking at the man again. She seems heedless of the draw of droplet down her face. "They're unusual for the area. I too came to seek their cause. You say that you know of their source? I have not yet found it, though rumor has reached me of unnatural stirrings farther inland, a good ways and through contested territory." An interesting phrasing, this last part, given the land itself is fairly populated by modern society. Maybe it's the government-claimed reserve she speaks to?
Thor's awareness of what area of territory is which is mediocre at best, though she may see a little bit of a perk at the idea of 'contested'. But it is likely no different than the sparkle in a warrior's eye about an adventure to be had: his idea of what 'contested' is may not be what she meant. Or it could be on target.
"I seek the eye of the storm," Thor answers evenly, guileless. "Either to the west, or northwest," he says, panning a finger from the hidden lands to one side, and then angling slightly away. He turns his eyes towards the veil, with a sort of thoughtful, puzzled look. "Is it only water in that way? Or islands? It may have fallen there." Thor looks at the sand at his knees, brushing a hand down into the sand to allow the particles to fall out of his grasp in loose wet clumps. "What contest might I find?"
Diana considers the spread of the ocean once more at his questions. Her chest rises and falls before she replies, "A most unwelcoming committee would greet you on the water — and I can assure you, I would know if this source had fallen there. I would have been informed immediately, as the sentinel between it and this modern world. What you seek is not there. As to your contest…"
Her dark-hazel eyes flick now towards the interior of the Mediterranean forest sprawling to their side. "The government claims a section of this land is unsafe for tourists and local because of collapsing pockets of earth and sinkholes. Those who enter without proper weaponry have fallen to their deaths." She gives the blond man a significant look, hazarding that her choice of words implies much more than quicksand or hollow pits. After all, he appears the sturdy sort.
"May I ask your name, given I suspect your path and my own might further cross?"
Thor overlooked his introduction, due to his focus on his quarry. "Of course!" Thor replies, and evenly rises off of his knees to his full height. He's slick with rain, has sand all over his shins, knees, and cloak. His cloak cloyingly sticks to his legs until he throws it back some out of the way.
"I am Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard; Avenger, and God of Thunder," Thor declares evenly. He does not approach her or move into her personal space: he can see her body language and sword, and took in her polite quality, meeting respect with respect.
"I offer no quarrel to those that protect this realm upon the water, should it not secret my goal from me."
While tall herself at precisely six feet, Diana does have to lift her chin to continue looking upon the Asgardian's face. He is another half-foot taller yet. She keeps the calm, mysterious smile on her lips as she listens to the introduction. A faint frown shifts into transparent, calm surprise at his titles — apparently, through hear-say and like as not the New York grapevine, she's aware of him at least as an Avenger.
"They offer no quarrel as well, your highness, and this can be continued to be assumed as long as you do not engage with them further. They value their privacy highly," she explains in gentle diplomacy. "I am Diana, Princess of the Amazons, known to the modern world as 'Wonder Woman'." An incline of her head is all she offers, not prone to curtsies or bowing or handshakes given the rest of her hands on her hips.
"It's nice to meet you. Your actions and feats are known to me. Would you accept aid in your search? The sooner we find this source, the better, given this area has already experienced flooding damage and the people suffer."
"Ah! Princess Diana, of the wonder women. Of course," Thor replies, accepting that with apparent ease and pleasure. Her introduction seems to have rung a bell somewhere in the back of Thor's head. His 'diplomacy' involves just a broad smile and clear blue eyes. Guile is something entirely left to his younger brother: Thor radiates quite the opposite. He's easy for people to follow and trust, with his open and brash manner.
Thor does begin to walk over to her now, through the sand, hands relaxed at his sides. He doesn't take much heed of the rain. "It is my pleasure as well. Aid? As I do not know the lay of these lands, a guide is appreciated," Thor replies, picking up on her diplomacy, and trying to behave similarly, perhaps. Diplomacy isn't an experience area for the large warrior, but the intent is there.
"I can sense the storm direction, but it takes time, and focus," Thor comments, as if admitting a weakness.
Diana nods, watching his approach and remaining where she is. She can appreciate the openness of personality and her smile deepens in unconscious reflection of it. If anything, she might be the staid one between the towering Asgardian and herself.
"I did not think my reputation preceded me, but thank you. I will be your guide. If you can sense this storm…" She fades out beneath another roll of thunder and glances upwards, squinting against a slapping sheet of rain. "Can you not influence it as well? If it will take you some time, then so be it — I have a simple errand to run. You see, modern vehicles will not make it across the grounds of the contested territory. We will require a different manner of transport." Her eyes run down his body and up to his face again. "I believe I have a mount strong enough to bear you."
Without any humor, Thor questions directly and with a mild hope, "Do these mounts fly?"
That was a normal question: there are Asgardian Goats and Pegasus to consider, and that would be quite helpful at this point. "I am well versed in a range of mounts," Thor assures her. "Other than modern vehicles. I do not prefer them," he says, his voice lowering towards his version of conspiratorial: a sort of loud stage-whisper.
"I do influence storms," Thor answers. "It is the magic relic I seek which is creating the extended storm." A look goes upwards. He reflects. "This one is caused by frustration. Extend my apologies to those affected by flooding, this day," Thor says, his mood turning to dismay. Around them, the storm shudders with his mood shift, the dawn darkening as the clear quality passes from his light blue eyes.
"They do not fly, no, save for being fleet of hoof," Diana explains as to the horses. They are of lineage from her homeland and her own mount will be hers to ride, but this won't affect things overmuch in her opinion. The Asgardian's mood shift, however, does make her glance upwards again. A flutter of her lashes follows, not quite a flinch, as a particularly sharp CRACK of thunder almost bounces from her entire skin and the beach lights up from a multi-pronged streaking of lightning.
Her own dark eyes return to him and linger. "I presume you did not mean to cause this suffering, Thor. Regardless, I can tell that the weather is within your power. You are the God of Thunder, yes? Do your good deed by giving this weather a reason to calm and clear, the better to help the people as well as give us a better path to your missing relic." She lifts a hand from her hip in silent query. A good idea, yes? "Do this while I retrieve the mounts?"
Thor nods once to the mention of mounts, gallant in his acceptance. He doesn't judge her due to her flightless mounts: hardly. He himself is flightless right now. "Yes, of course. I will drain the storm of power," Thor determines firmly, entirely willing to go along with her suggestion, it appears. If he is a stubborn god, it isn't about that. It is not exactly a declaration of making things calm, though, that he made, but may have the same result.
"I will remain here for a time. Should I be required to move, you may find me closer to the lightning," Thor answers. "Travel well, Princess Diana, of wonders." He inclines his head to her.
The Princess of the Amazons returns the dip of head without care of the water-logged state of her person, just as regal as the Asgardian Prince in turn. Her eyes rise to the grey, roiling skies a last time.
"I won't be long. The stables are an hour's walk up the beach. I will keep an eye on the storm as I travel. I know I will see much less lightning as I go." She gives him another small smile and turns to leave. "Be well in my absence, Prince Thor, of the Thunder. I will return with mounts."
Her form is slowly swallowed up by the sheeting rain as she leaves him, her bootprints equally ephemeral in the wake of the damp sand and the washing waves. She walks with a confidence and feminine poise like as not seen in the Valkyrie of Odin's host.
As stated, Diana is gone for two hours — an hour's walk to the stables she mentioned and another hour's walk back, as to not stress the horses in question. At one point, the fall of rain lessens to a drizzle. She looks up at the sky and its thinning clouds in silent gratitude, also grateful for her circlet and its semi-control of her wet locks. At her right hand, her personal mare Kachi, of Amazonian war-horse lineage, and at her left, another mare of war-horse lineage; she sports a lighter coat, blue-grey with a dappling of spotting at her rump. Kachi is far darker, though still too light to be called 'black'.
With the impressive downpour seeming to have lightened, Diana and the two horses are more easily seen on their approach to where she last saw Thor.
The lightning storm struck multiple places around the beachfront; patches of rocky shoreline are scarred with the strikes of lightning in two places, a rock split with the harsh electrical blasts, and sand flung about. The remains of a smoking, ember pile that was a tree marks the second location, further up the beach.
No respect for the landscape.
The storm itself has lessened in the area, leaving just a mist, and the heady scent of the electrical blasts and ozone in the area. Hunting for Thor is easy: he did travel, but not far. He's moved up the land onto a better vantage point, and is visible seated on a clump of raised land; he is damp but no longer soaked. He spots the motion of the horses immediately and stood up, making him even easier to see as he observes her approach.
Thor jumps down off the rocks simply; he chose not to jump AT her, as he's aware of spooking the horses with that maneuver. Instead, he jogs over to meet her, dusting sand from his palms as he rejoins her, with a pleased, warm smile. He's proud of something. "I have ended the storm," Thor announces, in the manner of men proud of small tasks like taking out the garbage.
On her travels, the Amazonian warrior notes the glassing of the earth and the damage enacted upon the tree; the scent of scorched earth and wood alike is just this side of acrid and her nose wrinkles at it briefly. The horses don't shy, but they toss their heads at her side as if too acknowledging the results of the storm's electrical output. They stay at her sides at the Asgardian's approach, their ears flicking forwards in curiosity without malice at the stranger. Diana smiles in her way again up at him.
"As I expected of someone calling himself the God of Thunder. Well done, your highness." She lifts a hand beneath each horse's chin to wrap her fingers gently around the outer plate of each cheek. "Meet our assistants in our journey. This is Kachi. She is my own horse, since I assisted in her birth." The darker-coated horse whickers quietly. "This is Breccha, of the same lineage. She will bear you easily and smoothly. Her bearing is calm despite being trained in the arts of war." The blue-dapple mare sniffs towards Thor amiably enough, extending out her bristly nose as if to invite a petting.
"They wear no bridles or saddles because these will stir alarm in the contested territory. Will this be a problem?" she asks so blithely of the Asgardian, a twinkle of challenge in her deeply-golden eyes.
"I have ridden a Thunderbird with no tackle. However, should it become a problem, I will keep pace on foot," Thor answers her challenge with a self-assured, calm little smile: that is aimed at the horse, not Diana, since he is interacting with the animal, now. He approaches with a relaxed manner, hand out to brush down the animal's forehead to the nose, and then up near the side of cheek. Thor is comfortable with creatures.
"Breccha; a noble metal, 'Gold'," Thor tells the horse, translating her name automatically. "What more should I know, that might stir alarm ahead of us?" Thor asks, while still getting familiar with the horse, so that she'll be more willing to accept him as a rider.
Through her own animal empathy, Diana can tell that Breccha will have little issue with the Prince, even if he is male and not female as her accustomed riders are. Animals do have a way of knowing the unseen and the merit of the two-legged beings around them.
She turns her attention to Kachi, thus giving Thor free license to interact with the blue-grey horse he currently pets. "The very second our feet touch the earth, alarm will spring. It may behoove us to remain mounted." If she's aware of her pun, she doesn't let on but for an amused glimmer in her dark eyes. "The monstrosities prowling the area are blind to the innocent of the earth, such as the horses and other wildlife. A dog would remain untouched."
With a little skip-jump and grip at the base of Kachi's mane, Diana swings up onto her back. The mare sidles and then settles, her ears rotating all about. "Do you have a weapon on you in case we do end up at odds with the monstrosities?"
Thor nods, lifting one hand up under his cloak, turning to shove it aside. He has a handaxe on his back; it isn't small, but due to the physical size of his back, it was mostly hidden by laying against his broad mass under the bulk of his cloak. "I do, although I do suspect that part of the challenge of this quest is to not rely on weapons," Thor says, with a firm manner. "It is important to do such a thing properly and with honor." He looks at Breccha's back now, coming to her side, and takes a lot of care to set a hand at her upper back and to climb up. It isn't extremely graceful, because he is very very obviously minding how hard his weight hits her: he doesn't want to harm the horse. It's telling, in a way: his deliberate awareness and care.
Once astride, although the horse probably does react: Thor's bulky, heavy, and has a different method than the horse is used to of gripping with thigh and heel in an unfamiliar area on her body, but they'll work it out-Thor settles without using his hands, confident in his balance.
"I have a direction for us," Thor begins, with a gesture towards the distant trees, past his outcropping he had been perched on. "But I cannot tell how far."
His commentation about the importance of honor makes Diana frown faintly, but she doesn't immediately address it. Instead, she watches his interactions with Breccha. That he comports himself with attention to her own personal feelings to his bulk and strength earns him more points than initially expected. She nods to herself; it's reassuring to find the animals echoing her inner discernment of his morality and intent.
The woman looks in the direction indicated by the sweep of his hand and Kachi begins to move. "A direction is a better start than no direction at all. You'll be able to sense when we get close to this relic, right? I can estimate that we'll be traveling inland about five miles before we reach the territory it could be within," she shares, glancing back to him.
Thor is very clearly terrible at masking anything, and it shows with his scrunched nose and uncomfortable little half smile. "Yes?" Thor says, with all the confidence of someone who suspects it will be true. "Sure." That's very clearly a maybe. "I will know, but I do not know at what distance," Thor finally grants. That's entirely truthful: he may need to be pretty close, and he's just not certain specifically.
"We had best be started." Thor gets distracted by Breccha. His signals to her are confusing, and he's needing to figure it out. It's a little graceless, as he ends up causing her to move forward and halt. He soothes her with his palms forwards, though, apologetic, with a cluck of tongue. Between them, they sort it out, starting to move.
"Yes, let us be traveling. It won't be a needle in a haystack, I think, finding your relic. That's always been a favored saying of mine from the modern world. Needle in a haystack," the Amazon echoes to herself with a fond smile on her lips. Kachi slows to allow her fellow herd-mate to not be left behind while communication is ironed out between the mare and Thor, but soon enough, both horses are moving at a brisk walk along the beach. The air moves past them, laden with seasalt and the remains of the calmed storm.
It isn't long at all before Diana pipes up again, her tone curious and conversational. "I have a question of you, Thor. You mentioned earlier that this must be done with honor. This seems to me to imply that your relic has requirements for its use. I understand," she's certain to add and holds up an arm before herself to taptap a fingernail on the bracelet at her wrist. The action flexes through her arm, showcasing supple muscle. "These are relics of my homeland and they too have requirements."
"A needle is placed within the feed for a creature? That seems very dangerous. Ah! I see. Difficult to locate, to save your creature: as needles appear much as the strands of hay?" Thor asks, a little bit skeptically, but willing to accept the saying. He just had to puzzle through the logic of it. "It is as boots upon the wrong feet. It does make sense, though not on the surface," Thor decides. He had accidentally urged Breccha to wander, but he corrects back again, perhaps a little too close for comfort, to ride directly next to Diana now.
It does, though, give him a good view of her bracers. "Extreme power should be carefully guarded with requirements," Thor declares firmly, respectful of her unknown bracers' abilities, whatever they might be. "There is a tale of how this relic came to part from me, should you wish to hear it. It does not cast me in a positive light, and I have other stories that are much more pleasing."
No one's knees get to bumping just yet and if Diana is displeased by the proximity to the Asgardian royal, she must be discounting it as rusty riding skills rather than intentional decision. Concern for him beside her isn't at his nearness; it's at the wording of his offering in terms of tales.
Firstly, she does confirm, "It is boots on wrong feet," as to his puzzlings. "Or gauntlets on wrong wrists." Her nod is understanding. Thor is the recipient of a searching, dark-eyed look now, her attention lingering on his face rather than on Kachi's travels. The mare is trustworthy enough; there won't be any sudden stops to browse on foliage.
"You certainly do not have to tell me of how you came to lose it, unless it will influence our adventure. It would be wise to share if this is the case. Surely it wasn't as bad as, say, starting an entire war that nearly ended the world? Because I've dealt with this before and I won't be impressed if this is the case," she forwarns him in all fairness.
((To be cont.))