2019-10-29 - The White Hilt


An old man gets ahold of a dagger not meant for Mortal hands. So of course other mortals gotta get their hands on it too. Kwabena, Thor, and Gwen sort the situation out.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Tue Oct 29 04:56:49 2019
Location: Lower East Side

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Theme Song



In the middle of the street in not so broad daylight stands a man cackling happily even as rain falls steadily around him, the heavy weight of the overcast clouds far above provide a steady flow of shadow over the figure as he holds aloft a great silvered dagger that gleams with an emerald pommel as he holds it before him. Each time he points it there's a flash of light and a rough /KACHOW!/ as some sort of _force_ seems to emanate forth from it, slashing across the distance and smashing into whatever he aims at.
First it had been a car, now crumpled with hood turned inwards. Next had been a news stand that had been smashed apart and splintered, the many many pages of so many magazines slashing across the way like so much confetti thrown into the air.
And most recently the last thing he had gestured at was the pile of old detritus that hadn't been picked up by the negligent trash collectors of this neighborhood, sending debris into the air along with everything else. Yet he just laughed as he held the blade. Though to glance at him one would be hard-pressed to imagine him being so filled with malice.
For, the way he looked was clearly as a man in his eighties, laughing uproariously at the mayhem he causes even as the people in the crowd, in their cars on the street, on the sidewalks, were all running away from him at this point.

Never alone, Kwabena Odame is leaving an elevated MTA station, with two plain clothed SHIELD agents not far behind him. The fact that he's even allowed to leave the Triskelion is a testament not only to their scientists, but to their therapists, and to their leadership. What he doesn't expect is to be confronted with something like this upon exiting that station.

First, it is the newspaper that flaps into his face. He grumbles something in Russian, reaching a hand to whip the newspaper away from his face, only to catch sight of the trash being blown to smithereens. The two agents behind him have seen it as well, and they're already on their earpieces, calling it in.

Kwabena doesn't yet move, having stopped halfway down the stairs that lead to a gated turnstile and out to the street. He's brushed by a few people who have jumped said turnstile, trying to get away from the old maniac. Anyone who's ever seen the Thousand Yard Stare will recognize it in his silver eyes and the way his left hand grips hold of the handrail, like a vice against steel.

An eighty year old man busy blasting things… to pieces. Well, that's bizarre, and it's certainly bizarre enough to attract attention. Spider-Woman (the new one) has been out on patrol, webslinging between buildings and generally keeping an eye on things during the day — hey, she's got no classes this afternoon and no tests this week, so why not? So far she's managed to help with a car accident, settle a dispute between two teenagers, and she's even rescued a kitten! Good stuff!
But now there's an old man with a magic dagger, or… something…?
Gwen drops down off a webline some distance away, landing amongst people who are all busy running away. "Easy there," she greets, holding her hands up non-threateningly as she approaches. "Hey, sir, you're scaring people, yeah? Think I could get you to take a moment to talk about it?"

Wild-eyed, bald, save for a tuft of white hair that circles the back of his head. Bearded, though it's frayed and curly matching his eyebrows on that little wizened face. He's all of five foot three, all of a hundred pounds perhaps soaking wet? And yet he affixes her with a maniacal smile even as civilians continue to scurry and scatter.
Kwabena is noted at times as less a person and more an obstacle as the mob mentality starts to take control of those nearby. Especially when there is that roil of condensing power, somewhat invisible save for a flickering shimmer that might seem almost like the way heat causes the world to ripple above it.
There's a crackle and then another /SHAWAM!/ as it hits a parked garbage truck, lending the contents of its bin to the already considerable mess made around him as its shell is compressed like a stomped on soda can.
Only then Gwen makes her appearance, her hands held up, attempting to appear harmless as she approaches the elderly enigma. His blue eyes narrow, hazy irises trying to focus on her as he looks a little confused and answers her simply with, "Eh?!" That is uttered almost as if accusing and less interrogative.

There isn't a flinch, but the eyes refocus when the garbage truck becomes the old man's next victim. Kwabena is drawn out of it, collecting or rearranging whatever it was that's been scrambled in his head. He makes to take a single step down, but sight of a cape approaching the man draws him to slow, eyes narrowed. He looks at Spider-Woman, then to the old man, and yet he waits again. This time, however, his eyes are dashing left and right, up and down, mapping the street, the street lights, the lamp posts, angles and distances, everything.

"Woah! Eay there partner." Gwen takes another stop forwards, approaching the man slowly and carefully. Afterall, he has a blasty-dagger, or… or something. "I mean, did the garbage truck have to die? I know they keep missing stuff, like that pile over there that you destroyed, but we can talk about this, right?"
The black and white clad spider lowers her hands, adopting a more easy going sort of posture, as she creeps forwards another step. As she walks, she's keeping her fingers pressed to the little paddles for her webshooters, just in case of course. "Eh? Whaddaya mean 'Eh'?" She pauses, and ooooohs, "I get it, you're Canadian. Well, that's cool, I like Canadians, they're sweet and they like maple syrup and live in igloos and appologize a lot." She takes another step, resting one hand on her hip as she comes. "But, how about you just put the dagger down for a moment, and we can talk about it, yeah?"

A man nearly collides with Kwabena, and spares just enough time to snap, "Hey, watch it, man!" Only for him to look into the strange eyes of the erstwhile terrorist operative. A look that causes him to rethink whatever chiding he might wish to give to the man.
Pieces of truck and trash and magazines flutter down onto the ground, some rattling, others flapping, and all leaving a mess of myriad proportions marking the place clearly as having been touched by some force of chaos. Yet the old man remains steady on his feet, even if his features seem less in control.
The dagger levels at Gwen, that haze of heat shimmer rising from it as he extends it in her direction. For a moment he looks all the more confused and perhaps a little lost as if this wasn't where he was supposed to be. But then that look of irate anger slithers back onto his features and Gwen might well be feeling the rising tingle of her spider-sense letting her know that she may well be his next target.
"You people don't listen!" He snaps, even though he hadn't said anything before now. "That's your problem. Not listening! I didn't want to do this! But what choice do I have? Have you seen prices these days? Five dollars for milk!"
Her spider sense most likely starts tingling all the more.

Dark wash blue jeans, a long sleeved black tee, and a leather jacket all fall to the ground in a heap upon a set of tighty whities, black socks, and boots. Kwabena has transformed into a black cloud of smoke, and in a matter of seconds, living tendrils of biomatter have dispersed up into the air, like so much shattered garbage and dust, becoming one with the carnage.

The molecules spread out and disperse until they are invisible, only to converge high above and behind the shouting elderly man. It takes time, but time is what Spider-Woman has bought. The incognito SHIELD agents are watching, their eyes wide and wary.

That cloud suddenly shoots forward and wraps itself around the old man's head, with black tendrils trying to force their way into his nostrils and mouth.

Gwen sets her feet, flexing her knees and making herself ready to jump out of the way; but she doesn't do that just yet, instead hlding her hands out, palms up. "Man, I am with you," she assures that older fellow. "I mean seriously, five dollars for milk? That's awful. Who can afford that? I'm trying to go to college myself and I can barely afford it!" She takes a cautious step closer; meanwhile her senses are telling her this is a really bad plan and she should dive behind something.
But, diving behind something wouldn't be super heroic, so Spider-Woman keeps creeping forwards. "Tell me what's bothering you, besides the milk? I'm here to listen, I— WOAH LOOK OUT!"
And now there's a black cloud encircling the man and going… up his nose? The young spider shoots a couple of weblines now, one aimed to yank the dagger out of his hand (and pulled on with enough strength to bring a locomotive to heel) and the other, much gentler, just trying to pull him out of the… whatever that is.

Unseeing the cloud of darkness, unable to realize the menace that crept upon him, the old man faced Gwen and the silvered dagger gleamed its own little malevolent gleam bare moments before it would have unleashed yet again upon the world, only this time aimed at the youthful heroine.
Only now he is beset. Dark serpentine tentacles of hazy biomatter reaching and grasping and twisting and controlling. All curling around the older man. He reacts as if his head was yanked back, a gasp slipping to a shout is heard as that dagger /fires/ only wildly and up into the air with another loud, 'SHAWAM!' as the heat shimmer reaches a height and then dissipates when released.
There's that quick _thwip_ as weblines fire, snaring the edge of the dagger only for it to slice the first quick attempt in twain, but an almost instant re-firing will snare the dagger and she's able to /yank/ it clear. Though at first it might seem like the old man had entirely more strength that he should, but Gwen's grasp exceeds his and suddenly there is a blade in her hand.
A blade that seems to insist on reminding her of the time she slew a giant, the memory surging forth from the weapon as if it were her own. The dagger held aloft in her hand and plunging down over and over into the creature in that vision. The world takes on aspects of shadow around the periphery, and matters might seem all the more confusing though what effect the dagger might have upon someone with Gwen's willpower is anyone's guess.
But now free of the dagger, Kwabena has total control of the rapidly crumpling form as the old man lets out a whimper and collapses. Utterly all fight fleeing from him. Weakness rampant on his slack features.

The tendrils of smoke immediately withdraw, take the shape of a man just before the crumpling old fellow, and reform into a dark skinned figure shrouded in what would appear to be a gunmetal gray skin suit, only it looks… different, somehow, as if some blending of technology and fabric. It leaves his hands bare, but his head is covered, at least for the moment.

Kwabena looks down at the old man, then immediately whips around to look at Spider-Woman. The skinsuit that covers his head suddenly begins to peel away, exposing his bald head and silver eyes that bear an expression of harshly trained vigilance.

Meanwhile, the SHIELD agents were going for their modified ICERs, tucked carefully away within jackets. Modified to handle Kwabena himself, with rounds designed to burst into gas upon impact and fuse with the biomatter itself, but they aren't yet drawn. Instead, one of them speaks quietly into his earpiece, providing a report to control. "Situation appears to be under control. Shift engaged, but did not use lethal force."

Kwabena looks from Spider-Woman and back to the old man, frowning. He crouches down and reaches for the man's neck, but only with two fingers, searching for a pulse.

"Everyone stay back," he says loudly in a heavily accented English. Trained ears would recognize the central African dialect. However, as he checks the pulse, his eyes turn back to Spider-Woman, watching her carefully.

Spider-Woman, at this moment, is having a totally different experience. She killed a Giant once. But did she? Did she really? She certainly seems to remember it. She takes a step back, holding the dagger in her hand, and putting the other out to the lamppost beside her to steady herself. A lamppost? Or a tree? She's in a battlefield, she knows it; hundreds of the slain lie around her, and the crows overhead exult in their coming feast. But she, yet, lives; standing clad in armor, once shining but now drenched in blood.
"Victory is mine!" she shouts, raising the weapon aloft. Or… is it? Isn't she just a teenager who got bitten by a spider this one time, and is still to nervous to even consider herself a super-hero, nevermind the fact that she can lift a semi-truck and throw it? "I…" she trails off, rubbing at her forehead. "What's going on?"
Gwen looks around herself; New York laces with farmlands trodden down by war. Before her lies a corpse; a very big corpse, at that. "No," she gasps, "I slew Gorgamandr, this victory is mine! MINE! Let the Gods see what I have done and tremble!"
No, that's not right, it can't be right. She is not sure who she is meant to be, in this memory, but she isn't. She can't be. "Stop," she gasps, putting her hand back to the lamppost and sticking to it. "Stop this, stop. I'm… I am… I'm—" she stops; no, that's not the name she's supposed to say to anyone, is it? She's keeping that secret, isn't she? "I'm Spider-Woman," she gasps, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
Her fingers peel open, one by one, and she drops the dagger to the ground.

The old man lies upon the ground now, cushioned likely by he aid of those near, but he looks peaceful if exhausted as consciousness flees from him. The debris is still kicked up by the rush of wind, sending pages from magazines and newspapers back into the air, swirling around in a small gyre as the autumn breeze grows heavier. There's the feeling of the storm in the air, that potential for rainfall and the crash of lightning but only the hint of it.
Yet any thought as to that is likely chased away when a figure appears floating in the air with hammer in hand. Thor Odinson hovers ten feet in the air above the turmoil, the fallen, and the armed. His blond hair is tied back from his features, and he wears not the armor of Asgard but the uniform of the populace of Midgard, that being white sneakers, blue jeans, and a black t-shirt that is perhaps a size too small and hugs the contours of his broad chest.
"Ware warrior, that blade is not meant for mortal hands." And as he says that… she drops the weapon to the ground just as he alights. He eyes the youth, then turns his head to observe Kwabena and asks, "Does the elder yet live?"

Satisfied that the old man isn't dead, Kwabena suddenly becomes very much aware that the problem isn't the old man, or Spider-Woman. He's a quick thinker. The one constant here is that dagger.

Leaning his head just slightly to the side, he presses a finger against the collarbone of his nanosuit, engaging its transmitter so that he can speak to the SHIELD agents. "This is Shift. ICE her."

The SHIELD agents draw their guns and quickly change from the special cartridges designed to contain Kwabena, and load regular rounds. One takes aim while the other stands in such a way as to try and block people from seeing what's about to happen, and his finger descends upon the trigger slowly.


As the dagger drops, Kwabena finds his hand is raised, aimed at the MTA platform in a halting gesture.

The SHIELD agent's finger pulls back.

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Kwabena rises to his feet and turns to regard Thor. If he had noticed the man's entrance (not to mention the manner in which he entered), he did not show sign of it. The question draws him to turn toward the snoozing man, and he nods. "He has pulse," Kwabena answers. "But de man will need hospital."

Spider-Woman takes a knee, putting one hand to the ground and breathing heavily. She pants, taking a moment to piece together what just happened. Which doesn't work. "What just happened?" she asks, making the inquiry of… well, anyone who'd like to answer that question.
She hasn't quite worked out that Thor — y'know, Thor — is literally right there, either. She's busy trying to pull her mind back into one piece, after the mental drubbing she just received as a result of holding on to a dagger. "What a mindjob," she gasps. "That was something completely different."
Carefully, she rises back to her feet, and looks up at Kwabena, properly noticing him for the first time. And the SHIELD agents, who are pointing weapons at her. "Woah woah, guys, easy," she comments, putting her hands back up again. "I'm a good girl. Honest. Girl scout's honor." She was never a girl scout, but they don't know that. She lowers her hands slowly, once she feels more confident that they're not about to shoot her — afterall, her senses are screaming danger right in her ear. She shoots a short webline, taking the dagger by the handle and pulling it upwards; not to hand, but just to let it dangle in the air, and see if it tries to do a mindjob on her again.
"I don't think we should leave this thing laying around," she comments, finally turning around and— "…OH!!"
Gwen finally pieces together who it was who was saying something about the weapon not being meant for mortals. "Uhh, uhm," what do you say to a god? "Hi!" she blurts out. "Yeah, I don't reccomend this dagger. It's worse than a hangover. Seriously."

The wind continues to swirl around them, and only now does the crowd seem to begin to regain its calm, that feeling of danger past starts to drift outward rippling through the few souls remaining nearby, but reaching further to the watchers high up in the buildings, farther down the street, or upon the train platform.
The Thunderer turns to Kwabena and says in heavy words given weight by furrowed brow, "If you will see him clear of whatever dark may yet haunt him then I will hold myself in your debt."
He turns, brilliant blue eyes falling heavily upon Spider-Woman as he says levelly, "It is no small act to turn away from the dagger's grasp. Carnwenhau has felled many a soul and sealed their fate. A formidable warrior indeed to reject what it offers."
He advances and shifts Mjolnir to his left hand, extending the other in the direction of the webbed weapon. "If I may? Fear not. It holds no threat to me nor my ilk."

"Situation is contained," Kwabena says, seemingly to himself, which prompts the SHIELD agents in plain clothes to finally holster their weapons and make their way down from the MTA platform. As they approach, Kwabena looks between Thor and Spider-Woman, and then to the dagger. "We will bring him to SHIELD hospital," he assures Thor, his own use of English written largely by his particularly unique upbringing.

"I am with SHIELD," he then adds. Saying it out loud in this context strikes him as particularly odd, and it shows in his voice. "So, is something I will see to, yes. Dey are also with SHIELD." He nods his head toward the two men who are approaching, so that Thor and Spider-Woman don't get their hackles raised.

With a hand motion, he directs the agents toward the old man, and one of them crouches down to further check the man's vitals. Kwabena, however, has eyes upon Thor and the dagger. His posture suggests that he doesn't like this at all, and so he begins approaching Spider-Woman, now considering Thor to be the next potential threat.

Spider-Woman looks back and forth between Kwabena and Thor; she keeps the dagger dangling from a webstrand, glances at it a couple of times, and then back to Kwabena. "Thank you that," she offers. "And for catching him when he fell. None of this was his fault, I can promise you that, yes? Please, if you can just make sure he gets help and isn't thrown in a cell or anything." Not that she's planning on coming to the Triskelion to testify or anything, mind you. Going on the record is kind of hte antithesis of a secret identity.
"And, yeah, definitely. You can have this thing." Gwen crosses the distance to Thor, keeping the dagger dangling from a webstrand until she can hold it out and just sort of… unceremoniously offer it to him. "I'm really glad you're both here. This thing is a mind job, I don't need it in my life any further." She pauses, and the eyes on her mask widen as her eyebrows rise. "Uhm, thank you," she replies. "I'm… I gotta admit it, I'm actually really new at this. I'll bet you probably haven't even heard of me yet." She's blushing, which nobody can see but it's evident in her voice anyway. She glances down towards Mjolnir, which is just as legendary as Thor is, then back up to the man himself. "What is this thing, anyway? Besides mean to the mind."

"Two times in as many days have I found an enchanted weapon in ill hands." He frowns as he takes up the dagger, its silvered blade suddenly extinguishing as if whatever it sought it could not find in the hands of the Asgardian. Its edge took on a stony contour and its hilt greyed out to an almost soapy whiteness that looked partly mineral and partly metallic.
To Kwabena his smile emerges, "Ah. E'er the agents of SHIELD are about when matters are their most dire. You enjoy my thanks." He examines the weapon and frowns, then places it through one of the loops of his belt where it hangs there for now.
"Yet with what has passed I fear that there could be other similar conflicts in the offing. If you see the good Captain afore I do," He looks between the two of them, then includes the other agents in his glance, "Please relay to him that I would have words with him."
He rounds back to focus upon Gwen and tells her, "You are not the Spider-Woman of SHIELD?" He asks the young heroine then looks toward Kwabena as if for verification since he's of SHIELD, he naturally just assumed.
But then he seems to shrug that off and informs them, "It is an old blade, that has been known under several names. It carries its history and wishes to make others part of what has passed for it. Cursed to some, blessed to others."

Thor. Avenger. God of Thunder.

It took a while for Kwabena to make the distinction. Ever since he became a free man, he's been absorbing any information he could get, anything that Prevoshkhodstvo refused to give him access to. This discovery does not impress Kwabena, nor does it terrify him. What it does is complete a potential math problem.

That… that is what concerns him.

"I did not catch him," he admits to Spider-Woman. "But I do agree, he is not threat." All of this is said with eyes firmly locked upon Thor's movements. That vigilance seems to linger for a few beats after the blade is transfigured, and his posture relaxes. "You're welcome," he says, and finally gets around to the introductions. "I am Kwabena." Does he call himself Agent? Does he use the codename? It's all still so new to him, so, he just goes with what is comfortable. Turning toward Spider-Woman, his otherwise emotionless expression finally softens, and he forms a toothy grin. "She is not de Spidah-Woman dat I know." An inquisitive look is given to Gwen. "So, dere are… two Spidah-Women, it would seem." Eyebrows rise and he looks back toward Thor. "I an fortunate dere are not so many Kwabenas."

Anyone who knows about Ghanaian naming cultures would know that there are… thousands of Kwabenas.

"Captain… America?" he asks. "You mean de one named Steve Rogahs?"

Gwen laughs softly, and shakes her head, "No, I am not the Spider-Woman with SHIELD," she replies. "I don't think I'd really make for SHIELD material. But no, I'm… freelance, I guess you could say." She rests both hands on her hips, and looks back and forth between Thor and Kwabena. "But… yes, I suppose there are two Spider-Women now. I'm sure you know how it goes; ordinary mortal minding her own business, or… well, maybe sticking it just a little bit in other people's." Yeah, that feels slightly more accurate. "Next thing you, get a chomp from a spider, might've been radioactive or genetically modified or something, next thing you know you're climbing walls, shooting webs, and strong enough to lift a dump truck. I'm… I'm still figuring it out."
The Spider-Woman gives Kwabena a grin; not that he can see it, really, beyond maybe a faint outline. "Well, either way, you looked after that poor man after I got the dagger off him, and I was busy trying not to turn into a Viking warrior, so thank you, Kwabena."
She pauses, and nods to Thor, "If I see Captain America I'll tell him about it, but… Well, I'm willing to bet you'll see him first. You're an Avenger, afterall. I'm just a neighborhood spider who usually picks on muggers and stuff. And occasionally old guys with eldritch blades of phenomenal cosmic power, apparently."

"Kwabena," The blue eyes find the man's gaze, then he gives a nod to Gwen. "Spider-Woman," He touches the center of his chest with the hammer and declares, "I am Thor, Son of Odin. And aye, tis Captain Rogers of which I speak. We are warriors, comrades who have shared many a battle."
There is a moment where his jaw tenses as he then adds, "Last I knew of he was being held in your Triskelion, afflicted with the Wolfen Curse."
Toward Gwen, however, he gestures at her with the hammer, "Sell yourself short you should not, Spider-Woman. The white blade has corrupted many a strong soul and you were able to cast it free of you within moments of it daring to seek control of you."
That having been said he steps to the side and kneels down beside the old man, resting a hand on his brow and frowning to himself. "When he awakes I would know how he came to acquire such an artifact. I fear this bodes ill." He exhales slowly, thoughtfully, then pushes himself back to his feet.

"Captain Rogahs is ill," Kwabena agrees. "He is still ill. Perhaps you can help him. Yes, yes. He is still with SHIELD, unless dere ah things dat have changed. I am also new." He glances toward Gwen, recognizing what she said earlier. "Is… what is de word? Is inappropriate to tell you more about what I am. I believe is classified. Dey would try to shoot me."

One of the SHIELD agents smirks.

"And I do not want to get shot. Not dis time." There is some sort of strange humor going on between Kwabena and that agent, but it goes unspoken of. "We will bring him to Triskelion. Thor, you should come dere and speak with him, once he is bettah." Folding his arms, the Ghanaian nods his head, as if this is what makes the most sense to him. His mannerisms, while certainly not Asgardian in nature, are certainly strange. He did not have a normal upbringing.

"We will stay and look aftah him until transport arrives," he declares, confidently interpreting protocol that he's only just learned.

"Well, I get the impression that you were going to shoot me, while I was holding that dagger and kind of enthralled to it," Gwen points out, "But I'm glad you didn't and it would totally have been the right choice if you had, since you didn't know if I was gonna shake it off or not." She spreads her hands in front of her, "And I haven't even told you my real name — secret identities are like that — so I'm hardly going to criticize you for not spilling the beans on absolutely everything. You helped, and you seem cool, that's really all I need to know."
The black and white clad Spider-Woman turns back to Thor, and ahems softly. "Alright, I promise not to sell myself short," she replies, chuckling softly and holding her hands up in surrender before returning them to her hips. "I'll definitely keep an eye out for weird blades that make people do strange things and… I don't know, shoot energy blasts at stuff. …How do I call you, anyway, if I need to? Either one of you?"

"Then I shall leave you to it," Thor says as his brow remains furrowed in thought, considering what has passed and what is about to happen to the old man now in the care of the SHIELD agents. He seems about to say something else but instead shakes his head and then adjust his grip on Mjolnir's haft.
But when Gwen asks her question his lip twists, "Ah. I have a cellular telephone, you could perhaps use that." The hammer starts to swing, flickering through a small curve of motion as he brings it up to speed. "Or even the electronic email. Send word and I shall endeavour to respond."
Of course he does not actually mention his number. Nor his email address. "Until next time!" He announces and then he hurls that hammer into the air, which aids him in taking flight up into the sky… then quickly out of view.

Gwen dashes forwards a couple of steps as Thor takes off into the sky, "Wait!" she shouts, "What's your… phone… nevermind."

"With tranquilizer," Kwabena tells Gwen. "Yes. Not lethal, but, hitting ground with head because you are already asleep is not fun. I am happy it did not come to dis thing."

Looking on as Thor powers up and departs, Kwabena's eyes go to the sky, tracing him for as long as is possible. "Maybe you can 'google' it," he tells Gwen, and the quote marks are evident in his syntax.

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