2019-10-31 - Cemetery Crossroads


On All Hallows Eve a small group finds that all roads lead to Calvary Cemetary.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Thu Oct 31 00:00:00 2019
Location: Calvary Cemetary, NYC

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Theme Song



Calvary Cemetary covers /acres/ of land. Rolling hills covered in tombstones it is a veritable sea of the dead. Over a century and a half old, it reputes to hold more then three million souls in the loving embrace of a Catholic god. The largest cemetary on the continent. And it's only a couple of miles away from Manhatten. Hod arrives there, slipping through the shadows and out into the night through the Ways that only he can walk, and he curses vehemently, "Bor's swinging cod!" he's starting to actually grow scared. Every path he takes to get away from this place, leads back to this place, every road he walks, winds in on itself until he returns to here. A place of death. On the night the Veil is thinnest. At a time when gods walk the Earth in numbers they've not for more then a thousand years. Hod knew this was coming. Well. Not /this/, but something like this. This, however, was worse then what he thought it might be.

Honestly he expected a hydra or something. Maybe a wyvern or a chimera. Not… this.

He slams the butt of his cane down on the earth where he stands and murmers to himself a string of insults in his native tongue, tilting his head this way and that, as if trying to 'see' something that clearly can't be seen.

Loki too is a bit less than thrilled when he finds his walking of the ways seems to be malfunctioning. He's normally very fond of Halloween, it is one of the few days when the mortals are open to the possibilities of magic and mystery, and happy to be tricked even if not always treated. His PLAN was to take Sigyn out to see the modern American version of Halloween…she has quite a fondness for kids, and the Americans seem to think that this holiday is one for them.

Which is laughable.

Still, when he walks them to a fun place and ends up in a NOT fun place, several times in a row, yeah. Not a happy Loki. At all. He's not even walking the same Ways as Hod! "Well, bugger." He states with feeling. He looks to Sigyn, "Not exactly what I had in mind to show you."

Oh, that's interesting. "Brother…do we have you to thank for this?" There might be a bit of an edge to the question as he notices his brother nearby.

Sigyn stays close to Loki's side, not being able to travel out by magic means they will have to walk out, which gives so many wonderful opportunities for ambush. Then Loki spots his brother… And while Loki takes a confrontational tone, Sigyn smiles with warmth and nods politely. "It has been a while, Prince Hod." Then again, peacemaker is often her role at Loki's side. Good cop to Loki's bad cop, as the Americans would say.

Ford hadn't planned on being in Calvary Cemetary himself, but tonight, of all nights, the cemetary keepers needed a good mechanic… and Ford was on call, as it were. More accurately, he /was/ called, by his boss, who had a friend that works the graveyard. A hearse had been having some engine troubles, and they needed it working ASAP for a procession tomorrow. Although off the clock, Ford's boss called and asked if he could do him a favor and get the thing working again, for a bonus. And not one to turn down a much needed profit, Ford agreed. Ira had a Halloween party with her friends tonight anyways, and living in Queens, he wasn't too far from the area.

But he hadn't agreed to this. Every road he took trying to reach the blasted garage for this car simply… took him right back to where he was! How!? It was honestly starting to grate on Ford's nerves a bit. The stink of decay was burning his highly developed sense of smell, and he really wasn't liking any of this. And even with super strength, he didn't fancy carrying his tool bag everywhere tonight. "F—k's sake, where is everything?" Ford asked, resolving to walk straight ahead in one direction until he finds something.

Which, to be fair, he does. Asgardians. Of course. Not that he recognizes them as Asgardians. Could be folks on their way to a costume party… and one of them is quite the looker! They seemed familiar with each other. Ford hung at the edge of the gathering, listening in, but not saying anything. Yet. His senses were already reaching out around him, trying to figure out the lay of the land. He just kept an ear on the trio as he looked around.

Hod can feel Loki appear, then disappear, then appear again, and after a couple of those, he stops hiding himself. There's honestly no point to it. And the whisper in his head is only growing louder, more insistent. He snarls slightly when Loki addresses him, which is a fairly unHod like thing to do, "I know all the Ways, I can walk all the Ways, no one can change or alter the Ways except the Ways. That's the whole point of them! They are-" he waves a hand out and towards the sky as if that motion alone would articulate some greater truth that he's to distracted to fully share.

He turns his sightless gaze out across the vast expance of headstones, past the waling paths, the hilltops, the shallow vallies, and he shivers slightly. Hod. Shivers. "Alfablot." he says suddenly, realization dawning on him. He turns back to Loki and says it again, this time louder and with confidence, "Alfablot." that word carries more meaning with it then it has in a thousand years. Without Asgard's influence, it's Presence on Midgard, the dead of those sworn to it have been quiet, peaceful. But it has been an Age since so many gods walked the soil at the same time, in so concentrated a place, as they do not that they have an Embassy. The Veil is thin, the gods bring bits of Asgard with them to Midgard, the dead grow… restless.

Hod breaths deep for a moment and frowns, his attention turning slightly towards Sigyn, a frown on his face, "I am disowned." he says flatly, his tone dry. 'Prince' is what you call someone who hasn't been stripped of their nature and exiled from their home. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Hod is not happy to 'see' Sigyn, but then he's almost never happy to see Family. He has issues.

"We need to-" he spins his head to the side, "SHUT UP!" he snarls into the air at no one at all, spittle flying from his lips. "No! No no nonono!" he reaches up to claw at his head with a hand, thumping itself against his temple repeatedly, "SILENCE YOU COW!" So. Hod's gone crazy. So there's that. He begins pacing in place as the temperature of the cemetary begins to drop, slowly, but noticeably, and the wind picks up with an almost gleeful bite.

A faint brow furrow as Hod answers his question with something he's not heard of in a Long LONG time. The snarl is also a bit off-putting, their last encounter was a lot less snarly. It did involve a lot more travel to Asgard for healing, and a smidge of being turned away, and surly. Yup. Surly Heimdall was Surly.

His frown grows when Sigyn's attempt to make peace is rebuffed, but more so when Hod essentially seems to go mad. "By Odin's festering nuts, this not good."

It is pretty rare when Loki swears like that. Still, yeah. Feeling a bit nervous. Knowing that women typically are the ones to make the offerings to the elves for Alfablot, he looks to his wife with a brow quirked in question.

Almost casually he studies the approaching mechanic, suspicious he uses his magic to raise low level shields, not even visible to the naked eye to protect himself, Sigyn and his brother.

Since arriving on Midgard and this city of Manhattan, Sif has developed the habit of wandering the city, and she has passed through 'Queens' before. This time, though, after meandering a bit through an open field littered with small stone plinths, she turns to find a taxi to return to the Embassy and… can't seem to find where she entered the cemetary.

The first bit of her wandering is spent in mild confusion, but as the night wears on and she still can't find the exit, she goes from confused to concerned and slightly angry. Having been warned about walking alone in this city, she takes her sword and buckler from her back and carries them properly… and then sees a group of people ahead.

"Hail, can one of y—" Sif cuts off what she's saying as she recognizes Hod and Loki and Sigyn, notices the other man also looking displeased, and then hears her cousin's outburst. "Hod, by the Norns, what…?"

The name Alfablot is indeed one she's heard before, but she didn't study the histories and legends as thoroughly as she knows Loki did.

Thus, she looks at him for direction.

Sigyn says sweetly at Hod's rebuff, "And I have been married to Loki for centuries, yet Thor still calls me Lady. The titles we choose for each other are most telling." She murmurs to Loki, "I did not come expecting to have to make sacrifice… what I have on me would be but a token, and we may need more than a mere gesture." She spent decades in hell, and the chill that sweeps through the cemetery reminds her far too much of that place.

Sigyn casts her gaze about the cemetery. "Grass and headstones… useless… no spot for an altar, no spot for a flame." She murmurs to Loki, "There's someone approaching…" and cuts her eyes in Ford's direction, but does not turn or gesture that way.

Ford simply listened and watched for a bit, before his senses told him that the blind one was starting to lose it. Clawing at his face. Screaming at nothing. And now, the temperature was dropping to astonishingly low levels. Were he a normal human, he might be freezing. As he is, he just shivers. "Jeebus criminy, is he okay!?" Ford asked, not interested in listening. Now was the time for action.

Having said that, Ford is entirely unsure what action is required. But he knows that having someone absolutely losing it in the middle of a labryinthine graveyard isn't going to help. Adjusting his grip on his bag, Ford marches towards Hod and reaches up to place a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. "Hey, hey! Relax! Dude, just calm down. There's nothing there, buddy." Ford tried to assuage Hod's panic, before looking back at the other two… three? How long has that vision of loveliness been there? "I… don't suppose anyone is going to explain what the hell an Alfablot is, are they?" he asked. He was so clearly out of his league on this.

Someone. Touched. Him. Hod goes still as death, and while it's chilly outside, it's not /cold/. At least not until Ford's hand hits Hod's shoulder. Then it becomes level 1 frostbite levels of cold, a radiating numbness that along with a creeping frost across the skin of someone silly enough to touch him. "Remove." Hod says through his teeth, his breath simply refusing to fog in the air whilst everyone elses in the area does exactly that, "Your." the cane in his hand shifts slightly and there's the faint sound of metal on metal before what was a cane now simply becomes a great spear. "Hand." The spear's leaf bladed head covered in runs, it's shaft ebony, it's steel glinting with faint pale silvery moonlight, it's cross peice catching every glimmer and reflecting it gently back into the night. He turns slowly so that the mirrored shades on his face only reflect the man's visage back at him, meaning one cannot see Hod's own eyes in the least.

He then shrugs his shoulder out from underneath Ford's grip and grunts, "Stay close mortal." before he turns to his family, "We need a matron to make the sacrifice, and we need one before-" he stops and spits to the side, "I'm telling them! Silence you pox ridden hag!" and then back to the others as if nothing had happened, "the elves arrive."

"To late." comes a velvety smooth voice from behind the Aesir and guest, it's tenor silky and sensuous, it's lilting tones endearing. It's owner… is pretty. A woman with skin the color of charcoal, hair like spun silver, and little pointed ears peeking out from behind the long locks, currently held in place by a tiara made of obsidian. She wears fine armor and a pair of swords slung low on her hips, which are cocked jauntily to the side. She grins, glistening black lips parting to show teeth filed into points, and a black tongue that flicks across them invitingly. "Grendel." she says, flicking a finger towards the gathering, "See that they don't do whatever it is the cripple was going to tell them to do."

Behind the Dark Elf, the thing that easily could have been confused for a mausaleum, moves. Ten feet of plate armored Dark Elf nearly half again as wide, a /giant/ of a creature lifts a maul to his shoulder, the studded head of the weapon easily the size of those public mailboxes occasionally found on street corners. He makes a small, deep, soft, pleased noise, and charges forward.

"Ah, Lady Sif, what an interesting convergence." Loki greets the warrior with the ebon locks (his fault) with a semblance of his usual good cheer. Listening to his wife, however, he nods. "We'd probably need a lot of beer, I think it might be too late to propitiate the spirits of the dead." His gaze turns back to Sif. "Ritual offering are generally made, beer being absolutely essential, but…in all the years I've spent on Midgard, it has never been something I needed to worry about before now. SOMEthing fairly major has changed, this year."

He looks to Ford, mildly interested as the man approaches Hod and /touches/ without permission. "Alfablot…a sacrifice made to the Elves, meant to quiet the unquiet dead. Sadly, it seems we're a bit too late to properly make the sacrifices needed and lack the proper ones to offer in any case. So…with the Veil being thinnest between this world and the others…" A shrug and a chipper smirk. "…quite literally anything could happen."

Yes, that actually seems to please Loki a bit.

Until the Dark Elf appears. And the one armed colossus. It was going so well too with the frozen hand thing.

"I hate it when this sort of thing happens…" Loki's form blurs, and he shifts up to match the size of Grendell, as he does his armor appears about him, and he draws his sword. "Hello Grendell, afraid you won't be just killing anyone this night."

He'll leave the Svartelf to the women and the mortal.

"Then don't act like you're about to lose what's left of your head, you nutcase!" Ford scolded back at Hod. Entirely unaware his transgression, even as his walking cane transformed into an ebony spear… though wisely pulling his hand back lest the guy follow through with his threatening tone.

And people wonder why Ford has a problem with super powered folks. They all act like psychos!

Glancing back, Ford listened as both Hod and Loki explained what the hell this Alfablot soup was supposed to be. "Ah, so, zombie apocolypse. Good to know." And /of course/ nobody was keeping track of it. "Okay, so, we need a lady to make a sacrifice out of something? I'm presuming it has to be rare and unique and hooooooly high hell." Ford was naturally distracted by the literally unearthly beauty before him. Dark skin. White hair. Pale eye. Sharp teeth. What wasn't to love? Sometimes, oni instincts proved to be a pain in the arse.

But, thankfully, Ford was not so distracted as to entirely miss the big brute rearing up behind her and charging them. As Loki drew his sort and matched his size, Ford decided the best course of action would be to address the other major threat. And Ford knew just how to do it! "Listen, gorgeous, I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. You need an offering? You've come to the right guy. How's about you call off the big guy, we sit down to a romantic dinner, and talk things over?"

Sigyn moves to the side, retreating from the fight, and does the unusual for an Asgardian away from Asgard… she turns off Allspeak. She begins the prayers for the alfablot, which normally would not be recited before an outsider like Ford, but with the language difference and the very large violent distraction of Grendell she will count it good enough. And no, she does not have beer, but she has whiskey which is grain alcohol, if distilled. She pulls out her flask and pours a drink out for a sacrifice to the spirits. There's no place for a fire, neither bowl nor bonfire, so she calls flame to her hand… which unfortunately will light her up as a target.

Sif frowns at Ford when he dares to set a hand on Hod, but there's no chance to tell him what she thinks of his manners because that's when the Dark Elves make themselves known, and she mutters a far from polite curse in the native language of Asgard.

Thankfully she already had her sword in hand.

As Loki embiggens himself to face off against Grendell, she sidles around Hod and the truly foolish Midgardian to put herself between the Dark Elf woman and Sigyn who has started the Alfablot ceremony.

Bring it, sister.

Grendel dosen't even pause, and for a being of his size, he moves with /shocking/ swiftness and agility, twisting slightly on the ball of his foot and hooking a side swipe with his maul that cuts through the air fast enough to whistle. Grendel is no slouch in the ways of battle. Ask Thor, who's never defeated Grendel without shedding his own blood. Profusely. One armed or not, the giant elf is a force to be reckoned with.

The woman, for her part, merely smirks at Ford, "Oh little boy, you should know what a lady considers to be romantic before offering yourself up as a meal." her teeth click together suggestively even as she draws the curving weapons from their sheathes in a single fluid motion. The blades are bent and wicked, serrations down near the hilts catching the light. "Come on little appetizers," she coos, waving the blades in invitation, "it's been an /Age/ since I last licked the inside of an Aesir skull."

Hod doesn't move. He just stands there, head tilted to the side as if listening to something, waiting. He then slowly turns in a circle, lifts his spear weilding arm, and turns his ear towards Sigyn as if it were an eye of it's own to stare at her. "I see you." he whispers before his arm snaps forward and Light Drinker fires through the air like an arrow from a bow, aimed straight at Sigyn's chest… only to ricochet off of something on it's way in a shower of sparks and splattering blue fluid.

Ford's eyes immediately dart back as Hod launches his spear at Sigyn. "DUDE! SHE'S ON OUR-!" Ford started… before the spear impacted on something partway through. Invisibility, eh? Well… at least Hod hadn't lost his mind. "Oh… well, good shot!" he encouraged, before looking back at the dark elf woman's two blades. "I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass." Ford replied at her offer, before setting his bag down and drawing out the only real weapons he could fish out of it: a large, hefty wrench, and a spare tire iron.

Certainly no set of matching twin blades… but they were metal and they could hurt. That's all he really needed. "Hey, sweetheart." Ford asked, glancing over at Sif. "You wanna deal with the invisible blue thing, or the hot elven lady? I'll take the other." Ford asked, raising his "weapons" in a defensive position, and really hoping Sif would choose to deal with the invisible threat and leave the dark elf to him. Not that he wasn't prepared to deal with either one, but seriously, he could not take his eyes off those elven hips.

Well aware that Grendell is a deadly combatant and that in a fair fight he'll likely, even one armed, maul Loki - the Trickster opts for something very well in his purview - he cheats! To be fair, Loki /always/ cheats, only suckers follow the rules as written. Eyes bright with battlelust, and glee, he ignites his sword Laevateinn with an eyes searing flare. Naturally this is used as cover as suddenly there's another five Loki's around the giant fellow with the maul, all of which duck and dart away from that maul. One of the Loki's? SPLAT. Bursts on impact into gory bits of god…which then fades away.

Of course the /real/ Loki swings that sword and he's just ignited…and he's one of the finest swordsmen in the Nine Realms.

Sigyn keeps her eyes on the splattered blue blood, watching for drips, the invisible attacker the greatest threat to her at the moment. She keeps the prayers going, flame in one hand burning merrily away as she frantically goes through her pockets and pouches. It's not like she carries a loaf of bread around on her! She finds a packet of crackers, crushes them in one hand, tears it open with her teeth, and dumps it into the handful of flame she is carrying. She backs away from the fight, eyes sweeping the area, trying to keep the prayers going even though it risks her being cut off from the others.

Sif is preparing to face off against the Dark Elf woman when Hod abruptly throws his spear past her at Sigyn. While she implicitly trusts her cousin and doesn't flinch at the spear, she turns to follow it as he must have thrown it for a reason and … sure enough.

She could very easily follow up on Hod's attack on the still-invisible adversary, but that leaves no one defending against the silver-haired woman. And that cannot happen. So, she turns her attention back and trusts that Hod will take care of Sigyn — not that Loki's wife is incapable of fending for herself, mind you.

"Midgardian, quit jesting and help protect Lady Sigyn. I will deal with this one."

Grendel growls through the slits in his helm as he splatters one Loki only to feet the flameing blade of another bite into his flesh from behind. It sizzles with a hiss even as the giant spins in place, whirling his maul over head in a quick motion that sends it rocketing through two more of the Loki's in a single swipe… it does not pass through the third. Hammering Loki's sword aside like it was helf by a child and slamming into his side, Loki is sent tumbling through the air ass over tea kettle his kareening forming taking out a half dozen stone headstones and a marble plinth before coming to rest half in and half out of a small mausaleum. The Prince is suspiciously still as the stone building drops a couple of pebbles on his unmoving form, for good measure.

Bloodhand merely smirks at Sif and Ford, "Awww. But I have one," and she darts in, a literal blur, flits between them her blades flickering like candle light, "for each of you." Sif felt the impact all the way to her shoulder when the Elf struck her sword, shifting it out of the way so she could slide by. And Ford? Well. Ford is now holding a wrench that ends about two inches above his fist, the top half of it falling to the earth with a metalic ringing sound.

Hod's head tilts to the side at the ringing sound, cocking like a dog's, "Sif! The mortal's tools!" he says, drawing her attention to what Ford's actually holding, hoping she can make the connection before the elves do. He has to take a breath, to think. He doesn't fight as part of a Warband, not anymore, not for thousands of years. He's been alone, on his own, this isn't the sort of fight he engages in. But there was a time… Hodr extends his hand outward, palm up, and waits, "Sigyn, complete the ritual or we will all die. They are delaying us, buying time for the veil to thin completely between Valhalla, Helheim, and Folkvangr." An owl, silent and large, plummets from the sky and plucks a cane from the turf before flying over and dropping it into Hod's waiting palm.

Sif is by no means a slouch with the sword, but the sheer speed with which Bloodhand moves… there's no way she can keep up. She's pushed aside by the Dark Elf's attack, and tries to retaliate with a shield bash from her buckler as the woman slips past — something a Midgardian explained to her.

Hod's shout about the Midgardian man's weapons has her look at the crowbar Ford still holds and past lessons suddenly come to mind. Cold iron.

Ducking around Bloodhand, she drops her sword and reaches to scoop up the part of the wrench that fell to the ground.

Ford was ever so slightly distracted by fact that the giant Grendel sent Loki tumbling head over heels into a nearby piece of stonework. That… had to hurt. And left them short one proper god to actually do battle. But the sudden loss of his favorite wrench drew him back to the fight with the lady. Seriously? Seriously!? He really liked that wrench! And those aren't cheap tools, dang it! But as Hod suddenly develops a fascination with his weapons of choice, Ford glanced at his fallen wrench, his toolbox, and then at Sigyn.

"…oh! Here! Use whatever you need!" Ford called out, kicking the now broken wrench in Sif's direction and her waiting grip, before turning his attention to the giant. Ford was not keen on using his oni form under any circumstance… but from the sound of it, the situation was undeniably dire. As in, the world will end if he did not use them. Not yet… not in front of everyone. But he just might have to. "…alright. Time to trade off dance partners. Sweetheart, you keep her entertained for me, yeah? I'll deal with the big guy." Reaffirming his grip on his tire iron, Ford rushed for Grendel's back, aiming his makeshift weapon for the back of the giant's knee and swinging with a good 2 tons of force, hoping to pummel him at the leg and bring him low.

Sigyn does not pause in her prayers, even as she draws her dagger Hjemmebund. She dodges left, throws right, and the mocking laughter of someone invisible rings in her ears as a blade scores across her arm. But her invisible foe was not her target, and the blade goes neatly through the owl's throat spilling its life's blood and completing the third sacrifice. Sigyn calls Hjemmebund back to her hand, raising it in defense against her invisible foe, her lips curling back in a snarl that does not inhibit the words she chants at all.

Grendel is /fast/ for his size, but luckily he's none to bright, the mortal is hardly a worth the effort to acknowledge, not when the Aesir are around. With Loki injured if not dead, Grendel is already turning to Sif, a growl coming from his throat sounding pleased. Everyone knows who Sif is, and more importantly, who she's important /to/. And then there's pain along his leg. The giant howls as his leg buckles slightly and he falls. Falls. But doesn't crumple. He tucks the shoulder of his missing arm and takes teh fall on the joint, rolling with it and turning so that he comes to a 3 point stance facing back the way he came. Where the crowbar met his flesh, there is a blackened mark and wiffs of smoke rise from the skin. Congratulations Ford, you have just won the undivided attention of a Dark Elf beserker who can juggle buildings.

The woman spots Sif's sword dropping and quirks a brow, "Well, that's hardly an expected battle tactic, abandoning good Asgardian mettel for some mort-" she stops talking as the sound of Grendel's howl reaches her ears and she narrows her eyes at Sif and the much shorter, and somehow more dangerous, weapon she now holds in her hand. "Ah." she says simply, and her arrogant stance alters a bit, her weight lowering ont the balls of her feet, the tips of her blades coming up, "So we are done posturing. Very well, when I send Thor your head I'll be sure to let him know you prefered it this way." And she darts in, blades whirling.

Wormwood grins as his blade draws blood and Sigyn's slips past him without so much as a papercut, "Oh I /like/ you." he hisses into the air, "You're not like the others, not hardened by battle. All…" a cheshire grin appears in the air, black lips over pointed teeth, and a black tongue, a bit to long to be okay, flicks over his lips much as the woman's did before, but with an entirely different suggestiveness to it, "soft. I like soft things." he croons as the smile once more vanishes into thin air.

"You know what I've always liked about Dark Elves?" Hod says from where he still stands, "It's the arrogance. I havn't killed one of your kind in millenia, but what I remember most is still true. Arrogance. Dark Elf." he snorts and spits into the grass beside him, "You think you know the darkness? Understand it? Little elf," and like that, the lights around Sigyn, Hod, and Wormwood, simply go out. Completely. This isn't like the darkness of a dark room, or a basement, or a cave. This is darkness of void. Of nothing. "I am the god of darkness." Hod's voice is coming from a diffent place then it did before, and there's the sound of his spear scraping on a headstone, "And I can seeeee youuuuu…." the last is a whisper that again comes from a new location. Inside this darkness, the only light that burns is the fire in Sigyn's hand, a feeble candle against the endless black of deep space.

Brandishing the already sliced wrench like a short cudgel, Sif raises her buckler. "You talk too much," is all she says in reply to Bloodhand, and shifts her weight as if she's about to charge the Dark Elf.

She doesn't have any attention left to spare for Ford, Sigyn, or Hod, as this is likely one of the most dangerous opponents she's faced off against in … well, more than a thousand Midgardian years. She can already tell she she's likely not to walk away unscathed.

And now she's regretting not bringing her healing stones along.

Ford glanced up as Hod, Sigyn and the other dark elf seemed to vanish. Meanwhile, Sif was busy tangling with Bloodhand. That just left the big dolt of a giant to deal with. If there was ever a time to exercise his powers without anyone noticing, now was it. For the briefest of moments, Ford's eyes flashed from their vibrant green to a pale red, before feeling his power start to flow. For those with magical senses, something new enters the scene. It's malevolent, selfish, and while magical in nature, is entirely alien in its feeling. For forced his shape changing abilities to keep him concealed as he channeled his new unlocked powers. And for added measure, he decided to throw one more twist into the mix, and make his deception complete. Ford's form blurred and melted, only to be replaced by none other than the trickster god himself: Loki.

Ford flexed his newfound vocal cords, reveling in his new form. "Finally, things are falling into place. Come, Grendel. Let's see you keep pace with the true me!" 'Loki' immediately dove into the fray, brandishing his tire iron and aiming to cripple Grendel's combat capability, striking for his hand in an effort to force him to let go of his mighty hammer.

Sigyn doesn't even bother to scoff at Wormwood, focusing on her chanting. She's married to -Loki- for goodness sake! Does he really think a little suggestive leering and snake tongue is going to bother her? Then Darkness falls and there is only her small light a feeble flame in the darkness. And then she smiles in Wormwood's direction. "I spent most of the last century in Hel. I do not fear the dead." She closes her hand on the flame, snuffing it out, completing the Alfablot and plunging them all into absolute darkness.

And softly Sigyn's whisper comes, from all directions and none. ~Do you?~


And like that, the threat is over. The change in the air is palpable, like being in a plane and changing altitudes suddenly. As Sigyn ends the ritual, the dead, unquiet all around them and the preassure building on the Veil, ends. This was not like a movie. If the dead had woken, no spell would have put them back from wence they came, no ritual would have put them to rights. The doorway between worlds would have opened and the dead would have invaded. Period. It would have been the end of Midgard, a wasteland leeched of life and warmth and light, replaced by at best, an eternal battle between the forces of Valhalla and Asgard against everything else. Ever. At worst, an apocalypse, another Helheim.

"It has been some time since anyone upon Midgard saw fit to see the Old Ways seen to." comes a voice like a ringing bell, clear and clean and even. "It is good you remember the old alliances." the sound of snapping fingers cracks like a gunshot, and all of the darkness in the cemetery is washed away in an expanding ball of what can best be described as Daylight. In the center of the battlefield stands a single young man, surely no later then his teens, he stands in golden armor trimmed in copper, his platinum blond hair falling over his shoulders in a complex braid. His skin carries a vauge tan to it, but is still clearly pale, and in his hand is a long bow of twisting horn and silver. He blinks and looks around, "Oh." he says, spotting the suddenly revealed players upon the board, "Well." he grins slowly a hint of vicious amusement coloring his gorgeous elven looks, "Don't stop on my account, by all means, kill one another." says Prince Aelsar, son of Aelsa, Queen of the Elves.

Grendel stops at the sound of the snapping fingers, having released the maul so that he could roll his wrist around and grip Ford by the forearm, trying to control the crowbar. Bloodhand pauses in mid riposte, the flat of her blade swatting aside Sif's buckler arm while the tip of her counter sword was sliding into the gap towards Sif's exposed inner thigh. Woodword, the only one of the three not in open combat, is forced into sight by the Prince's sudden enchanted light, one of his dark skinned hands coming up to sheild his eyes, the other clamped around his side where blue blood still oozes between his fingers. He was standing just to the side of Sigyn, and behind him was Hod, Light Drinker coming in low as if to impale the elf.

Everyone is frozen, like children caught playing at an outlawed game by a bemused parent. The Prince merely tuts, "The Accords have been completed, we will see to quieting the dead as we have always done. You should either kill each other, which would be a delightful turn of events for my people, or go your seperate ways." his voice stops being so pleasent, "Decide."

Sif is caught with a faint grimace, expecting the worst from Bloodhand swatting her buckler aside just as the Elven prince appears at the completed ritual. She's caught like a bug in amber until Aelsar says to decide. And she knows exactly how she's going to choose.

"I choose to depart peacefully," she tells the young-looking elf, stepping back away from Bloodhand and hoping that the Dark Elf woman sees the wisdom in choosing similarly.

Regardless, she has the wrench still firmly in hand to swat someone with if it's deemed necessary.

Sigyn gives Prince Aelsar a polite curtsey… Princess by marriage of Asgard to Prince by birth of the Elves, and somehow she gets the exact right degree of courtesy in that curtsey for their relative ranks. "I will gladly take my husband and go home, your Highness." She ignores Wormwood, pulling out a handkerchief and cleaning the blood from her blade as she crosses the battlefield with the same grace as if she was crossing a ballroom, eyes not seeming to rest on the Dark Elves. "Hod, we'll have to have you to dinner sometime. I'm sure Loki would love to catch up." She picks up her fallen husband with ease, and smiles over at Sif. "Perhaps you and Thor can join us some time as well." And then, while people are hopefully too flabbergasted by her sunny demeanor to figure out -how- to react, she'll teleport out with Loki.

Ford was a little concerned at how fast the big brute was, already reaching around to wrench control of his arm and his trusty weapon. Even in his disguised oni form. That was a problem. A problem, thankfully, alleviated by the sudden arrival of… this guy? A teenager in gold armor? This was a new one. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight. And frankly, he was fine with this development. It was clear that despite his power, he was woefully unprepped for a fight like this.

"I'm quite happy with seeing this all put to rest." said "Loki". Hell with the car, he'd fix it first thing in the morning if it was such a big deal. Right now, Ford wanted to get home, get his little sister, and just rest. This saving the world business was a bit too much for him. However, it did highlight a shortcoming Ford had been reluctant to acknowledge.

If he was to compete with threats like this in the future, he was going to need a lot more power at his disposal.

Hod remains where he is, not looking at anyone so much as looking forward. His spear collapses back down into a cane. He opens his mouth and lets out a slow breath of relief, "Finally. Peace and quiet." he turns as if to wander off into the cemetery, cane swinging before him to guide his steps.

The trio of Elves watch the Asgardians go hudeling together, the woman looking to the gaping wound along Wormwood's hip. She then turns to the Light Elf, who for his part merely smiles at them beautifically, "If you'd merely let us finish we could have slain them all, weakened Asgard." the woman accuses, and the Prince merely laughs, a sound like wind chimes in spring, "Yes, I agree, that might have happened. But you would have grown stronger for it, and /that/ I was not willing to risk. Besides, there are the Accords, and my people uphold our bargains. Were I you, I would leave." the light elf tilts his head to the side as if listening for something, "I think I hear thunder." then he grins wider and in a flash of light, vanishes, letting night once more fall upon the cemetery.

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