Summary:Strange doings in Battery Park has Asgardians and Magical Mistress appear Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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There once was a time when the northern men sang of a king in the sky, Lord of all he surveyed.
Of a seer with one eye with the rule of the realms in his gaze.
He had broken a vow to the wolf of the sun, bound with treachery foul sealed with Justice's bright blood.
For the norns they foretold of his doom in the ending of days…
And the timbers groaned.
River wind softly moaned.
That the king in the sky doesn't know how a wolf's anger grows…
Fenris is a fairly accomplished guitarist but he has chosen an odd place to practice that skill and an even odder thing to sing of. He sits in Battery Park well after night has fallen, plucking on a koa wood guitar and singing in a slow and practice voice. He is not here simply to play though. The act disguises the fact that he is watching his surroundings very carefully. The song too is not an accident. While he did write it, the words have been chosen carefully for this particular occasion…
Ambrose has gotten a letter. A good old fashioned letter, not an email or a post card. It is hand written, in lovely cursive probably with a dip pen. It says simply 'Atherton, old chum. Just got into town and wanted to catch up. If you feel up to it, come to Battery Park this evening. I have a proposal. Signed, Oliver.' Oliver is likely a name that Ambrose has not heard in a long time… a long time.
The Asgardians in the Embassy have a lot on their plate and this isn't the time for fate, or the Fates, to be adding anything to it. But someone up there just doesn't care how much sleep Thor or Sif get. Reports have filtered back of strange rituals in the park. This would not normally be the concern of the Asgardian Embassy but for one thing. Those who claim to have heard of such things always say that the power being invoked is 'The Destroyer Wolf.'
And THAT can only be one person. But why cults would be calling upon him? And what that might actually do? That's a good question. That very call, though, has mystical properties and will be felt by those with the gift.
It is often two ways that things seem to fall out for Thor upon returning to the Embassy. Either matters are fairly at rest with the servants and the other Asgardians with matters well in hand, or there is tumult that has those within rushing about to gather and dispense information. And this day it was the latter.
A few moments were taken as Thor listened to the declarations of those in the know, the knowledge of rituals and matters ill being given to the Thunderer enough that he did not pause to take what time he had planned to. It was once again out and gone, Mjolnir lifting him into the air, to the sky, through the clouds with a distant krak-boom as the sound barrier is broken.
Then to above Battery Park, a swirl of darkened clouds trailing behind the small figure in the sky. A small figure that grows quickly until the Asgardian prince lands with a krakkaboom that sends a blur of a shockwave out from where he hits, rising to his full height with hammer in hand.
The letter drops from rattling in trembling fingers. Ambrose watches it land like a fallen leaf on the kitchen table of the manor and puts his hands hard against his mouth; still, a broken sound escapes.
"God…ruddy fucking damnit," he curses under his breath. His throat works down a surge of nausea — of disbelief — and then a flare of temper surges.
Oliver can't be alive. He just…can't. No one but Ambrose and Rupert, the youngest of the three brothers, were the only members of the lieutenant's platoon to survive the tomb's collapse after his cursing within. Georgie and Oliver, James too, the poor bastard — they were buried by the collapse of rock and sand, banked and left to be lost to a century's pass of time.
How very DARE someone impugn this name — this memory.
As such, Ambrose shows up at Battery Park armed quite literally for monsters. His revolvers are loaded with silver rounds and his daggers have been blessed. His strides are with purpose and balefire glows carmine in the depths of his eyes. His scowl isn't pretty either, honestly.
The distant impact of landing has him pausing and then reorienting. That was nothing 'normal' — he's been alive long enough to know this. As such, he's a figure striding up the path with the cold winter wind lifting at his trench coat's hems.
Zatanna had a show tonight. An early one and just the one - which is unusual but there it is. She'd been in her dressing room when the power had risen … it hadn't taken long to change to her 'field attire'. A pair of black leather pants, camisole top, dark jacket and heavy boots. Anyone might be forgiven for mistaking the raven haired mage for a biker.
Well, almost. The way she arrives gives that away. There's a swirl of blue energy and she walks through to the Park. As the glow in her blue eyes starts to fade, Zatanna Zatara - the Mistress of Magic, gazes around.
Sif doesn't have as useful way of traveling quickly as Thor does. Thus when the reports arrive about Battery Park, she does what she would do in any other circumstance. She departs immediately, by taxi.
By some providence — the Fates again, perhaps? — her taxi pulls up only a few moments after Thor arrives in his usual noisy manner.
Having arrived in her usual choice of Midgardian attire, nearly identical to Zee's except for the denim trousers instead of leather, she rushes toward Thor's location, sword and buckler already in hand.
Fenris lays aside his very expensive guitar when Thor arrives. "Thunderlord." He says with a small chuckle. "Subtle you are not. What brings you here in such haste and apparent fury?"
And then other people are arriving. Ambrose will spot Fenris sitting on a park picnic table under the light. He isn't hiding and he is on the path that Ambrose is coming down. And then Zee arrives and Sif and the Old Wolf quirks a brow. "Getting a bit crowded here, Uncle. Ho there. Ambrose. Sif." He ALMOST feigns not knowing Zee's name. "Miss Zatara."
At about the same time several figures figures come into view. They're single file, almost a procession and while they are dressed in modern heavy jackets, all of them are carrying either candles or oil lamps which is most decidedly out of place. They're still a ways off, a couple minutes walk but Ambrose might fancy that the gait of the one in the lead looks a bit… familiar.
"And even more crowded. You know if I'd known there were going to be so many people here I'd have brought something to eat."
For all the dire warnings the Asgardians received there isn't an immediately visible threat. And if that makes the armed members of the party just ever so slightly suspicious… it probably should.
Thor is there, though not armored for the moment and dressed for the Winter. He lifts the hammer to gesture in Fenris' direction. "I am come as those at the Embassy have sensed a ritual that may well draw upon you and yours, Winter Wolf." The Prince steps around and then slips the great hammer under the pea coat that he wears, only a small lump being visible of its presence seen there.
There's a tilt of his head to the side as he looks off and away toward distant figures, then shifts his blue-eyed gaze back to Fenris. "I expect matters proceed apace and may come to ill. If I respond in haste, 'tis at the least better than arriving too late."
That said he takes a moment to consider the others as they arrive, recognition there at times, gone the next for another.
Fenris's name is absolutely on the very tip of Ambrose's tongue because, in his banked fury, he's very certain the Old Wolf is playing a terrible prank upon him. How in the hells of all the worlds the Dread Wolf managed to figure out about Oliver, Ambrose doesn't know, but his lips curl before forming the first letter.
"F…!"
He knows Thor's there. He recognizes Sif. He even manages to scrounge up the memory of Zatanna and her name, amazingly.
But it's the old oil lamps that jar him something good, into his gait coming to a stumbling halt. He stares at the approaching column of people in a state almost frozen. Breathing helps, but the clamor of his pulse is loud in his ears. His throat works hard.
"…Ollie?" comes the whisper, a name unspoken for over a century.
"God Wolf." Zatanna greets the Asgardian, looking over the others as they arrive. "Thor, Lady Sif." If nothing else, their reputations precede them however, Zatanna has worked with the Avengers before. "What brings you to this lovely setting at this magical time of night?"
Those blue eyes move towards Ambrose, the Mistress of Magic nodding in greeting. "Mister Atherton, we meet again. Funny how we keep running into each other."
Her attention though, is drawn to the group that's approaching. "Did you feel … anything amiss, Fenris, while you played here?"
"You know them, Mister Atherton?"
Sif offers Thor then Fenris then Ambrose a warrior's bow, Zee gets a curious nod hello, and she is about to ask Fenris why they were summoned here but Ambrose's reaction to the approaching column of people is enough to get her to react.
Brandishing her sword once again, she puts herself between Thor's nephew and the strangers. "There is magical energy in this area, Fenris. Our sages detected it and the evidence of rituals here." She says that last with the distaste of a clearly non-magical warrior.
"I've felt something amiss." Fenris nods to Thor and to Zee. "That would explain it." It wasn't Fenris' go to explanation either. After all with a single exception that he can think of, who would be daft enough to actually worship him?
The Old Wolf cants his head slightly and Ambrose fury, and then even more as it just dissipates into something like fear. Maybe not fear more… horror.
"There are things moving in the trees around us." The wolf god says sotto voce. "Miss Zatara, I was simply minding my own business playing a song about the end of the world and wondering why people were doing magic in the park…" Sure he was. "Can you see anything with those mage senses of yours, Miss Zatara? I think you might be the most magical one here."
The person in the lead looks up despite having been too far away to hear it. When they push back the hood on their jacket… well. It is the same man. His face sunken a little bit, but there's still life in it. Aged, a bit. Weathered. But the same man. And not nearly so old as he should be.
"Ambrose old chum. You made it! And you brought friends. Good show. I say, old chap. You look a bit pale. Have you not been eating properly?"
The figures continue their measured approach. As they get closer it becomes evident that all of the people are similarly weathered. Most of them keep their eyes down and don't acknowledge the presence of any others, though. They'll be in arms reach in about 15 seconds.
"The presences in the trees are starting to move closer." Fenris murmurs again. "This may be a trap or an ambush."
Though possibly just one intended for Ambrose not that anyone knows that.
Stepping forward, Thor places himself near the vanguard at Fenris' side. Today is not Ragnarok, thus they may well be allies in whatever may ensue. The Thunderer grimaces as he looks around the area, expression slipping from curiousity to that hint of mild annoyance that is so often the harbinger of anger.
"Let them come. Too long have I been beset by matters elusive. Only hours ago I bemoaned the lack of an enemy who had the honor to present themselves openly." He twists his head sharply to the side, the cartilage in his spine crackling as he then shoots a look askance toward Fenris, then to Ambrose and Sif. Zatanna is noted and perhaps to her chagrin he steps forward to perhaps put himself further in between whatever menace and her.
For clearly he judged her the most vulnerable. Tsk.
"Leftenant, know you what this is?"
"I…do not know that it is…funny…madame." This for Zatanna, haltingly. For a second, he tears his attention from the approaching beings to stare at Zatanna. His lips work silently for a second. "I, um…bloody hell, I hope I do not. He is…should be dead," he manages with his voice ironed nearly flat in suppressed emotion.
"I — I have guns," he adds to Sif distractedly. No need for a warrior's bow. He then stares in what is absolutely abject horror as the coat's hood is pulled back to reveal none other than Oliver himself, the oldest brother. It would be no lie to say that Ambrose's normally sun-kissed skin is more pallid as he trembles and takes a half-step back. The joviality of his old platoon-mate might as well have gone over like confetti tossed at a funeral.
"I…" The Jackal's voice wobbles as he tries answering Thor. "I do not know what this is, but that is… Oliver." His lips twitch into something like a sickened smile. It's a desperate attempt to dredge up what charm the Jackal usually wields like a weapon. "Ollie, old…chap, you look…well. Time has treated you well, yes." Too shocked to command the should-be-dead soldier to a halt still, he continues staring and grimace-smiling, taken completely off-guard.
"That seems a perfectly reasonable thing to be doing. Singing a song and wondering." Zatanna answers with a smirk, her eyes moving around as she speaks. With the softest of murmurs, her eyes glow again as blue arcane symbols float in the air. "I maybe, Fenris, but I learned long ago to never rely on Magic. You have the nose, I believe and your relatives other senses - perhaps ask them what they sense as well. After all, a whiff of ozone might not just be bad weather."
Still she answers "Over yonder, there's a concentration of magic. At least what remains of it. And … that group …." she nods to the one that's approaching them.
As Thor steps in front of her, she smiles. It's fair, she doesn't look like much and really she needs a meat shield to do her best work.
"Mister Atherton?" The query from the mage, as she stands back - preparing, her brow quirking as he mentions he has guns.
"There is nothing wrong with ritual, Lady Sif, when done in the correct manner and place. Unfortunately, Battery Park is unlikely to be the right place."
Ambrose is clearly affected by the presence of this person he recognizes, and in a manner that is quite unsettling. And Sif has been run ragged enough lately with other matters that her patience is just about gone, and her temper is equally short. In a gestures nearly identical to Thor's she moves to place herself between the Jackal and the still approaching column.
"You will all stop where you are, and STAY there," she practically growls at Oliver & Co.
The small group stops and NOW all the people throw their hoods back. They look fairly awake and alert but there's a… look to them. A fervor. The sort of thing one usually sees with fanatics. It's easy to see from their very gaze. Those coats are long. They might well have weapons.
"As you wish, Milady." Oliver says. "Really, the company while welcome is unexpected. But it's alright chums. I can improvise a bit."
Fenris glances to the left and right and nods to Zee. "Get a barrier ready."
"Time has been kind to me, Ambrose, yes. That'll be a bit of chat for later. Over tea. If we can find a good tea in this ruddy yankee city. But right now. I asked you here because I know you've got something in you. Something that I think I can help you with, with just a bit of ancient wisdom. That's why I brought these lads. I know it sounds a little bit like wishes and horses but… I'll explain it all. As soon as we get to better quarters."
Oliver snaps his fingers and immediately all the people behind him begin to chant. It's not a language that even Allspeak recognizes and that's probably a bad sign. Zee can SEE the power coming up from it and everyone else can feel it. They're doing something big and they probably shouldn't be allowed.
At that very moment great slavering furred beasts rush in from the left and right. They're vaguely lupine in aspect but nothing like actual wolves or even wolf men. They're huge masses of muscle, fur and fangs and they come in from every angle, outnumbering their prey three to one.
Though with the group assembled they may find that's… not enough.
Bide. Bide your time, Odinson. Thor watches as the words are exchanged between Ambrose and this Oliver. He watches with features stern and an expression of grim intent as he awaits whatever must come. But there is that palpable tension, that intensity of portent that is rich and electric in the air. Enough that if one were to glance down at Thor's hands they might seem he clenching into fists…and releasing.
But then Oliver's followers cast their hoods back and the enchanting starts. The ill feeling instantly builds to a climax as the situation takes an abrupt turn and the Thunderer responds with a blur of reaction.
One instant his hand is empty, the next Mjolnir is in it with a low /whom/. Lightning crackles and flashes across the surface of the hammer, licking electricity over the weapon as he raises it up… and then /crashes/ it down upon the ground, sending out a cone arc of blasting electrical power that sizzle and jolts across the distance toward some of the chanters. None of the bolts leap to the side or behind him, projected only forward, ideally to prevent his colleagues from suffering…
And unfortunately leaving him open for three large furred creatures to /slam/ into his side and take him down roughly to the ground as he shouts, "Cursed creatures!"
Even with the Bane's sudden defensive curling in his blood like a cornered cobra, complete with a hiss to slowly leave his bared teeth unthinking, Ambrose is still horrified to his very core.
"Ollie — Oliver, no — Oliver, stop! No, I do not want — !" His palms rise facing out and devoid of physical weaponry, but suffused with the liquid coruscation of the ancient curse ribboning about them. "Soldier, STAND DOWN!
Too late. The miasm of the chanting is already making the world around him begin to mist like condensation on a windowpane. Defying it with sharp shakes of his head, the Jackal doesn't have time to ready himself for the impact of the first wolf-like creature from the side. It brings him down and he yells in pure reaction before he shoves his hand flat into its face. The Bane strikes and latches; it causes the creature to squeal and yank itself out of immediate reach. The second comes quickly to replace its brethren and grabs a hold of Ambrose's coat hem. It yanks his scrambling feet out from underneath him — his air leaves him with a sharp woof of sound. It begins dragging him through the chaos while the third snaps at his head to keep him swatting out and not at the one involved in tugging.
"Oh for the love of …." Zatanna sighs. "Always with the casting." Her hands start to move as the chanting begins, this is going to take some finesse. A barrier? She can do that … as the beasts start to charge, the mage speaks clearly - not that anyone can understand what she says, most likely.
Blue energy winds its way up her arms before she scatters it, forming a translucent glowing wall in a semi circle about them.
"We need to disrupt that spell …" beat "Lady Sif, would you like a boost, a hit directly to the centre of them should see to some of that. Run …" The woman starts to chant again, the energy this time coalescing in her palms.
When Sif starts her run, Zee times the final casting - the burst of magical energy collecting Sif and propelling her forward.
"Agreed, Sorceress," Sif replies to Zatana, and does indeed start to charge toward the chanting followers of Oliver. The boost is abrupt and strong, and if she'd not practiced similar in the past it might have completely thrown her.
Both figuratively and literally.
But, she's well in control, and with the consideration that Midgardians truly frown upon killing in small skirmishes like this one, she reverses her sword so she'll be bowling into the chanters with her buckler and the pommel of her sword as the leading edge of her one-Aesir-battering-ram.
Fenris turns and instantly there is a large sword in his hand which he wields with a skill that Ambrose might find admirable were he not occupied. The rush of the beasts is odd. When Thor is knocked over rather than clawing and biting - well, they do that a bit - they try to haul him off. One of them tries to grab the hammer from him which is most decidedly a bit of a mistake but… it doesn't seem to realize that.
Sif blowing past the ones coming for her means that there's more for Fenris and Zee to deal with. But Sif's rush does bowl over pretty much everyone and also send a couple of them flying a bit. She can be pretty sure she hit Oliver square on and he went tumbling. There is some token resistance from them but whatever magical power they may have, these are mortals and their ability to withstand Sif is limited. She should clean up relatively quickly.
Any way there is no more teleportation spell going off. And that's a good thing because there's still a lot of beasts. Zee now has to deal with them from several angles and they're trying to grab her. Fenris actually has to transform into a horse sized wolf to use more of his power and that's when he notices…
"They've got Ambrose!" He calls out. Someone should do something about that. He is a bit busy. They've got Thor too technically but Fenris is much more confident that they're not going to be able to keep him.
There's a flurry of movement, furred creatures attempting to drag and pull and bite as they crawl over the fallen Asgardian. One is pushed up and away only for it to dive back into the pile trying to get a hold of Thor. Another growls and bites, holding onto his wrist with the hammer. It's only a period of five… six seconds? And then…
"Away from me!"
Another shout this one accompanied by a crack of thunder that rolls across them all, the lightning striking downwards and lancing through Mjolnir, the creature, Thor, then the other creatures. It's enough to blast them apart and away as the Thunderer gains his feet, hammer spinning up into a blur of movement as one of the monsters tries to gain further control of Ambrose…
And that is the one he throws the hammer at with a rush of motion and his arm slashing upward.
It's easy enough to find Ambrose, even in the chaos of the melee: he's the one hollering at the top of his lungs as he continues to swat and kick at the creatures hounding him. They've dragged him in the direction of wherever Oliver was sent tumbling, the one tugging having taken a good number of bootsoles to the face and not stopped its kidnapping attempt.
"I REFUSE! DROP ME! DROP ME RIGHT NOW!" A virulent string of insults in Farsi follows — so sorry, Thor and Sif, they're likely very aware of the invective being hurled. "VARLETS! BASTARD CURS!"
The one wolf-creature rising up with a clawed hand upraised, dead-aimed for Ambrose's head in a bid to knock him cold…instead takes Mjolnir in the chest. There it goes, gone, in a wift of air and crackles.
The distance between him and Oliver is rapidly closing, however, and the last beast puts more effort now to yank him along on his back. The coat's sleek outer texture isn't slowing anything down!
Having crashed through the chanters like particularly cheaply made bowling pins, she really only flattens more of them with her buckler or the flat of her blade on her way chasing after the one Ambrose identified as Oliver. Yes, Ambrose is proving that he can curse most impressively. It's kind of an appropriate situation for that kind of language.
As soon as she's within range of one of the wolf-like creatures dragging Ambrose, the kid gloves come off and she slashes at the hairy beast with the sharp side of her blade and every bit of strength she possesses.
"I've got him. Sorry about this, Mister Atherton." Zee calls out as Fenris transforms, she lashes out with a blast of magic at the wolf like things near them. Two get bowled backwards as the Mage concentrates "Thor. Bring the Lightning …"
"Lady Sif, get clear." When the light arcs across the sky, Zatanna speaks again, blue energy flowing from her hands. Her magic takes the lightning that Thor has already created and sends it down onto the creatures that are dragging Ambrose away. It won't hit him, but he'll surely get buzzed. The stench of burnt hair and cooked meat fills the air.
Yelping, what's left of the wolf like creatures go scattering. Some quite torn up from Fenris' tender ministrations.
Oliver and his crew, start to retreat, using the wolves as cover to get away.
The lightning had been summoned, washing over him and through him as he conducted the power towards Zatanna. Thor stood there for a time like some great iconic image glowing with the roil of power that lashed through him and into the sorceress' spell. For a brief moment the night became day, and once it faded it left the monsters sprawled and dispatched…
Mjolnir made another low whum of sound as it flew across the distance back into Thor's hand. He stepped forward, lifting the hammer into the air and setting it spinning again. "Hold there, varlet." His voice rises, displeased.
"You cannot raise hand against the God of Thunder and his comrades… and expect to escape freely!" And as he says that he sends the hammer flying once again.
After her one swipe at the wolf things, Sif indeed moves clear to allow Zee and Thor's combined attack deal with the beasts. She opts to start chasing after Oliver, but he had too much of a lead, and she stops quickly enough. Returning to the scene of the skirmish, she moves to check on Ambrose promptly.
"Lieutenant Atherton, are you well?"
Sif's sword cuts into the wolf-like creature and sets it to snarling. Its stumbles are weak off to one side and it bleeds blood in an unearthly hue. This leave the last one pulling Ambrose along.
The master-thief's eyes, owlishly wide, reflect the growing storm-light controlled by Thunderer and Mistress of Magic in nightshine-red. He has time to cringe and yelp, "NO, DO NOT HIT — "
Then he's deafened and tasting pennies and ozone, curled upon himself in a perfect outline of his own body within a wide spread of blackened grass. Needless to say, the wolf-creature attempting to make off with him is thoroughly toasted!
When Sif returns to speak to him, the Jackal uncurls like a snail coming out of a shell. His face emerges from his covering arms and his eyes are still very, very wide. At first, he flinches at the Aesir's presence, but realizing it's her, he works at getting to one hip. "Am I what?!" He speaks overly loudly, squinting at her face. "I cannot hear you! It — the lightning, it — " Pointing at his ear, he then scrubs at them both with his palms, gritting his teeth. "Is he gone? Where is he?!"
'He' being Oliver.
Zatanna stands there, next to the pony sized Wolf, hair swept by the wind of the storm Thor had called. The blue energy crackles and fades, her eyes glow for a moment before they return to their normal vibrant blue. "Is everyone alright? Mister Atherton? Thor? Lady Sif? Fenris?"
She doesn't seem phased by being in such company, instead she turns to check the carcasses over. Anything she finds, she'll take with her. They might need that in a little while.
"I might suggest that we relocate to somewhere safer." She finally says to the group. "I know just the place we can meet and a method of unusual arriving won't be thought twice of. I can take us there, in a trice."