Summary:Fenris goes to retrieve something he left in Canada and meets another of his children Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It has been some time but Fenris and Company finally have a destination. And end in sight. They need to get to the pocket dimension known as Pangea, formerly home Luna, Fenris and their family. Of course it is torn open and at least partly filled with void so the first step is to find a way to get there and BE there.
That's what has brought Fenris to Nova Scotia. Presently he is hiking over some wooded hills looking for 'something he left here some time ago.' He's also singing which might be annoying his companions.
"Farewell to Nova Scotia and your sea bound coast. Let your mountains dark and dreary be. When I am far away on the briney oceans tossed, will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?"
It sounds… Irish. It probably is. Fenris enjoyed Ireland, albeit nearly a thousand years ago when it was a livelier place.
Astryd is surprisingly quiet lately. This whole thing with Fenris first family is wearing on the blonde. Of course, the mention of the regalia that had been stripped from her when she was exiled had done nothing to improve her move.
Fenris singing draws a look from the Valkyr "You're in a good mood, my heart. Which dark haired lass are you thinking of as we trek?"
Ambrose is a dozen steps behind or so, clad in his coat against potential chill and with the golden ring of invisibility in the bottom of one pocket. Its duality of Bane and anti-Bane remain; Astryd last saw his attempt to reconcile the two without losing sense of self.
Kent, on the other hand, was thankfully present when Ambrose next tried it at home and the Phurba was commanded to spit him out, thank you very much, we do not eat the Jackal.
He's also seemingly torn between a quirk of brows in amusement and a scowl at the song in question. Ambrose can play the piano by ear, yes, but sing? Not in the least: he's entirely tone-deaf. There's admittedly some jealousy, but also some acceptance that he'll never be anything near to a nightingale. The silver-haired Jackal pauses in the shadow of a tree and sighs, looking around.
"I will be utterly sympathetic if this place heaves a sigh." A faint smirk even as his brightly-carmine pupils return to both Astryd and Fenris. "A dark-haired lass? No-no, a red-haired lass is the vein of most Irish melodies, is it not?" His smirk deepens to show teeth, content to tease at his comrades.
Fenris chuckles. "Yes but the red hair was brought by the Danes and the last time I was there they were only just getting settled in." So, Black Irish is what Fenris would have known. "And Sorcha, Astryd. You should remember her actually." Sorcha was not one of Fenris' companions when Astryd had taken a leave of absence - though he had a few. She did however have a magical talent in a time when having one was quite dangerous and Fenris - and later Astryd - had took her under their wing. It helped of course that Fenris has a reputation as the man who was sometimes a great wolf. Because one could get away with that kind of thing back then.
As they crest the next hill - Fenris pace showing no signs of slowing - he switches songs. "I've played the wild rover for many a year and I've spent all my money on whiskey and beer. And now I'm returning with gold in great store, and never will play the wild rover no more. And it's no, nay, never. No, nay, never, no more. Will I play the wild rover, no never, no more."
Fenris' foot hits a root as they move quite uncharacteristically and he stumbles for a step. That… never happens. Fenris has been moving through the wilderness longer than most of the wilderness on the planet has been in its current form. He turns to look at the root and finds that it is a section of rebar twisted to look like one.
"Well well. A wolf. A Jackal. And a Birb. Somewhat unexpected and so very interesting." Comes a voice ahead of them as a rust red wolf steps out from behind a tree. "Welcome to my forest. Mind your step now."
"Black Irish has its roots in history, Ambrose. Many of the Irish were dark and not red heads. Ah Sorcha. She was a dear. I miss her." It's a little melancholy, the remembrance. She does crack the faintest of smiles as Fenris switches up the song, her hand snapping out to steady the Old Wolf as he stumbles.
The rebar gets a frown as the woman takes the pin from her hair and turn …"And which of his get would you be?" It's said … so derisively.
Ambrose's brows lift as he draws his mouth to one side thoughtfully. "Sorcha," he echoes very quietly to himself, no doubt musing about precisely whom this individual is. He falls back into step behind the pair, not too far behind them, his boots making no sound as he walks. He doesn't have Fenris's natural awareness of the forest, so his demi-immortal eyes are generally downwards in the task of marking lifted roots or slippery rocks. A turned ankle is always a literal pain to heal up.
To see Fenris stumble? The Jackal abruptly looks up and slows, his eyes falling to the rebar and then back to the Dread Wolf. He lifts his silvery brows in silent question.
Then comes the voice of a rust-red wolf and Ambrose is quick to slip into place nearly tucked against Astryd; his hand has disappeared inside his coat, though whether for knife, revolver, or ring is the question. Of course his pupils gleam like garnets at the foreign canine.
"This is Sagrim-Ur. Red Wolf. He was the one among my children that was most fascinated with humans." Fenris says, eyeing Red Wolf as if not quite sure if he'll be friendly. "What are you…" Doing here, is what he was going to say. But then he notices that from the point he's standing onward the trees are all metal. They look like trees but their red trunks are rusted iron and the evergreen needles are verdigrised bronze and brass. It's got to be the most scenic looking scrap yard ever."
"I live here. I can keep an eye on what the people are doing here. They get up to some interesting things." Red Wolf says. Canadians get up to some interesting things?
"But where are my manners. Welcome into my home. I had expected you to show up eventually though not like this. Please, I extend to all of you guest right. Will you take a meal with me?" He nods to what looks like a recently killed deer. It's not cooked of course but hey, he's offering his guests food.
"Two valkyries in one day, though, has to be a record. And two people who smell like you, Jackal. It's been a day of coincidences. Or would be if I believed in them."
Sif arrived in Nova Scotia with the others, but she'd broken off to inquire in a nearby village about any strange goings on. It was unlikely that the locals would know anything, but it was worth at least asking. And sure enough, they didn't.
So, she's been playing catch up, walking calmly enough when others might see, but then taking to a jog or a brief sprint to cover the distance more quickly. She'd just managed to get the trio in sight when Fenris stumbled, and that prompted her to break into a full run again, preparing for battle along the way.
She dashes up and all but skids to a stop next to Ambrose with her buckler in place and her sword in hand. She… missed the red wolf's welcome and extending of guest right.
Astryd doesn't transform the the hair to shield and sword but she does take up a protective stance at Fenris' shoulder. "You like rust, I see. You know there are treatments that will preserve your metals from the elements. Perhaps you should look into them." It's cool and not in the least bit friendly.
Grey eyes narrow at the mention of another Valkyrie and one that smells like Ambrose. "Oliver and one of my sisters?" It's all she can do to not growl at the thought. "Hello Sif this is *another* of Fenris children. Sagrim-Ur. He's offering us food." The deer looks reasonable and he's offered guest-right. Question is, does Astryd trust Luna's child.
Canadians apparently get up to some interesting things. Even if Fenris doesn't sound incredibly concerned, the Jackal doesn't let up his flat look of suspicion at Sagrim-Ur. His eyes flicker to the deer carcass and back to the others, his lips thinned. By his expression, he's not interested in venison tartare, but there's a struggle: guest rights have been offered, and Ambrose has been around long enough to recognize their importance.
It's the Red Wolf's ability to identify him so quickly which has him straightening in overt concern — this, and the fact that TWO people smell like him…and he's willing to bet it's not his cologne being referenced. He glances over as Sif arrives. "Lady Sif," he says quietly by way of greeting. The fact that the Jackal hasn't pulled weapons could indicate the current state of affairs.
He looks over at Astryd and back at their current host, as it were. "Perhaps your visitors were a Valkyrie, yes, and a man naming himself Oliver with dark hair and hazel eyes and a forked tongue." Okay, that last part is poetic, but Ambrose says it frigidly nonetheless.
"Just a valkyrie actually." This might be slightly concerning as Oliver had been the one who mainly smelled kind of like Ambrose. Why should a single Valkyrie do so? "She was rather rude. I detained her. She's back there. But you needn't concern yourself with that. Would you like some meat? Otherwise I should ask what brought you here."
Does Astryd, or Sif for that matter, trust the Red Wolf?
"We're looking for something I left around here when I got here. A fragment of the fetter that used to bind me." Oh. Ooooooh.
"A shard of Gleipnir?" Red Wolf says and then chuckles. "Ah I get it. I see why you brought the others. You can't get it yourself can you? It's still here. It's in my forest in fact. But… well. Did you tell them?"
Fenris sighs and shakes his head. "I was going to tell them when we got there."
"Well, allow me to spoil it then." Sagrim says looking at the other three. "In order to get to it, you will need to relive some of Fenris' past. Fenris can't do it because he risks starting Ragnarok as he does. It will be a mental strain. I know. I tired and I couldn't do it alone. The three of you though…"
"Just … a Valkyrie and you detained her." Astryd just sighs. as she looks at the wolf. "I should like to see her." No please and it's still quite chilly. They are sisters and … Astryd will do what she can for the other raven.
That Fenris hadn't told her the story either has the Valkyries jaw setting and her face going blank. "I will stand the trial for my Lord." It's all she says and she means. "Lead on and let us be done with this."
No. She doesn't trust the red Wolf at all.
Ambrose can be seen to suckle at a canine tooth behind his closed lips. He's looking off in the presumed direction of 'back there', where this detained Valkyrie lurks likely against her will.
"I hazard this Valkyrie might have been an emissary," he wonders sotto-voce, just loud enough that either Astryd or Sif might catch it. His eyes shift from Fenris to Sagrim-Ur and then abruptly back to Fenris. Tell them when we got here?
"What — " the master-thief begins before the Red Wolf further explains. Slowly, Ambrose blows a sigh that pufts out his lips and then frowns over at Fenris. "I am present and still alive. Why ruddy not," adds the Jackal dryly to Astryd's assent to this envisioning.
As soon as Astryd names the red wolf as Sagrim-Ur and mentions that he's offered food, Sif relaxes from her battle ready stance. As the earlier visitors are speculated on likely correctly, she frowns slightly as she puts her sword away. It's not like she can't draw it again as quickly as Ambrose can pull one of his pistols, after all.
She can't really say she trusts this get of Fenris, and the metallic tang in the air from the nearby 'forest' is decidedly unnerving. Rust is a warrior's ultimate nemesis. But Fenris finally admitting to exactly why they're here has her looking at the Old Wolf with perhaps a bit of dismay. Yes, she knows the stories. But learning — no, reliving — the truth of what actually happened? She'd be lying if she said that that is not even more unnerving than the nearby forest of metallic decay.
But still. It's what needs to be done, and she is not one to shirk her duty simply because she feels unsettled. "Let us proceed, then." The quicker they go, the quicker it will be over with.
"Would you like to see her before or after?" Sagrim says, strangely polite, as they move. They go a short distance and come to a small rock. It's completely unassuming except for the fact that three very large claw marks are gouged into one side. The Red Wolf pushes the rock aside and… there it is.
Gleipnir is an odd thing. It's made of things that don't exist. Womens beards, fish's breaths, things of that nature. It looks like a shimmering, irridescent ribbon. A light fabric. Scarcely heavy enough to keep from blowing away in the breeze.
But it is definitely not that.
And then it's on them. Well. Them. They are now a black wolf. Somehow they're all reliving this. Separately but together. They struggle but the damn thing won't come off. It gets tighter and tighter and tighter.
"Alright…" That's Fenris voice. "Take it off."
Odin looks down and says nothing. Does nothing. And ALL of them can feel a blood rage rising. A rage hot enough to burn all the nine worlds and then some.
"After." Astryd answers Sagrim, nodding to Ambrose and Sif as they move. "Prepare yourselves. What we did to my Lord …" She takes a deep breath, holds it and lets it out slowly. She had been then there … watching as they chained the great wolf.
As she bound, Astryd does struggle. It's not the first time she's been held by another - the most recent … she doesn't think of, Fenris had sorted out him out … but it's burned into her memory.
The rage feeds the spirit that's attached itself to her. It gorges and grow on the Valkyrs temper. "RELEASE ME!" She's not sure if she's spoken aloud or if that's in her mind alone - but it's loud. Loud enough to echo several times.
Ambrose moves as part of the group in an uneasy silence. Likely enough the Dread Wolf, Raven, and Goddess know this to be a true sign of concern in him; little otherwise stoppers up his mouth. They reach the rock and he notes the identifying trio of markings before their host reveals this mythical fettering. Or piece of it, rather.
It is…an odd thing, this whimsical bit of binding. To the master-thief, it seems so harmless —
— until it's on him and tightening. Panic is the first thing through Ambrose's mind, the very basic fear of being trammeled against his will. A flashback to Shanghai, China and being helplessly caged after the diamond-studded collar was used against him is then overtaken by this vast anger. It sets the Bane within him to writhing like a Kraken, the troughs and heights of emotional waves large enough to sink the ship of logic. All will suffer! All will burn for this indignity!
Shock. Sif doesn't even try to struggle, she is so completely and utterly gobsmacked by the abruptness of the gossamer bit of ribbon winding itself around 'her', and even more so by Odin's silently staring and refusing to do anything. The rage is foreign to her as she rarely experiences excesses of emotion that severe, but pained confusion overlays it as well and that she can't mentally reconcile.
"Why, Allfather? Haven't I ever been your faithful warrior? What have I done to deserve this?"
"No. You cannot be released." Odin says. "You will drown the world in blood if you do."
The pain of betrayal sears through them all. There's a feeling of bone crunching beneath jaws. A scream that Sif and Astryd will recognize as Tyr's. His hand forfeit to the wolf's - no… to THEIR rage. Odin turns his back on them. There's a finality to it. A bag is tossed over them and all is cast into darkness.
The scene shifts. They're falling. Free, and exiled from Asgard. Drifting in the space between worlds as the Bifrost takes its sweet damn time about depositing them on whatever benighted world was selected to receive them. They are utterly alone. Abandoned by their homeland, betrayed by their king. Separated from their families. That rage, so bright just a moment before, has become a sullen ember. Now they stew in bitterness and solitude in silence and darkness.
They can feel a madness in the back of Fenris mind? Or is it theirs. This must be what Sagrim was talking about when he said that the strain would have to be shared among them. They can sense one anothers minds. And they can sense the poison that lays in the back of Fenris'. A nihilistic, dark urge to just give into being the monster that they said he was. To make all their worst fears come true. To burn the universe that has assigned them such a cruel role.
It would be so easy just to kill them all. Starts worming its way into their heads. Its different for each of them. The images become personal - visions of the desert and Oliver for Ambrose. Visions of much the same people as Fenris would be mad at for Astryd - though hers is tinged with the added strain of that mark that saps her control. For Sif? Visions of friends and boon companions who she in this moment knows have betrayed her in the worst way possible. And all can feel and see what the others see.
They have to support eachother. Perhaps three minds can gain perspective on all these slights, real and imagined, that a single mind would be overwhelmed by.
Astryd fights. Fenris' trial overlays her own and her guilt at what she had done to him. The maelgrim revels in the anger and despair that she experiences. And there's a lot of it. "Kill them. Kill them all. I will bathe in their blood and destroy Valhalla…" She growls, eyes cold grey like a blizzard.
Slowly though the oath to took to Fenris asserts itself. He doesn't need to guide or direct her in this - it's core to Astryds being that she'll do what she can to save her Lord his Fate … and this is sending him to his Fate fast as anything. "Focus." The blonde grates out to the other two, grasping for Sifs hand and then Ambroses.
Let the Bane feed if he must, they will stand together and remember what it is they fight for.
Yes — yes, glass the sands after they've been drowned in blood and tears — bury the bones of the man who took self as if he had any right to it, who left Ambrose in this state — hunt down the kin and get of anyone in Shanghai who thought to bring pain upon him and Kent — Kent, who has aband —
Deep within the maelstrom of stewing pain comes a soft chime: — no.
It brings the Bane, sleeking like liquid garnet, to a shimmering pause as if time itself froze.
No, this is wrong.
Is it? It is deserved. Take.
No, not Kent — Kazimira — Sterling — no, not my friends.
You have no friends.
A blind hand reaching out in the vision-blinded dark towards Astryd and Sif both, plainly human inside its glove. It makes content with the Valkyrie's outstretched palm and grips like a drowning man.
They are all worth dying for, Ambrose mentally screams into the howling void, his eyes and jaw otherwise jammed shut.
Damn the fickle and short-lived Midgardians. Doomed to never reach Valhalla, and as quick to betray as they are to age and die. LET them wither away, their great civilizations rise and die like mounds of ants running in their pointless circles. She will speed them to their self-destruction. But.
No. Their lives are bright sparks like the embers thrown off of worked metal. Every strike, every ember flaring and dying in a breath contributing to creating something new. Better. They deserve the chance to make something of their mayfly lives. She swore her sword to seeing them get their chances. She'll forfeit her chance at Valhalla if need be.
A hand grips her own and she squeezes back, blindly reaching with her other hand to grasp at Ambrose's free hand, completely forgetting that the Bane would likely enjoy the feast of an Aesir's life force.
The darkness, the bitter whispers, seem to go on interminably. But eventually… they smell smoke.
And feel wind. There's a tear in reality and air is howling into the void. A trio of wolves stand before them. "Don't you see father?! Don't you see it now?! This is how it has to be. Let me ease your way. Only this way can you be free."
Pangea. It's burning. It's torn. Some of the family are already missing. And the three wolves before them are going to attack again.
Then the whole thing begins to shake. It's coming apart. Gurim loses his grip on the ground and flies into the tear. Moments later they are blown clear by some kind of dimensional explosion. All they can feel is sorrow and betrayal. All they can hear is the sound of their whole life crashing and burning.
And then they're back. Holding hands, likely. The fetter is between them. Fenris and Sagrim are behind them.
Astryd trembles and shakes, standing like an oak in a strong wind. Sifs grip on her hand grounds the Valkyr, even as the sting of the Bane does the same.
When they're back, Astryd stares at the fetter dropping her hold on it quickly. "I had hoped never to see it again." Her grey eyes are burning though when she turns her gaze on Sagrim. "If it were not for guest right, I would gut you for what you allowed your brothers to do to my Lord."
She had seen it and she had heard. They had tried to kill Fenris to … set him free …. that will require more thought. "I wish to see my sister, now."
She doesn't inquire of the others. She's too … raw.
Of course the Bane makes to nip at the Asgardians both. A brisk feeling of frosty pins-and-needles is abruptly ripped away as Ambrose flatly insists these two beings, with their life-force as brilliantly intoxicating as liquored starlight, are friends — not food.
He watches as the world — his world — a world he never saw or knew — dissolves into chaos and flames, falling apart like the end of an aircraft brought down to earth.
And then everything stills and cools and he can breathe clean air again. The Jackal inhales hoarsely even as his knees shake like tree limbs in a breeze. How he keeps from collapsing to his knees can likely be attributed to steely British spine along with, no doubt, bolstering from Kent, he only a thought away. His grip of the others' hands doesn't waver, this too a support unyielding.
"F-f-f-f-fuck," chatters out the master-thief, staring down at the fetter with a newfound, terrified, deep respect.
And a brutal pity for Fenris. He looks over his shoulder and gives the Dread Wolf a gaze of understanding only just realized after the vision, his own experiences with death offered as freedom young yet in comparison to the old Wolf.
Sif opens her mouth to cry out at the injustice of the damage to Pangea but instead gasps like she'd been holding her breath — maybe she had been — and opens her eyes. Wait. When did she close them?
She looks from Astryd to Ambrose and back, then at the fetter. She takes a hold of it when the blonde drops it, and nods to tell the Valkyr that she understands the need to get a bit of distance from what they just experienced. Then she turns her attention back to Ambrose.
"Are you all right?" she asks the Midgardian with genuine concern, still very much keeping his hand in hers. Let the Bane nip if it will help him. She has offered freely before and she will again. Every time.
"I'm fine." Fenris says. He hadn't experienced it but he can take a guess at what they did. For him this is memory hundreds or thousands of years old. The sting is real but it is removed from him by a long span of time. They're feeling it fresh. Fresh as he did on the day it happened.
"I brought her out while you were under." The Red Wolf says, letting the not-quite threat against him slide. There is indeed, bound with rebar and kneeling, a valkyrie. And not a corrupted one. Her name is Thrud, Astryd knows her and Sif might as well. She looks… somewhat the worse for wear. Evidently his altercation with Fenris' son did not go in her favor.
"Astryd. Sif. Who is this mortal with you and… what are you doing here?" There's a pause and her eyes widen as she looks at Ambrose. "You… you're infected. Like him."
Astryd puts a hand on Fenris' arm as she moves past him. As much for herself as for him.
"Thrud. I think the question why are you here? And you," she says to Sagrim "Why is she bound? Release her, on my bond, she will cause no problems."
"We were here seeking … something that Fenris left here. Seeking answers as what this ones siblings are doing."
Astryd walks away and the curse doesn't hare after her. It does dare to nip again at Sif, though its host is quick to yank the proverbial chain and demand it return to his aura if not deep within his bones. Ambrose swallows.
"I am…alive," he replies at first to Sif, his voice only this side of steady. "Fine, I am fine." He doesn't realize he's echoing Fenris. However, Sagrim-Ur draws his attention away from Sif and he draws his hand out of her grip in the process, totally sparing her any further Bane-bites.
This bound Valkyrie's stare has him acutely uncomfortable. It makes him stiffen in place, his jaw set. Once Astryd is done speaking, he adds, "I prefer 'accursed' if we must sling such claims around. I suppose you've met Sergeant Wright then — Oliver," the master-thief further clarifies with no hint of fondness in tone. "And if you see him again, please inform him that I want my curse back."
Sif allows Ambrose to pull his hand free, as she's already learned well that he values the freedom of making his own choices more than just about anything else. She follows his gaze, and then takes a few steps after Astryd to offer Thrud a small but polite bow in greeting.
This conversation is Astryd's and Ambrose's. She stays close but doesn't offer anything yet, as she feels it might not be her place to do so.
"I was…" She looks at Astryd and then Sif and then finally back at Ambrose. "I was looking for one of the apples of Idunn. One was stolen recently. It came to Midgard. And whomever did the taking had the stench of… a curse on them."
Fenris grunts. That's bad news. "We'd better talk about that. In detail." Thrud is released as Astryd had requested and Fenris gestures. "Come. Take some meat."
It's raw. This might be petty revenge.
"If you all don't mind… put that thing away somewhere. I don't want to look at it." They've got a bit more to talk about here, and then they can all go home. Or, well, back to Fenris' home, as the case may be.
Sif wordlessly offers the knife she keeps sheathed behind her buckler, to be used to carve off some of the raw meat. Personally? It wouldn't be the first time she's eaten raw flesh.
.~{:--------------:}~.