11928/Resonants: Asgard Pt. 2

Resonants: Asgard Pt. 2
Date of Scene:	15 July 2022
Location:	Palace - Asgard
Synopsis:	The party reaches Northfort and they meet Lord Yoren as well as his great grandson Frikke. Words are shared and some not so polite.
Cast of Characters:	Thor, Sif, Vintridr, Jane Foster, Thea Queen
Tinyplot:	Resonants

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Thor has posed:
    The heroic worthies took what time was needed to get settled for the mid day meal. The mood was good, morale was high, and because Vintridr had perhaps allowed herself the slow start in the horse race... the food was good as well. Yet the camaraderie and good time might have been what slowed their pace enough that it affected their schedule. When they had set hoof back to trail once again they had to push more brisk pace to perhaps make sure they would reach Northfort before the later hours of the night.
    So off they went along that trail that led toward the tall mountains. Asgard was a place of power and magic, and the landscape was not as gentle as the easy flow of Midgard's. It was in some ways as if a great brush painted the world as it would for though the hillocks on the way were beautiful, they quickly gave way to the rise of more stern and severe peaks. Then the path became surrounded on either side by tall mountains, snow-capped and grim. Which is when the temperature lowered severely. Not too uncomfortable for the Asgardians and the mortals with them should they bundle up. But definitely noticeable and it carried with it a more stern sentiment that perhaps caused less words to be shared as they traveled.
    Then, a few hours after the brilliant light in the sky of Asgard had 'set', that wending mountain pass twisted just enough to bring the craggy formation of Northfort into view as it had been built across the entirety of that section of the pass. A tall structure, ten stories high and built into the sides of the mountains. High enough to forbid passage powerfully for those that would wish to come against Asgard even be they giants.
    From afar torches flickered on the ramparts of the dark fortress. Movement could be seen between one of the crenelations. Then as the party was sighted a blare of a horn was heard that echoed through the mountain pass. The party had been spotted.

Sif has posed:
The time spent with friends was one of the best things about a quest. The tales were not always about the battles, but about those tales spun around a campfire over a good meal. Thankfully, Vintridr was far more gifted at cooking than Sif was. And had been a good sport, letting herself fall to the back so they wouldn't be eating jerky instead. Which likely they would had Sif lost. Or more precisely, they would prefer jerky to what Sif would've made.

As they reached the colder climate, she utilized the bags that had been packed for them. Donning leggings, heaving clothing, along with a fur lined cloak that she pulled around herself. Between that and the warmth of the horse she rode, all was well for the rest of the journey.

The sight of Northfort was taken in, a quick scan of the crenelations, watching the guards there moving to and fro as they spotted the riders. Then the blare of sound filling the area. While she was ready should something happen, Sif was mainly at ease. After all, these were allies, not enemies.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vin's quickly suppressed grimace at the horn's sound is pure instinct; to a scout, being noticed before you've reached your objective is a sign you've done something wrong. But they're not here for stealth or deception, but for diplomacy - which means that being seen for what they are is important.

    "Still a mile out," she murmurs. "At least their sentries are doing their job."

     A tug on the reins tells Bragi to hold back slightly, letting the Odinson ride out in front where he can be easily identified -- but not so far out in front she can't get in between him and an attack, if the Kaldrhond choose treachery and violence.

    Would the latter be likely? No. But old habits die hard, and Vin has survived more ambushes than she prefers to remember by not taking anything for granted.

Jane Foster has posed:
Does one take naps on horses? Probably not, even if they have wings and a body the size of a slim jetliner, all said and done. Jane has far more to see on the way to Northfort than need for sleep; no awkward questions due there. Though afternoon tends to be the time for a siesta, conversations and good hospitality prevent that. The astrophysicist will have to adopt the same diurnal schedule as everyone else, not that it's a bad thing. Though between eating and being on the trail, she very will gets that needed catnap in. That means staying up later to admire the stars in unfamiliar configurations, mapping them out, and possibly garnering a deeper view of the astronomical state of Asgard.

"That's an impressive sound," she sits up straighter when the signal goes out, rolling off the steep granite defiles and flooding the valley approach. Their trail presents little issue hopefully for sure-footed horses or a good pair of hiking boots, though for the most part, she's giving Mr. Horse lead to do his horsey thing. Grani might be of a mind to just up and fly /over/ the fort under normal circumstances, but he dutifully waits to make sure neither Jane or Thea fall off the mountainside. Sure-footed mortals aren't a /thing/, after all.

"This is shaping up to be a fine evening," she adds, altogether certain in her bright outlook that it will be.

Thor has posed:
    "Aye," Thor's voice is warm as he rides along, at the front. "I imagine they must be on their guard though it has been some time since the Jotun attempted this pass." But when Jane offers her sunny outlook his smile broadens a little as he turns his head to smile at her even as their steeds continue along that slowly rising trail toward the old fortress.
    They continue forth and high above an outlook point signals the approach of the party with another answering horn's call, likely to let the fortress know the travelers have passed a certain point. It's then that the large gate of Northfort, two stories high and with a heavy portcullis, begins to open. Loud enough that the party can hear the clank-clanking of the large chains and the slow rumble of the stone wood structure as it opens presenting the emergence of another group of warriors who step out of the fortress and line up on either side of those gates. Ten torches flicker in the night, and two glowing orb that hover above. Soldiers all, armored and armed, they do not snap to attention as the others in Asgard. But they do not seem belligerent.
    "Ho there, Odinson!" A rugged gruff voice calls out from the fortress.
    To which Thor answers as he sits up in his saddle, boots digging into the stirrups to lift him. "Ho, Northfort!"
    "You are well come, let them pass."
    Which is the moment the guards snap to with a resonant drum of spear hafts slamming into the ground.

Sif has posed:
There is ever caution but not obviously so. To most, the grouping outside would seem casual. Yet, Sif knows that all of the Asgardians are watching carefully. As the gates begin to open, she shifts her position slightly but it is hidden more as a restless mount wanting to shift a few steps to the left. Nothing outwardly odd.

Once the warriors exit, she scans them. Spears instead of swords. Prepared for mounted foes. Just in case. It was enough to make her smile. A quick scan to make sure nothing seemed off about them.

She would nudge her mount forward slightly. Not to be ahead of Thor, as the royal prince, but if things went sideways, she'd rather be the one to take the shot. More interposing herself a little as a shield of sorts. As unlikely a necessity, she was doing it anyway.

Vintridr has posed:
    "It's meant to be," Vin replies to Jane's observation. "It's intended to intimidate would-be raiders almost as much as it's meant to alert; and depending on the time and season, quite a few of the fortress' denizens might still be outside, or deep underneath, so the sound must reach them all."

    As they pass through the honor guard she keeps her head straight ahead and her expression composed while her eyes flick from one guard to the next, silently assessing. While her name isn't nearly as well known as either the Odinson or the Lady Sif, her armor clearly marks her as one of the Valkyrior - and that is quite sufficient to anyone who pays attention.

     A discreet nudge sets Bragi to fall back slightly, letting Sif ahead to the Odinson's left hand while she moves closer to Jane and Thea. Again, probably unnecessary, but again, old habits die hard...

Jane Foster has posed:
Grani won't be staying for long once they achieve the fort, if plans are to spend the night. Presumably he has a great deal more work to do, since the borrowed ride isn't Jane's in perpetuity. It is enough for her to hold fast to his back, a hand on his proud silver-shod neck. The handsome beast would prance under approval of Thor's attention but his human rider is a touch more composed. She inclines her head to the Thunderer, sharing in that unabashed grin. "I have to imagine few people from Midgard get this far, thus I'm glad for the company." She nods to Sif, as a mark of respect.

No doubt the people in the fort could have opinions about them, but Vintridr alongside her and Thea adds that level measure of approval. The abundance of Aesir gear at least makes them look the part. She doesn't seem to be overly tense in the way the other valkyrie is, but ignorance can be bliss.

"Other than minding our manners, is there anything we should know?" she asides at a whisper-level. "Like never mention certain people or it's taboo to go out the east side gate because it's for the All-Father only?"

Thor has posed:
    Thor's mount advances as he moves forward into that area between the two lines of spears. If there was a time for treachery then it would be in that moment. Yet there is no movement from the soldiers as Thor throws his leg over the side of his mount and drops off the saddle with a /thud/ of boots hitting the ground. He tosses back his cloak and smiles to those there, a friendly gesture... even though the shift of his Winter garb now shows the Uru hammer prominently at his side.
    "Asgard sends greetings, I am come for words to be shared with Yoren Kaldrhond."
    Which is when another armored Asgardian emerges from the gate. Stern-features with a hook nose, the raven-haired man is the one who answers Thor's words, "Lord Kaldrhond is in the main hall. Much of the clan has retired for the hour is late but he and Frikke stand ready to receive you, Thunderer. I am Seneschal Dorin."
    "Excellent, then by all means..." Thor uncurls a hand and gestures so for the man to lead them within. Though he takes a moment to look at each member of the party in turn as if seeking their thoughts in a brief silent communion between comrades. Then he tuns and follows.
    Which has them entering the Southern courtyard of the fortress. The walls high around them, guards stand on the walls and a tall warhorse stamps its foot from where it is tethered. A young stablehand rushes out and moves to relieve the heroes of their mounts as best he can, though he stops abruptly when he espies Jane's beauteous mount and quickly... looks for some guidance. Though thankfully his moment of panic is lessened when he looks to Jane and seems reassured that the wondrous horse will likely tend to itself.
    Once through the door and into the fortress proper, Thor asks, "A messenger was sent, though he did not return."
    "Aye," Answers Dorin, "He is here. He fights a duel in the morning."
    Which has Thor's brow furrowing, "A duel?"
    "Aye,"
    "What is the cause of this duel."
    Dorin's brow quirks as they walk through the halls, no torches within, only glowing spheres light the ancient stone walkways. "He gave insult to Lord Kaldrhond. I stand against him in the morn."
    Which is an answer, that likely for several reasons, seems to displease Thor.

Sif has posed:
Things seemed to go smoothly. Once they were within Northfort, Sif swung off her horse, giving the chestnut mare a last stroke of the neck before turning over the reins to the stablehand. She gave him a bright smile, knowing he likely worked hard and was dealing with far more than he expected at this time of night. Likely he was pulled from his evening meal to tend to the visitors' mounts.

Then she moved with the others, regarding the surroundings but nothing too much. Until mention of the messenger came up. And she turned to look curiously at Seneschal Dorin.

When the answer came, her brows lifted a bit and then her forehead tightened, little furrows at the center. If the messenger had given insult enough to lead to challenge, that was odd in itself. That they wouldn't send word of this situation back to let them know what had happened seemed moreso. Before she could stop herself, she opened her mouth. "A messenger of the royal court gave insult to the Lord? What insult was this to lead to such measures? Particularly without informing the Prince of the situation." A slight chiding there at the end that probably was crossing a line.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vin's eyes do not narrow at Dorin's comment. She does not tense up, nor does she flex her shoulders to check her armour or test her weapons. She very carefully does none of those things - although those who know her will likely recognize what she isn't doing.

    "Asgard's customs of hospitality are intricate, but explicitly favour the guest. Pay close attention, and if in doubt, ask or follow my lead," she replies to Jane's question almost casually while her mind flickers through the scenarios. Given the importance of the task, assume that the Odinson did not assign a mannerless lout; and even if they had inadvertedly given grave offence, they would still be a messenger - empowered to speak with the Odinson's voice. Any insult given would therefore be laid at the feet of the one who sent them, not the messenger themselves, and the Kaldrhond would -- should -- know this.

Something is very, very wrong.

    "I, too, must admit to curiosity as to the nature of this insult," she replies casually, without quite offering a challenge of her own.

Jane Foster has posed:
Grani isn't posh, and he is pretty much happy to /tell/ that poor stablehand the fact. <<You don't need to worry about me. I'll go and find myself some proper food, though if you can leave a barrel of mead?>> Aesir-Vanir godhorse, Aesir-Vanir tastes. Bestla is probably his favourite person after his immediate family, what with all the honeyed happiness she procures for the tables of Odin's mighty hall.

Thus, once the other horses have their grounds for the night, he springs up from his powerful back legs and those wings catch the sky. Convenience to be had where he can wander off to harass some unsuspecting agents of Asgard about their tastes in jazz.

Jane, for her part, is the one to watch Mr. Horse and contemplate how one apologizes for equine pertness. She follows Sif's lead on the fact, adding her words of thanks to the stablehand. "Forgive me, he has a mind of his own. I am grateful for your kindness." Then, as one must, she follows the trinity of Aesir to the matter of Dorin. From behind a wall of much stronger and more impressive people, where the archer and she can safely regard how matters go. She will not question the seneschal about his business, not in the least. Nor anyone else who might be in sight because the strange nature of hanging from Yggdrasil for months gives her a different avenue altogether. Odin One-Eye has his kennings, and so does the brunette.

She watches, alert but curious, from a position of silence. Walls that somewhat guard her mind from the constant stream of living information drag back, a task that's not as easy as it sounds. Or pleasant, for that matter. It's not psychic spying to passively /look/, is it?

Thor has posed:
    For his part, Dorin. He quirks another eyebrow, only the opposite one this time, and now it is aimed toward Sif... then Vintridr in turn. He says, almost dismissively, "You would have to ask him. Or Lord Kaldrhond."
    Yet the tone of the Seneschal is one that broaches little further inquiry, as if he feels he has sufficiently answered. Then couple this with his pressing on to say, "It is this way."
    If one were to judge anything by the countenance of Thor it is unlikely they have heard the last on this matter.
    They reach the large oak double doors that protect the inner Grand Hall. Intricate runes have been crafted into the structure that give a hint of a glow about them. The two cards stand at attention as the party arrives, then at Dorin's behest they step to pull them open with a great and slow creak of metal and wood.
    It reveals before them the interior of the Fortress, the Lord's Hall that is set precisely in the center of the pass between the two mountains. The old tales of Northfort speak that it was built in such a way so that invaders to breach Asgard they must destroy Clan Kaldrhond to do so.
    Along the walls are shields resplendent, some blackened and burnt, but many vibrant with bright colors of Spring and Summer. Though that is one of the few splashes of color, for the rest of the hall is darker and muted. Even the two tapestries on the walls tha depict strong figures standing before the Jotun, their colors are faded with time.
    Though there is one last hint of something beyond black and gray and brown, and that is the bright red jerkin worn by the boy across the hall, seated on the tall dais that holds the large wooden chair upon which seats Lord Kaldrhond. A chair, for no throne this. It is wooden and gnarled and twisted as if composed of branches twisted by a force of will into a seat that is rough and chaotic, yet strong.
    But it may well be the figure that is seated in the not-throne that draws the attention most. For Yoren Kaldrhond is old. It is a rare Asgardian that has white hair. Even more rare still is there one who seems so weathered by the passage of time. Odin's white hair marks him, some of the council of elders may well have a stoop despite the Apples of Idunn. But Yoren of the Northfort is stooped, seated to the side in the Lord's chair with distant eyes and regal garb. An image from time past.
    A strong counterpoint to the young boy who sits at his right hand who looks bright and cheerful. And who then speaks.
    "Lord Kaldrhond wishes for me to welcome you to Northfort, Lord Thor."

Sif has posed:
Sif is displeased. She bites her tongue and asks no further questions of Dorin. Since it is obvious he believes he has said all he needs to. But she finds herself looking him over carefully, gauging some things about the person who would be the champion for Northfort on the morrow.

Once they are admitted to the Lord's Hall, her attention goes to the figures ahead. Though she does notice some of those shields, ones that stand out in some way from the others, telling their own tales. These likely tell the history of the Clan Kaldrhond if one had the time to peruse them properly.

Then her eyes fell on the Lord and the boy at his side. Even as those alarms in her mind were going off again. This was not familiar to her. The fact the boy was speaking for the Lord was even furthering the curiosity she felt.

"We thank you, Lord Kaldrhond. For your hospitality," she stated in a more formal tone. "We know the hour is late and it is gracious of you to meet with us." And she was speaking to the Lord, not the boy. Since it felt odd to be addressing the boy as though the Lord wasn't sitting right there.

Vintridr has posed:
    It is not Vintridr's place to speak here. It is Thor who speaks for this party, and the Lady Sif who may speak on his behalf. Her place is to be silent, and observe, and to discreetly interpret for the children of Midgard when required... And to be as inobtrusive as possible.

    That latter should be harder than it is, but against the Odinson and the Lady Sif's combined presence even a fully armoured Valkyrior can fade into background.

    And she's just as pleased to do so; the sense of wrongness has only been increasing, and her instincts are yelling silently inside her head at the setup. For the Lord Kaldrhond to employ someone to speak to Thor on his behalf would imply that he believes himself so far above the Odinson that it would be insulting to assume that he had a right to address him directly...

... Oh.

That would explain what befell the messenger, wouldn't it?

     She very carefully makes a hand gesture behind her where hopefully Thea can recognize battle sign for 'step with exceptional care.'

This has the potential to go terribly badly very quickly.

Jane Foster has posed:
The grandeur of the hall is a bit overwhelming for those unprepared for such martial lines and scale. Oh, it's one thing to see longhouses and post-medieval villas in situ; England, Germany, and Italy have several examples, but the real thing occupied by actual people in service to the kingdom is another matter. Jane does her best to surreptitiously take it all in without attracting attention to the fact, easily overlooked as taking a timeout to grasp the scale of a new experience.

She has the presence of mind to nod, though she doesn't bow unless nudged into it. The downward shift of her eyelashes does a good job for making her seem modest. A fanning series of lines creasing her brow occasionally belie that's not really the truth, but who wants to worry themselves about Jane with Lady Sif, the Crown Prince, and a rarity of Vintridr in their midst? Really. There are much more interesting things afoot.

Something she senses accounts for the stillness, picking out the odd and curious strands. How exactly to raise the matter, another problem. For the moment, she keeps her tongue in check. For /now/.

Thor has posed:
    "Indeed," Thor says as he lifts his voice, nodding toward Sif as she speaks well for the party in part. "You enjoy our thanks for your hospitality and your patience in hearing our words."
    Though as Sif and Thor speak, Yoren Kaldrhond leans forward with a soft creak from the chair, blinking slowly. Eyes somewhat milky he affixes them on Thor and then turns slowly toward the boy. The youth in red leans to the side and lifts his ear so he can hear the Lord and for a time the old Asgardian whispers into the child's ear in a torn and ragged raspy voice that is difficult do discern. A hissing whisper that goes on for at the least a minute and then ends as the elder Asgardian leans back into his branch chair, causing it to creak again.
    "My Great Grandfather chides me for not introducing myself. I am Frikke Kaldrhond. I am fortunate to be allowed in these halls and to witness these matters." Then he looks over at his grandfather, clears his throat, then says. "He bids you greetings as well, travelers."
    Which is a message delivered in brief words compared to the amount of time it took for the elder Kaldrhond to whisper them in Frikke's ear.
    And Thor does seem... momentarily taken aback. Yet he hides it well enough as he proceeds. "We are come as we seek a boon." Those words linger in silence while the guards, the lord, the child all look on.
    "For e'er has Kaldrhond held the North, a shield against Asgard's foes. There is chance that it too now could serve to protect a great many more lives in the Nine Realms."
    Again those words linger, though after the space of several heartbeats it's enough to cause Lord Kaldrhond to gesture with a finger to Frikke who leans close once again. Though this time he's grabbed by the ear, bony fingers digging into dense but sensitive flesh as he whispers furtively to the young boy who does not struggle... but he seems to wince in pain very briefly. Abruptly he's released after another thirty some seconds of whispered words only for the dark-haired boy in red to frown and recompose himself.
    "Lord Kaldrhond says that..." A pause, then he says. "That Northfort has sworn no oath to the Nine Realms. Only to Asgard and Buri's line."

Thea Queen has posed:
The talkative Thea that enjoyed sharing a tale or three, or listening avidly to the tales spun around the campfire was a contrast to the one that comes into Court. She has noticed the coldness of how they were received. And then there are mentions of a duel due to insults. Better safe than sorry. So the archer keeps her hood up over her head covering most of her expressions and face, bow at her back and arrows not too far from being snatched..

You know, just in case.

And the battle sign from Vin? Yea, Thea notices it and her hawkish gaze looks around the hall, thoughtful, lips pressed to a line. She *does* offer a nod of her head in recognition to Frikke's introduction and when he acknowledges the travellers accompanying Thor. But she certainly doesn't talk now. Better not to reveal she's a Starling City girl.

Vintridr has posed:
... Oh, very bad.

    Kaldrhond was entirely entitled to refuse to grant a boon, and even to decline to hear Thor out on its nature; he had but to say so. But instead he - or his grandson, and something else is badly wrong there - deliberately chose to phrase it in a way that not only invites the Odinson to continue to argue his case, but furthermore implies that the request itself is testing the limits of his sworn oaths.

Almost as if he's fishing for an excuse to claim insult. But why? What does he hope to achieve?

Stop. Focus.

It doesn't matter that his motivations make no sense to you. What matters is that he's doing this. Which means that they make sense to him.

Which means that the possibility of a fight with the Odinson and Lady Sif does not worry him. Which in turn implies...

Breathe, Wind-Reader. Feel the air move. Infer what isn't seen by the currents it leaves.

... And be ready to strike when it reveals itself.

    Outwardly, Vin simply stands at polite attention, in that not-quite-a-slouch that every soldier who has ever pulled sentry duty for hours on end has mastered.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane tilts her head, her posture a bit more stiff with formality than would be called for. Her hands stay at her sides. Uncommonly quiet like Thea, she doesn't add fuel to the fire. Well, not exactly. If Frikke can murmur to the lord with impunity, then so can she.

To Vintridr, at least. It's not as if she can pick up her phone and start typing in Xhosa or French without alarming a guard. This pushes the limits of hospitality perhaps, or at least civil behaviour. What's life without a little risk?

She leans in a little, head turned to make reading her lips that much harder. "Lady. Forgive my ignorance, but..." A magnitude lower until the words might not even be audible except to animals. "Is it meet for a youth, such as us," well, or that kid, "or a Grima, to carry an enchantment?"

Thor has posed:
    The response from the child causes Thor's brow to furrow as he takes a moment to lower his head. It is enough of an angle that he can catch Sif and Vintridr out of the corner of it, making eye contact with each in brief glance. He then looks toward Jane and Thea, gesture enough that it shows his concern lies there.
    Then he straightens, lifting his head high as he says, "Indeed, it is the long service that Kaldrhond has given loyally to Asgard and the oath given King Buri, my Great Grandfather, of which I speak. For was it not after Yoren so swore and pledged his blade in the service to Buri the Strong that our kind first met the Dark Ones in battle? Then was it not Buri's shield that was shattered in that first battle with the Svartalfar who threatened Midgard so many thousands of years ago."
    Hands at his sides, Thor's voice takes on a depth, and a strength as he speaks. "A shield shattered as mine ancestor raised it to stop the poisoned bolt from finding purchase in your heart, Yoren Kaldrhond. It is that shard you still hold, the only remnant of Buri's armament... that now can once again serve to save the people of Midgard from pain and death."
    He nods slowly, "I would ask this of you. Let the might of Kaldrhond extend to protect not just the North. But to all the Nine Realms. As Buri would have wanted it."
    Those words echo for a time in the room as Thor's voice had risen as he spoke of the Might of Kaldrhond. Then grew softer as he spoke as to what his ancesotr would have wanted.
    And Yoren had listened. For a time his clouded eyes locked with Thor's as he sat there in the chair, long fingernails drumming upon the wooden arm. His other hand lifted first to point at Thor. Then to close into a fist, then to tighten with bony knuckles showing. He leans over as he breathes a little roughly, coughing before he speaks into the boy's ear. And then pointedly /slaps/ the child in the back of the head. Not hard, but firmly.
    Which has him then settling back into his seat and giving a ragged 'heh heh heh' of self-satisfied laughter.
    Leaving Frikke to explain.
    "My great grandfather... says, that Buri was a rage-filled berserker and would want no such thing." He winces as he repeats these words, then clears his throat. "He also wishes it to be known that what else is said is true. He owes his life to Buri the Strong. And that this shall take much thought. He is old and tired and will retire for the evening. Tomorrow night there will be food and feast and celebration. Tonight please indulge in repast in your quarters, that guest rite is offered."
    Which then sees Yoren rising out of his chair awkwardly even as he slaps the hands of a guard who tries to help him up out of the way.
    And for now... it may well seem the audience is over.

Thea Queen has posed:
An enchantment? That has Thea sideways glance towards Jane when she speaks quietly towards Vin. She's got a keen ear after all! And it helps that she's close to them to listen.

It also means she eyes the young man more attentively. Enchanted in what manner? But something is indeed off here. And that the great grandpa seems to refuse to acknowledge Thor's claim is ..troubling. Not that she is going to dispute it. No need to create international problems! Or in this case .., interdimensional ones?

Maybe in her more wild days.

But she still has uses for her charms, and who knows what they may be able to glean outside these formal meetings? So she offers one of her best smiles towards Frikke. The one she uses at her club when she likes someone!

Sif has posed:
That had the hair on the back of Sif's neck standing on end. While people oft did elaborate on their tales of valor, it was all done in a sense of comraderie. Particularly the oldest of tales. Though there might have been darkness there, the tales were shared for enjoyment.

Seeing the knock to the boy's head had her lips pressing more tightly together as she bit back a response. They were guests. She knew enough diplomacy to know when she should shut her mouth. She'd already pushed her luck--twice--since coming here. She forced herself to let others handle the speech.

Mention of being a berserker was not that unusual amongst Asgardians. It was the /way/ it was said. It felt like an insult as opposed to being a part of the lore. And insulting Buri was a roundabout insult to his bloodline in Sif's mind.

She caught Thor's eyes when he glanced her way. And he knew her well enough to know she was ready to follow his lead, whatever it may be. When they were offered guest rite until the following day, she glanced to see Yoren rising and demanding his independence from the helpful guard. Then a look to the boy Frikke.

Whatever was going on here, she didn't like it one bit. Perhaps they could find out more about the messenger and the upcoming duel as they enjoyed their guest rite.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vin does an admirable job at making no betraying twitches at Jane's murmured comment - just a softly murmured "Not normally, no," in the quiet voice of someone clarifying an obscure point of protocol to a foreigner they've been assigned to guide. "We can discuss the details this evening."

    She comes to attention as Yoren stands up, watching respectfully as the old man shuffles away, then waits for the Odinson's response, finding herself wishing internally that Thor's younger brother had been able to accompany them -- for all that she mislikes the Sky-Walker's mischief and pranks, this situation smells of the kind of treachery and deception that he could unravel without breaking stride...

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane has sympathy for the child, such that when the hand bites into Frikke's body or when the venomous words are poured into his ear, she forces herself to stare off into the distance. A point right over the older man's head, lost in the entanglements of a seat that echoes the roots of Yggdrasil sinking into the earth. Or a vine, tangled and in desperate need of pruning. Isn't Hogun a gardener? Maybe Fandral?

Thor speaks diplomatically, Sif hasn't ripped a hole through the wall, and Vintridr treads cautiously. She can only do the same; mostly.

"Very good. Thank you for the hospitality thus far," she says in that tone used on superiors who tend to think that she knows nothing about anything because young, female, and only a quantum physicist, and not a classical one. Or something along those lines. Yoren will have no doubt the benefit of her nodding politely.

And braving reading his uppermost thoughts.

Thor has posed:
    Turning away from the audience, Thor's eyes are widened and his lips are tight in the interdimensional sign of 'Well, I did my best.' He looks around at the gathering of heroes and nods to them as he murmurs, "That could have gone better."
    Then one of the guards advances to them and offers to show them their way to their quarters with the gesture of one hand. Then he starts walking, leading them toward one of the side doors, then though and into the many halls of the old fortress. Though Thor does slow his gait some to confer in a low voice leaving the Guard some ways ahead.
    "What did you observe?" Thor asks openly, for he knows he is often not one to pick up on all the events surrounding him. So he faults to his friends who have at times saved him much danger and embarrassment.

Sif has posed:
"I cannot state why but this all feels off," Sif admits in that same low tone as they follow the guard a little distance apart from them. "For him to speak of Buri in such a manner seemed an insult. To refuse to even discuss then dismiss an Odinson as though he were a common soldier."

She shakes her head a bit and the distaste is obvious in her expression. "I want to know about this horrible insult given that requires a duel. And why he failed to notify you of the messenger being detained. He could have sent a messenger with that information, instead of allowing us to wonder what had befallen the man."

She glanced to the others, hoping they perhaps had picked up a bit more than she.

Thea Queen has posed:
"Bit of an understatement..." Thea murmurs to Thor when they are stepping out to go to their quarters.

"They are trying to make a stand, but they haven't fully dismissed you so I don't think they want to end negotiations. But they are trying to get something out of you so they are playing hard to get.." that seems to be what she gets out of this. She then nods at Sif.

"The part on the duel is strange though.."

Vintridr has posed:
    Vin nods at Thea. "What he appears to be trying to get is a 'rise', as the saying goes," she responds. "He imprisoned your messenger, claiming 'insult', and likely intends to have him murdered in front of you on the morn. He's expecting you or someone of your retinue to challenge the sentence. Why he thinks this is a good idea I can't fathom, but he's clearly expecting the outcome to favor him somehow."

     She thinks for a moment, then continues. "Once that gambit fails, I expect he'll try to goad one or another of us," she doesn't quite glance at Sif as she says this, - to behave in a manner he can claim was unforgivably rude, at which point he has the opportunity to do away with guest-right -- especially if he expects no one to be around to dispute his version of events afterwards."

    She pauses for a moment to let the implications sink in, then nods at Jane. "I believe the Lady Foster has some observations that may be pertinent."

Jane Foster has posed:
"He reminds me a lot of my oldest professors," Jane breaks in after a goodly length of time shucking warmer clothes off. The fort isn't meant to be cold. Anything with a fire is going to make her melt, unwelcome sweat trying to pool at her back. "They never like anything the younger generation does. Students who don't work hard, appreciate traditions or manage things like they used to. I'm sure you are familiar with it?" She looks askance at Thea for confirmation. "He behaves with the smug confidence of a man who knows that he has something we need, and eventually I suspect he will cave eventually but the cost will be high. The All-Father had to pay to gain any esteem out of someone that old."

She drags her arms from the sleeves of her undercoat, folding it into a neat square before it hits the floor. "He might not be acting of his own accord, though I am not absolute in my certainty." The warning there is particularly for Thor and Sif. "He acted like a fog lay over his mind. I have no doubt he's a curmudgeon at the best of days. This was something different, his manner being... Theoden to Grima Wormtongue, in the sense of someone might be doddering more than expected due to external influences. The boy was happy enough, though probably none too pleased about being smacked about and bearing bad news. Make of that as you will."

A pinch to the brow of her nose tries to keep the headache at bay, but it's already set in. Such is her peculiar twilit life. "The boy had a knife or dagger on him with a mild enchantment, but I'm not certain if it plays into anything. Is it customary to send messengers with such things? Would it be likely for a youth of his stature? I at first wondered if it had something to do with the lord's disposition, but that is beyond me."

Thor has posed:
    "Well," Thor says as he walks down the hall and then past the guard once they are shown to their quarters. It's a large room, clearly a place of gathering for a delegation or a party of some sort. A fireplace is in one wall, some meat, cheese, and wine on a platter. Outside two guards are stationed and there are a number of wooden beds set like a barracks in either wall.
    "I do not intend to allow the messenger to stand alone. I shall take the place as his champion if needs be. For he speaks for my father and in turn for me." As do all royal messengers.
    A look is given to Vintridr, almost apologetic. "If that falls into some great plan that Lord Kaldrhond has then so be it."
    That said he too starts to divest himself of his Winter clothes. Coats to one side set on the chairs around the table in the middle of the room, his gloves pulled off as well. Mjolnir is set down by one of the beds near the door. "We shall know more on the morrow. One of us should go and speak with the messenger." A look is shot to Sif, then he adds, "And we should keep watch this night."
    He tilts a look to the door and crinkles his nose, "Though perhaps not look as if we are keeping watch. Thank you for your insight, Jane." Then he takes a seat in one of the chairs and starts to pour out a few goblets of wine.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr nods. "For what it's worth, it's probably unlikely that he intends any treachery overnight," she comments, although the scorn in her voice makes it clear what she thinks of those qualifiers when security is a concern.

    "And you are correct. You cannot not stand on behalf of your messenger. The best bait for a trap has ever been one that the prey cannot turn away from even knowing it is a trap."

    She sighs as she divests herself of her outer armor. "One way or another, we'll have to play on the stage he's set; we'll just have to make sure we're the better actors."

Sif has posed:
Once in the room, Sif makes a quick walk around it, checking the room proper and the like. Making note that there were two guards at the door. It may be normal here, to have the safety of their guests seen to. Or it might be they don't want the occupants of the communal room out wandering the halls. That theory would be tested in a bit.

She chooses her own bed between Thor and the only door to the room. There she takes off the winter gear, setting it on chairs and laying it out a bit to make sure it dries completely. Then her sword in scabbard is removed, placing it on the top of her cot for now.

"If that is his intention, then you should not be the one to make the challenge." And there it was as she looked Thor right in the eyes. "The messenger was a representative of your family. You have the right to select your own champion for the offense they claim. I would be that champion. It is no reflection on your skill but it puts the situation back onto our terms instead of theirs. If there is no game they play, then it will not matter."

Jane Foster has posed:
Who makes the best bait? Who makes the worst?

Jane, for her part, continues to neatly organize a small spot and then take a chair wherever might be conveniently out of the way. "I'm going to put together what notes I can think of, that they might be useful. If anyone requires someone ignorant to wander around the building on the pretext of being lost, you know that we are most prone to losing our way unexpectedly. I no doubt imagine it would be atrocious to find the kitchens when it's the dead of night and one starves for a biscuit."

Nope, plausible deniability!

Thor has posed:
    Sif's words, and then Thor's response to them likely set the tone for the rest of the night as the Thunderer turns and says, "When was the last time that I fled from battle due to my rank? And when have I let you fight such battles for me, Lady Sif?" Delivered with a sternness of tone that likely heralds...
    A long night for the rest of the party.