12582/Resonants: Nidavellir

Resonants: Nidavellir
Date of Scene:	31 August 2022
Location:	Nidavellir, The Hall of Passage
Synopsis:	The heroes make it to Nidavellir and meet King Eitri. Festivities are had.
Cast of Characters:	Thor, Clint Barton, Colborn, Lara Croft, Zatanna Zatara, Jane Foster, Stephen Strange, Sif
Tinyplot:	Resonants

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Thor has posed:
    Once again the heroes are gathered, worthies made ready for an expedition into the beyond. The Asgardian Embassy is alive with activity, warriors and servants moving about at speed setting to the tasks given them. It all is focused around the central courtyard of that old Manhattan manor turned diplomatic office. For it is there that the world has become more accustomed to seeing the brilliance of the Bifrost when it crashes down carrying off Asgardians and heroes alike to their destinations.
    Hedla, Thor's majordomo, had been staggeringly busy as it was her responsibility to make sure everything went smoothly. She would greet each of the heroes upon arrival with her very precise and eloquent form of protocol and guide them to the courtyard, then once there introductions would be made if needed. There were a few tables set up along the sides of the main double doors that lead outside. They hold gear that might be of use; lanterns with a magical power source that endures in the worst of conditions, dried fruit and nuts for travel if needs be, skins of water since hydration is important. Also if there were any last minute requests she would bend over backwards to try and fulfill them.
    Which, for now, left Thor with the freedom to make ready as he strode through those doors and into the courtyard proper, garbed in his black armor with the crimson half-cape hanging from one shoulder. Not quite to the scarred marble platform that has been installed in the center of it, the place where the Bifrost has burned its sigil over and over with its many uses. Instead he pauses as he adjusts one of the bracers on his arms, frowning absently at something. "Oh good, you're all here."
    A gesture is given to the side by the tall Asgardian, "Have you all met Clint Barton? An Avenger of some renown and a scoundrel of even greater wickedness." He says this with a half-smirk sidelong in the direction of the man, then turns and faces Colborn, "Ah, and Colborn Gustafson, smith of great talent. I am pleased you made it."
    The guards begin to settle into their places, some taking up position along the doors and others near the platform. Thor steps onto it and says, "Thank you for coming once again, this will be unlike our journey to Alfheim. Or any of our previous travels assuredly. It has been some time since I have trod the halls under the mountains. As for advice I can offer only this."
    He sets foot on that platform then, climbing up those few inches and turning to face the others. "The people of Nidavellir are a proud people. They are a polite people. They take offense easily at times and they have long memories. Be on your guard."
    A moment as he looks from face to face each in turn as he lifts his chin, then rests a hand upon Mjolnir at his side. "Are there any questions?"

Clint Barton has posed:
Barton had shown up with a quiver full of arrows and his very favorite bow, not to mention about a dozen knives and a katana strapped in a scabbard opposite that of his quiver of tricks. While he's never been much for wearing bulky armor, he does have on his usual leather jerkin that has a hood hanging down betwixt his shoulders as he strides purposefully through the embassy towards where the others are all gathering.

Feeling very much out of place.

"Hey, that's me.." Quiet voice from off to the side, raising a hand to draw attention to the owner of the name Clint Barton, "I shoot arrows at monsters." Pointing at his head with an up nod and a tight lipped smile, "Good to see you, buddy. Remember that time we w- you remember, it's fine you've got a lot of introductions to do." He waves a hand and finds a place to lean.

Colborn has posed:
    One thing that Colborn did to prepare for this was.. he basically took the entire armory he has in his private storage... not the one from the shop. But just lot and lots of weapons and armor pieces. Plus shields and the like. He took all of those and had Mother Box store them in the pocket of space used for such things. One can never have too many weapons available. Plus, they are samples of his work, should such be required.

    But the last item he acquired, -was- at The Forge. This would be the first time this weapon was being hefted and carried potentially into battle. It is named Sjarnbrandr, a name anyone speaking the Old Norse tongue would recognize as 'Star Blade'. And it's... just a wee bit special. It gets its own pocket of space to use as a scabbard. And when that was done, he put on some very durable lightweight armor along with a helm to conceal his identity before Boom Tubing to a location near the Asgardian Embassy. Why not open the tube -into- the Embassy? WEll, he would prefer to not be targeted by many many attacks upon exiting his tube. Pretty simple reasoning there.

    But upon entering and being made welcome by Thor of all people, he merely nods and observes... mental note, archer. Maybe he should take the time to make some really cool arrowheads someday. But the archer gets a slow nod of silent greeting from the Smith before his attention focuses on Thor's briefing.

    He folds his arms over his chest, not really having any questions of yet.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara had been on the Alfheim mission, and had enjoyed it quite a bit. It was a vast array of experiences, and she was pleased to have had the opportunity.

Here and now, the young archaeologist is amongst the others, dressed mostly in drab colors, with a light bit of armoring across her body in the form of light tactical armor from her SHIELD work. She wasn't entirely sure what they were in for on this run, but based on her research, and the experience in Alfheim, it should be... quite interesting.

A large rucksack is on the woman's back, pakced with more equipment, and things she may need, her form not showing off any visible weaponry though, she just looks as though she's ready for a SHIELD deployment. Her eyes roam over the others, before she looks toward Thor once more, she shakes her head gently at him, having no questions, as her right hand comes up to brush some of her dark bangs back out of her eyes.

"I'm ready..." Lara softly says in her British accented English.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The magician moves between the assembled group, greeting the ones she knows with a brief hug where appropriate, exchanging a few words with Lara and Jane. She nods to both Clint and Colborn, "Welcome among us!"

Posing the leather backpack slung over her shoulder on the table, she adds a few of the sundries laid out for them, then stops to admire the magic lantern with interest before adding it to its growing bulk. Once she is satisfied with the provisions she slings it back over a shoulder, its proportions no longer bulky but slender as though nothing is inside it.

Clad in black from head to toe, Zatanna is unarmored but wears sturdy boots meant for walking on stone. Her rich black hair is bound back from her face in and elaborate braid.

"As am I," she chimes in after Lara.

Jane Foster has posed:
Among the Asgardian worthies, a mortal woman representing Midgard reviews the materials that she carries. These belong neither to a realm of magic or aggressive alien dynasties come to conquer half the Earth or arrest a lady with a firebird problem. Science bespeaks its own epics to the weaver of electronic wires and silicon chips. A design cautiously interwoven by the fragmentary bits and pieces of a fevered mind until they can awaken the antithesis of Bifrost rainbows, a few nanograms of nightmare that will mark the universe's ultimate fate if it doesn't all end up reset by a Beyonder somewhere. Jane Foster holds her mysteries near, each nested cautiously in a Kevlar slip reinforced by a carbon-fibre frame. Such reasons are not small. She carries the ingredients to forge the bridges that might one day bear her surname in the scientific community; for this, the means to build black holes at a whim.

Her fingertips tap against the lids and covers, assuring the devices slumber and their horrific abilities -- even for minimal pinpoints -- slumber. "Agent Barton," she briefly grins up at the archer. "Fancy seeing you here. Going far and wide for a scandalous burger, aren't we?" The two of them are, without fail, familiar. The smile will fade away from there, leaving her as the curiously diminished one in such august company. No obvious weapons; no armour, just a solid pair of leather pants, boots, bustier, and gloves to go with a dark shirt. It's essentially about as dry and unremarkable as a girl can get. Never mind she's holding a cosmic storm at bay, presently hiding as an indestructible cord on her sleeve. A smile warms to an outright grin seeing Lara, then Zatanna, the two women greeted with warm and friendly tones. "Fancy finding you here. Mind if I hand you a sensor? These help me triangulate for various distances." She offers what honestly looks like a small, domed necklace, covered in a speckled casing resembling granite or basalt.

Stephen Strange has posed:
How does one identify the magic users in a traveling adventurer party?

Simple. Look for the individuals with the least amount of armament. One could say look for the most flamboyant as well, which is peculiar, when one thinks about it. The magic users, the ones with no armament, are often the flashiest. Certified walking targets. It is contradictory, to say the least.

At least Zatanna had the common sense to wear black.

Not so for the other mage in the party. Stepping out from around a corner (surely there was no one there before?!) is an individual in blue...with the deep red of a cloak draped on his shoulders. Sensible walking boots? Nonsense. It would sacrifice the look. Still, it wasn't like Stephen announced he was making the journey. He...just decided to arrive. With no backpack. No lantern. No real hiking items of any kind.

It is almost as if Stephen doesn't really need them. Or, he likes to make it a challenge.

Sif has posed:
Sif had arrived a few minutes before, moving to check her pack and murmuring a thank-you to Hedla who always took such good care of the travellers. She was dressed as befitting her which meant her typical armor. Red, white, and silver were the colors of choice. Her dark hair was growing back thankfully, falling to about shoulder length. It was held back from her face by her helmet. Her sword was at her side, along with a small shield which she had slung to her back for the time being. She picked up her bag then glanced over as Thor arrived.

As the strangers were introduced, she gave a nod. Colborn she had heard of by reputation though not met in person. Strange she had met once. Clint Barton? He was a stranger but that meant nothing. Others in this gathering had been strangers before these many quests and now she counted them among her friends.

"Well met, Colborn Gustafson and Clint Barton. It is good to have you amongst us. I am the Lady Sif, though the title is unnecessary amongst brothers in arms." Just to make sure they knew who was who in the bunch.

Then she moved with the others. "I am ready."

Thor has posed:
    "Ah, good Doctor!" Thor's voice rises as he recognizes the silhouette of the spell-caster extraordinaire, "We are fortunate you have joined us, welcome. Well come indeed."
    A hand lifts to point a finger at Barton, half-smiling as Thor makes that gesture. Then he turns to look over the assembled heroes and gives a nod. For a time he looks at them as a whole, then nods slowly. "Then come, let us be off. I have a good feeling about this task before us."
    At that he smiles while stepping back opening the platform's approach so the others can get into place. That bright marble seeming to catch the brilliance of the mid day sun causing some of the sigil of Asgard to gleam with hints of rainbow remnant energy.
    It's only once everyone has their place that Thor's voice is heard again, "There is one thing I should mention, the trip on the Bifrost to Nidavellir is not the same as other trips. It can be..."
    A beat.
    "Abrupt."
    Which is the moment when the sky above seems to open with the brilliance of the heavens. Silvery light at first that seems to coalesce into the brightness of a rainbow gleaming with such power as it dashes down from the sky and crash over and around the heroes. Within the power it seems an instant transition. One moment they have the embassy around them and the next they are hurtling through the stars, rushing past them as if they were the tiniest of motes that drifted by, more like the puffs of a dandelion caught on the wind than grand celestial bodies blazing with light.
    Utterly unlike the elegant smooth transition of the magics wrought by Dr. Strange, this is a wild overload of the senses that almost threatens to be too much...
    Only for it to suddenly be arrested. Suddenly there is nothingness. Not even the other heroes, each soul is left with a moment of utter solitude hanging there, still falling or feeling that sense of transition. It pushes one inward for a time, though likely not too much of a test for the heroes. It lasts a handful of moments, just long enough to raise a hint of fear it might be longer still.
    Then reality rushes back in to fill that void, spilling forth as the rainbow light illuminates the Great Hall of Passage in the depths of Nidavellir. Which upon seeing a single word comes to the fore at first, massive. For it is a hall grander in size than most stadiums of renown. A hall with a gigantic orrery set in motion with the steady sound of its mechanisms grinding against each other as it sloooowly moves through the orbits of... not planets? But small floating tableaus of other lands distant, little vignettes of imagery that display places unseen by many of the heroes... and some they have visited. For there is Alfheim in its natural beauty twisting along on a great brass arm that seems alive in some ways, like a limb of some...
    A gigantic tree. Yggdrasil. Crafted in metal and set in motion, looking amazing as it twists and turns in that slow motion yet alive. Surrounded with a sparkle of some magic held that those with the gift can sense, a powerful connection.
    While far above in the ceiling of this gigantic hall what seems to be an ovoid lens gleams with receding energy, it is likely through that that the Bifrost was directed, casting those heroes down upon the stone floor before this testament to the engineering of Nidavellir.
    And it is there that they find themselves with no less than twenty armored figures, all with blades and axes drawn as the Dwarfs stomp their heavy boots and shout heavily. "URAH-HAH!"
    In greeting, of course.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint smirks over at Jane when she steps up to greet him, "They ran out of ketchup in Gotham." Sheepish, helpless, shrug. "I am but a slave to my stomachs whims, eh?" While he'd not been entirely truthful as to where and why he was going, that sort of thing just comes from the occupation of working for SHIELD.

The archer inclines his head in greeting to the armor, then as well to the Lady Sif. Whom he HAS heard of, if only from stories Thor has told them. "Sif, good to be here. Looking forward to doing something way above my paygrade." Fist up, wiggling like he's on the Arsenio Hall Show. There is scant little time for prolonged converse, however. Thor is getting them all organized for teleportation.

And Clint is eyeing this all with a look of pure skepticism, as if he's absolutely deciding whether he REALLY feels like screwing around with magic tonight. Ultimately, he steps up and adjusts his Jerkin. "How bad could it be, right?" Half grin at Colborn, whom he steps up beside.

Then it happens. Very abruptly.

A lengthy moment spent dwelling on the inner most solitude of his own mind is a place Clint Barton spends a lot of time and countless calories avoiding, almost like it's his job. Stream of consciousness landing him in disheaveled mess right infront of a welcoming party of twenty dwarves shouting greetings at them.

He coughs a few times and sinks down in a crouch, arms up over his head, bent at the elbows, to expand his lungs and keep him from vomiting. "I'm fine.. this is fine.. I don't speak dwarven, why would I not speak dwarven?" Mumbling absently to himself, "Let's go to dwarven lands looking for magical items without learning the indigenous language. That was smart..."

Colborn has posed:
    So, for many people, a trip on the Rainbow Bridge might be jarring. For Colborn, it feels like a Tuesday. But the man uses Boom Tubes on a regular basis. The basics of how they feel to use are similar enough that he does not feel like he has been turned inside out by the transit.

    Even arriving within the place does not catch him off guard. There was a reason that his weapons were all stored extradimensionally. He did not want to appear armed upon arrival to a new strange place. If only to avoid armed confrontations that were potentially avoidable.

    So, he merely lifts his hands, palms forward to show that he is unarmed and is not resisting. He is not in charge here. He will not be speaking up and potentially making things worse. He is here as an expert on arms and armor. On metallurgy. MAYBE on the use of weapons and armor, but so many others can use them. So for now, he remains silent. I mean keeping your mouth shut and looking a bit stupid is better than opening it and removing all doubt. Right? Plus, it's a lot easier to observe passively when one is actually passive.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara had given Doctor Strange a nod, having not seen him in person for some time. "Doctor. It's good to see you again." She added before moving to stand to the side of Sif, and Zatanna. Both of them recieving a soft smile from the explorerr before her eyes go to the others.

As the transition begins, Lara prepares her nerves, steeling herself from the adrenaline rush that comes with the bifrost usage. Of course... she's a bit of an adrenaline junky, so she's ready for it.

When it comes, Lara keeps her eyes wide open, and takes in the awe and spectacle of it all! And for her? It's over all too soon.

With her booted feet separating a little wider upon arrival, Lara steadies herself, lets her eyes roam around the environment before they eventually... and inevitably, fall upon that of their armored greeting party.

Lara's thumbs hook under the straps of her backpack, she takes in the sight of those armored beings, before she looks toward the others within her group.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It's not Zatanna's first ride in this particular rodeo, yet the thrill is far from gone. The sensation of being ripped through the cosmos like so many motes of light exhilarates her, even when she hangs alone, suspended in the null of transition. Their arrival in a rainbow blaze of color has nothing stealthy about it.

Rightly so, for an assembled troop of dwarves awaiting them shout their greetings. After a quick deep restorative breath, Zatanna, arms at her sides, bows slightly to them and waits on Thor to shepherd them through the Great Hall. A hall whose engineering wizardry makes her crane her head to memorize its marvels. She grasps the object Jane gave her and tucks it beneath her shirt.

Jane Foster has posed:
A butterfly pinned by the lepidopterist to the black velvet void of creation puts the tiniest of creatures on display to a pitiless eye. What does the sensation of nothingness mean to that unseen viewer? Jane, already living on the bleeding edge of reality and hanging by the thinnest lightning shot thread, doesn't have a breath to catch. She is only her naked soul before eternity. Crashing back into Nidavellir as delicately as an owl feather alights upon the crepuscular leaf litter dusting the forest floor changes nothing about her accursed state, before an effigy in metal of the World Tree herself.

In a place of utter symmetry and engineered artistry, where she is unremarkable, the astrophysicist drinks it all in silently. Thundering voices resonate through stone and across metal lines, their intentions plucked through downswept lashes that blunt how intently her dark eyes seek insights. Bits and pieces might divulge themselves; the mood of the place, a general atmosphere behind the greeting, the span of how many arms swing components of the orrery around, whether that one fellow at the back is about to imminently expire of a mining injury or possibly an aortic dissection.

"They will understand you," she asides for Clint, finally shattering the spell of her quiescent study. "We are fortunate for so glad a reception."

Her position shifts slightly closer to the Sorcerer Supreme of Midgard, for no reason apparent other than their shared interest in wearing blue. He is flashy and she is not. Therefore, a protector of the squishy. A swift, soft aside will follow. "What an excellent turn of events, Doctor."

Stephen Strange has posed:
Thor would get a nod in greeting, as would Sif. Yet, it is to Lara that Stephen speaks to first. "A pleasure, as always, Lady Croft." The others get similar greetings in return. It is not necessarily that the good doctor is feeling antisocial. After all, he did come out. It is more that this isn't his show, so Stephen is deferring.

Well...that and the fact that he knows, more so than most, about what is about to happen. And, Sorcerer Supreme or no, cosmic excursions do require just a bit of prep.

Yet, the Bifrost, with its myriad of colours, seems to not affect Stephen much at all, if anything. It would appear, once the trip finishes and the welcome wagon greets the newly arrived guests, that Strange simply took a step, from one world to the next, with no visible sign of discomfort nor excitement. Truth be told, the journey has nothing on travelling via other, less savory methods. Truly, once one rides the Black Bifrost, then other methods of travel seem downright tame.

It certainly spoils thrill-seeker rides. No rollercoaster could compare.

Oh...and is Jane Foster just a touch closer to Strange than before? It is doubtful that the azul theme is the cause. Though, really, the sorcerer does not seem to mind. A response follows.

"So it would seem, Doctor Foster..."

Sif has posed:
Admittedly, the Bifrost was something she had used so often, Sif often took it for granted. Certainly she had her own methods of traveling as well but mostly she used the Bifrost. It helped that the guardian of it was her brother. But while it might seem magical or beautiful to others, for her it was simply a means to an end. Thousands of trips on it through her lifetime had spoiled what was truly something amazing.

Upon arrival, she did not draw a weapon. After all, they were the intruders here. So to speak. Truly they were guests but it had been some time since they had visited this realm. Though she was armed, her sword remained firmly in sheath and her hand clear of the grip.

Thor has posed:
    Curiously enough Thor raises his hand in a similar way as Colborn does, holding it up as he seems to weather that roar of a greeting. Though the dwarfs are impossible to read as they all have helmets and armor on obscuring their features save for the beards that are long and hang beneath the faceplate of the helms. Some beards are braided and elaborate, others are wild and frayed, but all attached to a stern looking being some five feet in height and looking terribly grim.
    "Greetings, warriors of Nidavellir. I am..."
    "Thor, son of Odin!" A rumbly voice snarls sharply from behind one of the masked helms, "Took you long enough to visit. When was the last time? So many years in the past, eh!"
    The axes are lowered, swords settled against shoulders, even as above them the moving mechanical Yggdrasil scrapes through its motions with that growl of metal upon metal. The heavily armed and armored reception committee at least speaks their language... or have the gift of All-Speak as well.
    "I have been king of these halls for..." The speaking dwarf stomps forwards, an axe in each hand as he gestures with one, "Some..."
    Another dwarf rushes forward, "Twenty-seven years, King Eitri! The insult of it all!"
    "Aye, twenty-seven years before Asgard even deigns to notice!"
    Yet Thor takes it in stride as he says, "There has been... something of a tumult, King Eitri."
    "A tumult he says!"
    "A tumult?!" Another dwarf shouts.
    "A tumult," Thor repeats. "But first," He steps back and gestures with one hand. "Allow me to introduce my comrades. You know the good lady Sif, for has she not fought by your side many times in the past?"
    Eitri's helmet makes a small bob of a nod.
    "These other brave souls are of Midgard. Lady Jane Foster," He steps back and to the other side to motion to her, "A sage from her land, one of the most brilliant souls I have ever known."
    "Good Lady Croft, adventurer and student of history, she holds many tales and likely would hear many of yours ere we depart."
    A smile is given, "This man you may know, for his impact is felt throughout the many realms. He is known as Dr. Strange, The Sorcerer Supreme, Guardian of all of Midgard."
    Then he moves to stand beside Zatanna and gestures with his other hand, "The Mistresss of Magic, Zatanna Zatara, Custodian of Shadowcrest and wielder of great power."
    He turns and presents Colborn beside him, "The Master Smith, Colborn Gustafson, metalworker and warrior." Which is a title that causes some of the dwarfs to grumble. And one to actually say sharply, 'HARUMPH!'
    Until finally...
    "Ah. And this is Clint Barton." Thor smiles.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint adjusts his quiver on his back while Thor is rumbling greetings, weathering insults, and providing introductions. Meanwhile, he's down here crouching trying to catch his breath after riding a god damned rainbow across the cosmos and having to deal with his internal monologue. Never mind catching his breath. "Abrupt, he says." With a hand slapping down on his knee, he pushes up from his crouch while everyone is getting this very amazing and grand accolades thrust upon their namesake.

Colborn the Master Smith, true, look at those arms.

Stephen Strange, definitely a big deal in the cosmic circle, respect.

Jane Foster, she's one of the smartest people here. Clint inclines his head. Both to her titles and her assurances they can understand him just fine.

Zatanna Zatara, great showmanship that one. Definitely worthy.

Hey, Lara, she definitely can lay down a barn burner of a tale.

He adjusts his collar and holds out his hand to one of the dwarves. "I'm an archer." When his name is given.

Colborn has posed:
    Gustafson... Colborn never really got to correct that for Thor's benefit. That's the name he uses for his legal ID in the US Census. Bah, it'll do he supposes.

    But he speaks for the first time of the evening. "While in Nidavellir, I would not presume to claim the title of Master Smith. Perhaps on Earth I can. I would welcome the chance to share knowledge with any of those here though."

    That said, he steps forward a bit, giving a bow at the waist. "If it does matter, I am from Titanos, city of the Eternals." He is assuming that beings such as these may know of the city. I mean... the purple scrotum-jaw asshat kinda made it a wee bit famous among cosmic folks. "If only for being the one being from there who has gone on to be such a universal Heel. (You know... Thanos. Well, he's related to folks from Titanos at the very least. It's complicated.)

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara is mostly still as the greeting party is filled-in with introductions. She roams her eyes over the intricate details of their armor, and its craftsmanship as she just stands there with her thumbs hooked under the straps of her backpack.

Another look is being given around them at the architectural design of this area they've found themselves within, when Lara hears the last introduction, and Clint's response to it.

"He is a remarkable archer, point of fact..." Lara says then with a small smirk gracing her visage for just a moment before she adjusts her stare to look toward Colborn when he speaks of the Eternals origin. That, seems to spark interest in her, though she leaves it be for the time being... clearly not the place to just be asking her own questions...

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
At her introduction, the magician repeats her bow, deepening it for the king. Among the greatest crafters in creation, the dwarves do not appear to have the smooth finish of their works, being abrupt and seemingly forthright. She limits herself to a few words, suspecting that beneath the crusty exterior hides a fine sense of hierarchy and a crafty sense for bargaining.

"Your Majesty. Thank you for welcoming us to your realm."

Carrying no obvious weapons or armor on her, the magician imagines herself looking vulnerable. With that thought in mind she steps closer to Lara, joining the seeming flock of lambs.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane accepts the introductions as given, replying to the dwarves in their own language, "We are grateful for your hospitality, Your Majesty." She even executes the proper dip that is neither quite curtsey or obeisant bow, but something smartly performed in between with her palms left open as a diplomatic gesture. Also, behold, absolutely nothing with which to whack Eitri or accidentally offend his guests with unless they really don't care for impromptu palmistry options.

She continues to take in the orrery and its designs from the corner of her eye, rather than calculating lifespans involuntarily. No one needs to know when the present reign of twenty-seven years and some odd days will abruptly end. "And a superb showman in the pursuit of skee-ball," she concurs with Lara, adding that slippery little detail for others. Tidbits to be had later, when not contemplating matters about Eternals. There's nothing at all to be concerned about in her direction, nope. Nothing.

Undrjarn totally isn't gauging and judging things. Nope.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A bow is given, with arms crossed and eyes upon the dwarven king in respect, as Stephen offers his greeting. "Thank you for allowing us within your kingdom, Your Majesty." Sorcery might be powerful, but a diplomatic gesture and proper respect can be moreso. The bow is held, just long enough to not be completely awkward, before Stephen returns to his full upright position.

Of course, the praises of one Clint Barton does cause an eyebrow to raise. "Skee-ball, hmm? A trip to Coney Island in the future?" Yes, Strange can loosen up, from time to time. "That sounds like a worthy title. Savant of Skee-ball."

Though...Strange doesn't take it much farther. There is still work to be done and tact to take.

Sif has posed:
"King Eitri, It is good to see you again," Sif says with a bright smile in his direction. The last time she had met him was before he was king admittedly. Back when he was simply a prince, in line for the throne. They had met a few times and shared the field of battle. "I agree it has been far too long."

She did eye the other dwarves, giving a nod to those that she recognized from her past trips. Though one might not see their faces, between the armor and the beards, there were ways she could recognize them.

Then she glanced to each of the others as they were introduced in turn. The lack of flourish on the Clint Barton introduction did catch her attention and she glanced to Thor, a single eyebrow arched in question though she would wait to ask at a later time. Though it does increase her curiosity about this Clint Barton.

As the others add their input about him, she files it away. Especially the question about what is Skee-Ball.

Thor has posed:
    "Well then, now we know yer names, aye?" Eitri says as he pulls off his helmet and thumps it under his arm, still holding those exquisitely crafted twin axes though now both in one hand. "We can't be rightly killin' ya?"
    And the lips of the Nidavellir king spreads into a wry grin as he barks a laugh and then /thrusts/ those weapons and helmet into the hands of the dwarf that stood at his side who struggles with the sudden give over of gear. Which is good because then Eitri strides forwards with arms wide, "C'mere you giant lout!"
    He has a laugh given back by as Thor steps forward and leans down to pull Eitri into a very /manly/ hug with abrupt roaring laughter and /thump-thump-thumps/ on each other's backs. Then to Sif Eitri says, "Lady Sif, as beautiful as ever I see!"
    It all seems to be a signal as helmets come off and weapons are slung, the dwarfs laughing and starting forward as they move to greet the newcomers. Several move to offer welcoming words, and Clint gets amusement and thumps on the arms and shoulder from several dwarfs as well as handshakes, one asking. "What's yer story, lad? Archer, eh! A good eye for the killing is always a good thing!" Then that same one turns to Lara and gives a nod, "If ye travel with the Odinson likely there's something about ye that will make a good tale."
    Another dwarf, the one that clearly harumphed steps up to Colborn and eyes him up and down, "An Eternal then, aye? Hm. Tell me, Colborn. Do ye smoke?"
    As the crowds move together a dwarf with white hair and a longer wild beard steps toward Strange and Zatanna, giving a nod to Jane as well, though his manner is more reserved, "I am Ianfin, I tend the storage of the runes. We may have words to share."
    Accepting those greetings so given him, Eitri smiles and nods, lifting a hand to hold them off. "You are welcome here. All of you." Then Eitri roars at his warriors, "Let's get them to the mead hall and get them settled. They've had a long trip, we'll hear whatever nonsense they want to yammer at us about on the morrow? Does that sit well with you, your highness?" That last word spoken with a hint of smirky emphasis by King Eitri.
    It is then that Thor answers, "A fine plan, your majesty."
    Which is when they start walking along that grand hall.

Clint Barton has posed:
"And Skee-ball. I hold the second highest score on every skee-ball machine in New York. Fact check me, it's fine." Clint deliberately doesn't take the high score, it's a thing. Humility shows itself in so many ways.. Tonight it takes the form of one Clint Barton, an oddity amongst the mighty. He is no diplomat, but he knows soldiers well enough and meets the clap on the shoulder from dwarves with returns of his own. "Well met, glad to be here."

His story, they ask? "One time I shot a giant flying space slug in the millimeter sized eye hole from over three hundred yards with a uranium tipped explosive arrow in, mildly, unfavorable weather conditions, while it was moving... and I'm pretty sure someone was shooting lasers at me at the time. Presumably from their eyes or staffs or a hundred different crazy things that constantly seem to make it into the hands of people better suited for handing out hot towels in a high end bathroom."

He up nods to Lara and Jane both, then Sif.. and finally Stephen. "Sure, yeah. I love Coney Island. Best hotdogs.. questionable farris wheel, unless you're a big fan of Tetanus." Which he is not, clearing his throat. "So yeah, unfavorable weather conditions, three hundred yards... itty bitty eye hole.. and I golf a perfect game."

Colborn has posed:
    Smoke? Does he smoke? What an odd question. Colborn seems momentarily confused by it. But then he shrugs, "I have done a lot of things. Some I do still, others I do not. I have not had a pipe in a hundred and twelve years actually." he offers wistfully. It's not like he can get cancer from smoking. He just knows a lot of people in the modern world ... at least on Earth, don't want to breathe smoke from others. Second hand or whatever. So he chooses not to offend them.

    "If it helps, I did bring some samples of my work, other than the simplistic armor and helm that I have on." And that said, he reaches up to remove his own helm, since the dwarves did so already. It seems polite.

    "I seem to have a singular talent for working metal. Some call it... cheating." he adds with a bit of a smirk. "Since I am able to work it on a molecular level."

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara is quick to gently bow when she's spoken to, even exchanging a shake of grasped wrists. "I have stories a-plenty, I assure you." She says in her soft, calming, voice, chasing the words with a smile. "Gathering more, and more, every day, also." She adds then with a light laugh.

Lara looks over to Clint then, as he continues to boast about himself, and this gets her to smirk softly. "Don't let Thor live inside your head..." She quietly chides the archer before stepping back and glancing to the others, listening to their responses as she tucks her thumbs back under the straps of her pack. "I'm certainly eager to see more of your realm, I'm quite impressed with what little I've already seen here so far..."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
As the stiffness of their arrival dissolves into thumping bonhomie, Zatanna observes the canny effects of Thor's introductions on the others. She catches Colborn's confusion at being asked if he smokes and then turns her attention to the white-haired dwarf who has marked out the magicians among the group as well as the wild powers hidden behind Jane's benign appearance. She glances at Dr. Strange as the dwarf approaches them.

Ah, a runekeeper. Zatanna's eyes light with pleasure and she offers him a short bow. The seers of Nidavellir are renown among sorcerers and also pitied by some for the madness that their gift of foresight can bring. But he is no seer.

"Runekeeper, an honor to meet you, sir."

Sif has posed:
Hearing the boasts of the archer has Sif glancing over at Clint for a moment. Such shots are not easy. She knows of few who could ever make them, among the many realms she has visited and the species she knows. Thus he is truly quite the archer,

She falls into step with the King, though she knows the way to the grand hall like the way to her own home in Asgard. "I thank you for your compliment, your majesty." Since he is now King, it is best to show him the respect due. Though in the past, they were on a first name basis instead of using titles. But things change.

"I look forward to mead. Yours is almost as good as Asgardian," she teases. Since honestly, it might be better. But there is no way that any Asgardian worth their salt is going to admit that!

Thor has posed:
    The dwarfs gather themselves together, hoisting their gear and starting to form up. They do stand around the heroes, but not visibly like a military escort. More for ease of conversing as they begin the trek across the hall. A long limb of the orrery slowly rotates past, sweeping an image of blazing fire and burning furnaces of lava past them, strong enough for them to feel the heat from the object somehow. But then it's past as they start their trek.
    As Clint regales the handful that have gravitated around him with his own tale, one of them pipes up in counterpoint, "Bah, that is nothing! My cousin Tundr made such a shot once in the dark!"
    Only for one of the other dwarfs to shake his head, "That was luck, your cousin is no fine shot."
    "Bah, there is no such thing as luck!"
    One of the warriors, a dour soul walking along beside Lara and Clint offers in reply to her words about what she has seen so far, "This is a small part of Nidavellir, but in truth... we do take some pride from it. Do not think ill of us for such." Though he smiles sidelong at her, perhaps an older warrior and more at ease with the outlanders than his brethren.
    Yet it is when Colborn mentions that he did smoke... some hundred and twelve years ago, /that/ is what the other smith keys onto. "Good, you likely have not lost the knack for it." Which is all he says in reply for the moment as he digs into his hip pack and produces a pair of pipes that he proceeds to take his time filling. All while chatting amiably with the other artisan. "I will look forward to seeing what you have crafted, Colborn of the Eternals. I have not seen any work from your people."
    The elder with the white hair walks alongside the magicians, nodding slowly toward Zatanna as he strides, "We shall take some time and walk the paths between eras, perhaps you with your fresh eyes will offer insight into the past that we have missed. And in return perhaps I shall be able to do the same for your own works if you trust my gaze."
    At the head of the column with Eitri and Thor, Sif earns the /stink-eye/ of the King for daring to speak so ill of their mead. "Oh and there it is, the typical Asgardian arrogance. I see you both might need taking down a peg or two while yer here!" Over his shoulder he shouts, "Dagr!"
    "My lord?" The dwarf that had been at his side rushes forward.
    "Make sure my weapons are readied to give another thrashing to these two when we reach the hold."
    "Of course, my lord."
    Though this plan seems not to be too upsetting all told as Thor laughs and shakes his head while he walks. "So how have the last twenty years and some passed for you, Eitri?"
    To which the King takes a deep breath and begins to speak, though lower in tone so Thor and Sif might be able to hear though if one were to wish to hear more they might need to move closer.

Clint Barton has posed:
"Mildly unfavorable weather conditions." Clint points out when the dwarve says his friend did the same shot in th dark, "With lasers.. there were a lot of lasers. Itty bitty, barely see it even up close, hole in a flying armored slug.. from three hundred yards." He holds out his hands as if seperating them somehow equates to a metric measurement of how many lasers were involved. He does pause in his bragging, which is not usually his style, to regard Lara. Grinning at her with a wink, "What? I'm fitting in, Lara. This is me, Clint Barton, Master Diplomat."

Master showman, anyways.

He peers around the hall they were received in. "I'd be interested in seeing more myself. Is there a bar? I heard someone say mead, mead is good..." Moving over closer to Lara, "Good to see you again, by the way." Speaking out the side of his mouth. "Crazy the places we run into people, huh?"

Colborn has posed:
    Eyes alighting upon the offered pipe, Colborn waits patiently while it is packed. And when it is finally handed over his way, he lifts it to his mouth. He doesn't strike a match or a lighter or whatnot. His fingertip reaches up and over the edge and the filler is just... lit. smoldering nicely as he draws once, twice.. and gets it going.

    He nods at the flavor of the tobacco. "It -has- been some time. Thank you most warmly. But... as welcoming as a pipe is, a forge would be even more so." he adds with the hint of a smile.

    Now, it may or may not be noticed, but the left hand that had been holding his helm, is now empty. Silly subtle mother box bullsh**. But either way, he walks with the group, keeping pace but letting himself fall just a little bit behind, if only to avoid offending anyone else's nostrils with the smoke of the pipe.

Lara Croft has posed:
"I wouldn't dream of thinking less of you for holding pride in your home." Lara replies to the dwarven warrior to her side. She spares a look over to him, he being a handful of inches shorter than she, has her looking down toward him to afford him a smile. "It's quite common amongst our people to hold a ... sometimes unreasonable amount of pride in their own home locales." She softly jests, showing it with a hint of a ghostly smile for him. "I've traveled so much, I'm not even sure what I would call 'home' anymore." She then admits.

It is Clint though, who pulls her eyes toward him, and she grins more openly at his question of a bar. At his comment after that though, she smiles again, and nods a single time toward him. "Glad to have you along for this. I'll have to tell you about the Giant Boar hunt we had on the last trip... Hopefully we avoid such things here though, and I can tell you have a future Ambassadorial role waiting for you. A big comfy leather chair, and a 'Clint Barton' nameplate." She tells the Avenger with a sweet grin for him, as her thumbs come out from under the shoulder straps of her pack, her hands going down to her sides. Her eyes go back to roaming around their immediate surroundings as they progress deeper in to the dwarven realm.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
At the head of their procession toward the drinking hall, the King's and highborn of Asgard put their heads together. Laughter drifts back to Zatanna as she walks next to the rune keeper. Rune lore fits into her gifts with logomancy, she has studied them though makes no claim to being a master of their nuance and the depth of their powers.

"I look forward to it, Ianfin. I'm not familiar with the paths between eras," she nods at the sage and shoots a look at Strange over his head. "If I have any insight to offer, I will do it gladly."

Jane Foster has posed:
Ianfin; a name committed to memory. It has a weight on her tongue that Jane recites silently in her thoughts. The wild-bearded dwarf receives a commensurate measure of greeting as bestowed by the greater sorcerers; SHIELD's occasional aide to things magical reflects a broad smile and dip of her head in acknowledgment. "No doubt there shall be much to share." Her pants make a subtle creak when she shifts, the lone indicator of a strangeness that follows any astrophysicist around. It's a glow, sort of.

Such beauty as the mysteries of the Nidavellir homeland require deep scrutiny where Zatanna indicates more mysterious things. Shadows flicker, copper-bright luminaries alight, and her expression eases into thoughtfulness. She isn't overly troubled by reference of mead being good or bad. Someone has to remain an impartial judge!

Sif has posed:
At the threat of violence, Sif cannot help but laugh. Not that she's wanting there to be violence. Well, not in the sense of carnage and death. But a bit of sparring with old friends? That's always something enjoyable. Thus the words of the King just are amusing as opposed to worrisome.

"I look forward to my thrashing later," she says, though she knows that would be quite the feat if he managed to do so. Then she moves in more closely to listen to the words of the king while the other conversations swirl around them.

Thor has posed:
    The travel through the hall with the dwarfs is an amiable thing, a good amount of chatting, some smoking, and even a bit of ale albeit warm and from a skin if someone seems so inclined to indulge. Yet it takes some time simply to get to the end of the reception hall to a large archway some twenty feet high that leads into a darkened passage. Though illumination blooms to life as the warriors draw near heading into the depths. More closed in now but larger than many a subway station, the hall they walk through has many branching tunnels breaking off one way or another. Sometimes distant lights are seen and at one point another patrol of twenty dwarfs walk past saluting as they move by their king.
    It isn't until some fifteen minutes later that they reach another large chamber that opens upon a hall that is not quite as large as the reception area, though it is divided into pillars that rise from floor to ceiling and flow perfectly from one form of rock to another as if shaped out of the walls. Pillars with windows and large enough for many a dwarf to live within, some even can be seen standing upon parapets or manning heavy ballista. It was through here that they passed, then into the base of one of those pillars that brought them to where Clint had expressed some curiousity.
    For it was here that there was ale. Ale and mead to be fair kept within a hall as large as the throne room in Alfheim. Ale kept in great barrels that each stood as tall as a man and were stacked to the ceiling. While in the middle of the room were tables, many tables and bench seats galore. Each suitable for eight and each having a wild beast that was roast on a spit and surrounded with enough sides that it might bring to mind those old celebrations of holidays in the past for the lighting was low like candlelight, the fires alive in the hearths chasing off the faint chill that had been growing as the day went on.
    It felt... homey, in a way. Despite the now three score dwarfs that joined the first all in shouting that greeting, "URAH-HAH!"
    Punctuated with many steins /thundering/ down upon the tables with loud thumps as with the arrival of the guests... it was time to pour.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint makes conversation as they head through the halls, but he's not as well versed in dwarven custons as he'd like, given the mission they're on. Someone offers him a skin, which smells of warm ale, and who is he to be rude when offered a drink? It helps settle his nerves... "This place is massive." He says under his breath, checking sight lines as they pass. Just incase things go pear-shaped and they have to fight their way out of here.

That's the spy in him.

Until they end up in the greeting hall lined with tables, benches, and a welcoming committy of even more dwarves all ready to get they drank on. "This is going on my instagram page." Said under his breath. He does not have an instagram page. At least not an official one...

"You guys sure know how to party. But that's what I've always heard, dwarves know how to party. Everyone says it."

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara's curiosity is boundless, but she does stay wit the group as they proceed further in to the Dwarven home. Her eyes wander down the other pathways, wondering what lies at the end of each hallway, catching the twinkling of distant lights, then the thumping of approaching guard details. She motions in salute back to them as they stride past, with a slight smile expressed on her lips before she is looking up toward the pillar that they approach the base of...

Only to soon there-after find themselves within a tavern-like setting. "Ask and ye shall receive." Lara says to Clint as she passes him by toward an open table. Lara hooks her shoulder straps again, pushing her pack off on to one of the empty wooden benches, where she then goes on to remove her tactical vest, draping it over the bag. She then sorts out her drab-green form fitting sweater as she turns around to sit down beside pack, letting her eyes roam around the eagerly festive Dwarves, a smile just showing on the young explorer's face. When a drink is brought to her, she sits up straight and accepts it with a gracious word for the one who handed it to her. She snifs it once, then takes a testing sip... living dangerously, it would seem!

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
With the wonders of the caverns construction, Zatanna is hard pressed to remain attentive to the runekeeper who accompanies Strange and herself. They pass a bewildering number of pillars and weapons. Entering the mead hall, they walk into yet another chapter of the fairy tale. Or so it seems to the magician who was brought up on fairy tales read to her at bedtime by her parents, long before she knew of her own abilities.

The smell of meat roasting and of hardy mead tickle her nostrils; she realizes that Bifrost travel gives her an appetite. She takes a seat at the table next to the other adventurers and nods her thanks, smiling to a dwarf who passes her a tankard.

Raising it first to Ianfin then to the rest of the table, she takes a hearty quaff, throwing caution to the winds.

Colborn has posed:
    Ah yes, the companions to a good pipe, ale and mead. This takes Colborn back to his experiences in the longhouses of Jarls from times long past. He pauses and smiles as he enters the room, taking a pull on the pipe before letting the smoke out and moving further inside at a slow pace.

    It should be noted that among most of the heroes gathered, he seems to speak a lot less, and to show emotion only rarely. Mostly when talking about forging or whatnot.

    His eyes do go wide at the overall sight before him though, and he moves off to one side of the room so as to not be in the way as he quietly observes some more.

Jane Foster has posed:
An evening of splendours awaits in the lift of a pint or a very large cistern masquerading as a glass. Jane can almost break into a laugh when the lot of them are shepherded into the dwarven answer to a tavern, bright and lively. The swirl of activity finds her casually placed to guard the sorcerers' backs, and moreover, intercept one too many drinks flung in the way of the runecasters who might not be prepared for what they face.

"Rather reminds me of the Giant's Causeway," she says of the pillars to Zatanna. "Aren't they remarkable?" Her own tankard could well be swimming with anything, but she gladly accepts it, taking a rather healthy sip. Not uncouth, but enough to be very clear on where the odds on the game are. Easy, when the dice are loaded in her favour somewhat.

Sif has posed:
As they arrive, Sif has to smile as she scans the room, taking in the barrels that are piled to the ceiling. The dwarves always did know how to celebrate, something that she remembers fondly. They enjoyed their tales, their battles and their drink. It was a fine place for warriors to gather, though it had been long since an Asgardian had been there to show them /how/ to drink properly.

Immediately she was given a tankard of mead, a smile from the dwarf who put it in her hand. Though it had been long, he had remembered her drink of choice. She murmured a thank you then took a large quaff, taking a moment to close her eyes to appreciate the flavor and give that exaggerated sigh of satisfaction to show her approval. Which got a few amused chuckles from those around her as she opened her eyes again.

Though even as Sif was enjoying, she made sure she remained close to Thor and the King.

Thor has posed:
    In answer to Clint one of the dwarf warriors, Frang, laughs and thumps him on the back again as he replies. "Aye, we do." Which is when he starts forward and the patrol is greeted by the other dwarfs there. Some are young, some are old, almost all are still in armor in some form and only a handful do not have beards.
    Small vignettes similar to their arrival break out across the room as families are reunited and nobles greet each other. There are embraces galore and laughter which brings them all together, with Eitri getting the lion's share of greetings. Though it's only after a handful of moments that he turns away to gesture to the heroes.
    "Come now, let us not be rude. Our guests have come to share words and break bread. See that they enjoy themselves!" And then those who have not taken a seat are offered ones at tables, chairs are drawn out, seats and room made for them. Welcome voices shouting encouragement as in the corner on a stage three dwarfs start up a resounding jovial tune, one thumping on a drum, another playing something that looks like a bucket with a mop in it only with some strings connecting the top to the bottom, and a steam-powered accordion of some kind. It all leads to bright music indeed suitable for a tavern.
    Two of the great casks are tapped and the ale flows alongside the mead. It is likely to be a long night. Though at a central table Eitri sits down with Thor and makes sure he is central to the room, keeping abreast of what passes around him. He does, however, raise his voice. "Now then, tell me what brings you here."
    His words are loud enough to carry to those nearby, so it's clearly an open conversation to any who wish to partake as he grins to Thor and Sif, "Is it war?"
    Thor answers, "What? No. No, tis not war, King Eitri."
    "Bother that."

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint is jostled forward by the clap to his back, but meets the dwarf, Frang, with a grin. Likewise one for Lara, who dances off to get her feast on. It leaves the archer to find a place to sit, which isn't difficult since everyone is making room for them at their tables! Where there's plenty to drink, eat, and conversation to be had. Most of which is spoken very loud. The archer squints at the sudden squak in his ear when someones booming voice irritates his hearing aid and he reaches up to adjust the volume a bit so he doesn't go completely deaf.

When in dwarven halls, drink as the dwarves do.

He grabs some of the beast, slaps sides down on a platter, and hovers over his plate like a prisoner in a mess hall waiting for someone to knife him in his back. Aint nobody getting his cern-bred, that's for damn sure.

But it wont be long, a few heavy drinks, and he'll be recounting a bunch of modified (that's his word for exagerated) tales of deeds he's preformed in the heat of battle. "No, it was twice the size of a Slor..." He has no clue what a Slor is, but the eyes widening when he uses it as a measurement seems to indicate that it's pretty big.

"And you dropped it with a single arrow?"

"Right in the gullet, yeah.."

"It must have been a mighty beast! What did you call it?!"

"A skeebal.. huge.." Hand chopping down the right side of the table, indicating a thata way direction.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara is enjoying her honied mead, with her hands wrapped around the base of the large mug. She's been joined by some of the Dwarven patrons now, and is speaking to them about herself. She's sharing a bit about her heritage, and parentage when the music starts to play... which... of course draws her attention, and causes another smile to show upon her youthful features. The music is quite enjoyable, another drink from her mug is taken, and she is about to say something else to the Dwarves beside her when she hears Thor's exchange with the King. This draws her attention, and she listens for a moment before she feels a tug to her army-green long sleeved shirt. She looks over to the shorter Dwarf beside her, who asks her about Zatanna's status.

"Oh, I believe she's single. She's quite a woman, you should put on your best approach when dealing with her too. If you offend her? I think she might turn you in to a three-bellied toad... so be quite kind." She tells the man with a big grin before taking another sip of her tasty drink.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It is not as though Zatanna has not been amply warned of the dangers of drinking in certain realms. Just the fumes rising from her tankard is enough to make her head swim. Constantine would be laughing at her. Wisely, she lowers the drink to the table and takes a piece of bread from a basket.

Loud conversations swirl around the hall between tables. Amused she listens to Clint contribute his fair share. Her gaze passes over Lara timed to hear her name and see eyes turned her way. Only the words single and toad come to her. Mischief is written on Lady Croft's face.

Zatanna raises her eyebrows in question, "Just what are you up to Lara?"

Bread still between her fingers she looks up to the head of the table, listening with a faint smile to King Eitri grumble at their mission not being war. She spares another narrow-eyed glance for Lara.

Sif has posed:
At Eitri's reaction to it not being a war, Sif has to chuckle softly. "Ever we long for battle," she murmurs, since it is something that both of their kind have in common. Between the Dwarves and Asgardians. And honestly, many of the others in the nine realms. Combat was a thing that was enjoyed, probably far more than it should in the viewpoint of many species such as Midgardians.

"Though hopefully we can cross blades while we are here. Not as a start to war, simply for our enjoyment," she adds to make certain he doesn't think she's declaring something against his people in her commentary. She does partake of the meat in the center of the table, another over-the-top reaction to it which just pleases the dwarves that she is enjoying their offerings. It feeds their egos. But they are such gratious hosts, it is deserved. And really, she isn't exaggerating that much. It's delicious!

Thor has posed:
    Many a dour beard bobs up and down as the dwarven warriors accept the size of this skeebal creature, clearly imagining a thing of great size and terrible anger. For it is obvious that Clint Barton has gained their attention and esteem. One settles back to puff on a pipe while others eat their meal while listening to the tales. Drinking, of course, happens steadily.
    Beside Lara the dwarvish Casanova known as Yrntrek gives a slow nod as he commits the young British aristocrat's words to his heart while he slowly caresses his beard with such shrewd thoughtfulness. Still nodding he turns to the raider and murmurs, "Yes. Yes, I see you are quite right. Kindness shall be my weapon. Indeed." And with that he slides off of his seat and starts to wander over in Zatanna's direction.
    Which is just the moment she might look up to see the one-eyed dwarf's approach and his gold-toothed smile as he offers a mug, "How doth thou do?"
    Meanwhile, at the central table King Eitri listens in turn to both Thor and Sif, his eyes drifting back and forth as he grumbles to himself. "What then, if not war?"
    Which is when Thor begins the tale once again...
    "Well you see, King Eitri. We had an idea."

Colborn has posed:
    And all this time, sure Colborn has a flagon of ale or two. But he is mostly just keeping his mouth shut and his eyes open. He is studying the Dwarves, as well as his fellow heroes. He's not really one who has known many of these people long. Mostly keeping to himself and his forge... and his work. Ah... now he smiles.

    Just thinking of the fantastic sword he finished only recently...