Owner	Pose
Thor	It is hard living for those dwelling in Trollheim.     The team who sought to learn what they could only had a week of it and could likely tell how difficult it must be for the people who made their livelihoods as they could. The hunting was difficult, game was scarce, and what game there was tended to have fangs and claws that most would find daunting. Yet with such an august crew they endured and with the technology brought forth from Midgard they were able to gather more intelligence than could be expected.     Korek's reign has not been a bloody affair but things seem tense. There has been upheaval as the Sage Council has fallen silent. The guards are still allowing free trade but they inspect the caravans and wagons. A delegation from King Eitri of the Dwarves is in attendance...     And the dragons. Of course.     Three were seen and their lair has been carved out of the stone in the King's fortress courtyard. A place untouched for a thousand years now bearing this scar. Change had come to Trollheim, and there was palpable anxiety from the people because of it.     The week passed and on the seventh day...     The grand appearance of the Bifrost could be seen breaking through the crowds, slashing through the sky, and burning the emblem of Asgard into the ground in front of the large main gates to Trollheim. A blaze of energy and fire that when it ends... it leaves several figures, as well as a particularly large figure known as Ulik.
Loki	The blaze of light and glory that is the bifrost heralds, most certainly, the august figure of the Crown Prince of Asgard, together with Ulik.. with perhaps others. One of people that it does not appear to bring is that 'other' Prince of Asgard, the one that was gone after the battle of the Embassy in New York. It doesn't mean that he wasn't present, however. Oh no. Loki is more than there, only he is hidden from view. He and another took the path via the bifrost, and while all attention is focused on Thor, Loki is already moving and devising his own means of entrance via teleportals, with the aid of that whom is slowly becoming his 'side kick'. Nothing is said while under cover of spell, and all without has a strange aura around it; as if there's a mist and something of a magical wave that makes all edges soft and rounded..
Sif	There was no mistaking the Bifrost. The original arrival had been done in such a way as to keep it from the view of the city, leading to travel to find a spot within range for the recon. Yet now, it was a glaring beacon letting those in the campsite know the time had come. Sif was moving upon seeing it. She didn't speak as she knew others had eyes. Instead, she made sure she had all her weapons as she swung astride her mount. The concealing cloak was tucked into the saddle bag since it was no longer needed to hide the Asgardian armor she wore. The rest of the campsite was left as it stood. A nudge with her heels, as the horse was well trained, sent the beast charging in the direction of those gates. It would be only a few moments before joining the new arrivals.
Gunna Sijurvald	If anyone ever called Gunna a sidekick to her face, they'd quickly learned the error of their ways. Assuming that she understood the phrase, or that she could get her teeth around their extended body parts in response. However, and this is a big however, Gunna Sijurvald knows Trolls. She may not be a troll in looks, but the outfit was literally designed to adapt for that issue. She blends in; she eats what they eat, she speaks how they talk. She has their habits and mannerisms because she was raised as a troll. If only anyone at all was certain of her loyalties, she'd be the perfect spy. But in this case, she's closer to being Loki than to being a spy; she'll do what she chooses to do and screw her orders. With the spell active she appears in town and immediately reaches out for a nearby troll, freeing herself from the invisibility. She bites him and the effect is what you'd expect. A moment later she's been beaten and slammed to the ground, subservient and docile. Having cleared who's dominant, she and the actual troll talk a bit about what's going on and share a word or two. She is released, because none of this is anything but normal activity for them. And knowing that Loki is still around, she lopes toward the destination. That was easy.
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin saddles her own horse and rides out a few lengths behind Sif. The dark-haired warrior is a fantastic rider, and Caitlin's ability could be best described as 'middling'. Still she works hard to keep apace with Sif, putting heels to her own horse to spur those thundering hooves. Her own armor is lightweight and easy to move in, sturdy leather and steel that bears the marks of Themyscira's smithies. It's worn over a sleek, featureless grey jumpsuit that covers from her ankles to her collarbone. A borrowed half-cloak with a fur lining and the seal of Asgard worked into the leather gives any stranger a hint towards her allegiences. The redhead's hair is bundled into a thick braid and pinned up at the back of her neck so her helmet can ride properly on her brow. The short sword strapped to her back is the only weapon she carries, but from the dents on her gauntleted knuckleguards, her fists might be weapon enough for most occassions!
Thor	In the flickering aftermath of the Bifrost, flames sizzling on the ground, Thor Odinson emerges clad in armor black and red with hammer at his side. Next to him stands the Troll King, Ulik, arms clasped behind his back and bound by golden manacles that seem to curl around his wrists closely keeping his great bulky arms restrained. A steel plate seems riveted and bound across his face as he looks out onto the world with rage-filled eyes.     At first they don't move, though after a moment Ulik is /shoved/ with Thor's boot, pushing him forward and getting him moving along with a shambling gait. There were no travelers on the road to react, but on the walls of the large stony city the reaction is instantaneous. A horn is sounded, its call echoing across the plains and over the water. The movement of guards above rushing hither and yon is apparent. Yet there is time it seems before confrontation is to come.     "Lady Sif." Thor's voice calls out as he lifts a gauntleted hand in greeting. "Good Caitlin."     Meanwhile, inside the city itself as the unlikely duo make their way further into the city. It is toward the King's Fortress they move and are directed to. And with the way of things, the focus of the people are no longer inward but more upon what goes on near the front gate. They are able to make progress within efficiently, though Gunna gets a glance at times, yet is accepted as the tale of her is not unknown to the people.     However as they head to the King's Fortress within the city they are the first ones to see the sudden rush of leathery shapes, broad wings snapping out and flapping as the black scaled dragons rise from that fortress, taking flight abruptly and adding their own cry to the call of the horn.
Loki	Of course. The moment they arrive, there goes partial stealth, at the very least. Still, Loki can accept that it is well thought in terms of distraction, assuming that the little troll actually considered that in her.. her? it's actions. One will do with a troll what one can, and trusting to its instincts, the Prince moves forward, away from the pomp and circumstance at the gate. In a way, this galls him. In times past, he was beside his brother, aiding in directing the battle, and fighting. Now? Stealth and shadows. It's not where he wants to be, truly, but it is where he currently is. His small guide leads forth, and Loki follows, his form and figure cloaked by spell and sleight. Deeper in they move, aided by the distraction at the gates.
Sif	"Prince." Sif keeps it formal upon the arrival at the gate. She glances over at Ulik and how he is bound then over to Thor. Her face is kept neutral, giving nothing away. If there are questions, they will wait until this over with. She remains upon her mount to one side of Thor and the former troll Chieftain, and any other Asgardians that might have been brought along for assistance. She had shield on left arm and was prepared to use a weapon with the right should it come to that. As the sound of the dragons rose into the air with the horn, she frowned. "Dragons." Hopefully they would not attack. Though that was rarely their luck.
Gunna Sijurvald	Gunna pauses at the entrance. She waits for Loki to make some kind of sound that he's close, since she had explained in deep detail exactly how strong the sense of smell Trolls had, and that he HAD to include that in his illusions, so he can't really use THAT as an indicator. Even if it would be awesome. When she feels that Loki is close, Gunna start to speak. She speaks in Trollish, since her Asgardian is shit, and assumes that he'll figure it out. <Must be invisible through here. Guards will only let in those who can force them to retreat, through act or threat. Thus I could never enter. I know not which way to go once inside, but the scents will guide us.> Apparently instead of signs, Trolls use scent to indicate direction. It's a weird way to live. Of course, with the dragons in the sky they might as well just walk right in. Nobody's looking at US anyway.
Caitlin Fairchild	This is high politics of another realm entirely-- of a kingdom removed from Earth by so much distance that there are still people who insist Thor is an alien or a costumed vigilante. Not the crown Prince of a land unseen by human eyes for a thousand years or more. Needless to say, Caitlin doesn't have much to contribute to the situation politically. But she does offer a show of strength, trying to copy Sif's confident posture and deter any rash actions with a gimlet eye at potential offenders. It works pretty well until her horse gets distracted by a cart of vegetables and she has to yank the reins a few times to get the big steed back on course with the rest of the entourage.
Thor	A cadre of troll warriors rush past Gunna and the hidden form of Loki, moving toward the gate as they stride through the fortress doors. In ages past the grand hall had been a place of celebration, spoils of battle were raised as trophies from the ramparts, battles of strength and wit were fought and likely in her time with the Trolls Gunna had seen these very things.     So what greets her eyes and Loki's gaze might well surprise her. For under Korek all of the trophies and banners have been torn down. The grand tablet where each King of Trollheim had left their mark was shattered and left in pieces where it was struck just to the side of the armory. There are warriors within, not training , nor responding to the call to arms. Instead several are drinking, others fighting over the choicer scraps left from what may have been a feast of a day ago? Longer. It is perhaps this that may let the small troll girl know that something is horribly amiss. For there are none who offer word of challenge.     And with the door open they can see the long hall where the King would preside, the throne was shattered as well and in its place was just a bar stool almost mockingly propped up with a table beside it. It was here that the council would gather and offer advice. But their seats are gone, and no evidence that they ever were there. Though Gunna's sense of smell might well lead her onward.     At the gate Thor gives a nod as those black draconic shapes rise into the air and come into view. They circle high above, taking long leisurely sweeps through the air, their wings beating almost lazily. His eyebrows quirk as he nods to the other two there with him and says. "I see..."     A beat, then he adds with a half-smirk that Sif might recognize from the wilder days they had shared in their youth, "One for each of us."     It is at that moment that one of the trolls roars, "How dare Asgard trespass! How it tempts fate!" A slightly shorter figure than the others who climbs up on the wall and stands on one of the crenellations shouting down. "Go back home!"     "To whom do I speak?" Thor calls back.     "Karn! Karn of the house of Korek!"     "Karn!" Thor begins, taking his time and speaking slowly. "I am Thor son of Odin. Lady Sif and Lady Caitlin stand at my side. I bring you your former king who sought my blood! And when you and yours sought him you took the life of one of ours."     A quiet falls over the gate. "So you see." Thor adds, "I would have words with thee."
Loki	Loki is deeper within the palace, and as she moves, so too does he. At one point, when she's wondering if he's even there because there is no scent marking, there is a whisper in her ear. A familiar lilt of the Prince's voice, "There are none to keep us. Keep moving." There's a change, however, and as Loki passes a column, out comes a lumbering troll. So very real.. so very.. large.. and it lumbers behind the small one. Opening the doors to the council chamber, it's.. a mess. Nothing is right, everything seems amiss. And then- There it is. He sets his hand up, his clawed, troll-like hand, and in the next moment, the air seems to vibrate, and there, standing in the troll's stead is Loki. He's in green armor, no visible weapons. Green eyes stare in a direction, and a long, slow smile creeps upon his face. He can feel it.. the magic.
Sif	One for each of us. For an instant, there is a flash of something in Sif's eyes. Amusement? Hope? But then it is gone and she is back to the stoic warrior. In their youth, Thor had often gotten them into trouble with his eagerness to prove himself. It had ended up with many a battle they faced, when they probably should have. And though Sif had known better even then, she had followed. As she still did to this day. He had inspired not only her friendshp but also her loyalty. She glanced to the wall and the troll speaking, frowning at their reaction. They were wanting the Asgardians to leave. When some of their kind had come demanding Ulik originally, thus starting this mess. Or perhaps Ulik had done that on his own with his arrival in the park. She kept her eyes on the wall but also moved her attention to the flying beasts in the air. Her mount picked up something and began to prance a bit, be it in anticipation or fear.
Gunna Sijurvald	Gunna's observation of Loki is impressed. He's close, he's VERY close. In fact he's within the range of what a Troll might be. In fact, she's fairly certain that he's cheating and using HER mental processes to generate his illusion. Good idea honestly. She approves, it'll likely keep her from getting killed a bit. Privacy? PFf, Privacy is an invention of people who own pants. Further in it is, then. She trails along, leading the way. Yes you can do both at once. But the scents she's getting are giving her a really screwed-up picture. <Trolls die,> Gunna says as she pokes at a bloodstain. <Happens. No leader is forever. But leader is always strong. THIS..> she spreads her arms, at the signs of alcohol and vomit, at laziness.. <This is right fucked up. How he keep being leader.>
Jane Foster	Batman has his lamp lighting the sky. Thor has an interdimensional rainbow putting out more power than the typical ice giant. The Bifrost is visible from nearly anywhere in Trollheim, a great shining beacon for anyone looking in their hearts or skyward to Asgard. So are the enormous leathery serpents of legend, something being tracked by an awful lot of people. Those include Jane, being hidden deep in the city. Her hood shields her face, her tattered cloak mostly for warmth and blending in. Funny how acting like you belong there tends to get you overlooked or bitten, and a gold-wrapped gauntlet to the face breaking someone's nose or bruising their jawbone teaches the more ambitious trolls not to bite. It strikes her odd when a procession runs out the door, trolls on the march and the flight of the wyrms enough to compel her on. She's never been one to sit back when she can show up places she shouldn't. So it's through that window she goes, slipping deeper. Broken and shattered bits of furniture litter the way of an empty hall. It's not much distance to cross, keeping her head up and alert to any guard or non-drunken troll who might demand meat or questions from a servant. Pet. Whatever you call a cloaked human on the way. No invisibility here, no special enchantments to keep her from being seen.
Thor	To most the feeling of power would be there at the edge of one's senses. Just a subtle pressure of portent. But for one such as Loki that magical sensation is like an exquisite melange of arcane potential. The tendrils of energy leading out of the room almost visually perceptible to one with his gifts. And with focus he can likely tell that that power is sevenfold and all coming from the double doors in the back of that hall, though one is slightly ajar. Darkness behind, yet that feeling of such mystical energy...     Out front of the city gates, Thor awaits a response that is several minutes in coming. Until finally Karn appears once again, rising up on the ramparts and casting his voice down. "Trollheim ordered no such raid. E'er the warlords of the tusk be ambitious! E'er have blades been drawn. This quarrel was between Thor and Tvark. Tvark is not here? Must be dead. Quarrel settled."     Which has Thor look between Caitlin and Sif, then he clears his throat and answers back. "I disagree!"     A boot slams into Ulik's knee and causes the great troll to thump to the ground, stumbling without the use of his paws to stop his descent. "This beast challenges me, and in preparing for battle a warband demands him to bring him back here for execution? You cost me the lives of one of my men. You want this monstrosity, then here. Have him!"     Which causes Ulik to growl deep in his chest as he twists around to glare at the Thunderer.     "Fine, we take him." Karn shouts. "You may leave!"     "Nay. You mean to execute him, then execute him here and now. I will not have it said Thor God of Thunder turns over a prisoner for him to be tortured to death. I have my good name you know!"     Again there is silence. Only now... one of the dragons seems to be turning over in its flight and descending in a rush, slicing through the air and then giving a loud roar as it lands /heavily/ upon the ground causing it to shake and for a scattering of stones to pelt the walls of the city. It's then, most likely, that others will perceive the dragon has a rider in heavy armor.
Loki	Loki is quite good at what he does; he's been started by the best (Mother), trained by the best (again, Mother), and learned so much from others that he could be considered one of the best in the Nine Realms. Unfortunately, this is why he's //here// and not at the gates, ready for combat. He is still, after all, raised as an Asgardian and has served as general of troops in battle. Master tactician. The younger prince has stopped, and glancing at the young Gunna, his voice is low, almost gentle. "There are seven beyond, all of magic. Two of us." He assumes her aid still! "Are you ready?" With or without her acknowledgment, Loki is facing the door again, and raising his hand, there is a cold bash of air that pounds upon the door, ready to blow it to shards, a cold, stark demand to reveal that which is within. "Show yourselves," is snarled. And beyond? Nothing. The room is empty. Loki takes a moment, his expression puzzled, and he moves forward, towards the door. Just beyond, however, and in what seems to be an open pit, what is actually the floor of the level open to the lower level, are member of the council. They're bound, tortured.. with all manner of insult done to their persons in encouragement to utilize their magics in the way their rivals saw fit..
Sif	They had already figured out from watching Trollheim for the past week that things were different. But this interchange between Karn and Thor seemed to just accentuate that fact. This was not troll like. Not in Sif's experience. They tended to be a bit more Bite First Ask Questions Later. For them to be hiding behind their walls and not taking every chance at a fight, what the Hel was going on in this place? When the dragon came down, her mount was none too pleased. The mare began to shift in circles, forcing Sif to pay more attention to maintain position. She managed to not draw her weapon, something she felt she deserved acknowledgement. Because she really, really wanted to. But now she saw something that she had not realized before. The dragons had riders? She frowned. Were the dragon rider the ones running Trollheim now? And if so, why were the trolls going along with it? So much they were missing to the puzzle.
Gunna Sijurvald	A sniff of the air allows Gunna a warning. She doesn't tell Loki because if he doesn't already know, that's his problem. But she'd be fairly aware that a Human is close by. There are things that they don't conceal with a cloak, and the biggest one is that weird aftertaste they leave in the air. Yes, humans smell faintly like Root Beer. I didn't make it up, I just live with it. Still, she has bigger issues. She waits until she has access, listening to the Dragons having a hey-day outside, and figures that they have enough time to ...whatever it is Loki's plotting. Which is apparently looking into a pit. With her old boss inside. She looks left, then looks right. And proceeds to hop down into the hole.
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin steadies her horse when it nickers and prances sideways. It's given a few gentle, soothing pats of the neck, and simultaneously she squeezes her knees together hard enough for the horse to wheeze out an exhalation of air. When the dragon swoops and dives she reaches for her sword and it's half out of the sheathe before she realizes Sif and Thor aren't going for their own weapons. Caitlin looks around and behind her, counting noses. "If this is a trap, we're in a bad position," she mumbles sidelong to Sif. "Retreat's cut off and they have the high grounnd." Eyes lift to indicate a spot where the trolls have superior defilade behind the battlements.
Jane Foster	Root beer or a sarsaparilla on a hot summer day might be refreshing, a welcome lick of slightly syrupy camphor teased with a sweet spice behind it. Where Jane Foster is involved, things are infinitely more complicated. Gunna might have a hard time knowing what ethyl formate is, though it's the ester found in rum and raspberries. The most prevalent impression running around Andromeda or the deeps between the stars, actually. Add hot metal, almond, a shock of ozone, and the thinnest trace of gold, and that very much is the scent of Jane Foster. It also happens to be the closest one might get to giving a fragrance to the centre of the galaxy or the universe, but there you go. Loki's voice rings out. It's immediately noted, something to be followed with quiet, hastening footsteps through the wreckage of a door that definitely was intact before. He can see most clearly but he isn't the only one following the Norns' knotted, fraying weave. Thin invisible threads that she sees just fine pull her deeper, drawn one by one to a horror rendered in gruesome detail. Tricky how the artist of that macabre piece whittled away the excesses, limbs to resist and tendons with which to flee. The living troll, a sculpture in torment, is repeated over and over before her very eyes. If the prince isn't visible, she is likely to go right to the point of looking in. If he is, a little more space is given, not much. Staring over the edge gives a piecemeal understanding, and she blindly concedes to some greater purpose. Her fingers scratch at the thin bangle burning hot on her wrist, awakened and deeply uncomfortable. "They can't be left like this. What contrived this commits an abomination beyond words," she murmurs. The language doesn't matter, only the intent. "All-Father have mercy."
Thor	It is a thing of horror to see what has been done to the council in that open area beneath what had been the Chieftain's chambers. Now just an open gaping hole leading to the cellar beneath where the shaman are held with the power of magic, ritual, and malice. Unlikely that they are even aware of what occurs around them.     Out at the gatehouse the ebony dragon rears its head, tail slithering through the gravel leaving an S pattern along the ground, its crimson eyes glowing even as it watches the Asgardians before it. Yet the armored figure in its elaborate blackened steel swings its leg over and lands with a clank upon the ground. Tall. As trolls are. Yet slim. As most trolls are not.     Yet when it pulls that helm free, dark hair falls free. It is a stern face, tusks and fangs and a perpetual sneer. Yet there is a handsomeness to it curiously enough as he tucks that winged helm under one arm and declares in a wry voice that is jovial in the way of a jester that despises his job.     "I have never met an Asgardian before!" Loud, brightly so. Yellow eyes gaze out from a heavy brow as he /slams/ the helmet to the ground and advances. At his side is a thin sword and his gait is steady. A swagger to his step. "And now I meet /The/ Asgardian."     Which has Thor starting to smirk, only for the rider to add, "And Thor. And..." A look is given to Caitlin, "Should I feel embarrassment that I do not recognize you Lady of Crimson?"     He looks back to Thor, but comes no nearer. "I should, shouldn't I?"     Ulik /roars/ against the restraint in his mouth and twists, trying to get his arms free. Only for Thor to push him over onto his back and then drops his hammer heavily upon the old troll's chest. Instantly Ulik stops moving, but whatever he is saying is said with much venom despite his place on the ground.     "I am Korek Half-Elven." He calls out, "King of this place. Or Chieftain. Depending on my mood. I will kill the thing you bring me."
Loki	Loki isn't a healer. His jaw is set, and he's seen much, much worse on the battle field. It's the magics that must be dispelled, and where he stands atop, peering into the hold, he's in some position to do so. And there, Jane appears beside him, the words uttered softly. He smiles tightly, and his head shakes. //The All-Father has no mercy.// But that could just be an errant son of the All Father speaking? One that has 'suffered' from his hand? It's the dispell that is needed, required. There, there is what he can do. Beyond the walls, he knows not what is occurring, but here? Here Loki begins to cast once again, but this time, it's something of disruption. As he weaves, he pulls the strands of the magicks so contrived; pulling them one by one. There can't be too much resistance, knowing the pain, that some wish for death, that some are near such an end.. and with each pluck, a cry of pain that is pulled from their suffering lips sounds. Laid bare, the magic of the trolls begins it's faltering...
Sif	It was one of those moments. When Sif couldn't tell if she was actually being respected or made fun of. Somehow, she suspected the latter. That she was being used for the stranger in black to get in a dig at Thor. Not because this Korek actually respected her as the Goddess of War. She'd be pleased to fix that. There was something about this man which made her want to draw her weapon and sever his head from his body. It wasn't a reasonable want. Thus far, he had done nothing to them. Though he claimed to be chieftain. And he took off his helmet. When facing a potential enemy. Perhaps he was none too bright. She looked to the two other dragons in the sky, wondering once again if they had riders but impossible to tell at this distance and angle. She shifted to give Caitlin a brief nod of her chin, showing she agreed with the woman about their position. Eyes going back to the half elf, or potentially half troll depending on point of view, She shifts the reins and moves her position a bit further away from Thor. To one side but still within range to get into the fray. It would give better coverage of area and kept them from being grouped up if the dragon decided it needed to treat them like marshmallows over an open flame.
Gunna Sijurvald	Gunna is down in the pit. She stands there, looking at the horrors about her, and swallows as she is forced to grow up a little bit too much in one day. She -hasn't- seen worse. This is beyond anything even she's seen, and she grew up with friends who ate their kills raw in front of her, without waiting for it to entirely die first. And did it herself, but that's FOOD. This is something far different, and there was no time to prepare herself for it. Not that you could. She can't see any way to help them. No that's not true; she can see one way to help them, but as she pulls out her axe from behind her back, she realizes that its devil-sharp blade might be the only path left. She looks back up at Loki for information, then sees that he's..well, he's Loki. He's busy with his own stuff. So she walks up to a Troll who doesn't even know that she's there, and raises her axe to do the killing stroke. .... .... She raises up her axe, to do the kiling stroke. She raises her damned axe, to kill them so they can be free. And she...cries. Did I mention that Gunna is still a kid?
Caitlin Fairchild	"Lady Crim-- Is he talking to me?!" Caitlin gives Sif and Thor each a look of surprise, then flat anger. The redhead is pretty enough but with that helmet on her head, her scowl looks downright menacing. "I'mma tell him what's up, gimme a second here," she mutters, and spurs her horse forward. The helmet's removed and placed on her pommel, and Caitlin sits as properly in the saddle as she can. "I am Caitlin! Daughter of Alexander, a warrior of Midgard!" Snickers echo from the trolls. "Bond-daughter of Hippolyta of Themyscira! I am a doctor and a healer of the sick! I have seen worlds no mortal or god has ever beheld! Ruled, in realms even mighty Asgard does not know of!" "I have fought gods and monsters both and plunged into the depths of Hel and even Tartarus. My siblings are the Titans, mightiest of Earth's heroes! When the Angelic Host descended, I led them as their general and then smote Divine Michael with my own hands!" Ghostly ribbons of light start to wave behind Caitlin's shoulders, though she seems unaware of them. "And when the monster Doomsday killed-- Superman--" There's a faint hitch in getting the words out-- "it was after I took my measure of him, and broke the bones on his skull." She sits back on the horse, breathing a little heavily (from nerves more than the shouting, which they probably heard in Alfheim). "And if anyone doubts it, feel free to come say so to my face," she declares.
Jane Foster	For the condemned, every moment is eternity. Each shaman has no balm of sleep to release the torment, no flicker of hope in the blood-soaked tomb carved into the belly of the earth. Their ordeal is an unending poem of jagged pain fuelling the ending spell forced to loop back on itself. Gunna must be up to her forehead in the foulness down there in the dark. Magic steeps the place as much as their wracked, ruined bodies can manage. The trolls might be blind to fluids dripping from their weeping wounds, the caked filth around them. Jane is not. Butchered heaps of meat left scattered below allude to a trauma that continues to play out while Loki yanks on threads and the younger woman contends with a massacre in motion. The pale-faced astrophysicist acts on principle, taking a deep breath. "Do not take this burden onto your hands," she asides softly to Loki. Dark eyes seek his in the midst of spellcasting. "For once, let someone else carry it." Before he gets much of a word in edgewise, she jumps over the edge. Not much of a jump, honestly. A traceur could make much of the steep, rough walls, but mostly she skids and lands hard between two shaman with a crunch. It hurts. She tastes blood of a sort on her tongue. <<Stop.>> That's pitch-perfect Trollish. Two or three seconds to get up is almost too long with an axe suspended in the air. <<Not that way,>> she says to Gunna, the quiet authority a doctor at the bedside manifested. Her wrist burns, and somewhere from under that cloak she has a slender, perfectly sharp knife. Gods witness that she knows exactly what to do, as foreordained when Skuld started to twist the life-thread of the first mutilated man. What was once a man. Gone are the excesses unnecessary to the brutalized trolls' trial, the feet, the legs, the ears. If fingers be needed, many muscles are not, carved into intricate if crude patterns, or shorn away. Obedience at a cost. Her fingers rest soft on the gore-grimed brow, a last benediction to touch skin-to-skin. The eyes are empty, caked pits, nothing to close. The knife knows little resistance, but then the faintest glimmer of light radiates from it when delivering the only mercy she can claim. One. The next, another search for the weak point to unravel their frissons of pain. To end eternity with the only absolution Jane has left to give, even if it means gently pushing Gunna back with perfectly normal, mortal insistence. For every one, the winged psychopomp in her likeness waiting on the other side extends her hands to usher them to somewhere far and away from the violent cage that holds their mortal self captive. The cage that Loki rattles and tears to the ground. Still, it may not ever be enough. They say the All-Father has no mercy. True, perhaps. He invested what remains of it upon Jane Foster.
Thor	Loki can feel what is held in the strength of those casters that weave those threads of magic. Can feel the fear in the incantation, the determination that they must not let up lest they feel pain once again. It is not difficult, however, for the Trickster. More like plucking the threads of fate for these poor creatures breaking the spells that they have bound to themselves, though that is when...     Jane Foster and Gunna Sijuvald... consider the more corporeal aspects of the existence that plagues these fallen just the same.     In the end it is a blessing she gifts them. For peace is a reward for these now fallen.     Yet at the tableau before the gates there is nothing akin to peace. For when Caitlin speaks to her plan to tell Korek whatfor, Thor flares his hands while his lips curve down as if telling her to have her words. As for now he would hold his tongue.     Which is when Caitlin /tells/ Korek what is up and who she is, which has the yellow eyes of the man half-elven chieftain widening as the smile on his face broadens. He's in the midst of taking his gauntlets off even as she's working up that head of steam and he's /listening/. He even nods at the point when she mentions the Titans as if he recognized them and agreed with her.     And it all leads up to Korek's features lighting up so wonderfully as he asks, "Caitlin Alexandersdottir, tell me... are you married?"     Though that is the moment when Thor clears his throat.     Which has Korek remembering the others. "Forgive me," Then back to Caitlin. "Later, my Queen."     Which is the moment that the long thin blade is drawn from its sheath. It's a wickedly curved thing, though the sheath was straight curiously enough. The edge gleams like silver, but the rest of the sword is blackened with a hint of teeth along the spine. It is this weapon he holds loose in one hand.     "If you would be so kind as to step back, yes?"     Which has Thor look toward the others, then he retreats several steps, leaving Ulik to his fate.
Loki	Loki knows what he's doing, and what it entails. The picking, the dethreading of the spells is deliberate; the path followed, and the lines pulled all lead back. And with each line ceased, there is something that falls elsewhere. The prince can feel it through and through. Gunna's attempts below don't escape the Trickster, and there is a pause, even as Jane speaks softly to him. "Lady Gunna," is offered gentle. "Come from there." Not everyone is cut from that same cloth; he'd done some searching... When he's satisfied that he's done enough to aid those without, Loki takes the step back, allowing Jane to do as she wishes. He can feel her presence, and it's not just physical. He can feel it through his soul, and as that upon her arm rises to life, he can almost track to where her soul lies in repose. A breath is taken in, and as it's lost, it's a reminder that the two are not yet melded into one again. A scowl appears upon the prince's face, and he turns away finally, allowing what will happen to happen without his presence. Now, it's time to track back.. and meet up once more.
Sif	Sif blinks. There were lots of things she was expecting to have happen here. Negotiations. Combat. But the self proclaimed ruler of Trollheim hitting on Caitlin after the other woman made her introduction? That was never even in the worst imaginings. It did explain the earlier back handed compliment he'd paid her though. She was really glad she'd held her tongue. In fact, she was trying not to laugh at what the anger of Caitlin had earned. But when Thor steps back, she frowns a bit. Her gaze goes to the prone Ulik as Korek prepares to move his direction. She tenses a bit but it may just be her controlling her mount. Apparently horses didn't have any love for dragons. Or at least this one didn't.
Gunna Sijurvald	Gunna crawls out of the hole. She still has her axe in her hand; you don't leave your arms behind if you accidentally hurt someone, she doesn't leave behind her Fang. But she feels a bit down. "Rawr?" she asks, reverting to Trollish when it hurts. Just that question, nothing more. She asks the Prince that, and then sighs. Rawr, indeed.
Caitlin Fairchild	There's a time not long past where that direct question would have sent Caitlin to run and hide behind/under whatever was convenient. As it is she manages to keep her face straight and jams her helmet back onto her head as a stalling tactic. Nevermind the color her ears are turning. "I'm... grateful, Lord Korek, but I'm, uh... pledged to my oaths as an Amazon." It sure -sounds- real enough, and the redhead tries to make her horse back up cooly. Instead it turns in place twice under her inexperienced touch and then huffs back at the redhead for mishandling the reins. Once everything's settled, Caitlin looks down at Ulik and pauses. A little hitch in her breath. This was it, this was -the plan-, they'd agreed to this... it was the best thing for Asgard, and while a welcome friend, Caitlin isn't exactly a citizen of that land. Her counsel is purely advisory. The grimace from Sif isn't missed, and Caitlin reaches out to timidly tap two fingertips against the back of Thor's armored vambraces. "Thor," she says, as quietly as she can. "Are you sure about--? Are we good with this? Just..." she looks down at Ulik. Angry, defiant, snarling-- but bound in chains, toe served up like a Christmas ham once Korek slits his throat. "This doesn't feel right," she confesses, and shrugs with a helpless apology for the Prince of Asgard, her honest features plaintive and troubled all at once.
Jane Foster	Death hurts and there is no escaping that with every pressure-point application of the knife, she robs someone of their life. The intention colouring the movement of the blade stays true and neat, trying to keep the pain to the absolute minimum. Jane cannot escape the weak spray of blood, the rattling gurgle of failing lungs trying to pull air in against slow, heavy weight pressing down. Seven flames snuffed and seven threads cut. In the end, her cloak is mired in gore and blood from haunting the base of that prison, her hands damp from the sins, and the knife fumbled in tired, weary fingers. She turns to the wayside and looks up at the fifteen foot walls that hem her in. Jumping down was heavy enough, but climbing back up would normally call for handholds, those funny reinforced climbing shoes, at the very least a rope. None of which present themselves, because stalking around with her ropes and pitons would be noisy. Not everyone can be Nightwing or the latest Robin. Chalk one down to not being the planner that Batman is. Her throat works and she sighs. The tears of someone above might not be audible, nor the Prince's reaction. "I don't suppose you can toss me a levitation spell or whatever you do, Highness?" Wouldn't that be nice. Failing a reaction, she has to climb. Greeeeat.
Thor	Seven were the spells that were woven around him.     Seven was the number of promises made upon the weight of those souls.     And seven were the threads that were severed by lines cut and lives ended.     For those with an awareness of such things, the tendrils that bound their magic fall still and for others whose souls are in tune with others will feel a lessening of... /evil/ to the world in that moment. A rare thing to be sure. But evil for true.     The tale unfolding outside the gates, however takes a turn because the magic falls. Though not immediately obviously so. There is trepidation there between the Asgardians, Sif giving Thor a glance. And Caitlin voicing her reservations. Yet in one of those rare times she will see Thor as he is. Prince of the Realm. Heir to the crown. Regal in his manner as he lifts a hand as if to forestall those troubled words. His head turns slightly and he tells her gently.     "This is how it must be, Caitlin." He then looks directly at her. "We must do what is just."     Though it is perhaps a hard thing to swallow as Korek slides a hand along the back of the long blade and says simply. "I shall remember this, Thor. A new era for our realms, assuredly. Peace in our time. Is it not sweet."     The sword comes up, flipping around into a reversed grip. Horribly impractical for fighting. But perfect for an execution. "There now, Ulik. You lived a bit longer than you should have. Do not weep."     Which is the moment when Ulik grasps the hammer off of his chest and /slams/ it into Korek's leg heavily with all the strength a furious deposed chieftain can muster, the steel upon steel sound /clanging/ loud and resonating off of the high stone walls along with the shriek that comes from Korek's mouth.     The dragon rears!     Gasps are heard.     And as Ulik rises, spitting the metal plate out of his mouth he shouts, "Don't fear. I won't."     Then Thor extends a hand behind him, "Ware the dragons, harm no trolls!"
Sif	And with that, everything goes as expected. Things that had seemed wrong about the situation made sense now. Her suspicions confirmed as Ulik was suddenly free of his bonds. And that was clearly not Mjolnir for the troll to be weilding it. She saw Thor extend his hand back and made a mental note /not/ to position herself anywhere near it or the path to it. She liked all her parts connected, not torn through by a flying Uru hammer! She drew a blade, catching it and splitting it into two pieces. The ends of them were put together and attached, forming a lance. A twist and the lance extended, giving her a good ten feet of reach. She turned her attention to the grounded dragon, while keeping an eye on the two still airborne. With a dig of heels into the sides of her mount, she placed herself in the path of the dragon.
Gunna Sijurvald	Gunna's gone. She asked if it was time to Rawr, and Rawr she shall freaking do! She climbs, and how does she climb. The buildings are not as tall as Asgard, but with a stride that could pace a running horse, she heads for the highest location she can find. Looking out to see her angles, Gunna Sijurvald pauses only an instant. And then she backs up, and then runs toward the edge with the combined power of Asgardian and Trollish muscles behind her leap! With her Axe in both hands, she flies in an arc. She comes down toward one of the Dragons, howling like a little beastie indeed. "RAHR!!!!" Thwock. Owie. Hey, the fight is on. I'm in.
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin kicks off her horse and slaps the flank to make it gallop off. The redhead eyes the dragon on the ground, measuring distances and angles, and starts backing up with a cool determination until she gets to the right spot. Caitlin drops her hips low and plants her hand in the ground like a linebacker waiting for the snap. Her brow lifts and green eyes focus on the snarling dragon. Legs tense and muscles bulge with exertion as Caitlin displaces a few hundred *pounds* of dirt and cobblestone behind her with the sheer force of her acceleration. She goes from 0-100 with enough acceleration to make a kit car envious and leaps through the air like a living missile, winding up her reinforced gauntlet with a punch intended to hit a dragon so hard it could knock the beast into another kingdom!
Jane Foster	Lo, fighting a dragon hand to hand is not at all in Jane's wheelhouse. For one, she has fourteen feet of troll deathpit to climb. That does not go exactly smoothly. Her sheer stubbornness not to simply retreat into the easy answer is not helping her cause. Fingers digging into hardened, raw earth only carry her so far, feet finding imperfect purchase. In short, the climbing out will take a while until she finds the best method to overcome it. Penance for the deeds gives her an opportunity to appear mightily and heroically later! That's the story, not the real one. The battle is well underway and the mortal is well /out/ of the way.
Thor	The dragon's attention had been on the Asgardians before it as it reared back, lungs drawing a deep breath as it inhaled while flames flickered from between its lips. Sif darted forward, lance at the ready as her steed proved its mettle making this charge and rushing forth at its rider's behest. No flinching nor flagging from its duty, trained well...     Though there is little against a dragon's breath that a horse's determination can do. Only in that instant from high on the ramparts a small trollish figure /falls/ from on high with axe blade shining. Crashing down the blade seems ready to make a clean strike though the Asgardian foundling feels it slow as it reaches close to the skin. Slowed... but not strong enough to stop as she connects and there's a loud /clang-whack!/ as it forces the dragon to _roar_ upward in pain and abrupt surprise.     Which is the window Sif makes as she charges in, swordlance couched and suddenly stabbing clean into the monster's chest. A good strike that cracks where steel joins grip, breaking the end of yet leaving it in the dragon's chest. Though enough to cause the creature to flap its wings, causing a great buffeting wind to swirl around it as it takes toward the sky...     All while the other two dragons descend, diving in a blur of speed.     Yet Ulik has no eyes for the creatures. Only for Korek as he smacks the hammer into his palm while advancing on the fallen warrior. "It's not too late to beg, Korek. It will avail you not. But not too late." And as he's speaking... a Caitlin missile slashes past him and /leaps.../     She flies straight as an arrow. Fist extended, coming to that point where it meets with the side of the dragon's head. Too fast for most to see, but Caitlin can feel the deceleration at the last moment as she gets within one foot of the dragon's face. Still hard enough, impactful enough to snap its head to the side and send it reeling where it smashes its head into the wall of the city, shattering rock and stone causing some of the higher bricks to crackle and start to fall out.     And instead of attacking the creature is suddenly digging claws in the wall and /crawling/ up away from these painful small creatures that... really really fucking hurt!
Sif	As the lance breaks, Sif flips it around so she still has the second half of the weapon, also with a pointed tip. She brings her mount around as the wings sweep down, the strong wind pushing against them. Takes the mount to the side and turns as she prepares for a follow-up attack. In time to see Gunna had attacked as well. And Caitlin following up. As the beast staggered and tried to get back and away, she turned her attention from it. It was wounded and wanted no more. For now. Thus, Sif was better served worrying about those still airborne.
Gunna Sijurvald	The last that's seen of Gunna Sijurvald for a while, though, is her hanging onto her axe. Which is stuck into the ear of a dragon, as it tries to escape. It flings its head about, and after a moment Gunna can be seen flung off. That way. Um. She went up, and off into the distance. Then there's a THUMP sound, roughly in the direction she would have landed in. Way on the other side of the place, a little axe can be seen waving. She's alright. She's just got a long trek to get back now. Apparently falls like that aren't much of a big deal, for Troll. Your turn Jane.
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin is a very competent fighter. One might not expect it from a Midgardian, but the redhead isn't just supremely strong. She knows how to *hurt* things, how to throw heavy and decisive blows and break enemies down as fast as possible. The thing about Doomsday was no brag. Doomsday kicked Caitlin's ass, no question, but she went down fighting hard the whole way. Even the famous Ben Grimm didn't fare much better. So she rides the dragon to the ground, one hand digging under the scales to squeeze a handful of leathery skin for purchase. When it starts trying to right itself and scrabble up the ways, Caitlin applies her superior knowledge of biology to the problem: rabbit punches to the back of the head. Brain damage is almost instantaneous and difficult to fix. Her feet and free hand grip the scales tight for leverage as she pounds on the beast with unrelenting, elemental fury, ignoring the claws scraping at her skin and the wails of desperate pain that slip from the beast's throat.
Jane Foster	Jane's turn does not preclude actually confronting one of the dragons. She still has to get her way out of the Trollheim palace robbed of its shaman, and any of the House of Korek's greater hopes. Magic fails and a troll-girl flies through the air overhead to add to the fireworks. The crunching bodies and bricks adding to the mayhem give her reason to move quickly to escape the deathtrap building, though not for the actual risk of dying. Been there, done that, got the Skyfather Badge for most deaths in a single year. She mostly zigzags to reach the point of the open air, in which case she might be more amply placed to where it counts. Where Ulik and the elf-troll -- so many questions -- confront one another. Korek is down, Ulik is up, and thus she takes the better part of being a witness to the whole horrific confrontation involving that peculiar hammer that isn't Thor's. If a chance strike threatens the fallen troll chieftain, who better to see it than the woman so in tune with the dead that she can count the years and hours remaining to each to horrifying precision? Which she does, hidden in shadows, gauging any immediate change that suggests a sneak attack or a bombardment. Hell, shouting "Duck!" or flinging a rock directly at someone isn't unreasonable.
Thor	The dragon that had carried Korek continues its climb, rushing up along the wall, talons digging into the great stone facade as it ascends. A small rivulet of black ichor tickles down the curve of its broken jaw and a larger trail of blood slithers its way down its chest where it was impaled. Yet as Caitlin maintains her grip and continues to doggedly slam her fist over and over into it she can now start to see the ghostly aura around it that steals part of her strength from the impact. She is strong enough to still injure the creature until it's on the crest of the wall and lashing its head around sharply to try and /shake/ her loose and if needs be trying to smash her against the wall itself.     The other two dragons, however, sweep low into their dive. One hurtling toward Thor while the other veers off toward Sif as its wings brake its descent briefly. The first pulls forward, holding its claws out extended as Thor stands there hand behind him...     Then he shakes his head slowly as if offering some silent prayer... to his father perhaps.     Only in that last instant for him to feel the leather-wrapped haft of the mystical hammer Mjolnir , hear the resonant /whom/ of its arrival, and brings it up in a leap /upwards/ in the same moment the dragon's head comes into line...     The impact is loud, the entire city hearing the crackle of thunder, while the fighters hear the dragon /roll/ and /roll/ along the ground as it hits the ground and spins around once before it skids to a stop. Shaking its head it remains conscious on some level though its head wiggles back and forth quickly even as it staggers left... then right dazedly.     The second dragon rethinks his charge of Sif and suddenly /banks/ sharply to the side, veering off and passing above as its wings can be heard flapping while it tries to gain altitude. Yet as Jane emerges she'll see that Ulik has eyes only for the fallen Korek.     "Die better than you lived, half-elf." The old troll says as he hefts the hammer, raising it up.     Only for Korek Half-Elven to slide a dagger from his palm and /stab/ himself in the side. A sudden thrust of the weapon even as the hammer is coming down. The weapon strikes true, crushing the armor. Only now it is but an empty suit and the form of Korek is gone.
Sif	Sif was prepared, lance held at the ready even though she was going to have to get much closer this time. Only for the dragon to veer off, the wind from it's passage flattening the grass around the hooves of Sif's mount. Sending the warrior woman's hair flying wildly for a moment before it falls behind her once again. A glance to see that Caitlin has that one well in hand. Literally. As she seems to be beating it quite soundly. The third thread is sitting on the ground shaking it's head. Thus the rumbling she had felt and the flash of lightning were accounted for. Mjolnir had finally made it from wherever it had been left to Thor's hand. She turned her gaze to the troll chieftan and the half-elf in time to see Korek disappear. Hopefully, it would be the last she would see of him. Though likely things were not settled in the eyes of the trolls. Certainly not when they learned the extent of the evils that transpired inside. "It seems my dragon chose to leave," she murmured as she pulled her horse to a stop near Thor. Though she is keeping an eye on the one Thor had smacked. Hopefully it proved as smart as the others and chose to move along.
Caitlin Fairchild	"I got it! I got it!" Caitlin yells in a high, reedy voice. The dragon is doing its level best to shake her loose, and truth be told-- invulnerable or not, it's no fun getting your bells rung by being slammed into an ancient fortification. The dragons' thrashing manages to shake Caitlin loose. Scales still attached to a leathery chunk of riven flesh go in the same direction of her flight path as she's whipped across the courtyard at breakneck speed. "I don't got iiiiiit!" Powerful as she is, she's a slave to physics once her feet are off the ground, and all she can do is curl into a tight ball and hope she doesn't bruise herself up too badly bouncing off of stone and metal buildings.
Jane Foster	The mighty clash overhead lights up the sky as surely as the spotlights and fanfare given to an orchestra capture the imagination of an audience seated in the dark. Jane really does appreciate it in some distant way, a part of her mind convulsed by the primordial forces whirling in a dance of death. The larger portion, however, has a lot to focus on nearer at hand. Korek and Ulik fighting one another, for a start. Though Korek pulling a dagger has her lurching forward. "It's a magical trick--" For once it's not Loki-- But too late to be of use other than to warn them of the fact. For all the hammer smashes armour and the empty space attests to Korek's deceit, her words ring off stones and too late. At least the trolls can't say she failed to work in their best interests. But as a mortal alone facing down a much better combatant, she takes that moment to get closer to her allies or away from the prospects of being squashed like that armour if Caitlin lands close.
Thor	"The bastard," Is all Ulik says at first, scowling as he steps forward and crushes the armor under foot. He turns, scowling severely as from on high the trolls and guards rise up and stand at the ramparts. For a time they're silent as they watch and observe, expressions severe and grim. Some hold spears. Others swords.     "It seems..." Thor says as he looks to the side to see those dragons taking flight, one still blearily leaning to one side, the other ragged and torn as it attempts to maintain altitude. But for now there is no more threat from that corner. "That this is victory."     The Thunderer turns to quirk an eyebrow at Ulik. Who nods back to the man, "Aye. 'Tis."     Which is the moment Ulik hauls off and /slams/ a fist into the side of Thor's head, sending him flying some thirty feet and into the ground where he leaves a skidding trail in the dirt and gravel.     The troll king raises his voice, "Now get out of my kingdom, Asgardian! Or I shall tear your head from your scrawny shoulders!"     Now /that/ is the moment the trolls cheer from on high. For the heroes, their work here is done. At least for now.