thoughtformed | [choose your own adventure log] I am Death, none can excel

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[choose your own adventure log] I am Death, none can excel

Who: Hela and you!
What: The Queen of the Dead comes to New Moore
When: Various and sundry times
Where: Various and sundry places
WARNING: please be advised that Hela is someone who has gone toe to toe with Odin and Thor and is perfectly willing to use magic or violence. If you need to reach me about this for any reason you can find me at

ohmygodbees.

Adventure A: Arrival

The arrival of the dread Hela does not come without warning; a few seconds warning, maybe, to feel the temperature in the park plummet to cold and clammy, and stay there. She's the proverbial tall and dark, taller than anyone should have a right to be, clad in black and green armor, and for the few moments it takes her to grasp her situation everything is dead silent.

"Who dares?!" The righteous shriek of indignity, louder than any human could scream, the temperature dropping dangerously and the air hard to breathe. But of course, there's no one there who could be called the culprit. Or is there?

Adventure B: Magic

There's a light display somewhere just beyond the city limits, violent neon green lightning arcing up towards the sky and skittering over the barrier. Hela has a lot of power to bring to bear, and yet no matter what spell she tries nothing seems to work. The portals flash and glow, but refuse to open to Hel; her magic can map the boundaries, but not break whatever wards remain in place.

But she has a lot of power, and nothing but patience. She can stand here for a day and a night and longer, if she has been, trying an eternity's worth of tricks. And if it seems she takes no immediate notice for anyone who might investigate, well. The power to ward herself still functions as it should.

Adventure C: The Search, aka. The Noir Woman

When power fails- when you can't get what you want for yourself- there's no shame in taking the resourceful route and finding someone to do it for you. Hela has a guise for going about among mortals that would make Sam Spade weak at the knees- a dress cut down to her hips, sleeveless and tight, and the sort of large and fancy hat that would make any Southern belle jealous with envy. She can't recognize the magic or the work, but surely someone else can. In the offices of the city hall, the hospital, down to the last bar she can find, lying in wait or walking in like she owns the place; sooner or later, someone will heed, and someone will talk, and she will know who to make pay.

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He steps out of the shadows, observing her for a few quick seconds. She's powerful, he'll grant her that and not someone he is willing to irritate. This requires a finer touch, of bargains and favours. Loki approaches her, dressed in his usual finery with a smile on his face and his arms spread to show no ill will.

"Queen," he murmurs, bowing slightly. It wasn't mocking but it was not lowly either. He'll leave it to her interpretation.

She does not need to look to know who it is. The timbre and pitch if his voice says it all, familiar from a bygone age when he still sought her as a supplicant and not as a co-conspirator, or a supposed father demanding obedience from his supposed daughter. Hela might laugh, if she were that kind of woman, to be back at the start again.

For a moment, the spells pause; the light dies.

"Loki," she says, her voice empty of inflection or feeling, as though his presence neither interests nor irritates her (but in truth, it's a little bit of both; she never can be free of him for long, but sometimes it's worthwhile nonetheless.) "You seem greatly changed from the last time we met. Have you aged, or are you still so young that we have yet to meet? Or is it another matter entirely? It never could be simple with you."

Edited 2013-07-14 03:29 (UTC)

That was never a good sign, but he kept his calm. It was easy enough, in the face of power. Fear was worthless and he had nothing to fear, for there was no threat that hold sway over him. Truth would serve him best here, for he needed to know what she knew. That much, they could agree on. His spell lets him know of the better half, scurrying around. His lips twitch.

"I am a Loki of another age and another time," he speaks, respectful and proud, "As for my changes, you would know better than I."

He had always been bold. She could always say that for him; he'd been bold to approach her once, long ago, and he was bold to do it now, in the face of all her power summoned and thrown forth. It'd take little more than the slip of a finger to direct it his way, to turn the power of death and rip his soul forth and take it for her own- this Loki, she could tell, though explaining how would be beyond the parlance of anyone unfamiliar with death, this Loki had not wiped his name from the ledgers of Hel yet. So he must speak truly, at least in some part.

"And yet you know who I am." The eyes that slide to look at him are blank and ghostly white, but she sees nonetheless. "Or else you are unspeakably foolish."

"I know a Queen when I see one," Loki murmurs, "What more needs to be said? As for my foolishness, I will not deny my moments. Why lie about the past, when the future is so exploitable?"

There, that was his piece. Power, for all its uses, is no good when it's not appreciated. Asgard, Thor ... Odin... they all appreciate power and require appreciation. A lesson Loki has learned quickly when they turned his backs on him.

Oh, flattery. And exploitation, so early in their talk. They had indeed come back around full circle. That he needed something from her, or wanted something from her, was obvious. It had always been that way; they were not friendly people even when it had suited her to humor his claims of family. Perhaps that was why they had always been so mutually beneficial to each other.

"You have a proposition for me." Her spells die as simple as that, to give him the full benefit of her full attention. "But why should I hear it?"

"Oh, I do not have a proposition for myself," He replies, "I am offering myself, freely. I have much to learn and not much time to learn it. An opportunity to work for you is an opportunity beyond compare."

At least, until he is on an even ground. He cannot pretend he understands or grasps the stakes at hand here. He will bide his time.

Somewhere beneath the ice and the steel of her feelings, Hela knows the urge to laugh, and laugh and laugh. No matter how he tries to change, somehow every Loki manages to be so much the same, in the end.

"And what if I say to you that Hela has no need for a pupil? You will not stand in my stead and take up the cause of the dead should I fail, because you are Loki. You offer me yourself, but what use are you to me? I need no disciples, no advisors, no generals. I am the only power in Hel. And you are a poisoned gift in any form, of any age. We both know this." There is the barest hint of a smile on her face, but from Hela, that is everything. "What will teaching you do for Hel and its queen?"

"Entertainment. For the dead repeat what was done. But you are not among the dead," Her insults mean nothing to him. He's heard it all, "For all your power and you use it for what? To watch the dead dance? No, I surmise there is more. There is always more," he lets his words trail off, "Of course, if I am wrong, and if you have no use for me, then I will ask for my dismissal from your lofty presence."

Hela has never been the most calm of gods. The only one who could match her anger is Loki himself, no doubt, her capacity for holding a grudge and for wrecking terrible vengeance on anyone who wronged her. For has she not sought to injure Odin repeatedly? To take his most beloved son? Why else would she give aid to so many of Asgard's enemies?

But then, she has her reasons for giving them her aid, too, when it is required.

"You know nothing of death or its queen. Not yet. The living never do. You cannot know what I know. I was already ancient when the world was young, before there was even a thought of you. Yes, there is more, you idiot. If you won't speak plainly, I will. Shall I guess? I think I need not even try. You want power, and you wish to use it to strike at Asgard, at Thor and at Odin, to devise their defeat or death or merely their humiliation. Is this not so?"

It was very hard to restrain his laughter.

"No," he says simply and leaves it at that. She did try. It seems assuming they are all one and the same is a weakness, an exploitable weakness. And now she has given it to him.

And there's the familiar urge to rip his soul from his flesh. She hadn't missed this irritation.

"Your dalliances on Earth do not interest me." Hela did not want to contemplate some of his other gambits; she knew how the similarities carried, across the veil between worlds. "Nor do they require my power." That was a lie, but her patience is beginning to wear very thin.

"Very well then," He had learned enough, "Fare thee well, Queen of the dead." Not an enviable position. Let her keep her power. Cold stone and a cold throne suited her. And it is not as if she would ally herself with Thor or Asgard. Asgard's ruin will not come from him, it'll come from within. With its decaying morality, it'll consume itself.

There are other ways to keep oneself occupied. Loki always has a plan. With a bow and a smirk, he steps back into the shadows, vanishing.

What are you doing?

[The call comes from further outside the city, about twenty feet up a tree, where Rufio's perched, one hand on his hip, ankles crossed, sword sheathed, the picture of insouciance except for the troubled curiosity on his face.]

[But he's close enough for a god to hear, and Hela has far outstripped ordinary Asgardians by miles and miles yet. It might seem like she can't see him, when her face turns in that direction just so, her eyes ghost-white and perfectly blank. But she sees through the flickering green of her spells just the same.]

It's no business of yours what I do.

Before Thor knows, Loki is off on his own.

He'd know that power anywhere. He didn't need to be able to feel it, he simply knew it, as he had seen it so many times before. He should have known with the influx that it would've brought up more then just a handful of heroes all ranging from a variety of dimensions and worlds to ones that were from his own. He didn't need to ask himself if she was from another universe—there was a lot to say about how familiar he was with her.

"You may try as you wish, but it will not give way. If it hasn't fallen beneath Thor's whacks then it won't do you much good."

He watches the power flare at the barrier.

"Hi, Hela. How do you fare on this fine evening?"

Thor surely would not have let him come. If Hela knew the Odinson were here, the champion of Asgard, she might have turned her attention on him instead. And it's true, she had considered that somehow Asgardia might be involved in her captivity. They have no love for her, nor her any love for them; she aided Loki on her own terms, for her own ends, but that does not make them friends. If she takes comfort or pleasure in seeing him, it's buried somewhere deep, beneath everything cold and unfeeling where it will never see the light of day.

"Poorly," she says, her voice as chilly as the grave. But for this, she will stop her magic, just for this moment; the light dies to leave them in shadow. "I suppose if this were your doing not even you would have the audacity to place yourself so defenselessly in my reach. Where is the Odinson?"

"Soooo it seems," Loki takes a few more steps, twirling on his feet, the first one unsure, the next two at almost a jog. He approaches her with caution, as he always does, but in his odd sort of open way that he had about him as he was at this age. "I promise you that this is not my doing, nor is it the doing of my Other-Self, whom I presume that you will be speaking to shortly."

This wouldn't go unnoticed by him. One Loki to another, of course.

"Thor's somewhere, off saving the world as he tends to do." He points upward. "He's tried to smash his way through it before, as you can see his efforts have been futile. Not even Mjolnir could pass. With all due respect extended, Hela, we're stuck."

She expected no less from him but bad news. When has Loki ever been anything but a messenger of ill fortune? And who would know better than Hela? Even when he had not been her messenger, and she had only sat by on the sidelines and watched the chaos he spread. She knew it oh so well. At time it's entertaining, and at times it makes it very hard not to simply swat him into a wall.

"That it may not be your immediate doing does not eliminate the inadvertent repercussions of your actions, and we both know that." But it's not angry, not the sheer monumental fury with the weight of the grave behind out that she could level, if she chose. It's a statement of fact, terse, unbelieving. "Nor does the presence of Thor change this in the slightest. Though this would be an immensely foolish trick, even by your standards. So I suggest you speak quickly, with whatever explanation you have no doubt mustered for such an occasion as this."

That kind of a disturbance doesn't go unnoticed by the Avengers. Carol's already in the air when Hela shrieks. Looks like a quick detour is in order.

Carol lands a few yards away from the woman and approaches with disguised caution.

"I take it you just got here?"

Hela is not good with mortals. She does not keep up with them, save for a few, knows their alliances but vaguely, let alone their members. Is it one of Dani's X-Men, or one of Thor's Avengers? They have never been her problem, and she can't recognize this one in the slightest.

"I do not have time to deal with the likes you of." Dismissively, even though the air seems tense and thick with magic waiting to be discharged, and Hela looms, poised on the edge of violence, a single movement away from lashing out.

Strange realm, still no sword, still no sight of really huge monsters either. There's a determined look on Balder's face when he enters the areas outside the city. Even without a sword he knows how to face an enemy.

But when the temperature drops and the atmosphere begins to resemble something awfully cold, something awfully...dead, Balder can feel the hairs in his neck standing up. Suddenly its also hard to breathe.

Then the scream comes. A voice he recognizes and one he really does not like to hear. He inches away and moves to hide behind a tree, watching as the queen of the dead makes her entrance.

"By Odin's..." he mutters to himself.
Its really a bad day to not have a sword with him.

Hela comes with sword in hand, a vengeful specter on the warpath for someone to smite, someone to hold accountable. She has a duty that must continue, no matter what, and interruptions in her duty pose a great and terrible risk to Hel, to death, and to her plans. No one will carry on in her stead; there has always been her, and her alone, and no one but her will ever give a thought to it.

It's only her paranoia that allows her to focus on her surroundings, and catch the small mutter of his breath. Without it, in her fury, she might have never known he was ever there, too absorbed in her wrath to spare a thought for who might be around; if she had never thought that the culprit might be nearby, slim though the chance may be.

"You," she breathes, menacing and surprised all at once. Balder already belongs to her, so what can he be doing here, among these trees, cast out from her realm without her permission. The difficulties of recognizing the voice, without the face. "How did you leave Hel? I did not summon you!"

Balder takes a couple of steps back. He refuses to give in to the fear that is growing inside of him.

"I have never been in Hel. You are mistaken, Hela."

He keeps his voice firm and confident, his posture straight.

"I am very much alive, as you can see."

Odin's festering eye socket, she does not have time or patience for a young boy's posturing. Not in the least bit. Once his reckless boldness might have been amusing, or a cause to goad him into further foolishness, depending on her mood. Now, it just grates.

"The Queen of the Dead does not make mistakes. Life is fleeting, and narrow. Everyone comes to Hel in the end. This is certain and inevitable. From where I stand, so many already have. And you, Balder, son of Odin, you are a return visitor."

That kind and intensity of power doesn't go unnoticed for long, and it isn't long before the frightening woman has an audience. Aisling perches in one of her trees, watching the lady try spell after spell, none of them spells that Aisling recognizes.

This is... intimidating, to say the least. She could be one of the Great Ladies, and if so, what then? If she couldn't break through, what hope was there? She wouldn't be unaware of Aisling's presence for long regardless. She's painfully aware of her appearance and her shortcomings both here and at home. Perhaps it would be better to introduce herself now and submit herself for the lady's justice immediately rather than waiting for her wrath to fall later.

Taking a deep breath, she reluctantly climbs down from her vantage point and stands awaiting the woman's attention.

Hela's magic is broader than just death. But it is old magic, and cold magic, magic to move through time and space and summon the dead to her side and smite down her enemies and rip their souls from their bodies, and there is nothing. All that raw power, and it breaks upon the shield, Hela's face contorted with the effort it takes to sustain so much magic, again and again, and the frustration she feels as each one fails.

Thus it takes her some time to fully notice her visitor. No one she recognizes, and so slight, so pale in the light that for a moment Hela is quite sure she might be imagining her, or that something has gone terribly wrong. This is no Dani Moonstar, no Tyr, no assemblage of the Disir; so what is it that she's called forth?

"And who are you, to stand before the Queen of the Dead?"

Intimidating as it might sound, it truly is more of a curious, baffled inquiry than an accusation or a condemnation.

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[choose your own adventure log] I am Death, none can excel

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