eswareinmal | To call a dragon [closed]

Entry tags:

npc: anya,
↓loki

To call a dragon [closed]

Characters: Loki, Anya (NPC), possibly Anya (PC)
Open?: Nope
Where: In the mountains near Schwanheim
When: 11th of Rebirth's Height, early
What: Loki contacts Anya and has some questions.
Warnings: None thus far....

He does not bother to draw a circle. Does not seal his enchantments, this time; he does not even draw a line to protect the mare who stands tethered to a close-by tree.

He sets the mirror down. A brief glance in it confirms, again, that it is red eyes that meet his green. It shows him as a Frost Giant still.

And he draws a pattern around it, a swirl of runes. He has chosen a needlessly complex spell, and he takes his time casting it properly, channeling his power with great care. And he opens his channel of communication, casting it to the void where he expects the strange woman will be found.

"I wish an audience," he says. "I no longer consider myself among the heroes, which you must know." She was so interested in watching... "I seek... guidance. A word." He will not follow another's will blindly, but perhaps she will think him easy to manipulate. "I think that I would like to make this kingdom a bit more interesting for those who call it home."

Interesting. Ambiguous enough.

He leans back against a tree, and he waits.

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There is no obvious answer. No plume of smoke, no sudden shadow. The wind shifts just a touch and a truly observant soul might note the addition of a faint presence hovering just behind Loki.

She's listening. Make it good.

His skin prickles, and he smiles, ever-so-faint.

"My brother is among the heroes, now," he says, lifting his chin. "I wish him dead. And thorns are too quiet a fight, for him... dragons, perhaps. Or an army. It would take that to subdue one so strong."

And so he ventures a bit further, tilting his head, not quite enough to look behind him, but an indication of his awareness.

"I took you for one with a stake in these heroes' success or failure. Was I wrong? Were you merely... bored?"

There was another subtle shift before a small swirl of grey smoke swirled lazily up from the mirror, showing no reflection.

"Do you think me a lower creature so easily summoned to grant you wishes, hero who would not be called such?"

"Once, I did summon you; I thought myself your better, in power and skill. This was not a summoning. It was an invitation."

He moves to his knees before the smoke, sitting back on his heels. It is not a position of supplication, not quite.

"What is it you wish?" he asks. "What may I give you, in return for what I seek? -- That is, your help, your knowledge, anything that may be mine in my quest to destroy. I am, as you said, of chaos."

Every so slowly, the smoke continued to swirl out, lazily condensing, legs slowly solidifying as the grey continued to build Anya's form.

"Where one came from matters little to either side. One of Chaos can become one of Order. One of Order can be the greatest force for Chaos."

The outline of a deep grey dress, swirling up to form a well covered chest and shoulders before an arm reached out to pluck a cigarette from the air to take a drag into still forming lungs.

"If you seek to strengthen Chaos, know that I will not help you at this time."

"I wish...." Loki shakes his head. "There is a third force, one it seems you have overlooked. In order, there is preservation, and in chaos, there is creation. But there must also be destruction. A force of good, a force of the wild, and a force of evil."

There, he has said it. Evil.

"I may be a creature of chaos, but now, what I wish is to strike a match. Not to weaken one side or the other, but to bring one to the other and in the doing, destroy what I wish destroyed."

"Creation is born of the struggle between Chaos and Order. Chaos destroys, Order rebuilds, Balance is upheld," Anya corrected, words blowing fresh smoke from her lips as she watched Loki evenly, hovering nonchalantly just inches over the mirror.

"Chaos is already eating into Order, and Order has reached out to you-- bringing Chaos into it's heart to bring forth the creation to end the destruction that is weakening it. Would you bring Order to Chaos to balance that end, even when the chaos inside of you is undoing the order you laid upon yourself?"

A surge of impatience, in his heart.

"I do not care for this fight," he says, his tongue twisting strange around the truthful words. "I will do your bidding, if it may find Thor destroyed. I will even return and serve Order, if I must. I have endured greater humiliations. But I cannot now. Not with Thor. I want him dead."

And he isn't even so sure why, anymore. Other than once, Loki failed, and now he must face the results of his failure -- now, he wants to kill Thor simply because he failed to kill Thor once already.

"If you want him dead, do the deed with your own hand, though know that Order will not so easily relinquish a champion to that end. Just as you care not for Its fight, It cares not for your fight."

Calm down, he admonishes himself. Think. This world does not operate to the rules that he knows; they think of it different, and he must adapt.

"And what role does King Erasmus play in this fight?" he asks. "Who is the real agent of Order?"

"He is the avatar of Order, as are all who step into his rank." She takes a slow drag on her cigarette once more, letting the smoke score her lungs before releasing it. "Bound by rules until he is all but a puppet, as is fitting his role."

Loki sighs.

"And must Order be so facile?" he asks. "Do Rules bind so deep that all intelligence, all wonder must he scrubbed out?"

A faint smile curved at the corner of her lips. "Wonder is a product of the unknown, which is not the domain of Order. And with intelligence comes the questioning of the rules that Order thrives upon. Why would Order chose a mouth piece that would display such traits?"

"Caught between narrow-minded idiots and absolute destruction," said Loki, dryly. "Well. What a wonderful choice before me."

"So locked in that you see only two choices before you..." There was a touch of a smirk to the words. "No wonder you have become so desperate. I would think one of both Order and Chaos would know about the shades of grey to the world."

"It was mockery," returned Loki, archly. "I already have made my own choice."

He focused on her. "Is balance all you seek?" he asked.

"Balance is what I am of." Another, slow, long drag on her cigarette before holding it up as she held the smoke in. "To one immortal, who's body will never die, the temporary death that this offers brings with it a microcosm of balance. Death, followed by rebirth. The surge of Chaos soothed away by the return of Order. Your own such swings are similar; put up the illusion of the form you wish, only to deny it and tear away at the walls you have built up. Form the bonds of a family, only to throw it to the wind when family by blood wishes to claim you once more. You have made no choice; you have instead given in to be ruled by what you perceive, rather than what would be real if you would wish it so."

"Will you still allow what has no hold here to rule over you, Trickster who stands between worlds?"

He is stung. Stunned. Enough that he actually flinches back, a hand drifting to his heart.

"If it has no meaning," he says, soft, "then everything I am has no meaning. I cannot let it go."

"What you are is what you perceive yourself to be. As many faces as you wear, the one you hold to your heart is what you chose to be and is what is true."

"You have given me this mirror to show what I am," he snaps. "I am Frost Giant, by heritage. That is the truth of blood and bone. It is not something I can change."

"The mirror shows the true self you carry in your heart, what you believe you are," Anya corrected. "Physical forms are merely shells, solid illusions painted by action. How often have you changed your appearance to present a different image, Trickster? Are you still the same flesh and blood, even when you wear the wings of a bird? How sad to still be bound to the illusion of what birth has formed you of when you have the power to change..."

He'd been wrong. Terribly wrong. He'd thought the mirror was a punishment, a reminder -- don't forget, this is what you are. Instead, it was the opposite. This is what you think, but remember you can change...

The realization was earthshattering. Loki looked back on the past few days absolutely dumbfounded.

Silver tongue turned to lead?

"The balance," he says, slowly, his mind turning to the thorns, the heroes. "Where is it, now? Tilted in which direction?"

"Chaos holds the upper hand and has for some time," Anya near sighed, tapping the ash from her cigarette with distaste. "The balance has been in keeping it from growing stronger, and even that was undone. The thorns continue to grow, giving Chaos more power as it eats away at Order's hold on the land. And Order continues to call in mere children and fools to stamp into its molds and title heroes as it always has."

"And what do you know of the dragons, above?"

His mind was working, quick, behind his dark eyes. Perhaps the thing for balance, then, was to push Order a bit -- make the heroes go and find something to fight. Perhaps the very fact of their uniting would be a step towards the balance returning.

And he could have Thor's blood still, if he wished it...

Or he could help, if he wished that.

He liked the thought of capriciousness, of indecision until the last second.

"Dragons are as dragons are. They care not for anything but their own ends," Anya shrugged.

"And what are their ends? Treasure? Glory? The blood of maidens?"

She raised an eyebrow, a small, amused quirk at the side of her lips. "You ask as if dragons were all of one mind..."

"Start with the one in that peak, then," with a casual gesture at one.

"Approach yourself and ask. I will not speak for them."

"And you would not find out, even if it suited your balance?"

"I will not hand you all that you desire. I have no need to anyone so lazy as that."

An arch of his eyebrow.

"I assure you," he tells her, "I will do all of the necessary manipulation myself."

"And so you will also do the gathering of what you need yourself."

"Too much to ask that you be useful, then. No matter; with any luck, Anya will find what I need."

The woman chuckled with amusement. "From one to another. Then in that, I will wish you luck." She gave a mocking bow, flicking her spent cigarette into nothingness.

"My actions will serve the end of balance," he told her. "Once it all goes right. This does mean you will not interfere, does it not?"

"Your actions will serve yourself," she corrected, her feet beginning to dissipate into smoke. "And to expect a promise from me is very foolish indeed, Trickster."

A hint of a smile.

"Of course."

He considers -- "One last question. If I wish to contact the avatar of Chaos, how do I do so?"

"Speak with the thorns, if you can find a way," she answered, a small smirk of a smile on her lips as she continued to slowly dissolve into smoke.

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