Es War Einmal In Character

[ Loki's skin is pale; he, once again, looks human, his eyes green, his hair dark. His fingers are restless, tapping. ] Shall we have a tale?

Here, I believe the appropriate beginning is, let's see... Once upon a time.

Once upon a time, there was a little world. It had no boundaries, but it was small enough that it needed no boundaries. More on that later, I certainly expect. This world was made by balance between order and chaos. Order created and arranged, and chaos introduced an element of randomness. Evolution. Each required the other to innovate.

But, then, Order isn't so very good at innovation, is it? Perhaps inevitable that one day Chaos would begin to dominate. The balance reels, and the world changes -- or perhaps it's that the world changes, and the balance tips. Either way, each avatar, one of order, one of chaos, are locked in eternal battle. Thorns began to spread, and so Order had to try, again, to reach beyond itself. Literally, this time.

As we stand: order reached to heroes, but could not cope with the element of instability the heroes produced. Thus, it boxed them into confined roles, shaved off the bits of them that would not fit.

Take care, heroes, for chaos would destroy everything -- but order would destroy you from within.

This is, as it stands, all I know. Let you ignorants be satisfied with that.


[ OOC: Thread between Sif and Loki below includes NSFW content. Be thyself warned. ]

Who: Loki and the warriors scheming to kill the Hero of the Mountain
What: scheming to kill the Hero of the Mountain
Where: Loki's rooms
When: Early morning Rebirth Decline 9
Notes/Warnings: Everyone reply to the post rather than making a comment thread. No posting order; just wing it.

Once a fair few of them are assembled, Loki addresses them.

It is not a dignified place; the rooms are small, wooden and dusty and neat in a way that's more empty than organized. There is a bed in the corner, a trunk of possessions that is firmly locked, and a fireplace (currently unlit), a scattering of chairs (some half-finished) he's had brought in from the carpenter next door. The windows are firmly closed, though it is a stuffy place.

Loki's skin is blue, and close to him, the air is cold -- a breeze like winter's chill. If he stands still long enough in one place, frost begins to spread around him.

"I am burdened with purpose," he tells them, "a message from the power that would keep balance in this realm. Chaos and order are at war; you have been called to help order, as chaos is tipping the balance with the advancing thorns." You have been called; he does not deign to count himself among them. Doesn't Anya's choice mean that he is a higher thing, now? "But now the thorns do not act quick enough for chaos's taste. She thinks to strike a final blow, with the Hero of the Mountains, a false creature who restores a facsimile of order by turning back time. Perhaps you have seen; the clock tower has gone still, as it did in the former Capital, which turned into a town of ghosts."

His teeth grit. "The magic of time is not meant to be used," he tells them. "It threatens to destroy all worlds, collapse the very idea of existence and cause. She must be stopped. And we must stop her. The townspeople are less than useless; they revere her on rumor because they crave a world of indolent adulation.

"More distressing still is that the King is missing. Have any of you even noticed? He has been gone more than a day, now. He is the center of order's power, and if he is captured or killed, we could be overrun at any moment. We have all been ignorant too long, and lazy longer still. Do you want to stay in this realm forever, without a chance of returning to your homes? Do you want to watch the innocents here run over and killed by thorns? Do you, yourself, want to perish in fire and agony?

"Then do not act. Stand by, and let the Hero take what she will.

"Otherwise, the time has come to kill what threatens to destroy us."