View source for 5821/What do we do with a problem like, Mordana

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2018/11/20
|Location=Unknown
|Synopsis=Thor frees the Dark Elf Assassin
|Cast of Characters=107, 1849
|pretty=yes
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{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:107|Thor (107)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In all the nine realms, Midgard is assuredly the worst. It is a backwater, the people are horrible, and its denizens run around wild with this preconceived notion of their own inherent superiority that is entirely untrue. Even their great cities are but shadows of what had been for the Svartalfar. Their lives ridiculously short. Their abilities an equal parts measure of foolishness coupled with bravado and impatience. And she had been trapped here for the last one hundred and eighteen years.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Trapped here after Malekith had sent her to ascertain the state of this realm in preparation for his long elaborate plan, the final assault upon their hated enemy of Asgard. And then word had reached her to make ready for their glorious ascension, for indeed his magicks had grown and he had every intention of destroying Asgard. Of destroying all the nine realms so they could start anew.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Only the dreaded day never did come. Time passed and there were no more words. Then a year ago the Asgardians came to Earth and it was all over the primitive devices these weak people used to keep track of each other. Odin dead, Thor is the king, and the Asgardians were to make their home. Here of all places. The fools.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It was a reprieve. A reprieve to live in ignominy for the rest of her long long days amongst these savages. But what else was there to do? Perhaps even a level of acceptance and peace had been considered.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And then those bastards chased her. Her, the Black Hand of Malekith. Her the blade in the dark whose caress was enough of a whispered threat to Malekith's enemies that it had stopped wars before. They pursued her, hunted her. Found her home, shattered her artifacts and /bound/ her in this hovel in this backwater refugee camp that passes for what now? Asgard. The very idea was laughable.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And yet here she was. Magicks binding her by the shapers, the small well lit room with a torch in each corner and her held to a chair in the middle by arcane enchanted chains and clasps. It was a final insult. Some had come to her, spoke to her, and the final insult was they had no care about what information she might hold for now at least. They had wanted her armor, her weapons. Her information was less important. And then she was left in here to stew. Insults.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Only now, in the evening for outside she could feel the darkness beckon, the tall silhouette of a man darkens the door. Grim, haggard looking, but stern. The Thunderer of Asgard, King Thor steps into the room and lowers his eyes upon her.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1849|Ekaterina Vespucci (1849)}} has posed:'''<br>Mordana'at senses the entry of the the 'God of Thunder'. She is looking at the floor in a profound act of naval gazing. Pitying herself since noone else would in her mind at least. <br><br> "What do you want Asgard?" she says finally. "You've won your damn war. Stripped me of the last shred of my heritage and dignity. Why haven't you just killed me?" She purses her lips - Thor is still unworthy of her furious glare which burrows in to the ground.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:107|Thor (107)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The tall man's step causes the wooden floor to creak slightly, his features coming full into view as the light from the torches catch him. He moves towards the far corner to the side, another chair resting there that he takes by the back and drags across the room, turning it to face her. It is him, she has seen him enough, his visage to recognize him. But he wears the garb of the people of this realm. The jeans, the sneakers, the grey hoodie. So staggeringly mundane for one of his rank.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Yet he turns the chair around and sits down in it opposite her, leaning forwards with his arms resting on his knees, fingers interlaced. His one good eye looks her up and down, and then he lifts his deep voice. "There are some who wish to. For your people are the enemy of my people."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1849|Ekaterina Vespucci (1849)}} has posed:'''<br>Mordana'at finally deems Thor worthy of her gaze glaring at him with unabashed venom. "My peop... My people?!" She says. "Are there any of us left apart from me? You are throwing plurals around Thor Odinson where they may not fit the facts." She stares at the ground again and drifts into surly silence. <br><br> "That I am alive still must mean you have had some alternative in mind to killing me." It's a statement but almost phrased as a question.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:107|Thor (107)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Eyebrows lifting as he looks to the side, Thor runs a fingertip along the ridge of his eye-patch, expression distant for a moment. "Aye, your people. Trust that I would have had it that we never made war. Yet here we are." He looks back and there's a storminess distant in his gaze, the hint of grey clouds in his expression as he looks upon her. "Your Lord, Malekith, he left us little choice." It is a statement of fact, and though there is no remorse in his doing what had to be done, there is regret that it had to be.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"My advisors state that you are too dangerous to allow to live. That released you will do naught save pursue our downfall, the death of myself, my people. Perhaps even some of the mortals that have offended you in the past." He takes a deep breath as his brow knits and he looks towards the door, then back towards her. "I suppose I am come to extend some hope that there is an alternative though I see it not."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1849|Ekaterina Vespucci (1849)}} has posed:'''<br>"Maybe." Mordana'at says in relation to what hypothetically she might do if freed. "There seems to be very little else for me to do. Though now you have deprived me of the tools I might have used to pursue the goal of your 'downfall'." <br><br> Then she looks up at him and says, "But on the other hand what would be the point? What master would I be handing victory to upon your demise. Note I have been here for one hundred years without incident. I did not attack you the other night - you attacked me. I simply sought to make my way without molestation. Had you left me alone that would likely have continued forever." <br><br> Sighing, "Perhaps I should be thanking you. Midgard reminds me too much of a tarnished inferior version of my extinct people's former glory. I will be glad to take my leave of it. And everything else."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:107|Thor (107)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;One eyebrow lifts as he considers her and then says with that low rumble, "How would you make your way?" Thor asks as he sits back in the chair then, arms crossing over his broad chest as he ponders the Svartalf. "Few ships leave this world, the Bifrost is shattered, and had you a ship of your own you would have likely left before we had a chance to find you."<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He holds up a hand as if to stay her protests, "Perhaps you can tell me how this came to pass?" That must be it. The man with the short cropped golden hair leans forwards animatedly and scowls a touch. "From your place amongst the Svartalfar, why did you do this? How could your hatred be so great as to seek not only our end but your own as well?" Questions he never had a chance to place before Malekith.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shaking his head, Thor frowns. "I doubt you can answer, but I would still know your thoughts."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1849|Ekaterina Vespucci (1849)}} has posed:'''<br>"Make my way?" Mordana'at says. "Why would I go anywhere? Why not stay here? I am about as entitled to as you are. I was stupid enough not to seek asylum from some party when you and your hunting party got on my trail. I am the real refugee here!" <br><br> "You mean Ragnarok? How did it come to pass? How the in the 'hel' should I know!?! I've been stuck here the whole time!" She lurches forward as she speaks. "I can speculate of course as to how exactly Malekith pulled it off but I thought that was covered in all of the long 'conversations' I had under duress with the Asgardians who came in here before." <br><br> "And as for whom I hate I dislike Svartalfheim more than I dislike Asgardians. And I dislike you less than most Asgardians. You were almost close to being neutral in my books. But you are rapidly slipping behind in that score after snapping me up and tying me to a chair. Oh and threatening my life."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:107|Thor (107)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As she rails against him, Thor scowls and she can almost feel the brief moment of anger wafting off of him, one large hand at his side curling into a fist and the joints crackling. But he shakes his head and looks pointedly at the door, then back towards her. "You would have me think you are blameless? That you are somehow free of whatever taint your family holds?" He pushes himself to his feet, the wooden chair creaking as he moves. "I could have your life, even now, and most would think it was naught save wisdom."<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He shakes his head and turns to the side, one hand held up as if trying to stay any response she might have. "Yet I do not wish to. I am buying your life with the indulgence of my own honor. We can go around here for hours back and forth, yet I have seen what I needed to in your eyes."<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The tall man faces her and says, "In the morning you will be set free. You will take naught with you save your life and you will be returned to what passed for your home here on Midgard. And if you /ever/ raise hand against me or mine. If you /ever/ give me reason to regret sparing your life, then I will make it so you will wish I had struck you down in this tent."<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There's a pause, his features darken. "I do this not for you. I do this greedily for myself." That said he turns and begins to move towards the door.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1849|Ekaterina Vespucci (1849)}} has posed:'''<br>Mordana'at is dumbfounded by this outcome. She had thought herself a goner. "Thor Odinson..." she says interrupting the Asgard's flight from the room. <br><br> "Thankyou." It's said in a choked manner - the first bit of emotion Mordana'at had shown apart from outrage. And it is the last thing anyone would expect her to say. And she slumps. Finally able to breathe. "For... sparing me. That is."<br> <br>
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