Fate and Destiny

[Innoreth]

He heard all spoken by the Light Elf, yet stopped to think of a particular sentence. "Power is why you still live; Níðhöggr's power ensures that." What was the meaning of this? He had an idea, although, he would be better served with having the answer coming from the Light Elf himself.

"I owe my second coming to Hel and not to Níðhöggr, Álfr. The Dragon is the guardian of the tree, and of those who decide fate. His power over me is none, although he can deny me any "mortal" entrance to the underworld. He cannot shut me out for good, nor can he shut me in." He took an artistic pause. "However, I sense that might not be what you meant? Perhaps was it that I live on your mercy, due only to Níðhöggr's presence?" He chuckled somewhat.

The Elf continued on with confidence and without hesitation. Either he was telling the truth, or he was well experienced with such a tongue. "Foldaspegil?" Innoreth took a minute to wander through the vast amounts of memories. After said minute ended, he shooked his head slowly. "I know not of such an item. That sounds like something you would have to inquire the Nornir about... Heheheh." The laugh at the end of the sentence was almost condecending. And intentional. He knew from before that Níðhöggr would not let anyone pass. And one would have to do that to reach the site where the Nornir had their little abode, by the well.

"Whatever the use of your artifact, I doubt you will find it in the hands of any mortal. They are too reckless to be given possession of anything that holds more magical potential than a smithing hammer. By the sound of your reasoning, I am tempted to name your kind the same." With a turn of his head, his two blue eyes fixed themselves upon Alfvaldr's face, for a moment, only to attempt at finding what reactions his words would harvest.

"I have seen unbelievable things, Light Elf. Things I thought never possible before the afterlife. In and out, I know what pain is, I know what death is, and I know what fear is. I was chased by unspeakable abominations in the world of Hel, I have bathed in the Gjällar-river, and I have gazed across it to lay my eyes upon the terrible shadows of the restless titans that roam the tundras of Niflheim." Again, an artistic pause, with a sigh. "Your light holds little weight in comparison, I'm afraid. I have no doubt your powers of tremendous damage, both to me and my vessel, but know that what has once died, does not die as easily the next time around. Let that be my advice to you."

"I embrace light as a temporary force of creation. Energy upholds it. Void of energy, the flamboyant spheres of ardent red and yellow cease to glisten. I hearken for the euphony that is the black tempest's maiming of everything your kind stands for, the maiming that shatters your world. A maiming that will release my power." His rant came to a halt without anything dramatic happening. His hands held the staff tighthly, slowly climbing the root of Yggdrasil, still. The crooked tip of the staff blazed with dark blue and purple weavings. They swayed and waved softly around the head of the cane-like staff, embracing it with a soft touch as they danced across and along it.

[Alfvaldr]

The tall dark figure walked on in silence. Hah, presumably he was trying to remember if he had ever heard of Foldaspegil. Alfvaldr silently wished him the best of luck with that. He raised an interesting point though, when he at last spoke and admitted he had not heard of it. "That sounds like something you would have to inquire the Nornir about...". There was a chance that Níðhöggr would let him far enough to see the Nornir. They lived on the very boundaries of the underworld, but they did not truly live within it. whether Níðhöggr would be willing to let him past because of a technicality like that was debatable, but it might be worth trying. Even if he did, the Nornir would be tricky to deal with. But it was another option, and one he had not fully considered before.

His next words were rather less interesting. It was contemptible really, dropping to the level of insults like that. He seemed to have brought up the point that a mortal would not be in possession of the supposed artifact just so he could liken Alfvaldr to one of those untrustworthy mortals. If he had to stoop to insults, he could at least be a bit more clever about it. Alfvaldr caught a movement from the corner of his eye, and kept his face smooth on the assumption that it was being looked at. His unwelcome travelling companion was irritatingly tall, Alfvaldr would have to look up to see his face properly. It mattered not at all though. He did not need to see this creature's face to hear his artful words. Most eloquent, it would have been impressive. Would have, that is, had he not chosen this particular subject. He was in no position to speak of things like that, not given who he was talking to.

Alfvaldr stopped, his voice turning deadly serious. "You think you have seen things, undead? You have seen nothing." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Do you understand that? Nothing. I know what fear is. I lived through Ragnarok, undead, though it claimed the lives of Gods. I know what pain and death are." He shook his head, and his black hair flowed about his face. "I have caused my fair share of them. I fought for the wrong side, for your side. Destruction will not bring you power. That is what I thought, but Surtr's fire made no effort to spare me because of it. You cannot win. Either I win, my side wins, or we all lose, each and every being that lives."

He slammed his staff to the floor and his eyes blazed, bright enough to lift some of the surounding gloom. "And know this. I make no idle threats. I slew one of Freyja's accursed warriors once, a Valkyrie. Do you think they die easily?" He remembered his guess from earlier, and decided to risk it. "Though, I assume you're a Demon. I may not be able to kill you, but I can try. And I can certainly make you wish you were dead." He started forward again, striding quickly. "You tire me," he said simply as he passed the shadowed figure.

[Innoreth]

"Ragnarok?", Innoreth butted in. "I think you have misunderstood if you think the horrors of a war greater than those of pure death. One day, I'm sure you will finally reach the realms of torment. It will be a revelation, I'm sure." The creaky voice faded away, replaced by a light whistle. His body no longer showed any rythmical signs of walking. It was as if he floated on the thick, purple haze that surrounded the most lower part of the robe. Small tendrils looked to be crawling out from the shadowed fog, dragging Innoreth up along the root.

Suddenly, it seemed his company had taken to anger. Surface creatures and their tempers... Spewing out yet more threats and prophecies of doom, something had obviously upset him quite a bit. Innoreth arched away from the Elf with a frown, as his thunderspeech reached its highest point, signalized by a bright light shining in his eyes. "And I can certainly make you wish you were dead." With those words he set to out-walk Innoreth.

"I have died once, Elf, and even now I am not among the living. What makes you think you can inflict such a pain that I would welcome Hel's embrace?", Innoreth said quickly before the Elf got out of range. "And I must say, a Valkyrie? That's quite an impressive badge to bear. Not on Freyja's good side, though? Not to worry, she is less popular than one might actually get the impression of." While these words were as true as Innoreth could comprehend, he wasn't expecting much of a joyous reply. A spike of light, perhaps, if anything.

Trying to keep up with such a pace was hopeless. He let his words fly on the winds. "A Demon? I don't know what your tongue calls one such as I, but you are correct in one thing, I am not your ordinary zombie. I found life, if it can be called that, in the perma-frozen wastelands of Niflheim. But then again, you are probably not very ordinary yourself, not even for a Ljósálfr?" An eye went towards his hair. Never before had he seen such a thing. A mark, a sign, a reminder of his destructive history.

The prophecies of destruction carried no meaning to Innoreth. Yes, the worlds might collapse, to some extent. They had done so before, why not again? But how it would affect him, he failed to realize. Once he had found the transport Hel once had for her army, Ragnarok could repeat itself ten times over for all he cared. Eventually, new worlds would arise. Along with them, new life would see the day. In time, intelligent life. The ultimate power would come to him, he had no rush. For now, it would be very convenient if these fools killed themselves off.

Midgard was now near. Quite near. The blabering and chitchat had numbed the boring feeling of time. The joint where the Tree touches human ground was within sight. Innoreth looked towards the realm with anticipating eyes, the gaze growing with hunger for each foot he closed in. The blood of man would stain the soil of the cornfields this night. For some time now had he longed to pay off the bloodpact. This week's delivery of souls was nigh due.