"Her house sinks down in death, and her course leads to the shades...
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TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT.....::: Queen of Nifilheim
.....::: Hel Lokidottir :::.....
Goddess of Death :::.....TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
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Fear began to settle in when the being's transformation didn't fade as Hel hoped it would, and the realization dawned on her that she had, in that moment's rash decision, truly placed herself at his mercy. As the vision of Erik stepped toward her, the goddess of death tried to move for her discarded cloak, but the loss of her power left her limbs heavy and her movements shaky, and before she could reach the garment, it was collected off the ground and out of her grasp.
She wasn't certain what to expect of him, next. Shackles, perhaps; chains with which he could drag her back to Gladsheim, and whatever punishment would find her there. Maybe he would opt for a more thorough approach, a knife to her throat while she could scarcely lift a hand to fight him. As if any most standing in his place would not do the same, if hey could. In spite of the unknown Hel's gaze followed his every move, steeled and defiant; whatever her fate, she would not face it in cowardice.
Instead a familiar warmth surrounded her, sinking down all the way into her very bones; her cloak, she realized as he carefully pulled the bewitched material around her shoulders. The death goddess' eyes, one hazel and the other milky white without her illusions to conceal it, remained locked on Erik's as he continued to speak; she'd heard of such restrictions as the ones he mentioned, made effective in other realms; yet the very concept in itself was no less outlandish to a child of the warrior colonies of Járnvidr, a blood descendant of outlaws and banished folk from all reaches of the Nine Realms, despite whatever higher title had been bestowed upon her in Nifilheim. Hel of the Dead was untouchable only in that she'd learned to stand on her own against those who would attempt to stand above her. I have learned well to not place my faith in kings-; not in Odin of Asgard who had condemned her and her family for nonexistent crimes; not even in Laufey of Jotunheim, her own king, her own grandfather, who'd turned a blind eye when the All-Father's guard had stormed his lands against their agreement to find them... not in any, who would think even for a moment to have a say in her fate ever again. Her expression carried a mixture of emotions, still, as she heard his confession. She who communed with the dishonored dead, knew even a well woven lie when she heard one; here, she sensed no dishonesty in Erik's words. But it made this devotion of his no easier to process, much less accept... “Can you even begin to understand how I feel? Or are fear and hate all that you know?”
What do I have left, other than fear and hatred? They robbed me of all else.
She did not answer aloud, instead glowering at him as if to say whatever pity he had for her was best kept to himself.
As soon as her cloak had been replaced over her shoulders, life had begun to return to her flesh, and the deathly, almost bluish hue of the skin that half-covered her gradually warmed in color as it faded behind the cloak's illusion once again. Her strength was somewhat slower to return to her. She didn't attempt to fight Erik when he lifted her off the ground, not even as the darkness around them faded and the ground floor of the Tower materialized once again; she likely couldn't if she tried. It was gone again just as quickly; Hel did not see Valfreyja or her companions, though they were no doubt still present. She only caught a brief glimpse of the so-called Aesir who now stood against Fenrir, though the beast, as she could only describe his appearance, looked like no Aesir warrior she'd ever crossed paths with. But rather than set her down, Erik grabbed hold of Fenrir, gripping a handful of his fur, and once again the outside world vanished. Hel found herself a touch thankful for it, for the fact that her brother was out of harm's way, if nothing else...
At least, he was for the moment. It was not in an unkind manner that Hel soon pulled herself from Erik's grip on her at the sight of her elder sibling, but merely a hurried one; she knew well that Fenrir would take their current predicament ill, and could only hope to calm him before a fight could be wrought. “Fenrir, halda ró, vinsamlegast-” Hel began calmly, shakily approaching the wolfen form of her elder brother as quickly as she could, sensing his anger and confusion. She held her cloak around her shoulders with one hand, and her free hand through his fur, attempting to draw Fenrir's attention away from who he likely percieved as an enemy. “He means us no harm, brother.” While she was no less displeased with Erik's methods, the goddess of death understood that his actions truly bore no ill intent. Hel shot him a look of uncertainty, nonetheless, at his mention that he planned to move them elsewhere; “where are you taking us?”
Quote:
"halda ró, vinsamlegast" => "please remain calm"
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status: weakened || mood: uncertain || location: Ground Floor, Stark Tower || company: Fenrir/Erik Black-Soul
... all who go to her cannot return, and find again the paths of life."