Loki, king of Asgard. It rolls of the tongue like satin does the fingertips, does it not?

For many centuries I’ve pandered to thoughtlessness, the mindless pawn of
the all father and sheep to the insatiable merrymakers of Asgard. And how they
scoffed at me; blinded by the glint portrayed off the pride my brother adorned
himself in while I, a true king in my right, practiced humility and patience. While
the sun chose him to shine upon it was I who struggled for glory and thus
earned my keep. And yet despite this… Despite my inarguably superiority I
was dismissed.

It has been squandered. Their future, the glory I might have brought them if
only I had been given my time. But I suppose I must find myself with some
gratitude. In my wronging I have learned the true error of evolved morals. Long
since have we forgotten what we once were, gods, and been denied our
destiny. To rule over those beneath us. To be adored. To be worshipped.

You are not unlike those of whom I speak. Even now you constantly fight the
urge to comply and to give in to your ultimate purpose. Your necks snap with
the single wave of authority commanded by those appointed over you and yet
still you find yourself squirming in defiance in wake of one simple truth; the
weak cannot rule the weak. If left unattended your world would continue to

Again you pardon my offer. But how could you possibly know me, when you
know so little about yourself? Your poor judgement, your insecurity, and desire
to simply be given the firm direction you crave.

Allow me to ease your suffering. Allow me to aide your quest; your friend, your ally…

Your king.