Arrival...
Loke emerged from an alleyway, naked and scarred. The last grey fingers of the Underworld left his skin as he stumbled into the street. He cast his gold eyes skyward to the gleaming towers of metal and glass that loomed over him, strangely reminding him of some hazy memory from childhood.
His head still reeled, but he attempted to put together just what happened.
First, there was an eternity of imprisonment beneath the earth. He had vague memories of a friendly face that somehow eased the pain, but why the face was not now with him he could not say. More recently there was a distant cataclysm somewhere in the underworld, the ripples of which had reached as far as his prison, and in this disturbance he managed to break his bonds. Why he had not simply torn the soft restraints before then was another point on which he was once more unclear. His head was full of poison and, free of his bonds, he could now see the source. A very king of a serpent had been ceaselessly spilling his venom onto Loke's face until just now. Loke crushed the wretched skull beneath his heel. Seeking the face from his memory, he clawed his way up through rock and darkness until he reached the Mortal Realm.
But the strange sights that met his bleary eyes were entirely new to him. Though his brain was still a thick, boiling soup, he was certain he had never visited this place. Still, this had to be Midgard. No other place smelled like it. He could sense mortals living here, going about their useless lives, procreating and eating and defacating and dying and ... staring at his privates.
With the realization that the people around him were aware of his presence, Loke was suddenly sober. He spied a couple walking down the street who had not seen him - the woman wearing furs, the man wearing a carefully tailored and manicured suit of clothing. "They must be the elite," thought Loke, "...and so must I." He straightened his gold bowtie, tucked his starched, white shirt into his cumberbund, dusted off his black trousers, and strode off after them.
If he was to find answers, he was not going to find them among the common rabble. "Besides, the mighty are so much more satisfying to bring down," he thought.
"This ought to be fun."
His head still reeled, but he attempted to put together just what happened.
First, there was an eternity of imprisonment beneath the earth. He had vague memories of a friendly face that somehow eased the pain, but why the face was not now with him he could not say. More recently there was a distant cataclysm somewhere in the underworld, the ripples of which had reached as far as his prison, and in this disturbance he managed to break his bonds. Why he had not simply torn the soft restraints before then was another point on which he was once more unclear. His head was full of poison and, free of his bonds, he could now see the source. A very king of a serpent had been ceaselessly spilling his venom onto Loke's face until just now. Loke crushed the wretched skull beneath his heel. Seeking the face from his memory, he clawed his way up through rock and darkness until he reached the Mortal Realm.
But the strange sights that met his bleary eyes were entirely new to him. Though his brain was still a thick, boiling soup, he was certain he had never visited this place. Still, this had to be Midgard. No other place smelled like it. He could sense mortals living here, going about their useless lives, procreating and eating and defacating and dying and ... staring at his privates.
With the realization that the people around him were aware of his presence, Loke was suddenly sober. He spied a couple walking down the street who had not seen him - the woman wearing furs, the man wearing a carefully tailored and manicured suit of clothing. "They must be the elite," thought Loke, "...and so must I." He straightened his gold bowtie, tucked his starched, white shirt into his cumberbund, dusted off his black trousers, and strode off after them.
If he was to find answers, he was not going to find them among the common rabble. "Besides, the mighty are so much more satisfying to bring down," he thought.
"This ought to be fun."