"Of course you've heard of me. I permeated your species' unconscious thousands of years ago. And oh the tales they do tell." Loki smiles almost fondly.
"Most of them true, even, the usual amount of embellishment aside." His eyes turn back to his companion with newfound curiosity.
"What manner of music make you, then, Galen inn Skáldi?" he asks, a genuine question. "I admit some fondness for the artistic ventures of your species."
Music in particular. The rímur and chants of Asgard and Jǫtunheimr are lovely in their way, but they've changed little over time. Ancient voices rising in song have a particular beauty to them, but they are painful, encoding memories that Loki does not gladly recall. Occasionally one favours the ridiculousness and naïveté of a species doomed, after a fashion, to eternal youth. Besides that, Loki is fond of innovation, for innovation is chaos, entropy, and entropy and chaos are his.
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"Most of them true, even, the usual amount of embellishment aside." His eyes turn back to his companion with newfound curiosity.
"What manner of music make you, then, Galen inn Skáldi?" he asks, a genuine question. "I admit some fondness for the artistic ventures of your species."
Music in particular. The rímur and chants of Asgard and Jǫtunheimr are lovely in their way, but they've changed little over time. Ancient voices rising in song have a particular beauty to them, but they are painful, encoding memories that Loki does not gladly recall. Occasionally one favours the ridiculousness and naïveté of a species doomed, after a fashion, to eternal youth. Besides that, Loki is fond of innovation, for innovation is chaos, entropy, and entropy and chaos are his.