kore_logs | from the land of the ice and snow ❆

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from the land of the ice and snow ❆

Who: Meja, & open
What: A Valkyrie wakes up in the Cape. A tiny storm brews and then, suddenly, vanishes.
Where: The woods, park, and town.
When: Day 103

All at once, the lack of a presence is both painfully overwhelming and difficult to comprehend. It's as though something more important than gravity, yet more difficult to see than the wind, is gone. The disconnect is sudden, and she can't seem to remember falling asleep. Yet here she is, in woods she doesn't recognize with something around her wrist that... is entirely unfamiliar. She doesn't own any electronics; they don't like traveling between Realms. What's more, this one talks. "We hope you enjoy your stay." Meja blinks, fighting for consciousness. She doesn't sleep, why is this difficult? And then, as she staggers to her feet, it comes to her.

She can't feel Yggdrasil anymore.

The source of her second lease on life is missing. How is that even possible? Meja turns to the tree she's leaning on and presses her ear against the trunk. Yes, she can feel this tree. It's healthy (though grumpy — something about a burning incident), but it's not connected to Yggdrasil. Somehow, even waking up in a strange forest, with a technological wristband, is less unnerving than suddenly being away from the entity that holds the Nine Realms together. Is this some sort of pocket realm? Perhaps it's a trick by the Dökkálfar, and she isn't in her right mind to sense Yggdrasil at all.

A rumble interrupts her thoughts, and suddenly she realizes that her confusion and tension have whipped up a tiny storm of sorts, darkening the sky around this part of the woods. Though the droplets on her face make her feel less alienated, she holds up her hand. Small glints of light, making soft noises like distant cries, shine from her gloved hand as she disperses the storm. It clears in a matter of minutes, restoring sunlight to the forest once more.

Muninn is missing as well, she notices. Surely her raven friend would be the most disgruntled at being separated from the World Tree. He would be unable to seek out his brother for their immature little bouts of insults, which she'd come to understand as their way of touching bases.

"Muninn?" she calls, loudly, but only silence greets her. She's still feeling rather groggy, unintentionally strengthening her Norwegian accent. "This isn't funny, dumming... And it's not my new home."

Still without an answer, Meja sighs. She has all of her belongings, at least. Sweeping the hood from her head, she keeps her white cloak unglamoured — for now — and proceeds through the woods. She keeps her weapons sheathed, but also keeps her senses on alert for anything else in the woods. At first, all it gets her is the scuffle of running hares. But as she walks, she slowly makes out a small number of buildings through a large expanse of what seems to be a park. A town?

She takes a deep breath, still comfortably inside of the woods, and runs a gloved hand through her short platinum-blond hair. Time to see where I am. She's more nervous about it than she'd like, but the buildings she can see are of a style that she... hasn't laid eyes on in a long, long time.

On the other hand, she'll learn nothing in the woods. So, slowly, she proceeds forward.

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Meja jumps. It's Balthazar's height that keeps her from drawing a weapon on pure reflex. She's used to Dökkálfar using their magic to enter and leave quickly, but the Dark Elves are shorter than this stranger. They also arrive with numbers, when they're interested in ruining Meja's day, though it never does them any good. Still, they do try.

Relaxing, she unconsciously flicks the wrist that the comm's been attached to. She'll need to get used to the weight.

"Um... ja, I suppose I am." Her smile is more puzzled and strained than anything else, but it's not exactly a grimace, either. "I'm afraid that I got a little... out of control. Is the groggy part normal?"

At least she hadn't created a blizzard. Judging from the weather that's since slipped in, it seems to be spring. It certainly seems pleasant, at least. She'd hate to have cold-shocked any of the plants on accident.

For what it's worth, he doesn't look armed, and his body language is fairly passive, even if he is verging on intrusion into her personal space bubble. It's an angel thing.

"Oh. You made the rain? That's...different." He can tell at a glance that she's not your average human, but what exactly she is, and the limits of her talents, are harder to gauge, without a nice chat. But creating a storm could be a very helpful ability in a place where both weather and plumbing are unpredictable. "The groggy part usually happens if our captors have had a look at you before dropping you among us. You're lucky, though. We've had people come in bleeding profusely. Groggy is a step up."

He sets his basket down and offers a handshake. "I seem to have volunteered for the welcoming committee today. Hello, I'm Balthazar."

Having a look at me? Dökkálfar sometimes capture victims and sacrifice them, but they never poke around... Meja pushes aside the uneasy feeling that causes, shaking Balthazar's hand with a slightly brighter smile. "Meja. I appreciate the welcome."

Being startled by a guy with jars is certainly better than being ambushed. Speaking of, she glances down at the basket.

"I hope I'm not disrupting you. Have you been here long?"

He's been warned already that the phraseology of his explanations regarding the cape is more unnerving than comforting, but he views himself as a teller of painful truths. Possibly he's trying to take after Gabriel a bit without being quite as much of a troll. In any case, he at least has yet to tell the new arrivals false information.

"No trouble at all. It's best for us to learn to rely on one another as quickly as we can." He follows her gaze and smiles sheepishly. "I was collecting food. Dandelion, purslane, chicory. The food supply is a bit iffy lately."

"No one needs to worry that I'll be adding any strain, at least."

Being immortal is, most of the time, a blessing.

And the woods do seem quite healthy, the majority of trees feeling, to her... well, content could be a word. Long-term separation from Yggdrasil had meant slow death for Midgard, but the gods had managed to do it in the first place. Perhaps this was another place they'd separated, and hadn't thought to put back yet? But that doesn't seem quite right. The gods are occasionally forgetful, especially the Aesir, but seven hundred years is a long time.

Meja inhales deeply. She still feels borderline woozy, but the feeling's lessening.

"I've certainly been trapped in worse-looking places," she chuckles, thinking briefly of Niflheimr. Though some parts of Niflheimr were at least beautiful in a dangerous, very icy way.

His head tilts thoughtfully. "Oh? You don't require food, then. Neither do I, but most of the residents here need some form or nourishment."

He studies her a moment longer, blue eyes piercing but not unfriendly. "Well, there's no polite way to ask what sort of being you are, so I'll have to stick with bluntness. There are a handful of non-humans here; I'm an angel of the Lord."

Sometimes this declaration is followed by the question: 'Which one?'. He braces himself mildly.

Evidently, this place is going to be an exercise in how good her memory is. She hasn't heard a mention of an angel in a long time — aside from sayings like you're such an angel, which she hears occasionally when visiting Midgard. Her first thought is, honestly, snow angels, as ridiculous as that is. It does, however, lead her back to what snow angels are supposed to be. She has a brief, brief memory of her mother standing over her, smiling, telling her how to make one, before she pulls herself fully back to the present.

She's met such a wide variety of creatures that she doesn't even bat an eye at the thought of angels being real. Maybe there are thoughts toward logistics, but the cosmology of where she comes from is... crowded, and diverse. And like first learning of what she is now, the thoughts simply raise curiosity.

"You're the first angel I've met, then," she comments, smiling. "And don't worry, I don't mind questions. Saying you don't need to eat guarantees them. I used to be human, a long time ago. I'm a Valkyrie."

Balthazar's never had an opportunity to make a snow angel. Someone should remedy that some day. Holidays in Kore? Skiing and pelting the kraken with snowballs?

Maybe not.

He relaxes subtly at her easy acceptance. "I won't be the last. I have brothers here. But I've never met a Valkyrie, either, as I can recall, although I have some understanding of what they are in my own world."

He won't hold that against her, though. "Do you storm often, then? I have to ask. It could be a useful talent."

Meja's smile turns mildly embarrassed at the little current she'd stirred up on accident. Lightforged Valkyrie, her type, are closely aligned with lightning and storms; it's one of the things that they can do best. Having one get away with you, or summoning a storm out of anger, is seen as a lack of control. Really, though, Meja thinks it should be a sign of what, in her experience, it usually is: a particularly strong attunement. Though, when she became angry, it was normally a blizzard that formed, not a rainstorm.

"Usually," she confirms. "We use it to travel, through the lightning, summoning a storm where we are and where we want to go. Small storms, for the most part, although my superior can summon a hurricane in battle if she gets angry enough."

Which is often — and usually for a stupid reason, Meja thinks, but doesn't say. Valkyrie are safe from such a weather pattern, if it's around, unhurt by the wind, but other creatures aren't so lucky.

"If it's a small storm, in one spot, it's not that draining for me at all." She tilts her head to the side, glancing at the forest around them. "Does it rain all that often here?"

"You know, that's a good question." Balthazar glances up at the sky, as if daring it to produce precipitation for them right now. "I would say no, there's very little rain, but we're hardly in drought conditions, either, and the plant life is quite vigorous. I've been talking with a friend in regards to water storage and purification tanks, but it's a work in progress. I might ask you to lend a hand, if it wouldn't be an imposition."

"Nei, I don't mind at all. Water is an important resource."

She's about to add something else when she feels an unpleasant sensation in her temple, like the tug of a migraine, as her essences tries to reach out to its source. But not finding Yggdrasil, it feels more like the essence of her being slamming against a wall repeatedly. It doesn't seem to be an impulse she can stop, as of yet, but she hopes it clears up... and soon.

Meja rubs at her temple. "It's very odd, this... bubble they have us in. Cut off from everything."

"There's the ocean, of course, but it's hard to filter the salt out. Plus it's risky the past few days."

He's about to go on, when he notices the wince. Hesitating, he waits politely to see if she's all right, and makes a small, sympathetic sound at the explanation. "Yes. It's obnoxious. We've speculated it's a pocket dimension, but I don't think we've come to any conclusions more useful than that. The last attempt to break through didn't end well."

"A pocket dimension..." That's not as foreign to Meja as it might be for some, as several small Realms that weren't part of the Nine existed on Yggdrasil's branches. Pascha had called them pocket dimensions, precocious reader as she is, and the phrasing's stuck. "It must be very isolated indeed."

She gives her temple another idle rub, hoping the feeling will go away soon. "Jeg beklager så meget, I interrupted. Is the ocean here dangerous?"

"There's a very large sea creature with tentacles. Whether it's a kraken, or The Kraken, or just a large and angry squid, I couldn't tell you. It appears to be somewhat venomous, as well. I don't know your capabilities, so you may be perfectly safe, but at least one person's been killed by it of late, so I'd go cautiously."

He didn't know Wallie at all, but any death is disheartening. "However, there's a stream of fresh water, with a fish or two to be found. One can only hope it stays stocked."

Meja winces, and it has nothing to do with her head this time. "It does figure that I come to a completely different Realm, cut off from Yggdrasil, and there are still kraken," she sighs, expression wry. "I can't drown, or be poisoned, but I'll... keep an eye on the water. Being grabbed by a kraken once is one too many times."

Especially when the first time was being dragged down into a frozen ocean. She'll take water over ice, as it's far less painful, but still. Better to avoid the thing altogether.

"It's happened to you before, then? You wouldn't happen to have any information on the beast that might help us?" Because he's not sure there's anything like it on his own world, and the archangels haven't been forthcoming about it.

It might be a futile thought, but if they could kill the thing, escape might still be impossible, but at least they'd be safer.

"They don't have any... classic weaknesses, I'm afraid, other than not being able to breathe out of the water," Meja admits, wishing they at least had had the courtesy to pick a weakness like silver or garlic. If it's venomous, it's not even worthwhile as calamari. There goes the garlic idea entirely. "At least, where I'm from. In order to kill one, you have to get to its brain."

She grins ruefully. "And of course, they fight with the tentacles forward and with the head as far into the water as possible. Unless it's chomping away on something. As I said, I've encountered two before and they were both a little different. One was sort of... armored, and slightly more crab-like. I suspect it was older. But they were both territorial. And angry. If I ever find a nice kraken, I might keel over from shock."

Balthazar doesn't think anyone would want to eat calamari rings big enough to be worn as bracelets, either. Probably rubbery. "Too bad. If it could at least be repelled by something in the water, that would be a help."

"I was able to slice it up a bit, but I'm sure I couldn't take it out all by myself."

Meja can't say, as she doesn't know the limits or strengths of angels — but she does remember that even fighting a kraken with a giant wolf, a giantess, and a dragon hadn't been fun.

"It's better to have company," she agrees, smiling. "If only to spread its attention."

Fighting something with multiple arms is always, in her mind, a hassle. Thankfully, it's somewhat of a rare occurrence.

"But, to be helpful, perhaps I can rain on everyone's parade instead. So to speak."

All Balthazar knows is that Raphael didn't kill the one they have here. Whether he couldn't or didn't feel it was enough of a problem to warrant the energy expended, he's not sure. Regardless, it makes him wary.

But the garden is something he has much more control over.

"Well, then! Congratulations, you're our irrigation system." He offers a handshake, grinning playfully. "Now what can I do for you in return?"

She laughs quietly, giving his hand a shake. A Valkyrie sprinkling system. Very unique. "Oh, I don't need much of anything. The, ah, eerie mechanical voice told me that I'll have something of a roof over my head. Given the circumstances, I can't really complain."

"Yes, there are plenty of spaces free in the houses. I'm in number eleven, and you're welcome to come shelter there in a pinch, but we're more or less out of bedrooms. But my garden is there, and the community crops are nearby, so you may as well come visit..."

He trails off, suddenly remembering he's living with Loki. Not a Loki this woman knows, no doubt, but still. "I can't promise you'll get along with all my housemates, of course. But keep it in mind."

He'll just...let that play out without his interference one way or the other.

"Eleven. All right, then." Given what she's just agreed to do, it's important to commit that number to memory. She smiles. "I'll come by once I'm settled."

Perhaps, by that time, she can also brainstorm her memory for something useful to do about the food supply. Meja can clearly picture Fenrir wrinkling his nose at her for not working as hard as she could on magic. But at least here, it seems there will be ample time to do so.

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from the land of the ice and snow ❆

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