To Tempest's Call, Respond Measure for Measure

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These were too long for titles:

"Thine forward voice, now, is to speak well of thine friend; thine backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract."(William Shakespeare, Tempest)

"Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade."(William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure)


Thor Odinson was proud of his heritage, of his achievements, and of his strength. He was the kind of person to boast on occasion, all in good fun, of course, and to valiantly defend his family's honor from anyone who dared slander their house.

Thor was the type of person who had learned how to be a laudable ruler of great merit from a brilliant Midgardian woman who had also taught him how to love, truly and deeply with all of his soul.

Thor was the type of person who, sometimes, made mistakes. But see, for gods and demigods alike, mistakes weren't a matter of simple slip-ups or irrelevant accidents. No, they were either nonexistent, or had consequences reaching cataclysmic scales the world had yet to truly comprehend.

Thor was also the kind of guy who knew he was powerful, knew he was brash, knew he had done detestable things in the past, and yet did nothing to repent for these actions, nor to remedy these characteristics. He turned a blind eye when it suited him, albeit unintentionally, however the extent to which this obliviousness reached was honestly astounding.

The only logical reasoning behind his survival was his brother, and it served as either a testament to the latter's wisdom and aptitude, the former's utter failing in all things cognitive, or the disastrous failings of Asgardr in every way possible.

Thor was(mostly) unaware of this. His flaws went undetected, because no one respectable had ever bothered to point out any problems, and therefore there were none, and his victories were celebrated, even as he continued to use brutality as his primary means. Ruling through bloodshed and wars was as foolish a concept as water was blue- not that a society of imbeciles would be able to refute that statement if it were false.

This was why they needed Loki.

Yet, this prideful, "honorable" venerability, this recklessness disguised as faith, was to be their misfortune and their ruin all at once.

And so it was that for the same reason they needed him, they discarded the trickster without a second thought.

They were too witless to realize how grave a mistake this was, and the catastrophe this specific choice would bring them.

Ah, well. 

The girl sat up in his bed with a frown.

It seemed the brutes had dug their own grave, and were climbing up the ladder to jump into it headfirst.

Emerald eyes glinted with a toxic taint, and she laid back down. Her eyelids didn't flutter as they snapped shut, just closed sharply with no warning.

She wondered how this would all play out, now that there was a new set of pawns in the game.

Her host slept on, and sensitive as she was to magic disruptions, she remained oblivious to the forces at play here. 

Pythia* slipped away again, sinking into the backwaters of her shared mind distastefully.


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Mjölnir hung heavy on the prince's girdle.

Crafted from ores unknown to mankind and shaped by the skilled hands of dwarven metallurgies, and engraved by ancient runes denoting his courage, the cincture was a symbol of Thor's status and wealth. An unneeded one, yes, as only a fool wouldn't recognize Thor, but he wore it with pride nonetheless.

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