December 21, 2017:

Two Asgardians stumble upon a nefarious Dark Elf plot! Ok, maybe they're on a bender and mistake Sloane for one.

Niagara Falls, New York

It's a waterfall.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


Toothbender, Spacegoat of Asgard, has a problem. There is a beautiful cape before it, one of the finest Asgardian workmanship. There is also a beautiful thumb before it. Also of the finest Asgardian workmanship. It makes the right decision, and chooses the thumb that Thor shoved in it's general direction, clamping down as it's hindquarters turned to bright colors of the rainbow.

Atli tackles for the goat, intent on dislodging it's fool mouth from her fool grandfather.


Sound bends away as light and shadow do the same, and the goat takes them all ELSEWHERE. Where is elsewhere? Not very elsewhere at all, it seems. Just up the river. Just a few counties over, give or take twenty.

NIAGRA FALLS looms before them, and bickering should resume. But the view is MIGHTY, a reminder to two heroes why this place called Midgard can seem more like home than any place in the Nine Realms. It is a notion Atli has only learned recently, and so she decides, rather than mock Thor for his riling the goat, or lean into his obvious troubles, she will absorb this view and then absorb something else:

All the alcohol in all the land of NIAGRA.


It is very nearly ten in the morning now, and sleep is for mortals. Last night they found all the places that would play music, serve drinks, and for one night, Atli and Thor could bond over what it was to truly be a God. Mostly, this meant getting absurdly drunk, running three bars and two liquor stores out of anything remotely palatable, and not giving up on the dream - that she will outdrink Thor before night falls again.

But before that happens, they must see this Niagra Falls during the day, and so they are here. Tourists flock the place, and the looks they receive are unending, including many photographs that Atli brings her best smile for, even if she can barely stand, a literal sack full of bottles dragging behind her, another tied to the goat, and a half empty Fosters beer in her hand.

"It is as I said grandfather. This place, it is meant for a mortal sport called surfing, where naked men attempt to grapple waves and succeed only in falling. You see the fall of this place is the biggest, and so many surfers flock here to this cliff. But when they are not showing their pale behinds the view.. reminds me of.. of..this ale tastes of death, grandfather! How could I have ever thought it worthy of Asgard! I AM A FAILURE!"


It is very nearly ten in the morning now, and sleep is for people that work weird hours of the day. Fortunately, Sloane L. Albright has not had to deal with those weird hours all that much just yet, arriving late last night to meet with a local office's team this morning. It would normally be a little weird to send a junior agent off on her own to meet with another team like this, but the situation warrants a slightly different sort of touch:

Evidence, with a little bit of credibility, that there's some kind of weird giant serpent swirling in the water up at Niagra.

And she's the Fish Girl of S.H.I.E.L.D. And, she needs to get a little bit of the heat off her back, after that Bugle story.

So there she is, standing with a crew of field agents that look like they've done this sort of thing much longer than her; the option to go plainclothes allows them to blend in a little better with the locals and the tourists, and as the December chill in New York gets worse, it's good to have a nice, heavy coat on.

Dressed in her training wetsuit and boots, she also wears a large parka with a fluffy collar to keep the worst of the winter's chill off her body. Oddly enough, she doesn't feel it nearly as much as she thought she would— is this also part of the wide bevy of physical changes she was put through?

"I'll check up here. See if the locals are ready to let me go in, and then just … I don't know, have a big bucket of hot water ready, or something, I don't want to die of the chill out here."

Cresting the stairs of one of the many public balconies and all the restaurants and boardwalks and bars that surround the waterfalls, Sloane clicks through a sturdy field tablet and entering data. The sound of rattling bottles and the occasional beer can leads her to stop, to blink, and then just slowly, slowly /look/ at the Goat Man and his Drunk Granddaughter.

"A year ago, that would seem strange," Sloane says to herself, stepping up to stand close to the railing. A few people give her a bit of wide berth, once they give her a better look.


It has been a long night, one long, alcohol soaked one, but with the glory of day upon the Asgardian's one thing has become very clear. "Verily, this land's ale doth taste of arse," the God of Thunder backs up his - supposed, allegedly - granddaughter's claim as he gives a sidelong glance at the bottle in his hands. It sports a leaf upon the label, half picked at, the letters 'MOL' all that remain. He grimaces as a bright flash goes off right near his sensitive eyes, feebly lifting a hand to fend off the person taking a photo of the 'cosplayer with the neat hammer and the hot babe.'

That's his granddaughter! He lifts the bottle threateningly, but the person is gone, lost in a sea of raincoats and rain hats.

"This Realm has not the fortitude for what we drink, but they have spirit - they try, they verily fail, and they verily get back up again.

"It is as if nothing could keep them down."

Yes, that one bar near the border was playing Chumbawamba for entirely too long. The person at the jukebox stopped getting up after the second punch though.

Chuckling at the memory, his vision, those sizzling blue eyes of his, shifts past the bottle in hand and abruptly locks in on the shifting crowd up ahead, near a balcony. He has seen such movement before, countless times.

When an army makes way for their champion, for one silly enough to think they could stand against Mjolnir and Thor!

"Huh," he sounds, free hand reaching out to steady the fiery companion who smells nothing of lilac and gooseberries. "Do my eyes deceive me," Thor begins, scratching at a heavy stubble with two fingers of the beer hand, "or is that a daughter of Svartalfheim in the midst of casting an illusion up there? Years of my brother surprising me have given me a sharp eye for such petty tricks."

He offers the empty bottle to Atli like it was a grand prize, like the hilt of a hammer, or perhaps a box with jewelry in it that he'll snap shut for a delightful gag. It's so he can reach for Mjolnir. "Perchance you could show me just how much of my blood runs in your veins, Goddess of…"

Thor's expression narrows. He's clearly got no idea what Atli's official title is.


He gestures forward instead, pointing right at Sloane!

Someone walking by makes a prompt 'ew, gross,' face at the blood bit.


There is a dead still to her posture as she takes the bottle, lifting it to drink and drink and.. oh there's nothing in it. She promptly passes it back to the Goat, who bites down on it with a furious chomp. Glass shards are it's favorite, it makes his rainbow bridges extra glittery, you see.

"God/ess/ of… Fire .. Lightning..wait. What is this? She has scales where there should only be skin!" There is a grin then, and half a laugh, maniacal and full of mirth that only a GOD could bring. "I wonder how far these scales traverse her tiny body. Thor! Go forth and investigate for all of Asgard, quaff this fish's oil and declare her buttery or tart!"

The laughing dies down at the end though, when she sees Thor pointing, her smile stuck on her face. Much the same way it gets stuck on Thor's face when understanding dawns. "What in Hel's Bell's are you doing?"

It is an eternity that she waits, looking between that hand Sloane, and when nothing apparent happens and Thor's challenge hanging in the air, she pulls her sword from her back, a weapon that soon becomes a spear, extending full.

She leans back. And back. The goat must nudge her to keep her upright. And then she throws!

Waaaaaaaaaaaaay up and over Sloane's head. Way over. And into the water well before the falls.

One can track the course of the spear that aligns with her face falling, a frown drowning the corners of her mouth. Then she reaches for a bottle from her bag. "The wind has robbed me of victory. Curse this wind and it's windy windfulnessh."


Illusions indeed! The ginger-haired, blue-swathed young woman holds up the tablet, clearly taking imagery of worlds beyond the common veil, seeing what cannot and should not be seen, looking for beings and beasts and the serpentine all while calling on—

— the small earpiece hooked around her earlobe. It's something of a custom job; the size of her earlobe and canal make it a bit necessary for S.H.I.E.L.D. to outfit her with a bit more custom gear. Waterproof, too! As that might come in handy in the field, or when…

… weird girls scream, yell, and then hurl a javelin into the sky way, way harder than rightly possible by any /normal/ means. Sloane clicks the field tablet off— making sure it's locked— before tucking it under one arm and starting to walk toward both Thor and Atli. Her fiery orange eyes burn with intent, her scales shimmer with the iridescence of the light and the mists of the water.

"/Excuse me/," she says, not quite realizing who she's addressing, "But littering is not allowed in the park. You can't just throw stuff around and WHY IS THAT GOAT eating a BOTTLE."

To be fair this is the first time she's ever seen a goat in real life.

Sloane cocks her head to one side, a scale-backed finger moving up to her ear. "I don't know, some ginger kid and a big guy with a goat, they're drunk. Should we alert the local police?"

After a moment, her brow creases. She looks over the railing, then at Atli and Thor. "Wait, was that— did you throw a /spear/?"


And 'lo, the granddaughter rises to the challenge! She rises a little too far, as it turns out. The God of Thunder is left to shield his eyes as he watches the spear disappear into the far distance.

"Verily, you blame the wind for that?" Thor says out the side of his mouth, while above the chastising from the apparent Dark Elf begins. It brings a slight tug to those lips of his, downwards, his brow furrowing just a touch as he realizes that they are literally being spoken down to.

He looks back at the goat, the remnants of glass on the floor, and then at Atli. His expression asks a simple question: are we going to take this from an elf?

"Yes, that was a fine spear, once," Thor replies. He shifts, his cape ruffling with his movements, as he slides one foot forward. His right hand moves for the hilt of the hammer that hangs at his waist, a hammer that SHIELD have spent some minor amount of time boggling at before typing slash-shrug in their Hipchat windows and deciding that magic is indeed magic.

And that magic comes into play now, Mjolnir drawn, lifted high. "I know not what you attempt to do this day, Elf, but know that I, a son of Asgard, will protect this realm from whatever… whatever it is you are attempting to do… this day…!"

The words don't flow with heroism. It's not that Odinson is inebriated, per say, it's that by the time he's done talking, Mjolnir is no longer in the air.

It SLAMS down into the ground, the bulky, oversized hammer driving down into the pavers underfoot, shattering several into a small impact crater. A startled grunt rips from Thor's belly as he's drug down with its abrupt weight!

"Oh by Heimdall's balls, not now!"


The look from Thor has her taken quite aback, showing her disdain for his judgement with a scowl in turn. "Of course it was the wind! Magical wind! Dare not judge me Son fo Odin, look well at this scaled witch and tell me you do not see a..a…"

It is about this time that she looks to Sloane, about the time that Thor is fumbling and failing to realize the might of Mjolnir. But she doesn't notice. Not until she almost slips in the crater, her gaze still focused on SOMETHING as it rises from behind Sloane, a great hulking shape of scales and fangs that draws a cacophony of screams and sends tourists scattering.

Behold, Wehrsweirmu, Serpent of Shattered Dreams.

Drool sloughs from it's jagged mouth, green, blazing eyes open to stare from beyond blue scales and the skys overhead begin to fill with black, oily rain.

And there, lodged in it's nose, sticking out at an awkward angle, is a very beautiful spear.

Atli's eyes go wide, and a hand haphazardly reaches out to push on Thor's shoulder, to get his attention, a nervous laugh filling her mouth. "Now now, grandfather. This is no time for a floppy hammer. It…" Her gaze drops to Sloane then, and then shoots back to the serpent. "No..No!! By Odin's Beard, we have threatened it's malformed humanoid offspring and endangered all of Midgard!!

While the Asgardians falter, one weaponless, another… weaponless, there is one who yet still knows what to do. One who has no concept of fear. Literally.

From behind Atli there is the scrape of a hoof, and an onary snort.


Scaled witch?! Elf?! Sloane's brow scrunches, her fanged mouth opening wide. "I'll have you know, I" Son of Odin. /The hammer/. "/Oh/. Look, I'm not"

Everything keeps happening at once, now with the call over her comms tugging her attention back the way she came. "Agent Albright!! We've got something, it's—"

Wehrsweirmu, Serpent of Shattered Dreams.

"Clear the area!! Go! Go, go, go—"

SHIELD agents and civilians scatter; the local cops and the falls security teams hurrying to ferry people to shelter and as far from the water as possible; Sloane herself turns around and unzips the coat, throwing it to the ground and tossing the tablet atop it. Atli's question is at least partially answered— full sleeves cover her arms to mid-bicep, but exposed shoulders and upper arms are covered in broad swaths of iridescent blue scales.

Sloane's hands lift. Though the winter usually sucks for dry air and cold, the sheer amount of mist and water thick in the air make it just as easy as normal for her to form a sphere of water between her hands, trying her best to compress it into a tight little ball. "Front page again," Sloane mutters to herself. The Agent of SHIELD runs up the steps— toward the Asgardians— looking to get herself closer to the serpent's risen head and then thrust out the compressed sphere of water as though she's firing a pressurized jet at the creature.

"I just want ONE normal week!!"


As the Son of Odin struggles under the weight of a hammer that abruptly wants little to do with him, events shift. What was looking to be a couple of dicks hammering some poor chick - that's certainly one way to describe this scene - turns into something else entirely as a serpent emerges from the falls.

Thor's head lifts at Atli's prodding, and he sees what's going on beyond Sloane, beyond what are apparently a number of agents of SHIELD.

He releases Mjolnir's haft, reaches into Atli's bag, and pulls out a bottle of brown. As a ball of water manifests and goes shooting towards the head of the Serpent, the Odinson does what he does best. He drinks.

Then he spits it all back up in a big ol' haze that will encompass the lot of them.

"Did your Spear know that was in there? What enchantment is on that weapon?" he inquires of Atli, giving his granddaughter a very paternal frown — as he knocks back the rest of the bottle. His lips form the frown around the rim of the glass. That's good parenting.

His expression contorts in disgust as the full taste hits him, and he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, let me be a good grandfather for once, and then we can deal with this magic elf and her scales." He says that as if Sloane weren't standing /right there/ which of course she is!

Littering again, the Odinson starts forward, cape billowing out behind him as he lopes towards the edge of the overlook. Gaining just enough momentum, he LEAPS forward, arms pinwheeling as his figure grows tiny as it disappears into the distance towards the Serpent.

While Mjolnir may fail him, his legs do not. He slams into the side of the beast, clambering up to the head as it bucks to and fro, attempting to dislodge the rider.

The moment continues on, grunts and howls coming from Thor as he's flopped about upon this bronco of a beast, until he finally makes it up to Wehrsweirmu's head.


A very distant shout, lower case deliberate, against the roar of both beast and waterfall.

The spear is hoisted free, and thrown up into the air, arcing back towards the gathering of Agent and Asgardian, for Atli to make use of.

Again, another snort, another scrape of a hoof, rainbow energy lighting up behind Atli. She ignores it all. Why?

There, in the eyes of a Daughter of Asgard, is awe. It is one thing to hear stories of her Grandfather's youth, and it was another to see him leap headlong into the fray, weapon or not, cape trailing behind him where he will surely land a killing blow! But he does not. Certainly, Thor is but toying with the creature, and Atli thrusts her fist to the sky when Thor dominates it's head with his Godly ass, and then pulls the spear from it for what is certain a killing blow!

And then he throws the spear back her way.

Dumbfounded, wide-eyed, Atli stares on with incredulity. "IT IS JARNBJORN YOU FULL! IT CAN CUT ANYTHING! WHY NOT SIMPLY KILL THE BE-"

In half a fury she whirls around to do just that, to pick up her spear and go charging into the fray.

Unfortunately she finds Toothbender has been speared.

Right through the head and chest.

His lower jaw hangs agape, legs flailing, a mess of blood and gore spraying everywhere as his little goatly life drains away, culminating with an eyeball sliding up along the haft as the rest of the goat slumps to the ground.


She screams. She screams for vengeance. FOR GLORY. With a heave she pulls Jarnbjorn, Reforged from the ground and leaps into the fray, orange lightning gathering around her and fire raining from the sky as she trails death at her enemy!

Who promptly bats her aside with the lash of it's tail, sending her spiraling off over the edge of the falls and into the oblivion below.

This is it. The end for them all. For Midgard. The water below has turned black, as has the rain, an oily substance meant to destroy the world.

"I am Wehrsweirmu, Destroyer of Dreams, The Coming Tide, The Flayer of So-ghulbulbublbmffff!!!"

Very suddenly, it's mouth is filled by water. Pure, unfouled water that Sloane has gathered between her hands and sent in a terrible jet towards this creature from the Dream Realm. It screams and screams as it's scales turn from blue to black and seem to slough away, revealing vulnerable skin and muscle beneath, skin and muscle Thor can get a steadying grip on, even as the creature thrashes in burning, unbelievable pain.



There's chaos, water, and ichor-like waves. Sloane's reaction is a mixture of amazement and confusion, awe and worry, and a little bit of fear. The whole 'giant water dragon' thing didn't come up in this report— and really, I mean, who would have thought that /this/ of all things would have been a legitimately credible report?

Sloane jumps back a step as goat gore splatters the balcony; she looks down at her feet where a bit of the dead beast sticks to the low platform heel to the custom wetsuit's boot, kicking it away and trying her absolute best to not throw up.

Still, her attack seems to have done something— though this leads to the weird redhead girl plunging toward the darkening water. Atli is sent into the depths, and for a moment, the whole 'oh no there are big turbines under the falls' thing clicks into the back of her mind. She /read/ the tourist brouchure, you know!

Water. It's still water at the bottom, right? But she's down there, and this thing is right there, and— and—

Sloane takes a few steps back, shakes out her hands, blows out a breath, and then runs to the balcony ledge. The Inhuman leaps, springing into the air as the terror of plunge starts to set in. No— don't think of that. It's water. It's dark, and gross, but it's water.

Try to rescue the idiot drunk girl, get back out of the water— the lower balconies should be clear, right?

Water breaks across her palms, hands turned downward in a perfect dive before she spears straight into the darkened water. There's a whole lot of Wheresweirmu down here, but Sloane has something of a homefield advantage down here: Her hearing sharpens, her pupils widen out to draw in more light, and by god she's got a lot of lung capacity— and swims at a breakneck speed to try to chase Atli down under the waves.


There's a definite moment there, as the roar of agony rips out of Atli at the apparent death of her goat. "you were supposed to catch it!" comes the less than helpful response from Thor, Son of Asgard. He watches as his granddaughter attempts to bring the fury, only to be knocked aside like so much unbelievable butter.

For a moment he considers making the plunge after Atli, yet as Wehrsweirmu bucks and bellows, he faintly sees the elf make the leap herself. He spends a moment to watch. "I do not recall dark elves having such great affinity for water," he notes, to no one in particular.

His brow furrows, frustration plain. "By the nine rings of Surtur's crooked helmet, I have truly had it up to here with all of this," the Asgardian growls the words out, right near the Destroyer of Dreams' ears. It's like he's whispering sweet nothings, if they were made of gravel, and had a heavy scent of bad beer and stale pretzels.

Muscles bulge as sizeable hands seek out the exposed skin and muscle. He begins to punch, delivering a quick succession of strikes. He is bucked up into the air, slick, soaked cape slapping about as he spirals, only to right himself and plunge back down, fist first. Skin bruises, cracks, bleeds. Muscles rip, tear.

A serpent will squeal, if it's the last thing Thor does this day.

He grabs ahold of something that resembles a facial tentacle, and his hand rears back, clenched, poised to strike.

"You have truly picked the wrong day to make your presence known, serpent! I am Thor, Son of Asgard, and I am - kindly - requesting that my hammer - please! - come to me."

The hand opens. Mjolnir heaves out of the pavement it had fallen, sending more of Toothbender's body parts scattering. Someone vomits. The Hammer flies.

"— just one moment, this can take a moment —"

Hammer will meet hand, and then hammer will meat face.

Get it, get it?!


A hoof twitches. The goat gets it.

Somewhere below, Sloane will find Atli.. right when she gets sucked into a turbine. That poor, poor turbine. There is an explosion below, a loud ripping sound, and she's send spiraling back outward to crash into rocks not far from where the Fish Girl made her dive. The spear impacts rock too, and sticks out, as if marking her final resting place. Will no one drag this immensely heavy Asgardian girl from the sea?!

Well, at least it becomes easier to see, because Thor, Son of Odin finally gets it up.

The hammer that is. Flesh is already bruised and broken, and the serpent is trying to say the words 'I surrender' somewhere in there, but it just comes out as I WILL SUNDER. Then hammer does indeed meat face, blasting the creature's skull open with a thunderous crack that sends it, suddenly, falling like so much water.

Because it is indeed water. A black ichorous stuff that falls as a cloud, Dreamstuff, to be exact, which diludes into… nothing at all. You see, one cannot really find Wehrsweirmu. One can only conceptualize Wehrsweirmu might be. It is a difficult thing to be a celestial Where's Waldo.

Without ceremony, Thor of Asgard will be dropped to the now clear water below. Unless Mjolnir will allow for some flying. Who knows with such tempermental hammers these days! But do not worry. There is a happy ending to this story. A bottle of Grey Goose has survived all of this, and sits upright, next to Toothbender's somewhat smeared grey matter.


She swims, swims, and — oh no.

Atli is sucked in, and Sloane uses her hydrokinesis to actually push the water and stop herself dead before the pull of the water becomes strong enough to grab her, too. Briefly horrified, it isn't until the ear-splitting explosion under the waves followed by the shockwave that rips through her. Atli's ejected through the water at speeds higher than she would have expected.

Shaking her head, knocking the cobwebs loose, Sloane changes directions through the water and swims like a bolt toward the ginger Asgardian of the future. The power of Mjollnir strikes true against the mysterious dark serpent; as Sloane gets to the unconscious Asgardian, she hooks an arm around the girl's waist and looks around, blown-out pupils adjusting from the near-darkness to clearer light in the water.

Breaking surface with the alien in tow, Sloane channels her powers and uses them to push herself and the waterlogged Alti into the air, catching a hand on the balcony railing and dragging the admittedly heavy girl over the rail before flopping down on her backside.

Her eyes haven't yet adjusted to being in the cold air, either, so her pupils look massive with fiery orange edging— the whole thing looks a little weird.

"Okay," the Agent says, pressing her fingers to her earplug, "I know I'm new but can someone please explain what the hell just happened?"


Mjolnir strikes, and Thor does not fly away majestically. With the available purchase gone, he does the expected thing - he takes a much-needed, at this point, bath. It isn't long after Sloane pulls off the rescue that another heavy figure breaches the surface, the Asgardian Prince leaping clear of the water.

He catches his leg on the railing, and tumbles over the top.

He rolls through, into a crouch, Mjolnir held at the ready.

Then he rises, and looks around.

Did he just pretend that he meant to do that so it didn't look like he clumsily smashed into the railing, leaving a sizeable dent in it? Hey, that's slander, how dare you!

Exiting this apparent battle readiness, he leans the Hammer over one shoulder, eyeing the nearby chunks of goat. "That was Wehrsweirmu, Slayer of Souls, Reaper of Dreams, blah, blah, blah," he makes a talk motion with his free hand. "I had not expected to meet him this day, so perhaps the Fates are yet toying with us all.

"Damn hags."

Speaking of, he turns his attention to Atli, and then properly to Sloane. The hammer shifts on his shoulder, restless. "You are no elf," he states the obvious, though he does seem to be inspecting her ears to see how accurate that statement truly was. "Are you a mermaid? I have not seen one in many years."


"Wah!" And then a hork, as Atli comes too, spitting up water and then shaking out that absurdly red hair of hers. There is a tumbling of sorts as she turns over, looking all around for SOMETHING.

"Stupid spear, stupid serpent! FOOLISH CRE.." She frowns then, upon seeing Sloane in her.. wide eye'd state, and at Thor's proclamation of vanquishing the beast, she seethes. "Thor! Careful your words, that was mother to this poor thing. Do not worry, serpentling. If you have not yet been weened, Thor will nurse you. His milk can cure any ailment, or so he told us. Once when he was very drunk, and when we were busy washing him, grandfather spun his tale that he once nursed a Parmesanian Soup Drinker back to health. A nasty creature, but part of a long quest that involved the Shieldmaiden of Asgard, Steven Rogers, and.. several others."

Distracted, it seems, by the bottle still upright, Atli pulls herself from her rant and claps Sloane on the back. "It is good that you have redeemed yourself or you might yet suffer the fate of.. Weirmugoo, or whatnot. Ah yes. It.. Toothbender. Poor fool. Worry not, I shall bury you soon enough, and you will be right tomorrow. THOR!"

She whirls, and lightning strikes, a flash bright and orange and fiery, and it incinerates what's left of the goat, all but the bones, and leaves her spear behind. She tosses the bottle Thor's way, a gift for the victor.

"Let us take our new mer-ward..creature to test if is weened, the best of which ways is to find pancakes, as is proper Midgardian ritual."

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