January 01, 2018:

Amora intends to go out and celebrate Hogmanay with the fellow Asgardian's she can get in touch with. Krampus isn't done quite yet and anger runs apparently high in Asgardian women.

Brooklyn - New York

All in RP.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The strip is aligned this night with flashing lights, Amora has let go of the Myrkr for the celebration in Midgard of Hogmanay, and who else would Amora invite out for such a festivity?

A fallen Valkyrie, akin to her very soul, but recently there is an 'alliance', on that has even drawn eyes into a split of visions, fingertips rapping at temples before her lips whisper Syn's /name/, the palm splaying over the puddle in Brooklyn to shatter a salted/melted puddle into a scrying pool.

Pedestrians tossed the rag-laden hobo woman 'drinking from the gutter' money in drunken passing, the bills gathered in fingers while she rises from hunched to…

The 'Shroud of Illusion is shrugged from shoulders left bare save the lower cresting of fur that dips betwixt bosom, is corset laced over plexus despite low placement and splays over hips that bear a skirt of similar 'scant', held to dangerous curvature by that of laces, tipped in tufts of that fur, slapping along thigh in every step upon stilettos.

Green and gold - not the poor 'wretch' once thought as her call to those of Asgard and knowledge is put out.

"Come on, this is too good to pass up." Stated under the roll of a shoulder that still bares the scarring of a marking fading to a pink upon Scandinavian pale flesh.

Syn's been… well, there was the ritual in the park, and a couple of fights with Krampus. Neither of which she came out the best of, and while for many that might be reason for concern or paranoia, at the end of the day for Syn what's going to happen, will happen, and seeing as she still has body and soul intact. Hogmanay may have changed over the centuries, but still, it's an excuse to drink, the welcoming of a new year, and the former Valkyrie has been quite content to spend it in revelry.

She's not difficult to spot in the mental scape, she's found people, and a bonfire. Those that fancy themselves heir to certain heritages an amusement unto themselves, but at least people who don't question the inclusion of the tall blond in fur and leather.

Her usual leather top has been replaced by a black tee reading 'Straight Outta Valhalla' won in an arm wrestling competition, and presently she lounges, watching with amusement as the humans challenge themselves to jump the pyre. The stirring of her can no doubt be felt, that slight pang of sobriety at the first assumption that perhaps there's battle to be had.

The 'Hobo', rises and with every step through Brooklyn has an echo-residual feel sent outward in a -quake- that will call to all those of Nordic, Viking, Scaldii' lineage towards a pyre…

I can hear it drumming…

FDingers splay and extensions are no longer present, the dyed green hide of attire split like a battle over pale grounds with every step Amora tales that has the 'ragged' cloak shedding from her figure -
tracers of Brooklyn align around her in the fast pace, brought to a stand-still in the splay of fingers before her form Ghosts, between bodies and she is staring through flames…

A start of predatorial reflective gaze and ending in an emerald, slitted in amusement while the Midgardian's Syn has found attempt a rebirth/ a recalling

I can feel it calling…

"Let them…" A predatorial skirting of the pyre towards Syn, Amora is not Helen, not now, not anymore, not to Her, the Valkyrie knows better, the height one towering, the pressure of Asgardian Physique against hide and sinew one she knows well, even if the attire is more befitting of a "Helen".

Privacy in this 'ritual' beholden to the Midgardian's is a thing that erects a Valkyrie(fallen), and draws the attentiveness of Amora in its power, denying her the streets of Brooklyn and its 'Party'.

There's the tilt of Syn's head when the emerald sorceress appears, for all that her head is propped up on the shaven side by the ball of a fist leant on a table. By comparison, she's less concerned about Amora's appearance than some of the others lurking around and probably it shows that after a scan of the space behind Amora and her general attire that the valkyrie offers an absent wave of her mead by way of greeting.

"A thousand years on, and some of them still find scraps of the way things used to be. The mead's weaker than it used to be, though." she offers with some amusement,"If you're hear to tell me about Krampus being loose, though… I am already aware. Summoned by a Greek, even."

Far, far away, on the other side of New York, Mattias Larsson hears the call. Siege, by name and callsign, lifts his head up from a rooftop. Caught in one of his patrols, seeking out the signs of Malekith's passing, he lifts his nostrils to the frozen wind and sniffs, grinning past the cloud of foggy breath. He, too, feels the call to the pyre, and with no sign nor hint of Malekith, his hours of vigil can be set aside.

In a flash of smoke and fire, Mattias disappears. Ten times, the rupture of smoke and flame dots the skyline of New York city until its last burst above the pyre sends his body sliding across the brittle, snow-chilled grass in a slide.

Bit by bit, Mattias is shedding the image of a man of Midgard. His leather jacket is open, baring his muscular chest naked beneath the leather worked over with magic and the scent of kraken's blood and bear's leather. It looks Midgardian, but the additions are otherworldly, much like the bracer of fur about his forearm and the double-headed axe gripped in one hand, far too heavy an item for many of Midgard to hold. With braids and bone trinkets dangling in his blonde hair, he slides to a stop, shedding frost from his blue jeans and his boots made of wolfen hide. He's in a mid-grade process. Give it another decade and he'll fit in less.

And Syn and Amora are the first he looks to, with curious blue eyes wreathed in a constant state of battle-lust.

"Well…well…well…" Mattias smirks wryly. "Are you two to duel? SOMEONE FETCH ME A CHAIR and a DRINK!" Mattias yells to the others about.

Pale brow lofts at the mention of Krampus. Hel's Son? But her smile is one of Cheshire proportion, teeth flash beyond lips stained and umbral of a deep mossy hue, the tilt oif her head drawing braids to clatter tethers over her collar in their fall.

"No, this is Hogmanay, the Yule has passed, and Krampus will have words with…" A pause, a rumble across the ether in arrival of Mattias, a 'Bridge' gapped and the call for 'The Blood' one that draws Anora to a statue still adjascent to Syn, her shirt read in its 'faux' runic script, causing tongue to press behind teeth in her grin.

"How bad is he, this time?" A drop of tongue in a passing *click*, but.. "How 'Straight Out of Valhalla?" A flare of nostrils and the Flask she has once proffered is drawn again, contents swishing within, promising a potent beyond this Realm.

Mattias' bellow finds those of Midgard moving, but the drink… A draw of thumb undoes the lid.

"Duel?" A look to Syn. "We are not of the same familiar forms of battle…" But /something/ sparks behind Amora's eyes once again, drawing her smile to a line.
Syn's even less surprised by the arrival of Mattias, at least, to judge from the way she leans to look over his way at the call out with only vague amusement. She's no leader of these re-enactors, and doesn't appear inclined to interfere one way or another in their reaction to the demand,"I'm surprised that you hadn't heard. He was summoned by a Greek witch… I didn't get her name, but he's still loose, in Midgard. He's been bolstered by the ritual and has been…" she settles upright to swirl her mead about,"well, about how he usually is." there's a tight kind of smile at it's contents.

The question draws her attention up with a bark of laughter,"It's a saying, evidently… something akin to born of. Though I liked the look of it and felt it more appropriate on me than its owner."

Trust not the former Valkyrie's smile, that light in her eyes, she's at least far enough from completely sober not to entirely trust her own tongue, but it's unlikely if pressed that she'd refute a good fight.

Where a Midgardian found a La-Z-Boy, Mattias could only guess, but a pair of drunken revelers carry one over behind the blonde berserker. Eyes feigning a childish blend of surprise and amusement, he plants his axe against the snow and drops into the chair. He rocks the old, leather chair back and forth, arms upon the armrests, and a red SOLO cup is shoved into his hands by another faceless nobody.

"Straight Outta Compton-" Mattias clips in his Asgardian accent. "-A crazy motherfokker named Ice Cube." Dropping the lyrics into his SOLO cup, Mattias dips his nose to sniff at the harsh vodka, which is practically water to his senses, so he drinks it like water.

"So what is this ritual?" Unknowingly, Mattias shows his lack of understanding. "Are we summoning Krampus for a beating? A reverse Krampus? Who Krapmuses the Krampus?" Mattias yells out to the two women with a bit of grit to his toothy sneer. "Or is this like all other good holidays? Drink until people start punching each other and then drag others off to beds?" His hand SLAPS down on the leather, and with a knowing grin, a grin borne of knowing what such a gesture will do, he motions to the two women.

"Entertain Mattias of Gothenburg. And please, someone…give me a real drink."

Shall we…?

A look towards Syn gives enough of a hint with the *tic* of a corner of her lips, a flash of teeth as mugs are SLAMMED forth into a Rite of greet and Kithen….

But one finds its way back to Matti after the flask touches rims and the contents are emptied between the casks and that of….

Lips touch the end and the 'wrapped' covered flask is tossed Syn's way while Mattias is delivered is massive Mug of mead laced with Asgardian Potent.

"Hogmanay. The Asgards conquered the Scots, with held them for centuries where Yule was but a whisper… And once libation came… They took Our name and burned…"

A grin as Amora's gaze flashes an iridescent emerald from Matti to Syn.

"Our Heathen Ships at Port." A laugh, dry through the smoke of the pyre.

"But still took our name, akin to the Norn, Voluspa…"

Fate, the Weaver of Life, Tales, Truth in such… A draw of the flask as Amora is stepping back, straightening with a roll of shoulders beneath split fabric where /Ulfr/ fur peeks at seams, akin to the metallic click of heels meeting the round of the Pyre.

"Cold enough, what if Ice/d/ Cubes?" A rock of head and she looks towards Mattias when the flash is ushered in a 'round for the triad, the Midgardian's under a new thrall as Syn is gifted the *flick* of fingers that upends her seat in a cracked thrust of foundation.

Amora grins, it narrows her eyes…

"The Norse. I doubt there was many of us left, then." Syn opines, the hooded look she casts Mattias' way speaking volumes as to the likelihood of the former Valkyrie responding to the demand. She's sober enough, that when the flask is tossed she reaches out to catch it lazily, from her expression having no idea about Ice Cube or Compton despite wearing the tee. She's content where she is for now…

Or /was/, until there's that crack. Not sober enough to not be caught by it, but at least so to get her feet under her rather than land on her ass, even if in the process she has to choose which drink she's going to keep and which is going to end up all over the poor drunk guy that had been sitting at the opposite side of her impromptu 'table'.

This, of course, causes them to awaken and stumble to their feet with a drunken roar, and with a sigh Syn reaches out to plant a hand on his chest and provide a nice firm push. Just enough to put him on his ass and let him know that no matter how startled and annoyed… and drunk… he might be, that it's best not to follow through with the impulse to fight.

When both women look to Mattias, it's with a mug in his hand and a smug lift of his shoulders their way. Eyes hooded in his own non-apology, he flicks the red SOLO cup to the side, bouncing it off of a drunk's head, and salutes them with his newly pilfered mug of Asgardian-laced mead. Sorry? Never, not even with Amora upending the former Valkyrie. It's been quite a while since he partied with Asgardian's, and then…he was punching in the faces of two-dozen men in a sweltering mead hall.

"They had enough sons and daughters to still fill up the whole of where I once lived!" Mattias laughs, tipping back the mug to his lips for a heavy pull of the drink. Wiping his lips with his forearm, he claps his foot down on the ground to signal his approval of Amora's cheap shot to Syn. "Enough to stay alive, enough that this shirt you wear has some kind of meaning." Mattias adds, then pushes to his feet.

The reclining chair wobbles as his weight leaves it. Gripping his axe in one hand, he throws it over his shoulder and strides towards the fire, looking to Amora as he walks.

"Hah. Well done." Mattias sneers with a wink. "I will explain Iced Cubes and Iced Tees and all of that to you both on another day, but on this day…" Mattias stops before the flames. "…if you two are not to fight, summon me a challenge and I shall."

"By all means…" The Underbelly of vocals bellows from the heart of the flames, tails licking into a hook-clawed grip that heads towards a chest barely covered in the tufts of fur that archs around a honed chest while a cloven hoof sprays sparks upwards around a cloven hoof landed between the trio!

"You have a Past.." A bare of vertically slitted pupii towards Mattias from the GoatHeaded figure of Krampus as he emerges, the chains dragging from hocks…

A skim of eyes that are Goat-Kin, and yet upon a head too massive to 'belong'… The Horns nearly scraping the Hevens, while hooves burrow towards 'Hel'. Syn. "A Present." A lift of clawed phalanges and the lantern grasped drops to spread a further fire!

Amora is reaching outward, that flask passed 'called' for lining a silver-streak towards her hand, but even before the offering can be lain for the Entity. "Yet to Come." A snort that of a bull while head bows and horns rake from Hevens towards the challenge of Mattias.
"…I accept!" Even though the surrounding celebration has silenced, that scrape over /earth/, the bellow of challenge//

… It's consuming as a dying pyre regains its light in his charge!

"Fokk you, Valk, this is on you." The flask has met Amora's hand, she sips while glaring towards her own 'foe'.

Round 2!

The grunt from Syn reserves comment as she elects to unscrew the flask with her attention largely on Amora, not terribly concerned about the fire until a certain horned figure starts to emerge. Wow, that's about as effective as being doused in ice water. There's no fighting the sudden reclamation of the flask, she doesn't want it anymore. In fact what she utters under her breath isn't suitable for any kind of ears, probably learnt who knows how long ago from an Einherjar. She turns to snag her sword from where it is and points it in Amora's direction,"On yourself, witch. I warned you he was here." she snarls, buying herself a second by allowing Mattias to go in first, certainly, but also to allow herself to form the mental image and nick her arm again to summon a barrier around Hel's son, not that it's done her much good the last couple of times, but that at least maybe it will give the smart one's a chance to run.

Perhaps Mattias hasn't quite gathered the severity of the situation, or perhaps with a mug of mead in one hand and an axe in the other — backed by the scantily clad blonde witch behind him — he isn't so worried about the goat-headed monstrosity coming out of the flames before him. While Krampus makes his presence known, his voice rumbling so deeply that the bass-notes rattle the ground at his feet, Mattias tips the mug back to his lips.

The more Krampus rises to a taller height, the more Mattias pulls his head backwards, looking up…up…and up to the goat-headed creature of legend.

Mattias' hair flings from his face with Krampus' bellowed snort. Oddly enough, the warm wind feels nice. If only the fetid breath of devoured children wasn't staining his breath.

"Excellent, Krampus." Mattias says after he swallows, glancing slowly over his shoulder to Syn and Amora, each of them getting a flat look from his eyes and a mote of amusement at the edge of his mouth. "Understand that you, too, have a past…"

Mattias throws the mug across the snow. He takes a step back, tossing the axe from his left hand and into his right, flexing it in his grip. "…and a present."

Mattias Larsson shrugs out of his leather jacket. Treating it with care, he peels his scarred shoulders out of the leather and throws it into one of the Midgardians, pointing with the axe towards the La-Z-Boy where he must put it.

"Steal that and I send this goat-horned beast to appear out of the next condom you wear." Mattias grins to the mortal, then turns to blast his own snort of heated air towards Krampus.

"Now…I left out future for good reason, good Krampus, because this switch…" Mattias pats his axe. "Is Sigrnir, and I am Mattias of Gothenburg and tonight…you get spanked."

With that…
…Mattias throws a punch at Krampus' nose.

Amora has a moment of pause in her approach towards the Valkyrie, Syn, her fingers curled into a clutch that summons a golden light while the woman leaps and casts her own 'Shield'!

But not one meant to stop Amora, the Witch of Asgard, The Goddess…. It is around Krampus who has lowered his horns upon Mattias' calling and trees surrounding them fall as if Ra(k)ped from roots into an Elysium Field, the billows of snow-smoke a massive plume along the backdrop while his fogged breathe is a thing of HelsBreath and Decay from youth and Chyld upon Mattias while the Coat of Ber is shed aside and summons a rage to pin-dot vertically slanted pupii!

~"You… Should not… "~!!
The charge of Krampus is one that lowers his massive head, framing the descendancy of the turf behind them, rained down like…

Hellfire and Brimstone!

Despite the snow the Pyre splays around their feet and when horns straddle the figure of Mattias, his fist slams into equine-kin maw!!

Syn's barrier only does so much, but it saves Mattias of Gothenburg massive impact in the collision course of Insult to Injury…

A thing Amora has, setting her jaw when Syn denies her a battle of affront towards Hel-Kin. "Goddess!" A pause as her upper body twists to face the assault of the Krampus upon Mattias and Syn, a pitch that drops he golden globe of 'Force towards a heeled foot into a side-winding kick towards Krampus like he was a goal meant for /Futbol/. A redirection from Syn towards Krampus as horns penetrate….

The leather coat of /ber/ lain upon the La-Z-Boy with awe and tender care as a sudden fight births and the span of departing souls is one like fireflies to a neon-barred fixture.

J'onn has been on patrol for the Son of Hel, Krampus, since his first meeting with him when he helped Syn track and confront him. That battle ended in the Krampus' escape, but not unscathed at the time. Now that he knows the unique terror the creature instills in Humanity, the Martian has been looking for that, and may have just found it…

As he closes the distance to the disturbance there are two mental signatures that he is familiar with, which further makes him believe he is in the right place, and so J'onn reaches out to both Amora and Syn. «Greetings Ladies, am I in the right place for another Krampus sighting?» He provides them both a mental image of where he's flying above the City, eyesight zooming in through Clouds and Buildings, in an attempt to locate them «I will land, hopefully draw his attention, as he was not pleased with our last confrontation. Then we will see if we can stomp his rampage together.»

Once J'onn is sure where the fight is taking place, with another he hasn't met yet, he soars down at inhuman speeds but sends a mental query to Syn «Another Barrier?» and shows Syn his approach path so she knows When and Where he is coming into the battle.

Syn's at least sober enough… or maybe that's drunk enough, that reflexively she reaches out for the mind of a certain Martian as she wills the invisible barrier in to place to keep Krampus, and the other Asgardians, separate from the mortals. It's not the first time she's had a run in with the son of Hel in the last couple of weeks, and at the youth's boastful words she can't help but snort.

A breath in, a breath out, and the sword lazily spun as she lets it leave her hand briefly and snags it to check her calibration. She's not in haste, not at all, in that 'Straight outta Valhalla' tee, absent her shield but sword in hand she twists her neck and settles herself for a moment, drawing in her focus.

A punch is thrown, and she digs into the snowy earth before pushing off, a long-legged lope to come up on his left to take advantage of Mattias' distraction so that she can try to come up and stab him in the side.

There's some cheering.. confused, cheering, after all, fight! Krampus? Wait… maybe this isn't just some troupe that have invaded their group. Most of them can't even detect the barrier that separates the two, for all that one drunkenly manages to walk into its outside as the reality of things starts settling in. The sober one's can probably be told by the speed with which they decide that they definition don't want to find out what's about to happen and take off in the opposite direction.

The drunkest, on the other hand, probably evident in the roar of cheers and the brandishing of weapons that were far from forged in stars and prepared for real battle. Those in between, the undecided, snuffed by Amora. Syn's mind is too on her own approach to mount protest for now, the barrier winking out to allow entrance… well, for Amora, and J'onn, at least, but the former Valkyrie is… less concerned about crazed would-be viking berserkers joining in the fray than maybe she ought to be.

Mattias learns the hard way that Krampus…is really fucking strong. His fist SLAMS into the wet, fleshy nose of Krampus but a second before the weighted force of the monster catches him between the horns and bashes his body upwards. The worst of it blocked by the care of Syn is what keeps it in the realm of /pain/ and not broken bones. Mattias' body is collected by Krampus' head and lifted from the ground, feet dangling, as the Asgardian wraps an arm around the horn and hangs on. If not for his grip, he'd have been thrown through the air…or worse.

"You fokkin' ugly wretch!" Mattias snarls out into Krampus' eyes, grimacing his teeth into a war face of defiance for the son of Hel. "I've faced stronger beasts in the Mosh Pits of Cannibal Corpse!" Someone, somewhere, is consulting a tome to see if anywhere in the Nine Realms is there such a place, but it's a concert…in Gothenburg…three years ago.

With a bellowing roar, Mattias' back muscles flex around the scar tissue on his shoulder. Waves of muscle bend and peel straightening his spine. His arm comes up and the elbow of his right hand comes down between the eyes of Krampus, holding off on using the axe for the visceral FUN that comes from punching a monster in the face-meats.

"YOU SEE NOW?" Mattias yells out about the others. He lifts his fist and twists the fingers into a pair of metal horns for Syn, Amora, and the mortals to view. Though he's in pain, he gives them all a gleeful grin. "THE PARTY DOES NOT START UNTIL MATTIAS OF GOTHENBURG ARRIVES! This bitch of a bull is going to…"

Krampus whips his head violently, and Mattias of Gothenburg, the Berserker, the PARTY STARTER…flies out into a nearby dumpster and crumples it in half when his body BONNNNNGGS into it.

The twist of spine leaves exposure to show in te wrench of body as metal-clad heel meets the primordial ball of Golden Light she has formed and sends it into 'Goal' …

… By the beating of drums,
…we do what must be done!

The Enchantress rises then after her kick, the ground a maelstrom beneath her feet when J'onn comes in and makes his presence known. A blink to blo—- No….

Mattias and Krampus collide!

The veil between them All is peeled away to allow Mattias a resonation of J'onn's voice before his triumphant claim is met with a flight!

Midgardian's around them scatter back, a splay of fanfare while torches are taken up in fists and thrust, one of the bearers lifting to "lighten the blow' of Mattias' impact if possible! The torch a streak of pivoting light around his body as Krampus pivots upon cloven hoof to about-face Syn, J'onn, and Amora.

~"Your dare,
~ As Syn's guard has thwarted one blow, despite the trampled folly of Midgardian beneath cloven hooves before he charges.

Amora pauses over the torch and lofts it before it ever hits the ground, watching the place of Mattias' rest - for now…

"Get up, My Ber…" A toss of the flame of 'Pitchfork towards J'onn and Syn, a flame gone cold in hue, red to -green- in hue upon pivot.

Syn's approach inspires a new distraction, In Flames by the backing of J'onn - prior opposition. A distraction in His charge while the dumpster grinds wheels across the asphalt behind Amora, The Enchantress, spires of horns not just a decor upon the circlet embedded within furrowed brow.

Horns sweep towards joints of lower, upward towards 'Spacial' presence despite earth cracking beneath cloven hooves and his path!

Blast, he's quicker, or Syn's drunken than she'd like. She see's Mattias go flying and knows better than to try and meet that charge, for all that it might seem at first like she plans on doing just that. She's also been caught by that prehensile tail, so she skips going low, also.

She knows J'onn's behind her, can feel Amora's magic out there too and so for her it's about setting him up. The leap at the last moment digs divots from the ground, to raise herself up and allow his charge to pass her, specifically so she can drop on him from behind, to pull back his horns and plant her feet in his back, well aware that it's not a position that she'll be able to hold for long, but hoping it will give J'onn and Amora a window of opportunity behind her.

J'onn blurs, his mass and height growing to look the Son of Hel in the eyes, and the red eyes of the Martian gleam in response to the challenge ahead. "Krampus. The creating of Chaos and Mayhem is at an end." his voice carries out across the gathering of Gods and Mortals. "No more Death. No more Maiming. No more Eating."

The dirt and snow around J'onn swirls as he flies into the Beasts path, but at the same time he pushes a mental urging for the Humans to find shelter. The battle they are about to see between the Martian and the Gods and Goddesses is not for the faint of Heart or the fragile of Body. Their place is away from here, and out of the line of fire.

Similar to before, J'onn aims a blow at the Krampus' stomach and then his jaw, the motion hardly seen by even the swiftest of eyes, and carrying the weight of a mountain behind them. J'onn' skin, hardened to the toughest substances on Earth, has no give in it when it connects.

Plowing through bystanding Midgardians, Mattias disappears into the shadows caused by the fold in the dumpster. A groan cries out over the crowd at the ferocity of the impact that pillows the Asgardian into the twisted steel with but an axe-head sticking out of the top of the pile.

While Amora bids for him to rise from the heap of metal, the axe waves left and right, working at the metal to find a way out. After finding it rather futile, the dumpster *coughs* smoke and flame, and half a second later, another eruption of fire dumps Mattias out before the dumpster, with the haft of his axe dropping into a two handed grip.

"As my Bruni wishes." Mattias' playful arrogance and smile? Gone. Replacing it now are a heavily lowered pair of brows and a baleful stare that halfway meets the eyes of Amora and the visage of Krampus before him. His blue eyes narrow to slits that sway his gaze towards Amora's shoulder, a thought coming to his mind. "Will my Bruni grace her Ber with a burst of speed?"

With a brush of his fingertips against an emerald pendant dangling from his neck, Mattias takes forward at a sprint. Powerful legs churn up the snow at his feet as he pounds them into the ground, propelling his body in his own charge towards Krampus with his axe held above his head in a two-handed grip.

"Green Man! Valkyrie!" Mattias barks as he runs. "I will strike with you!"

Amora is rising as they all surmount upon Krampus, she gets a birds' eye view…
She is not (truly) a battle maiden like Syn.
An alien knowing of such sacrifice…
An Asgardian mislead in Midgardian /fallacy/…

When Mattias rises and responds as she /knew/ he would her lips quirk and the golden globe in its impact is with-held….!

J'onn's impact has Krampus' approach given pause, even the prehensile lash of a tail lined in viscous barbs, aligning Syn in her own lunge held in time…


Amora draws Light from its heart and the Earth splits beneath hooves, arching the bolts towards the Hevens… Mattias' lunge garnering a wavering smile and a meet of green to blue eyes before she closes her own and draws from the deceased….
Heads tilted back.
On your mark…
Get set… Matti's speed is thrust harder with an expulsion that leaves a 'stripped' corpse beneath feet of metallic heels, archs of light splayed beneath!

J'onn's strike doubles Krampus back, Syn is pivoting to land her blow with the draw of sword and a seek to land her own blow with the cover of kith and 'kin'.

Mattias disappears and reappears in a flash that drags Amora from the float above, in turn a flick of draw to Syn to gather J'onn before impact is made that should devastate!

J'onn's warning, his protection and ward over the Midgardian's is one that has them suddenly 'Buried Alive' before a concussive burst erupts even Syn can feel in her core.

Amora's fingers lock into strands of Matti's hair while the teleport free and opening to send One Back in a combination of powers…

A crater is left, the One Pyre only cinders and scattered ashes where they once were.

Eventually the Midgardian's will awaken and spit frozen dirt from their mouths, but to worship Odin, has a new meaning during 'Hogmanay'!.

Blasted son of Hel. Those barbs are vicious, and it's not the first time that they've snagged themselves a piece of the former Valkyrie recently, but this time, at least… she's not alone. J'onn's blows push her back as well as Krampus; comparative strength struggling to try and hold him in place as successive attacks are rained upon him. And then there's the burst that rips him from her hands… or her from his barbs. Not that it stops her, on instinct, from grabbing for the Martian to try and shield him behind her but, still. She's no stranger to war, to pain or injury, and this time… this time, damnit… well, who can say? She at least, doubts she's seen the last of Krampus.

Titanic battle engaged, Beasts of Legends, Heroes, Enchantresses, Valkyrie, and Aliens… What more could the Midgardians hope for in their midsts. As their battle comes to climax, the energy building, the Martian's senses allow him to understand something is happening even if he's not sure /what/ exactly.

As Syn grabs onto him, J'onn builds several telekinetic shields as quickly as the mind can fathom them, around the two of them between the Krampus, a larger shield meant to deflect the worst of the blast from Mattias and Amora, and then a final wall to shunt excess energy away from the Mortals.

It is a sudden Clash Of Titans' upon Krampus, and while the drag of cloven hoof splits the Mother Earth 'neath… The spew of fire erupts from the crags to meet the 'Fyre' of Syn, J'onn, and Matti even as she descends into the Siege of Grasps, her own fingers filtering through his blonde….

… Tendrils of reality shatter around them upon the collision of impacts on Krampus' person! Shields are protecting, blocking, /absorbing/ minute and yet /crucial/ blows, while J'onn and Matti's counters lay a cover to give the concussive fire-blast of Matti's teleportation to bring them to an empty Myrkr Club….
Does it all make sense now?
When Matti looses his hair from her hand, it is no longer 'pure',it is painted in ink, her form shrinks in height, the Security of Base Grunts are massive Jotun that shrivel back into mortality.

Massive Monkey Suited Goons that stand at the tip oif stairs and watch thr trio, while Matti departs to the Loft Above and Amora crosses one leg over the other, the fur lining upper thing, stroked-through by fingers.

"Welcome Back."

"You were the one in the park." is what Syn, at least, has to opine when she opens an eye and spies.. well, their surroundings, and the current form of their host. She could let go of J'onn, though at least under the circumstances the former Valkyrie's hedonistic mind isn't conjuring things to make a Martian blush in favor of… well, simply making sure that he has his feet under him and wasn't unduly injured by the Krampus.

Her procured shirt is certainly the worse for wear, though some circles might count it's additional venting as 'fashionable', she's more concerned with a head count of who is, and isn't, present.

"I did warn you that he was loose. Summoned by a Greek witch, and determined to make the most of his opportunity." she can't resist huffing in Amora's direction, one hand on her sword and the other still curled in the Martian's top.

J'onn takes a moment to understand that he's been moved somewhere else in a way that he doesn't have knowledge of, but the feel.. the taste… brings back a memory that is not pleasant at all. Once all seems in order, however, by Amora's greeting, the Martian begins to shrink to his normal towering height instead of his Krampus sized body.

The voice, the body, the eyes are all different but there is something familiar about the Mind that he touched when he looks at Amora. "We've met before, I believe." is J'onn's initial response, mind scanning the premises to assess any further threats, and is about to say more when Syn speaks up.

The Martian does not seem disturbed by the proximity of the Valkyrie, he does his own scan of Syn, Amora, and Mattias as they seem to be out of battle for the time being. Confirming that there are no serious injuries amongst the group. "And it seems the Krampus has escaped again…" J'onn adds in with a little sigh of disappointment in his own lack of success.

Syn has Amora pegged, but to no surprise, as their meets have been beyond battles of body, and even that of mind. Around her the worlds blurs, and the 'Goons' are revealed for What they are, and their stare upon her is one of challenge before it departs in the follow of Mattias' departure, they enjoy and /know/ his company. Amora has no Needy Want of them… now… Amongst 'peers' that need to gain her trust like Mattias "has".

A draw of emerald eyes to the /Ber's/ back after an exchange of words, but Asgardian tongue is easy and yet -hard- to catch in rapidity. It is an easy thing to know when her own gaze seems nearly Serpentine when it lands upon the two and pupii shift in recognition -
- another being drawn in while inked palm splays over knee draped in fur lining, drawing nails laden in 'golden claws' coil over metallic huen hide.

"Which… Witch?" Her chin lofts to Syn, denying the show of bruises that flourish in pulse over her skin as they do her departed.

A focus upon J'onn then is had, lids dropping to narrow, but her smile is slow between the two. "So to all this…fokkery!" A wave offhand and the goons are obvious Jotunn, the club a guise, and the tattoo's bleed away like a mist of essence from Amora, her visage a ripple on broken waters.

"What say you, then?"
"He'll be back." Syn has no doubt on that front. The grim line of her lips suggesting she's certain in the very least he has a bone or three he plans on picking with her. The Valkyrie should let go, she knows the club, and its own, and the Jotun, even, but still there's something… protective… possessive? In the hand she keeps on the Martian for a few moments longer before it occurs to her to let go with a flurry of thoughts.

"Wore purple. Green eyes. I've no mind for Greek witches." or roman one's, for that matter; Circe, not that the former Valkyrie can concur the name,"In regards to Krampus? More of a hindrance than any kind of reliable ally, and would sell you out without hesitation to his mother… or the Svartalfar, if he thought it would gain him advantage. Best to return him to his mother's embrace."

As Illusions fade, world becomes reality, J'onn takes in the place he finds himself in and nods once in understanding. It seems he has truly embroiled himself into Asgardian conflicts and potential politics. Still, he is good to his word, and looks back to Amora as Syn answers her, but the description is not something he is immediately familiar with.

"I say it is good to see you again, as we share our true forms with one another for a first time…" The Martian replies, his face remaining passive, calm, but the twinkle in his Red eyes lets them both know that the chance meeting In the Bar and After lets the Manhunter put together the clues he needs. "When he's back we will stop him. He knows, now, that he is not invulnerable, and either he will become more cautious or more brazen depending on whether he thinks his time is coming to an end."

"Seer—see" The name seems to flow off Amora's affluent tongue of AllSpeak like a vipers hiss.

Syn may as well have said the name of /Karnilla/, and likely had by the 'distance' suddenly in Amora's eyes.

But as those syllables roll past lips, they peel back as if Amora is -hissing-, a query of gaze cast between the two and she is rising from seated position upon the chaise, statuesque at over 6'4 and /almost/ eye to eye with Syn save a tilt. "You come and the worlds collide further. Drottinserðr!" The un-erupted tide between the two women comes in a thrust of palms outward towards Syn, J'onn is paused before in her departure to the path Mattias took, tilting her head lightly. "Hurstwic…" A pause and she smiles despite the latter words. "Pity it coms upon the nights of reminder, Hogmanay." Those eyes flash as they rove from J'onn to Syn, the draw of upper lip a peel of flesh against canines that does not retract in a bow of figure to leave their presence and 'posession' 'twen without offense.

Further, perhaps.

"He will die for this night, until then, we do not refute our Yule…" A rise of hand, a serpentine twist of limb and with a snap of fingers Myrkr becomes the club and Amora - Helen clad in strapped attire heading towards the floor (but truly for Mattias, the bruising hidden beneath a Godesses glamour).

"Nor our tides of conquer."

Drottinserðr. It doesn't take understanding the language to see the insult in the way Syn's posture straightens or her lips curl back, in that slight… unfurling, of her body as she spits emphatically,"Er óskeyndr auk stroðinn í rassinn." the reference to being unshielded weighted given the Valkyrie's proclivities towards the use of such things. But the reminder of the season certainly forestalls the brewing potential as she huffs, folding her blade into a reverse position so that it is inoffensive as it can be in its nakedness and narrowing her eyes at Amora's golden back.

It's not really a look, but the suggestion of one in the slight angle of her head in J'onn's direction, the invitation curt in its jerk towards the door,"You are your own man and free to come or go as you will, but this place reeks of death and I am leaving." stroppy Valkyrie is stroppy, after all.

A low growl omits from Amora, a peel of lips from teeth in one word… "Lombungr…"

"My ass is clean! But we both suffer a similar, /weird gleidr stríða/!" Amora's path to join Matti is stalled, a foot not even upon the ground level before she is pivoting and the abandoned building now lined in lazer-light and bass is a-glow with a shockwave meant to impact towards Syn at the slope of her departure.

"Death is only for the /Kerling/!" Oh, it's on… As Midgardian's say… Like The Donkey Kong!

The 'Goons' are with-held in a side-thrusted sweep of Amora's hand, the ink bleeding along fingers into talons instead of the decollage. Behind the splay of claws Jotunn stand in wait, their eyes reflective in the flashing lights.

…if I wasn't so deranged could I ever face the pain??
… If I ever were to change would the story remain the same?

"NEI!" A stall in her command that ripples in a primordial effect beyond her to cease and 'defense', this is her challenge she has called, A Valkyrie against a Vanneheim Witch renown in her own Rite.

Every foot-step up those stairs in a return is nearly floatedover while iced-smoke billows between slats and wisps around 'heels that rescind into bareness, strapped in straps of winding cloth and golden chains of ascendancy over exposed thighs and splayed like 'webs' over hips to rise further…

But what comes from Amora is a golden glow. "Bring it…!!"

Nope, Amora isn't holding back, and is not calling for the same, as they stand on (hidden) equal grounds.

Jekyll & Hyde.

Syn isn't surprised that there's a response, for all that the twist of her body as she's shoved by the shockwave certainly suggests that she wasn't expecting it to be incorporeal. The ripple of her magic can be felt where it envelops the Martian. Not his fight, after all, and wrapping him up keeps him out of it and safe from the inevitable overflow for now at least.

Syn's aware of the Jotunn, to judge from the way her lips peel back from her teeth and her grip on her sword changes. One would be a fool not to recognize and at least respect the display of magic… but fear it? Not evident in the way the former Valkyrie releases her hold on the balustrade to launch herself at Amora.

Despite her command of barriers, she's no witch, she's a creature of speed and strength and physicality, putting on the former as she comes in low and fast without hesitation.

Amora has no care for where the 'ballast' may Mis)Fire!

Wiuth every step aloft towards Syn there is a resonation that builds into the cusp of palms, but in one there is the outline of a 'Fang' that Sweeps (Up-And-Out), but is only a golden emanation to the Valkyrie…
But the threat is eminent!

A rake upward in a 'taloned' grasp that catches sparks! in the clash of blade upon rings that clench and draw blood, while Amora's teeth clench she does not 'Let Go'.

A fist wraps…
Blood Falls.

Amora did not -ask- for FEAR!
She asked for Balance!
… even if it is of battle-lust and a retained transgression that has them coming to a head!

Not one Jotunn moves in the circumference as the Beiskaldi, collide, sparks emanating at their feet and where wings should form there is only that of an Ego of Pride!

Amora's hand wrenches back, sliced to the 'tarsals, flexed in a coil before the hand sprays the second level in a spatter of blood and calls it upward in splinters to sever at the Valkyrie!

"Death comes for us all, Kamphundr. You reap that which belongs to the Valkyrior and cast blame at my feet!" blood isn't a thing to frighten Syn, for all the note taken of Amora's fearlessness and lack of concern in the damage caused or blood drawn. The jerk of the blade to free it not showing sign of surcease in the blonde's ice pale eyes. She's not what she once was, by any measure, but the valkyrie's pride does not accept that diminishing as an excuse to behave less than herself.

Where she draws back, struggling against that taloned grasp she might press the attack further but for the sudden array of splinters that make her have to leap back, away, not fast enough to avoid nicks despite the flicker of her blade and the slide of feet into a wary crouch.

"You and that Greek witch, playing games with the lives of the Midgardians. A griss can never become jorr if the opportunity is denied them, and this not our Realm to conquer!" she seethes insistently.

A flickering of both of their /withdrawal/!

A rotation of wrist and the blood spatters from between chain-links of gold, ever tether a soul, a gathering, a /tethering/. Chained.

Amora leaves her hand to rest along the slope of thigh, every droplet descended upon the floor causing a further Richtor in Scale upon Myrkr, as if the Dj had applied *too much Bass*, but even Aokai upon Skrillex has no depth, to cause such a read-out on the *Scale!*.

"I am no Hound Skreyja-tik!" Amora is formidable at distance and despite the quiver upon quads in a desire to lunge where blood has painted the floorboards her hand slams! into the wood, with a lift it and a whisper from lips it calls forth a splintering torrent towards Syn!

"I have no dealings with the Bastards of my Birth! I am Vanir!" Insult to injury much? Blood-specks spatter in a fan with that of unearthed platforming towards Syn.

"Hel-Spawn has no Kin with me,I have done opposite of your acclaim, /hauknefr/! Perhaps ye should be of Alien Than with such accursed assumptions of a /daufi!/" And bit, by, bit golden links dethread from the ravel around her figure, dangling from ends of pearlescent strands and pale flesh 'wrapped' in leather twine.

Syn's sans her shield, the turning of her body to insure that the most vulnerable parts of her are spared the torrent of splinters. Half her weapons, half her skills, half of her power wrapped up in keeping the Martian in place. The flat of her blade is lain against her braced wrist as she watches, disbelief writ in the curl of her lips,"You deny that you spoke of /your/ tides of conquer?" she demands,"You deny that the lives of the Midgardians are as meaningless to you as they are to the Greek and her pet?"

Syn's wary enough of those chains, holding her ground for the moment. The adjustment in her stance, the settling of her weight, these are the things for her. For all that on a given day she's not exactly the most human-forward thinking person, there might be some of that green guy's influence in giving enough of a shit to make a stand about it.

There is no denial nor foolhardiness in The Enchantress' attack, even as she would crumble the ramshackle structure she had 'Illusioned' into the Myrkr, she wanted to keep it aloft!

On hand is splayed over head, just above the coronet of horn-sires, but more elk than 'Trickster', in the arch of lights in their revelation!

Amora's body pivots as she lunges, a bow of spine to allow the blade a 'tastes' of those golden links that are 'worn' over her body, bowing her into a juxtaposition that slides her lower back along the blade reigned in for defense more than offense..

Amora recognizes it for what it is, protection.

Fingers clad in golden broken gauntlets attempt to grasp Syn's jawline and loft her to a meet of gazes. "I do not deny My tides. "//Of Conquer.

But as she comes around in that semi circle where a blow can be lain…. There is pause of kneecap before spinal column of the Valkyrie, one cast in a glow of the golden emanation while she redirects her gaze to the Martian and then back in a rubber-*snap!* of realization.

"Not all Midgardians, are beneath note and worth." A draw of breathe and Amora draws back, if not ceased! she is paces away from the Valkyrie, as -too close- is *Death*, evident by the *drip*-drops- of blood upon the splintered flooring, razed in a mutual rage…

Amora than curls her hand into a fist and lets blood drop between knuckles as they ready with a renewed vigor of golden glow. "Those that bare the blood, the strength, the /vision/, of Asgardian Truth," A parting of lip that split in a smile only bares a flicker of canines upon a single corner. "Hel's /bastard, is no ally of mine. I refute Your Greek Goddess." A loft of chin and Amora makes her own stance, around them sigils light into weavings of flame imbued caste, charring the perfectly polished surface of flooring that remains beneath their feet.

Amora is no Valkyr, but she will Not.Back.Down.

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