𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄 ━ loki laufeyson¹·¹

3│THE NIGHT WE MET

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❛ ᴇᴛᴏɪʟᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ ꒱


❝ IN EXCHANGE FOR A POWERFUL
CLOAKING SPELL, YOU WILL
 GIVE US THE LOCATION [. . .] OF
THE STAR. ALL OATHS ARE
BINDING. NO REFUNDS. ❞

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A S G A R D

Before Loki could truly set out on his quest, there was one stop that he had to make. He wasn't particularly looking forward to it, but it was a necessary evil. The Watcher of the Nine Realms, Heimdall, would be able to track his progress and report his movements to his father, which wasn't. . . ideal. He wasn't skilled enough yet to consistently keep up a cloaking spell that powerful and he didn't want to ask such a thing of his mother, who might feel a certain loyalty to her husband. He would rather Heimdall find it suspicious to not know his plans at all rather than tell Odin exactly what he was doing.

Being a man of shadows, he knew how to listen for echoes of discontent in the halls of Asgard's palace. He could conceal himself from the servants and listen to their gossip. Most if it was idle, yes, but there were a certain few, namely soldiers and prison-guards, who knew of more. . . unsavory beings who lived in the Realm Eternal (as much as his father pretended to believe otherwise.)

He had overheard rumors of three rather unscrupulous witches who lived in the outreaches of society. They were magically powerful and would undoubtedly have the strength to give him the spell he required. The one drawback was that he would have to give them something of equal value in return, but that was no matter. As a prince, he had access to much of the realm's riches and other resources that they might find worthwhile to trade for.

Their house (if you could call it that) was run down, certainly not up to the standards he was used to. It had once been a beautiful gothic structure, with black detail and gargoyle statues that guarded the entrance. There were large, tall windows that let in a surprising amount of light— for beings so entrenched in the dark arts, that is. It was backed up against tall outcropping of rocks that provided a natural barrier and a waterfall flowed behind it, crashing into a deep pool below. It would have been picturesque if not for the sense of evil that lingered even when the witches weren't home.

Masking his sneer of disdain at the poor upkeep, he wished that he could use an illusion to conceal his true self, but he could see their runes etched in the wood even from where he was standing. Loki remembered one of his mother's first, earliest warnings from her magic lessons: only the witch that casts the runes in a given space can cast their magic. So, he had no choice but to appear as he was, even if that gave the witches an advantage.

The door swung open before he even had a chance to knock; he suspected that the witches could sense another seiðr-wielder on their property. He straightened, creating an air of dignity and prestige around himself, even though he felt quite the opposite as he stepped into their territory. A sense of unease crawled over him as their magic stole his away, leaving him defenseless. There was no one immediately visible, though that did not surprise him; he assumed that they were seizing him up before they made their appearance.

Inside was just as ornate as the exterior. There were wide, sweeping staircases with handrails of wrought-iron. A dozen black, cobwebbed chandeliers hung from the ceiling. At the head of the room, a fountain sat between two of the curved staircases that lead up to the balcony on the second level. The interior would have truly rivaled some of the palace's more spectacular rooms had there not been a fine layer of dust that coated everything or the cobwebs that hid in every corner, or the mildewed smell that came from the faded tapestries.