All That Are Fallen (for coldsong)

[handsofwinter]

They retreat through the storm, invisible. Engine noises deadened and buried beneath the howling gales; hulls silent in tell-tale wavelengths and shielded from prying radiation by their cloaks. For most anyone they’d be nigh-impossible to track, even with the most sophisticated and cunning of sensors.

But there’s always one, isn’t there?

Loki can follow the little fleet through the frenzied snow and the roar of wind, over the dim shadows of forests splashed dark over the terrain below, the thin ridgelines that merely hint at tricky crags and sheer precipices. They travel fast. It’s not long before they begin to descend into a shallow, snowbound valley.

They’ve been at work here for some time by the look of things. The valley is criss-crossed with long hills- no, they look more like barrows, all blanketed in a thick layer of snow and swarming with activity in and out of round doors. The transport ships join others circling above and begin to offload their passengers, adding to the general din. The three largest barrows form a great rough triangle with only a couple of smaller structures between them. There is the heart of the encampment – and the noise. Vandals and a few captains in particularly good armor move among the others, directing chaos into order. Shanks lift into the air and fly to one barrow in formation. The injured limp or are carried in one direction, some with seared and blackened limbs or armor spattered shiny with blood. A dreg shrieks as his companions try to lift his scorched armor to check the burns beneath. Other dregs are tasked with taking the dead away, laying them out under the supervision of a vandal with a different style of helm and clothing.

But others are simply packing up their weapons and gathering around the officers counting heads. And others- others who were already here, are clearly sorting booty. Beneath a rough tent crates are stacked high and others lie open as the dregs beside them lower inventory tablets and cheer for the returning army. Before them lie piles of blankets, computer parts, miscellaneous trinkets… and a lot of books.

The sorted crates are being picked up and taken to the biggest of the barrows. The one with the biggest banners hung before it, and the most disciplined and armored guards beside its door. And the one before which decorative poles have been driven into the ground. Atop them sit skulls. Most look human.

Here be monsters, then. But monsters with voices, and as their speech slowly resolves itself around him, as snarls become words and words become orders, questions, greetings-

Here, too, wait answers.

Comments

[coldsong]

"The highest bidder," Loki says with a burst of false cheer. Connecting himself blithely to humanity seems unwise just now. "The species I am born of are known as Frost Giants. Or Jotun. The realm of Jotunheim is always frozen, always winter."

"I suppose that's why Reynard described me as kin. But I was raised by the Aesir, who you might mistake as human at a glance. But they are not. They are longer lived, far more physically powerful, and many are sorcerers."

[handsofwinter]

"Frost... giants. Your kindred did not choose this name?" Why would they? Loki isn't even that big. Another long, pensive moment. Lexoris is taking his time, but now he's gotten over the initial hurdle of speaking with the alien, he seems to be warming up to the task a little. Enough to make a chuffing sound at Loki's description of yet another species with sorcery and strength beyond their size.

"These Ay-siirr... were human, once?"

[coldsong]

"Actually, I think the Aesir chose the name 'Frost Giants'. Some are a bit more giant than I am just now, but rarely more than another head or two higher." He looks thoughtful. "Jotun is the more proper term."

Surtur was far, far bigger than any Jotun, but no one called him a 'fire giant'. It is a bit peculiar now that Loki thinks of it.

"No. No, they were never human, but the superficial resemblance is undeniable. There are a number of beings like that here, you'll find, I think. Not everything that looks human is human, and there's a variety of types of humans as well, because so many worlds meet here."

"As to why Aesir and human look identical at a glance...well, their stories, human stories, claim the first two humans were created by Aesir. But the Aesir claim no such thing."

[handsofwinter]

Lexoris gives a growl as if disgruntled by that answer, though he's far from the first to be surprised by the curious resemblance between humans and so many disparate species. For now, he seems to accept that 'stories' are the best answer he's likely to get. He quiets long enough that Loki might think the vandal is done talking, but then:

"You say they do not trust you. Why?"

[coldsong]

"I have a theory," he says. "That while infinite worlds may well meet in a single Nexus, there also exist infinite versions of a Nexus, with all the implied variations in environment and inhabitants. It's possible that we've simply all landed in one where the pink-and-brown bipedal body type is the most prevalent, but there are others where that would be an oddity, and we might instead find more beings with six limbs and four eyes, or even creatures without form or fixed body type."

That's unrelated to anything Lexoris has been asking him, of course, but maybe Loki just felt like talking to fill the silence.

He laughs softly when asked why he's mistrusted. "I have a checkered past. I am known as the god of lies, or the god of mischief. Most of the humans here that know me know me as the person who attempted to conquer their planet, at the head of the Chitauri army."