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The trials of Loki Odinsson: a saga

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The trials of Loki Odinsson- a saga written for the benefice of players who will recall in feasting these happy episodes.

Heed now the words of Loki Odinsson, swift and clever Loki who defeated three fire dancers in a competition of wits, Loki lithe and handsome! Son of Odin, whose father was Bor and who we call the Allfather, son of Frigga who is the queen of Asgard. Set down in the records of Loki Odinsson, Prince of Asgard, aged five hundred years and the third quarter of a decade.

Thor, if you have dedicated yourself to overcoming your difficulties with the written script and chosen my private parchments as your practice, put this down now or I will cut your hands off in the night and feed them to the fish! I shall know, Thor!

The day Fandral decided he was forlorn:

Attend this most impressive jape which happened scant hours ago at the behest of clever Loki. Fandral the fain and foppish lusted after the handmaidens’ daughter, but she, unfortunately, did not lust after him and so he has been in poor spirits for an age which has caused Thor to be in poor spirits and so causes me to be poor in spirit. Every game with Thor is so laconic I might as well be playing with a corpse, which would at least offer some interesting views to compensate the silences, for there is only so much time you can have fits of jealousy and marr Thor’s skin with nails, or convince him to measure his ever-broadening biceps. Fandral’s piteous nature is a contagion that means Thor will only mutter at pokes and complain if you sit in his lap, which I have now taken to doing often to annoy him and listen to him shout.

So I, in honest good intention to help Fandral see his actions for the folly they were, did arrange for him to meet with the pretty barmaid’s daughter, who is not so refined as a handmaid’s daughter but makes up for a lack of respectability in bosoms. Leaving the forged invitation in his chambers and inventing the meeting place was all my hard work.

Unfortunately I neglected to inform the barmaid’s daughter that she should also attend this rendezvous, instead mistaking a rather older troll for a pretty maid and rather overemphasizing Fandral’s silky golden hair and doe-like eyes, which are common mistakes I think most at court are guilty of committing. I did not know the troll would try to tear Fandral’s forlorn head from his forlorn shoulders! Nor did I think he would turn on us if we happened to be lurking in the shadows (where I had to put both hands over Thor’s mouth to stop him from laughing too loud and ruining the whole game).

He, of course, went for me, for I am Loki and Thor is Thor, and near cleaved me in two with a single blow. Lucky I am so lightfooted and practiced in cloaking magic, for otherwise there could have been more than one tragedy that night. I was shaking! He turned out to be a total brute, who said the rudest and undignified things about princely brothers I have ever heard a troll say.

Then mighty Thor bashed the devils’ head in through the hasty application of the bar window, and he was no more! I am certain he did this because he knew it would amuse me. But in secret I did honestly think a moment before that I was done for and Thor should have to return to father’s halls bearing a torn and disfigured lump of skin in place of a brother, which is unfortunate, for to cover up the misdeed would require a particularly large hat to be worn by the skin when breaking fast. However, I retract all doubts for truly Thor was as swift and stupid as always and marched straight into harms way, and being Thor escaped with nary a scratch. Nonetheless, after glassing a troll out of dedication to the continuation of my well-being, we clasped each other for some time after that. It was good, despite the tension and scratchy glass bits that follow in the wake of Thor’s joyful bloodlust. I will later look at the shallow cuts on my wrists and think of it.

Most amusing of all Fandral did not know it was me!

Of course he shall know years hence when these tales become shared knowledge, but by that point I shant be so small Thor can turn me upside down when I grumble and this future embarrassment is a worthy price. Won’t he look a fool!

The day there was deer for dinner:

Most exciting news! Today, of all people, Thor chose me (CHOSE me, I neither bullied or tricked him into it) to accompany him on the hunt, out of the Warriors Three and our cousins and all the guards. A whole day where we romped in the forest with no nursemaids and manservants tutting at us every time I take his hand. My brother took me to the best places for hunting and even let me try his bows, which I was not so good at, and his knives, which I was excellent at. I made a show of nicking his wrists with the blades, in revenge for long ago when his embraces cut me with window glass, and at one point pulled his hair with a sharp grip and made to slit his throat, just for the pleasure of listening to him yell that he would in turn push me out a window for these slights. It is not my fault Thor has a voice that is made for shouting. I have often told him that if he made an effort to cultivate a dull, nasal squeak I would be much less interested in driving him to anger, but he rarely takes my advice.

He laughs at me for saying these things, but I know Thor understands! I see how he has looked at me, and as I cannot deny Thor the adulation he deserves despite his lacking wits, so my brother cannot deny me the things I need. It is a perfect storm of complementary temperaments. Likewise our colouring and clothing is perfectly matched to flatter and draw attention to the other, so I would not expect complaints about appearances should we happen to be intimate in one another’s company for an extended period of time.

The day Thor was not to be coronated:

Hear this: I have watched my brother, golden-haired and fair-limbed, display himself most crudely to a hall of easily impressed half-wits. I have watched him kneel before father, with that sharp quirk of the lips that rips likes paper and yet has him all the more attractive for it. Such is Thor’s curse. And yet again I saw him powerful of arm and lithe in movement, carelessly destroy sixty giants in such brutal circumstances it makes one shiver in pleasure to think on it.

But I have found a discovery that tantalises the thoughts further than the well-know image of my brother swathed in power and glory. It has come to pass that Thor in utter misery is a sweet little treat to the eye. This is surprising, for I expected the results of the day (which are not prudent to record now, but soon, I promise) to result in anger and hot rage, which none can doubt my brother wears well. Thor in a murderous mood is a sight to behold, for the pleasant thrill of danger cracks and burns through him, threatening to consume us all.

But never have I seen the like of golden Thor who was so sad as to beg. I shall have to investigate further.

The day Thor was no longer here but none could escape from his presence in the least:

I have been to see Thor, who wears banishment like the finest of garments. I have never seen him such, wallowing in each fresh, new experience of anguish. It does pretty things for him; he should really try it more often. I told wonderful lies for my wonderful brother, and his human body must be easily breakable for he bent inwards from the weight of his imagined sins, as though to press his cheek to his lap. There was a fevered sadness in his face as he begged me for clemency. I have thought on it often since that hour. It distracts from other thoughts.

In the custom of the people I shall soon come to rule: 3rd of a spring month, of some arbitrarily dated year, on the day they have most amusingly claimed to be Tyr’s Day.

It has been a fine day by all accounts. I have taken in some elite pinnacle of human architecture that approached the aesthetic of a hovel of a lowly Asgardian kitchen maid, I had a semi-diverting battle with the Captain these humans turn to, and I listened to gentle music as I went about the business of extracting an eye from one place to be in another, without ever removing it from the skull. If only Odin had known of such technology before he made his bargains with the World’s Tree, he wouldn’t look half as boorish as he does now. The method itself was unsightly and too disgusting to dwell on, but I have discovered if you stab one cow in the eye, you send the whole herd stampeding. I plan to try it again and see how little pain must be afflicted on one member before the rest of them crumble and submit. I also hit a man with my spear, in a move that I consider very swag. Overall, I believe the evening was a success.

A day of little amusement, titled here appropriately as Odin’s day.

I am now waiting out the boredom that is being a humans’ captive. I thought at least some torture or a battle to the death for the sake of recovering honour would have been proposed by now, but it seems my work with the staff was too effective. I can only watch through layers of glass as the humans bleat about their precious homeland security and Thor inspects his biceps.

Even he, Thor the Simpleminded finds the nattering of humans an irritation to the ear. And yet he will await patiently their orders, and value all their opinions. He will probably cry and plead when they die, which wouldn’t be such a bad thing in small dosages for Thor does not cry nearly often enough and it is becoming a beloved pastime to watch Thor quiver in deep sorrow. Although I rather plan on killing him first, if at all possible, simply to skip over the drawn-out affair that his lectures about home and fairness would be. O, what have you become, Thor Giantslayer who once killed out of the purest joy of being alive? The Lady Sif and Warriors Three would be appalled if they heard such pleas. I imagine Odin is incredibly disappointed with all his children today.

But oh no, Thor, said I in my glass cage, such shall be my mercy to you, although he did not feign to hear it, so busy was he arguing with the humans. It is beyond me why he bothers, other than a strong misinterpretation of Odin’s lessons during his exile. It is typical Thor to be sentenced to a gruelling exile of rough means in primitive lands and yet to emerge the other side having found common interest and abiding love.

Odin could have chosen to banish Thor to an insect colony, only to see him come home with a brightened disposition, fair contractual employment and a brood of clicking ant children.

The day after the one I recorded yesterday, during the breaking of fast.

What fun the day has been so far! I have so far spent the night causing the flying ship to be torn apart, plunging several humans and my brother to their uncertain deaths, and killing the most annoying of suited busybodies.

Thor, of course, stepped straight through an illusion and into a trap, which shouldn’t be so entertaining after seven hundred years of successfully pulling the same trick, but the hilarity now comes from how surprised he still is on every occasion. I should be near insulted that he still does not know me well, except that it creates endlessly entertaining situations. I swear, as I was about to release him to the mercy of the sky, his lip wobbled and he curled over in depression and all sorts.I should like to experiment with these newfound emotions that bear no resemblance to arrogance or glad shouting, for I have decided not to kill him hastily. That would be no revenge at all, despite brother-slaying being a tried and true short-cut to making a statement to the world. However, for an experiment to begin, first he shall have to turn up, and I imagine I sent him very far away indeed.

I suppose if I grow bored of waiting on him, I can be a tease and throw someone else through a window. I'm sure brother will understand.