Within a dwelling upkept as refuge lying a smidgen further than most the inhabitants of the royal city would dare venture into, Loki lay motionless in a cot, suffering from a horrendous affliction. One that bore the name of ‘boredom’. With the rest of the Asgardian Royal family having been less than impressed with his recent performance on the neighboring realm, he was left with little choice but to remain in hiding. He had an inkling very few would take kindly to seeing him, unless of course, it involved him adorned in constraining irons. Also preferably within a specialized cell he could call home for an eternity. Bondage wasn’t among his most favored of kinks; though also certainly not opposed for the occasional casual indulgence, and being that he greatly preferred a good time rather than a long one, he decided it would not suit his self interest to give his people what they wanted. He only narrowly escaped that fate upon his forcible reentry to his homeworld and had no such desire for further flirtations with ‘Lady Luck.’ Seizing the newfound chance for freedom and quite literally running with it, he journeyed toward the adjoining region, promptly making great use of his illusion magic all throughout. Stumbling upon a cluster of long since abandoned domiciles, Loki settled on the one most unassuming for sanctuary as he retired for a much needed rest. ...A rest that had since transmuted into the uptaking of life akin to a hermit. It was assuredly not the expectation. He had soon discovered that while fellow living souls were scarce, they were not obsolete. Since he had practically been branded ‘Asgard’s Most Apprehendable’, even his immaculate talents in sorcery seemed too great a risk if heavily relied on. With all of Asgard unanimously vying for his immediate and permanent capture, if he were seen engaging in anything telling or suspicious, it would make its way into the palace walls. One thing he could be certain of was the power of word of mouth and how it spread like wildfire, even within areas as remote as these. Therein lay the narrative of the notorious God of Mischief’s descent from near realm-conquering gloriousness into reclusive cowardice.
Interrupting the silence with a frustrated groan, the one having had fallen so far from grace shifted into a seated position. With the darkness of the night then in his favor, he pondered the possibility of engaging in a bit of sorcery without much risk, in attempts to ease the solitary anguish. He instantly assessed that Asgardian magic could prove a foolish choice. His imprisonment was of dire priority and there was the chance someone more magically skilled than himself would assist the Royal Guards in locating him. Such a sorcerer might be attuned to the traces and energy of aforementioned magic, and ultimately follow it all the way to Loki. An abundance of alternate divisions of sorcery yet remained. He resumed his thought process over a suitable substitution, as a familiar orange hue began to glow within his peripheral vision.
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”Ah, yes. Vishanti would be a viable choice...”
In response to his absentminded mutterings while he remained deep in thought, the glow increased in magnitude and vibrance, then commanding the trickster god’s full attention. The conjuring of the portal was certainly not of his doing and as curious as he was regarding its sudden appearance, he was even more so to discover where it led. He gazed on eagerly as the location became clearer in view, in hopes that it would prove to be a path to his liberation.
Or not at all. The scene displayed before him made it more likely a path to his eternal damnation. Remaining on his end of the portal, he began to address the recognizable female lump on the floor, first heaving a dramatic sigh.
”If it isn’t Amora. ‘The Enchantress’. It appears you’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament. The palace dungeons. You see, the funny thing is, it just so happens to be the one place in all existence that I have been strenuously attempting to avoid.”
He proceeded to glare menacingly upon the woman’s pitiful position below. Due to not failing to notice her current state of dress, his severe expression dissipated prematurely. Accompanied by a significantly less dramatic sigh than the one prior, he crossed the threshold as the portal, along with his fate whatever it may be, sealed behind him.
“Fortunately for you, due to unfortunateness of my own, I’ve become quite acquainted with this particular enclosure. It could be said, metaphorically, that I outgrew my designated cell, by the means of the improvement of my abilities and cunning. However, because I’ve now positioned myself within that which would be more akin to the lion’s digestive tract, bound by the intestines, and well on the way to becoming excrement, than simply the ‘lion’s den’, I believe it wouldn’t be perceived as unreasonable that I expect something in exchange. If I ultimately come to eternally regret my involvement, it’d be of some consolation to possess a memory to look back upon that could deem it somewhat worthwhile. Oh, and could you please rise to your feet, you look utterly ridiculous.”