Run, cursed runt, and bring about the fall of Asgard before your inevitable death.
Sometimes Loki ran, merely to preserve his own life, but he always managed to shake the curse off eventually. Centuries of studying and harnessing his seidr and illusions helped greatly in his cause, and he would spend his time of safety at a smoother pace. Why listen to the order of the family that condemned him to this fate? He would arrive at Asgard when he so pleased, if only to spite the people and royalty of Jötunheim.
Of course, the curse would always catch back up to him, no matter how well he managed to throw it off his trail. That was the sole reason why he was even traveling to Asgard in the first place. The kings of Utgaard knew that their unwanted third son would do anything in his power to go against their wishes, especially after what they had done to him, both past and present. They also knew that cursed and in danger as Loki was, there was only one place that had the means to protect him: Asgard.
Farbauti-King, the seidmadr who had placed the curse onto his son in the first place, believed that even Asgard's mighty army would fall to the force that Loki would lead to them. Cynical and pessimistic though he was, Loki believed differently. Much of his knowledge of the Nine Realms had been learned from Asgard, back when he would wander the realms in an attempt to gain freedom from his family. While Asgard may not be able to defeat the curse with brute force, there had to be some speck of knowledge there that could aid him. As a general rule, he would never trust an Ás to help him out. The Aesir were mindless brutes, the lot of them. They held much of the knowledge contained in the Nine, yet could not do much of anything with it besides punch each other like the barbarians they were.
Loki would reach Asgard, gain the knowledge he needed to break the curse and destroy the unknown entity hunting him down, and hopefully not be caught and killed by the Asgardian army in the process. First though, he currently needed to shake off the curse once more.
It was nighttime as Loki sprinted through the depths of the woods, the well-traveled trail having long been abandoned. All he could hear was the thick crunching of leaves and deadened grass beneath his boots, his heavy, quickened panting breaking through the noise as he struggled to keep his breath. Though he had crossed the border between Jötunheim into Midgard some days ago, the northern parts of the mortal realm still felt the chill of Jötunheim's constant winter, and the leaves littering the ground hindered more than helped him in this case. He needed somewhere to hide while giving the illusion that he was still running away. Auditory illusions were not something he had managed to perfect yet in his studies—magic in Jötunheim was hardly used, often hindering his seidr progression—but his mediocre skill would have to be enough.
Eyes dashing to and fro throughout the forest, Loki eventually spotted a small outcropping of land, hiding a hole just big enough for a Jötun runt such as himself to fit through. In one fluid motion, Loki skidded down to the ground, pushing off to the side with as much force as his arms could muster and rolled himself into the small outcropping. In the same breath, he had cast four separate spells: one to hide him and his energy from view, another to send an illusion of himself running off in the opposite direction, one to hide the sound of him hitting the ground, and a final one to mimic the sound of leaves crunching as the illusion ran away.
With the amount of running he had been doing, Loki could barely breathe, and yet he knew he had to keep himself in check. Keeping that number of spells running convincingly needed all the concentration he could muster, and he could only thank the Norns that he didn't need to put much effort into keeping his own voice quiet. That was perhaps the one decent thing Farbauti had done to him, as aggravating and humiliating as it was. With a spell cast moments before cursing his son, Farbauti had chosen to seal away Loki's greatest weapon: his voice.
The better to prevent you from manipulating your way out of this situation.
Nothing had hit him quite as hard as losing his voice, even in the face of the curse threatening to take his life from him every day. He would find a way to regain his voice, yes, and he would use it to bring about Utgaard's destruction. It would take time—he had much more pressing issues to worry about at the moment—but he would find a way to avenge himself, that he swore.
Regardless, he put a hand to his mouth as a cold seeped over the area, enough to penetrate even his protective Jötun skin. The creature, entity, whatever, was approaching the area, and it was all Loki could do to keep his concentration up. These spells needed to be convincing, and—
What little sliver of moonlight could be seen through the trees was blocked out, a frozen darkness encasing all around it. Loki felt the frost forming over both his hiding spot and his skin, the creature was so close, too close… and just when Loki thought he had been found, the hazy form in the middle of the darkness turned and left in the direction of Loki's illusionary double.
Slowly but surely, the cold and darkness returned to their former level, and Loki let out a small breath of relief at seeing the light of the moon once again. He didn't dare leave his hiding spot just yet, though. After a few minutes had passed, time enough for the creature to be thrown onto the wrong trail, he would drop his illusions and leave, continuing on the road through Midgard.
It was a path he knew well, having spent a majority of his life traveling the Nine Realms, and knew it was the quickest way to get to Asgard. Still, Midgard was vast, and he was not even halfway there to Asgard's border yet. There would eventually come a point where he would need to put aside his hatred and spite long enough to rush the rest of the way to his potential salvation. At the pace he was going, he was more likely to slip up and get caught before even approaching Asgard's border.
Later, once he reached the town a few miles south from the woods he was in, he would debate about adjusting his traveling pace. Until then, he needed to actually get out of said woods. Sending a quick prayer to whatever higher power was out there (the Entities of the Sun and Moon, the Norns, other higher powers he didn't believe in), Loki slid out of his hiding spot. His clothing was stiff with remaining frost, and through the dim moonlight he caught sight of his now Jötun blue skin. Since he made it to Midgard, he had shapeshifted himself to resemble a Vanr—no more blue skin aligned with heritage marks, no more deep red eyes, and certainly no more of his small horns and claws.
It was no surprise that he now found himself back in Jötun skin. The entity that was a part of this curse brought such a freeze alongside it that only the winds of Helheim could rival (he mentally berated himself for thinking about that realm. He had not the opportunity to see his daughter in centuries, not since the All-Father caught him visiting and reinforced the seal on Helheim). The cold was powerful enough to be felt by even the thickest-skinned frost giant, and Loki certainly did not fall in that category. Subconsciously shapeshifting back to Jötun physiology was only a part of his body's natural defenses.
The problem here was that the mortals of Midgard, as well as the natives of nearly every other realm, held a burning fear and hatred for giants of any kind, and seeing even a Jötun runt would be enough to throw them into a panicked frenzy. That was why he always took the form of a Vanr whenever he traveled outside of Jötunheim.
Loki shifted away his Jötun form, returning his pale skin and green eyes. The loss of his horns and claws always felt strange for the first few minutes, though he didn't particularly care. Much of his life had been spent without them anyways, considering he never particularly favored being in Jötunheim.
His shapeshifting finished, being back in the form of a Vanr, Loki took in the position of the moon. The night was waning, and dawn would be upon him in a few hours, and within seconds he had his bearings upon him again. Quietly, still nervous of the curse traversing the forest after an illusion that was no longer cast, Loki started trekking to the south. As long as he could get out of this infernal forest, it wouldn't be too long until he reached the mortal town close by. There he could rest and purchase whatever supplies he needed for the rest of his journey.
Based off how his journey had gone before this, Loki suspected he had at least five days before the curse found him again, and the nearby town was at most a two days' trip away. Plenty of time to rest and restock.
You foolish, arrogant boy. You have proven that you are not worthy of Asgard's throne.
For three centuries now, Thor had remained in Midgard, traveling between the different towns and villages of the realm's northern region. Though his father had banished him from Asgard, Thor found that he could still travel between the Nine Realms; he could theoretically still go to Asgard, though Odin would strip Thor of his godhood if such a thing were to happen. His father had used no spells or magic when banishing his son, trusting Thor enough to at least not go against the orders of the All-Father.
He could go to Vanaheim, Alfheim, even Nidavellir, but he did not feel worthy of such places. Thor could not face the scorn and recognition he would gain in those realms, not after the mistakes he had made during his brief period as Asgard's king. The mortal realm suited him just fine. Most of Midgard's natives praised Thor for being their protector before his banishment, and he vowed to at least continue with the realm's defense. So here he was, hailed as a god among men; a situation he was not worthy of.
Thor tried not to let it get to him. Tried not to let himself fall into despair over the loss of his friends, family, and entire life, but some days were so much more difficult than others. Seeing the mortals praise and hail him as their savior, ignorant of his past mistakes, made him feel ill. More than once, Thor found himself turning away from such love and attention, spending the night at the nearest bar getting drunk.
It was morning when he found himself having a few glasses of mead at the Silver Stallion, his favorite tavern in the town of Fjords. He had arrived at the town yesterday after hearing rumors of potential bandit activity nearby. Since arriving though, there had been no more bandit sightings, making Thor wonder if it had just been a group of travelers passing by. Either way, he was not needed, and decided to spend at least a night or two in Fjords until moving on.
The Silver Stallion was calm that morning, some people milling about and nursing various drinks. It was too early for most people to be partaking in any revelry, many working their jobs for the day. Thor usually preferred to spend his free time at any bar in the morning, the quiet soothing his nerves. He currently sat at a table close to one of the tavern's few windows, letting the first rays of sunlight bathe him in their warmth. It was times like this that Thor enjoyed most, relaxing and letting his mind slip away from any unpleasantries. No need to worry about the state of Asgard, or about his younger brother Baldur, who their father had been training to inherit the throne in Thor's place.
It had been some time since Thor last heard about his family. He figured that he would hear news any day now of the throne finally being passed down to Baldur. While such a thought often felt like a punch to the gut, Thor knew Baldur would make a great king; far better than Thor would ever be. Baldur deserved such honor and recognition, and Thor was happy to remain in Midgard forever, forgotten by all but the mortals he protected.
A prominent clank sounded, signaling the arrival of someone at the tavern. As the door to the entrance slammed back shut (Thor kept offering to fix the rickety old thing, but the Silver Stallion's owners always refused him), Thor glanced up just long enough to see who the person was. The towns in this region of Midgard were small enough that Thor knew everyone that lived in them. Therefore, it was obvious whenever a traveler or newcomer came through.
The person who arrived was someone who had passed through Fjords numerous times since Thor had been banished, and was someone he never minded seeing. They were a lean, Vanr mage by the name of Lopt, who spent their life traveling the Nine in hopes of mastering their knowledge and seidr. Lopt was a bit of a loner, always ignoring those around them and pushing those who approached away with their sarcasm and icy glares. Regardless, Thor had accompanied them on a few of their journeys before, hearing of their current destination and believing excitement and adventure to await them both. The mage always made it clear that they did not appreciate Thor's presence during these few excursions, but the two of them worked well together, and Lopt never made too much of an effort to get rid of the disgraced prince.
Thor grinned to himself, wondering where Lopt intended to go this time. If it was anywhere near Midgard's northern region, perhaps Thor would tag along. The bandit rumors had fallen through, and Thor had nothing better to do besides visit some other town looking for work.
Finishing his drink, taking one last glance at the bright, cloudless sky outside, Thor stood from his table and began his way over to the bar counter. It was then he truly got a good look at Lopt, and what he saw made him pause. The mage's clothes were filthy and disheveled, as though they had had no time to take care of themself during their travels. Large dirt splotches covered the back of their cloak, some leaves and twigs clinging to both the cloak and their pants. Along with this, their clothing was torn and wearing thin in numerous places. This was worrying, because in all of the centuries Thor had known Lopt, they had always been worried about their appearance, remaining as clean and tidy as possible.
Had they been attacked recently? Perhaps by the bandits Thor originally came to deal with? Those bandits would have had to been capable warriors, because Thor had seen Lopt in battle numerous times before. What they lacked in physical strength they more than made up for in magical prowess and agility. Lopt was just as capable with their daggers and knives as they were with seidr, and some measly bandits shouldn't have been enough to rough them up like this. If it was the bandits, however, then Thor needed to know. Those rumors had been the sole reason Thor was even in Fjords, and it was his responsibility to keep the town and its travelers safe from harm.
Finishing his approach, Thor put a hand to Lopt's shoulder, immediately drawing the mage's attention to him.
"So tell me, friend. Is my favorite traveling companion a man or a woman today?" he asked jovially, trying to hide his grim mood.
Seeing as he had been expecting a scoff and some snide remark from Lopt, Thor was surprised when they instead gave him a scowl and simply rolled their eyes. They turned back to the barkeep behind the counter without saying a word to Thor. This was unusual, but understandable. Lopt's moods could be volatile at best, and he (Thor was sure Lopt must be a man today, for he certainly didn't appear to be shapeshifted as a woman) was a master at the silent treatment if he didn't want to interact with someone.
It was when Skuld, the barkeep, made a move that Thor noticed the small parchment in the woman's hand. She set the paper down and pushed it back towards Lopt.
"I told you something stupid like this would happen one day, but you were never one for listening, were ya?" she began, staring impassively at Lopt's glare. "Spend your whole life messing around with all that magic hanky-janky, I'm surprised you haven't been cursed before this."
"Wait," Thor interjected, "Lopt, you've been cursed?" He tried to put another hand to Lopt's shoulder, but the mage simply scowled at Thor once more and knocked his hand away.
"Yeah, your little buddy here went and got his voice cursed away. He's lucky it wasn't something worse than that," Skuld replied to Thor's question.
He could see the frustration on Lopt's face, especially once he pulled out a small pouch of gold and nearly slammed it on the counter. Thor wanted to say something to calm him down, maybe see if Lopt would be willing to share more of the story, but knew when to not push him. At the rate he was going, it was best to leave him to his own devices.
Skuld gave the gold a hard look before grabbing and counting it, nodding once she was done and placing it in the safe under the counter.
"Your usual room's open, so here's the key," she said, tossing the key at Lopt. "Return it tomorrow morning, leave the room clean, all that other nonsense you've heard before." She waved him off, turning back to the shelves she had been stocking all morning.
Thor wanted to say more, wanted to figure out just what was going on with Lopt, but had already promised himself not to push the mage. He would have left well enough alone, allowed Lopt to brood in his inn room or around town, but his already suspicious behavior suddenly became that much more worrisome.
A cold rush of air began seeping into the tavern. Windows began rattling as all the torches and candles in the tavern blew out, forcing the place into darkness. Thor turned to face the windows to see if he could find the reasoning behind this, but found the early sunlight being blocked out by a freezing darkness. There was no time to further debate this, as Thor noticed Lopt going tense beside him, eyes widened in terror.
"Lopt? What is—?" Thor began, only to be interrupted when Lopt bolted. It took him a moment to process what was happening, shouting a half-hearted "wait!" after the retreating mage.
"The hel was that about?" Skuld asked, giving an annoyed look at the entrance slamming shut.
"I don't know, but…" Thor trailed off. The cold and the darkness were only getting worse, as he could barely see frost creeping through the floors and up every surface. Despite wearing thick leathers and a heavy cloak, Thor could feel the cold as though he were bare. "I should go after Lopt," he murmured, concern quickly replacing any confusion he held.
"That little shit got cursed a whole lot worse than he's letting on, didn't he?" Skuld grumbled, turning back to grab a jacket from under the counter. As nonchalant as she was acting, she was shivering heavily as frost continued to form on every surface. Thor had the benefit of tougher Aesir skin, but even he found himself affected by the cold. He could only imagine what Skuld and the other mortals were going through.
Throwing a quick apology back at Skuld, Thor rushed outside to find out what was going on. The cold was even worse outside, and Thor was eerily reminded of the last time he had been on Jötunheim. Pushing those thoughts out of his head, Thor nearly jumped as a loud growl and sudden shriek got his attention back. Pulling out his axe, Thor ran to the source of the sound, only to stop in his tracks.
Through the thick, frozen haze and darkness, Thor could see a faint figure running around. It wasn't like any race he had ever seen before, taking on a more animalistic form. The cold and darkness were clearly emanating from this creature, and it only worsened as Thor got closer.
He didn't know if there was anything he could do about whatever this thing was. Being this close, he could feel his own skin burning as though touched by a frost giant. He knew he needed to do something though, because the mortals of Fjords would fair far worse against this thing.
In the middle of all of this, Thor saw a flash of green and felt the familiar thrum of Lopt's magic. The cold suddenly felt so much worse than before, as Thor realized that Lopt had to have anticipated this. Why else would he have been the first to react to the strange events in the tavern? And if it was related to his curse, then what exactly was he dealing with? For all the centuries he'd known him, Lopt had always been more careful than this.
Illusions were sent running in opposite directions, yet Lopt's magic was still stirring in the dark haze. Thor could hardly tell what was happening, but was wary to enter the battle. His Ás skin was made to withstand harsher temperatures, but this was worse than the winters of Jötunheim, and he was likely to freeze over before ever reaching Lopt.
A piercing scream brought Thor out of his musings, and through the thick haze of the battle he saw that whatever Lopt had been fighting appeared to have gotten the better of him. The creature was on top of the mage who was sprawled out on the ground. Though Lopt was trying to keep his screams muffled, Thor could still hear them, along with the sizzling of burning skin as the creature gripped onto him hard. Whatever the thing was, it was opening its gaping maw, ready to strike, and Thor knew he couldn't hesitate any longer.
With a shout and the rumble of distant thunder, Thor launched himself into the heart of the frozen battle, axe already mid-swing. A sickening crunch was heard as the axe pierced through the frozen skin of the beast, ice shards exploding heavily from its body. With yet another swing, the creature was knocked off of its victim, and Thor took the opportunity to grab Lopt and swing his weakened body over his shoulder. With that, Thor took off in a run. A quick glance behind him was enough to confirm his suspicions: this frozen creature was dead set on getting Lopt (or perhaps was just furious with Thor for injuring it, either were plausible). The creature was following Thor as he ran off with Lopt, and the further he ran from Fjords, the safer the people of the town would be.
I need to get to the stables, was all that ran through Thor's head, adrenaline in charge of any other thought and action in his body. The thing wasn't all that fast, admittedly, and if there was a chance they could lose it on horse, Thor was taking it.
Vaguely, Thor wondered if perhaps he should attempt to kill the thing and be done with it, but the rational part of his brain remained to tell him that no, if Lopt couldn't deal with this thing, then Thor needed to be more careful. He needed to know more about this thing, why it emitted such dreadful frost and darkness, why…
Thor made it to the horse stables, rushing in and throwing Lopt over the back of a black and white spotted stallion. Normally Thor would take the time to saddle and bridle his steed, but with as urgent and dangerous as the situation was, he was more worried about getting both himself and Lopt to safety, as well as leading the creature far from any mortal town. With that, he jumped upon his horse, holding on to the now unconscious Vanr as he got the horse into action.
In no time at all, Thor and his steed were racing out of Fjords. Not too far away remained the frozen creature, racing after them and blocking their escape from view with its haze, but Thor was correct in his previous assumption: The creature was slow, and before he knew it, the darkness covering the sky had lessened, and soon the soft rays of the morning sun were shining down upon them once more.
The creature and its frozen haze were no longer in sight, but that didn't deter Thor. This thing had already taken Lopt off guard once, and by now Thor figured Lopt definitely had known about it upon reaching Fjords, so he would take no chances. They would run until they left the plains south of Fjords, entering the woods of Hjalli so that they may find a decent place to hide. Once there, Thor would get the answers he needed from Lopt. Not only was the mage in great danger himself, but he was inadvertently putting mortal towns and people in danger too.
He was a protector to the Midgardian mortals, as they were all Thor felt he had left. Over the past three centuries though, Thor felt that maybe his most constant traveling companion was someone else who could be considered important to him. He would get to the bottom of this, no matter how difficult he knew Lopt would act once he had awoken from unconsciousness.