Silver and Scales
Chapter Twenty: An Assassin's Build
Loki led Vyperia by the hand into the armory.
It was a grand space that was decorated and furnished with shield, swords, crossbows, pole arms, axe staffs, and an entire arsenal of bows and arrows. The Asgardians were blessed with a natural talent of blacksmithing, as it was no surprise that the room was tempered and smelled of smoke, ash, and smelted metal ingots. The atmosphere was musty with fevered battle: the stench was of welding, metal upon metal like the fumes of a Midgardian gun-stripping factory. To any rookie, it was the smell that would glorify the heat of battle—to infuse them with the reality that it was in their design to fight.
It was an Asgardian's lust to engage in skirmishes, as it was the goal to die a glorious death.
Vyperia's main attribute was the skill of a stealth assassin. She was no barbarian brandishing a battleax like Volstagg, nor was she an astute femme fatale like Sif who came forward with full thrall while wielding a double-speared staff. She was far more useful on the outskirts of the battle field, picking off the sentries with deadly precision. She never missed her targets, and they usually died instantly.
Loki smiled, amused, as Vyperia gazed about the room in awe. She was neither frightened nor stunned at the wares of the armory. She was in admiration of the beauty that was around her. She loved a good fight as any other god—except hers usually came with no one the wiser. Aside from her snake-human morphing, Vyperia's abilities were far better put to use in the shadows, hidden from her targets so as to snipe them when their heads were turned.
He had retrieved several knives from a decorated chest—each dagger was made from the raw materials of five realms. Loki transferred Vyperia from her trance to wordlessly show her the knives that he held in his hand. Each was specifically different from the others.
All together there were Ebony, Elven, Glass, Steel, and Dwarven blades—each was a higher degree of decoration than the next.
Ebony was a slick, black knife. It was awkwardly jagged to make the pierced wound hurt more than it really should, given the heavy weight of its natural state.
The Elven blade, more akin to be used by those whom it was forged—the Dark Elves—was a distinctly pale moon-yellow, light and easily concealed by heavy armor. The body was more elaborated upon dexterity rather than the damage that it could do. It would not easily break as the steel, should it have been thrashed upon the sturdy body of the Destroyer.
Glass, much lighter than Elven, blades were nearly translucent. They were forged from the very stalagmites and stalactites of the inner caves of Jotunheim. They looked like crystals, blue and slick. While Glass was considerably more fragile than Elven, it was far more dangerous to be slit by if one was so unlucky to come across a warrior whose skill was proficient in the Icepick Grip. Loki happened to be one of the very few Asgardians who favored the Glass daggers, specifically because he was very proficient with his use of such a feat.
As Loki handed the Glass dagger to Vyperia, who gazed upon the named weapons with interest, he smiled at her as the metal slipped into her hand with ease. Honestly, he had never felt more attracted to her as Loki saw the sudden light in her eyes spark. He didn't condemn her hidden blood lust. He merely observed it as if she had become this new warrior—awakened by his rule on Asgard—and now she craved war.
Loki held the last of the types of daggers in his hand, which was Dwarven. Dwarven was heavier than Ebony, and not as proficient as Elven metal—but the hue of a Dwarven dagger was so easily mistaken that the targets would mistake the damage points for the Elven sort. Dwarven metal had a higher damage base—merely being cut with such a metal would have the victim (or target, when in war) bleed instantly. It was much heavier, and therefore, it was far more resistant to armor.
"These are beautiful," Vyperia said softly.
Loki watched in admitted arousal as she ran the Glass dagger through her fingers.
"You favor this one, don't you?" said Vyperia, her eyes on the metal.
"Yes."
Vyperia looked at him. His eyes left her playful hand to meet her inquired ones. He found her interest in such war play to actually heady, a carnal-based turn on that seemed to cloud him for a moment before he spoke purposefully,
"It's…It's actually one of the first metals that I had the pleasure of wielding," Loki told her. He cleared his throat briefly before continuing. Vyperia smirked at him, recognizing the obvious look of desire. She didn't press it, though; merely, she watched him as if he was one of her teachers when she was in school.
"Mother always told me," Loki volunteered, "that a warrior is not measured by the strength of his arm or by the wit of his tongue. He is measured by his weapon."
"That sounds reasonable to me," remarked Vyperia. Her sly connotation didn't go unnoticed, for Loki glanced at her momentarily to spare her a serious look. She smirked, satisfied to know that he had heard her double-meaning. He pressed on.
"When we were first learning how to spar," he continued, "Mother explained that you use your strengths for yourself and your weakness against others, in order to lull them into a sense of security; but you always have the upper hand."
Loki withdrew the Elven, Steel, Ebony, and Dwarven knives from Vyperia's hand, leaving only the Glass dagger between her fingers. He stepped toward her, barely three inches apart from her. He set his hands on her shoulders.
"Your weakness right now is me," Loki told her, alluding to a lesson that his mother taught him.
"Oh, I believe you," she muttered, staring at him.
"Do you want to learn, or not?" Loki said testily.
"Yes, yes. I'll be serious. Sorry," Vyperia excused herself, though smirking still.
"All right…"
He looked at her for a brief moment. When she said nothing, he continued from where he had left off:
"I'm much taller than you are, so I would have the advantage. I'm stronger, so fighting me off would only ensure your certain death. However, you are more flexible, agile, and built for elusion—waiting for the opportune moment to strike."
Loki pulled the dagger from out of Vyperia's grasp.
"While you lack in brute strength, your skills make up for it with an assassin's build. You're harder to detect because you are smaller than the other Asgardian women—you can step where others would set off pressure plates or alert the sentries. This doesn't mean that your only output is to fight in the shadows.
"Turn around."
Vyperia didn't question him. She faced away from Loki; he didn't move. The dagger in his hand rose to her chin. The sharp tip didn't push pass the barrier along the end of her jaw, but it was enough pressure to know that if she pulled away from him, it could slit her throat without a fuss. Loki's other hand wrapped around her waist.
"My method is dangerous in the hands of an amateur," said Loki, his voice deep and hoarse in her voice. "It requires precision, speed, and the ability to make split-second decisions. You are very quick on your feet, Vyperia; you must use that to your advantage."
Vyperia turned her head to look at him. His eyes lowered to meet hers.
"Odin calls it the Icepick Grip." Loki told her. "It is fluent, and it is performed by manipulating the wrist. One move of this dagger could either paralyze you or kill you within five seconds."
Vyperia felt the blade leave her jaw. He fingered the dagger to place it in her hand.
He guided her wrist in a way to mock the way a handler would accomplish this maneuver.
"It delivers multiple cuts from a variety of angles," he told her; she could feel his breath on the crook of her neck. "Such flexibility makes it extremely dangerous to attempt to immobilize the wielder's hand by grasping the wrist. It could quickly circle around and do enough damage to tendons, nerves, and blood vessels. In this way," he told her, releasing her hand, "nobody will want to touch you."
"This is incredible," said Vyperia.
She turned to face him.
"It's an acquired skill. It doesn't take long to learn, Vyperia; but it does require practice. Any soldier could take a dagger and fling it sloppily over his head. It takes courage—and a little risk—to perform this feat."
"I guess it's a good thing that I have a little bit of both," Vyperia remarked.
"Yes…" Loki said lightly. "It is. I would say that you could practice with me; but it would prove a false determination, since I have no intention of killing you."
He smiled at her.
"In time, though, you will learn it all too quickly."
Vyperia pocketed the Glass dagger, smiling as well.