Scene #5104:

Owner	Pose
Inga Freyjasdottir	Smoke rises lazily from the chimney, drifting through the evergreens and snow-covered, skeletal trees. Winter still has a firm hold on Dun Realtai. The air is cold and crisp, a blanket of grey clouds above threatening more snow. As if there isn't enough on the ground as it is. A path has been well trodden to Inga's cottage however, making it easier to travel from the village out into the woods where she lives. It isn't too far of a walk, but far enough to give that 'witch in the woods' vibe. Inga herself is currently outside, treading another familiar path toward a tree where she has set up a small shrine where a few wooden statues reside. A bowl is placed before them for offerings. The statues appear to be female. Inga kneels, placing her walking stick down beside her in the snow. She pulls a small bottle from her pouch belt, and empties its contents into the bowl. Inga is wrapped in her grey-blue wool cloak with the hood up, blending in rather well with the grey trunks of the trees, perhaps not immediately noticable.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	Knockknockknock. Reinhardt has had...better days. He's got his arm in a sling, barely knit together with sutures and a crapload of antibiotics doused on it daily since he got his arm injured. He misses having Mercy around to patch his injuries, when Angela was there he felt like he could do /anything/ without trouble, even at his age. Inga thankfully is a healer, magic based rather than technology, but still a healer nonetheless. He's been meaning to meet this Norse medicine woman for a while now, mostly for sheer fan boyish glee at meeting someone from the age of vikings and gods and all that. So he's pretty excited despite looking like hell. The door opens, and Reinhardt pokes his head in, a heavy winter coat worn over his t-shirt and jeans. "Hello? Is Inga home by chance?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	No one answers from inside, though a voice does come from behind him. "Odin's bones! You're a bloody giant!" comes her words, and behind him, by the tree, kneels Inga. She takes up her staff and uses it to help herself to her feet, indicating weakness in her legs. Once standing, she's no more impressive, height wise. She is a rather unassuming 5 feet even, easily overlooked. But her eyes are unnervingly keen, her presence large. She walks toward him, leaning on her stick and shaking her head. "You were not kidding about your height. Giant in your blood, have you?" she ask, stopping a few feet away and looking waaaay up at him. She extends a hand. "Well, a pleasure to meet you in person, even if you will give me a neckache," she says, giving him a wry smile.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	TO be fair, Reinhardt is around 7'1", and there may not be enough stones in the world to gauge his weight. Reinhardt whirls around looking surprised, before he glances down to see Inga. "Ahh, I get that a lot. I take it you're Ms. Inga, then? Reinhardt Wilhelm, we spoke before over the radio devices." He grins, offering a bow of his head before he peels off his jacket. "Were I descended from giants, I'd not be too surprised in all honesty. It's something from my father's side of the family I suppose." He laughs, and holds up his injured arm. "It's good I got here when I did, I've been meaning to see an expert about my arm. I was injured a few weeks ago in a mission, and figured you could be of use."
Inga Freyjasdottir	"Ja, I know who you are," she informs him, then mentions inside the cottage. "Go on inside. I was simply making an offering when you arrived. It is Disablot today," she says, moving inside. "Well, take a seat there and I'll tend you arm," she says, pointing to a bench near the hearth. "But as it is no emergency at this point I'll be a good hostess first. Tea? Ale? Mead? Or I could make coffee if you wish," she offers, moving toward the little kitchen. The cottage is a strange blend of old and more modern, though be no means technological. There's an ice box, but it appears to be the sort that needs actual ice to keep it cold--not a problem this time of year. The stove is an old iron woodstove. The table and chairs are from IKEA. "Why did you wait so long to come? And what happened?" she asks.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	Reinhardt shrugs. "I went about from clinic to clinic, I didn't have much in the way of resources. Back in the Union, and Overwatch before the Petras act, I at least could count on doctors to heal my injuries." He says, before he heads in, lowering his head. "Ale will be fine, thank you. I've been traveling for a while, it'll be good to rest my feet for a bit." He says, the floor creaking with every step he takes. He also makes the chair creak as he takes a seat, and groans quietly as he takes a load off of his poor old legs. There was a time he wasn't so...creaky, and he misses those days. "You've a nice place, Inga. Rather sedate and classic, hard to argue with that." He chuckles, remembering Torbjorn's estate back in Sweden, especially Christmas time there.
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga sighs. "Well, you could have come sooner you know. No need to suffer through it," she says. She may be grumbling abour bloody stubborn, giant men as she gets a bottle of ale from the ice box and brings it over with large piece of meat pie. Man that big must be hungry constantly. Once he's had a sip and a bite, Inga goes to work examining his arm, making sure its at least in proper allignment before she uses her magic to heal it. She hopes so, because she's not sure she'd have the strength to set it! "Thank you, I'm rather fond of it. It has served my purpose well. Comfortable here. Dun Realtai has been the closet place to where I cam from. It's been a comfort to me," she explains. "I suppose I should warn you, I use blood magic to heal. I trust that is acceptable?" she asks as she reaches for the little knife at her belt. A seax, a saxon knife.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	Reinhardt sighs, "I'm starting to see why so many people insist I do so." He grumbles, trying to ignore his aching arm as he winces. Sipping his ale, the German just watches Inga. It looks like it's been a stab wound he dressed personally, luckily it didn't penetrate bone or that arm would be /useless/. "It was my mistake leaving my armor behind at the time, I'm lucky I didn't lose more." He eyes the knife, before he shrugs a shoulder. "I've seen nastier things. Do what you need to, Inga." He nods with a smile, very much the image of a grandfather getting a checkup. THen again, most doctors would balk at the idea of giving their patients alcohol, so Inga's already an improvement!
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga is old fashioned. A good strong drink is usually prescribed before treatment. "You're older than I pictured," she comments, though not in a way that is insulting. He'd just sounded so child-like when he'd heard she was from the past--that she was a witch. But he's far older than she. Inga takes her knife and slices into her hand, drawing enough blood for her purpose. She places her hand upon his arm, whispering a chant in old norse. The air smells suddenly of the sharp scent of blood mixed with the golden sweetness of honey. Blood shimmers with anima, which sinks into his body and begins to work at healing his arm. Inga, now in close proximity and letting down some of her defenses to channel her magic, can't help but look at the threads of wyrd that splay out from him in all directions, leading back, leading forward, tugging at he like a strong wind. The past pulls her, yanks her in. "Heh...is that how the gods were illustrated...your childhood book, Odin with his hair over his missing eye, astride Sliepnir, his spear in hand...resemble him a bit, don't you?" she says, the pupils of her eyes unnervingly wide, her hand frozen on his arm. The smile slips away as another thread grabs her. "The foe...metal and cold--robots they are called, ja? I see you, fierce in battle, your armor shining, your allies with you. Then....death. A death that changed your life," she continues, her voice distant as she's pulled along, trying not to let it take her completely. Visions are usually a full sensory experience. Entirely overwhelming. Sometimes, she can sit back a little and let it roll over her without drowning her completely.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	"Hahaha, am I? I'm told people are shocked to find out I only JUST turned sixty-one." Reinhardt chuckles, grinning a little before he offers up his arm. In fairness, he tends to get /giddy/ with fantasy stuff in general; Wizards, knights, wise women and such, all that stuff is practically in Reinhardt's blood. Many have said he was born in the wrong century, and they're right. Hell, he might've been born in the wrong WORLD if not millennium. He he breathes deep as Inga focuses and works on his wound, and he can't help but blink his working eye when Inga speaks. "...you saw into my mind?" Reinhardt asks after a pause. "Hopefully the books aren't too wrong, aye?" He says, and nods again. "Those were the days, the good along with the bad, I couldn't have asked for a better life. There was strife everywhere; homes and lives destroyed left and right by an unending threat, yet there was no shortage of heroes then. We were shut down after our commander, Morrison, was killed. We lost Reyes as well, and we drifted apart. I hadn't seen Tracer and Genji for years before we met again, just as well...if we were caught interacting they would've had us in chains." He says sadly, lying back as he takes another swig of the ale, a deep chug at that. Reinhardt closes his eyes, as Inga works, and smells honey mixed with blood, to his surprise. "...is that honey?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga smiles faintly again. "In my time, most were not fortunate to reach such an age. Especially not warriors," she comments, still a little distant. She's beginning to pull herself back. She closes her eyes, withdrawing her hand from his arm. A few deep breaths, and when she opens her eyes they are normal once more. "You sounded so...child-like on the radio. Your excitement, anyway. Obviously not your voice," she laughs. "Perhaps, if age is a state of mind it is I that is old," she offers with a small shrug. "Not into your mind. Into your wyrd," she begins to explain. "I have the Sight. I see the tapestry of fate. You know of the Norns, yes? I do not work the wyrd, merely observe it. It has long been my gift--though wether or not it is a truly a gift is often debated," she adds. When he remarks on the honey smell, she looks a bit embarrassed. "I'm told I smell of honey. I believe it is a side-effect of being what I am--not wisewoman, but a Chosen of the Buzzing. The serve a goddess of the earth called Gaia. It is with anima granted by Gaia that I healed you," she explains. "Try your arm," she instructs. It should be healed--if not all the way, it will be soon.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	"I must be ancient to you, practically immortal!" Reinhardt jokes giddily, laughing as he flexes is fingers, and moves his arm slowly, to test how well it feels now. "Huh, that was faster than I expected. Already not as stiff as before now." He says with a grin. "I suppose it's hard to outgrow one's passions, no matter how much you can deny them." He says with a warm sigh, and takes another swig of his ale. "This is good ale, by the way. What's in it?" He nods as Inga explains to him her powers, listening intently. "Bee gods. I see! Tell me more, how did you come by this Buzzing in the first place?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga blinks at the quip about being immortal. She glances to the side for a moment. "Ah, no. Of course not. It is good to see that people live longer now," she adds. Oooh boy. "No need to deny your passions. It does not make one more adult to not care," she comments with a smile. There are certainly things she's passionate about, and perhaps a few things that bring even the normally reserved woman child-like glee. "Ah, the ale is from a place called Mac's in Chicago. I don't know what is it in other than...the usual ale things. I think it likely says so on the bottle," not that she can read it, but he can! "Ah...well, that is a bit of a story I suppose I could tell," she says, taking a seat nearby and settling in. She rolls her shoulders a moment, then reaches back to gently massage her lower back for a moment. "As you know, I am from an earth far in the past. I was a wisewoman there, and lived with my mentor. She taught me much of what I know of herbs, runes, magic and the gods. Though she was a Saxon, she worshipped our gods--not too dissimilar from our own gods in fact. She was a Seer as well, and taught me how to manage my gift. We lived near the Temple at Uppsala, but we often traveled further abroad, where we were recieved by many lords that welcomed our services. That was my life...respected, but...seperate from most people. I'd always known I was chosen by Freya, but I never expected what came next. My mentor, she grew old and sick. On her deathbed, she gave me her last prophecy. She said that I would be lead to the world tree by a bee....and so I was. I...swallowed the bee? and stumbled into what is called by others like myself Agartha. It is Yggdrasil, and it stretches beyond our ken. I came out something like 1200 years later in a small town being plagued by zombies and other horrible things I never thought to see...and that was how I entered the multiverse. Now I hear the bees, they are quite talkative, and I am able to do magic in ways I never could previously. The blood magic, fire, lightning...it is all done with anima," she explains. She leans back, sighing quietly. "It is all very overwhelming, even now and I've grown used to it. Still, there are some things about being Chosen that...are difficult to cope with."
Reinhardt Wilhelm	Reinhardt nods. "Aye, the Germanic tribes borrowed a bit from the Norse." He observes, listening to Inga speak. And then his eye widens giddily with awe when it sets in. "That is...quite a tale. You've seen THE World Tree? Have you seen the gods themselves? I...err." He looks sheepish, leaning in his seat. "Forgive me, this is a lot to take in..the implications are /staggering/, you understand I am sure." he says, chuckling a bit before he rubs his bearded jaw. "I suppose there's something to be said about going in, and coming out with a thousand years passing by. It...I take it other Elites have seen this world of yours, then?" He furrows his brow, before taking a final swig of his ale. "You can count on me as an ally, in the pursuit of your world's protection. These monsters cannot be allowed to prosper."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga's eyes shine, a smirk curving her lips. "I have seen it and traveled its pathways. I could show it to you," she offers. "As for the gods, well...I met Thor once--sort of. There is a world in which Thor is not...quite a god. He is still extremely impressive mind you, but not like the god I have heard and told stories about, not the god I make sacrifices too. I have however, met an actual valkyrie. It was...incredible," she says, going starry eyed. She reaches for a small leather pouch at her waste and reaches in, pulling a few carved runes from the bag. They radiate magic--as do many of the things Inga usually wears. "These were acquired from her. A gift from Harry," she explains. She will meet Gard again. She is sure of it. She has seen it. It and many other things. "I know that on some worlds, that gods are very much present," she says with surity. "Yes, many have seen my world. This particular part of it is...terrible. The whole world is not so, but places on it..." she sighs. "We are made to fight a...an entity. We call it The Filth. It is unimaginably dangerous and it spreads extremely easily and quickly. It is almost impossible to get rid of once someone has been infected with it," she explains. A smile appears. Pride. "I say almost impossible, because I have done it." "We welcome any help we can get, however. A man of your talents would be useful there. I would need to give you certain protections before you go. A talisman and, well, a lecture on the importance of NOT getting yourself infected," she adds. Half way there, anyway.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	"I'll try not to miss any important information." Reinhardt smiles with a laugh. He also lights up with joy at the chance to see the World Tree for himself. "I'd be deeply honored to come with you to see the tree, whenever you're able." The idea of a guy named Thor but not QUITE Thor isn't too shocking by comparison. He's seen that myth and various worlds often not entirely aligning. "Sounds like he and I would get along well all the same, must've been something meeting him." he thought might be making him underestimate how dangerous the world Inga comes from is. Then again, he might just be that brave. He takes the pouch, breathing in surprise at the energies it radiates. "Incredible. THis Harry of yours...he is a wizard?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	"It is a truly amazing sight. I can take you there whenever you wish, though it is not as easy to take others there as it is to go myself. I have what is called a conduit that takes me there whenever I wish," she explains. "But I can take you, we just have to get to an entrance. As far as I know it is the only way to visit my world." Inga laughs. "Yes, it was certainly something. I believe I actually passed out. Rather embarrassing in retrospect. He is..." a hunk of a man? Yeah. That. "pretty impressive." But it is at Harry's name that she warms. "Yes, he is. You should meet him. Tch, I thought /he/ was a damned giant. I will be quite amused to see him have to look upward at someone," she grins.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	Reinhardt laughs, "If it weren't for me I know a few people who would definitely get some looks as they enter the room." He says, and nods. "We may have our chance to see your world sooner than expected, if fate decides it has a sense of humor. Hopefully that comes to be the case, I'm excited just from what you've told me!" He adds with glee, relishing the thought of /ADVENTURES./
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga laughs. She can't imagine anyone relishing in the thought of visiting Solomon Island. "I do not think I can properly convey what a terrible place it is. Gloomy, full of abominations, smells like fishmen...really. It is awful. I do have a very nice bone fence there though that I'm quite proud of," she adds. "How is your arm? Does it need to be healed again? Won't have you leaving until I know it is back in working order," she comments. Then, after a moment. "You have done work with the Watch, yes? What do you think of the organization?" she asks.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	"I think I can guess, all the reason for me to be there to save the day, aye? I go where there is strife regularly!" Reinhardt says with glee, and flexes his formerly wounded arm proudly. "Well enough I can get back to hammering things, if not helping around the settlement if you need it! I can do whatever you may need of me, I don't mind staying around a bit longer." He offers. Ahh, the Watch. Reinhardt looks fond for a moment. "They came to me at a good time, when the Union was shut down I feared I'd be back to scavenging for everything. With the Watch at least, we have a chance to do some good without worrying about the same mistakes that shut down Overwatch. I just hope the Paladins don't suffer that fate as well..."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga nods. Ah, heroic types. They can always be counted on to do something, well, heroic, which generally means not great for self-preservation. "That is good. The place needs a lot of help. The zombies and beasts we slay...they just come back. There seems an unending supply. There's something extremely wrong going on there and we are still trying to figure out what it is and if we can fix it. But there are still survivors, holed up there in a few safe spaces just trying to keep going. We send in food, water, weapons...because they cannot leave. They cannot come through agartha as we can," she explains. It really is a mess. A mess that always weighs on her, for she feels like they should have solved it by now. "Yes, that is good. When all of that happened...I was not sure where it would lead me. The Buzzing seemed to indicate the Watch was where I belong, but I have had very little contact with the group overall. Harry is with the Paladins, but I did not feel that I would fit in there," she replies. Inga stands and gets another ale, and one for herself as well. "If you'd like to give your arm a go, you can always chop more wood. Harry and Eithne are not around at present. They usually handle that for me." Inga doesn't look like she could lift an ax nevermind swing it with any real force.
Reinhardt Wilhelm	Reinhardt nods, laboring to try and get himself to his feet. And then immediately bonks his head on the ceiling, groaning as he grabs his head. "...dammit, dammit I promised myself I'd not do this. Owwwwww..." He grumbles, rubbing his sore head as he tries to play it off. "I can do what I can, chopping wood come naturally anyways, can't be much different than using a war hammer after all!"
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga can't help but snicker. The ceiling isn't damaged at all. "Perhaps you'd be more at home in jotunheim," she laughs. He'll certainly have to duck through the doorway. "...are all the people on your world so large, or are you special?" she inquires. Maybe humans are just really big there. People are certainly taller on average than in her time--and the norse were considered giants. Inga gets to her feet as well and leads him to the door, pointing to the wood pile and the chopping block. She'll watch to make sure his arm is healed all of the way. And because it is enjoyable watching men chop wood.