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Description
They’d been friends since childhood, Loki and Sif. Sure, they’d had their rows. All youths did. Emotions ran high in young Asgardians just as they did in any other realm. Growing up under the watchful eye of The Allfather was no easy task for either of them.

The second Prince of Asgard, Loki was oft compared to his elder brother, Thor. Thor was the golden, shining beacon of all that was good and worthy in Asgardian culture. Smaller, darker, Loki felt he did not measure up to his brother’s standards. The younger Prince was not as strong, not as outgoing, not as beloved as the elder. It was a rift that had been growing since early childhood. Their Father had told them repeatedly that they’d both been born to be Kings, yet only one could ascend to the throne of Asgard. The competition was already built-in.

Loki, instead, excelled in scholarly pursuits. He was no slouch as a warrior and maintained the same level of training as Thor did, but physically, there were clear differences. Loki’s natural gifts were more of a cerebral nature. And then there was his magic.

Magic was not something men did in Asgard. All save Odin, of course. His magic was unquestionably powerful, but Loki’s? Well, he was still learning. Frigga, who had her own gifts with the seiðr, was teaching her youngest son the ways of the craft. It was difficult work, made more unrewarding by taunts and sneers of others in Asgard who found it ‘unmanly’ of the youngest Prince to be practicing what was a woman’s art. Weaving and seiðr were closely linked and Asgard had fairly rigidly defined gender roles.

Loki didn’t fit into either of those molds very well and never had.

Neither had his dear friend Sif. Sif had always been tomboyish, rougher and more boisterous than other girls her age. She’d played with the two Princes as a youngster and had kept up with them without difficulty. She did not balk at dirt, risk, or disgust. Things that were considered proper and ladylike, she sneered at. They were no fun, Sif said, boring. It was a shared distaste for dictated roles that the two Asgardian youths shared, among many other things.

So when a messenger came to Loki one evening requesting he join his friend at a secluded garden of his mother’s, he naturally was concerned. Tugging on his boots, the younger Prince hurried to the designated rendezvous, wondering what Sif required that necessitated such a meeting. There was no unrest in Asgard that he knew of, and he would know if there was any, so he assumed it was of a more personal nature.

Sif had arrived before him and he greeted her in the twinkling lights of the garden. She had either acquired or brought along what appeared to be mead for them to drink and it set upon one of the small tables in the garden, along with two goblets. Loki glanced around to gauge their privacy. He was cautious and thoughtful by nature, a wary creature, which had only been honed by time.

“Lady Sif.” She hated being called that, so of course it had become a teasing joke between them, a fond nickname of sorts, rather than an actual title.

“I came as soon as I received your summons. Are we alone? What troubles you?”

Loki Silvertongue
www.roleplaylives.net/Goddesso…

Description
They’d been friends since childhood, Loki and Sif. Sure, they’d had their rows. All youths did. Emotions ran high in young Asgardians just as they did in any other realm. Growing up under the watchful eye of The Allfather was no easy task for either of them.

The second Prince of Asgard, Loki was oft compared to his elder brother, Thor. Thor was the golden, shining beacon of all that was good and worthy in Asgardian culture. Smaller, darker, Loki felt he did not measure up to his brother’s standards. The younger Prince was not as strong, not as outgoing, not as beloved as the elder. It was a rift that had been growing since early childhood. Their Father had told them repeatedly that they’d both been born to be Kings, yet only one could ascend to the throne of Asgard. The competition was already built-in.

Loki, instead, excelled in scholarly pursuits. He was no slouch as a warrior and maintained the same level of training as Thor did, but physically, there were clear differences. Loki’s natural gifts were more of a cerebral nature. And then there was his magic.

Magic was not something men did in Asgard. All save Odin, of course. His magic was unquestionably powerful, but Loki’s? Well, he was still learning. Frigga, who had her own gifts with the seiðr, was teaching her youngest son the ways of the craft. It was difficult work, made more unrewarding by taunts and sneers of others in Asgard who found it ‘unmanly’ of the youngest Prince to be practicing what was a woman’s art. Weaving and seiðr were closely linked and Asgard had fairly rigidly defined gender roles.

Loki didn’t fit into either of those molds very well and never had.

Neither had his dear friend Sif. Sif had always been tomboyish, rougher and more boisterous than other girls her age. She’d played with the two Princes as a youngster and had kept up with them without difficulty. She did not balk at dirt, risk, or disgust. Things that were considered proper and ladylike, she sneered at. They were no fun, Sif said, boring. It was a shared distaste for dictated roles that the two Asgardian youths shared, among many other things.

So when a messenger came to Loki one evening requesting he join his friend at a secluded garden of his mother’s, he naturally was concerned. Tugging on his boots, the younger Prince hurried to the designated rendezvous, wondering what Sif required that necessitated such a meeting. There was no unrest in Asgard that he knew of, and he would know if there was any, so he assumed it was of a more personal nature.

Sif had arrived before him and he greeted her in the twinkling lights of the garden. She had either acquired or brought along what appeared to be mead for them to drink and it set upon one of the small tables in the garden, along with two goblets. Loki glanced around to gauge their privacy. He was cautious and thoughtful by nature, a wary creature, which had only been honed by time.

“Lady Sif.” She hated being called that, so of course it had become a teasing joke between them, a fond nickname of sorts, rather than an actual title.

“I came as soon as I received your summons. Are we alone? What troubles you?”

Loki Silvertongue
www.roleplaylives.net/Goddesso…