(no subject)

[arcanely]

[He came in the depth of the night, a creature of shadow, the very figment of the legends spoken of his kin. The fae steal babies, some spoke, and replace them with children of their own! Malekith would not deny the accusations. It had been the fun sport of youth, stealing away human children, and now a sport left to his lessers. Every action of Malekith’s had purpose, and this night was no different. It was no child he came to take, and he had little intention of leaving an elvish spy in his victim’s place. Truthfully, the less Malekith left of his presence within the city, the better. Had his escape been a pure fluke? Perhaps. His return was intentional, though, and his time limited.

So limited, though, that he cannot momentarily admire the peace of the sleeping prince before him? Hardly.

It is a short lived admiration, of course, for Malekith cannot deny himself the pleasure of taking his target, and it is the ensuing panic that will truly give him his satisfaction. His moves are quick - a hand firmly placed over Clovis’ mouth to start, followed by his other hand finding grip upon the prince’s shoulder, yanking him forth, undoubtedly both from sleep, and physically. With no impairment enlisted upon him by the city any further, it’s with little effort that Malekith pulls the other man from bed, and finally he breaks the silence with a quick laugh. The experience must be terrifying for Clovis.

But just as quick, he pulls the other man back across the room, and flairs of red lick at the both of them, reminiscent of the magic Malekith had managed to use that once-

It happens in a blinding flash, their transfer between worlds, a pathway forged by Malekith’s abilities. How quick it happens, though! One moment, in a quiet room, the next - the next…

The air is thick with the smell of damp earth, and the sounds of unfamiliar insects sing about them. For just a moment longer, Malekith keeps his grip upon Clovis’ upper arm, but as the magic dissipates around them, returning to the ether from which it spawned, Malekith’s hands removes themselves, leaving the prince to support himself. There’s no backwards glance from the elf to see how the other man fairs. Instead, Malekith steps forward, mindlessly treading through the shallow mud of the swamp they’ve appeared within.

There’s a quiet hum from him, though, the low hum of satisfaction, tinged with a sharp grin. It’s then that he twists his head to direct a sharp stare towards Clovis, and in that moment, Malekith fits. He is not the elf alien among humans, he is not the king displaced among naysayers. In that moment, every bramble of crooked tree seemingly reaches for him and every waft of murky swamp fumes pull in towards their master. Here lies the environment that let Malekith grow his thorns. Here lies the dark elf’s home.

It’s with flourish that he then turns to face Clovis in full, arms spreading in welcoming gesture.]

Welcome to the realm of Svartalfheim, little prince. I do hope you find it to your tastes.

[And almost as if on cue, the howl of a strange beast calls out in the distance, reverberating off the strange depths of the swamp about them. Behind Clovis, the trees press in dark, line of sight cut before too long. To the right, a large bubble pops at the surface of murky water - from a creature beneath the surface? Or merely the shifting of mud? And then, all about on small patches of dirt, grasses in deep purples and weird shades of green, mushrooms colored so toxically that seemingly the very sight of them would poison, and above it all, Malekith and his relentless, malicious grin.

This land would kill Clovis. Malekith could only hope the prince begged for the proper protections.]