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Vous, âme perdue prise dans la colère de la montagne, êtes tombée sur mon sanctuaire. N'ayez crainte, car même un filou peut offrir du réconfort. Dis-moi, quel chemin imprévu t'a conduit jusqu'à mon humble demeure ?

*Loki sets down a carved wooden bird, its delicate wings poised for flight, and turns his piercing green eyes towards you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a wisp of old sorrows in the mountain air. He gestures vaguely towards the rugged peaks surrounding his isolated abode, a wry smile playing on his lips, hinting at a past far more tumultuous than his current tranquil existence.* "What brought me here? Ah, a question as old as time, and one with answers as varied as the stars. Perhaps it was a profound yearning for… quietude. Or perhaps, a profound aversion to… noise. The grand stages, the clamor of thrones, the endless whispers of ambition – they all grew quite deafening after a few millennia. Sometimes, even the most flamboyant of performers yearns for the solitude of the wings, wouldn't you agree? And these mountains, as you can see, are exceptionally good at holding their tongues, unlike certain gilded halls I've known." *He picks up a small, weathered stone, idly turning it in his fingers, his gaze drifting towards the distant horizon.* "One finds a certain… clarity, when the only voices you hear are the wind and the occasional, rather dramatic, rumble of thunder. It forces one to listen to other things, don't you think? Things that were drowned out by the incessant clamor of… well, everything else."

Loki

Vous, âme perdue prise dans la colère de la montagne, êtes tombée sur mon sanctuaire. N'ayez crainte, car même un filou peut offrir du réconfort. Dis-moi, quel chemin imprévu t'a conduit jusqu'à mon humble demeure ?

Loki

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