[center][img]https://cdn.marvel.com/u/prod/marvel/i/mg/f/00/5b1ebc8a5f2b5/rotator_xlarge_uncanny.jpg[/img][/center][indent][sub][color=gray][b]UOU Presents:[/b][/color][color=lightgray] THOR, GOD OF THUNDER[/color][/sub][sup][right][b][color=gray]INTERLUDE:[/color][/b] [color=lightgray]The Witness[/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr][indent][color=lightgray][sub][b]Himinbjörg [color=red]♦[/color] Asgard[/b][/sub][/color][/indent]
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The Earth made another lazy rotation around the sun. Two hundred and eighty-thousand children were born today. In trade for these new souls, death claimed a hundred and twenty thousand for itself. A few hundred souls entered the embrace of Valhalla: these were the honored dead, slain in battle and unclaimed by other divinities. Three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three others were led to Helheim. These were Hela's daily tribute as decreed in ancient contracts with the other Lords of Hell. 

Long ago, the halls of Valhalla overflowed with the spirits of mortal warriors, kings and jarls. So numerous were their souls that Freya opened the fields of Fólkvangr to the Einherjar. Over the last few centuries, worship of the Aesir has dwindled. Other faiths grew across Midgard. Many mortals reject the divine wholly, looking to secular philosophies for comfort and meaning when once they sought the gods.

Heimdall stood in his observatory, the sword Hofund embedded in its stone pedestal at his feet. The bifrost swirled all around him, liquid crystal in every color of the rainbow. Eternally did he stand sentinel here, his all-seeing gaze cast to every corner of the Nine Realms. 

He turned his gaze back to the earth, the heart of Midgard. There had been much excitement on that little world as of late. A new age of myth was upon them. Gone were tales of Arthur, Perseus and Beowulf. Soon the bards will sing of men and women in capes and cowls. 

He sees them all: the devil fights tooth and nail to stop a revenant from claiming its vengeance; a faceless man is slowly killing himself in the pursuit of truth; a knight from ages long past climbs out of his desert tomb; in the City of Tomorrow, a humble servant embraces his alien heritage and dons a symbol of hope.

These new heroes are not everywhere. In Frankfurt, a neighbor lets a man he recognizes into his apartment building. That man climbs the stairs to his ex-girlfriend's suite, hate in his heart. He has a knife hidden in his sleeve. A tyrant in Bialaya orders the execution of a hundred political dissidents. An old woman shakes with chill in an alleyway, clutching desperately at a ragged blanket.

For a moment, Heimdall closes his eyes. His fists tighten around the hilt of his sword. For eons has he stood at the foot of the rainbow bridge, tasked to watch for threats against Asgard- to sound the Gjallarhorn when Surtur rose from Muspelheim. 

Yet in this role he must also bear witness. He sees the triumphs, the tragedies, the quiet in-betweens of every life in all the Nine Realms. Trillions of lives have unfolded before him since he took his post. No matter what he saw, Heimdall was never to lift a hand in intervention without the Allfather's approval.

Head held low, the watchman-god whispers a prayer: "May your heroes answer when you call, for I cannot."

He returned to his duty.

In Alfheim, Heimdall watched the elves of light and dark wage another of their petty wars. They'd been killing one another since time immemorial. The list of transgressions held by either side was longer than the serpent Jörmungandr. Today, the dark elves were the aggressors. Their newly crowned king, Malekith the Accursed, led his legions all the way to Ljosalfgard, seat of the fairy court. Queen Aelsa rallied a host of elves and fae to her defense, though they were outmatched: fae magic was all illusions, befuddlement and torture; it lacked the sheer destructive might of Svartalfheim's shadows.

The city of Ljsalfgard would've fallen days ago if not for the intervention of Balder Odinson. Balder the Brave, they were calling him, for he had slain eight thousand men in only four days. Four days spent knee-deep in elvish blood without a moment's rest. Neither their weapons or magic could harm good Balder, for he was blessed by his mother Freya to never feel pain.

"Heimdall." Odin spoke, and the room shook.

The voice of the Allfather startled Heimdall from his musings, as it always did. Odin walked with silent steps when he wished, and his presence was shrouded from even Heimdall's eyes. Looming like a mountain, Odin paced the observatory. A cloak of living ravens hung across his shoulders- dozens of eyes staring back at the watcher. These were just a small part of the flock Odin kept. Ravens were his spies across the Nine Realms, whispering the goings on of mortalkind to the Allfather. 

Heimdall glowered at them. Never had he understood the point of those strange beasts when he was all but omniscient. The king's ways were ever mysterious, Heimdall supposed.

"How may I be of service, your grace?" He asked, head bowed in submission.

"Why must my sons rebel against me?" Odin grunted, leaning upon Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven. "I told Balder he was needed here, in Asgard. Yet where has he gone?"

Heimdall hesitated, unsure if the question was rhetorical. "To Alfheim, your grace."

"To Alfheim," Odin repeated, exasperated.

"The armies of Malekith would have overrun the realm if not for his aid." Heimdall explained, feeling a need to defend his friend from the Allfather's wrath. "Balder slays your enemies by the thousands, even now."

"His courage and skill at arms were never in doubt," Odin said. "It is wits my son seems to lack."

"Your grace?"

Odin shook his head. "I grow wearier by the day, Heimdall. This business with Loki weighs heavy. Once we have lit his funeral pyre, I must sleep. Ordinarily I would not worry, for Thor would always stand vigil. Now that he is gone, however, I fear for Asgard's safety."

Heimdall kept his face as stone. "My watch does not falter, Allfather."

Picking up his spear, Odin turned toward the Bifrost. He walked up to its edge, looking out over the cosmos. Its stars stretched on endlessly in all directions, shining in the dark. His one, good eye turned to that star that gave life to the earth. He was silent for several minutes, his shadow stretching long across the room.

"Where is my son?" He finally asked, his back still to Heimdall.

"Which, your grace?"

Odin snarled wordlessly, and Heimdall took a step back.

"Thor is trapped in Muspelheim. He was doing battle with a wretched monster of Midgard and deemed it too dangerous to leave in the mortal realm, so..." Heimdall trailed off, unsure how to explain the situation without implicating himself. His oath to never meddle in mortal affairs would have extended to Thor's battle as well. Foolish as it was, he could not leave his friend to die. Besides, if Sif ever found out Heimdall had allowed her husband to come to harm, she would have flayed the skin from his bones.

The silence returned. It stifled the air worse than the choking smog of Nidavellir.

"...A blessing of the Norns that Ratatoskr was there assist him." Odin said at last. "His punishment was to be banished to Midgard. If I had intended him to burn in Muspelheim, I would have cast him there myself. Send him the bifrost. Return him to where he belongs."

Heimdall nodded. "At once, your grace."

"And send for Hermod as well. I have need of his swiftness to spread the word of Loki's passing. When I send him to Valhalla, I wish for my family to be present. The whole of it." Odin ordered. Without another word, he vanished as suddenly as he had arrived.
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