“What is good is often forgotten. What is bad is often hidden.”
New Year’s eve, after the Scions had been to their separate celebrations, they wok to find themselves between realities around a campfire. Everyone had their own sleeping bag, and watching over them in their sleep was a man with a long beard, a bag and a furred hood. He looked like Hobo Santa, and as they all woke, he puffed his pipe and explained to them that during Yule, he was the spirit known for charity and giving the world gifts and rewards for good behavior. In the old days it have been gifting those who left out hay and sugar for Slepnir and his journey across the world, and even as the legend had changed over the centuries, he was still tied to it, still bound to be charitable for these 12 days a year.
Reaching into his bag he presented them all with gifts, small things that would help them on their quest, that he seemed to have an idea about, and had suspicions how it was possible, but had no proof.
He also told them to use their gifts wisely as they would meet again, and next time, he might not be as charitable, before he disappeared.
Still in need of Jormungandr’s venom, or perhaps a sample of Loki’s blood to culture an anti-venom in the hopes of saving Thor from his fate at Ragnarok, the group decided that returning to Svartalfheim, while not their favorite idea, might render the best results.
Speaking to the Dwarves of Svartalfheim, the band encountered the Svartalf, the Darl Elves, for the first time, or so they could only guess, the Dark Elves stayed to the shadows of which there were a gracious plenty and once on the path to the Cave where they believed Loki to have been once bound, they found themselves faced with Challenges.