abraxaslogs | The Mission

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The Mission

The Dimmest Day is upon us.

The champions of Thorne seek to deliver their caskets safely to the central artifact of the Singularity. Opposing them are the champions of the Free Cities and Solvunn, who are charged with intercepting as many caskets as they can and carrying them safely back to their respective factions— but each is also charged with preventing the other from doing the same.

From across Abraxas, in the dead of night, three groups of the Summoned converge on the Singularity. What they do here will have lasting effects on the world and every other beyond it.

Thorne

Pleased to see a healthy number of volunteers gathered at the Empty Throne, Ambrose allows his champions a moment to savor the vocal appreciation of the gathered crowd ringing the courtyard. Thorneans applaud and cheer, and Frederick, previously this year's Elected sacrifice, looks beyond relieved. High above, the King and Queen emerge on the Royal balcony, and without any further warning the gathered crowd breaks into song— an ancient hymn of thanksgiving that feels very awkwardly like a prayer being directed towards the Summoned themselves.

Along with black leather sling packs for carrying the caskets and a lantern each, a group of apprentices bring forth pieces of armor, enchanted rings and circlets, all of them offered as temporary loans to Thorne's champions who could use a little aid in their work. These hold simple defensive and life-preserving spells, presumably a small hoard of trinkets kept aside from the usual Dimming sacrifice: putting them on may grant added resistance to magical attack, a boost to existing magical ability, or increase an individual's speed, strength or dexterity. Once everything is distributed, Ambrose himself passes out the caskets, taking great care to hand each one over with a stern, steady stare.

Even tapping into the emergency storage of magical energy provided by an ornate reliquary placed behind the throne, it takes the efforts of all the assembled Thornean mages together to open the portal that will deliver the Summoned to the crater's edge. Ambrose explains that due to the Dimming, they won't be able to create another to bring his champions home until the sun rises— and only then if the mission to restore the Singularity is successful. Everything rests with the Summoned, now. They must not fail.

The Free Cities

Aleksander's laboratory is exactly the kind of mad scientist with access to magic take on Leonardo DaVinci's workshop you might expect. Strange, chemically powered devices bubble and tick. Doves flutter and coo anxiously in cages. A couple of ominous metal exam tables with leather restraint cuffs bolted to them have been pushed back to the walls to make room for a large contraption that looks like a cartoonish steampunk ray gun, far taller than a man, aimed at a hastily painted bullseye target on a raised metal platform. Surrounding it are strange alchemic sigils burned into the floor. It becomes clear all too soon that this is the method of transport the champions of the Free Cities will be using to get to the Singularity for their mission. This is a very tech-heavy flavor of New Magic.

Assistants usher the Summoned towards the platform and offer a range of odd hand-held devices and wearable tech for anyone who would like a little extra boost. Alongside chemically powered lanterns, the Summoned are invited to pick up energy dispersing chestplates, power-assisted boots for increased speed or spring in a step and so on— though it's fair to say Aleksander's creations do all look like they might be more in the experimental stage.

Charged using a device some of the Summoned might recognize from Alexander's holiday experiment at the Circus of the Sciences, the transporter ray is ready to deliver the Free Cities' champions to the Singularity. Set on a timer, the device will activate a second time at dawn to generate a gateway to welcome them home with their winnings. Aleksander wishes them good fortune, ensures everyone is properly situated on the platform, and with a pull of a lever sends them on their mission.

Solvunn

By the Solstice itself, a great unlit pyre topped with a strange, crude effigy of a creature resembling a bear has been built in the middle of the town, encircled by a group of seven mages in elaborate masked costumes representing elements of the landscape around them— rocks, fields, forests and streams. But Rowan, who the Summoned have been directed to report to, is not among them. He stands by a smaller fire, uncharacteristically solemn. It is time for Solvunn and its champions to receive their blessings, though as always these come with a price.

Rowan directs each of the group to step up in turn and surrender something to the flames. These sacrifices can be small, but they must belong to the person giving them up. A garment they are wearing would suffice, or even just a lock of hair, a drop of blood, a clipped fingernail. These gifts, Rowan explains, will link each of the Summoned with a blessing they can carry with them as they travel to the Singularity.

Another mage wearing an elaborate antlered headdress bestows the blessings as the Summoned give their gifts, dipping an elegant hand into the flames and drawing a strange runic sigil onto their foreheads with the ash of the ceremonial fire— and instantly, the Summoned may feel they have received increased vitality, strength, speed, enhanced visual or auditory acuity. They are handed a lantern each and instructed to stand aside as the mages ask the gods to light their path, and once all gifts are distributed, the gathered mages lift their arms and begin to chant. A fiery tendril leaps from the sacrificial fire to the main pyre itself in a crackling arc that sustains itself there in the air, forming a doorway to the edge of the Singularity’s crater. This passage of fire will remain passable in either direction until the great pyre burns down to embers.

The more perceptive of the group may catch sight of huge, formless shadows moving at the very edge of their vision as they step through the fiery arch.

The Crater

When each faction's group of champions emerge on the other side, they find themselves delivered to the closest point around the rim of the Singularity's crater to their home faction. A few miles in diameter and several feet deep, the crater is a strangely, perfectly circular depression in the desert with the towering monolith of the Singularity itself glowing faintly visible through the dark of night at its center— and unlike the last time the Summoned were brought here, they have time to catch their breath and let their eyes adjust, if they wish. Muted and diminished, the Singularity makes no attempt to draw the Summoned to itself. To approach it, they will have to walk.

Physically breaching the border of the crater makes shivers run down spines and hairs stand on end, but it seems Ambrose was right. Rather than being yanked without ceremony into the metaphysical realm of the Horizon, the Summoned are able to make their careful way over the sloping rim of the crater, where each party will be able to catch sight of lights moving in the darkness as the Summoned of other factions climb down to the arena of the crater's smoothly featureless floor.

The desert air is cold and clear in the dark of night, sound carrying easily across the distance between the three parties. Raised on its rocky plinth, the towering statue of the Singularity beckons. The Dimming reaches its nadir as the Summoned of each faction march towards inevitable conflict.

OOC: Event #5: The Dimming

LOG: Thorne | The Free Cities | Solvunn

PvP: The Mission to the Singularity

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(( ooc; closed starters and such below! feel free to PM this journal or hit me up over at

aurajen if you wanted to do something else with Stephen! ))

[A halo of lamplight is all that illuminates the immediate darkness, and Stephen’s swings as he descends towards the crater floor. His boots barely kick up any dust upon contact with the ground; the cloak he wears—its red color dyed almost too dark to see with the night—billows behind him, perhaps indicative of the cat-like landing.

Casting his gaze out towards the center, it’s obvious that this mission isn’t going to be a blessedly uneventful one. Conflict awaits each casket-bearer as they tread towards the Singularity, and this in itself does not surprise him. It was a matter of time before conflicting interests became more than talk circling the castle corridors, and now given actual, physical presence, the weight of their assigned task bears down heavy. It’s hard to shake the feeling of having a target painted on one’s back, after all.

No time to dwell, though his mind already threatens to splinter in multiple directions, weighing the implications of outcomes that have yet to happen. He reins in each thought until his focus is singular and present and, having denied himself unneeded magical armor that might only slow him down, moves through the crater’s terrain without a word.]

( Walking around this place gets just about every hair on the back of Dean's neck standing straight up. He's not sure if it's the magic resonating all over the place, the feeling of hidden eyes, or echoes from the place he was just before stumbling into Cadens. It'd be too easy to give into that call, to slip into the same mindset he'd had to carry through Purgatory for a year in order to survive. Sheer stubborn force of will is the only thing keeping him together.

He's got a sword drawn when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye, but he holds it out and up with one hand in a manner meant to be placating as he approaches. )

Evenin'. ( He greets from a few yards away, voice raised just a hair to be heard across the gap, his tone forced-friendly. ) Lovely crater we're having, huh?

( See, funny joke, we're all friends here, take it easy... )

Listen, compadre, let's just... take a second here, okay? Let's talk this through.

[His jaunt towards the Singularity had been all but quiet, but it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out. Stephen spies movement before he hears a voice, but then that same voice makes itself evident — not exactly threatening, but placating. Yet the strained sincerity is apparent, too.

And even with only the faint light of his own lantern, he can make out the silhouette of a sword gripped in the stranger’s hand.

Wonderful. His tone borders on exasperated, and he doesn’t halt his trek forward. If this man wants to stop him outright, he’ll have to either flash that steel a little more boldly or keep pace.]

Talk this through with a sword brandished in one hand? [Stephen speaks loud enough to be heard across the gap.] Try again.

Touché.

( He says after a beat, with maybe... just a hint of get it, ha written in the background of his otherwise steady voice. Nice and telegraphed, he lowers and sheathes the sword.

He's more of a thrown daggers guy anyway, he's still working out the finer details of pretending to be Inigo Montoya. It mostly just looks cool.

More seriously: )

Alright? ( No weapons drawn, we're all even keel now — he assumes, stupidly. ) What's your name?

[The hidden underlay of a joke—a pun—is obvious to Stephen, who has spent even a small amount of time in the presence of people like Tony Stark to know when one exists. It certainly doesn’t lighten the mood so much as make Stephen nearly roll his eyes in increased exasperation.

The sheathed sword is a more compelling argument, though barely enough to give him pause — he does give pause, though, his step halting just enough so he can turn his body to face this man.]

Doctor Strange. [He offers, and the dubiousness of exchanging introductions here, of all places, is represented by a facetious tinge.]

And let me take a wild guess, before we get too far into the pleasantries: you want this.

[A gesture to his side, where his casket hangs secure, near the lamplight.]

Can’t I just spare you the disappointment ahead of time?

( Don't worry, Stevie old pal, rolling your eyes in exasperation is pretty much the exact right response to half of what Dean Winchester says. It's an indicator of healthy cognitive function, good job on your working brain.

Talk about dubiousness — Dean's visible, telegraphed skepticism at Doctor Strange. There's a clear moment of you gotta be screwing with me written in there that he debates voicing, but ultimately manages to check in favor of focusing on the actually important matter at hand.

He clicks his teeth and shakes his head apologetically. )

'fraid not, doc. I'm too stupid to save myself the trouble. ( Such is the nature of being a Winchester: knowing something's probably doomed to fail and going through the effort anyway. At least he's a little charismatic about it — one of his few redeeming qualities, for all that it rarely shows its face. ) But you got one thing wrong. I don't want that. Hell, I don't want anyone getting their hands on whatever's in there. That's the point.

( And here comes the transition from mostly lighthearted to a more earnest appeal. )

If you can honestly tell me you know what's gonna happen if you throw that happy little nuke at the magic rock, that it's safe, I'll escort you there myself whistling the whole damn way. But unless you know exactly what it is we're screwing with here... I can't hang back and just let whatever happens happen without trying to pump the brakes.

Edited 2021-12-26 10:08 (UTC)

[It’s the more serious-minded half of the appeal that roots Stephen to the spot, though how willing he is to stay and chat about this when the Singularity awaits his delivery is up in the air and tenuous at best. Perhaps it’s the part of him that knew this conversation was bound to happen one way or another, either with this man or another stranger from across territory lines, that really keeps him here. The unresolved facet still tumbling about in his mind, that there are different approaches to that monolith int he middle of the crater, and Thorne’s is not the only one.

Though that they make an effort at all is still a point in their favor. He can’t deny that, and he can’t ignore the heightened awareness towards the casket hanging at his side.]

This world’s connected to the Singularity. You and I are, too. This might be an experimental move at best, but the reality is that there aren’t many choices here — take action, or stand by idly. That’s a danger unto itself, unless you’re going to make the argument that letting the very threads of those connections wane while we wring our hands about it is a good idea.

( Maybe his near-instant snort inspires a little confidence. )

Standing around hand-wringing- ( A start, a stop, too much dark amusement in his tone, fifteen different jokes flit through his mind, dismissed before he lets any one get its hooks in. ) Trust me, that ain't gonna happen.

( With all the confidence of a man who should have just let himself sit around wringing like a bell probably a half dozen times in the past, he'd have been better off — especially if you asked about fourteen different pantheons. )

I read up on the lore behind this whole Hanukkah miracle thing. The energy they throw at it... it ain't even magic. Hell, they don't even know what it is. That should matter. Now we're, what, throwing wet spaghetti at the wall just to see what sticks? You said it yourself, we're all connected to it. It's a little screwed up to Kanye shrug about unknown consequences when half the damn population's vetoing the vote.

( Maybe guilt isn't the best approach here. He shifts tracks. Switches to a promise. )

We'll find another wall. We just gotta be smart about it.

( For what it's worth, he looks like a guy that keeps his word. )

[Stephen huffs, not exactly a sure sign of being persuaded, but Dean’s argument has cemented one thing — that neither party possesses a clear answer regarding what to do, or what’ll work. Only that their efforts are going to clash via differences of approach, and it’s a matter of being in a position to judge which alternatives work best, beyond the lens of bias.

Easier said than done. Stephen doesn’t believe it’s as simple as stealing away a casket and tossing it in a figurative garbage compactor. There’s a few problems with that approach.]

So what are you trying to achieve here?

[He steps a little closer, his frame easier to make out with the narrowing distance.]

Make off with one casket, and it’ll not stop the others from making it to the Singularity. There might be a few already fed to it as we speak. So barring the fact that your argument is probably already a moot point, you’re going to, what? Hide the casket under your shirt and hope no one notices the massive amount of energy you’re casually towing around?

[He may or may not take that as a rhetorical question, because he just continues.]

Which faction are you supposed to be representing?

( He purses his lips until an unhappy line, and there's something distinctly resigned in his shrug. )

I'm not on board with any of these asshats. Cadens signed me up to bring 'em back to them, but I don't trust them with whatever these are, either.

( #teamnobody, or maybe #teamkidnappingvictims. )

No, I got a buddy, he's- well, let's just say he's powerful and leave it there. Plan is to nab as many as we can get our hands on and send 'em straight to the bottom of the friggin' sea. And you're right. We're not gonna get 'em all. We're not even gonna get most of them, maybe this won't even matter, but... the way I see it, that's a piss-poor excuse to not even try. And who knows, maybe whatever happens'll be scaled down a notch or two for every one that doesn't make it there.

( He ambles closer too, one bow-legged step after another until they're just a handful of feet apart, face to face, clear enough to make eye contact properly. )

Look, man, you said it yourself, there's probably a few there already. What do you really have to lose here?

[This close, Dean is likely to view the arch of Stephen’s brow, a permanent feature on his expression since the moment this conversation started. This close, and he shifts just enough to keep the casket from being snatched away, just in case.

But it’s clear there’s consideration churning away in his head. It’s true; there is no zero-sum loss between himself and this man in this specific situation. Caskets will make their way to the Singularity, surely with enough influence to gauge just how much the monolith is affected by it. And while there’s an argument about the effectiveness of tossing a few extra at the bottom of the sea, it’ll dampen the consequences if, for some reason, Thorne’s decision ends up going pear-shaped.

But most prominently? Stephen senses an opportunity swung wide open.]

Plenty that I have to lose. You think Thorne’s going to look kindly on someone who just gives their casket away with a shrug?

[An easily solved problem, though, but they’re not quite there yet.]

I asked which faction you’re connected to because, as I see it, this exchange should lead to something helpful on my end. And that something is information — awareness of what’s brewing on the other side of territory lines. The more informed we are, the more we can navigate the political fires that inevitably spring up. Or douse them out completely.

( His furrowed brow bleeds from wary to understanding in the span of about two hot seconds. )

You're looking for intel. ( He echo-summarizes; obviously not a new proposal being levied at him. He made a similar deal with Geralt when he first got here, though the stakes were a little lower — a beer in exchange for a headcount on the new arrivals. He went above and beyond with the delivery, made him a damn descriptive list. A casket's worth a hell of a lot more than that.

He'd be more reluctant if he gave a single crap about the jokers that dragged him in. ) I'm from Cadens. Free cities. Pretty sure that's the big team rivalry these days, practically a Gryffindor-Slytherin thing.

( A beat. )

I guess that makes Solvunn that badger house nobody cares about.

( Poor Solvunn. Poor Hufflepuff.

ANYWAY switch-flip back to business mode. )

Alright, sure. I'll be your rooster. On one condition. ( Aside from... you know, the casket. ) This is gonna be a back and forth pipeline. No one-way roads.

[He catches on quick, he has to give him that. Intel is exactly what Stephen wants; and if that same intel germinates into something more useful—an ally, depending on circumstances and proof of trustworthiness—then all the better for it.

Stephen almost looks darkly amused at the references, because maybe the parallels are weirdly not too far off the mark, though Dean’s further clarification comes as no surprise to him.]

I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’d be a contact for you, just as much as you’d be for me. A one-sided working relationship doesn’t get either party very far.

[He gestures at the casket still snug at his hip.]

Wish it were as easy as shaking on it, then, but now we’re looping back to the first problem: I can’t just hand this to you. You’re going to have to pretend to work for it.

Hope that’s not a problem?

( Having a contact over on the Thorne side's a benefit to him, too, so this deal's kind of a win-win. Easy enough to take without a second thought, so Stephen earns himself a nice approving nod. He'd shake on it, but that probably wouldn't be a good look for anybody watching this exchange go down.

Which brings them to part two. )

Not a problem, no, but listen-

( His hands come up in an appeasing look, no offense gesture. )

I don't wanna be a dick and accidentally break your nose or something. You sure you're game for that?

[He’d laugh at that if the situation wasn’t so serious. A part of him nearly does, anyway, the thought of this man worried about breaking his nose, when he’s been through a hundred times worse, weirdly courteous. If Dormammu or Thanos had been content with just breaking his nose, that would’ve been just dandy, too.]

If you hold back, no one’s going to buy it.

[Stephen lifts a hand, gestures in a quick motion, fingertips leaving trails of magical amber. Preparation for some quick spellwork.]

Especially if you’re going up against basic magic. So come on.

[Let’s get this over with.]

(no subject)

righteously - 2022-02-01 13:24 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

sorser - 2022-02-07 15:39 (UTC) - Expand

[So. He’s felt worse. Technically.

He’s been impaled by a spear of magical energy. He’s died multiple times via the wrath of an angry entity from the Dark Dimension. He’s been tossed about by Thanos like a gnat to be flitted away, if “flitting” meant every single bone in his body aching with the subsequent landing. He’s felt the encroaching touch of non-existence itself which, debatably, is worse than all of the above.

But to be clocked in the face so hard, to the point where it’s made his world spin, crumpling into an ungraceful heap on the ground for a few minutes (maybe more than a few minutes)? It might not rank very high on the pain or existential dread scale comparatively, but it still hurts — a mostly faked fight does very little to ease un-pulled punches.

At some point, Stephen groans. Palms flat into the dirt, he pushes himself up, trying to regain his mental focus and some semblance of situational awareness. Someone’s approaching, and though he no longer has a casket worth stealing, greeting them by lying prone isn’t exactly preferable.

His cloak rises first, tugging him up by the shoulders. If he sways on his feet once he finds purchase, it’s negligible. Probably.]

[ it's common practice for Dean and Cas to stick close together in brawls like this, easy to jump to the others' aid if it's needed - if it's possible, even if that may not always be the case. it's out of the corner of his eye that he notices Dean intersecting Stephen's path, while mid-fight with another faction's warrior, and cas nearly takes an ax to the face for that alarming distraction.

the cloak on Dr. Strange's shoulders is near identical to what flared out as he'd floated down the stairs in his domain, and he recalls their discussion on the Mystic Arts and the Sorcerer Supreme. Dean doesn't know what he's up against, and it sets off alarms in Cas's head.

So, Stephen's Thornean. A part of him deflates, dismayed at the knowledge the perhaps-friend he'd made sits across hostile enemy lines, and he's loathe to enter conflict with him. but... it's Dean. when it comes to protecting Dean Winchester, not a single being on earth, heaven, or hell is enough to convince Cas to stand down. thankfully, he doesn't have to. his own battle demands most of Castiel's attention, but watching from the corner of his eye, it appears the two take more to a fervent dialogue than active combat. by the time punches are thrown, Cas is too involved with his own task at hand, only able to hope it doesn't escalate out of Dean's ability to defend.

the end result is surprising, to say the least, and baffling when not so much as a spark comes from Stephen. if his powers were hindered, putting himself into a battle like this would've been suicidally foolish, so why else would he forego his abilities? the moment Cas is free from his own altercation, and Dean's run off with Stephen's casket in hand, he ignores the ongoing battle to pace to the sorcerer's side. ]

Thank you, Dr. Strange. [ his gratitude rings with a soft sincerity, and Cas offers a hand to support the doctor getting to his feet. ] That looked unpleasant for you. Allow me.

[ if there's no protest, Cas lifts two fingers to tap against Stephen's forehead. A warm, golden glow shines through the scrapes and bruising, and Stephen should feel a pleasant tingling as the swelling and pain rapidly fades, any sign of injury disappearing from him in seconds. ]

My friend, he's very capable, but your Mystic Arts would've been beyond him.

[Stephen’s met with a familiar face, and immediately he finds it unfortunate. It would have been easy enough to assume Castiel existed on the other side of so-called enemy lines, but standing here, before him amid the Singularity’s crater? It drives the point home as much as the rest of this expedition has done the same.

The lack of hostility is reassuring, though. He opens his mouth to speak, but the other’s already walked forward and tapping at his forehead — comical in retrospect, but at the moment, it’s a balm against the pain. Swept away, as though it didn’t exist.

Despite everything, despite himself, he barks out a laugh, sharp around the edges.]

What good would it have done, severing a new connection instead of gaining one? The Singularity’s likely getting fed with or without my casket, anyway. Let’s just hope it was worth it.

[His pride still hurts, no matter the circumstances. He rubs at his jawline, where it was likely to bruise just moments before. Castiel’s magic is efficient, immediate. Impressive.]

Besides, I made sure your friend had to work for it. Might have pushed a little too hard.

[There were no sparks of his own magic conjured at the end, but in the middle, while Castiel was busy with his own battle? Stephen might have flung a spell to light a fire under Dean. Guess it worked.]

[ distraction splinters the view of an event, and cas wouldn’t be surprised if he’d missed more action than he suspects. All the same, dean’s alive and sprinting off to the next task, and stephen’s well enough and safe - disaster averted. It’s enough to be grateful for.

stephen's harsh laugh has cas tilting his head at him, unsure what part of the current situation is comical to him, but it wouldn't be the first time human reactions baffled him. all the same, he's glad dr. strange is more interested in alliances than waging war, respect for the man building.

yet there it is, the crux of their schism - feeding the Singularity or leaving it be. it settles uncomfortably in castiel's gut, uninterested in regurgitating Cadens' anti-magic rhetoric, but still curious what line of thought a man like Stephen followed to this end. ]

Is it wise, blind experimentation with an ancient and powerful relic? [ no animosity or accusation, only interested in stephen's beliefs on the topic, ] What makes you certain this excess energy won’t result in catastrophic destabilization?

[ you don’t fuck with otherworldly pillars of creation and tools left behind by gods. He’s yet to see that end well, or in any kind of expected manner, for anyone, himself included. a strong sense of concern builds in him for Stephen’s proximity to it. Cas sensed the doctor’s a good man, reasonable and intelligent, but propaganda is a fierce manipulator, even among the best of minds. As for Dean, he sighs, glancing back after him. ]

Dean’s resilient, if frustratingly stubborn. What injuries he has, I'll tend to.

[ assuming the little shit actually lets him know he’s hurt. Stephen's warning at least gives him the head up to press about it. point is - don't feel too bad, buddy, if he's still moving, it's probably salvageable. ]

I'm not sure.

[That's the truth, of course. But the trend—if Thorne is propagating accurate information, which he does not see why they wouldn't when the state of various worlds is at stake—shows a void of energy. The logical solution would be to provide it more in measured amounts.

Of course, maybe that's the problem most have with these caskets. There's nothing measured about them. Stephen could feel its energy thrumming constantly from its container the entire time his was fastened to his person.]

But I'm going to tell you what I told Dean. The people of this world are sitting at a crossroads, and it's a matter of making a choice. To seek a solution or sit idly by and hope one falls into our laps. Thorne's reasoning works on paper. When a fire is dimming, you provide kindling to burn brighter or longer.

[Whether or not that kindling is doused in kerosene does remain to be seen for now.]

An imperfect solution, maybe, but this gives me a chance to get a read on how the Singularity reacts to our efforts.

[As for Dean's injuries, though, well. That's good to know. The two men seem like night and day to Stephen, but he trusts Castiel in the short time he's known him to properly tend to injuries.]

That, and I wasn't going to throw away a chance for a connection so early on. I'm glad I didn't, now that I know he's a friend.

Does the Dimming not occur annually? [ head cocked curiously, castiel's wondering if he's understood the situation wrong, or had it explained only piecemeal. ] And resolve just the same?

[ with one casket added, Castiel had heard, not ten or more, which seems to be the current strategy. why the need to add more, is where he's stumbling on it. what purpose besides an attempt to blindly boost power. ]

I fail to see the urgency with this instance. [ not a criticism, but an attempt to communicate where he's at, why they're having this conversation and conflict at all. though stephen does make a good point about getting a read on how the singularity reacts. ] If Solvunn and the Free Cities manage to redirect half the excess caskets, perhaps that'll make it more experiment than overkill.

[ even 6 times the typical level of energy boost is too much for a safe observation, reducing it from 15 hopefully dodges anything complete catastrophic. they'll just have to wait and see. the central controversy aside, cas gives the man a tired smile, pleased to hear he's more interested in connections than conflict. ]

You're a reasonable man, Dr. Strange. Were more of us, this chaos might've been avoided with a discussion in the Horizon.

[ something he'll keep in mind the next time they're about to be pitted against each other. trading information and opinions, before there's swords and magic in hand. ]

[Stephen’s smile is wry, and he shakes his head. Castiel’s logic is sound if they were talking about something functioning at its normal capacity, but that, too, is an assumption.]

That’s the equivalent of saying it’s alright if someone has a minor heart attack every year because it eventually resolves itself. Assuming it’s going to resolve at all is a gamble, and preventative measures are better than reactive ones.

[Unless Thorne is overplaying their hand, which doesn’t make any sense with the context he has. But that’s part of the frustration, too, not knowing every cog that turns in this political machine, certain motivations utterly obscured to him beyond what the general public is told. Stephen is aware of that; thus, Castiel’s argument isn’t wholly dismissed.]

But it could be that moderation works best. A blessing in disguise that everyone decided to swoop in and take a few, though don’t tell the Thorneans that.

[He scoffs at the compliment, though, humorless.]

What you call reasonable, others would call treasonous. But we do need to keep communicative lines open with one another. We need to make an effort to talk because what happens with that monolith will ultimately affect us all.

Is it?

[ genuinely puzzled, it makes no sense to castiel why an ancient relic, created by old gods, would be left with a natural flaw that requires regular human maintenance to avoid disaster. cas can't recall a single supernatural artifact he's run into with that kind of condition. even something that feeds on energy or power simply goes dormant when starved, but doesn't crumble. ]

The stress of annual cardiac arrest on a human body would kill it within a handful of years. This Dimming's been occurring for as long as this world's been aware of the Singularity, with no reduced function after it resolves, correct? It's cyclic, like darker days after a solstice, not abrupt affliction.

[ The fact Thorne has less access to magic at the time is an issue of Thorne's society within a natural order, not dysfunction of the Singularity. setting aside the Free Cities objections to magic (a sentiment Cas doesn't share), Solvunn's reliance isn't so direly crippled, or is there something Thorne knows that the rest of them don't? regardless, the sense of 'either this or that', either apply excess energy or inaction, is a logical fallacy. there's rarely only two options, to any situation. as far as castiel's concerned - fuck the politics and what these factions think they know about this thing. they didn't create it, they don't know it's purpose for certain. the only way they'll uncover the truth is digging back towards that origin, setting aside local myths, rumors and politics that cloud it. perhaps something he and stephen can work towards together. ]

I don't believe any of these nations truly understands the nature and purpose of this structure.

[ only that it holds power, a siren call for any being, human or otherwise. for many, that's considered all they really need to know. as for treason, cas lets out a soft chuckle, glancing down and away, chewing on a thought before his eyes return to dr. strange with a wry, half-smile. ]

As is often the case. One may judge the integrity of an authority on how much they honor loyalty over reason and greater good.

[ that's to be applied to each side. this peaceful interaction wouldn't exactly be celebrated by the Free Cities either. That's the nature of bitter war, each side loses more and more sight of what's true and best for all. Cas should be more concern about his own fostering of treason, but after you've rebelled against the entire Host of Heaven, nationality and human politics seem paltry. ]

Even stars burn out. Universes themselves fall to entropy. You wouldn’t call that an affliction, either, no. But generally, people don’t like the threat of losing what sustains them.

[Something about not going quietly into the night. The universal desire of all things living to keep on living, and the fear of losing it all to oblivion.]

I agree. I don’t think the nature of the Singularity is so easily understood even by those who’ve been here longer than us. But you can’t discount concerns just because you think someone’s going about it the wrong way. There’s the looming threat of entire worlds being lost, potentially devoured by the Singularity itself to make up for its waning power. Even if that were just how the cards fall, it’s not exactly something I can accept. Not when my Earth could be one of those worlds.

[Stephen sighs, less impassioned than tired-sounding. He gestures lamely at Castiel.]

There is the other option: Thorne’s just lying to us. But no matter what the truth is, we’ll need people willing to do their research to unearth it. Are you willing to help me with that?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Mission

Stephen Strange | Thorne

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