abraxaslogs | ( catch-all ) sailin' away on the crest of a wave

Entry tags:

( catch-all ) sailin' away on the crest of a wave

WHO: Stephen and various
WHAT: A catch-all for misc. things!
WHERE: In and around Castle Thorne, maybe the Horizon
WHEN: Throughout the month
WARNINGS: Will add as they come up!

(( closed starters and assorted things below! feel free to PM me if you wanted something specific with Stephen, or if you wanted to plot! ))

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Magic has the convenient reputation of being conjured out of thin air, whether with ease or with great focus, but Stephen knows that isn’t always true. The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj realized there were some spells that required a conduit to focus their energies through: boots that allowed a man to walk on air, a ring that could carve out portals, an amulet to house a stone that could turn back time itself. But there were smaller endeavors, too, that needed lesser objects — herbs or incense or a strand of a man’s hair.

Or the sprig of a plant thriving on a northern mountainside, keen on wilting once the frost subsides.

It’s no different in this world. Mages need resources, ingredients for their craft. Stephen’s own studies are tied to these same resources, provided to him only as generously as they can manage — and the dearth of a select few means stunted progress on his end, a roadblock that he can very rarely abide by. So, as needs must. The promise of a fresh batch of a certain plant—in an admittedly problematic spot—motivates him to gather them himself if he has to, carving sprig from stem and vine and bolstered against the chill by stubbornness alone.

Well, hopefully not all by himself. Stephen recognizes when a two-man job is an at-least-two-man-job, and though he has no one in mind, the first Summoned he comes across that doesn’t look overly busy—or purposefully glancing the other way when a sorcerer on a mission strides towards them—earns the privilege of being volunteered. (Voluntold.)]

Busy? Might have something for us to do.

[Words that are either a curse or a blessing, depending upon who’s hearing them. At least this is a familiar face; Jasper, the ruminating man from the gardens.]

[The strange but familiar man corrals him on his path towards the library. Studies of this land. Learning about its citizens. All to carve himself a little bit of attention? Possibly. He has no words to share as to why.

His face is emotionless and impassive as the request is made. The brave and fearless nature his men had admired has worked against him and landed him in the middle of a thorny problem.

Still. It is nice to feel wanted.]

Tell me what you have in mind.

[The first order of business is establishing whether his skills are suited to the task.]

[A stony expression is more promising than a disgusted one, or even a surprised one. Stephen launches into an explanation without missing a beat.]

The mages here are running low on a specific ingredient needed for more things than I can count: Winterwhite. It’s a plant that grows on a specific mountainside just north of the Castle. I’ve already plotted the path we’d have to take to get there.

[Because of course he has. Stephen is a lot of things, but unprepared is not one of them.]

Figured I’d do them a favor and bring a few satchel-fulls back myself. There’s a problem, though — a bandit-problem. Area’s not exactly free of them, and I’d feel a lot better if someone else was there to watch my back.

[Stephen pauses, waits for a reply, seeing if he needs to give another nudge of motivation—to win a few favor points amongst the Thorneans—or if he can leave it at that.]

[It takes Jasper little time to transform the request into an opportunity. His mind twists and turns possible paths into chances to better his standing - the need for admiration strong as ever after everything.]

I ought have known this world suffers loathsome vermin.

[The look on his face turns sour as he scrutinises the other man. How his words reveal human nature is poor everywhere! His thoughts towards how wise this man is to approach himself instead of another. His lips press together and speak after a moment.]

It is good you solicit my assistance on this matter. I would be delighted to join you.

[Delighted. He sounds it.]

[Loathsome vermin. Okay. Not a lack of enthusiasm, that’s for sure, and it makes for an easy sell — but Stephen knows there’s something to be said for someone who takes the concept of bandits and turns it offensive rather than worrisome.]

…Great.

[They’ll just roll with it for now. With any luck, there’ll be no need to have anyone watch his back at all, and Jasper’s presence will be welcomed but redundant.

Stephen gestures with a hand, and suddenly his attire has taken on a warmer inclination. Thicker material, complete with a hood resting on his shoulders, to beat back the windy chill they’re sure to face. It’s not as though they’re throwing themselves head-first into a blizzard, but it won’t exactly be warm.

His red cloak, however, still hangs at his back.]

Might want to dress warmly. I’ll get a couple of horses ready and meet you at the gate. We’ll head out when you’re good to go.

Excellent. I shall prepare at once.

[Ten minutes to visit his quarters. Five to choose appropriate clothing. Five to change and twenty to arrive at the gate. There is little time to spend on himself - his inclination for a fastidious appearance must wait.

His particularily sour look freezes over as he stands waiting. It is a whole new feeling awaiting a travelling companion. A friend? After knowing the man for under a week? He is hardly sure. He grips the handles of his satchel with a good amount of frustration and resists the urge to feast upon its contents.

The weight of his cloak rests upon his shoulders. Perhaps his mood shall lighten when he has a horse to steer and command. At least animals follow his directions.]

[Stephen’s Horizon is unmistakably him. Though Peter may not recognize the environment directly around it—the open air of Kamar-Taj’s training grounds, the surrounding peaks of Himalayan mountaintops which peer out from a distance—there is a very familiar townhouse sitting amid this scene, looking ripped straight off of the streets of NYC.

The Sanctum Sanctorum’s (or this version of it, at least) doors are always open to visitors who may wander in, though there’s no guarantee its host will make an appearance. But specific individuals will hasten the sorcerer from whatever den he’s holed himself in, if he is at all lingering nearby — Sam Wilson and Tony Stark are two recent examples.

Peter Parker, it would appear, is an even more recent example.

He arrives as he often does: no fanfare, simply appearing in the vicinity as though he were always there to begin with. A familiar face needs no dramatic introduction, and though Stephen can’t verify who’s arrived until he’s greeted them properly, his connection to his Horizon home is similar to that of Earth’s, able to guess at who’s wandered in and sense what their intentions may be. He’d bet good money that it’s a certain friendly neighborhood kid with a penchant for web-slinging heroics.

He stands on the stairs in the foyer, casting his gaze about — but instead of Peter, he finds duplicates of that same staircase, multiplied at kaleidoscopic angles, latched to the ceilings, the walls, twisting up and around and through windows that shouldn’t even exist. It’s as though the Mirror Dimension exploded and spilled itself all over the Sanctum floors. It’s like a nauseating M.C. Escher drawing, shifting in real-time.

He looks up. Down? At the floor. The ceiling. A bookshelf from the library’s snuck in, somehow, and its books slide off their shelving and spin in interlocking circles.]

All right. What did you do.

[PETER. Are you here— somewhere. Exerting your influence unknowingly and making his Sanctum into a funhouse.]

Edited 2022-02-10 22:52 (UTC)

[Stephen doesn’t make him wait too long. He appears shortly, holding the reins of one horse and leading it forward; another is similarly led beside him by one of the castle stablemen, having assisted in prepping both for the ride out. Both creatures are strikingly skewbald, their coats splotched with brown and white, but they are hardy-looking and even-tempered as far as horses go, equipped for short travel with lightweight road saddles and leather satchels clipped to their sides.

He utters a thanks to the man, and he nods, smiling, taking his leave. Stephen turns to Jasper, gesturing at the horses.]

Hop on. The ride’s at least an hour if we can make good time.

[He straightens his own leather satchel slung over a shoulder, then attempts to hoist himself up onto his own horse. Clearly this is not a practiced maneuver, though he does manage it with some effort and assistance with his red cloak tugging him up and over — followed by a muttered “stop that” from the sorcerer, who wishes with each passing moment he had access to his portal magic in this world, thanks.

He sighs.]

…We’ll take the road north. Should be a straight shot to the mountain path from there, so we don’t have to worry too much about getting lost on the way.

[Jasper claims the reins from dangling loose and nervously rubs the leather between his fingertips. He listens to Stephen over his shoulder, observing his mare standing comfortable without changes in posture. Her calm temprament suggests a steed of general use - and the way she was led without incident seals his approval.

He mounts the saddle with the skill of a man familiar with horsemanship. One moment to settle in his new position before leaning forward - introducing himself with a calm manner he rarely shares with other people.

It is an amusing sight, watching the other man struggle into the saddle. His lips twist in a wry smile. Why ruin a perfect moment?]

Excellent. This weather should pose little problem. Not one enough to cut your task short, I dare say.

[A silent pause while he wrinkles his nose. Socialising.]

Now let us head off.

[He does not wait and begins steering his hose.]

[Jasper is clearly more suited to staying on horseback than him, and he doesn’t care if he leads the way; all the better. Stephen nudges his horse forward and grips the reins tight, seated with the comedic stiffness of a man who isn’t used to riding at all.

Now and again he jostles as they trek down the road, keeping balance and holding onto the horn of his saddle like he’s about to be swept off by an invisible wave. But their journey is a straightforward one, their path not particularly perilous even as they traverse inclines leading them to closer to the mountainside, and eventually he relaxes just enough to trust his horse not to throw him off at a whim.

The wind’s colder out this way, whistling through the trees. A mild frost still covers blades of grass their horses sometimes flatten under hoof. Jasper is blessedly spared of too much small talk, with Stephen occasionally remarking on some wildlife flitting by, and by the time they reach their destination, he’s more than eager to dismount his ride and plant two feet on the ground.

He manages, immediately hit with a next-level variation of sore. His face crumples up in a wince.]

I’m never complaining about public transit ever again.

Trained horses follow instruction without complaint. I find it hard to comprehend why a brash man like yourself has anything to complain about.

[Dismounting is a simple affair. He grasps the reins in his left hand and pivots his right foot over the horse in one fluid motion. The rudeness of his observation is forgotten by the time his feet are planted onto dirt. Reins are swung over the mare's head and he leads her forward.]

Better we ride than walk, surely not?

[Stephen almost seems an afterthought. His attention is diverted towards the forest and over his shoulder, his nerves on edge as a matter of course.]

[Brash? He scoffs at the assumption.]

I’m not talking about horses. I’m talking about the subway.

[No explanation follows, thank you very much. Stephen straightens, ignoring the fact that he may now be bow-legged forever, and gestures with a hand. The reins of his horse wrap themselves against the nearest overhead branch, secure with a flick of a spell.]

It doesn’t matter. We should leave the horses here.

[The forest is surprisingly vast for not being too departed from Thorne’s castle. The winter season has thinned its canopy and sunlight dapples the ground as he walks forward, gesturing out towards a very large incline just a few yards away. It’s a stony crag, with plants poking out from its side, roots desperately clinging to the bluff.

Just above the treeline.]

That’s where we’ll find what we need.

[Strange words are noted for investigation. Now his mind focuses on the task at hand - in hand - his hands grasping the reins of his mare. He steers her towards a sturdy tree beside her companion. The burden of memories silences him as he loops the leather around its trunk, tying a firm knot before pausing to reminisce. His compatriots were not the only ones to perish the day their kingdom fell.

He tightens the knot in disgust and ignores deep-rooted guilt. Eyes stare towards the canopy as though sunlight is an alien sight. He shakes his head and strides towards his travelling companion. His nose wrinkles, woes forgotten for a time.]

Of course they grow in the most awkward of places.

What? [He edges past Jasper, tossing him a quirked brow — acerbic all around.] You mean you can’t fly?

[The cloak, not unlike the original somewhere back on Earth, is not just for show, nor just for steadying Stephen on a horse. It allows him to fly, and it does so in that exact moment: lifting him off of the loam of forest ground, past the branches of trees, and up towards the steep bluff where swaying plants shiver in the breeze.

Their roots are strong, and the leaves and flowers are hardy enough to thrive beneath the frost. Stephen plucks at one between scarred forefinger and thumb, taking a moment to observe the nature of its blossom — little starburst shapes in a blue so pale it looks white beneath the rime. Likely the origin of the name: Winterwhite.

Stephen calls over his shoulder, rummaging around in his satchel the next second to unearth a pair of gloves and a sharp set of clippers.]

I might be up here for a while, so this is the part where you watch my back.

[Jasper curls his lip and watches Stephen ascend through the air: enjoying a freedom he does understand. He turns his back gladly and remembers why he prefers the company of animals.

Eyes focus towards shadows in the forest. His suspicions and imagination consider how easy it would be to surprise anybody in Stephen's position - back exposed and bare to knives and magic alike. Sometimes he feels tempted to plunge the dagger himself but that would hardly cement their relationship. One of the first he has forged with anybody besides his first friend.

His ears prickle at the rustling of leaves as he calls over his shoulder.]

Do holler when done, will you?

[His acerbic tone might figuratively erode that jagged crag. Hopefully beneath Stephen's fingertips. Wouldn't that be a loss?]

[Oblivious to thoughts of daggers in the back and words so cutting they may slice away the herbs themselves, Stephen makes a noise of affirmation but little else. He’s already donned his gloves and has opened up his satchel to collect the herbs, taking them stem by stem. The work’s delicate, but not too delicate for slightly unsteady hands — mostly, these plants will be smashed into a paste by mortar and pestle, or tossed into a brewing tincture, so there’s no need to keep each blossom uncrushed or each stem unbent.

Time passes, leaves rustle with the wind. Small pieces of shale tumble down from the rock face as Stephen eases them free. The event’s, well… uneventful, mostly, and he should be glad for the lack of troublemakers interrupting this outing. Maybe Jasper’s presence would be redundant after all. Not much good for the man’s boredom, doing little more than keeping watch, but Stephen doesn’t feel the need to hurry on his account alone.

In fact, it’s when the second satchel-full is nearly stuffed to the brim—after having already descended once to attach a whole bag of herbs to one of the horses—when something more than just wind moves through the branches. It’s faint at first, just a whistle of an object arcing through the air, before that same object slams into the stone right next to Stephen’s hand, flown over his shoulder and missing by half an inch at best.

The arrow bends and bounces off the crag, falling. Lightning lances through Stephen’s nerves, adrenaline doing its work; it’s all the motivation he needs to drop back down to the ground in a rush of a billowing cloak, landing with such an unceremonious crouch that hoarfrost clings to his knees.]

Jasper! Archers!

[In case he hadn’t noticed the ruckus, the stray arrow now sticking in the shrubbery nearby.

Should the man have a keen pair of eyes, able to pick out a couple of human forms wearing leather tanned to match the color of tree bark, he should find one nestled in the branches, crouched and balanced like an animal. The bandit reaches back into his quiver to correct his first missed shot.

And farther down, in a tree adjacent, one more such man. His bow is already drawn and trained on Jasper.]

Edited 2022-02-10 22:18 (UTC)

[Silence unsettles his nerves. Seconds tick by. Moments feel like minutes; interrupted by a whistle of wind that slams into shale and shatters stone. The arrow - Jasper recognising the sound for what it is - clatters against the rocky ground. Hairs spring up along his neck. His spine jolts at the impact of the stray arrow embedding in bark. Nerves long forgotten as a monster doing work at last.

His eyes dart through the undergrowth; hawkish in spotting every abnormal detail. Unnatural shapes breaking the outline of a tree. Faces staring with human intelligence and greed. Faces because he indeed spots that second man amongst an adjacent tree. Humans showing animalistic instincts to frighten and kill without possessing the nobility of any beasts but rats. His heart pounds within his chest, pumping blood and provoking nerves.

The sight leaves no time to think. Fingers stretch and release the drawstring; thoughts disperse in alarm and he vanishes from sight. The arrow shoots through dark flames that dissipate quickly, clattering against the cliff face.

His shape reappears amongst the trees one second later. Fingers unclench and spread while he draws back his right hand and releases an electrostatic discharge of ball lightning that strikes the first man in the back and knocks him clear out the tree.

Onto his face? A broken nose? He cannot see through the shrubbery but he hardly cares. That's one man less to target Stephen, at any rate.]

[ the horizon was a disorienting concept, until it isn't. in the beginning, sure, first trips done twice over and the second time was just as off-kilter as the first but by the next time peter delves into it, it feels a whole lot more familiar.

knowing that stephen strange was here too was — well, it was a lot of things. it was exciting, and terrifying, and good (because he was the magic expert!) and bad (because what did that mean for their world?). it raised more questions than answers of time and space and maybe even multiverse and peter had fully prepared himself to take his time in seeking the sorcerer out. plan it out, you know? think of what he can say, what to tell him in any given scenario. except parker has the predictably consistent tendency to leap first and plan later and it wasn't going to change now, not with this restlessness culminating in two sleepless nights before he finally relents and dives in.

his first thought, rather plainly, is that it's really cool, stephen's horizon. distinctly him, and peter wouldn't even need his peter-tingles to know he found the right place but they still manage to act as confirmation — familiar, they ring, maybe even safe, when he finds himself at the sanctum's front door.

peter waits a very impressive 3 minutes of standing still and waiting politely in the grand vestibule with the heavy wood stair before he ventures a try, curiosity and nerves begging for an outlet. thinks of the mirror dimension and the swirl of geometry — elegant and chaotic and clear in his mind — and when the first stair twists and turns it's already too late for doctor strange's pristine domain.

he's tucked into a created nook, staring at a reflected-refracted-sunburst duplication of the central oculus when a very familiar inflection makes him jump. senses can't pick up an effortlessly teleporting wizard quite yet, it seems.

peter scrambles up onto a bookshelf - except he's on the ceiling? floor? he's staring at the good doctor upside down until a quick twist of a jump lands him close by. ] Oh — Stephen — [ — is it still weird? does he ...know him? anxieties and uncertainty and elation all brought forth once again, crawling up his spine and making his hair stand on end. but for now, he looks around them and has enough wherewithal to look mildly sheepish. ] Hi, [ :') ] You know, this is actually surprisingly intuitive?

[ please don't ask him how to put it back he actually isn't sure how, oh god — ]

[Jasper’s gone in a flash of darkened flames, and in the next moment there’s light from a surge of something emanating from the branches. A bandit tumbles out from them, landing hard on his face.

Well, someone’s gotten his magic back, he thinks, pulling himself up to his feet. A sensible person would find cover from behind a tree trunk, given that the other bandit’s already nocked his arrow and intends to send it flying his way. But for good or ill, Stephen is long past the point in his life where being shot at by archers is considered extraordinary, and he makes a quick hand gesture to summon an amber shield, etched in swirling runes.

The arrow’s let free, but it bounces off the shield uselessly. He dismisses his magic and conjures again, and this time glowing red bands of energy snake around his arm. Stephen tosses them out like a whip, and they lash out, coil around the tree branch from under his assailant, and grow taut.

All it takes is one hard pull, and the branches snap. Bandit #2 lands just about as gracefully as bandit #1, cracking his shoulder on the gnarled roots of the tree. He groans, trying to get back to his feet, reaching for a small dagger strapped to his hip — but he’s dazed and slow, and likely of no further danger with his bow still caught in the branches above.

Meanwhile, their horses protest. A third outlaw, probably having seen the display up until now, has given his fellows wide berth, and is focusing on loosening one of the mare’s reins from its hitch.]

[Jasper sees little through the trees; amber lights glowing bright for a second before disappearing. Red bursts of magic - like ribbons to his eyes - soar ahead on his side and soon his ears are twitching. Listening to the snapping of a branch and the discomfort of a frustrated man slamming into its remains.

It is a curious magic this man wields. How fluid and mercurial it seems. His attention is soon jolted back to the present: whinnies and stomping hooves ringing his ears. The matter is entirely important and he abandons his travelling companion to manifest himself behind the back of a brazen thief. He immediately delivers a stomping kick with the bottom of his foot to an unprotected knee. His nose wrinkles as he pushes the man off balance and launches him to the ground. His actions rupturing ligaments and, considering the crying he hears, his own ears.

He approaches the man and stomps his hand for good measure.

Then he spends his remaining time relieving the man of his weapons.]

[He’s incredulous as Peter lands right beside him, easy as breathing. First off: “Stephen”? Okay, whatever, that’s fine, Peter’s earned it by now given all they’ve been through. But how can he look at the Sanctum and call what he’s been doing intuitive? How is it intuitive have ten staircases in the space of a single foyer?

He can’t tell which way’s up any more, and it’d be far more disorienting if he wasn’t used to the fragmented nature of the Mirror Dimension.]

Intuitive. Is that what we’re calling it?

[Another bookshelf floats in, losing all its tomes as they hover away and form a perfect shape of squares, sailing by. Stephen reaches out a hand and wills them back into place, but it’s like taking a watering can to an inferno — he can only get so far.]

What’s surprising is that you’ve managed to completely pull everything apart to mirror the— the Mirror Dimension in the first place. How do you even know what you’re doing?

[The ground lurches. Stephen steps back to keep his balance planted on “firm” ground as their flooring turns at a ninety-degree angle.]

Edited (I KEEP NITPICKING I'M SORRY) 2022-02-11 20:44 (UTC)

[No need to prep a subsequent spell. Jasper seems to have it covered with another teleporting act, catching the horse-and-herb thief off-guard. He wonders if they’d have been so bold if they knew they were dealing with practitioners of, ah, very creative forms of magic, but it doesn’t matter know.

He straightens, flicking a wrist. The dagger of the thief having fallen on tree roots floats over to Stephen, who grabs it and tosses it aside.]

Better for everyone if you stay down.

[There’s a murmured curse in his direction; probably an insult born of a wounded pride and battered body. Stephen exhales and casts another spell to bind the man’s wrists together, leaving him there for now as he gazes up towards Jasper.

He watches him crush the other man’s hand under the harsh pressure of a boot heel. Winces with a disapproving frown.]

He’s had enough. I don’t think he’ll be getting up to fight in his state now.

[He heard that cry of pain. Probably fractured or twisted something.]

A favourable position I think.

[The distance between them makes it impossible to notice that censorious stare. It is a small mercy; he barely enjoys this interference as it stands. He grits his teeth and slings the scoundrel's bow atop his sword.]

You cannot trust these rodents not to stab you in the back.

[His concerns lie more with his horse than explaining himself. He soothes her with a careful, cautious series of gestures before gently prompting her to lower her head.]

I’m not asking you to kindly thank them for trying to kill us. But excessive violence is redundant when it’s already over.

[Stephen’s not as good with horses, and his own is still nervous from the tussle—short-lived as it was—but he crosses closer just enough to rest his hand on her mane. With any luck, everyone will have a chance to cool off.]

What are we going to do about them? [The three incapacitated would-be thieves.] Leave them on the forest floor?

[Jasper ignores the argument and continues attending his mare. His cruelty had served one important purpose: the prevention of further aggression. These bandits had showed no evidence of healing acumen and were unlikely to access proper medical care.]

No. We ought obey the law of the land.

[Says the man who acted with excessive force.]

Bring them back to the castle to answer for their crimes. Permit them to walk free and others might not be as fortunate as you and I.

[Now does this damned human-hugger understand?]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 5

( catch-all ) sailin' away on the crest of a wave

for jasper.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

for peter.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

sorry tired wizard dad

no subject

no subject

IS HE REALLY

no subject

no subject

stares at previous tag, please forgive my typos

no judging here you should see mine pffsh