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

[sorser]

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! ))

Comments

for jasper.

[sorser]

[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.]

for peter.

[sorser]

[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.]

along came an oni

[sakaya]

[ Wherever Shuten-Douji is, the scent of alcohol closely follows.

She's been rather reserved (by her own standards) as she takes in this new world. Castle Thorne is quaint, grand even. Shuten has made some lazy comparisons between it and Chaldea (or rather, what's left to operate within the Wandering Sea) in terms of very great magic capabilities and some of their technological advances. Still, the Servant is much more interested in those who were forcefully summoned just like herself. After all, they were not of the same cloth as she was.

How has she been spending her days so far? Well, lazing about, eating, drinking, flirting with the guards or servants as they nervously chuckle in response, some with flushed faces, others quickly hurrying away, because even if they don't know what an oni was, they innately understand a creature with bared teeth even if it smiles at them.

One afternoon there's a particularly... Drunk-looking guard who stumbles down the hall, rubbing their face with one hand, with extremely flushed cheeks. Not too far away, the small woman with horns is sitting at the base of a statue, tossing a bright golden-red apple, up and down with one hand, while waving to the guard with the other. ]

Thank you for the gift!

[ Walking within her vicinity is like stepping into a dangerously sweet and toxic fog. ]

slides into ur horizon dms

[funbreaker]

[ Only about eight suns have passed since Thancred's rude awakening in this place, and he cannot begin to know how many more he'll see in this land before he makes his way back to the other Scions. Is that even an option for him? He cannot be certain, not when his last memories before being drawn out of the fountain were Meteion's grayed-out eyes.

He doesn't believe this is some afterlife or one of the seven Hells or anything quite like that. The world seems alive, its own star functioning under its own rules much like Norvrandt had been. For all he knows, this place is even larger than the First, and most likely is based on the maps he's been able to dig up in the library. There are other nations on this continent, to say nothing of what lies beyond it, and he has only seen this one small shred of it.

He'll need to look into the likelihood of traveling outside of Thorne and also weigh whether that's worth the risk. He doesn't have a specific goal here, not like he had when he'd learned of Ryne's existence, but he certainly doesn't intend to sit on his hands and do nothing.

He's opted to go for a walk as he sorts through all of these thoughts and decides on the gardens as a nice change of scenery from the interior of the castle. It's just after nightfall, meaning that most of the castle's denizens have retreated inside for dinner and other activities.

Thancred is not alone, however. As he makes his way down the neat garden paths, he spots a familiar man sitting cross-legged, his eyes closed. Some manner of meditation? He would not have thought Stephen Strange the type, but the two of them also only spoke the one time.

He pauses to watch for a few moments, not going out of his way to mask his presence but also not directly approaching. He doubts that Stephen wishes to be interrupted while in such deep contemplation. ]