MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone (more or less)
WHAT: Rifter Show & Tell & Steal.
WHEN: Early Wintermarch 9:49 (forward-dated!)
WHERE: The Crossroads and BEYOND.
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines.

Since Corypheus began opening the Gates, Riftwatch has been noticing pockets of instability in the Crossroads—crumbling platforms, paths newly blocked by rubble or broken bridges, sections where gravity has been shifted and altered in ways unusual even for the Crossroads, with new intrusions of green-tinged rock outcroppings or corners of temple walls. The barriers between the Crossroads, the Fade, and the world are thinning. It's a problem.

But more recently, Riftwatch has been made aware of an ancient artifact known (now; one hopes this isn't its original title) as the Sealing Stone, now in pieces scattered throughout the Crossroads, and the approximate locations of those pieces. If brought together and activated, the Stone may stabilize the barrier between the Crossroads and the other realms and may provide a model Riftwatch could use to reinforce the Veil elsewhere.

So Riftwatch ventures into the Crossroads to retrieve the pieces of the Stone. It's an intensive effort undertaken by large teams, due to the many now-familiar hazards of the Crossroads, the potential for encountering the Venatori that also use the eluvian network, and the need to cover ground as quickly as possible in hopes of finding the artifacts before the Venatori notice the increased Crossroads activity and come join the hunt.

It's not as simple as merely locating the pieces, however. Whenever a group of Riftwatchers get near enough to one of the artifacts, they're alerted first by the triggering of a sort of protection mechanism. In some cases—specifically, on teams without any rifters—spirits suddenly swarm from the metaphorical woodwork in numbers so great and with such hostility that retreat is the only viable option. The spirits chase the teams only as far as necessary to push them away from the artifact's location, then mass into a circling shoal, guarding the spot until they're left alone long enough to decide the risk has passed.

But for groups containing at least one rifter, something with the mechanism goes wrong. Or right, arguably. Rather than being overwhelmed by spirits, they instead find themselves abruptly engulfed by what appears to be a rift, opening suddenly and rapidly large enough to swallow entire masses of people before contracting again to lie in wait like a carnivorous plant for anyone else who comes too close. Those caught in its radius tumble out into what appears to be a new and unfamiliar world–for most. For one or more of the rifters in each group, it will be perfectly familiar.

The first group to encounter this effect will be one including Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, and will drop them and their compatriots straight into midtown traffic. Any groups attempting to travel to the same spot in the Crossroads to investigate the apparent vanishing—whether they have rifters with them or not—will find themselves drawn through the same "rift" almost as soon as they get within sight of the place, before anything can be discerned about their lost fellows. They will likewise emerge into Stark & Strange's United States.

Subsequent groups including other rifters will be seemingly drawn into their companions' worlds by the same effect. In each, Riftwatch will have to navigate local hazards and retrieve a distinctive lyrium-etched artifact, at which point the world will dissolve around them like a dream and they will find themselves back in the Crossroads where they began, in possession of a carved chunk of stone glowing with lyrium runes.

1 ↠ MCU Earth-199999

Alternate-universe Earth, New York and Los Angeles, 2012-2025, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange.

Earth-199999 is very much like contemporary Earth as we know it, featuring the same historic events, same nations, same conventions. For the average person, there is no difference, except that they know magic and aliens and gods and superpowers are all real and have been causing problems for a while now, with NYC as the hub for most of the shenanigans. MCU Earth has also made leaps and bounds in all science fields as compared to real Earth, although these leaps and bounds are not widely accessible, primarily exclusive to private organisations like Stark Industries, mad scientists, and the likes of SHIELD, but can range from interactive three-dimensional holograms through to biotechnology that turns people into supersoldiers.

It's commonplace to see or hear about criminals causing havoc in the streets with superpowers or gadgets, and crime-fighting vigilantes trying to stop them. The Avengers, as the world's first superheroes, became widely-known commercialised celebrities in-universe with merchandise, documentaries, book deals, and memorial murals to the deceased Iron Man.

Special Abilities: Everyone is nerfed to regular human, unless you want a sudden onset of mutant powers. 1 individual themed ability per character; like pyrokinesis, superspeed, superstrength, etc.

Arrival: One main rift opens in the middle of New York City, ejecting our rifters into midtown traffic… except thanks to Strange’s own multiversal mishaps, people in this world will seem astonishingly accustomed to this sight! Bystanders will be startled, but then the rifters will likely be dogged by strangers snapping photos and videos and tweeting about their arrival.

The Fade-constructed timeline will be a little off: the old Avengers tower and its penthouse is still standing and still accessible to Tony, and Strange will also offer up the Sanctum as a sanctuary, and these will be the main mission hubs while the team gets their bearings and tries to locate the artifact. In the meantime: relax, take in the sights, maybe check out a Broadway show, wrangle your new superpowers.

A secondary rift also opens up on Hollywood Boulevard, in case people want to do some helplessly stranded on Earth RP. Tony can very easily find out this has happened and go collect them, with various degrees of efficiency according to what people want out of that OOCly. As this universe will be available to explore for a few IC weeks, people can assume some degree of Stark-provided financial freedom for basics (i.e. clothes and food, burner phones, etc), and they can stay in the Avengers tower and/or the Sanctum.

2 ↠ Shifterverse

Original alternate-universe Earth, Midwest US, 2022, Jude Adjei.

Real-world 2022, but what if Shifters?

Special Abilities: All superpowers are unfortunately nerfed. However, everyone's a Shifter now. Your choice of animal. Enjoy.

Arrival: Everyone will arrive in Yellowstone National Park, which is wholly staffed and operated by Jude's pack, but... not in an area where tourists are routinely and happily welcomed. Welcome to the deep woods and canyons and plains, where Jude's pack has built their den for some several hundred people. Characters will immediately be found by scouts in fur and feathers, who will be guarded and curious, but not hostile. The wolves and ravens will greet the interlopers as equals, and if they aren't offered any violence, they'll be treated as guests. Hundreds of pack members live in a mixture of hand-built cabin homes and meeting places, portable tiny houses and various shared spaces. There is wifi, a greenhouse, lots of tasty food and warm clothing to wear. If they stay several days and prove themselves trustworthy, they might even start to see children out and about, and there's nothing cuter than a toddler who can become a wolf pup at will. (Mind the raven toddlers and the bear cubs. They're less cute.)

3 ↠ Tassia

D&D Original World, Loxley & Richard Dickerson

Tassia is an original Dungeons&Dragons inspired world, a single continent divided into four nations that is otherwise completely isolated from any other possible world beyond it. These nations are Lloryndell, Sylvica, Ifrin, and Promias, and at its centre lies the Cruxal, a university-city of diverse cultural influence.

While Tassia resembles Thedas in its day-to-day technology levels, including its anachronisms, it is more heavily laden with fantastical elements. Along with humans, elves, and dwarves, there are goblins, dragonborn, tritons, tieflings, sentient robots, bird people, centaurs, and more (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races) (but no qunari). There are many different kinds of magic users who wield their powers openly. There are shops full of magic items, potions, and spell scrolls. There are monsters of countless kinds that lurk just about everywhere. Most cultures in the material plane are polytheistic and worship themed gods from the default D&D (Faerun) Pantheon. Some smaller cults and individuals worship ancient fey, fiendish, and eldritch beings who dwell on the outskirts of their respective planes and may provide power to the exceptionally loyal -- for a price.

Special Abilities: You can choose to be a normal depowered person, but you are equally encouraged to take on magical abilities, whether you're a mage or not. In brief, you can be a wizard, whose magic comes from spellbooks and knowledge, a sorcerer, who have innate magical abilities, a bard, who draws their magic from music, words, and performance, a warlock, who has made a pact with a powerful entity in exchange of magical ability, a druid, who draws their magic from nature, and a cleric, whose divine abilities are gifted to them by a deity. (Other classes have magic too, but it might be easier to pick one of these major ones if you are unfamiliar!)

Rather than overthinking it, we recommend you pick whatever sounds fun to flavour your magic with, and then browse magical spells using classes as a filter. (Eighth and ninth level are off limits, and it may be easier to limit yourself further due to how many spells there are.) Given the temporariness of these powers, don't worry too much about how many spells you get or how frequently you can do them, but know that higher level spells (anything above fifth) can only be cast one or twice a day.

Your character may be Tassia-ised, in terms of their race, but in a limited capacity. All humans will stay human, but elves may adopt D&D traits like seeing in the dark.

Arrival: Rifts will open in the streets of the Cruxal. People will be startled by the sudden appearance of rifters and stand offish, but otherwise: they've seen it all before! No one will be calling the guard on you, unless you decide to start something, so please don't. Or enjoy jail.

The Cruxal is a labyrinthian melting pot built up in concentric rings around a massive central university and library. Goblins scarper among humans, elves, and dwarves in the street. There are tusked half orcs and horned, scale-clad dragonborn mixed in among more familiar silhouettes. This is a university town, but while a large portion of the population are students, academics, and staff, it is also self-sustaining, with taverns, shops, temples, brothels, residences, and marketways.

The university itself is guarded and degrees of entry closely regulated due to the school’s extensive collection of dangerous artifacts -- one of which just so happens to have gone missing last night. News of the theft has been suppressed, but every temple, tavern, and brothel on the outskirts of town is abuzz with the rumor. The entire corridor, they say, was scorched black.

Loxley and Richard won't be too concerned about herding everyone but can provide some coin as needed for inn rooms and food. They appear to have a near bottomless stash, at least as far as living costs go.

4 ↠ Sulleciel

Original fantasy world, Petrana de Cedoux.

What if magic was real and holy emperors still kissed the ring in Rome, until someone beheaded the fucking pope? Welcome to Sulleciel, and specifically to Lamor City, capitol of Lamorre and the seat of the Lamorran empire, ruled over by Empereur Marius IX and his consort, Empress Petrana Solene. A nation and empire in the throes, still, of great upheaval — think Versailles or Orlais, but lurching ungainly out of its dark ages into a theoretically more enlightened time, control of which is being actively fought in the halls of power and at grassroots levels of social influence. Power vacuums abound, thanks to the fall of the church and the rise of a conqueror who is less interested in ruling than he was conquering; women are still the often-illiterate property of their fathers and husbands, but now there are more alternatives to family and marital homes, and dedicated studies of witchcraft are being encouraged, with pilot programs across the empire primarily in those early sanctuary cities, figuring out how this is all going to work. Known for her efforts to lean on the scales in the people's favour Petrana herself is, in this era, rumored to be imprisoned; graffiti of her crowned likeness can be found in some places in the city, with the epithet ""la reine du malheur"".

Special Abilities: In Sulleciel, magic is a skill that may be pursued like any other — and there are those of more or less talent, as if someone were to attempt the violin, or swordplay. It is practised primarily through incantations and foci, with more elaborate spellwork for more ambitious results sometimes requiring particular items or a full coven to achieve. As magic is limited in Sulleciel only by the will, imagination and stamina of those practising it, no one coming here will be subject to any nerfs; all mages and otherwise magical or powered individuals will be able to use their powers as they're used to using them. In addition to this, anyone who is as magical as a chair-leg ordinarily can feel free to have a go at Sulleciel's magic — it's up to you if they have a knack for it or not. Simple spells like casting a light or telekinesis of small objects can be mastered by toddlers; a powerful enough witch or coven might be able to summon a thunderstorm and alter weather patterns, but ""can"" and ""should"" are different and it's generally advised that you try not to do a climate change.
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Arrival: The rift will open into a spacious, luxuriously-appointed tower on the grounds of the imperial palace but not visibly connected to it above-ground. It was at one point the sole domain of the previous arciduc's personal astronomers, but is now the primary residence and working space of the Queen's Coven. The Queen's Coven is a particular group of women, so named for having been among the first witches to come beneath the new regime's protection in the first city-state to bend the knee where Petrana was first installed as Queen Regent; they are private, secretive, and increasingly cut off from the power-struggles of the imperial court, having been actively distanced from the Empress herself by a variety of other players in the game. Both relatively prepared for sudden magical happenings and inclined to keep shit in the tower on lock, they will be prepared to pass you all off as "foreign witches, seeking our enlightenment" and see both you and the sudden access to Petrana as potentially useful in their maneuverings. Which will make moving around easier, but will probably be an active hindrance to getting where and what you need. An underground tunnel connects the tower directly to the palace, though there are also pleasant, covered pathways to walk across the palace grounds; guards at the main, above-ground entrance to the tower will inquire about movements to and from, and will be skeptical but limit their interference initially ... as long as they don't see Petrana.

5 ↠ Kalvad

Original fantasy world, Wysteria Poppell.

Kalvad—specifically the city of Somerset, the magic capitol of the civilized world—is a mashup of Regency Era and Industrial-Revolution-But-Magic! Nebulously England (with the serial numbers aggressively filed off). When in doubt, default to Jane Austen vibes. But if it seems fun to do some weird magic-powered technological advancements, then go nuts.

Kalvad is an imperial island nation ostensibly ruled by three kings, though they're largely figureheads overseeing an upper and lower parliament. The country has made itself rich and powerful by doing a whole lot of war and colonization. As historically one of the most magically powerful regions in the world, magicians have long been a vital tool in the empire's efforts to do both those things.

Unfortunately for Kalvad, the strength of magic in the world has waned considerably in the last 40 years. Where once Talent was rare but reasonably powerful, magic users are both becoming more commonplace and considerably weaker. Even older magicians and hedge-witches who once might have manufactured considerable arcane feats have seen some diminishing of their powers. A popular, but unproven, theory in academic circles is that those with Talent all draw from the same "well" of magic. As more people are born with the ability to tap into that resource, the less there is to go around. Resentment for those with weaker Talents among older generations of magic users is A Thing.

That said, increased availability of minor magics has kick-started a 'minor magic' powered industrial revolution. Parlor witches who perform small arcane conveniences are growing in number; minor charms and enchantments have become more readily available to lower classes. Meanwhile, the non-magical population is slowly being shunted out of their respective cottage industry jobs and into factories powered by great enchanted machines. The empire as the world knows it is clearly teetering on the brink of major social and political upheaval, both at home and abroad. The consequences of all this change just haven't quite played themselves out yet, though you can bet there are people rushing around in an attempt to cover their asses before they do.

Special Abilities Characters will be nerfed of any abilities they had in Thedas, but can be Talented in Kalvad terms or not. Any Talented character under 40 is likely to be able to produce only minor magics (think lighting fires in fireplaces, being able to heal minor injuries, and temporarily being able to enchant objects to do one specific thing). Anyone over forty can be a little flashier (think appearance altering glamors, temporary invisibility, transfiguration and significant healing). General magic flavor is: Brothers Grimm fairy tales and Arthurian legends, except that someone somewhere made all that weirdly pliable magic adhere to a strict ruleset. Easy, thoughtless channeling of magic is a secret lost long before the arcane powers in the world began to diminish. Now, all magic must be carefully and deliberately designed and constructed. The magicians most accomplished by Kalvadan standards are methodical and patient. Think clockmakers and mathematicians, not wizards on the side of a van.

Arrival: Members of Riftwatch will arrive through a rift and find themselves on the wooded outskirts of a sprawling city. Luckily, no one will witness their initial arrival. Even more convenient: once they've gotten their bearings and made their way into the city, they'll discover they aren't the only weird strangers in town (although they may want to strongly consider indulging in petty theft to make themselves stick out less—particularly as it comes time to infiltrate places). It seems that a sprawling months-long academic conference turned party turned cover for political intrigue and cold warfare has descended upon Somerset.

In the aftermath of what everyone is claiming to be a major military victory somewhere, delegations from a number of implicated countries have converged on the city at the invitation of the Kalvadan Crowns in order to share and demonstrate their various technical and arcane achievements. The World's Fair-like atmosphere has drawn a number of non-Talented tourists, scheming politicians, and cutthroat spies along with the legitimately academically and/or magically inclined.

While Somerset is something of a city of wonders by the world's estimation, it's still first and foremost a dirty and crowded industrial hub in a world that has yet to bother with paving all its major roads. The conference has quadrupled that effect, transforming it into a riot of sights, sound, and (often to its detriment) smells. At this point, finding a room and board in the city has become less a question of where you want to stay and more one of how many other people you're willing to timeshare a bed with.

Luckily, it doesn't seem like Riftwatch will be sticking around long. Some snooping around the of pamphleting/gossip will reveal that the artifact they're after is likely to be found in the grand exhibition hall, and that there will be an opportunity to get their hands on it that evening.

6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

D&D Forgotten Realms, Astarion

The D&D continent of Faerûn is loosely based on Eurasia—if it ran entirely on magic, was roughly stuck somewhere in the 14th century forever, and was filled to the brim with elves, dragons, gnolls, faeries, gods, demi-gods, and just about any myth (or mythological creature) you’ve ever encountered in your life. For the purpose of simplicity, everyone from Riftwatch is going to get plunked down in the titular Baldur’s Gate: the city is massive, it’s known as the jewel of Faerûn, and its cultures, districts, trades and pastimes reflect that remarkable splendor. Still, think of it like Kirkwall in that there are some pretty damn rigid socioeconomic divides separating the city via districts. QUICK GUIDE.

The Upper City is the fancy part of town where nobles (known as Patriar) and their servants live, and it also houses the city’s government and key recreational buildings. There are no bars, pubs, taverns or drinking halls. Anything rowdy happens behind closed doors, and if you don't have an invitation, you'd better look for fun somewhere else. Magical enchantments and lanterns make it beyond stunning at night to stroll through. Lower City is more varied: you’ll find taverns, shops, tons of entertainment and ample trade, as well as pirates by the docks (and their ships), and the harbor waters are absolutely gorgeous for sailing on calm days. Doors are shut and locked during nighttime hours aside from taverns, inns or gambling parlors. Visibility is also lower at night when harbor fog rolls in, particularly where poorer residents can't afford oil, tallow or magic every night. The Undercity stretches deep (and hidden) beneath both the Upper and Lower Cities: it begins at its most shallow within the city as sewers and along seawall cliffs as open-mouthed caves. The deeper you go, the worse it gets: undead catacombs, cultists, temples, blood sport and bloody magic prevail alongside monsters too dangerous to clear out. Outer City sucks. There's almost next to no law or order, and is inherently dangerous to explore. Treat it like Lowtown for the most part, and you'll be pretty smack on (slavers and actual kind impoverished poor included).

CULTURE: Baldur’s Gate is primarily run by humans, and to a lesser extent, elves. Other races aren’t really considered a foothold here, but they’re more than welcome in the city and treated exceptionally well with a few exceptions here and there (ogres, trolls, more ferally inclined goblins, etc). This is not at all like Thedas: someone more familiar with discrimination against non-humans, certain pairings and particularly mages wouldn't find it here. Most of the time if you dress nicely and carry yourself well, you’ll be well respected. Or robbed. Or both!

Special Abilities: Characters will be adjusted to fit D&D, and powers are optional for all. For D&D’s magic/power/race everything, please take a look at some basic classes.

Arrival: Characters will arrive via rifts torn into the Outer City, just along its riverfront sprawl. They won’t be too far from the city gates, but witnesses to the scene will be inclined to gossip and gawk, assuming everything from a freak magical incident to believing the new arrivals are wealthy travelers from somewhere far and exotic, who simply missed their mark in teleporting to the Upper City for sightseeing. Anyone wearing Thedosian clothes will be fine to go without changing— wearing something more modern or say, nothing at all for some reason, will definitely require staging some kind of Terminator II style clothing (theft) acquisition in order to fit in.

Ideally, the team will at least want to make their way into Lowtown in order to begin snooping around, but it’s a big damn city to say the least, and information is expensive. Astarion will help within reason, but being a vampire means that he can only afford to fund so much on his own.

Might be a good idea to do some fetch quests or live your best Adventuring Party life, because you’re all going to likely be here for a (time distorted) relative while.

7 ↠ Orphan Black

Alternate-Universe Earth, 2014; Toronto, Canada; Cosima Neihaus.

Real-world mid-2010s, but secret unethical biology/biotech experiments including viable human cloning in the mid 1980s. Carrying out such technologically advanced work is a combination of international organizations including a private research company, at least one paramilitary organization and a shadowy organization that oversees both. (Orphan Black also features minor differences from our world typical of its genre, such as plot-convenient hacking and variably competent law enforcement, but the cloning project and related scientific offshoots are the most salient differences.) Relevant to this plot in particular, the Dyad Institute is a private organization, considered ""fringe"" by the mainstream scientific community, devoted to research related to human evolution and biotechnology. Some of its many employees had connections to the ""neolutionism"" community, the members of which believed human evolution should be actively shaped by scientific and technological intervention. The organization was responsible for the project that created Cosima and her sisters roughly 30 years before in-world present day. Also at the moment they're jumping to, Cosima works there, it's complicated. (If anyone is familiar with the canon, we're jumping in circa season two.)
A tiny pinboard.

Special Abilities: None, you're all just unpowered humans. Sorry/you're welcome.

Arrival: The group arrives at what turns out to be a nondenominational winter party for a local school; there are some mild shenanigans as Cosima clocks that it's a school attended by children she knows, and more pressingly, partially overseen by their mother, who has Cosima's face. Cosima press gangs one or more other people into helping her hide her own face while negotiating with Alison to borrow her minivan. She shuttles the group to Alison's large suburban Toronto home, which becomes the FR group's base of operation. (It is perhaps telling that while Alison finds this frustrating, she and her husband Donnie do sort of roll with it also.) If desired/depending on how big the group is, Cosima could also stow some Riftwatchers with Felix, the foster brother of one of her other clones, who has a big artsy loft downtown. She is not against taking anyone to her place, but she's a grad student; it's not huge. Everyone who knows how to use a phone or can be trusted to figure it out with a tutorial gets a burner phone for convenience. (Perhaps additionally telling how quickly Alison gets everyone a burner phone. She also decorates the protective cases for them. No, it's not optional.)

8 ↠ The Last of Us

Post-Apocalyptic Earth, Spring 2038, Seattle, Abby Lasterson & Ellie Williams.

This world was ours until 2013, when a worldwide pandemic broke out overnight. A fungus (cordyceps) that had originally infected mainly insects adapted to infect human beings. Anyone bitten by an infected person or who has breathed in a significant or concentrated amount of fungal spores becomes infected themselves. Over a maximum of two days, they utterly lose their humanity and deteriorate into violent monsters, eventually sprouting spores and fungal plates. There is no known cure, and the only human being ever known to be immune is Ellie Williams. 25 or so years later, humanity has crumbled into various factions in a struggle to survive. First came the Federal (FEDRA) response, resulting in Quarantine Zones and martial law. Life in the zones is highly regulated, with work assignments and rations that often aren't enough to go around. Many citizens are forced to turn to crime just to make ends meet. Orphaned children become wards of the state and are trained to become FEDRA soldiers by the time they're sixteen.

Various civilian groups rose up to rebel against FEDRA, forming factions such as the Fireflies (rebels who recruited scientists in an effort to find a cure), and the Washington Liberation Front (a militia-minded organization who overthrew FEDRA in Seattle). There are other smaller groups such as the religious zealots called the Seraphites, or the violent slavers known as the Rattlers.

Few and far between are independent human settlements like Jackson of Wyoming, where small communities have managed to gain self-sufficiency and safety with tireless group effort and highly vigilant defenders. They bolster their numbers by welcoming peaceful outsiders and engaging in trade with travelers.

Living outside of these groups, people are largely on their own, vulnerable to packs of hunters, bandits and even cannibals that prey on anyone brave enough to risk travel.

The infected are an ever-present threat everywhere, and the world is a ruin quickly being reclaimed by nature. (cw: body horror in the link) See board for world aesthetic and depictions of the Infected.

Special Abilities: Everyone is a normal human here. No supernatural powers, no magic, no non-humans.

Arrival: Welcome one of Ellie and Abby's least favorite places: Seattle. The Space Needle is visible in the distance, so despite the advanced state of decay, it's actually recognizable. Except it's been bombed, and rotting, and nature's reclaimed it for the last quarter-century. This adventure won't be for the faint of heart; there are no home bases and no safe space to be had. All clothing, supplies, weaponry and food are things you'll need to find yourself. Everyone can assume they'll get a quick lesson in gun safety and a rundown on various types of infected. Multiple rifts will open, so feel free to appear anywhere in the city (even apart from others) but expect to find no native allies. The city of Seattle is embroiled in civil war between the Seraphites (a religious cult who rejects anything "old world" and scars their faces, called "Scars") and the Washington Liberation Front (a ruthless mercenary coalition, called "Wolves") and both sides will assume you're with the other group and attack on sight. Better pick up a brick.

Comments

[portalling]

It reminds him, a little, of his earliest days with Wong. The other man’s stoic, stone-faced silence and sheer stubborn unwillingness to engage in frivolous chatter, no matter how much the New Yorker needled and prodded and nudged and tried to get a rise out of him. But in the middle of a fungal hellscape isn’t the time or place to alienate one of his few allies, so he tries to take it more seriously this time.

“Some,” Strange says dryly, and it’s a vast understatement. But he fills in the gap, like a further strategic assessment of his strengths and weaknesses:

“Very experienced with magical battle, with multiple sorcerers and other combatants by my side. And I’ve used ethereal swords and shields in combat, so I’m familiar with the theory — even if I don’t have, say, the muscle to keep swinging a real one all day.”

Those flaming swords were so much lighter than a real, giant hunk of metal.

[portalling]

Strange hadn’t really stopped to consider it, but yep, that’ll definitely be a question for later.

But he’s standing ready on that landing now, his hand splayed against the door. “For the record: same,” he says, and then shoves that door open.

And inside is… yes, just a comfortable living room. There are curtains drawn over the windows, a long studded-button leather sofa, an older model of flatscreen TV, and Wong sprawled comfortably in his robes. Sometimes there’s a woman named Madisynn joining for the watch parties, but she’s not here tonight; there is, however, a novice in the background doing some dull re-shelving.

“Wong— did we catch you at a bad time? Can you pause? The fate of a world depends on it.”

“You always say the fate of the world depends on it,” Wong grouses, popping more buttered popcorn in his mouth, then straightening from his ungainly sprawl. It would look very undignified, the Sorcerer Supreme dozing off on the sofa.

“Yes, well. That’s because it’s usually the case. This is Mobius, by the way, I think you’ve met in passing.”

Wong does pause the stream. And he’s looking up at the both of them now: mild, unfussed, unbothered and with no urgency in his expression at all.

(He has always looked strangely unfussed about the Theodosians’ multiversal predicament. Maybe that’s the problem.)

“We have a globe, a crystal, a string, and a gem,” Strange continues. “I’d like your assistance, pooling our magical abilities together to scry for the Sealing Stone. It’s been weeks and—”

It’s like a shutter slams down, Wong’s expression turning even stiffer than before. “No, I don’t think I can,” he says, crisply, frostily, and Strange exchanges a Look™ with Mobius.

“Maybe try,” Strange says, and there’s a building irritation buzzing in his voice — and wariness.

[portalling]

It’s funny having the shoe on the other foot; usually Strange is the one turning his thousand-watt attention span and full focus onto others, drinking up as many details about them and their history as he can, a matter of survival as a rifter acclimating to a new world. But he’s a little more loose around the edges here, in his element; particularly in the kitchen past midnight, enjoying a cup of tea, with the contented energy of the Sanctum’s leyline thrumming beneath their feet.

And so, oblivious, he doesn’t notice that edge to Benedict’s curiosity; he just trips carelessly into answering it instead.

“Necessity,” he says. A beat, sussing out what he can tactfully say about this, then, “It was a medical issue. Science let me down, so I figured I’d try the other side of the coin for a while. It hasn’t disappointed. I changed careers and never looked back.”

[luaithre]

It's almost ruthless, the speed at which the wolf that Marcus currently is notices and interprets this other wolf's odd way of walking. Defective. If this greeting were any less friendly, it would register as exploitable weakness, a point in his favour as the more dominant and capable between them.

But there is no need. He stands his ground, tall and statue-still as the other comes up close, permitting this brush of contact before licking over his own nose as if to remove the itch it created, all unyielding focus.

On the other side of the coin, the one opposite to violent and territorial, are other instincts. Protect and provide. Feelings of community are fragmented, a little torn at the seams where he had resisted it, but he can recognise this wolf as no stranger in need of chasing away or bullying, which can only mean he is the opposite.

One ear swivels, chasing a scampering sound.

Moves. Grace and strength in long strides, head down and paws quiet, back to his hunt. It's almost an afterthought, the empathic reaching back that instructs as well as invites: come, this way.

[cozen]

[ Bastien—clipped by an elbow, yes, too fascinated to pretend to mind—narrows his eyes somewhat at hopeless, so they are conveniently already narrowed for tolerate the abuse and do not need to make any additional moves. If he were taking this as a challenge (which, again, would be arrogant and foolish), he would now be adjusting his definition of victory to be abused less than Valentine rather than liked. A low bar in any situation, but—

He is very quiet on the stairs. No helping the creaking, soft-footed or not, but he keeps his mouth shut lest he also be asked to swear anything. ]

[degenere]

[Val, who talks very much, cannot possibly keep his mouth shut. The noise of affront that he makes rings out like stone striking stone.]

Not engage in conversation? [At least he is communicating in a whisper. A sharp whisper, but still.] What am I to do if this person--this, the May-geour--speaks to me? Comment upon the weather? Compliment the moldering tapestry upon the wall? Mindlessly parrot polite remarks? Surely you know this to be impossible. Mademoiselle--

[He hurries so that he overtakes Bastien upon the stair, so that he is closest to Wysteria, the young and respectable girl.]

Mademoiselle Cannon, why are we being led toward abuse and terrible conversation? What is it that you intend to do here? We, [him, and Bastien, poor Bastien, cast voiceless, think of poor Bastien, and Val gestures to him,] we must know more.

[favoriteanalyst]

Everything, everyone else becomes a little more muffled and distant.

But Jude is an ocean and every sensation that comes with, dawn light coming up over smooth glass, gentle ebb and flow and pull and push. There is nothing Mobius could ever pour in that could damage that depth. He's--

thick fur warmed by afternoon sun, moss under padded feet, bubbling river under moonlight, the love of a pack, he's--

an easy smile, the smell of fresh bread, a rolling laugh, conversation late into the day with the rest of the world fallen away, he's--

ocean. The sound of waves washing against sand. Tugging gently at his feet. Come on in, the water's fine.

Can't wash away water. There is anxiety still, like a sharp slide of bow on tight violin strings. And worry, like the march of many feet on stone. There is the feeling of being overwhelmed laced in, too many voices but not a single word understood. Fear, a hurried horn.

But there's curiosity (dice along a wooden tabletop), and tentative excitement (quiet giggling from the other side of a door), and hope (gentle wind through the leaves), and anticipation (a deep inhale), and belonging (singing, singing, singing).

Of course it's like sound to him. And the negative is loud, louder than the positive. Even with the rest muted, he's still loud inside his own head. But he trusts Jude, and the positive is still there, determined to be felt.

He's determined to be felt, in every piece he was worried would fly off. See if Jude can take the shrapnel.

[heirring]

[Her scoff of outrage—oh must they?—is hardly any more subtle. But there, halfway up the next rickety row of stairs, Wysteria does indeed draw short once more. This time when she whirls back around to face her Hangers-on, the elbow she clips Val with seems slightly intentional.]

I intend to get my things, [she hisses at a volume that almost certainly reaches the old woman lingering in the foyer to eavesdrop, and must serve to alert whomever this Maejyr might be to their impending presence.]

I've one or two dresses that will suit myself and a few of the other ladies of Riftwatch and I mean to gather them from my room here.

[The sharp look she splits between the two of them has the glint of a challenge lingering under all this distress. Mind your expressions, gentlemen, or she will kick someone down the stairs. Or throw herself over the railing.]

[favoriteanalyst]

Mobius is happy to let Strange do the talking. His (supposed) friend, his world, his understand of how magic is supposed to work. Happy to just stand to the side, give a small wave, and watch the work go down.

And go down it starts doing. Rapidly down, the moment Strange mentions the stone, the way the Sorcerer Supreme (what a pretentious fucking title, by the way) seems to simply shut down and close off from any form of friendliness.

"Have you stopped to consider why I have not been helping you in this quest?" Wong asks, and never has someone setting aside a bowl of popcorn and covered in buttery crumbs to stand look so oddly menacing.

"Think it's crossed his mind and everyone else's at least once." So sue him, Mobius can't stand to let a bit of sarcasm slide if there's such an inviting opening.

"Because it's foolish. No such object you describe exists. I was hoping with enough time you would see that for yourself."

"It does exist. Somewhere, here, it has to. We know it does. With all this...multiverse nonsense, maybe it's got some kind of magical plane- frequency- that's just different enough from yours to mask it." Mobius hefts the globe under and arm and makes a beseeching motion with the other. "At the very least, you could make some kind of effort to get us home."

Wong-not-Wong's attention goes to Mobius and stays there for once. "Why are you so keen on leaving?"

And for a baffled, befuddled moment, Mobius doesn't have an immediate answer.

Back to Strange: "Why are you determined to go back to a place you don't belong? We need you here. The safety of this reality is your sworn duty."

Which might also be right about the time it's clear the novice's full attention is on what's happening, standing very still. Rather than scurrying out of the room or quietly keeping their head down and to their own duties. At attention. Mobius is pretty sure that's not a good sign.

[cozen]

[ It would be the more offensive thing, wouldn't it, to seem unfazed by that? When Wysteria is such a respectable young woman. So it is not a loss of control at all that makes Bastien's eyebrows go up, mingled surprise and delight, and his voice echo, ]

Your room here,

[ in a thrilled whisper from behind Valentine. Previously happy to hide behind him and not endorse this we business, he now crosses the steps required to stand alongside him. Yes, yes, they must know more. ]

[sprent]

Gela laughs, but Clarisse doesn't. So it's not a joke, she is being serious... she doesn't know what to think. Half a god, a demigod, and Gela, able to jump the height of a building in one go? Not for the first time, she wonders if all of this is a very elaborate dream.

"I suppose I won't do that, then," she says.

In the interest of being transparent, she adds, "I was goin' to push you off the side just now and pretend I'd dropped you, but take your hand at the last second. But I don't want you cross with me, either."

[degenere]

[Val, rubbing his arm where Wysteria's elbow has struck him (quite sharply! Quelle douleur!) gives yet another look around where they are standing. This look manages to encompass the outdoors that surround them as well. It is a look entirely lacking in judgement, and thick with surprise and amusement.]

I think I prefer your little mansion.

[--In case she was wondering. This is a restrained remark. So much else might be said but is not--yet--said.]

Have you ever had the occasion to visit, Monsieur Bastien? It is preferably in nearly every way. Why would we not simply purchase new dresses?

[sprent]

Gela feels that ache, half in reaction to Ellie's quiet upset and nervous energy in the twitch of her leg, half in recollection of her own, sore memories. She nods without saying anything, and they stand there like that, in the sadness, watching the presentation together.

Then, as it starts to loop back around to the start again, Gela finds Ellie's wrist in the dark and gives her a little tug. "Let's keep movin'."

They come out of that dark little room, and go along a corridor. The hallway segues into an exhibition about extinct and endangered insects, the walls suddenly lined with brightly coloured butterfly wings, and large photographs of bees curled into little balls. Gela stares at one for a moment, the curve of a ladybug's shell. Without looking at Ellie, she says, "We can leave, if you want. If it's hard."

[heirring]

[The borrowed key—to Wysteria's lodgings, apparently—is brandished like a scolding wagged finger at the both of them where they crowd the same step.]

Stop looking, the both of you, [is irrational and no doubt primarily fueled by the hot red mark forming on the back of her neck and beginning to creep steadily upward to threaten Wysteria's ears and face.]

In addition to the dresses, I've some things here which— there is a little lapel pin which should be here which will be helpful and it can't be bought. And [and!] I'll have you that I had nothing at all to do in choosing the place. I room here with the Maejyr.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude lets the run press the air from his lungs, the scents rolling over him like water. This place smells utterly and entirely like home. No part of it feels like a dream.

He skids to a stop as Abby goes tumbling into the snowbank, jaws open in a panting canine laugh, all his teeth on display and tongue lolling out.

He waits until she shakes herself off, then tackles her into the snowdrift again, the both of them rolling like pups.

[sprent]

"You're easier to find." So there, and he lives here, doesn't he? So he should be open to answer any questions that they have about this strange world. Gela would answer questions about Thedas if he asked her any, and so it should go both ways shouldn't it, "And I don't know? I didn't fall when I got here, I think."

It was a blur, but Gela thinks she would remember something like that. She says, "But look," and waits for his attention before she bends her knees and jumps-

shooting upward, quickly ascending, toward the ceiling, almost touching-

before she reaches the peak of her arc, and floats... slowly, back to the ground again.

See?

Huge inner ear problem!

[foolsmakeitcolder]

"Ohhhhh, you know about the royal swans!" They practically light up, almost hopping in place -- the kids especially have the animal characteristics spill over, even into human form.

"Don't worry. None of them are lonely. Even if they don't tell people what they are, they'll make friends with humans. We always do."

They grin wider.

"Chances are you've met one or two."

[sprent]

Okay. Well, that eases her concerns almost instantly. Gela finds there's nothing quite as reassuring as being told you aren't alone- she doesn't come across that feeling often. She's learned to savour it. She rolls his words over on her tongue before she replies, nodding, her bearing growing warmer, kinder. "If you want to know anythin' about Thedas, I'll try my best with your questions."

In the same way that had him bring her here with little prompting: she would also try to help him, if he needed it.

"But," she adds, "Maybe once we're back. If we- do... we go back?"

They go back, right.

Uh oh!

[luaithre]

That Jude lands on that answer, from this angle—

It's no laughing matter, and the laugh-adjacent sound he makes on the next breath out is grim. Marcus says, "Yes," as if to assure Jude he hasn't spoken out of turn.

A few more moments are spent on simply breathing. These are feelings and thoughts he's lived with for decades, but feel raw, here, in this chilly forest that looks like it could be of Thedas, from most angles. Eventually, Marcus speaks again. "There are signs of it. When a mage is angry. Emotional. When their magic is scarcely under their own control. A person deemed likely to be possessed and transformed into something else.

"You'd hope to avoid what they could become, but every Templar bears a blade for the purposes of killing a mage who succumbs to it. They wear them, ready, when apprentices are pulled from their beds and made to prove their ability to govern themselves. They watch, every day, looking for such signs. They used to," amended. The Circles are no longer, after all.

He looks back to Jude, now, this person that has brought these memories to mind, pale eyes making for sharp study, brow serious. "And has it been explained to you what the kinder alternative is, for such mages?"

[laruetheday]

Abby holds up her handgun, which means she's holding Clarisse's weight with one fucking hand.

"Wow, show off," she says as she reaches for the gun, but she's obviously impressed. Abby's mortal, but she's strong as hell.

She uses the butt of the gun to smash the window in, then knocks all the leftover shards of glass out with her elbow and hauls herself inside. She lands on the floorboards below with a thud that sends dust billowing, holds her breath as she turns back to the window and tosses the gun back down to Abby.

"Grab on." She's just gonna lean out and pull Abby up.

[youwonscience]

She grins back; the way she enjoys her time with the teens, especially, is genuine. "I hope so. It'd be nice to think they'd want to be friends with me, even if I'm stuck with my feet on the ground, there. I bet it's hard not to feel bad for humans, sometimes."

[overharrowed]

It might be a sensitive question for some, but from Julius's reaction, it isn't one for him. He's been open enough about his origins at home, and doesn't begrudge a rifter's need to ask. "I did. From age six to," some quick mental math, "thirty-seven or thereabouts. Round and say thirty years."

If his feelings about mages' future in Thedas are complicated, he's not averse to discussing his own biography evidently. He carries on unprompted. "The one I grew up in was in Ferelden; it wasn't so grand as examples in Orlais or Nevarra. A lot of stone, no gilding." It's a little bit wry as he leans on the chair's arm. "But if you have questions, I'm happy to answer whatever I can."

[hornswoggle]

A split second's scrutiny follows the question, assessing her expression, the tone of her voice, any of the implications that could exist behind the query.

But no, there is no sense that Abby is patronizing him. John Silver, the one-legged creature. A cripple. It is a reality leveraged against him, one that mattered so much less in Thedas where he was not nearly as helpless as he looks.

But it matters here.

"No."

A flicker of memory, looking down into Madi's face over the rail as their ship was blasted to pieces around them: I would be the slowest one.

Abby has not shared so many details, but John doesn't need more than he has. All things here are slick and damp, ground cracked and broken. If he fell, he would be a terrible liability. Or he would be dead. John endeavors to be neither of these things.

"Not in my present condition."

[laruetheday]

Clarisse leans up against the counter, watching Abby as she goes through the first aid kit. She looks a little bit like a kid unwrapping Christmas presents, which Clarisse finds bizarre, but only til she remembers that this shit would probably be worth gold back where Abby comes from.

"Anything good in there?" Seriously, where's the good stuff... Ah, whatever.

"It's too bad we won't be able to bring any of this back with us," she adds. Because that really is a shame. This world is like a big fucking tease, actually.

[heorte]

Having lagged a few steps behind, Ellis' alarm may well be missed. It recolors the tension Tony's assertion had wound up in his body, concern crowding out all other subjects to focus on the possibility of execution.

While giving her space in which to clarify, Ellis briskly kneels to extricate his boot knife from around his ankle. As he falls into step again, the dagger is simply relocated to his waistband, where it will be neatly hidden by the drape of his coat.