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.
"
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

[hornswoggle]

The wet, bubbling quality of this breath, of the words Bertalan offers when prompted—

None of John's reaction reaches his expression. Can dead eyes parse enough to take offense? To glean that something is wrong?

His head tips only just, slight enough that he might glance upwards when Flint speaks.

"One more, after this," John murmurs, as he looks back to the task at hand. "I can hold him here that much longer."

Already there is the sensation of Bertalan slipping from his grasp, like grains of sand rushing through his fingers. The yawning, inescapable pressure of the cosmos only increases in counterpoint to it, observation narrowing down as John leans closer to the Bertalan's bloodied body and says quietly, coaxingly, "Tell me about Little Calimshan. Tell me about Oasis.

[laruetheday]

"Yep," Clarisse says. She's a little distracted by how loud the wind is, and how much colder it is.

The view is pretty cool, though. And they aren't even at the Empire State Building yet. That one's next to them, looking quite a bit higher than she remembers it being. Then again, she's never seen it from this angle.

"Never been this high up and, like... outside," she admits.

[notathreat]

Ellie's heart sinks, but she nods -- she's seen so many of these. Young soldiers, struggling to do what they must, grappling with the violence and their fear before they lean into it.

Anger keeps Ellie safe, more than anything else. Fear does the rest.

"Had he ever killed before?" Ellie asks- because she knows knives are personal, so personal. Killing someone with a blade isn't like pulling a trigger.

<3

[notathreat]

Ellie wants to reassure her that she's been hurt before, and much worse than this. A couple of years ago she might've just. Insisted that she was going to be fine.

... but this is Derrica, and Ellie knows her now, more than she did before. Ellie got hurt on her watch, never mind that there was nothing she could do to prevent it from happening. From the very beginning, Derrica's taken charge of all of Ellie's wounds, both the visible and the invisible.

This isn't only about Ellie being hurt, she realizes. This is also about Derrica feeling helpless. And this is about how close she came to losing her.

Ellie reaches out and puts her good hand on the back of Derrica's shoulder, keeping it there, as warm and steady as she's able.

"That's what I need," she whispers back. "Thank you."

[tender]

The contradiction writes itself across her face, a moment of stubborn tightness in her jaw. But it remains quietly kept, turned over and over as Derrica lifts the alcohol-soaked rag and sees the first fresh trickles of blood from the torn flesh.

"It matters that you're hurt," Derrica tells her. Not a contradiction of what Ellie needs, but a reminder: Ellie is so, so precious. It doesn't matter that she heals, or that Derrica is able to knit her wounds back together. It matters that she's been hurt in the first place.

It terrifies Derrica that its something she takes in stride.

[katabasis]

For a moment, it's as if the dead man might have no answer at all. His waxy eyes flick around as he paws in some dark place for the a thing that should be familiar to him. He has known the answer to these questions for some time, hasn't he? Why shouldn't they rise straightaway from his throat? Bertaland sighs a wind hissing through yellow grass and spent dry seed pods sound, the liquid part of it foaming at his neck rather than wetting his tongue.

"Little Calimshan. The little walled district of the outer city. It sits— There—" The corpse doesn't raise its arm or turn his face, though the shape of the words suggests he must be urging himself to do so. Haltingly: "Across the bay. Mind that Oasis doesn't smoke all the coin. In your pocket."

From above and beyond the dead man, Flint fixes John with a considering look. After only a barest flickering pause— "Ask who will be looking for him once he's gone missing. How best to conceal it."

[elegiaque]

Palatable or not, the thing that stings most in retrospect is how proud she'd been of something that didn't work. It's still a battle every time to be taken seriously; they're still fighting to convince the rest of Thedas that it might be in their best interests to work in their own best interests. It was a curiosity, short-lived, and an embarrassment when she looks back on it even as she keeps finding herself looking back on it, her feelings on it entangled, less consistent than she imagines, only ever existing in the one moment where she feels the one way, and always inclined to believe that it's always been.

He says terrible forbidden magics as she follows him into the Sanctum, and she stops thinking so much about propaganda, the gaze of her one true eye fixed hard on the space between his shoulder-blades.

“It does sound more like he killed himself with someone else's hand,” is what she says, instead of what kind and do you know them. “Sounds like they needed him to decide, or else they probably wouldn't have been able to do it.”

This architecture doesn't feel like it entirely matches the exterior. It's not quite disorienting, which is itself...sort of disorienting.

[hornswoggle]

Spun between John and this corpse is a series of slim threads. It is a tenuous hold, growing more and more fragile as the moments pass, as Bertalan speaks. Snapping, fraying. John's hold slipping away.

The throbbing pulse of magic hooked into the gash at his palm ebbs.

"Will there be others looking for you?" John asks, watching those blank eyes roll towards him. "Is there something we should do to conceal your leaving?"

A dribble of blood spills down Bertalan's neck, pools in his collarbone. A wet sucking breath heralds his answer.

"My brother," he rasps. "My boss expects payment come week's end. Leave a message that I've gone to fetch a prize on Captain Moira's ship. It'll be months before she returns and anyone realizes I turned her offer down."

A message with any one of the names given to them tonight, any one of the people John had seen within that tavern or who they might ply with coin later. John's eyes had flicked upwards at this, a slight lift of his eyebrows underscoring this response before Bertalan draws a last, faltering breath to add, "Three more use this alley nightly. Best leave nothing in the open."

The spell completes. The corpse sags to the side. John closes his fingers over the sluggish flow of blood beading along the torn flesh of his palm.

[katabasis]

In the time it takes Bertaland's body to sag back into it's open jointed, lolling state, that pressure in the air—that sense of a thing lingering so very, very near—slithers away too. And then the alley, turned dusky grey in the light that is at last beginning to fail about them, goes quiet and still; they are once more two men over a blood speckled patch of dust soon to be forced to face the logistics of hiding a corpse in a place relatively ill-suited to it.

Flint lets out heavy breath. He offers a hand down to John.

"We can take a skiff across the bay tonight," should go without saying. But maybe it's the preferable thing to give voice to in this moment. "Oasis sounds like another gambling hall."

[propulsion]

Tony can sense her nervous energy a little like its giving off static. Which is less a commentary on how observant or not he happens to be, or his own state of calm or stress, and more simply the way he receives it, like an unusual prickle of sensation. She grabs his arm, and he rounds his hand around her wrist in a less urgent clasp.

"Okay," he says. "Are they where we need to be at, or can we slide by?"

The latter thing is one problem, one they've been solving pretty well so far, could probably improve upon the performance if some extra sauce is necessary. The former is

not impossible, either.

[propulsion]

Getting home was all I cared about when I first landed,

[ is an easy admission to make. It's the only one that makes sense. What kind of nutjob would start making themselves comfortable, in his scenario? (The ones from the mushroom apocalypse, probably, but that'll make sense later.) ]

And I was pretty willing to spend all my time and whatever resources I could wheedle out of Mr. Baudin to make that happen.

[ Historically, there haven't been a lot of problems he couldn't solve through sheer force of will and a couple of loopholes. ]

I don't know about obligation. It's more like if you see something that could be fixed, improved, whatever, how do you just not. You know. [ Stupid sexy Scott Lang, coming in and ruining his retirement. ]

So what obligates you? Probably equally dramatic I bet.

[propulsion]

"In the Tower? No."

It's important to be friends with very different people. Tony has historically had a fraught time with anyone too much like himself.

"No, that was my little project. Skyscrapers were, just, so in vogue in noughties. But there was a house in the upper west side until I got moved off to boarding school. Which is like the Circles? But instead of being for kids with magic its for kids you hated having around."

He lifts his coffee, amends, "Sorry, reflex. Weird childhood. Mom and dad were fine. Anyway, I think we converted it to a heritage site sometime in '98."

Is this alienating? Defensive rapid patter of potentially meaningless information hits different here, he thinks, and he kind of shrugs across at Ellis.

"To summarise," carries a note of self-awareness, "no. But I grew up in this city, anyway."

[propulsion]

"Okay."

Is probably a kind of understated, lukewarm thing to say about finding a peaceful way to exist without hatred, and Tony's recognition of that comes with a kind of windshield wiping gesture of a hand, coin pinned between thumb and palm. "Good," is amendment. "And I believe you.

"I mean, did she say sorry? Give you a card? It's kind of a steep debt, even if you can, uh. Count it on one hand."

Badum-ching.

[propulsion]

"Nope."

But Tony also did not exactly run into anyone's open arms, except maybe Jarvis' digital ones. There had been a visceral relief to the news that they'd landed in a pocket of time where Pepper was overseeing west coast operations, even if every little message and email is liable to give him a heart attack.

Good thing, too, she's used to him sometimes never replying, and apparently, the spirit stand-in has done its research. If that's what they're dealing with.

Easier to think about it this way.

His 'nope' communicates some of that, tight and quick.

"But," a pivot, "spirits aren't constant aggression. It's deception, mimicry, you know, fucking with. Usually to a motive, sometimes not. I'd suggest keeping a lock on your communications with anyone who isn't via Thedas."

[hassaran]

Another softer squeak of boots is followed by a heavy thump--a body or bodies or some portion thereof hitting the floor involuntarily. But it isn't the sort of sound that carries and is accompanied by the minimum of echoing clatter, so really things are going great.

In there, at least. Out here, one of the approaching figures lifts a hand and waves at Tony and Cosima, his head bobbed to the side like an inquisitive parrot. "Excuse me! Excuse me, hi? Can I help you?"

[hassaran]

Yseult, having immediately determined that this next door is not a job for her, is posted up near the other, and lifts her head sharply at that sound. She looks from Flint to Tony and back, head cocked to listen more closely to the approaching feet. The rooms beyond are too heavily trafficked and surveilled to risk a fight, and they've already hidden more bodies in cupboards today than they can hope to get away with long.

Lips press thin in momentary irritation, and then she's stepping silently toward the lab coats Flint's just discarded, one tossed at his chest, the other pulled on. A nearby workstation gives up a pair of glasses, pens to shove in a pocket, a clipboard of paperwork. She lifts brows at Flint above the dark tortoiseshell frames, and tips her head to listen for the footsteps nearing, poised until

just as the approaching figure must be reaching for the handle, Yseult gives the door a firm push outwards, shouldering through it as if oblivious until the yelp and stumble and clack of things dropped on the other side. "Sorry-- oh no!" she says, in a very credible imitation of Cosima, "Oh god, are you okay? I'm so sorry! You know, my head was just completely somewhere else, let me help you with that."

[hornswoggle]

Divorced from the reality of the moment, the brisk assessment of the way forward strikes John as sound. They have a lead. Best to chase it to some sort of conclusion tonight than wait for anything to shuffle come morning.

He reaches up to Flint with his uncut palm, allows himself to be drawn back onto his feet, get his crutch beneath his arm again. Gashed palm turned up too, so the blood beading along the wound pools rather than drips.

"Very likely," John answers, scrounging in his pocket for some length of cloth he can wrap round his hand. "I had a modest success at the table here, should we have need of coin to buy our way in if trading on a name doesn't suit us."

It is prudent, perhaps, not to use Bertalan's name anymore than they must.

Looking down at him, John sighs. Recalls how they left Antivan Crows in an alley, and relied upon Riftwatch's means to manage the rest. Here, they might beg assistance, but it's a less certain thing.

And John is not entirely interested in answering questions as to who did what at which point in their evening.

"We should see about a tarp," John says at last. "Or something which might cover him for a time. I would think people doing business here aren't going to be so curious about the leavings of others."

[hassaran]

[ There's no flickering of disapproval at his admission, either. There are many things about rifters that baffle and irritate her (and only irritate her more for being baffling) but the instinct to try to get home may be the easiest thing about them to understand. Especially now that she's seen his home. She can imagine wanting to get back here. She can imagine how she'd be straining to find a way back to the unfinished business of Thedas if she believed for a moment that this was real.

The rest, that's easy, too. She almost smiles, some little noise of recognition at his answer. Yes, she knows. And when she half-rolls her eyes at the question turned back on her, it's clear from the amusement in the curl of her mouth that it's aimed at herself for teeing that up so neatly. ]

Like you said, [ she admits with a shrug, or whatever an attempt to shrug looks like encased in armor. ] I have some ability. How could I sit by? [ The question mark's right there but it hangs in the air like a half-finished thought all the same. She lets it, for a minute, looking out at the skyscrapers and down at her burrito. She shrugs again. ]

I should be dead [ she says, lightly. Equally dramatic. ] A half-dozen times I've escaped when I'd really no right to. How selfish would it be to think that was so I could go live an ordinary life just for myself?

[favoriteanalyst]

"You're a little wiry for brute force muscles. But they can help in a surprising number of situations."

It does feel good, to hear that big of haughty arrogance back in Strange's voice, even if it's tempered with realism. But, now that he's brought it up, Mobius has to wonder. And he can't leave a curious question unasked. "How are your hands doing?"

Because if there's no magic here...

[favoriteanalyst]

There's more going on here that Mobius doesn't have an understanding of or context for. Because it's the comment about an incursion that seems to really tip the scale.

It's nothing, at first. An absence. And in a place full of magic tingling the air in a way that feels so much like home in the Circle, it's an alarming sensation. It isn't that the magic itself has stopped, but it's also like taking a deep breath, the crack of tension before a fight, the water receding back only for a much larger wave to gather. Neither Wong nor the novice move, and Mobius idly wonders if they perhaps aren't even breathing.

In more modern terms, it's almost like buffering. Whatever spirits these are, if they are, then they simply don't have an adequate answer for the posed question, and they're just getting pissed now.

And then, too, he feels it before he sees it, and he grabs Strange's strangely mobile and sentient-ish(?) cloak and pulls back with a quick "sorry" to the fabric.

Because the floor under their feet starts to open up like a great gaping maw, edges of the boards like teeth. The novice's hands move in a kind of flurry that a mere novice shouldn't be able to yet, and she crosses the gap with easy on magical platforms that appear when needed and vanish when her foot leaves it again.

On an impulse, Mobius chucks the globe. The novice deflects it with ease, and not-Wong catches it in one hand. It starts to disintegrate into sparks.

"Okay, I think we've got an answer!" Not real. Definitely not real! Not their version of real, at any rate.

[katabasis]

There is someone in the Outer City whose entire profession relies on the management of problems like this one, he's certain. Or there is a particular canal where bodies frequently wash up, or a passage into the under city which has become so cluttered with discarded bones that it no longer functions as anything except an impromptu burial pit. Were they only marginally more acquainted with the workings of Baldur's Gate, he has every confidence they might solve this problem without much of second thought.

(There is, almost assuredly, a place Bertaland himself has relied on; so fuck him for not thinking to ask that question of the dead man.)

"We borrow a boat rather than hiring one," he says, taking the length of fabric produces from John's pocket. Shakes it out, thinks to flatten it across his thigh and then thinks better of it given the dust and grit of the alley flecking his dark trouser leg. "Save your coin for the gambling house and see to him during the crossing. Give me your hand."

It's possible there are particular words which might have dealt with the gash in John's palm more directly that Flint might have copied down and carried in his pocket as readily as any others. Things being what they are, he sets the length of cloth across the battered flesh and binds it tightly with a knot he has rehearsed past the point of memorization.

"We'll put him in my coat and haul him directly down to the quay like a man too drunk to do his own walking. I'll see to this. You solicit our earlier host and see if she can be persuaded to part with a second bottle."

(If they go about this in an orderly fashion, they will have moved smoothly beyond discussing any other facet of this business long before the impulse becomes impossible to ignore.)

[hornswoggle]

Had John been given more time at that table, been less focused on his quarry and more on the play of conversation around him, perhaps he might have gleaned and gathered the kind of gossip that would prove useful to them in this moment: where or who might take a body off their hands.

Instead, John gives over strip of reasonably clean cloth and hand both to Flint's care.

There is some relief in standing quietly while these practiced ministrations are applied to him. The wound is bound up and hidden away. (Blood soaks into the fabric, the pulse of opportunity there dulled to a whisper.) If John cared to do so, erasing the wound would be as simple as a thought, but that overbearing, grinding pressure of a consciousness so vast and so capricious would come swinging around to him once more. John would rather carry the wound.

The night is far from over, regardless. John may open the wound again before they've completed their business.

And this plan is a good one. It would carry them out of this alley, down to the docks, onto familiar ground.

But sill, the hum of assent doesn't offset the searching quality of John's expression, the way all that close study centered on Flint's face as he completes the ministrations. John doesn't yet draw back his hand.

[altusimperius]

That light in Strange's eyes catches Bene's attention, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of his mouth-- he's not used to eliciting that reaction, and it pleases him.

"Something like it, I think, we got a glimpse of the future once-- you mean Provost Stark?"
Come to think of it, he's never made himself aware of any of Stark's projects, apart from the dessert coffee.

[overharrowed]

Julius's curiosity is overt and immediate, as he looks around the courtyard; to the extent he's cold, it will probably take him a moment to notice, as he's busy taking in their surroundings. "It reminds me of Skyhold, the Inquisition's headquarters," he says. "Less overtly a fortress, but even so."

He resists the urge to interrupt the trainees and ask whether their sparring has a magical component. Instead, he asks Strange, "When do most students begin training, or does it vary too much for that to be a sensible question? You said you began much later than I did, but is that usual here?"

For all it's subtle, Julius seems very slightly more relaxed here than he does in New York. Certainly this seems less alien to him, for all the details are not anything he knows.

[youwonscience]

Cosima offers the man in question a small, friendly wave.

"I think," she says to Finch, "it's really cool that there are so many different ways to be alive in the world, you know? Back where I'm from, I study the ways that life develops. The way that the same building blocks can grow and change into hawks, or wolves, or bears, or humans. All of have DNA that's way more the same than it is different, and yet each individual organism is totally unique. I love that. So even if bears don't get to fly, they know what it's like to be really, really strong."

"And," she adds, "even if I don't get to keep doing it when I go home, now I'll always know what it feels like to fly. And that's super cool."