The portraits and paintings are only familiar enough that he's passed them before. But he doesn't know the people, the contexts. He stops long enough to stare at one, a stuffy looking fellow draped in deeply emerald green robes. Like something will change. Like the eyes might move under painted bushy brows. Like he'll suddenly be imparted with knowledge he shouldn't have.

Nothing changes. He lets out a long sigh and spins the globe idly in his hands, catching up with Strange. (This, too, is an idea he's had to wrap his head around. That the people know their own world so thoroughly as to have the whole of it mapped out. Even the seemingly inhospitable parts. That communication thousands and thousands of miles away can happen in an instant.)

"There's something," he starts slowly, "that Templars and Seekers can do to disrupt magical flow in a small area or in someone specifically. But if this magical really does span an entire world, you'd never disperse it all. Maybe in some kind of central location? A focal point. Or disrupt just enough that the magic is negated enough to leave it, or make it fall apart when you see beyond the illusion."

Strange has likely read in his texts plenty of times about Templars and what they can do, history entangled with mages as they are. "The thing that worries me is that this place seems to have changed what people can and can't do sometimes. Magic works differently here, too, but if it's a Crossroads illusion, then it really is all right from the Fade and beyond anyway..."

He stops spinning the globe to wave an impatient hand at the thought. "Loops around a little. Bunch of what ifs on top of each other."