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

good bc another one’s also on the way

[portalling]

“Whouldathunkit,” Strange says. “After everything, our survival hinging on who’s a good shot with a bow.”

Ammunition is frustratingly limited here, too: they’ve scavenged some guns but they go to the people with working hands and who know what they’re doing when they aim, to not waste the bullets. The usable cartridges they come across are few and precious; not enough to go wild with the shots like a spray-and-pray action movie.

In inverse proportion to how much Doctor Strange had been the local expert in New York, calm and assured and eyewateringly powerful— he’s near-helpless here, and so he’s been sticking close to Mobius’ side, because he’s fairly sure the other man won’t turn tail and leave him to die. It’s frustrating, needing a bodyguard. Strange’s capabilities had been dimmed in Thedas, but here he’s completely defanged.

“There’s not enough people with range,” he says after a moment, “and a sword’s better than nothing. You know what you’re doing with it better than I do with, well, this.” This being a pole with some garden-shear blades taped to the end.

[favoriteanalyst]

"You only learned how to fight with magic in magic school, huh?" Which, to be fair, is hardly unusual in Thedas, but most mages at least need a staff and learn how to use at least that much.

Mobius takes another pass with the fabric and decides that's probably as good as it's getting. "I don't mind taking the lead. Shields go up front." Speaking of, should probably start wiping that down, too. "When we get out of this alive," not if, "maybe you should come down to the training yard, see if there's a practical weapon for you. Even if it's just whacking people with a stick."

[portalling]

“For the record, I do whack people with sticks,” sounding weary, faux-offended, and there’s that flash of memory from daily training with Mordo, practice drills and quarterstaff battle and hand-to-hand, forearms pressed to throats and trying to strangle the life out of each other. He misses having a sparring partner. It’s an old disappointment by now, bitter but long-faded.

Strange re-settles his grip on the pole, and then settles into Mobius’ shield-arm side. He does seem accustomed to following behind someone, at least; the sorcerers had often drilled and fought as a cohesive unit, their magical shields layering over each other.

He adds, then, “But it’s been a while since I had physical weapons training on the regular. I’m falling out of the habit, which— I realise now is not great.”

[favoriteanalyst]

"Still try to keep up my training, every day." Forces of habit are powerful forces indeed. "Obviously instead of going through the motions, I've had to use that time to...adjust."

He may have added a strap to his sword, such that it too doesn't slip from his grasp should it end up just slack enough to do so.

"Could train together so you don't feel like an out of practice newbie."

[portalling]

“You wouldn’t mind a second career as a personal trainer?” Strange asks, shoving some of the greenery out of the way with his pole as they continue moving their way down the drizzly street, forcing their way through overgrown underbrush, the weeds and bushes run rampant between rusting abandoned cars.

“Because that would be great. If you were amenable. I used to have daily drills at Kamar-Taj; as you know by now, combat training was a standard part of sorcerer training.” They’d both been on the receiving end of it in New York, unfortunately.

“It just hadn’t quite occurred to me to lurk around the training yard on the lookout for a trainer, but if you’re offering…”

[favoriteanalyst]

It's all such a bizarre sight after having taken in an Earth city with much more human life in it. To see the rusted vehicles, the fractured skyscrapers, the nature overtaking as it does with every ruin. There, an old shop, windows long broken, shelves long looted bare. He can imagine the awning whole, a sign lit in dusk, people milling about inside.

"Sounds to me like you've had plenty of actual training already. Maybe what you really need's a sparring partner." No reason it can't be both. "Some of those in Forces are going to be better actually training you in weapons you're less familiar with. You can always throw some magic my way, though, too, if you want to practice that."

[portalling]

“What’s the difference? Sparring’s training,” Strange says lightly, unintentionally echoing Mobius’ own thoughts.

They carry on this conversation as they walk, and he has to keep reminding himself not to relax. For all his meticulous and professional attention-to-detail, he can be careless in the field sometimes, losing track of his sling ring in the middle of battle — so he’s having to keep watching their surroundings now, gaze anxiously trained on their periphery, looking for any smudge of movement or listening for the low moan of an infected, their brains dissolving into that goddamn fungal matter.

“That sounds like a decent plan, though.” A beat. “If we survive this.”

Strange really isn’t all that cheery in Seattle, is he.

[favoriteanalyst]

"When," Mobius gently corrects.

He stops, ostensibly to look around and make sure they're going the right direction. But also looking, also listening.

It's never silent. There are wild animals that have retaken land once theirs. They aren't the only people around, either. Old wood creaks. Rusted metal threatens to sheer. But he doesn't hear anything that indicates fungal nightmare. He lets go of a breath.

"I miss facing off against normal threats. Possessed mages. Demons and spirits from another plane. The usual."

[portalling]

Strange smiles; can’t help but smile at that gallow’s humour, because it is so very much his own. “Ah, the good old child’s play,” he says. “Did you hear about the giant tentacled eyeball I brought along through my rift? Miss those days.”

And that reminiscing might be tongue-in-cheek but, truly, he does miss it — because with the giant tentacled eyeball in Manhattan and even with an unhinged witch hot on his heels, at least he still had all his capabilities. At least he was powerful.

Here, he’s nothing.

“What’s the strangest threat you’ve fought?” he asks, as he pulls back a broken fence to let Mobius through ahead of him. They're ranging afield, trying to find supplies in these picked-over ruins. Food. Anything edible.

[favoriteanalyst]

He nods his thanks. The obvious storefronts have been picked through years ago, but there's always something. In the overlooked places.

"Depends on your definition," he muses. "Of fought. Honestly, the demons and spirits that come out of the rifts are some of the strangest things. They don't have any rules that govern their form. They can appear however they want to appear. You get variations on a theme, generally. But they get freaky. I've seen vampire lords and red lyrium encrusted knights." He shakes his head. "Haven't fought them." And one of those was kind of a dreamscape anyway. "Can't say I've faced anything like tentacle eyeballs. Or anything quite like what your mansion threw at us."

[portalling]

“My past work prepared me for this place a little, just in terms of batshit insanity and horror,” Strange says, “but it’s… different. It sounds bizarre to say that I prefer the tentacle eyeballs, but I do. The best weapon here is a gun and I can’t even work a damned gun, so.”

It’s been hard to miss the change in him. He’s quieter around the campfire at nights. Less the bombastic, talkative figure Mobius had grown used to over the past few months. At least in Thedas, he could still summon up flashes of fire and magic to dazzle and impress. Some things never change across the multiverse, and this remained a constant: Stephen Strange has always liked being flashy.

[favoriteanalyst]

"You're going to stay alive." Stated firmly. Sure. Certain. "We're going to go home--my home. And you'll have access to some magic again."

It'll be a fight to get there, and they still need to find the magic rock of this place, but it'll happen. Mobius is determined about this.

And he elbows Strange lightly. "You have use outside of magic. Even with some shit hands."

[portalling]

“Of course I do,” Strange says, that ingrained arrogance near-automatic, because he hates being caught feeling sorry for himself — but there’s still a little flash of mordant tongue-in-cheek humour in the reply.

“Just, y’know, less so. I’m re-evaluating my stance on brute force muscles.”

[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...

[portalling]

“Bad,” Strange says without missing a beat, “as ever.”

He’s carrying a shiv as they forage, even as he’s so mortifyingly aware that he might not even have the grip strength to do anything with said shiv. Still, it’s better than nothing. (Empty hands: the worst option of all.)

“It’s less that magic in those other worlds does anything concrete for it, more that casting spells are a distraction. And it turns out that hordes of ravenous infected are also a terrifically effective distraction.”

Those long quiet hours after sunset, though, when they put up camp for the night. Trying to fall asleep with his heartbeat in his ears and those too-bright stars glittering overhead, and too many hours to kill and nothing to do. His hands pain him then.

[favoriteanalyst]

"Right up until they're not," Mobius muses, saying the quiet part out loud. Even now is probably a good enough distraction. No hordes of infected in sight, but being keenly on the lookout. Speaking loudly enough to hear one another but quietly enough that they shouldn't attract undue attention. The tension and the terror and trying to act normal in the midst of it.

"I'm sure when we're back home," and he has to stop himself for a moment because-- "my home, we'll get in the thick of some battle, and you'll save my ass and make up for how all this feels." The uselessness. The over-reliance on other people for protection. "I'm not keeping score or anything."

[portalling]

“Ah, well. Good thing I do, then. I’ll maintain the scoreboard for us.”

Strange is always keeping mental score — a meticulous tally, a weighing of pros and cons, debts owed and obligations discharged — but this one’s a joke. Mostly. He’ll always remain his own worst critic.

The next house over has an open door, shattered windows. The men undertake a short conferral, and then they’re easing their cautious way into a quiet building to look for supplies, all sun-drenched windows and flourishing moss crawling along the floor and up the walls. No sounds of infected, but the detritus and debris of a domestic life. Strange stands in the mouth of the living room, looking in at it, the trinkets and belongings sitting abandoned if their owners had only just stepped away. There’s a half-open book on the coffee table, its pages rotting. Someone had lived here. This had been a home.

“You’ve known rifters for a while,” he says. “How long, do you think, before they say Thedas starts to feel like home? Back where I come from, we would say you couldn’t call yourself a New Yorker until you’d lived there for ten years.”

[favoriteanalyst]

He doesn't pay the objects any mind. Mostly because he has a pretty good idea of what they're looking for by now, and also, he needs to make sure nothing's about to come try to bite them. It's a house, abandoned, as all the others. It's the remnants of a building. It's nothing at all. If he pauses to examine the lives of those probably long dead (and, as reminder, definitely not real), then he won't get anywhere.

So he doesn't pause. Just carefully toes at a bit of saggy floor, feels some give, finds a more stable edge to scoot around the spot. The question is--an odd one, from Strange, he thinks. The boards creak under his feet, but he makes it to the other side of the room toward the dining and kitchen area. A light scoff drifts back to Strange. "I've been here a year; there are Rifters here who've been here back before Riftwatch split off from the Inquisition. I don't think I'm a good judge of what other Rifters are gonna feel about home as..."

Home as home sounds ridiculous, a bit, so he lets the sentence dangle. Lets it go. "No offense to New York, but I don't know that I'd want to stay there for ten years. I think I might want to travel instead. And you, you could go anywhere you wanted, spin of the fingers. Did it ever seem small to you? Your world."

[portalling]

“Once upon a time,” Strange admits, as he trails Mobius toward the kitchen. “The farm where I grew up. Countryside life was insufferably small. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Once I got to New York, however, then my world broadened. Foreign cuisines. Travel. New people, fresh perspectives. I had the money to see other countries for the first time in my life, and that felt like an exponential expansion. Then, becoming a sorcerer— it never felt small after that, precisely because I could go anywhere. Peel back the layers and there was always more to find, a deeper rabbit hole to disappear into, more than I ever imagined. And that’s not even to speak of other dimensions; I could visit the mirror dimension, the dream dimension, the astral plane, and then we broke open the doorways to other worlds, and then Thedas—”

He falls silent for a moment; his words had sped up into a perhaps surprising display of passion. One gets the impression the conversation had hit on something, like a pickaxe digging into earth and finding gold. This matters to him.

“Every step of my life has meant opening more and more doors. The world becoming larger and larger. That’s what I’ve learned, I think. What about you?”

[favoriteanalyst]

The place might not catch his attention in the way that, perhaps, in another time or place, would have. People always do. And though Mobius is rooting around in cupboards, his focus slowly but surely is brought back to Strange. In the way he becomes so animated. In the way Rifters sometimes get when they talk about home, about something so familiar and wonderful and-

What he speaks of is wonderful. Mobius is still not entirely sure about other dimensions (are they other worlds but worlds within his own world? do they exist across all worlds? what really is the difference, then, between a dimension, or a plane, or a world? is the Fade simply another dimension of Thedas?), but the physical travel making the world seeming so much bigger rather than smaller, seeing Strange light up, of course it demands his attention.

"Thedas is huge, and travel options are...limited."

The dining table is still standing and would've been a nice piece before being left to be covered in a layer of dust and grime. There's a china cabinet that still retains a few unbroken, decorative plates, a few blooming flowers still able to be seen. The table chairs are all gone, perhaps for use as firewood.

Everything is a story. Every country and every city and every street and every home and every room in that home, all have stories. No place can ever truly be small with so much inside of it.

"It's never felt small. In all the books I ever read, I was introduced to a wider world, to languages, to ideologies and theories and societies and climes that I'll probably never get to touch myself. I don't know if we, as a people, will ever truly know what's north of Par Vollen, what's east across the Amaranthine Sea, what's further south from the Korcari Wilds, what's west beyond the Sea of Ash. I hope so. I hope we keep pushing, further and further. I hope we stop getting caught up in petty squabbles over land and religion and just keep going. And though my time among the Maker's people is limited, I know I'm blessed to have gotten to see what I have."

He reaches for one of the fine china plates. Stops before he does so. With his hands as they are, he is just as likely to break it or drop it as he is to hold it with the care it deserves and wipe the dust from its face. He's blessed to see this, too, even if he's afraid to touch it. Even if it's not truly real.

"I don't know how long it takes anyone to feel like home anywhere. But I hope someday, while you're still here, you might at least start to think of it in terms of home. Away from home, anyway."

[portalling]

There’s a twinge in Strange’s chest: sharp, unexpected, catching him sideways at the thought. He had originally been set on leaving Thedas as soon as humanly possible, just like his stay in 838, barreling his way in and then out of the universe like barging through panes of glass. But the longer that he’s been with Riftwatch, the longer he’s been forced to sit and reckon with it. His impact here. The fact that Theodosian problems are now his problems.

“I consider Kamar-Taj a home away from home, so I imagine that long enough spent here— there— well, you know what I mean. Long enough in Thedas, then I hope so too. There are far worse places to be stranded.”

Like plague-ridden overgrown Seattle, for instance, with every turn a danger. He’s been trying not to say as much to Ellie or Abby. He continues to rifle through the dusty cabinets — there’s no food, but he eventually finds a bottle of old expired painkillers alongside crumbling bottles of spices. Good. The expiration isn't a danger, just lessened efficacy. Talking, while they search:

“Back home, there was a time in history called the Age of Exploration, or the Age of Discovery — a time when people were exploring and pushing the boundaries and the horizons, shrinking the map. Through sea and then air and then, eventually, space. I’m sure the same will happen in Thedas over time. I believe the general arc of history is a merciless path of progress in that regard.”

Merciless might sound negative, but it’s not really, in Strange’s mind; it's simply that inevitable onwards momentum, devouring the map as they go. What does lie north of Par Vollen? Surely someone will find out, someday.

[favoriteanalyst]

"The Sanctum didn't feel like home, but it was home-y until it all fell apart." There's some tablecloth that isn't fallen apart or eaten holes in. He packs that away. No telling what use some half-decent fabric can have. Maybe in a year or two (or ten, not that he expects to live or at least have his mind intact that long) it could've been home, if need be.

The hell is home, anyway? He'd left his own young, once-familiar trappings becoming foreign. Training, that had been home for a while, until he graduated into being a Templar. Ostwick was home for the longest time. Starkhaven, for a time.

Does Kirkwall, does Riftwatch feel like home after a year? Not yet.

"If we don't win this war, the arc of history is gonna go spiraling downward pretty rapidly."

[portalling]

“Hm,” Strange says, but it’s a noise of agreement. Yeah. Probably.

And it occurs to him, then, in all that Mobius is inquisitive and thoughtful and a good listener and always eager to hear about rifter life, that Strange has spent a godawful amount of time talking about himself. It’s been easy enough to chalk it down to well, they’re locals, but New York is not Los Angeles just as Kirkwall is not Denerim, is not Minrathous, and their organisation has been drawing people to it from all over. He knows by now that Mobius used to be a templar, but the shape of the rest of his story is an unknown.

“How long have you been with Riftwatch, anyway?”

[favoriteanalyst]

These things are--sometimes deliberate. Usually deliberate, when questions get pointy. He has a bad habit of not talking about himself much, gathering what information he can about others, about the strangers from other worlds most of all lately. Himself? No big deal. Uninteresting. Let's focus on something else.

Part of that's out of the bag, the whole Templar thing. Still doesn't mean he talks about it for the most part, the details kept quiet. A lot of it just simply...is his.

This question isn't one that bothers him. He gives a hum, thinking about it as he tests another patch of floor and deems it safe enough to trod on. "About a year. It was the first month when I'd rolled into Kirkwall. Some of these people, some of them have been here since the start, when it was still the Inquisition based out of Skyhold. Not many, probably, but...definitely people in the group that've been on this for years."

[portalling]

It’s been easy enough for Mobius to continually, deliberately steer it that way — it helps that Strange is so very fond of the sound of his own voice — but he’s finally trying to execute that gentle pivot now. “What brings a templar to wash up in Kirkwall and throw his lot in as librarian with a bunch of misfits and mad scientists?”

Strange supposes he can be open about the templar card here; there’s no one else around, or at least no one else with brain function around, and even the building itself is slowly rotting around them, sagging on its foundations. They’ve been rooting around on the ground floor, but he doesn’t fully trust the stairs or the second storey to hold them without the floorboards just giving way.