He wasn’t wearing the Cloak of Levitation a moment ago — Doctor Strange doesn’t have the real Cloak of Levitation in Thedas, it’s inert and dead like a corpse hanging on a dress-form in the houseboat — but now it’s suddenly there as his back hits the stone floor, aching. It spins and twirls around him, tangling Vazeiros’ dagger-stab in thick folds of fabric, and then bundles up Stephen and yanks him further out of the way: his old friend, here, dreamed up, helping and protecting him as it always does.
As Stephen calls for Ennaris and gets out of the way, he doesn’t strictly fight back, doesn’t try to hurt or kill this dream version of Vazeiros; the sorcerer’s always been a slippery combatant, usually tries to get some distance, distract and delay and feint, use the surroundings on his side. Unlike other superheroes he could name, he doesn’t go blow-to-blow and trade punches in a fistfight. He prefers the single strategic cut, the elegant solution. Get some space. Think it out.
He’s already realised that he can’t go toe-to-toe here; whether it’s the drow’s innate capabilities or Ness’ inflated starry-eyed opinion of her father, this isn’t a fight that Stephen can win one-on-one. And even if he put Vazeiros down, the rules are unclear: the other man might just sit back up and come after him again and again.
So. Go for the head, go for the source. Cut off the dream. Ness is technically the one steering this hallucination. He just needs to reach her.
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He wasn’t wearing the Cloak of Levitation a moment ago — Doctor Strange doesn’t have the real Cloak of Levitation in Thedas, it’s inert and dead like a corpse hanging on a dress-form in the houseboat — but now it’s suddenly there as his back hits the stone floor, aching. It spins and twirls around him, tangling Vazeiros’ dagger-stab in thick folds of fabric, and then bundles up Stephen and yanks him further out of the way: his old friend, here, dreamed up, helping and protecting him as it always does.
As Stephen calls for Ennaris and gets out of the way, he doesn’t strictly fight back, doesn’t try to hurt or kill this dream version of Vazeiros; the sorcerer’s always been a slippery combatant, usually tries to get some distance, distract and delay and feint, use the surroundings on his side. Unlike other superheroes he could name, he doesn’t go blow-to-blow and trade punches in a fistfight. He prefers the single strategic cut, the elegant solution. Get some space. Think it out.
He’s already realised that he can’t go toe-to-toe here; whether it’s the drow’s innate capabilities or Ness’ inflated starry-eyed opinion of her father, this isn’t a fight that Stephen can win one-on-one. And even if he put Vazeiros down, the rules are unclear: the other man might just sit back up and come after him again and again.
So. Go for the head, go for the source. Cut off the dream. Ness is technically the one steering this hallucination. He just needs to reach her.