There’s a ghost of humour in the doctor’s face and voice, as he says with a faint degree of impishness, “New York,” which is probably one of the more irritating ways he could’ve answered that question.

After almost two and a half years, Strange does look very much like any other mage. He’s dressed like a local, his clothes comfortable and tailored better than if he were still rooting around in Riftwatch standard-issue castoffs; there’s an eye for style even in his working clothes, someone who has assimilated and wants to make sure he still looks sharp here. So it’s just: that accent, the occasionally inscrutable slang, the glint of green in his own palm.

“I expect the dwarven accent gave it away, but I’m a rifter. America, same general continent as a few other rifters here, albeit different universes and circumstances.”