holland vosijk (voxt) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-07-03 15:26:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log/thread, holland vosijk, stephen strange (mcu) |
Who: Holland Vosijk, Stephen Strange
When: Sunday, May 6, not long after this exchange over the Network.
Where: The Sanctum Sanctorum
What: Holland tests his portals and then has a conversation with Stephen
Warnings: None.
Status: Complete in Gdocs
The magical portal was interesting.
Holland had half expected something like it, after Strange had asked him where he was. But he was fascinated by the magic, nonetheless. He also wondered at its purpose. Was it to obscure where he was going? Looking through it, Holland spied the interior of a dimly lit building. It would take him inside without showing him what the building looked like on the outside. But now that he had a sense for the magic inside of it, he thought he could probably find it anyway. If he wanted.
Or perhaps the other magician was giving a demonstration. Showing off, as it were. Which would certainly make things… well, interesting.
He saw the message on the network, but he still took his time examining the magical circle itself, getting a sense for it, ensuring there was no binding magic in it, before stepping through. He glanced back through it as he did, seeing the river through it from this side, and then the circle closed.
Then he looked at Strange, assessing him, feeling himself being assessed in return. Holland’s appearance was nothing striking; he was in the same plain grey clothes he had come to Tumbleweed in. Probably the only thing striking about him was his left eye, the purest black, with depths that suggested dark things crawling unseen, twisted magic, magic that smelled of smoke and heated steel.
“Hello,” he said simply.
--
They were both at the top of a grand staircase, in the light that filtered through the large, circular window inscribed with the ancient symbol of Stephen’s magical order. Basking in the light filtered through the symbol produced a mystical effect that Holland would be able to sense - one that was invigorating.
After an estimating glance where Stephen’s gaze lingered a few moments longer upon Holland’s eye, he gave a simple nod of welcome. “This is the Sanctum Sanctorum,” he announced, making a sweeping gesture with his arm to their surroundings. “In my universe, it was one of three locations spread around the world meant to help monitor and protect the world from mystic and magical dangers, and I am its caretaker, Dr Stephen Strange.” He then folded his arms across his chest. “If I understand your description of how your portals work, then most everything in here would be considered a token to get to my universe, which you’re welcome to try.” Stephen didn’t sound like Holland would be able to do it, but who knew? Maybe this newcomer would be successful? “I also possess items from other dimensions within my universe, as well as from this one. Take your choice.”
--
It was a very interesting room. Holland took his time looking around, stretching all of his senses out towards it -- and toward the other magician, trying to sense his power. It was not like the magic of his world, though that was to be expected.
“Sanctum Sanctorum,” Holland repeated. “Does the name have something to do with saints?”
The word sanct, in Arnesian, meant saint, but it was more commonly a curse word, or the name for their popular card game, which involved a lot of cheating. The way this magician said the name implied something rather more… well, sanctified.
He tilted his head, considering. “I would like to try my token to my home world first, from here, since this is a place of magic. And then I will try the dimension attached to this one, and try my home world from there. If none of that works…” He shrugged. “Then I will try to get to yours.”
What he wanted, more than anything else, was to go home. If he could get to his world, he could get back to Arnes, and stop Osaron, and possibly - hopefully - fulfill his prophecy. The other worlds were just possible stepping stones to his own, possible worlds that were layered between the two. It was also possible that going to another world would take him off in an entirely different direction, and he would be more lost than when he started. But at least he would know how to retrace his steps.
--
“No, It doesn’t,” came Stephen’s reply, “despite the linguistic root”, for he understood where Holland might get that impression from the name, since it was an honest assumption. “It’s not so much holy as it is is a sanctuary, a refuge, a place to go to away from the mundane in order to focus on the arcane. Although,” he added, thoughtfully, “in my world the building was built directly upon an ancient, native American holy site, where the spiritual leaders understood was a focal point of mystic energy, so in that sense, it is holy, though not in the Judeo-Christian sense.”
Turning toward the raised area directly under the circular window, Stephen gestured with his hand again. “In that case, I suggest you try here. This is the place where the focal point is at its strongest.”
---
Holland’s senses had already picked out the place by the window as the strongest point, but he appreciated that Strange had pointed it out. The whole place was interesting, and he could feel the deep-rooted magic in it. He had only a vague idea of what “Judeo-Christian” and “Native American” meant, but he made a mental note to look into them both more later, if he was still stuck in this world after this.
He moved toward the window, passing the raised area to stand behind the window itself. It was very bright to look directly into it, after getting used to the dimmer light of the Sanctum. He drew a piece of paper out of his pocket, held it up in the direction of the window, and let it go. Instead of dropping towards the floor, the paper moved toward the window, and pressed against the glass.
“For the blood,” he said mildly, by way of explanation. Of necessity, his blood had to get on something in this world in order to make the door. Normally Holland didn’t particularly care. But in this case he had promised not to make a mess.
He then drew the knife from his pocket - a crude but sharp thing he had made himself here out of scrap metal, since all his knives from home had been confiscated when he’d been taken into chains by the Arnesian royals - and made a small cut on his opposite hand. Then he curled his unbloodied hand into the pocket of his grey coat, pressed his bloodied hand against the paper, and murmured, “As Travars.”
Holland could feel his blood responding to him, trying to open the doorway. But there was no doorway to open, not even here, and so nothing happened. He let out a breath and lowered his hand, looking at the smear of his blood on the paper. He had failed to open a doorway to his home world multiple times already, so it was hardly surprising, and he did not show his disappointment. “Alright. I’ll try your token from the dimension attached to this one.”
--
From where he stood, Stephen silently observed the steps Holland took to cast his spell, curious as to specifics, but respectful as not to ask any questions for now. Details such as the knife and the paper were, as far as Stephen knew, part of the ritual, and not essential to call forth the magic. The spell attracted the attention of Stephen’s pokemon, a Zorua he named Dodger - he trotted over to stand beside his trainer to also watch what was going on.
All it took was to see Holland’s expression to know he wasn’t successful: it didn’t surprise Stephen in the least. So many others with their various methods had tried before, but Stephen supposed that it couldn’t hurt to have one more attempt. He thoughtfully stroked his beard, and then made a series of mudras with his hands to summon what looked to be an ordinary stone. When Holland told him he would need an object from the Hellish dimension, Stephen was able to reach there and bring this to their dimension. It was small and inconsequential enough that if something happened to it, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. The stone looked volcanic in nature, was still warm to the touch, and had the lingering scent of brimstone. For those who were sensitive like Holland, there was an ominous aura surrounding it, albeit a faint one. Stepehn levitated the stone over to where Holland stood so that he could take it.
--
Holland glanced over when the Pokemon appeared, but his expression didn’t change. His mask of calm indifference had been a shield forged under the worst of circumstances, and it did not crack easily. The beast seemed interested in him, but did not approach, so Holland did not make any move towards it either.
He held his hand out for the stone, using his control over the air to hold it a few inches above his hand while he examined it. It certainly did have an ominous aura, but it was not a live thing, not like the Vitari stone, which fed on power. Nevertheless, Holland took a handkerchief from his pocket and twitched his fingers to wrap it around the stone before closing his fingers around it, so that his skin did not touch the stone itself. He was comforted to find that it still did not attempt to feed on his power, did not sing to him the way the Vitari stone had. It was a stone from a dark place, that was all.
Which said nothing good about where he was going, of course, but Holland was not afraid. He had not survived this long to die for nothing.
The cut on his hand was still fresh, so he simply pressed the blood against the paper again and murmured the command again: “As Travars.”
This time, the world shuddered around him, then gave way. Holland curled the paper up into his fist as he stepped through, taking it with him, and then the worlds closed behind him and he disappeared.
He had stepped into a frozen world. It was not quite what Holland had expected when he had held the warm stone and smelled its fire, but he still sensed the fire somewhere here, even if this world was full of ice. So he was not in the part of the dimension that this token had come from, but he had at last managed to travel - and he was on solid ground, instead of the middle of an ocean or falling through the air. His blood sang with the feeling of finally being able to do what it was meant to do, even as he started to shiver.
And then he realized he was not alone. Holland felt them before he saw them -- hordes of beasts appearing seemingly out of the cracks in the ice and running towards him. Holland immediately threw out his hands to both sides and thrust them upwards, willing the ice around him up out of the earth into a circular, protective wall around him. It would not hold long, but he only needed a few breaths.
He put the stone back into his pocket, still covered in its handkerchief, and curled his fingers into his coat. He pressed his bloody hand to the ice and murmured, “As Travars.”
Nothing happened, except heavy sounds of beasts trying to crack through or climb his icy defenses. Since he was alone, Holland cursed, annoyed. But he grabbed his knife - which doubled as his token from the world he’d just come from - cut a quick, fresh wound and commanded harshly, “As Travars.”
The world shuddered again, and he stepped through to the Sanctum Sanctorum, exactly where he’d been standing. An unfortunate beast had managed to claw its way through the icy wall and grabbed hold of the back of his coat as he went; halfway through, Holland snarled and turned to send a spike of ice through the beast’s gut, forcing it to lose its grip, and then the world closed again behind him, a small gash in the back of his coat and some fresh blood on his hand but otherwise no worse for wear.
--
The area directly in front of Holland took on a different nature in much the same way that the boundaries between this place and the Mirror dimension changed when Stephen walked through - except that instead of sharp, geometric fractals, there was a more fluid, rippling nature to Holland’s magic. It lasted but for a moment, and then Holland was gone. Stephen tilted his chin up and frowned - he’d caught a momentary glimpse of the landscape on the other side, and having been there himself, he knew what Holland would experience, as well as the creatures he might encounter. Dodger was disturbed, and though he was usually silent, the pokemon yipped, “Zorua, ra ra rua!”
“We’ll be on guard,” Stephen pacified Dodger’s concerns, which ended up being justified, for a minute later Holland was scrambling back through a portal. From personal experience, he knew that time in the Hellish dimension moved slower, so Holland was there longer from his perspective. Stephen immediately reacted by taking a defensive stance and flung his arms down to activate fiery mandalas of light, which glowed at his clenched fists - he was ready to help Holland, as well as defend themselves against whatever might follow. However, all Stephen saw was Holland making a violent gesture behind him before landing on the platform. The sorcerer supreme could see the back of Holland’s clothes were ripped, but otherwise seemed alright. Stephen dismissed the mandalas and took a few steps forward to come closer.
“The Hellish dimension isn’t a place you’d want to spend a vacation,” he quipped. “But at least you know your magic was successful.”
---
Holland’s expression quickly regained its calm mask as soon as he turned toward Strange. He raised an eyebrow at the fiery symbols in the man’s hands, but simply shook his head. “Nothing can come through an Antari doorway between the worlds except an Antari,” he said calmly. “I was only preventing the beast from keeping my coat.”
As it was, his coat had been torn. He examined it carefully. It was not a big enough gash to warrant a blood command to fix it, so he merely twitched his fingers, and the broken pieces of thread tangled somewhat inelegantly around each other to bind the gash closed. Holland sighed inwardly, he would have to spend more effort on it later to smooth it out. It was annoying that the control he had worked so hard for had simply been taken away from him. At least the ice had responded to him well enough - water had always been his favorite element to work with, and creating a barrier did not require much finesse.
He allowed a rare pleased gleam to appear in his eyes, and he almost smiled. “Yes. It worked. I believe my theory is correct - there simply are no doors between these dimensions and mine, nor any of the other worlds I’ve tried. Which speaks to the power of the portal that brought us here.”
—
“That’s good to know,” Stephen dryly commented on Holland’s explanation of his portals. Nobody wanted a horde of demons filtering through the Hell dimension into Tumbleweed. As he watched the man mend his coat with magic, his curiosity was sparked. “Would you care for a drink?” he first asked, being a proper host. Then, “Is Antari a genetic designation? Or something that may be learned by anybody?”
__
Holland was far more comfortable sharing the information about Antari than he was with accepting a drink, but he assessed the other magician for a moment and then answered, “Water would be fine.”
At least with water, he would be able to tell with certainty that there was no magic or chemical in it. With anything less pure, there was a chance something might be slipped by him -- not a high chance, but given that he did not fully know how Strange’s magic worked, he wasn’t inclined to risk it. Water was an element he knew extremely well.
And then, in answer to the other question, he shook his head. “Neither. It is in the blood, but it is not genetic. People in Arnes say that the magic chooses.” People in Makt cared much less about the magic’s choice in anything. They bound magic to their bodies with any rune that they could find. Holland had never needed any runes.
His mind flickered briefly to Ojka, his servant, who had been strong enough to accept Antari-like magic from Osaron. Strictly speaking, the magic had still chosen her, but not in the same way Antari were normally chosen. He pushed the thought of her out of his mind.
--
A mild hand gesture from Stephen and suddenly both of them found themselves sitting comfortably across from one another inside a library upon ornate, wingback chairs. In Holland’s hand there was an unopened, chilled bottle of water, the condensation forming dew drops on the outside that ran down his fingers; Stephen sipped from a teacup, in a perfectly natural manner.
“I’ve been warned about you,” he said, also in such a way that it might be considered a perfectly normal topic of conversation. He was referring to a private conversation that had been posted over the Network. “I’ve heard one side of the story - your deal with the demon Osaron so you could leave Black London and return to White, but when you realized how dangerous the bargain was, you made a deal behind somebody else’s back that threatened to consume Red London.” He set his teacup down, but not on any table - it merely floated steadily beside him where a table might’ve been, within reach. “Did I get the story correct? Or are there aspects I’ve missed? I haven’t been given many details.” Nor had he the time to search out and study Holland and Kell’s source material for answers.
--
Holland’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction, just for a moment. It was yet again an excessive amount of magic for transport that seemed unnecessary, and yet again, he had the impression that Strange was showing off his power, to intimidate or to impress, it was hard to say which. Either that or the amount of power he had made him lazy enough to use it for every little thing, and neither one was particularly impressive to Holland. But he did not say anything.
He curled his fingers around his bottle of water, instead, and felt his way through every molecule of both the bottle itself and the water inside it. No binding magic, which was all Holland really cared about. It was very difficult to kill an Antari, especially by putting anything into one’s bloodstream. His blood was the source of his power, it would only take a simple dispelling command to get rid of a substance in it, magical or otherwise. He opened the bottle, lifted it to his lips, and took a sip.
“Yes, I saw the warning,” he said. “And your response to it. I assume those… details… were behind a private filter.” Or the man had looked at their books, but if he had, he would know the rest of the story. The books were surprisingly keen on telling Holland’s side of it. He was unsurprised that Kell, on the other hand, was not. “Osaron,” he said, “Is not a demon. The word oshoc means demon, but it refers to a piece of magic that has gained its own consciousness, its own will. I made a deal with him because I thought my will was stronger than his, or at least that in my world, it would be. And for a time, it was.” He looked Strange over, briefly, assessing whether he was any likelier to understand Holland’s reasoning than Kell was. “He possessed me, but as a result, I controlled his magic. I brought magic back into my world. If you saw my world-- well. Kell called it White London for a reason. All the color, the magic, the life had leached out of it when his world sealed their doors against us, leaving us trapped between those locked doors and darkness. But Osaron brought it back.”
He looked down at his bottle, rubbing a thumb over the condensation. “But as a result, he was getting stronger. And so, yes, I made a deal with him, to offer him Kell’s body and his world, but part of the deal was that if I failed, Osaron would have me. For good. And Kell refused.” He paused, then clarified, “Antari also cannot be possessed without permission. I had given my permission, so… Osaron won his hold over me, and went to Kell’s world anyway. It was a world much richer with magic, and eventually he was strong enough not to need to possess anyone, so he left me. And took other... ” he made a vague hand motion, “Hosts, which supplied him with their life force and acted as his soldiers, under his command. He convinced them he was their god.”
The whole story was told with Holland’s same mild tone, his impassively calm expression. It did not falter, even once; he didn’t even have to strain at it, because there was not really any emotion trying to rise to the surface. Osaron had caused him a great deal of physical and mental pain, but it was only pain. He took another sip from his bottle of water. “The books tell me that eventually I will sacrifice all of my magic to contain Osaron again, and then die, and my death will -- it is heavily implied -- accomplish my original goal of bringing magic back to my world. Kell and his brother survived, and their world will rebuild. So--” Holland shrugged. “I have not offered an apology for my actions, because I am not truly sorry, given the results. But Kell still holds a grudge.”
--
Stephen’s intention was neither to impress nor intimidate his guest: the magic inside the Sanctum made it possible for Stephen to move himself and others inside in this manner, so why waste time? It helped streamline things, and helped them get straight to the point, which Stephen valued and greatly appreciated from Holland. There was no beating around the bush, no making grand excuses for his behavior, or delving into self pity. Stephen threaded his fingers together and rested them upon his mouth as he judiciously listened. Finally, he spoke.
“I had a suspicion this was the case. Though I never take anything at face value… I’ll confirm what you told me, later, but for now I can see you’re telling the truth”, via Holland’s body language and the state of his aura. “With Kell, his grudge extends to warning everybody about the possible danger you pose. I hope you’re able to work through your differences. In Tumbleweed, I’ve found that in many cases, people in opposition with one another have been able to make truces, seeing themselves removed from the circumstances that brought them apart.”
--
Holland shrugged. “There is no point in lying, in a world where my actions and motivations are all detailed in a series of books for anyone to pick up and read.”
And it was refreshing, for once, to tell the story and be believed. He had gotten very used to Kell shooting him down, stubbornly interpreting it however the hell he wanted. The conflict between them was much more complicated than this one incident (or series of incidents). They had been the only Antari operating between the three worlds for years, and each of them tied to thrones that were in opposition to each other, whether they knew it or not. Holland had always known it, but Kell had apparently hoped for some kind of friendship from him, and all Holland had been able to offer Kell was the opportunity to kill Holland in order to save his world.
It was much too complicated to explain to Strange, if Holland had even wanted to, which he didn’t. “I am not a threat to this world, or to Kell and his family. The rest is not really your concern, is it?”
--
“No, it is not,” Stephen dryly agreed, sitting back in a more relaxed position in his seat. “I don’t have any other questions or concerns.” At least not at the moment. “I could open a portal to take you back where you were, unless you have any questions of your own?”
---
“Actually, yes,” Holland answered. He didn’t want to talk about Kell, but he was curious about the other man’s magic, and given the way Strange had been demonstrating his skills without any prompting, it almost seemed rude not to ask. Not that Holland was particularly concerned with rudeness, but he also didn’t see any reason not to take the opportunity. “Your portals -- and your symbols, that I saw you holding. What do you use to create them? What… power does it draw on?”
They seemed fiery, almost, but unlike any fire that Holland had ever seen. And even though he commanded fire, he had his doubts about whether he would be able to affect them at all.
--
“The symbols you see are called mandalas, and I’m not so much holding them as I am projecting them. It’s an instrument to call upon that draws mystical energy from both within and without, and by without I mean to say the universe or other dimensions, depending on the nature and strength of the spell. The fiery light you see is a physical manifestation of that energy. The mandalas are utilized to focus that energy for different purposes, and . As you might’ve already noted, by brand of magic relies heavily upon hand gestures to complete spells. I like to think of it as opening a combination lock into the multiverse.”
Stephen paused to smile, and reached for his teacup. “The portals are opened with the use of this, we call a sling ring.” He held up his fingers and the object appeared, having been summoned from a pouch on his belt where he kept it when not in use. “One focuses on the location you want to reach, and it can open gateways practically anywhere.” He looked at the ring and frowned. “Unfortunately, its powers have been limited since I arrived here.”
--
“What does the projection require?” Holland asked, genuinely curious. “Do you… hold the image in your mind?”
They were fairly complex symbols, much more complex than any required by Holland’s magic. Symbols were necessary for traveling between different points within a world, and Holland had had a great number of them at home, fewer of them here, though he had begun building his network already. But the shape of his symbols didn’t matter, not really, so long as he drew the exact same one in two different places, therefore linking them and making it possible for him to move between them. These symbols seemed to hold more significance.
“Might I examine one more closely? Or perhaps…” He pointed to the sling ring. It was unlikely he’d be able to use it, at least not without practice, and surely a magician who could move Holland around at will would not be overly worried about whether he would be able to get it back. Not that Holland was going to attempt to steal it, but he always assumed that there was mistrust between them. There was always mistrust between any two people who held any sort of power. “What about the ring makes it powerful enough to open such gateways?”
--
“It isn’t necessary to concentrate on the symbols,” Stephen explained. “They appear naturally when the hand gestures are correctly done, and your mind is focused upon the purpose of the spell.” He took a quick sip of tea and then, without hesitation, slipped the ring off his finger and handed it over to Holland, confident that it wouldn’t be mistreated, much less used, since Holland didn’t know how to properly use the artifact.
“I’ve always been curious whether or not a person from a universe besides my own could be taught my version of sorcery. It’s been my hypothesis that it could.” With those words, Stephen’s eyebrows rose, as if to ask Holland if he was interested in learning.
---
That was interesting, because they were complex symbols, and Holland wanted to know precisely what they meant. The hand gestures interested him too, though not nearly as much. The sling ring did as well, and he took it from Strange carefully, holding it in one hand as he ran his fingers along it. It was a fascinating item; he could feel the power of it, though it was unlike any kind he’d ever known before. Not surprising, since everything about Strange’s power was new.
He looked up, raising his eyebrows in return. Mildly, fully (or at least half-) expecting the answer to be negative, he asked, “Are you asking to test that hypothesis with me?”
--
“I think it would be interesting, don’t you? I mean, if you’re willing?” Stephen threaded his fingers together and rested his hands upon his lap. “You don’t need to decide right now. Think it over, and you may let me know whenever. No pressure whatsoever.” Holland was already on guard, so he imagined the other sorcerer might be suspicious of his motives.
---
It was interesting, Holland wouldn’t deny that. The magic interested him the most, and Strange was interesting in a different way; Holland had never met anyone who used magic quite like him.
“I have to ask,” he began, before giving a real answer, “What interests you about teaching me? What do you stand to gain from it?”
Whether or not Strange would tell him the truth, a half truth, or an outright lie remained to be seen. But it was worth asking, just to know what he would say.
—
“I’ve always been interested in knowledge for knowledge’s sake. Ever since the Portal brought me here, I’ve wanted to know as much as I could about the different magics of this world, and to see if I could learn them, myself. And the same holds true for other people learning my style of sorcery. Call it academic curiosity.”
---
“Unless you have an innate affinity for elemental magic, anything I could teach you -- if I were to teach you -- in return would be solely academic,” Holland informed him, just to be sure they were clear on the subject. Then he added, “I’ll need to think about it."