What happened

The room waited in reptilian darkness. Grotesque figurines on particle board shelves and laserjet demons coiled patiently in preparation for attack, and the circle drawn in charcoal on the grimy linoleum floor in the center of the room welcomed arrivals with open arms. Little wax candles, frozen to their cracked plastic holders with their own blood, suddenly popped to life in expectaion of the return of the sorceror. Hanging censers began to sway and book pages turned, and in a brief flash of daylight, Two robed men appeared in the room.

The larger man clapped twice and cheap desk lamps around the room turned on, revealing the scene in all its bizarre, anachronistic splendor. He was helping to prop up the thinner man, but now let him slide to the floor in exhaustion.

"I mean you no harm at this time, Doctor Strange," spoke the large man, striding to a corner. "I believe you will concur that the defeat of the recent arrival to this plane requires more power or strategy than either of us posesses seperately, or perhaps even combined." He leaned into an ornate mirror draped with silks and painted on the surface with arcane, yellow symbols, and began grooming his beard. "This room is a part of the business establishment of a man by the name of Midnite. Beyond that door we will likely find some mortal or demon or other variety of being who will gladly rally to our cause. When you are ready, you may join me without and mingle with these folk."

He walked over to this door and opened it. Infernal cackling, strange music, and more than ten varieties of smoke wafted through the crack. He turned back to the other man. "Oh, and Stephen," he smiled darkly, "I believe this rescue constitutes a favor."

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The small spots of blood were nearly impossible to see against the dark fabric of her Salem inspired coat. She'd been tricked. Although Willow had succeeded in ripping the skin from her still living victim's flesh, insuring an unimaginably painful death, the victory was sullied.

Warren had won even in his death.

The scream that followed would have made the ears of surrounding bystanders bleed if there had been any. It was a furies' cry and Willow only lacked talons and snakes for hair. The tantrum that followed made the ground quiver in unease while the air became frigid and sharp.

Wherever she'd been sent, it was claustrophobic. If she wasn't released soon...
Tags: stephen strange, willow rosenberg, baron mordo

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It was hard to anticipate people’s reactions to being faced with a walking, talking, 7-foot-tall skeleton in a dark robe. Usually they jumped to conclusions. They would be right, of course, but everyone always assumed that Death would be malevolent.

With few exceptions, the people who see him will not remember the encounter, but they always made such a fuss when he started talking. Death was not meant to be a social creature for this very reason, though it seemed that he had developed a habit of trying to converse with anyone who was alone.

The last few days, however, had been strange. No one seemed to acknowledge him as he walked into stores; scuffles broke out more often than usual, and there seemed to be an increase in the number of near-Death experiences. This was a seemingly random busy time, and Death was curious to know what had caused it.

Or. "Who" was causing it might have been a better question. A name was being thrown around a lot, mostly amid cries of "she’s mine!" "no, she’s mine!".

EXCUSE ME, BUT WOULD YOU BE KIND ENOUGH TO INFORM ME WHO YOU ARE CLAIMING AS YOUR OWN?

The question always wielded the same answer. He remembered seeing the name on one of his new collection of hourglasses.

Death wondered if a "Barbara Gordon" could be found in the Room of Autobiographies. He left the store, with more questions than he had gone in with.

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Wilkins’s office was the one piece of this city that was everything perfect. His photos of important people and him hung right where they belong. There was no dust. Everything was straightened and crisp. His humidifier provided faithfully the right temperature for anyone with any sort of sinus conditions to be pleased.

“Please, sit.”

He took his own advice. He leaned back in his throat and drew one leg up. It created a little table as one leg crossed over to the other’s knee. This is where his hands sat. They created a little steeple.

“Feel free to begin. You have all my attention.”

[ Baron Mordo ]

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In all his wanderings over the past week or so it had not occurred to Harvey to visit City Hall to see who might be District Attorney here. Maybe he or she could pull some strings and get him a job.

Just inside the door there was a directory. Almost immediately, something caught his eye...

District Attorney Harvey Dent . . . . . . 512

His mind reeled, thoughts bouncing around in his skull like ricocheting bullets. If Bruce was already part of this world, why not me? This must be some monstrously complex test of my character - I hope I haven't already failed. Is it my office, or is there another Harvey Dent waiting behind my desk? I hope my hip flask is still there.

Determined to find some answers, he made his way up to the office by way of the old marble staircase just down the hall from the entrance.

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