13217/Pieces of Me(olnir)

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Pieces of Me(olnir)
Date of Scene: 30 October 2022
Location: Sanctum Sanctorum
Synopsis: Jane comes to Dr. Strange with a container of metal shrapnel and a request. To somehow restore Mjolnir to its former glory.
Cast of Characters: Stephen Strange, Jane Foster




Stephen Strange has posed:
With a missing, possibly dead, Asgardian and a greek goddess calling in a favor to fix the realms of the underworld, what does one do to relax? Is there even a possibility of relaxation with that much pressure? For Stephen Strange, relaxation comes in the form of meditation. Bland, boring meditation. An opportunity to just put aside the weight of the world for just a little while.

Does it work today?

Not, not very well. Still, he tries. At least the attempt brings a comfort.

Still....the world awaits. Just outside the front door of the Sanctum and beyond.

Jane Foster has posed:
Death comes with the autumn, the traditional time of reaping a souls' harvest. Not only the wheat falls to the sweep of the scythe. Traditionally the weak, the young, the elderly, and the ill shuffle off the mortal coil in greater numbers, whatever modern medicine may wish. The year sinks into darkness and so those who would quietly mark the end of a cycle to begin another find their rest elsewhere.

Jane has more work than she can manage, but them's the breaks.

Her choice of arrival is particularly simple. She walks over, having left behind a Lyft somewhere in the Village. Normally such a journey bodes a stop for a slice of cheap pizza, a cup of good tea. Not tonight. The Halloween spirit lies in the air, pumpkins and purple or orange lights everywhere. Pub crawls are very well in order among those who can afford it, not paying $5,000 for a 1 BA / 1.5 BA apartment. Maybe even with a window. People celebrating the end of the year in Celtic lore, and memories lie deep and brooding beneath the playful veneer. Ahead, a large house. The only other mansion, the only privately owned one, in the Village.

She taps. Gentle, but there.

"Jane Foster."

Stephen Strange has posed:
The tap is heard. Easily. Impossibly easily. As if the mansion wanted Strange to know. And, of course, Stephen knew who was at the door.

"Welcome, Doctor Foster." The voice is heard before the door opens. But then the door does open, and Stephen stands in the doorway, a good 5 feet away from the door. "Please, come in. It is not often I have visitors who are so polite."

Well, it is not often that Stephen has visitors at all. Mostly because of the wards and the fact that people tend to ignore the Sanctum. The sorcerer takes a couple steps forward, hands open to invite Jane in. "How can I help you tonight?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Impeccable manners on the Sanctum's part would normally earn a brief nod of approval out of Jane, were she so inclined to process said information. Tonight, when her soul wings in different directions according to brutal demands, it will go relatively unnoticed.

The foyer darkened by her presence carries that vague qualification of weariness. One deeper than many, perhaps unbearably so. She has been pulled thin and still holds up, grief treading lightly like a black cat to knock her down at the unexpected moment.

"Good evening, Doctor Strange. I wish social calls drew us together more often." An indivisible state of trouble for them, then. She inclines her head, regarding the man. "Thank you for bringing them back. I wasn't sure, at the time, whether we could find our way through. Zatanna eventually would have, but your intercession spared many lives." A good reason to come, but not the obvious one. She inclines her head. "Is there somewhere I could put a few objects down that would be convenient? Warded?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
"It was the least I could do."

It seems a rather empty phrase for most. But, with Stephen, he seems to mean it. "The majority of the effort was Ms. Zatarra. If it wasn't for her initial spell, I would not have been able to locate the pocket dimension. Still..I am glad to be of assistance."

Modesty really isn't a common trait for the sorcerer. But, social graces are...and Strange is certainly a gentleman. And, when Jane asks for a place to set down objects...Strange indicates to a side table. That wasn't really there before...or was it? That is the thing with the Sanctum...it doesn't really matter. It just is.

As far as warded goes, well...that is the Sanctum, as well. "If you wish for warded, you came to the right place."

But now....the real reason for coming. "Thanking me isn't necessarily the reason you are here, though. One does not need to be mystical to know that." Yet, Strange is not going to push. The reason for Jane's visit will be apparent soon enough.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Somehow I doubt the effort could be dismissed that easily." Jane brushes her bangs off her face, the straight fall running in streams down her shoulders. Strange knows the logistics of a spell better than she does, at least under the circumstances. His professional opinion isn't questioned, at least on a direct front.

Instead, she shifts her bag and, holding both hands around the strap, walks over to the indicated table. The contents must be somewhat padded, sealed in a pair of plastic containers cushioned in foam. Nonetheless, the reason for such careful construction -- and the awkward size -- becomes clear soon enough. She sets the containers down.

Then comes something wrapped thoroughly in a softer canvas, oblong and thin. Snapping the lids from the containers is done in a perfunctory fashion. What lies within: multiple shards of metal ranging in size. Tiny, almost microscopic all the way up to one the size of a fist. Not an insubstantial amount.

A flourish of display isn't necessary here, especially when the canvas wrapping falls away to reveal a rod broken in two, wrapped in leather and terminating in a torn loop that would go around the handle.

None of it is enchanted, though well it should be, given the cracked and blasted Asgardian trefoil on the side. What words are needed, other than the fabled 'Whosoever holds this hammer, if they be worthy...' in so many broken pieces?

Stephen Strange has posed:
Well...that is something one doesn't see everyday. And the sight of the contents of the bog does something that most people wish had the power to.

It brings the Sorcerer Supreme to silence.

Stephen steps up to the table, those grey eyes examining the pieces, but never touching it. No, not even the protector of the realm feels that he is even worthy to touch the shards, regardless if they have lost their enchantment or not. The visual inspection remains just that....visual only. There is no effort to do so much as to nudge for a better angle.

It is only after a long silence, nearly to the point of awkwardness, does Strange deign to speak. "I see why you asked for a warded location. You...gathered the pieces yourself?" The most obvious question isn't asked. Of course it is the fabled hammer Mjolnir. Jane's treatment of the fractured relic, including the request of a warded space, makes the answer a given. More curious is the fact that Jane gathered the pieces diligently, when most would have left it for granted. "From what I am seeing here, that was no simple task."

No, Strange is not going to consider the possibility that the owner of the former hammer may be deceased. Just because the hammer is in pieces doesn't mean Thor is. However, even Stephen must admit, it would have taken quite a force to shatter the uru hammer so effectively.

Jane Foster has posed:
The contents laid out in painstaking detail speak to assembly by proxy. Not everything fits together but much visually does, assembled on a three-dimensional axis by careful trial and error. A few 3D printed blocks indicate where small bits may have eluded recapture or they might be in so many splinters, simply composing the actual chunk and having the salient tiny grains in a numbered disk of plastic is so much easier.

She steps aside for Stephen, although reluctantly, hovering the way an ICU nurse remains close to an unstable patient. Or a parent to a child, if the child possibly was an infant warhead. Her sepia eyes downcast avoid his, betraying no findings of her own that might muddy these waters most of all.

Mjolnir this is, this could be. It bears the hallmarks in a metal impervious to nearly all damage and none of the enchantment put down by a Skyfather in command of his own realm. Magic that welded it to only serve the worthy is absent entirely. Memories on priceless metal and little more. The handle's the largest intact portion, if split, and the burn of Malekith's foul magic probably still clinging in a faded residue. An act of evil.

"It's safe to touch. You or I could," she says, tone taut and neutral. "After Malekith attacked it, the remnants came back with us. Its wielder did not. I can reassemble the pieces but they fall apart. The working theory was..." She corrects herself immediately.

"Is if it could be made whole, it would return to him."

Stephen Strange has posed:
It might be safe to touch...but that doesn't mean Stephen is going to touch it. He may be an egomaniac...but even he doesn't want to find out he is unworthy. Yes, there is little magic to be had, with just the faint traces of dark energies about. But, still...

"If made whole." Stephen straightens to his full height, turning his attention to Jane with perhaps more than a little curiosity in his expression. "I take it that's the hope now? To somehow restore it to its former glory?" Yes, Stephen purposely didn't use the name, either. Easier to handle if it remains nameless. "Did you have an idea on how to restore this?"

Another pause. This time, the silence doesn't last too long as Stephen shifts to talking...seemingly to no one. Or, rather, to himself.

"Would it work? It might. It...it would be a way to restore the form. But the enchantment. Would it return?" The magician circles around the table, as he considers. The self dialog devolves into muttering, before it dissipates into nothingness. Yet, the wheels are turning. The mind is racing.

Finally...a comment, directed towards Jane. Or, more, a question.

"Did you wish for me to try to bring it back?"

Jane Foster has posed:
The questions prove astute, shot as skilfully as the Avengers' archer puts arrows into a target. One strikes in the red circle, split by another, and Jane remains a silent presence unmoving except for that slight nod. Putting sound to thought renders something permanent, inscribing it on creation where it becomes an unchanging facet.

"Odin cannot provide assistance. In this crisis, he slipped into slumber. Loki stands as Prince-Regent in his stead." No mincing of words upon this facet, as she lays out the facts. Disarming how a dealer in Vegas might keep a straight face while making their play, a similarity crafted into her solemn countenance.

Hope is a dreadful antidote to fear and grief, sorrow laid low by a single flame in the night offered by Doctor Strange. She meets the sorcerer's gaze with her own, painted in shades of a dull sheen. "A wrinkle in the process, one that neither Zatanna or I resolved. Mjolnir is sentient. I cannot feel a trace in the wreckage. I haven't since the Accursed destroyed the hammer and him," Thor, still unnamed, "with it."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"I had my suspicions." It is a straightforward comment...and one that Strange admits to. Yes, he thought there was some sort of presence within the uru metal hammer, but again, it was not polite to ask of such things to its owner. Not if one valued his existence, that is.

But, that does put a wrinkle into things. "Then a simple time reversal may not be enough." Ah, an inkling as to what Strange wanted to do. To get his Cher on and turn back time. He can do it...even Jane knows that Strange is capable of that, but it is not something that he willingly busts out all the time. "To play with time is hazardous. I wouldn't want to reverse time around Mjolnir only for its essence to not return. Then all we would have is an elaborate paperweight."

Oh, but Strange called the hammer by name that time. Perhaps, in determining how to best correct the ravages performed to it, Stephen is finally able to bring himself to admit that this pile of carefully gathered shrapnel is indeed the mythical weapon. "I trust that Ms. Zatarra did not have immediate options spring to mind in regards to assembling a soul broken asunder. You may have more of a working concept for that than most." A knowing glance is cast over towards the other doctor in the room.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane does not interrupt, listening closely for anything that sparks an idea or leads to a breakthrough that otherwise proves elusive. Hours of thought and experimentation have not proven particularly helpful, given the hammers current state and not winging back to a broken man somewhere in the Realms. Somewhere, a situation unknown.

Her dark eyes shift briefly to the cracked pieces in the plastic containers, shielded by foam, a vestige of their intact state and the might behind them. "We considered several options. Scientific methods produce reassembly options, but not more than inert metal." A fact grudgingly spoken, carving out a deeper trench that she would dearly like to turn her face from, but truth must be spoken. No matter that it hurts.

Strange might catch the flickering of emotion across her face, brushed aside to focus on the moment when she becomes aware of her facial features aligning to a frown. "Heimdall may see wherever Mjolnir is. How we convince the spirit, if any, to return to its vessel is another matter. I don't command the magic that Odin did. If it was only magic, not a bargain or some other peculiarity. Maybe the uru was always infused that way. We could possibly try to summon Mjolnir by magical means, though I hesitate. A calling, an invocation, instead of a forced demand? That would bring certain risks, however. What /is/ the spirit? Is it wounded, corrupted by Malekith?"

There she pauses, long enough to probably be assumed the barrel of ideas runs dry. Almost. But scraped thin isn't silent.

"Asking Loki was proposed. Reviewing Asgard's libraries for anything Odin might have noted. Perhaps stranger options, asking the Norns. Though we have a choice I do not lightly offer. I couldn't say it then because... the questions would be too many for me, and the focus moved away from him. If like can call to like... I have a relic Odin himself wove the enchantment for. Similar, but not the same." Her sleeve creeps up, two fingers drawing it to reveal a stubbornly dull little chain bracelet like every girl older than 18 probably has in a jewelry box at one time or another. Boring, dull, unremarkable.

Stephen Strange has posed:
As Strange continues to ponder the hammer puzzle before him, he circles. As such, when Jane admits to a relic upon her person, Stephen may not be in the best of positions to see exactly what she is indicating. However...his question deems otherwise. "Are you referring to the bracelet upon your wrist that changes its appearance?" The pacing ceases, as the sorcerer straightens and glances over his shoulder. "Yes, I know of it. Not completely, but enough." Those grey eyes flicker down to the chain bracelet, noting the shape for this occasion, then back to Jane before nodding his head in the direction of the door. "I knew the moment you knocked upon the front door. Just like I did when you visited the first time. You see, the Sanctum is very particular on who I allow in." There is actually a soft chuckle before Stephen returns to the patter at hand.

"But yes, that is an option. We could use your bracelet as a template. Solely as an example of how it might have been performed for Mjolnir." Yes, even Stephen recognizes that the gold trinket upon Jane's arm is also almost certainly sentient as he adds, "provided it gives its consent." Though...Heimdall seems to be a good idea. "Heimdall is an option, too. If the invocation is not successful, that is. I would rather have Mjolnir come on its own rather than tracked down. Though yes...that is the main focus, now. We must find the spirit."

So....where to begin? "The pocket dimension Ms. Zatarra and I pulled the group from. We should start there. Perhaps the spirit is still within its confines. If not, it is a place to start, nonetheless."

Jane Foster has posed:
An artifact of no significant importance except that it's forcibly welding Jane into the realm that everyone else occupies, it probably doesn't immediately ping a ward anywhere. Except when it wants to, and Undrjarn chooses to remain defiantly dull the whole time. "Considering I can throw it as a hammer, there may be a likeness so it." She begrudgingly states such things, the unease plain as day when confronted by the brutality of the shackle holding her soul in place. She sighs softly and taps the bracelet. "I cannot do this without the fireworks and I am not sure if your Sanctum is going to tolerate said fireworks. But it won't change willingly without the full light show, possibly because it has a terrible sense of humour or because that follows the pernicious demands of a sky-father with a trickster's turn."

She holds up her wrist slightly, tilting her forearm almost on presentation of a time. "I can let you look at her, anyway. She's rather irked I called her an it."

Her voice clears in a rumble of air in her throat, though it's hardly necessary. "Her name is Undrjarn. Forgive her if she is a tad possessive; it rather has been a point of fact for the past few years."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"It did handle a snowstorm, though that was a right mess to clean up afterwards. So, I appreciate your concern. Do not concern yourself with the flash and flare." Still, Strange does look over Undrjarn...even taking a moment to speak her name, as Jane has corrected him. "Undrjarn. It is a pleasure to formerly make your acquaintance." Is it odd that Stephen speaks to relics directly? Not to him. Then again, he has a relic of his own that most definitely has a mind of its own, so he is used to the notion. He inspects, but with eyes only. He dares not venture closer.

And, only after a prolonged pause does Stephen step away. "Very interesting." What, exactly? No answers are given, though he does mention one item. "She's holding you to this realm, isn't she? Yet, passing herself as merely a bauble the entire time. Fascinating." Again, distractions threaten to derail the sorcerer from his self-appointed duty. And...that duty is to the other Asgardian weapon. "Let us see if we can find the spirit first. Your Undrjarn is a work of art...and I do not wish to upset her." Did he get a small glimpse of the power within? Possibly. But still, he is not going to upset that which has the power of gods.

Jane Foster has posed:
Alas for Stephen, being subject to a colossal explosion at ground zero has a tendency to burn out the retinas, even with an arm thrown up. Undrjarn's subtlety is on par with the proverbial hand grenade in a large barrel of oatmeal... and white phosphorous.

Jane tilts her head, tapping her wrist while the grey-eyed sorcerer examines the chain in all his inscrutable ways. The fine collection of dull gold links probably doesn't even warrant a 10k designation, aged and barely lustrous at all. Its lack of a visible clasp hardly warrants a second look. That is, until the world goes up in a neutron star inferno.

Sailor Moon this is not... though in some ways, it's very much a shoujo transformation. Minus sailor skirt or pretty pink wand, her hair in a thick braid reaching her knees instead of a butterfly style or something bizarre. Elegant chain shirt and a distinct indigo half-skirt are about as far from shoujo anime as one can get, given the practicality of a woman armed for war. And she is, her copper wings folded tight to her back and the gauntlet on her wrist seething, brilliant, its fluid form racing up her forearm.

<<Undrjarn,>> the Valkyrie replies dryly. <<Aesir tastes run to flamboyant. 'Tis a pity such balance is absent the Vanir, for theirs is a mighty artistry, and much studied in subtleties. Wouldst it behoove you to perceive the enchantment, be thou welcome. Though do not remove her. She will not take kindly to it.>>

Ah that arch speech is a curse, all tongues ever wrought in the testimony of the divine. Though an inspection isn't hard to find, the glimmering provenance of the promise written in the spell itself. Whosoever bears me, if she be worthy, shall possess the power of the living and the dead."

Not identical to /worthy/ in Mjolnir's case... but in every respect, graven by the same hand, from the same storm.

Stephen Strange has posed:
There wasn't a lot of warning. But, Stephen has spoken to gods before and stood within their presence. He is familiar with excruciating bright sources. And...when the Sanctum bled away into sheer white, Stephen has sense enough to turn his head away, which normally would do nothing. But, in tandem, his own relic, the cloak, immediately envelopes Stephen's head underneath its folds. And that...that is enough to prevent the good doctor's retinas from being completely burnt out. Still, when the flash dissipates as quickly as it came, with Doctor Foster guise gone and the Valkyrie in her place, there is a couple of seconds as Strange recovers his sight.

So, it does take a bit to be able to see clearly once more. And, once he can, Stephen takes a quick moment to check inventory. Sanctum still stands. That's good. Nothing incinerated. Even better. And, Undrjarn is on full display, giving Stephen a much better insight into how she operates. Jane's (Valkyrie? Jane Valjane?) warning to not remove Undrjarn is heeded, but certainly not needed. Strange has no intention to do so. Again, showing prudence in not upsetting a living storm. Besides, with Valkyrie on full display, it is not hard to discern that yes...Undrjarn is very much akin to Mjolnir. Siblings of one another, if one would be so bold.

And that....that gives the Sorcerer Supreme ideas. But...does he dare to share them out loud? "Similar power. Maybe...perhaps if we were to restore the hammer to its whole form, without the spirit....that is possible. Then, perhaps if we were to ask Undrjarm to strike it with her power. Not to splinter herself, but channel through the hammer. If it is as what I am perceiving...the hammer should be willing. And...it may stimulate the spirit..."

Jane Foster has posed:
The Cloak has no eyes, so thus cannot be blinded, only subjected to a good deal of radiance originating from an obviously magical and divine source. The jealous embrace delivered on the Doctor will allow no real harm to come, unless it's a sensitivity to certain effects otherwise.

The Valkyrie almost regrettably smiles, all too aware of the toll taken by her current form. Nothing incinerated but the bracelet itself, the loops and wefts twisting around her wrist in a living design reactive to the man in the height of his powers, in the home of his powers. The Aesir has no reason to snarl or bite at any prodding, still and quiet to the point some portion of the hind brain may be shrilling about how unnatural it all is. Yes, very well. Weird and unexpected, as it is.

Near identical power runs through them, down to the corridors of cosmic dust and infuriated lightning that owes nothing to friction in the atmosphere. The storm that beats within cares for its daughters, the servants of Death, but brims in calculated wrath for the unjust and the unworthy. A creature of aeons familiar to the fragility of life and the abuses taken against it, Undrjarn brims in taut awareness more vast, in some ways, than even an Asgardian could fathom. And, too, more simple than the complexities of a human life. It is, after all, part of a greater thing.

"She can strike the hammer," the Valkyrie murmurs. "To bring down the force to bear. How would this restore the spirit to Mjolnir? Would it be the means by which thou wouldst call it forth or give it a semblance to take anchorage within the metal?"

Her inquiry is made with a grave awareness that his magical lore far and away exceeds hers, but something that must be chased anyway.

Stephen Strange has posed:
The reply to the Valkyrie's inquiry is given without hesitation. And the answer is, surprisingly, truthful. "There isn't a set path for restoring a sentient relic created by a slumbering god. Unfortunately, the Dummy guide for spellcasting missed that section."

Truthful, yes. But not without Stephen's brand of sarcasm. Though, he is quick to correct his flippant manner. "Forgive me, Doctor Foster. What I mean to say is that there isn't an exact methodology here. The concept that sprung to mind is that your Undrjarn is nearly identical in terms of mystical power and enchantments to Mjolnir itself. From my preliminary examination, coupled with what I can recall of Mjolnir's own substantial power, I would dare say that the source of both of their power is the same. So, if that is the case, then perhaps striking the hammer will cause the spirit to awaken and find its former home once more."

A pause. "However, in layman's terms, your guess is as good as mine."

As Strange ponders, he performs a trick that he has done countless times. With a flip of his wrist, a hand-sized circle of sparks manifests into existence. He removes the amulet that hangs upon his neck and thrusts it into the floating hole, only to withdraw another amulet that looks almost exactly the same. In fact, with normal senses, it would seem that it was the same. But...there is more to it. Most certainly more in terms of magic, to be sure....a power that Jane may have felt before.

For..this amulet houses more than just Agamotto's piercing gaze. The power of time itself is also within.

"I also believe that the spirit may be trapped...in the space outside space and time. The prison that Malekith tried to trap you all within. If we channel power through the hammer, it may not be enough. But...if we can open the pathway once more while channeling through the hammer....that might be enough."

Then....the Sorcerer Supreme says something that is possible he has never admitted to others before. "We are going to need assistance. To open the door."

"We are going to need Zatanna Zatara."