13458/A Sea of Poison

A Sea of Poison
Date of Scene:	28 November 2022
Location:	Sanctum Sanctorum
Synopsis:	Jane transformed by Mjolnir snatches the gravely wounded Zatanna from the Starport and transports her in a flash to the Sanctum Sanctorum in New York. To their good fortune, the Doctor is in. Jane's word had held her from entering the Underworld, Dr. Strange's magic and the favor of Persephone bring her back from the brink thwarting the deadly poison spell laid on her by Malekith.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Jane Foster, Stephen Strange

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The inauguration seemed to be a happy affair though muted by Thor's absence. Many responsible for bringing the artifacts uniting the realms to Midgard were in attendance. Zatanna's spells had held, untainted by Malekith's presence, until two of the nine began to glow with a lurid light, heralding the opening of a dark gate.

Malelith's army spilled through the portal, ready to engulf the Starport and rob the Nine Realms of their connection to one another. Taloned bats and dark elves flooded the Starport. The Amazons in attendance rallied and met the assault head on while Lady Sif charged the three-headed dragon that had led the vanguard.

In the maelstrom of battle, the homo magi struggled to shield friends and allies while faced with a terrible dilemma: how to cut off Malekith's entry into the world using the artifacts. Transmuting an artifact did little to diminish the demon's hold on their power. In the heat of battle, after a quick consultation with Lady Sif and Jane Foster, the three began to destroy each item, precious for its resonance between the realms.

The Gate came down, leaving a horde for them to battle. And, in that mob, a Dark Elf was aimed at Zatanna, intent on killing her. The poisoned sword nearly achieved his goal, sending its burning spell to consume spirit and flesh. Crying for help, Zatanna reached for the one who could help her as the room began to recede and fade to black.

Jane Foster has posed:
Small things can be forgotten when someone fights for their life. Were she so consumed by hurling Mjolnir into the scrambling insectoid masses pouring over the Spaceport or figuring out the artefacts' conundrum, this story would end a very different way. Yet the blonde Aesir goddess battling against the Kursed holds another position other than as the temporary of the Nine Realms. One which intimately recognizes when a candle goes out.

Mjolnir closes the distance to her at vicious speed, punching through looming bugs trying to rip off limbs or swarm Spaceport defenses hard enough to topple them. She runs.

An astrophysicist wouldn't make it to Zatanna in time. A mere mortal cannot outrun sorcerous poison. But a god can.

"No," a word that leaves her lips scribes a defiant line in the sand. No time to collapse to her knees and take a swift assessment of the virulent strain that dropped the homo magi. Even searching for a pulse takes seconds they might not have. Her gauntleted arm loops around the woman's waist, lifting Zatanna almost effortlessly. "Lady sorceress, close your eyes." The warning carries a gentleness and a bedside manner implying this precaution should prove terribly wise, needful.

Mjolnir practically leaps as they sweep out from the Spaceport, accelerating through Atlantean and Wakandan countermeasures bursting in air. The bowshock from Jane's extended arm protects the magus from accelerating into subsonic territory, but higher speeds are not enough. Seething dark ocean heaves to the horizon, the pair sprinting at two thousand feet above the waves.

If anyone were there to see, they'd watch the pair come to a halt. Then freefall of a few seconds as the concerned hammer chased them, ending in a brutal flash. Reality parts to a word and a touch, bleeding prismatic threads that swallow them up. Flying the hidden paths of the realms takes them not to the Underworld realms, but careening into New York. Alighting in southern Manhattan before the Sanctum Sanctorum, hammer smacked back into her hand and the transformation complete. Electricity dances around her in sylphs and crackles, practically knocking on Strange's door.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Who exactly could help the poor magi in her time of need? The Sorcerer Supreme? He was not in attendance for the initial inauguration of the trans-realm hub that was supposed to usher in an era of free travel. An inauguration taken advantage by the dark elves and the means of the trans-realm gateway destroyed to prevent more incursion.

And where was the Sorcerer Supreme? It is hard to tell. He could have been in the Astral. He could have been in the Underworld. He could have been communing with the Vishanti themselves. But no. At that present time, Stephen Strange was in the one location that he would have expected to be at.

The Sanctum Santorum.

And, as suddenly Strange's doorstep is shadowed with the presence of goddess and magi, just as easily the door opens without any behest. There seems to be no need for knocking when it comes to the Sanctum, at least for the moment. Wards and early detection spells are wondrous things. As well has having a personal mystical physician on call. The Asgardian has merely to enter to see that Stephen is hurrying towards the foyer. Obviously, something is amiss.

And Strange is on the case, whatever it is.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The fire burning in her blood has already begun to steal Zatanna's sight. All the power of her ancestor's blood cannot stop the spell sealed in the poison. An enchantment meant to rob her of life and join her in a dark union with Malekith's soul. Later she will remember the smell of salt air on the wind they rode to the Sanctum's doorstep and the crackle of lightning that heralded their arrival.

The resounding NO had slammed her heart to a stop. It faltered and returned to an erratic march while Zatanna greeted a white-robed woman whose expression bespoke surprise and deep compassion. They conversed for hours, and only minutes passed in the world.

Slowly, Zatanna began to counter the poison racing through her blood. But she is so very tired. Molecule by molecule, she seeks to turn the dark tide.

Jane Foster has posed:
Silver-edged armour makes surprisingly little noise as the blonde woman moves, a design no doubt intended for easy movement across the battlefield. Her crimson cape flicks back and forth in the cool autumn breeze, reflecting a certain impetuous nature that expresses itself in the tightening grip on the short-hafted hammer. Soon as the door opens to Strange's intent, she steps inside, that long stride gobbling up the distance until the pair of them rest within the warded confines of the Vishanti's toehold on Earth.

She continues to hold Zatanna still and sheltered from the vagaries of existence, the block of enchanted uru pressed to her bare skin as though it might prove a lifeline. The only other one that Jane has cannot be spared, even for this.

"The Accursed's maledictions struck her down mid-spell. Where wouldst you have me take her?" Effigies of the more stilted constructs of Asgardian language adapt to her tongue easily, and the blonde's stride doesn't break as she will very well meet Dr. Strange where he stands. "Her condition rapidly deteriorated across the previous five minutes. Already I forestall the debts of her status, though the consequences are not insignificant to pursue this if we tarry."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The conversation with the white-robed Goddess holds the homo magi in thrall. What passes in the mundane is of less and less concern. She feels movement and voices at a distance.

Every detail of Zatanna's life is examined with minute care, weighed, and entered into a ledger. The Goddess's presence is in the natural order of things, even if it is by unnatural means that Zatanna comes to her.

The Goddess readies her new charge to shepherd her across the threshold of no return. Jane's refusal to let her take the journey while heartily endorsed by Zatanna is against all laws of the universe. The all-consuming pain begins to lessen as the poison races to its goal.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Funny thing about magical sanctums. They have a way of knowing what exactly is needed. Or, rather, Stephen probably has a hand in that aspect. As soon as the Asgardian enters the Sanctum proper, making her way directly to Strange himself, the environment shifts. The lush facade of warm wood trim melts away to a sort of surgical dullness. A grey room, with an examination table/bed in the center. And Stephen standing besides the operating table, indicating to Jane to feel free to place the sorceress upon the table.

However, it is not immediately to the medical realm that Stephen goes to, but that of the mystical. After the indication to Jane, the mystical surgeon is already moving on. His fingers craft intricate patterns into the air, leaving behind traces of eldritch edgings floating in the still air. A circle laid down, then another upon it. While the doctor doesn't initially seem to offer explanation, it is only after the circles are completed does Stephen deign to speak.

"Inside the circle is two-fold. It slows whatever malady has inflicted Ms. Zatara to give us time to combat it. And...it protects from any additional attempts." In other words, Strange has little idea what is within Zatanna...but the circle will slow whatever it is and prevent anything more from getting to her. Once she is within, they have a little more time.

Not much, but enough to work with. Though Stephen adds a balming effect to ease that pain as well. No good trying to perform miracles if he can't get close enough to do so.

Jane Foster has posed:
A surgery isn't an unfamiliar place for the girl whose mother was a doctor until the tragic end. Not that children got to hang about in the Swedish Medical Center, not by a long shot, but the peculiarity of those sterile places never truly leaves the mind once an impressionable soul brushes up against them. The operating table, the glaring lights, the neat curtains and tools all congeal from memory.

She sets Zatanna's stiff and maimed form onto the table with elaborate care, altogether too aware that a sudden flinch could plow her and Doctor Strange together through a wall or worse. Mjolnir may give a lot of gifts, but innate understanding of the inherent strength isn't one of them. She moves almost gingerly, on tiptoe, staying out of the way, shifting behind the head of the table where Zatanna presumably can't see her. Not that it makes a difference. When the helm drops and Undrjarn awakens, Odin's artifice prevents the transition from sealing to memory. Hammer-queen to Death's handmaiden; the similarities are there, like sisters, but not twins. They aren't the same visibly. Skulls glimmer in her eyes as they start to glow, staring into the universe's source code. Cheaty, but Strange is already doing that.

The Valkyrie speaks to Tibetan, speaking as a lama might, equally as agile. <<She already sinks to the realms beyond. The passage may be barred, at a cost. Entrapped in a dying body -- and all the trauma that brings. What sin is exchanged for another?>> She gestures briefly, a sweep of her hand, at the circle around her. Wings rustle, metallic edged and scalpel-sharp, drawn tight to her spine. <<Show me where to look. What is drawing her this close? I speak enough medical-ese to understand.>>

That purple glow tints red, peering into what shouldn't be there. Hopefully not Death, twirling an umbrella, tapping her watch.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The Goddess of many names looks up from the ledger as she senses the presence of someone she knows well. Pen poised in the air, she stops mid-sentence and pushes the ledger to the side.

"Stephen. Do you also seek to keep her in the world?"

Blood pulses from the sword wound on Zatanna's shoulder in time with the sluggish beat of her heart. The Goddess's words hammer in her head. Time holds still for the magician.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Stephen is certainly examining that sword wound on the shoulder. And, he is using more than just sight to do so. Mystical senses are on high alert as he takes note of the wound. "traces of black magic. A..a poison, I would venture to guess. Augmented by I would imagine Malekith's foul aura. He certainly appears upset that Ms. Zatara and I thwarted his plans on holding everyone in that little prison he concocted." Oh...but then Jane shifts to Tibetan. Probably to bypass the Asgardian speak that seems to inflict her whenever she is in full Asgardian mode. Thunder deity or harbinger of death...it makes little difference to Stephen. He knows who he is speaking to and doesn't bother to shift to Tibetan, but continues in English. Not that it matters for one gifted with All-Speak.

"It is a fast-acting poison. I suspect it is blood-born. It is really the only reason I can see something like this inflicting our magi in such a way. Perhaps you will see it before me. We must eradicate the poison or extract it before it completely claims her."

Oh, but that is a familiar voice in Stephen's head. Or is it in his head? A quick glance about to see...and then words offered. But not to Jane. No...these are going directly to the *other* goddess about. "My Lady. I do. I feel that it is not Ms. Zatana's fate to be taken in this matter. I intend to save her, unless the Fates decree otherwise."

Fates. Capital F. Because Stephen knows the voice...and knows who he speaks to, even if the Valkyrie in the room does not hear from the Greek pantheon.

Jane Foster has posed:
<<Mystic contagion or any evidence of physical properties?>> The inquiry is made boldly, a flat assessment by the Valkyrie who stares into patterns to discover unwritten truths. For all that, she holds still; even sudden turns, especially in this building, will leave her with a migraine lasting hours. If she's lucky enough to stay conscious at all.

While she stares into minute portions of reality, the brunette's gaze flickers, and staring into those depths is a fine path to madness. She sees things that aren't there, threads woven into a burial shroud of possibilities. <<Her breath is not envenomed.>> Zatanna's discomfort and Stephen's surveys braid into the deeper study, and she dare not raise her head to /that/ one.

Because the obligations are a touch too profound, and that line remains in the sand. The soul trying to descend into the fields of Elysium may want to sink, but there won't be the option yet.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A few moments of silence pass before the Goddess speaks again. Perhaps, the Fates will bend their ears to the plight of the homo magi.

"Verily, it is in their hands. Do what you will and let them decide the outcome, Stephen."

Zatanna stiffens on the table in a convulsion of pain as her blood becomes a battleground. Malekith's darkness countering the forces of order, natural to a homo magi and Dr. Strange's words, strong as any lengthy spell.+

Stephen Strange has posed:
In answer to the Valkyrie's question, Stephen points to the sword wound in question. "There are signs of necrosis along the edges of the wound here, Dr. Foster." Just because Jane is speaking in Tibetan doesn't mean Strange doesn't know the voice. Well...that, and he has seen the Valkyrie in all her glory....after the blinding flash of the transformation passed so Stephen could actually see. But, a doctor is still a doctor, regardless if they are powered or not. "See the redness along the skin here? The radius from the wound to the outer edge of the inflammation is greater than it should be with just a standard sword wound. And here...the skin is starting to blister. Part of this would be expected...but not to the extent here." A closer examination is necessary.

And, most likely Jane will see it well before Stephen. But, see it Stephen does. "There..." Pointing to a trace amount of what looks to be a green smudge on the shoulder. "That is what most likely is causing this. A poison...physical, but augmented with the unique malice that can only be attributed to Malekith. If we neutralize the poison, the black spell within the dire concoction will dissipate."

But exactly how to neutralize? There are several ways to be sure...but what would be the fastest and most efficient?

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Is it a whim or deep compassion on the Goddess's part? Persephone stays her hand and Zatanna's life in suspension while Dr. Strange plumbs the depth of his arcane knowledge. She knows the malice that Malekith incarnates and puts a finger on the scale tipping it in the homo magi's favor. The Fates mutter between themselves while waiting.

Cells continue to knit, fighting the forces of entropy, denying the poison entry. Acidosis threatens, her blood PH ticking upward to the cells inevitable death as their environment becomes too hostile. Malekith's darkness is the river she will enter Persephone's realm on if she gives into the overwhelming fatigue.

Jane Foster has posed:
To stand by during a titanic war for life and death is never a happy outcome, not a moment when someone can naturally enjoy things. The Valkyrie has witnessed such violence hundreds, thousands of times. More than any have the right to endure.

She rather patiently holds her ground, reaching out to a slender invisible cord and closing her hand around it. Valkyrja; chooser of the slain.

Choice implies one can say no. Choice implies quite a bloody lot, all said and done. So to say "I'm still thinking about it," she can keep shoving the second hand back.

"Would extracting the spell and bottling it be possible? He may try to use a similar spell in kind, and having a variation of it to concoct an antidote for would be useful. If nothing else, the Accursed is tenacious." Any twitch from Zatanna draws her gaze down, though she cannot look further than the insidious magic whispering to her. Reading the base code of it is ugly enough. It'll be imprinted on her closed eyes.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Possible. It will be delicate, to say the least. But, given the sample here, I should be able to lock on to its specific components and convince them that it would be in everyone's best interest to leave the body." In order words...yes. Stephen can cast a spell to pull the offending compound out of the bloodstream, as gently as possible, through the open wound on the shoulder.

A task that Stephen gets on with immediately. A flick of fingertips, a quick tying motion, and then the fingertips tug lightly. It is almost as if the sorcerer has lassoed the potent spell and is drawing it out, as gently as he possibly can.

Will it ever work? Hopefully. Stephen doesn't stop until he has pulled the last little bit, giving the vile substance a cozy little home to journey to by means of a medical sample container, fresh, sterile, and ready for use.

Jane Foster has posed:
The Valkyrie smirks faintly, that lifeline in her hands an invisible cord that twines body and soul together. Still a matter of holding it firm and refusing to walk with the ghost of a friend to whatever end awaits Zatanna Zatara.

If that end should come.

She holds her mute vigil as her sisters did in days of yore and continue to do even now, guarding battlefields and operating theatres, high places and low. The silence is her honour while the sorcerer works his art, and conveniently, Doctor Strange has someone to watch his back.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna dimly sees light. Her eyes move rapidly behind the closed lids, wavering between the serene figure of the Goddess holding her life line and the cold light of an unknown room. Another woman looks on silently, someone familiar, someone who she welcomes. On the edges of sight darkness encroaches if she lets her eyes linger.

Her shoulder blossoms in pain, enough to make her take a deep rough gasp for air. A good sign all in all. It is the deepest breath she has taken since she was borne by the Asgardian from the Starport.

To a sorcerer's eyes, Strange lassos a writhing darkness, reluctant to leaves its new host. The knots give it pain equal to Zatanna's but it has no lungs to gasp, only talons to hold its prey. Inch by inch, the Sorcerer Supreme draws it from Zatanna's blood.

Jane Foster has posed:
How powerful the draw is, life fighting violently to thrive and endure another day. Death gently guides someone to a peaceful end when the hour draws nigh. Two opposing forces rotate around one another, eager to find absolution or fruition.

When darkness comes, the helmed Valkyrie watches its extraction and dips her head. She still stands out of the way, and the dreaded enchantment that obliterates memory drops again when the magic spun around her surges and evaporates. Just Jane. Nothing to see there but Mjolnir leaning against her side intently. Not an act of jealousy so much as the hammer not being far from hand in the spellbound circles.

The Sorcerer Supreme does his work, her contributions being mostly moral support by that point. She'll nurse the headache later.

"I expect she'll need bedrest after this? Plenty of it?" Hint!

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's deep blue eyes open, and shift between Jane and the Doctor. A muscle on one side of her mouth shifts, and tries to lift in recognition of the two faces that waver in and out of focus before her.

"Ungnne?"

The sound saps of her any energy, her eyes closing. Her expressions smooths into sleep. The much needed sleep of the newly cured.