2139/The Hunger: Messenger

The Hunger: Messenger
Date of Scene:	17 June 2020
Location:	Greenwich Village, NY.
Synopsis:	A strange messenger pays a visit to the Village.
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Sera, Ariah Olivie, Illyana Rasputina

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Stephen Strange has posed:
It's been a handful of days since the strange energy fluctuations were felt over Greenwich Village, New York. Though there have been no other noticeable bursts, the strange and primordial 'presence' has not dissipated. It remains there within the flow of mystic energies that course through the City at the planet's heart, subtle but unmistakable to those familiar with the pulse of this world.

Then, a flash. A motion like the beating of violet wings against the air somewhere amongst the rooftops of the Village. The energy grows more palpable now, as though two parts of the same whole draw closer and closer together. In the sky above there is a distant glimmer even through the corona of light that blocks all but the brightest stars from shining down on Manhattan. A pinprick of purple light, growing larger and larger ...

Sera has posed:
Magic has always been a part of Sera's life, but it was often very contained and deliberate. Magic feels more wild and chaotic on Earth and she is absolutely here for that. Never before has she been surrounded by so many people doing so many different things at once. In this week alone, she encountered a short man stealing books from a Metropolis library and using magic to hide his crimes. Then there was that weird riddle statue of an angel mocking her in the cemetery. From that she accidentally helped found a new small magical society - the Ladies Book Club. But now that she's become aware of a bigger world of magic here, she's been trying to remember the old songs.

For long periods of time her magic was use for battle, fighting side by side with Angela or simply fighting to survive in Hel. Gone are the days when she would delve in to the forbidden secrets and experiment with the weird and strange. Those memories are still there, but she would have to admit it's a stretch to remember the songs clearly. She's beyond rusty with the esoterica.

The strange burst was almost missed by her the first time. This second time though, she was trying to find something else odd to explore. Now she wanders Greenwich village, glancing about furtively. Wearing simple blue jeans and a white t-shirt that says 'Touched by an Angel' on the front. She looks much like any human would, save for her eyes which are glowing white with her angelic energy.

"Oh where oh where would this magic thing be...," she says to herself, hands stuffed in to the tight little pockets of the jeans. "I wonder if any one else felt this thing."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    The pulse is definitely strange to Ariah. The ley lines of New York are familiar to her, their ebb and flow and 'feeling'. And the feeling is off. She usually keeps to herself, studying music, art, and keeping her own magic skills in shape for whatever it may be needed for. She'd sat in runic circles to feel the tides of power and tonight is off. Very off. Not often does she carry her staff with her, but the runed metal 'walking stick' is her companion tonight.

    Coal-painted lips are pursed in a frown, her eyes on the sky. The glimmers of purple earn her focus as she stalks out into the night to meet what may come head on. "...what lies above and beyond...?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
On the stoop of a closed shop hawking indie makeup and perfume, Illyana partakes of the most mundane activity known to a Russian: drinking tea. Hot, black tea untouched by likes of cow or sugarcane, contained within a solid metal mug that could double as a decent tonfa if she needed some kind of self-defense. She doesn't, not by any immediate standards, unless a pedestrian really takes umbrage to the girl with headphones in slouching her way towards neo-Babylon. Being so close to a dragon line is both overwhelming and comforting, since no music actually flows through the headphones plugged into her cell phone. Only the hiss and seethe of a serpentine dance of mana, raw and rich as the stuff can possibly be, a pulse matched almost to her own.

It's a nice thought. When the crash of a wave hits the shore, disruptions down the line stand out in those haunted reflections. Her gaze lifts, only for a moment, no longer contemplating the twit trying to double-park his electric car in a skinny street designed during Revolutionary times. Feet slip under her, and she pushes herself up. The third part of the Ladies Book Club stares into the humming part of the sky, a purple star yanking the Demon Queen's attention from possibly cursing a driver so arrogant and thoughtless as to leave his fancy little vehicle impeding traffic. No matter, someone else will invariably move it bodily or toss the thing down an alley.

Up. Up means finding the nearest convenient height, other than the really obvious building with the emblem of her patrons on it. A bit disturbing, that, so she selects the next highest building with a fire escape. Somewhere to climb like she absolutely has an apartment there. A blonde climbing said spindly fire escape probably warrants at least some attention. It's possible too she notices Sera down there, once up on a third or fourth landing.

Stephen Strange has posed:
The two energies are drawn towards one another. One pulled down from the heavens, while the other wells up from the streets below. The place atop the apartment building would give a clear view of where they might, predictably, meet. But even from the street the light in the sky is unmistakable now. Even those not so attuned to the mystic - passers-by and shopkeepers closing up for the evening - give pause to admire the vivid purple star. It is a strange world full of people with incredible powers, but even they sense the novelty. The sensation that something new is happening.

The purple light, for those with a keen sense of sight, takes form. Not a falling star at all, but a man. He is dressed like a figure out of science fiction by way of Ancient Rome. A white tunic flared at the shoulders and concealing all of his head save for his face, a red skirt, and leggings. His arms are bare save for similarly flared red gloves, and upon his chest he bears an emblem of exploding sun. He is held aloft by wings of reddish-violet fire, and as he descends something unseen but identical rises up to meet him in the space over West Eleventh Street.

Sera has posed:
Sera pauses mid stride as her eyes look up at the descending star. She tilts her head with wonder at this new sight. "Well that's definitely not normal. Right? Right?," she says asking around at the people near her. Their heads turning up to look at it too suggest that she must be right about that. "I wish the Ladies Book Club where here for this..," with an excited smile.

Stepping away from the crowd she declares to herself, "Time to say hi!" Her lips part and she begins to sing in to their air in a lovely voice, an alien song as the light from her eyes flares up and jumps to her hands. She holds her hands out wide and the bright glowing magical light jumps to her back, bursting in to large magical wings. With a beat she flies up to the top of the building and lands gracefully.

Whatever it is that is happening between these two parts - well, she's not sure she wants to get in the way of it. Across the building top she spies Illyana and gives her an excited wave, delighted to see another of the LBC here. Her thoughts and eyes snap back to the man and his delightful wings. Perhaps he's not finished forming yet, but with a wave to him from where she stands, she says, "Greetings. Welcome to Midgard, aka Earth."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah's sight isn't quite keen enough to make out more than the fact the light is a vague humanoid shape. But she can see the light, and the possible convergence. Her brow furrows, and her pace picks up. She maintains a human foot pace, breaking into a jog but not kicking it up to a full superpowered sprint. While she doesn't know if it's a threat or not, it's still some kind of magical event. The epicenter of which she'd drawn to, fascinated and maybe, just maybe, a bit wary.

    The burst of bright wings in the sky doesn't give her pause, but it gives her an easier time of following to the destination as well. Reinforcements in case things go more to the south.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Someone descending in a halo of purple light, causing this much excitement to finely attuned mystic senses, gives just reason for Illyana to climb quickly. She attains the top of the brownstone in no time, purposefully striding across the roof with its collection of mismatched patio furniture, the occasional potted plant, and one definitely illegal but coveted barbeque hidden partly by some faerie lights. Like faerie lights change everything. The blonde narrows her eyes, dialing up the acuity of her enchanted sight that normally she keeps in check to avoid being outright blinded by so many impressions with everyone living atop her. But these are her stomping grounds. Whatever proves invisible and ascending might just be seen that way.

Sera's shouted hello will do plenty fine, though she clearly lacks the celestial accoutrements everyone else cool these days wants to throw around. No matter. Her hand comes to her brow, shielding it from the light. "Da, what she said. Do you have a name?" Calling out to the man in his very much neo-Roman but not Byzantine getup isn't exactly rude, but very much direct. "Or just another visitor?"

Unwise to hover on the very lip of a rooftop, so she stays back a few steps, but certainly where she can see over the edge. Anyone being drawn in by this particular fellow is definitely worth monitoring in kind. "Friend of yours?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
As the two energy sources finally meet in the air level with the roof of the brownstone, another pulse emanates out from the site. Mystical wards and illumination flicker, while at the same time windows and doors rattle as the air momentarily seems to come alive all around them. The man in his strange garb strides across the empty space as though gravity means nothing to him, pausing at the edge of the rooftop to regard Sera and Illyana impassively.

He does not speak. This close, his features take on a clearly imperious look. High, arched eyebrows and wide eyes with small pupils. His expression is menacing seemingly without intention, regarding the pair. When the mention of a friend is made, the man turns his attention to Ariah and the street below. There is a faint flick of his wrist and invisible hands carry her aloft, depositing her alongside the other two upon the roof.

"Earth," he says at last, voice deep and possessed of a preternatural echo, "Midgard."

His attention then turns to Illyana: "I am the Air-Walker, and I call no world home."

Sera has posed:
Sera gives a small look of confusion to Illyana and shrugs her shoulders. "I've never seen him before tonight," she explains and then watches with interest as he so casually lifts up Ariah to them. She gives her another excited smile and says in a hushed tone, "Hey there. Uh. I'm Sera, nice to meet you."

Her gaze returns to the romanesque man before them and she decides to try what Thor did with her. She offers her hand to the man, "I'm Sera, of Heven. Hello Air-Walker. Peace?" Corny as it is, that's what Thor did for her. It worked on her though.. but that look he carries, it seems so menacing. She's not sure this man will be as receptive as she was. "Just visiting then?" A slightly nervous glance is given to both Illyana and Ariah. At least he isn't asking them to choose the form of the destructor. "Oh yes, the other bit. Ah, this realm is apparently under the protection of Asgard."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana upnods the man calling himself Air-Walker with a slow, precise measured way about her. A distinctive gesture, this, that doesn't surrender an inch to him despite her being significantly less physically imposing than the man himself. The headphone wires slip free with a light tug, dipping into the confines of her shirt, scarce in the way of trouble. Menacing he may be, but she might just about be inured to sick fear when encountering something unknown, and curiosity dumped into the bloodstream mitigates a good deal of that.

"Evening," she asides to Ariah. The English comes with the whittled precision of a non-native speaker, her Slavic accent woven thin and crystalline throughout. "Air-Walker, traveler of worlds." The vibrations and fluctations in the energy sources are cause enough for concern, especially slow close. If he pulls on that leyline, she very well might be prepared to bury an anchor of sorts in its flow as a stop-gap. Sera's responses do fine for greetings, and her own follow a decided laconic preference. Though he seems to be making her sound wordy. "What brings you here?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah is... not used to flying. Has she paradropped before? Yes. But that's falling. Not floating. There's a bewildered expression on her face the moment she's lifted to the moment her feet set down on solid terrain once more. She blinks owlishly at the three before her, all unfamiliar faces. The short woman holds her staff in one hand, lifting the other in a gesture of greeting. "Bonsoir..." she says quietly, voice cool like a winter breeze. "...I am Ariah, welcome," she greets in that same soft voice, thickly accented in French, but doesn't take her eyes off of the descendant.

    Her staff is shifted to both hands, the end pressed down against the rooftop. A keen eye would notice the place it settles is at equidistant points with her toes, forming an equilateral triangle.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Peace?" Air-Walker asks, regarding Sera in silence for a long moment as the wings at his back crackle and flicker as living flame, "Yes. I bring peace. I am no herald of war."

He does not land, seeming content to hover there and live up to the name he has given himself. Down below, a small crowd has begun to gather. The bystanders gathering in the street with their faces turned skyward, watching the strange figure hover there. Air-Walker himself pays them no regard; his attention fixated upon the trio before him.

"I come with glad tidings. You and all your world are to become part of the Great Cycle. The process that was old when the universe was young."

Now the man smiles, though that mirth does not seem to reach his eyes.

Sera has posed:
Sera's eyes observe those firy wings. Her eyes roaming over his body. The way he hangs in the air. She steps away from him slowly with a small nod of acknowledgement that he brings peace. Closer to Ariah and Illyana. In a hushed tone she asks them, "Hey do either of you know what the great cycle is? I'm not familiar with the term and despite rumours to the contrary, I'm not as old as the universe." The inclusion of 'you' in 'all your world' makes her take pause.. her fate is connected to this world now? well, that hardly seems fair.. but on the other hand, where would she and Angela go right now.

She clears her throat and plants her hands on her hips, "Air-Walker, what is this Great Cycle of which you speak." If Earth is to be home, then she wants to make sure it'll remain a profitable home of free markets and capitalism. Usually you can tell if someone is good or bad by whether or not they smile at you or throw fists at you.. this guy has her perplexed. She is sure Angela would instantly distrust him, but she's not quite sure yet. "I am not familiar with the customs of this realm or planet yet," she admits to the other two women.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
As the sole person yet to explain exactly who she is or what her reason for standing on Greenwich Village rooftops might be, the blonde Russian opts to hold a little longer from those niceties before giving the tiny Frenchwoman acknowledgment by inclining her head. "Illyana." Short, exactly that, and near to nothing.

The slight sway of her golden hair breaks into blunt segments that crash around her shoulders, swept back almost casually. There is no smile to grace her lips, nothing by way of warm and ebullient welcome. On the other hand, smiling and bouncing around in greeting tend to be an utterly American thing, a prospect of the New World. In the Old, a very different matter, and truer still for those of the vast northern expanses where winter reigns in dense, dark forests. "Miss Ariah," a soft aside, "would you see if a neighbour is home if I gave you directions? Important." These words aren't projected far.

For then there is the matter of examining Air-Walker himself, and meeting his gaze with her own. "The process of destruction and re-creation," she intones with that fatalistic cant so very much infused by cool. "Is that correct?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah seems to be on the same page as Illyana. There's a pursed frown still upon her lips, and she fixes that cool gaze on the Air-Walker. "...does not a Great Cycle indicate a beginning and an end? Death, rebirth, and life sprouting anew only to be turned to ash again..." she speaks absently as she seems, for the moment, to stare -past- the Air-Walker before her gaze refocuses. "...our home is too young," she observes in a quieter voice.

    The words directed her way snap her back to reality completely, and another absent expression is joined with a slow nod to Illyana. "I can endeavor to do my best," she says simply. It's a complicated way of saying 'sure' but this diminutive woman is probably as odd as anyone up here.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A low chuckle rumbles through the Air-Walker's broad chest, deep and sonorous though there is still little about him that seems mirthful. When Illyana answers the question of the Great Cycle and Ariah elaborates in turn, his mouth quirks at one corner into a faint smile before he speaks again with that strange, echoing voice.

"You have the right of it," he answers, "Though you greatly oversimplify it. But it not for such as us to comprehend the ways of my Master. At least in no way more than the bacterium comprehends the scale and majesty of the universe."

"I must leave you. There is much to see. The way must be prepared."

It is then that the man begins to ascend skyward once more, those dual energy sources now one. He does not move swiftly, taking his time as he begins to float away.

Sera has posed:
Her fingers tap on the sides of her hips. One hand slips to the pocket of her jeans and she fumbles out the starkphone, staring at it with deep thought, then looking to the two others with her. "You know.. that sounded an awful lot like a threat." Her eyes glance skyward at the man and then back to the other two. "Any thoughts on who his 'master' might be." She taps awkwardly on the phone bringing up its illuminated menus and finds her way to contacts. There's only two in there - Heidi of Asgard and Zatanna Zatara.

"I might know someone who might know about things like this Air Walker... but just to be clear, I rather like this weird little planet. It's like a fantasy dream land for someone like me. I have no interest in it all turning to ash for some random rebirth, certainly not with me //on// said planet," Sera confides in the other two women. "It's a quaint planet filled with interesting people and as you just said, it is too young. Well, I don't know if that's true or not.. but, I like it. Even with all the weird statues depicting my kind in grave yards."

She taps on Zatanna's name and starts to slowly peck out a message to her. They only met briefly in a bar but she struck Sera as someone who knew her stuff. "May be we can make some sort of trade or deal with this person or their master. If they are sensible creatures they will be capitalists and eager to negotiate."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"No. The choice is not your master's." The blonde's voice isn't one that belongs to a girl in her late teens or thereabout, but carries a neutral, ringing declaration of intent written in blood and hard-won wisdom. "Not in this dimension or its reflections."

She doesn't need to make so much as a gesture for the next

"Go." One word, an imperative punched behind it. Silver-tinged flames otherwise ricocheting indigo bloom around Ariah, forming a slightly angled gateway piercing two points in space with the least amount of effort whatsoever. Naturally Illyana presumably might punch that same stepping stone over the Air-Walker's head, but some things are simply too dangerous to brave so close to the heart of it. Of course, the other side of the gateway is plain, a pair of steps to the only mansion in the Village aside from a historic site.

On the other side, the Sanctum Sanctorum doorway. It takes less than a thought to span the two, almost coterminal and coexistent, but not quite.

A ringing glyph, a murmured prayer. It's not the darkest of the Elder Gods who love her soul so much she wants to knock on the door for, but the bright-winged lady. //Oshtur. Lady, we're in danger.//

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "We are not insects upon a stone to be regarded with curiousity and fanned away at a whim...." Ariah breathes out cautiously, still frowning, certainly feeling uneasy with the way this herald is speaking to them. She certainly does not like being labeled a scion of humanity, such judgements are beyond her ambitions. As far as dimensional doors, the small French woman at least has some experience with those, even if they are beyond her capabilities. But she moves, with haste and a purpose, through the portal as bidden and to the doorway beyond. The metal of her staff is lifted and she raps on it with firm, loud impacts.

    "...there appears to be some sort of emerging crisis..." she calls out, tone still low but voice clean and clear.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"You are just that," Air-Walker calls back down indifferently at Ariah's words, still floating skyward, "But you need not believe me. There is nothing you can do." The people on the street below point and murmur amongst themselves, pointing skyward at the departing figure.

The doorway to the Sanctum Sanctorum has an innate Victorian charm to it. The sort of building that tourists wander past and snap photographs of on their phones and talk about how nice it would be to live there while assuming it?s a museum for particularly well-made examples of embroidery or 19th century furniture. But it's what lies within that is the true source of interest - the mystical energies that seem to thrum within the very walls. As though the building itself were built on the very nexus of mystical energy.

The door swings open almost as soon as Ariah can knock on it, and a man stands there. He wears a billowing cape of red with a high collar, and vestments that seem vaguely East Asian in their origin. His dark hair is greying at the temples, and his eyes regard the young woman critically for a moment before he stares knowingly at the portal beyond her.

"Alright," he says quickly, closing the door behind him and wasting no time as he begins striding purposefully towards the same portal, "Let's go."

Sera has posed:
The lid snap shut, she stows the phone back away in her pocket and looks to the portal that Illy made. "You're good at that," she mentions having observed her teleport before and now holding the doorway open. "Defence of ones home is the payment for services rendered," she says with a nod as if that were explanation enough for desire to remain involved in this. "Do we just.. arrest the guy?"

She peers up at the Air-Walker's ascent. "I mean, clearly we can't just have him going around preparing for the end of a perfectly fine little blue green planet. Perhaps violence is in order." Her head tilts and she peers through the portal again seeing another joining them. "Whose the dude?," she says as a memory flickers through her mind.. strangestrangestrange.. an important memory, she can't quite put her finger on it.

An eyebrow is cocked at the briefest of glances past the door in to the sanctum.. but it's just some place with some guy in it. There's lots of places with guys in them. "Do you think those two would like to join our book club?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"You are wrong. There is much we can and will do, voice of Ruin." The portal itself lends a perfectly nice vantage point on the opposite side to the brownstone rooftop. Flames drenched in the sterling to indigo spectrum match absolutely nothing in previous encounters, for their primary hue tended to blue alone, worryingly dark now or then. A vouchsafed key to an open invitation to Limbo, its sorceress supreme still taking distinct umbrage to her birthplace being on the menu. Although the step through is quite a long ways down, or up, as one may choose to simultaneously experience while riding the mortal coil.

Illyana murmurs, "This is why I read Dostoevsky and Pushkin." Because a girl always needs a pithy quote or fatalistic Russian novels to fall back on while the Air-Walker parades around like he's the real estate agent for a much bigger problem. To Sera, she shakes her head slightly. "A messenger. It is uncouth to send heads back. Another would come, worse." A darkly amused turn there, all in all.

Though clearly she might be contemplating the possibilities with a turn of far too-bright eyes, her aura absolutely roiling to those who can sense or see it, shattered brilliance permeated by ultraviolet fracture lines. Violence is tempting. But not right, not given the situation. "Besides, the Doctor is coming. I yield to his place."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    It's... a wild ride, to be sure. Ariah's certainly Seen Some Shit (TM) in her time but dimensional sojourning is not how she gets to and from the library on the day-to-day. Still, it's wild but not overly disorienting. When the caped man answers the door, though, Ariah seems more surprised at, well. Him. She blinks owlishly, the man ever so easily towering over her, a full sixteen inches of bonus height between the witch and the sorcerer supreme.

    "Risk of planetary annihilation..." she says in that clear, icy tone, as if that's all she needs to say before she turns to follow his great strides. She does have to pick up her pace to follow, but she's used to marching, and maybe a tiny part of her is looking forward to riding the dimensional wave again...

Stephen Strange has posed:
As Doctor Strange emerges from the portal to the rooftop, he turns his head slightly to regard the others present. Unfamiliar faces save one, but he seems neither perturbed nor put-upon. His own grey gaze follows that of the others until he's watching the departing Air-Walker, a pensive expression crossing his face.

"She's right," he says, crossing one arm over his stomach, resting his elbow in the palm of one hand and in chin in the other, "Whoever this is, there's a greater power behind him. While I don't doubt we could contain him for a time, who knows what's following behind ... "

It's only then that he draws his gaze away to look at both Ariah and Sera with a furrowed brow.

"Besides, I don't think he's going anywhere. Doctor Strange," he offers by way of introduction, "And you're all here by coincidence or because you sensed the same thing I did."

Sera has posed:
Sera is used to solving things with violence. Chopping off his head would be an excellent way to start negotiations. That's what Angela does best. But, she recognises there might be some nuance here that they should pay heed. Whoever this 'master' is is probably much more dangerous. "Well then. No point negotiating with the messenger."

A concerned but pleasant smile is brought to Dr. Strange as she offers her hand to him. "I'm Sera, of Heven. It's a pleasure to.. meet you?," she isn't quite sure with this one. Yes, it's definitely a pleasure but there's something niggling in the back of her mind about him, something relevant. "Dr. Strange." She shrugs, if it's important it'll come to her she's sure.

"Consider me available should you need me. I am a fan of this planet and intend to have it be my home for a while to come. I felt the weirdness and thought I should investigate. The last two weirdnesses were very interesting so I thought this one would be too. Instead, it turned out to be some guy who wants to ruin all the fun."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    So. Many. Tall people. Even Illyana dwarfs the French sorceress by a good half foot. Ariah comes through the portal just behind the good Doctor, taking a position once more with her toes and staff in perfect alignment. Her head tips upwards, cast skyward, watching the rising star that is the herald of destruction, but makes no move to act. She takes a long, slow breath, then exhales it. "I do live here..." she then adds to Sra's final statement, "...I like living here..."

    Then introductions, and her gaze drifts over to Stephen, peering up at him. "Ariah... Ariah Olivie..." she shifts her focus back on the sky. "The rivers' flow was different... I came to seek the source. This is not anything expected, but what is?" she asks, to all present and yet noone.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The transition point between Limbo and the real world invokes a hellacious LSD-trip of a ride soaring backwards and up and apart, akin to stars caught in supernova and simultaneous collapse. Threads snap the portal shut, a wound sealed over where walls of space assert their normal smoothed state.

There lies a sidelong look towards the older sorcerer, and Illyana permits the rarest hint of a smirk that shades close enough to be a smile. "Doctor." Her bleached out gaze loses some of the incandescent glow, her pupils still little more than watery shadows against the arctic cold. "A frontal assault would end badly. Tactically unwise when he channels so much energy."

Giving that brusque assessment, she thumbs the space just off her hip as direly missing something. Still, after a long moment to batter back the urge to take flight with Soulsword in hand, she turns back to the others. "Not a 'guy,' Sera of Heven. An idea more than a person. He lacked the fires of zealotry." Something about that leaves a dark shadow in her tone, stretching out to engulf possibility in blackened shades. "Dealing with that like will be unpleasant. What do you need next from us?" This last question is to Stephen directly.

The wavering of the air brings out the black, forked headdress that takes the place of crown and horns that could aptly grace her head. Armour manifesting, the only kind, but it's an unconscious impulse nonetheless.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"I don't need violence," Strange tells Illyana, though his eyes shift to Sera and then Ariah also as he speaks, "That power he wields is the fire of creation. The energy that was there at the Big Bang. For now, we let him go. As I said, he's not going anywhere. We need time to trace that power back to its source."

There's another long, thoughtful moment. The Doctor watches as the Air-Walker finally disappears out of sight, a huffing breath escaping through his nose. The cape he wears continues to move about him as though he were underwater, undulating and unfurling of its own accord.

"I'm calling a meeting. Gather anyone you know who knows something about the mystic arts and bring them to me. Hm, never thought I'd have much use for these ... "

As he says that, he draws two plain white business cards from somewhere within the cloak he wears. He hands one to Sera and the other to Ariah, glancing towards Illyana to add: "I imagine you already know where to go."

Each card has, in neat printed type, the following:

Doctor Stephen Strange

(Consultant)

177A Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village, NY.