Summary:What happens when a monster from the seventh dimension shows up? Team Kamar-Taj has their Mystic Pokeballs ready. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
  |
.~{:--------------:}~.
Ah, East village. There's a Shawarma place right down the way that just screamed to Tommy Wisdom's soul.
Speaking of Tommy.
He seems to just leap out of a fiery portal, rolling to his feet and crafting Mandalas in his hands using Magic, entering a defensive position. And what comes out of the portal? It looks like furry tentacles, with razer sharp teeth on the inside….that fire off at the sorcerer!
He blocks a shard, then another, then dodges another, and this is about the time where he realizes people could get hurt, so he raises his hands.
And reality starts to crack.
He's about to call upon the Mirror Dimension. Did he train at Kamar-Taj?
Either way, this would be a great time for another sorcerer or more specifically, Demon Huntess, to find the disturbance that is slowly eeking in its entirety out of the portal!
A shawarma place might be a natural place to eat if, say, one needs high energy food. Never mind the need for the actual spiced and savory meat marinated within an inch of its life in a way that would turn tough boot leather into delectable, melt on the tongue goodness comparable to any Michelin two-star restaurant in the city or the continent. Other alternatives exist for the likes of a girl who requires a far higher caloric input to match the sheer energy she burns through at mad rates.
Thus the doors beckon and the thrust of a palm strikes it apart, just enough to allow her passage. Her, the tall silhouette wreathed in autumnal colours rather than those of light, sultry summer evenings. Leather replaces linen, and the tread of her boots delivers an impact dusted by debris from some unremarkable corner of the city or a subway afflicted by too much sand and a dearth of cleaning supplies.
Rounding a corner to the intersection hosting her preferred meal place, the continuous impressions of the Sight feed her an ongoing stream of information too prodigious for most to tolerate, even those trained in the mystic arts. Some have Sorcerers Supreme. Some have sorceresses old enough to remember when Atlantis was a thing (and an annoying trend, in their ancient mind), with Kamar-Taj /atop/ that and a handful of other lessons that life throws down. So when the impinging impressions stray onto her, she reacts practically upon reflex. Instinct, intuition, these belong to the province of the Transian young woman unlike most.
Her wrist flicks, a triple-nested triangle arranged in flowering mirror formations. One beam of mulberry light swirls around her extended fingertip, and she forges a confusing swirl of movement that reaches for the alterations of the future. For there's the real risk: reality doesn't have to crack around her. It can be fluid, dimensions layered on dimensions, where they don't bleed. Habit means spinning up defensive fortunes, this way or that, arraying luck against whatever wants to wave in the way of her dinner. Dammit.
Finally, Wisdom has enough to lay down the Mirror Dimension, which he does…even enveloping Wanda in it (unintentionally, mind) so that he could spellcast more effectively and without hurting anyone. With a flick of his wrist and a few gestures of his fingers, the ground and surfaces around them spin and rotate until it fractures into kaleidoscopic shapes, giving him a surface to stand on as well as a vantage point.
Then he senses it as the creature, which looks like a mixture between some kind of dragon, a Lion, and a cephalopod, emerges completely in its tall frame. 30 feet tall at least.
Wisdom turns his head to look at Wanda before a tentacle is thrown at him, and he conjures his defense just in time before he's flung over near the Scarlet Witch, catching himself via levitation before its too late. "Uh, miss…sorry to drag you into this, really am, but uh…" he looks at the mirror dimension version of the Shwarma place…and considering she was rather beautiful. "I'll buy you dinner to make up for it?" he shrugs, but he clearly can tell she's a sorceress. He can literally FEEL the power inside of Wanda. Which is why he looks relatively nonplussed. "But may I ask for your assistance in dealing with this thing?" He says as he conjures a bolt of lightning and blasts it from five tangible and fiery shapes that all fire the lightning, and it seems to hurt the creature, if but mildly.
The wave of power rolls over her in detail, fractalized corners and planes originated from that almost invisible barrier. As it pushes out, Wanda has to adjust on the fly. She draws a line straight up, meeting the surge at a quarter angle instead of head on, allowing the power to roll over her instead of resisting it. Obliquely she approaches the sorcerer and his multi-stranded terror of a visitor. Crystal facets hang in unnatural twinkling shards, graceful as much as they indicate side-stepping out of the mainstream pull of reality to something slightly different.
The chimerical terror in all its abominable nature warrants a halt, a whistle of appreciation, fleeing directly the other way. She gives it the advantage of neither, plunging a hand into one of the pockets of her coat. What comes out is crumbly and fine, a pale hue of amber, and she crams the whole of it into her mouth. Not exactly the best time for a snack, is it? Perhaps now she might opt to run, whilst Wisdom has all the opportunity to whistle up trouble or dismiss the being contained within a picket of his making.
Except it's scarcely suitable for dancing, since those tentacles make for an unsuitably grabby partner at best. When the wicked snap sends the sorcerer flying back, she licks her fingers clean of the fine grains, swallowing as fast as can be allowed. The kick to her system isn't instantaneous, no crumbling potion or wretched powdery morass used there, but it will count for something. Immense, undulating, that great blundering building of a cryptic warrants one sharper look through narrowed eyes. "Where is it of?" A pause, English splintering to pieces on her tongue. "From?" A correction, mild and quick, illustrates less than perfect mastery that slowly sots into place. "Sixth? Eighth?"
The symbols that twirl into being are noted; the roiling defensive movements aren't clear in what she does, almost intangible except for the complex nested triangular mandalas revolving around her wrist at a practically languid speed.
"Seventh, Actually."
Tommy says with a bit of a wisecracking grin, but then its swinging its tentacle at him and with a gesture, he creates a Mandala in his hand and tosses it at the tentacle like a projectile, severing it clean…but, can't cephalopods regenerate their tentacles? Yes, yes they can.
"This thing needs to go back to where it belongs or it needs to be put down." Tommy notices the grain-like meal she just ate. "…what manner of potion was that? I hope it will suffice to give you a boost in mana or endurance." Because there is a spell for just about everything. Literally.
But that Chimera seems to roar now, as it starts to charge!
A grim nod when it's confirmed what they deal with. "No spiders," she murmurs, as if this is a good thing as opposed to a bad turn of events. Slender fingers prise free a gesture, pushing downward to the tentacle creature. They regenerate? That proves to be something she does not need to see, darting immediately away from Tommy to the side. It looks like a straight line until it isn't, heaving and twisting as the four strikes of her left foot begin rotating in complex fans that open up greater amounts of space than nature or architecture ever intended. Out bleed more signs of pavement and asphalt, fanning the malleable dimension around her. Distance is the first weapon in the arsenal of any combat here, and she wields it with a degree of expertise. Warped space bends itself outward, rotating in sharp pirouettes that keep stretching out the road that the chimera has to cross.
That's a start, for thirty feet of height and equal length of reach doesn't amount to an easy time to it. Honey particles floating in the bloodstream will do what they will, other than offer a lingering memory of flowers in New Zealand. She plunges her fingertips in a jagged line downward and wrenches her wrist sideways, forcing the world up on a perpendicular line around her. The folding shapes and spaces lurch at the wrong angles to the stomach and the eyes, if they were ever weak for such, but it might just give Mr. Wigglyarms pause. Mrs. Wigglyarms? Only fair. Fracturing spaces command careful consideration as she keeps warping and reshaping the turn of movement. Pray it holds.
Sure enough, Mr. Wigglyarms (trademark) is stopped right in its tracks now that it has some really weird geometry attempting to kill it. Into the eyes, it stops dead in its tracks and howls in pain, the howl that is noticeably deafened as its impaled in the stomach as well. But its hide is strong, and the stomach-stab is shallow, but a stab nonetheless.
Now having time to capitalize on this particular situation, Tommy creates platforms from magic that he uses to reach one of the tall buildings that allow him to be relatively on the same level as the beast. He claps his hands together, and he opens them up like a flower, rotating them.
And already, the kaleidoscopic shapes move again in the Mirror Dimension, wrapping around the beasts legs like a sort of makeshift trap for them. Then? A flex of his fingers a flicking of his wrists cause shapes to try and impale it through the mouth and into the brain, but it jerks its head at the last minute.
"Dammit."
and he misses. A tentacle is lashed out at him, but he manages to avoid it, if but barely.
There is the invitation for Mr. Wigglyarms to come running if he wants. Is it a creature of Euclidean geometry? Well, it's not going anywhere as the sorceress stirs the cauldron. As long as she can keep spending time bending and folding space like an origami crane, she does so, laying pieces over one and another to deprive the chimera of control to come running forward at her. The cephalopodic appendages are only so useful, the fur serving little purpose. Fettering it into a corner is hardly possible since the corner keeps converging and spreading along pathways that nature never intended, spelling a kind of trouble intended not to be pleasant or polite.
She warps and folds one of the levels of the ground, jagged and wretched shaping. Kaleidoscope warping gives a fractal vision to play with, while she briefly braces herself with her hand raised in front of her, wrist angled back. A tentacle lashing out brings a frown out of her. The dimming mulberry glow in the heart of her pupils overtakes the blackness, devouring the void, even as the realigned shapes briefly halt in their mad dance. Brute force isn't her way, but a stiletto burst of filamented magical energy goes pouring out along the tentacle, thorns in a lion's paw. Similarly as unpleasant if it wants to move.
Invitation that was apparently accepted as the massive beast attempted to push onwards, push through the pain, push through this extreme level of violence, but alas…it just can't seem to go anywhere since its trapped in one place. Fur rising though because it knows damn well that it is PISSED.
But then Wanda works her magic, even while Wisdom holds this chimera down, the warping of the environment allows Wanda to realign, to devour, and to burst the magic energy. Almost seemingly torturing this creature as it howls its mad howl.
But now it was time to finish it.
Releasing his magic now that Wanda has this thing successfully pinned down in a manner that it can't move without enduring some level of extreme pain, Wisdom floats into the air.
"Llaf morfeht snevaeH, raor nosmirC thgil, og kcab ot ecnehw uoy Emac, lwof retsnom!" and suddenly, a glowing light would appear from around this beast until…eventually, it disappears in a blast of golden light!
What happened?
Torture might not be the right word. Precise attack, unforgiving approach, perhaps. The woman who hunts demons has no patience for such things, no tolerance. The very vibrations in her being defy what she is, what this would make her. Dancing to a primal beat is a relentless cry in her veins as the young man shouts… backwards. And that, in turn, leaves her puzzled, but only for an instant.
Reverse to reverse, cycle and churn. She drags her hands up to her throat, pulling her coat shut. The momentary response leaves her eyes narrowed, scanning through things that might be unseen, unknown, to assess truths she cannot hope to find. The scar on the dimension is there, troubling enough. A frown lingers, passing slow.
Descending, Wisdom takes a breath as the ritual is completed. It was rushed, done quickly. The scarring is the result. But, Wisdom then lifts his hands again and begins to seal it. He looks at Wanda. "You good?" He says with a raised brow and a friendly smile. He looks a little tired though.
Then he's looking back at the scarring that is slowly fading. "I banished it back to its own realm. I couldn't do it alone, because…well, I'm not that durable. But with you distracting it, you bought me all the time I needed. Thanks."
The witch has little about her that indicates anything strange, other than her attire. Shut down the light works, a branded appearance vanishing into the scarlet to black spectrum. Black ruby, unimpressive compared to others. Save those fathomless eyes, burning shadows lurking behind the black-flecked lashes blunting her feverishly luminous gaze. The ritual is plain enough when done, familiar to one who resonates with the energy skimming from a seething, darker source. Arms crossed, she might just vanish off to find herself a meal any moment.
It would be rude, but not impossible. It would be uncharacteristic to linger, which it is, and she stands on her toes lightly enough. Wisdom earns a flat look and she dips her head. "Had to go."
Wisdom looks at her then as she claims that she has to leave now. Wisdom then seems to conjure up the mana necessary and the Mirror dimension seems to fade away, like spiderwebbed glass somehow retaking its former shape. Stainless. They were back in the real world alright. No more safe magic place.
"Thanks for the help. How about I buy you dinner sometime, to make up for the inconvenience?" He smiles perhaps hopefully. "Oh, I'm rude. My name's Tommy. Tommy Wisdom."
The name startles her for an instant, a blooming of her pupils threatening to swallow up the green-gold of her irises. That faint ring remains around the oblivion's gate cores, starting to flash with a bright mulberry light again. Almost liquid, an infusion of the metallic side. Whitened lips never reach the same pallor of someone with fairer skin would, though she still has a look of intense focus raging about her. Too tense, too spun up; at any moment, if something snaps, it won't be pretty.
Still.
A smile is not returned, but smiles are rare to almost impossible with her. His curse perhaps not to know. "Wisdom," she says. Hinges on it. A shake of her head is near imperceptible in banishing the thoughts that collude with paranoia again to produce those lengthy pauses, or maybe she just takes that long to translate into what isn't a native tongue at all. Now is a time of choices, names and places. "Wanda," she replies. Two Ws, a rarity in the world. It might ring bells; she's fluent in Tibetan for a reason, Nepalese not at all a difficult tongue to know. In the halls of Kamar-Taj, there has been indeed a cold-eyed haunt putting terror into the apprentices when she showed up, all pomegranate deeds and Persephonean bearing. Maximoff, the missing piece, but how many have that turbulent signature?
"I have to eat." A slight scrape of her boot as she turns to the shawarma place. Has anyone noticed? So rarely New Yorkers do. "Now." Well, that leaves little choice. "You can go now or in a time. Your choice."
Tommy looks at Wanda as she seems to be starteled for an instant, especially when she repeats his name all solemnly like that. Does she know who he is? Carrier of the Spirit of Solomon the Wise? But, either way, doesn't much matter. When she turns on her heel to go and eat something, but nonchalantly invites him along, Tommy smiles a bit and starts to follow her until he's at her side.
"Alright, you roped me into a date. I haven't had shawarma in a long time." of course, his words are teasing, and its up to her to decide what level of acquaintance this was, but after all?
He would probably pay for her food. They worked well together!
and thus a part of the world was saved from a rampaging Chimera.