Jonathan Strange (
kingsroads) wrote in
fracturedvoyagerpg2020-07-16 10:54 am
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four - place the moon at my eyes
[ the post goes up late Thursday, into the evening hours. and MAN is Strange so thankful for this magical journal system. He really doesn't want to have to write this multiple times. ]
One of our new visitors is an enchanter of some sort. He has cursed me and trapped Sabriel.
Francis, McGonagall, I shall need your help. I cannot save Sabriel alone. Likewise, I will need to help of any new magicians who might have arrived with the visitors. As I cannot tell the new magicians this myself, I am relying on the rest of the ship's crew to pass on this message as I cannot myself. Please meet me at my room—the proper one, not my cursed apartment.
Persson, Sheehan, I have a question of you. How can one dream up an item they had back home? Does it work the same as the communal dream of Goodsir and Jopson's rooms or can I do this by myself? I know the item's properties perfectly as I created it myself, I simply need it here. Do not come to me in person, simply respond with your journal.
As for the rest of the ship, I need a mirror and something dead—flowers, perhaps? Please leave them outside my door if you have them. There is a spell I can still cast, a spell to see what my enemy is doing. I do not know who my enemy is but the enchanter hurt Sabriel. Undoubtedly he is my enemy and undoubtedly he is on this ship.
Stay safe.
One of our new visitors is an enchanter of some sort. He has cursed me and trapped Sabriel.
Francis, McGonagall, I shall need your help. I cannot save Sabriel alone. Likewise, I will need to help of any new magicians who might have arrived with the visitors. As I cannot tell the new magicians this myself, I am relying on the rest of the ship's crew to pass on this message as I cannot myself. Please meet me at my room—the proper one, not my cursed apartment.
Persson, Sheehan, I have a question of you. How can one dream up an item they had back home? Does it work the same as the communal dream of Goodsir and Jopson's rooms or can I do this by myself? I know the item's properties perfectly as I created it myself, I simply need it here. Do not come to me in person, simply respond with your journal.
As for the rest of the ship, I need a mirror and something dead—flowers, perhaps? Please leave them outside my door if you have them. There is a spell I can still cast, a spell to see what my enemy is doing. I do not know who my enemy is but the enchanter hurt Sabriel. Undoubtedly he is my enemy and undoubtedly he is on this ship.
Stay safe.
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It's easier if you have help, though, especially if it's complex.
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[ There is a pause in between this response and any more coming as Strange takes Sheehan's advice. A small vial, with a darkish brown liquid and a little dead mouse soaking inside of it. The smell of smoke from the candles he thought were in people's heads. The acrid taste of something unspeakable yet somehow pineapple flavored. The sound of a thousand trumpets in his ears and a thousand cats mewling at his feet. The knowledge that there was so much more in the world and it was all staring directly at him. All the things that the tincture of madness inspired in him were here, in this room, and he could use them to defeat the enchanter that trapped Sabriel.
When Strange opens his eyes, there is a small little vial sitting in the middle of his bed. He picks up the journal and writes, ]
Thank you, Sheehan. It seems to have worked.
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Whatever you're going to do, be careful[He knows that's not possible, and it's not fair to ask. So he leaves it at that.]
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What else do you need, Strange?
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A moment—I shall be there soon.
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[ Poor Fitzjames is about to see one of the less fun sides to magic. When he approaches Strange's room, Strange has a hand to the frame of Sabriel's portrait and is leaning his forehead against it, as if he could beam his thoughts directly in there. I'm sorry. I'll save you.
He turns to look when he hears the sound of someone approach. Spotting Fitzjames, Strange rushes over towards him, mouth moving like he's trying to explain something, but no sound comes out. Strange realizes the problem soon after and tries to speak again—though Fitzjames doesn't have to be a lip-reader to know that the second round of attempted speech is just swearing.
Everything about Strange's being radiates exasperation, confusion, and plain and simple fear. ]
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Fitzjames is about to ask how Strange got himself cursed but it's immediately obvious. As is the silent swearing.
"All right, all right—look, I've brought you these." He holds out the sprigs of mustard greens, as well as a dead flower that he found on the deck that seems to have blown in from somewhere. It looks tropical, which is strange, but he's been so eager to help his new friend that he hasn't given it much thought.
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small threadjack!
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[ which is cryptic as fuck! But McGonagall's sensible. Strange isn't outright going to say "I plan on dosing myself with concentrated madness because I'm worried this is a fairy's fault and that's the only way I'll actually be able to see the fiend in order to challenge him." ]
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Private; Later in the evening
There were other maI wish to assist. What has become of Sabriel and yourself? What do you need from me?no subject
I need what I always need, magician. Your counsel.
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I am at your service then.
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She radiates power, an icy breeze that makes Strange involuntarily shiver as frost drips from her fingertips and her hair shimmers with the colors of the Northern sky. Without hesitation, Strange rushes towards Molly, look of relief visible on his face as he makes to grab her hand. He's got no idea if she's coming or going but at far as he's concerned, he's not going to let her go anywhere.
The most recent enchantment lies at his throat. But Molly can also see traces of a different curse Strange is under, a curse of eternal night held at bay by the dream, as well as the effect of the madness swimming around Strange's mind. He wasn't doing so hot even before this recent curse.
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"Mr. Strange, I assume?" her tone holds a sense of mild alarm at his state. "Una told me you're having a problem with a curse. Where is he?"
Wait. No. He can't talk. She can see that.
She presses her lips together briefly. The fae aren't exactly known for their generosity of spirit, and favors must be repaid in kind. It's part of their nature, and it's not something she can just... will away.
"You're going to owe me after this. Blah blah blah, faerie bullshit. A favor to be collected at a time of my choosing. Do you understand?"
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Strange can't help but gape a little at the words blah blah blah, faerie bullshit. Because...what? Just what. What the hell. The favor owed is reassuring because it's at least something he expects. Honestly, he'd prefer owing a more physical gift, but beggars can't be choosers.
He nods again to show he understands.
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