four - place the moon at my eyes

[kingsroads]

[ 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.

Comments

[heyboss]

Hurt how, Strange? You can create it yourself. Focus on the object. What it looks like, feels like, smells like. Everything you can think of. Helps me to close my eyes and imagine it somewhere in the room but away, like on a shelf. Personal preference.

It's easier if you have help, though, especially if it's complex.

[kingsroads]

She is trapped in a portrait of herself. It is not a portrait of her, it is a portrait of her. My magics have told me that much. They have also told me that the magic is familiar in a way that I currently cannot place.

[ 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.

[heyboss]

You're welcome. 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.]