1963-09-25 - Wicked
Summary: Against the advice (and without the knowledge) of Stephen Strange, Baron Mordo returns to the Hellmouth in Central Park and summons forth… a demon. Calling herself Jillian, both demon and warlock quickly make plans that will hopefully prove mutually beneficial. However, meddling with the protective wards around the Hellmouth may have consequences, and Circle Lords do not like losing even one of their soldiers…
Related: None
Theme Song: None
mordo jillian 

The sun is not yet up.

The 'city that never sleeps' is as one would expect on a foggy morning in the Fall. Most of the activity exists far away from Central Park, however, as this place is completely sealed off to the public.

Under quarantine.

A gaping Hellmouth might have something to do with that. Energies pour into and out from the hellish cavern that just popped up like an open wound on the surface of the Earth. It is almost as if… it were not so much a 'cave' as the maw of a great, venomous creature with toxic breath… hence the term.

And it has attracted Baron Karl Mordo's attention since it arrived. The baron, clad in his dark green tunic — his sword sheathed at his back — stands by the entrance of the cave… watching. It is his second time here, and he knows whatever wards that Doctor Strange has placed around it… things will still come through.

They always do.

Drawing the watersword from his back, the sorcerer wields it about, casting a series of sigils in the air — Words of power — and he murmurs something… "… the Veil of Z'dum…" Strange will not sense what he is doing here, whittling away at some of the wards, making it that much easier for more to come through…

"The way is open…" he whispers, and the sigils flash — and vanish.

It's as if those whispered words act as a shining beacon within a pitch black sky, the notes struck by softened vocal chords chiming out like the chorus of a thousand angels…

A thousand fallen angels, more likely.

There's no warning, nothing to signify that another creature is rapidly approaching the dimensional gateway separating Earth from Hell. There's no brilliant flash of light, no crack of thunder. There's simply a lone shadowy figure that melts into the other shadows. Two narrow glowing slits as yellow as the early morning sun.

And giant bat-like wings.

There's a faint whoosh of displaced air, another soft noise like the sound of softened leather shifting in place, then with barely any noise at all a creature drops out of the darkness and lands in the parched, dead earth three feet in front of Mordo. Peering intently with slitted golden eyes. Light gleaming off of a brightly polished blade two feet tall, resting high at her side.

"Summoner," comes the soft but deep voice of something both feminine and not at all of this world. "Your deed is done."

Jillian's here now, go ahead and close the gate. Nothing else of importance is coming through. And where the bloody hell is her red carpet..?

The baron's tunic flutters about with the rush of wind accompanying the demon's arrival, but the man himself merely turns his head a fraction to the side. Motioning in a ritualistic manner with his straight-edged chokuto (the sword), the warlock repairs the damage to the wards… where he can.

Where he CAN'T repair it, he conceals it.

Then he sheathes the weapon, and turns to look at the demoness. "And your freedom lies before you, child of shadow," he replies coolly. The dark-eyed mage looks Jillian up and down and lifts a finger to tap against his lips; his other arm rests across his chest.

He frowns.

"I was… expecting something else, to be honest," he remarks thoughtfully. It is not a criticism or a complaint, merely an observation. "What do you call yourself? You will need a name to exist here. You may call me… Mordo." A pause. "Were you followed?" he inquires, motioning to the Hellmouth. Followed or not, with the wards slightly weakened… anything could come through.

As the warlock works his magic the newly summoned creature's eyes narrow further, her head inclining slightly as she sniffs at the air and peers at the sky. She's made it out of the Pit, clearly, though already this place feels quite alien to her. Much darker than it should be, though her eyes pick up the most peculiar specks of illumination outside of the park. Then there's the air, itself. Surprisingly cold.

She's never been this far away from home before. Despite such a formal welcoming, a suspicious look is soon given in return.

"Title me Jillian, and I come alone. Have you tricked me, Mordo..? What manner of realm is this? If I have traded one Abyss for another…" she almost growls in a threatening tone, her posture already starting to grow wary and tense.

This place is not quite what she had been expecting. It seems that they're both at a slight disadvantage tonight.

The baron tilts his head forward a little, tucking in his chin while his eyes gaze 'upward' from underneath his brows at the demon. He makes no move toward his weapon, nor does he utter any spell.

"You find yourself, Jillian, upon the Physical Plane, where mortal live and die in the briefest of moments, scrounging for wealth, pleasure… and power. It is the year nineteen-hundred, sixty-three, and this city of mortals is called… New York."

Mordo takes a breath and motions slowly to the Hellmouth. "I have masked your arrival — none shall sense you. But you should know, this is a place of great import and peril to many; simply put: it is not safe for you here. What say you to stretching your wings a little?"

And the man smiles.

The information is absorbed easily enough, partly because none of it really makes sense to Jillian. All she knows is that it isn't any of the Hells she happens to know of, and the 'Physical Plane' is not an unknown concept.

It would seem as though she made it, after all.

And with her very arrival being further hidden by this creature standing before her..? For the first time in years, the thin smirk which creeps upon her partially covered face is genuine.

"It is not safe for them..anywhere."

With another -WHOOF- her wings snap outward just before she springs up into the air, already coming to welcome the way this cool air gently stings her face as she carves through the darkness. This realm is full of its share of secrets, every one waiting to be uncovered. She will learn, and learn quickly. As will the others quickly learn of her.

It isn't very far before the next lesson is provided. There's a dull metallic *whump!* followed by screeching of tires as the demon drops down onto the hood of a moving car.

Its engine impaled by a six foot glaive.

"What manner of beast is this, holding lesser creatures within its gut?" she demands, crouching low with wings spread wide.

The person who had been in the car isn't answering any questions, he's jumping out and running like Hell itself is coming after him.

Following the demoness, Mordo appears to fold into himself and transforms into a green-eyed raven. He stops mid-flight, fluttering, hovering, when Jillian skewers the engine block of an automobile… if he could smile in his form, the baron would.

This is simply TOO delightful.


The people inside the car… scream. All except a 6yo boy in the back seat who points at Jillian and mouths: "Awesome…!" Other cars abruptly stop; one crashes into the bumper of another — while a third swerves to miss them, and runs a red light. Mordo (in raven form) alights upon the vehicle, and turns back into a human, crouching. He murmurs a spell — another type of Veil of Z'dum to be exact — and releases it upon the eyes of every onlooker.

Then he looks up at Jillian, somewhat urgently.

"This mechanical beast of burden is called an auto-mobile. It serves the mortals…however, this one is slain. Come, Jillian!" At least for the next few minutes, every eye that had been turned toward the demon and the 'slain' vehicle remains vacant and staring, as though in a trance.

Mordo changes back into a raven, and flies toward the demon's shoulder, whispering, <This way, come behold your new playground from on high!>

Jillian..remains suspicious, staring back at the child within the car even as she pulls her weapon free with a tortured squeal of metal on metal. These 'automobiles' are easily slain, indeed. This she shall remember.

The front of the slain vehicle dips low as she leaps clear of it, her curiosity on such a creature/device sated for the moment. Perhaps this Mordo is correct, there is still much to discover and she's getting caught up in the lesser details.

Though frankly, it just felt good to step into someone else's playground and kill the first thing she saw. It was a long time coming.

Though the higher that she climbs into that night sky…

When she next comes to land it's hanging along the vertical spire of a radio antenna atop of a very tall building, the forceful gusts of wind tossing her hair and wings around but her four-point hold upon the needle remains true. One hand remains free simply to keep hold of her weapon.

"These fearful mortals have been most industrious during their time… Have they nothing left to fear, that they may toss about their resources so carelessly and breed by the dozens?"

Here she turns to Mordo, honestly not sure what to make of this place. "Magic still calls to you as a familiar companion, but this land at large is dead."

Once upon the antenna overlooking the city, Mordo turns his raven head toward the demoness, fixing a green-eyed stare upon her. At her comments, he nods and ruffles his feathers slightly.

<It is not fear, but blindness that drives them to such reckless… expense,> he communicates telepathically. He has little choice in this form. A raven's squawks are hardly dignified. Far below, traffic returns to normal… despite the 'death' of one of the cars.

No one will remember the demoness and the warlock, however, and that is all that matters to Mordo. <Magic returns,> he goes on to say. <The leylines resonate with the promise of more power… but the Hellmouth threatens that.>

A pause.

<If you want your playground to teem with the arcane once more, Jillian… that Hellmouth and others like it needs to close. Its escapees — not summoned as you were, my dear, need to perish.>

He flaps his wings, leaving the antenna to land once again upon Jillian's shoulder. <Some of the demonic refuse in this Plane are mere… parasites. Others… will try to claim your playground for themselves. Mordo would like to see them gone… What do you think?> The wind picks up as if in response, warning both the warlock and the demon that their intentions may not be as easy to fulfil as they would hope.

Mordo glares into the wind, defiantly.

"They think themselves kings of their domain," Jillian observes with something bordering on disgust. "Their Gods no longer hear them, for they have been forsaken. They are nothing more than lost souls made flesh and bone."

Magic… Sure enough, she -can- feel it. Faint, nothing more than a velvety touch along her senses, but it remains. Eager to return. With the one exception.

She feels it at the same time Mordo explains it, turning herself about on the antenna to cast a silent glare back upon the very portal which allowed her this freedom. There's another reason why she would want to see it destroyed. If the only route from Hell to this plane is the one she had used to get here then removing it also removes the chance of pursuit.

Azazel would never be able to find her again. Not until she allowed it.

Its magic is too great for the likes of her, however. She's a foot soldier of the infernal army, not a spellcaster. Fortunately for her, she happens to have a warlock right here with a very similar goal in mind. With just one little setback.

She's not real keen on taking orders ever again. From anyone.

"I believe that in this pursuit we are of one mind, Warlock. It must be torn asunder."

In this moment, Mordo wishes he could smile.

So limiting, the beak of a bird — and yet the form is not without its advantages. For one thing, he does not need to rely upon a gaudy cloak fly about, even if the practicality of not having to cast a spell is…

He scowls.

This is not the time to glower from afar at Stephen Strange's apparent good fortune. This is an hour… of savoring. True, the wind may be rough, and cold, but just like the whispers of the Hellmouth it promises the warlock that things are about to change…

He turns his raven head to peer out of one beady green eye at the demoness, and murmurs in her mind: <There are ways to teach you of this place. Swift — if not without risk. Knowledge is power after all… but first we must relieve some ignorant fools of certain… items I'll require. But that can wait.>

Another pause.

<I think this arrangement will work out quite nicely, Jillian. Don't you?>

Jillian can take the higher altitude chill no more, drawing her wings in closer to shield what warmth she has left. She will adjust. She has no choice but to. This is her home now, and if need be she will -make- it her own. There are ways of raising the temperature, whether through the arcane or the physical.

"I am not known for being cautious," she cooly replies at the matter of certain risks. "If what we require exists then we shall find it. If it does not, we shall make it."

Here she turns to look back at the raven, ever suspicious by her nature. Still, this mage did guide her out of Hell's twisted embrace and is offering to further assist her own goals. In this sense he has chosen his words accurately. This is not a friendship. It is an arrangement. Nothing more.

"You have my blade at your side, Warlock."

The green-eyed raven hops off the demoness' shoulder, and just as another gust of icy wind hits them both he throws his wings wide… and changes into something a bit more leathery.

A bit more… primordial.

The larger, stronger pterodactyl hovers for a moment, and looks Jillian right in the eye with his emerald gaze. <Fortune favours the prepared, my dear Jillian,> he informs her, communicating satisfaction and approval at their little arrangement, to her.

<Come, if it pleases you. I can tell you of a place called 'Hell's Kitchen' where we may escape this bitter chill, and avoid prying eyes… Your arrival may have gone unnoticed, but it won't last. I doubt your former masters will so easily let go of one of their soldiers… we are not prepared.>

He starts to fly away a bit, then looks back at Jillian.

<Not yet,> he communicates with a psychic smile.

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