1964-06-22 - After the Breaking of the Ley Line
Summary: The Sorcerer Supreme, Black Knight, and of all people, Human Torch, discuss the craycray.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
johnny-storm dane-whitman strange 

Gawain stands watching, ready for something: he is a devotee to the gods, faithful, but he knows nothing of magic save for the magic of his blood. Whatever is done, is do—

"What the fuck?" blurts Johnny suddenly, looking around. He's in his skin tight Fantastic Four uniform, complete with the F4 symbol over his heart, and looking more then a little bit of a mix of perplexed and annoyed. He reaches up and rubs at his head, "Shiiiit."

"You're telling me…"

At some point or another, the Sorcerer managed to wobble to his feet and over to a nearby pine tree. Sliding down it means eventually sprawling in a slouch at its roots, one knee pulled in, and his face buried in his hands. It's from behind scarred fingers that he speaks at first. Squinting up and over at the other intrepid members of the adventuerous bunch means revealing the faint red of mostly-removed blood from his upper lip. The rest of the drying runnel decorates the cuff of his wrist-wraps, bright red upon white and purple upon storm-blue.

"You moved the gods-damned ley line." The snap flies towards the one who jammed his sword into the sacrificial surface of stone. It's clear that Strange does not appreciate this — nor the vice-like grip of the migraine about his skull.

Everyone has a migraine? Dane was at ground zero and is slumped over the stone, still gripping the hilt of the sword which sunk into the former altar up to its hilt. Shit indeed. Aragorn, looking like he might have a migraine as well, walks over to nudge at Dane with his nose. And unlike the others, he's still dressed in medieval armor. Carefully, he straightens up and takes stock of what's around him. "Then Morgan doesn't have access to its power." With a grunt, he pulls the sword out of the stone.

"What the fuck is a ley line?" Johnny asks, exasperated, looking between the two of them like they're a little bit crazy— rubbing at his temples, "And more importantly, *what the fuck just happened*. I was investigating some trouble and suddenly I was this pompous stick up his ass virgin who was so disgustingly ernest about his Queen that I don't know how the hell he didn't cuddle her toes."

"Pfugh," spits the Sorcerer, unimpressed with the reasoning presented, despite its various sound basings. "Now, neither do I, and this is an issue. I don't fear Morgan Le Fay. We have bested her before, but not without the ley lines."

Eyes glazed over from the magnitude of agony still clamoring about his skull and the resonance of a ripped Bandaid from the surrounding land settle upon Johnny, in his suit, and Strange clips the explanation out tersely. "I'll keep it simple. Ley lines channel latent Mystical energies within the earth. This one has been rerouted. Thank him for your headache." Disappearing behind his hands again, he groans quietly.

Dane Whitman sheathes the Ebony Blade in one smooth motion that speaks of many years of practice regardless of his physical condition. Then pulling off his helmet, he tucks it under an arm and reaches up to rub his forehead. Ow. "Don't be overconfident and cocky." he cautions the Sorceror Supreme. "Merlin said she was a mere two moves from checkmate. Hopefully, this set her back a few." Dropping his arm, he looks over at Strange. "He also said you'd look better in blue."

Johnny gives Strange a dubious look, no less at all 'you be crazy' then it looked before. He crosses his arms over his chest, "Latent. Mystical. Energies." He is a scion of science, after all: a freak accident turned him from a man into living flame. More or less. He's about to do more when he does a double-take when Dane goes and takes his helmet off, but then after eyeing him a moment, he realizes *he's* not the one being called overconfident and cocky. Oh, right then. "I'm still waiting for someone to explain what the hell went on. Was this some sort of dream?" He eyes the stone, "Obviously not quite a dream, but." He lifts a hand and uddenly a flame bursts from his hand to form a burning sword, "I've never done *fire sword* before, and why did this Gawain prick have my power? He thought it was part of his bloodline. Sorry, man, this is pure cosmic freak accident, yet it was my power. The hell happened?"

"Better in blue?" Strange emerges from behind his hands with a bleary frown. "I already wear the color. Master's robes. …unless he means something else entirely, in which case, I'll consider it over a cup of tea. Later. Maybe whiskey." Making his way to his feet and utilizing the rough bark of the pine tree and helpful lift of the crimson Cloak, the man gently feels at his nose before groaning again and instead putting fingertips against his sinuses. "Damn feedback…and it's not overconfidence if you've won before. She's just as cocky thinking she can pluck my reality from me." His voice momentarily drops into a teeth-gritted growl.

Johnny is pinned again by the glinting gaze. "It's no dream. You've been drawn into the overlapping realities…Gawain." Thus, the Sorcerer names him. "Fate wills that you have a part to play, however long its term. A sorceress named Morgan Le Fay thinks she can take the helm of humanity's existence. She's desperately wrong in this." The very air riffles like a desert mirage around Strange, proof of a blip in temper.

Dane Whitman leans back against the stone which is, once again, just a stone. "It was Merlin." he explains to Johnny. "He likes to drag the spirits of people back in time and into the bodies of the ancestors. Or in this case, forward in time and, I'm guessing, into the bodies of their descendants. This was only the first battle against Morgan le Fay." That's as safe a bet as anyone can make.

The Human Torch looks vexed. He taps his fingers against his arm, steadily, looking between the two people who seem to know what's going on, but they are using words that mean very little— wait a second. He pins Strange with a heated look, "_Your_ reality from _you_? Now you look here…" He clenches his jaw a moment: jaw straining, teeth grinding. "So this is going to happen again. And I'm going to think I'm that stuck up virgin again?" He sounds genuinely disturbed, "I find the idea that I'm his descendant deeply shocking and unlikely: he'd have to unclench long enough to flirt with a girl for that to happen and it seems deeply unlikely." He has a decided sense of dislike for his past-self. "Okay, so, you two seem to know about this stuff. I'm Johnny Storm." Obviously they know who he is, his voice says, "What I do is more direct then this seems to be doing. How do we stop this?"

A snort escapes the Sorcerer at Dane's explanation. "Merlin would do that… Clever…disruptive as a tap-dance through the Plains of the Hagilands, but clever," he admits in grudging acknowledgement. "I'll remember that one."

Beware, future descendents of those who stand here currently.

"Yes, my reality from me, Johnny," Strange then repeats calmly. "Morgan has always been jealous of what this reality has to offer in many aspects. Her ways are subtle and such is the way of most magic. The heavy fire-power comes into play when the target's in plain view. Draw out Morgan, isolate her as myself and my cohorts did before, and then remove her." His tone implies permanence. "It stops when she's removed from the chess board."

"Plus she hates King Arthur, his legacy, and anyone associated with him." Dane adds. "That includes the descendants of the Knights of the Round Table. And everyone who was here today also foiled her back in the twelfth century. No one holds a grudge like Morgan." Such a bitch. He nods at what Strange says. "It could have been too late but now we know she's active again. She likes to plot in secrecy and set her plans in motions quietly so no one knows what's happening. Fortunately, it seems that Merlin watches her."

Johnny is not dealing with all of this quite as well as the other two: but its completely beyond his realm of experience, to say the least. But. He isn't one to shirk what needs to be done. So he knows nothing about King Arthur but a vague literature class in college, and has no idea who Sir Gawain is, clearly something is going on here. But first: "How exactly is this your reality, man? It as much mine as anyones. More then most, as I take responsibility for keeping it safe." Of course he's never heard of a Sorcerer Supreme even a little. But he nods to him, to Dane, "So we need to draw out this Morgan, and bring the heavy fire power. That's me, obviously. But how do we draw her out?"

"Drawing her out will require teamwork and some subterfuge on my part. I am Sorcerer Supreme," announces Strange with unwavering self-confidence, "and I have other powers at my disposal besides the ley lines." Wait until Johnny finds out that three gods like to borrow the Sorcerer every now and then when called upon. "It is my job to protect existance itself. Reality." His pointer finger draws a little circle to include all of the world around them. "You do the physical work, I do the metaphysical work. Two sides to a coin, one coin as a whole. You bring your…fire power when it's needed."

A wince and then a sigh. "Enough. Distance might help take the worst of the headaches away." Gesturing up a Gate, the same twinkling oculus as before, takes a smidgeon more effort for the mental pangs, but the three men are able to easily step back out onto the greenery of Central Park, miles and miles from bloody, cracked stones and hopped ley lines.

Morgan had better watch out. The veil is lifted from her play and it's only a matter of time before the other pieces begin to move against her.

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