The arcane community was relatively small and insular, as these things went: the Masters of the Mystic Arts kept track of the various magical prophecies buzzing around the world, noting when they came to pass or didn’t, mostly a matter of bureaucratic recordkeeping. When the Enchanted’s prophecy went to shit, they had taken note; an earth-shattering experience for one Piper Allison was a mere footnote, annotation, and marginalia for the keepers of the timeline.
Still, an item of interest, and an anomaly they kept on their radar.
And so it’s a small enough world that it’s not unexpected for Piper to eventually wash up on the shores of the Sanctum Sanctorum: she’s by no means the first nor the last magic-user to take safe haven at this arcane headquarters, taking the opportunity to learn from their library and their sorcerers… which is how she winds up in training with the Sorcerer Supreme. Doctor Strange turns out to be polite; a little distracted since he’s constantly haring off to wrestle some paranormal threat, and he often leaves her to her own devices, although he doesn’t neglect the training. He’s a little arrogant, perhaps overly sarcastic, a consummate workaholic, but he makes time for her.
Today, they’re on the rooftop of the townhouse, where there’s open air and surrounding stone (a little singed from previous practice sessions) and more than a few protective wards. It’s a cold winter’s day in New York. Fire came easily to both of them, but when she ran into a block with water and ice and snow, it had been time for the additional nudge. Strange floats cross-legged nearby, annoyingly meditative about the whole thing as she struggles.
“You know, the offer to train at Kamar-Taj itself is always open,” he points out, amiable. “I think they’re just about done rebuilding after the last witch blew it up.”
❄️
Still, an item of interest, and an anomaly they kept on their radar.
And so it’s a small enough world that it’s not unexpected for Piper to eventually wash up on the shores of the Sanctum Sanctorum: she’s by no means the first nor the last magic-user to take safe haven at this arcane headquarters, taking the opportunity to learn from their library and their sorcerers… which is how she winds up in training with the Sorcerer Supreme. Doctor Strange turns out to be polite; a little distracted since he’s constantly haring off to wrestle some paranormal threat, and he often leaves her to her own devices, although he doesn’t neglect the training. He’s a little arrogant, perhaps overly sarcastic, a consummate workaholic, but he makes time for her.
Today, they’re on the rooftop of the townhouse, where there’s open air and surrounding stone (a little singed from previous practice sessions) and more than a few protective wards. It’s a cold winter’s day in New York. Fire came easily to both of them, but when she ran into a block with water and ice and snow, it had been time for the additional nudge. Strange floats cross-legged nearby, annoyingly meditative about the whole thing as she struggles.
“You know, the offer to train at Kamar-Taj itself is always open,” he points out, amiable. “I think they’re just about done rebuilding after the last witch blew it up.”
This is not very reassuring.