Scene #6339: Winter Wizard Hubris

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Tony Stark	Doctor Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts and Sorcerer Supreme could break into the most secure locations on the planet on a whim. Keeping him out, entirely, was never in the cards. The 'burning steel wool' effect of the sling ring opening a portal - first to peek, and immediately after to make his Dramatic Wizard Entrance - revealed little but a rather darkly appointed penthouse suite in an elite apartment tower in New York City itself. Really, where else would it be? The windows had drawn curtains in a crimson red letting just a hint of winter daylight through the hem of the cloth, and the floor was an old, finished maple hardwood that looked like it had been imported specifically rather than simply laid down by a contractor. It had a weight, a meaning. Across the back of the square 'main room' was a large HYDRA tapestry, the many-tentacled octopus emerging from a central skull in black relief against red. At the center, a podium, as if a lectern at a college in anywhere, out of place from the aging history of the other spartan appointments as merely a 'temporaneous stand' for what was placed on it: A tome. Nay, a grimoire, a heavy book bound in wood and leather, tied with string or sinew, with crinkling and yellowed pages filled with text in both main and margin in a strange cipher. Behind the lectern, a man in a rough black cowled robe, whose face was only partially obscured by the lip of his hood. A single monocle shined in the dimmed mood lighting above. "Who has sent you before me, Sorcerer?" Came the voice - not as practiced in Wizardly Tones as Doctor Strange, but with a rasping gravitas of a man thouroughly comfortable sounding sinister as their standard speed - of the monocled man. "The ways of Kamar-Taj are not unknown to me, so you must be a student of the Ancient One. Tell me: Was it SHIELD? Their bootlicking cousins, STRIKE? Perhaps the Thunderbolts? Or are you here alone?" "As a seeker of knowledge or..." The voice pauses, and a smirk quirks the man's mouth-corner like a fishhook tugging against his face. "... other ends?"
Doctor Strange	"Okay, first off, nice counter-entrance, very menacing," says Strange, looking sideways at the robed figure before him. His eyes face the man, but his face is turned towards the HYDRA tapestry on the wall. His hands slowly raise... "I guess I've come as a seeker of knowledge. I was gonna ask about the scepter," begins the Sorcerer Supreme. "Then I saw that," he begins, gesturing with a scarred thumb to the grimoire. "But I /really/ wanna know about that." He gestures sharply with both hands towards the HYDRA banner. " "Are you a Nazi? Or one of those old guys who watches History Channel all day?" He squints slightly at the man before him. "Why do you have this in here? Kinda... tasteless." He's playing stupid, of course, but his questions become more serious. "Hey, you must be a history buff--" he begins with his face suddenly alight, "Didn't HYDRA implode? Something about... tinkering with forces they don't understand?" He shrugs lightly. "Anyway. Where's the scepter? The one you're using to synthesize a drug that alters the processes of the human brain to give people proxy superpowers?"
Tony Stark	The robed man laughs - not a kind laugh, but certainly an amused one. The energy in the room - the tangible, cut-with-a-knife feeling of tightness in the air - gentles slightly. The monocled man gestures around the room. "The decorations are not to your liking? Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury of a land outside of time to sequester myself for studies, and certainly not for meetings. However, when you are expecting..." A hand comes up, to gesture in return to the Sorcerer Supreme. "...Guests..." The hand falls, resting fingertips down upon the grimoire's pages. "You must at least prepare a space. It is good manners, between men of power, to observe the ways of things." "The sceptre is not here. The Iron Man, or the shadow cyclops, they would have sniffed me out by its presence. Suffice it to say, Doctor, that it is safe in the care of my associates. But I had to see the work for myself. To guide it, to nurture it - as any man of science would." His face cants up, a proud raise of the nose and chin to reveal bald pate and what the shine of the monocle hid from Strange's discerning eye: one eye of turquoise, and the monocle resting over another veined in limning blue. The effect of the Mind Stone - but different, at the same time. "I am Baron Wulfgang von Strucker, and I was, many years ago, a 'Nazi'. A proud Nazi. A member of the Reich, and a founding member of the true face of man's supremacy upon the world:" His voice comes rising with a sonorous reverence. "HYDRA." "But it was not enough. Man is merit, and man's journey cannot be caged to a single ideology. One must be open to the subtler truths of things. That all power is given to those that seek it. Those that are willing to pay for it. Those that have the vision to find it." The questions turn to HYDRA's fall. Strucker's hooked smirk falls as flat as a table. "Ah, but you must be familiar with the saying. Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place. HYDRA was not the first of its kind. Nationalized. Radicalized. Johann understood. Johann knew that HYDRA was untainted by the maddened need of the Reich to fulfill its limited agendas." "Before HYDRA was the Thuleorden. Before them, the Germanenorden. Occultic knowledge was not limited to Kamar-Taj, even if your immortal master popularized the art among those willing to settle for less than the cutting edge."
Doctor Strange	"I appreciate it," says Strange of Strucker's sense of theatrics. His tone is flat and unimpressed, however. His face is equally so, and remains such through the explanation of guiding and nurturing the weaponization of an Infinity Stone. "I'm familiar with the Order of Thule," says Strange, his distaste not dulled for the admission. "And if you're familiar with Kamar-Taj, you know that no knowledge is forbidden... only certain practices." Strange crosses his arms. "We're not in Kamar-Taj. But, I am the Sorcerer Supreme, which you probably already know." He smiles weakly. "And if you know /that,/ then you know I need that scepter out of play." "SO," begins the Sorcerer, sparking two glowing mandalas into being before his fists. "Since you and I..." He continues with a dry huff of a laugh, "...have /really/ different ideas of what the word 'safe' means--" Strange stops himself, cutting off the mandalas with a flick of both wrists. Strucker can see that this is done to conceal a wince of pain, if he's observant. "No. You know what, let's not do it that way," Strange says with a put-upon frown. "I'm better than that. You're not, because you're running a worldwide conspiracy that might have its nasty little tentacles around... pretty much anyone, but... I am... totally... above it." He cants his head towards Strucker. "So, let's keep talking. Anything you wanna tell me, or... you pressing your LifeAlert now?"
Tony Stark	"If you are 'familiar' with your history, then we have little to talk about, now don't we, Sorcerer Supreme?" Strucker replies coolly. "But unlike the magics of the Ancient One and her prodigal student..." Strucker pulls down his hood, revealing the rich green inner lining and his hairless head, the glimmer of light from his 'magic' eye kaleidoscoping in color as he does so. "I am the temporary owner - for to say any more would be foolish - of an underpinning of reality. The mind itself is a powerful tool, as the Teutons and the Society of Thule knew well. I have no need to turn back any clock, nor call upon the dark powers of other dimensions. These are useless to me. If you still think it appropriate to wield your magics against me, then..." He trails off as Strange urges him to continue speaking, and nudges his age - which, to be clear, with his references, is a ????? factor. "Oh. Please, Doctor. I'm quite fine. Are you?" Strange becomes aware, keenly, that the area behind him - which had been a simple knob door and a blank wall - had been extremely quiet the whole time. Magically quiet. A subtle spell, to be sure, but he was the Sorcerer Supreme. The silence wasn't the issue. It was the vmmmmm-nn-clink-clink harmonic sound winding up behind him, and almost certainly his cape tugging him away from the swinging fist of a tactically masked man from his rear. "Soldaten. Deal with him, and then make the rendesvous." Strucker orders, gathering up the grimoire and beginning incanting with a sonorous, germanic tongue.
Doctor Strange	The Cloak of Levitation saves Strange's arrogant ass. It's not the first time, nor will it likely be the last. He's at least learned not to fight it anymore. When the Cloak turns him to face his would-be assassin, he rolls with the momentum, dipping his body backwards into a somersault. His feet touch upon the wall of the room, granting him a temporary vantage point. Gravity bends to his will, holding him fast. He doesn't have to pay attention to some... some goon! He's the Sorcerer Supreme. Sure, maybe Strucker knows some sorcery. Maybe he got the jump on him so far. Maybe that cyborg is even pretty tough. But surely, he has no way to get to him as he is now. And even if he does, he can just... put him somewhere else, or otherwise deal with him. That man, with that grimoire, is the real threat here. And Strange isn't leaving empty-handed. Or so he thinks. He begins preparing a counterspell, hands moving rapidly past one another, fingers snapping into mystic mudras at predetermined points. The air above the grimoire begins to smell of ozone, growing denser. Strucker can feel it--the energy building, the moisture rising. A dark storm cloud swirls into existence above it, one wispy grey tendril at a time, like watching a sweater knit itself. The cloud sparks. A bolt of pure white levin illuminates the entire room, as Strange attempts to simply deny Strucker his grimoire via lightning bolt. He hasn't moved from his spot, because, well, he doesn't know whose secret base he just teleported into.
Tony Stark	It's a good plan, backed by the very tangible skill of Earth's Master of the Mystic Arts, dripping in Artifacts and weilder specifically of one of the Infinity Stones. It should work. It, in general, works just fine. But Strucker makes up for this in wile. And he has a 'goon'. Mid-incantation, Strucker moves to shield the tome with his body, extending out a hand - with a silver bracelet around his wrist and a handful of rings around his ring and index finger. Each glow - the rings with a yellow and a green light, and the silver bracelet with an icy blue. Strange knows what each is - a stored spell, or a magical battery. Usually, they'd be baubles - the work of charlatans and hedge magicians and those lesser-skilled in the Mystic Arts. Each of the glowing rings, however, hold a rather sizeable chunk of magical power - and the bracelet, a shielding spell. An ice blue line forms -- a rune, if Strange's studious eye doesn't decieve him, meaning 'Winter' or 'Cold'. The tremendous bolt of pure-white magical energy strikes against the germanic rune-shield, energy crashing around the defensive conjuration like water around a wedge, split bolts of energy striking the red drapes, and the flag behind Strucker. Flame leaps greedily to the heavy cloth as the matter first atomize into ozone and smoke and then begin to combust from waste heat. Strucker, behind the barrier-rune of his stored shielding spell has his fingertips first blacken, then begin to flay apart, though he doesn't scream. Instead, he leans into it, the rune flaring with a bright light that seems all-consuming before-- "SOLDATEN! KILL HIM!" Strucker roars through his teeth, and disappears with a pop. The hand, at the moment of leaving, reduced to a barely-meat-clad blackened skeletal remain with the bracelet dangling off the stump of his wrist. Both 'storage' rings fall to the ground, dim and smoking lightly. As for the Winter Soldier's part, the brooding air of the looming killer springs into action once more, moving his enhanced palm forward to thrust-punch Strange across the room, into the burning HYDRA flag as the antique wood begins to take to flame as well.
Doctor Strange	Many wizards would look down on magic like Strucker's, but not Strange. Strange absolutely looks down on the man himself, but not just in disdain of his ideology--in disappointment. The defense is solid magic--Strucker has talent, and belittling the manner he works that talent is just missing the point. But, as he so often sees, Strucker's mind is not focused upon self-improvement and benevolence, but exploitation and dominance. His face betrays this disappointment--that a bright mind has stumbled for so long from one harmful ideology to another. Even as he attempts to prevent the Baron's escape, Strange frowns. He's so caught up trying to prevent that escape that he doesn't notice the very real threat of the Winter Soldier--the guy he thinks is just a faceless goon with a fancy arm. Even being grabbed and tossed across the room doesn't... totally dispossess him of that notion. His back crashes against the wall, and he falls to the ground with a hiss of pain. Seems like that spot's still sore from the /last/ time he crashed into a solid surface. He rises, one hand upon his back to ease the pain. He's a doctor--not a chiropractor, but educated enough to know that 'ooh lemme touch the spot that hurts' doesn't really help. He knows that, but he does it anyway. "Ah, God..." "You're the guy that went toe to toe with Tombstone." Strange brushes the Cloak back behind him. "I... kinda... did, too..." Not really true. He kicked him in the face like a hundred times, while he was already fighting a handful of other people. But, surely he can handle this guy. There's not even anyone else here to distract him. "Alright, leaving now." Strange's body seems as if someone's fast-forwarded him. A green glow bathes him, and his movements are supernaturally fast, leaving afterimages in their wake as his accelerated time struggles against the slower flow of the rest of reality. He dashes towards the cyborg, springing off of his chest to send his boot crashing into his chin from below. His feet touch the ground after the attempted flip-kick, and his fists strike out at the Soldier's solar plexus in a flurry of rapid short-distance punches very similar to Wing Chun.
Tony Stark	Baron Strucker's magic is Different, but the Teutonic Artes as he weilds them are potent in their powers. His disappearing act comes at cost - but it comes, and doesn't seem to require any portal or aperature like the Sling Ring technique. He was there - and then he was not. Such magic could be performed by a skilled practicioner if they knew exactly where they were going: such as, to a secure sanctum, or a prepared magical bolt-hole. Such magics were dangerous - because with the speed and surity of escape, your enemies would know where you went. It is a powerful trick, with a hole. With the right research and the right magical tome, Strange could crack this. He could absolutely find Strucker's bolt-hole. And if he had those rings, he'd have the sympathetic connection to tune his spells, as well. Or, at least, some idea as to what he was dealing with. The only problem was the enhanced supersolder with the vibranium arm fairly intent on killing him. Talking, unlike with the Baron, gets Strange nowhere. After throwing Strange into the wall, he broods for a moment, watching the man fall to the ground, and as he rises, striding forward to meet the blows. And he does meet them. Favoring that cybernetic arm, he swiftly comes up, only to get his chin cracked up, spinning him through the air to land hard. Another flurry of punches rise to meet his chest as he instantly kips back up, half batting and half bulldozing the strikes with a metal lariat that swiftly transitions into the Winter Soldier's vibranium arm and tactically gloved metal fingers grasping Strange's windpipe, lifting the wizard up to let his feet dangle for a few moments. The impassive goggles of the Serum-enhanced fighter behold the Sorcerer Supreme, as his mask clip - which Strange had aimed a toe for - snaps, dropping away the bottom half of the concealing mask. Strange, a man of history, as oxygen is strangled out of his brain, should know that face. He just can't put a finger on it as the fingers tighten with the slow creaking of the arm's inner workings deny more and more vitality from the good Doctor Strange. Struggle as he might, it seems hopeless, as the floor burns under them, before the Soldaten's watch beeps at him. His time is up. With a dismissive toss, he throws Strange through the door to the foyer of the simple penthouse suite, before turning and leaping through the blackened window into the winter air of New York. Fifty stories up. The rings twinkle in the flames, ignored by the Soldaten - they weren't his orders. Making his rendesvous was.
Doctor Strange	There are many things that Strange thinks to try, with his windpipe held in a vice grip. The first and most obvious are nerve strikes. He tries them on the Soldier's neck, his shoulder, his arms--but it's as if he has no care for his own well being. No matter what Strange strikes, he can't break that vibranium grasp. So, then, he tries getting creative. Half-finished cantrips are thrown out. In desperation, he tries turning gravity against his enemy, but the complex mental exercises necessary to shape matter are hard to come by with a dwindling air supply. He might die here. That would be kind of stupid, wouldn't it? Dying because he went off on his own to save himself the trouble of explaining hidden dangers to his friends. Are they his friends? That thought finds him flying through the air. The killing machine let him go. The penthouse rolls on an unseen axis, swiping away a glass dinner table before the sorcerer can fly through it. The Cloak of Levitation billows out behind him, stopping him from dislodging an unpowered ceiling fan. He breathes, lets energy from other dimensions breathe through him, breathe through his cells. A scarred, trembling hand reaches up to grab his throat. It hardly feels real, with how close the Winter Soldier came to killing him. Those goggles were so... impassive. Did he even see Strange? Or was he looking past him? The Sorcerer Supreme lowers to the ground, striding back into the room with the slowly spreading fire. He leans down, an enchanted velvet pouch in one hand. Strucker's rings are pulled into the pouch. It inverts itself, so that Strange needn't touch them with his bare hands. His was a powerful transportation spell--but not without cost. "Cut off one head..." Strucker had said the scepter was 'safe.' It's his baby--with those veins on his head, it's gotta be. But finding it won't be as easy as finding him. It could be with any of the 'heads,' not necessarily him. Maybe that was misinformation--maybe he has it wherever he's run off to. He has to take these guys seriously, now. There is... maybe, one person he can trust. But he isn't even sure of that. There'll be a meeting, between them. He'll figure things out from there. He always does.