A New Kind of Game

[Dr. Strange]

Set within a Pocket Dimension accessible only to the Baron Mordo.

Dr. Stephen Strange hung in the dim half-light of a pocket dimension which reached, for all intensive purposes, to the depths of infinity and, in this infinity, he created. He created, first, a grid of 64 squares made of light, hanging weightless in front of him, if there was any front or back in this strange void. Atop this grid he created massive chess pieces, intricately carved of the same lights that had formed the board. All of this hung, weightless, before the sorcerer, who tapped a slim finger to his cheek while he examined this odd world that he had formed.

One might say that he walked, for his legs moved, but it might have simply been an unconscious desire to lend physical action to the movement. He walked among the pieces, examining them for flaws, wiping away a few minor imperfections with a gentle movement of one hand. When he was done he rose away from the board and sat in the air behind the darker pieces his elbows on his knees and his hands folded loosely together. He sat in silence, meditating, waiting for someone with his eyes closed.

The Sorcerer Supreme wore what he normally wore, black dress pants, red vest trimmed in gold, a matching cape, white shirt beneath, and, hanging heavily against his chest where it bumped when he moved, the heavy gold Eye of Agamotto. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed as always, he had not taken special care with how he dressed, but simply the fact that he was here in this strange, empty place was enough for one to tell that something bizarre was happening. Of course, the figure that sat behind the chess pieces was not really the Sorcerer at all. The Sorcerer Supreme himself sat, cross-legged, a million miles and places away, on the stone floor of his study, a mirror and two scarlet candles in front of him, forcing his astral body into this place, where he could create and destroy at will within the specific guidelines that controlled his force and essence.

Still, eyes closed or not, he knew what happened in this place, and the entrance of another force made him open his eyes, smile, stand. He held his arms out, looking across the chessboard of light with a smile, “Baron Mordo, so good to see you again… For a moment there I was quite sure you weren’t going to come.”

[Baron Mordo]

Leaving his body, a practice the Baron had performed so many times it was near effortless, the three candles and eldritch chalk markings surrounding his vacant body more for the comfort of a familiar ritual than out of need for their assistance. In his astral from he no longer wore a business suit, indeed as with all projections he began without any true form at all but his subconscious soon supplied one and it dressed him in his proper garb. A tunic in the old Mordo colours of green and gold, the black loose fitting trousers of the Thuggee, and a mage’s cloak, crafted of a black so deep it seemed like a hole in the world. Looking down he realised his feet were bare as he had been through the majority of his time as an acolyte among the Thuggee, with half a thought he was wearing knee high black riding boots of his long dead homeland the loose trousers tucked in.

Good, this would do to meet Strange; he had to admit, if only to himself, a little doubt as to the purpose of this meeting. With any other sorcerer he would suspect an attack on his uninhabited, if not undefended, body but not Strange; whatever other flaws the physician had he was a man of honour. As the old saying went however he was hardly likely to find out from here. Relaxing he focused on the intricate pattern of runes and diagrammatic lines, the key to Strange’s new dimension, allowing his sorcerous might to flow through the spidery skein of interweaving symbols, as the enchantment completed he felt the familiar lurch.

A moment after a brief rushing sensation he found himself in an infinite expanse, something which on his first occasion had left him terrified, though admittedly he had been seventeen at the time. It was darkness, empty forever and ever and ever, one of trillions upon trillions of empty universes perhaps or some new creation of Strange’s it did not matter. What mattered was the one feature of this endless emptiness around him, the board and the master of this place.

“Baron Mordo, so good to see you again… For a moment there I was quite sure you weren’t going to come.” The voice was pleasant, unsurprising of course, they might be adversaries, but they were equally both philosophers, who ever proved the victor in the end what would it profit either of them to be uncivil? Was that the reason for this little meeting? Civilities? The Baron looked across the colossal board wrought of raw magic and remembered his prior confrontations with the Sorcerer Supreme, no... It was not just civilities.

“Doctor.” Karl bowed his head slightly, grateful for the use of his proper title. “I was delayed by terrestrial issues; I would not miss the chance for a worthy opponent. There are so few scattered around aren’t there?” Lifting the right hand of his astral form, Mordo concentrated for a moment. Green sparks sprayed forth into the void, landing on his King, a colossal figure towering over even the powerful figure of the baron. The piece apparently crafted from light burst into emerald flames. The inferno gave off its own sparks rapidly spreading from piece to piece until Mordo’s entire side of the board was aflame.

With a gesture the flames seemed to rush from the pieces back to Mordo’s hand before extinguishing. The pieces were... changed; in place of the beautiful structures of light were equally beautiful though markedly different creations. Apparently crafted from Obsidian they seemed to flicker as if they were mere containers of the green fire which had previously consumed them. War elephants replaced rooks, dragons replaced knights, Thuggee high priests replaced bishops, each pawn was replaced with an identical axe wielding tribesman, the Queen now resembled a dark sorceress and the King; Mordo himself though no crown of course. Much better.

“’I thought it went without saying that I would take black.” Mordo smirked slightly at his own half joke. “Your move O Sorcerer Supreme.”

[Dr. Strange]

Strange nodded, despite the fact that he was essentially hanging in mid-air his cloak hung limp and unmoving, there was no wind in this dimension of his own design. “Yes, and those who are accounted good players are generally stifled by the limitations that affect all mortals, they do not see the big picture.” He studied Mordo in the light from the board, his features and actions. He thought that it was among the most magnificent ironies in the world that this man should be his enemy. Without this man across from him the Doctor would likely have died in Tibet, rather than determined to become a sorcerer as he had. Perhaps that was the true lesson in his life, that even the most carefully laid plans can have results that are utterly disastrous. So was Mordo the lesson, or the teacher, or perhaps both?

Green flames reached out and his pieces were altered, where on Strange’s side were the delicately carved, European forms, Mordo’s had become strange. They were not ugly (For it was Strange’s belief that even the most monstrous thing of magic could never, truly, be ugly), but they were harsh and almost primitive. It was the king that made Strange stifle a smirk, however. “I wonder…” He wondered aloud, tapping a slim finger against his jaw. His hands didn’t shake here, the relics of his accident, they moved with gentle, fluid grace. “Does Dormammu mind that his lap-dog considers himself a king? Or is this an encouraged fantasy?” All of his speech delivered in carefully cut, smooth and polite tones. He was, as always, gracious and unfailingly polite.

He laughed, though, at Mordo’s joke, and swept a hand over the board, the pawn in front of the knight at his right moved forward a space, the appearance of a young warrior with his hand on his sword, head moving beneath a helmet. It was worth noting that each of Strange’s pieces was subtly different from the others, the pawns dressed or stood differently, not quite noticeable at first, but there once one looked closely, each of the pawns bore a different weapon, the bishops wore robes in different cuts, the siege towers that made the rooks had bricks damaged at the tops, slightly altered structures. He held open his arms, “Your turn, Baron.”

[Baron Mordo]

I wonder… Does Dormammu mind that his lap-dog considers himself a king? Or is this an encouraged fantasy?” Mordo smiled a familiar bone between the two of them, the Baron’s service to the master of the Dark Dimension which had been the seed to this seemingly endless battle. With a gesture the physician began what could be one of thirty three opening gambits. Seven of which seemed more likely than the others. “Your turn, Baron.” Mordo shrugged as he pondered his next move.

“You call me a lap dog? Perhaps I am but at least I feel my collar, if think you are any less a pawn of the Vishanti than I am of my liege then you are more fool than I gave you credit for. They have an agenda as much as Dormammu, in any case even kings bow before an emperor and even emperors bow before the gods.” Mordo smiled and flicked his hand towards the king’s knight and the great dragon unfurled its wings, its obsidian form moving as seamlessly and naturally as if were alive. At the peak of its flight it let out a jet of green fore before landing and apparently solidifying once more.

“Americans, pah!” Mordo shrugged, his voice casually layered with an aristocrats distain for the colonies. “You see the world as black and white, good and evil, yet you living in a world of fully fledged sorcery, of aliens in their flying saucers. How you hold on to such a precarious naiveté remains beyond even my mind.” With a gesture the baron summoned up a throne of grey stone, he had no need to sit in such an ethereal form but it somehow didn’t feel right playing chess standing.

[Dr. Strange]

“It is an odd man who feels the noose tighten about his neck when his arms are free and chooses to do nothing.” Strange watched the piece move, smiled slightly in spite of himself. Had he been a psychologist he might have speculated that people who moved their knight first were inherently less comfortable in their strength, that it was a move that suggested, very early on, a sort of desperation. As it was, Strange’s interest in the brain had always been strictly technical, and his only response was to examine the board more closely. “I fully admit that I am a pawn in something greater, but what I do is done because it is my obligation. That is why you could never have become Sorcerer Supreme, Baron, you have no sense of duty.”

He pulled his legs under him, where Mordo summoned a throne Strange simply hung, cross-legged above and behind his pieces. He had no use for such fancy accoutrements of worldliness in this place, this was a place where gravity ceased its existence, one was not bound to the use of such items. “Baron, do you truly believe that I am so limited in my views to see the world as such? Trust me, I understand the grey areas.” He paused, reached down and straightened his sleeves, “Of course, in our little competitions, it seems that there is little grey at all.” He sat in thoughtful silence for a moment and then waved his hand over the boars. One of his pawns strode forward, hand on a roughly hewn club, gazing fearlessly across the board at the black knight before becoming still and immovable once more.

Strange rested his elbow on his knee, his chin on his open palm and gazed across the board. “Tell me, Baron, have you ever wondered if, someday, you will be truly punished for your actions?” He paused once more and then regained the thread, not particularly looking for any distinct answer, instead thinking out loud and at the object of his considerations. “For using the gift that you have been given not to help others, but instead to continue to search for more power for yourself? I would think it would be something you might fear.”

[Baron Mordo]

“It is an odd man who feels the noose tighten about his neck when his arms are free and chooses to do nothing. I fully admit that I am a pawn in something greater, but what I do is done because it is my obligation. That is why you could never have become Sorcerer Supreme, Baron; you have no sense of duty.” The baron just tutted as one of his tribesmen-pawns hefted his axe and marched forth. As he sat he crafted a goblet from the nothingness all around them and filled it with a thick green wine found only on one island, on one world in the Dark Dimension. Positively divine, a shame the Baron couldn’t say the same for his moralising company.

“Baron, do you truly believe that I am so limited in my views to see the world as such? Trust me, I understand the grey areas. Of course, in our little competitions, it seems that there is little grey at all.”

“You seek to lecture the last of a feudal household on the nature of duty, ironic for one who chose to spend his life in the pursuit of money rather than building or creating anything.” The pieces were moving faster now, casual flicks of the players being enough to stir them into life as the game took shape.

“Tell me, Baron, have you ever wondered if, someday, you will be truly punished for your actions? For using the gift that you have been given not to help others, but instead to continue to search for more power for yourself? I would think it would be something you might fear.” Mordo outright snorted at this, nearly spraying his nonexistent wine from his mouth.

“What? In some Judo-Christian final judgment? Oh really Doctor, you never struck me as the sort.” Taking another sip of the emerald ichor he made a gesture to the knight, once more it soared into the air, swirling on its great wings. Blasting a pawn with green flame as it dropped onto the square, it squatted back on to its coiled tail. Freezing once more though now it seemed to look faintly smug. “Death is for the little people.” The pawn reappeared behind Strange’s side of the board. “We have proved that time and again. In any case once my essence is finally destroyed it shall be little concern to me. Is that then why you do what you do? Why you stand between my plans and I? In hope of some post-mortem reward?”

[Dr. Strange]

Strange chuckled under his breath at the accusation that he had been too materialistic. It certainly wasn’t a lie, “I came to my senses in the end, I owe you that much at least.” He watched the new objects appear in his realm and shook his head, still smiling rather serenely. His pawn was sufficiently cowed, moved to the back of the board where it ceased to move at all, arms crossed over its chest as though it were vaguely annoyed by the turn of events. A few turns later Strange’s tall bishop moved over to the previously offending knight and lifted his crosier. The knight rose into the air and was deposited gently on the other side of the board while the bishop took his place, solidifying with a serene smirk.

Alright, so the smirk was a little uncalled for, but not entirely inappropriate. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking a final judgment. Not in the religious sense anyway, I simply think that someday you shall come upon someone who is more inclined to retribution than I.” He studied the board in silence for a few minutes (if time truly existed in this odd realm) before he made his next move. As his queen strolled gracefully to a new place Strange considered the question posed. He certainly didn’t think he was that shallow in his motives, to seek reward. In fact, from what he had been able to discern from talking to the Ancient One after a few centuries Death could be perceived in itself as the reward.

“No, not for a reward…” He began slowly, thinking about his words as much as he had about the movement of his pieces. There was a legitimate reason he was doing these things, and it was not selfish, he just didn’t know how best to explain. He settled on the simplest solution, the one least likely to be argued with. Helping people was one thing, but there were other, more solid reasons why he fought the way he did, reasons Mordo was more likely to understand, “I do what I do because I swore an oath to do so, and I try very hard not to break my promises. Of course, you swore a similar oath as well, or the Ancient One would not have accepted you as a disciple…” He shrugged, “I suppose Honor can be interpreted differently by different people.”