Nest of Leviathan

Sep 12, 2014: While working on their latest scheme to end all human life, the Atlanteans are stopped by the Sorcerer Supreme.

Middle of the Atlantic Ocean

The bottom of the ocean, near an enormous ancient crypt said to be the resting place of the mythical Leviathan.



  • Warlord Krang
  • Atlantean Guards

Mood Music:

"This is the place. It has to be." The First Warlord of the Atlantean Fleet is growing impatient, but the crew of his flagship would have a hard time telling so from his demeanor. Resting on the throne-like command chair, he turns back and forth to survey his bridge. His blue fingers tug idly on the thick black goatee that contrasts so sharply with the multiple pieces of gold jewelry piercing his ears and draped over his neck and shoulders.

"Why does Our King not simply blow the horn now? We have reached the coordinates, what does he hope to gain by delay?" Warlord Krang's first officer keeps his voice low, to avoid letting the rest of the crew hear his question. Clearly, he knows how Krang feels about questioning the hierarchy in front of the men.

But Krang does not appear to be made cross by the question. "Because our King is Namor, and he will wait all year as long as he knows that it irks me." A bit of bitterness is obvious in Warlord Krang's eyes. "Such a powerful weapon the Leviathan must be, or our Ancestors would not have locked him away in this tomb. Perhaps the King simply does not feel that the time for an ultimate sanction has been reached. It is not mine to…" Krang's quiet musings are suddenly cut off by a shout from one of the bridge crew.

"Warlord Krang! We are being hailed by the Numenor's Wrath. Shall I patch it through to your ready room?"

"No. I'll take it here. On the holoscreen."

The charts and graphs on the holoscreen dissolve away, and the middle of the room is suddenly filled with a three-dimensional (and floating) image of Namor. His arms are folded, his expression scowly, his shorts short. "I have reached a decision, Krang. You and I will depart our vessels and search the tombs. Choose your two best men to act as security. I will meet you in… six minutes." The image dissipates like an ephemeral cloud, leaving Krang to contemplate his selection.

"You and you, come with me."


Ahhh the Big Apple. The City that never sleeps. New York City is a midst with it's daily choas as people hussle from here to there and back again. However, one man sits in a room in his mansion in Greenwich village. The sun is casting it's rays through the colored glass of the Seal of Vishanti dancing over Stephen Strange's face giving him a youthful glow. The meditation room is bare with the exception of salt drawn into a circle on the floor with candles marked in the five points of power.

The Sorcerer Supreme is floating four feet from the floor with his legs pulled into an Indian Style position, and his hands are extended at his side with his pinkie and thumbs touch in each hand. His red cloak slithering under his feet as if it had a mind of it's own. A large amulet is the focal point at this time because it is glowing brightly in the center of his chest.

"Now that is…interesting." The amulet showing the horn to the Doctor as he watches the scene unfold from the comfort of his room. "Where have I seen those markings before…" He opens his eyes and his feet begin to touch the floor. "The Leviathan was put to sleep for a reason…." He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I can not allow them to unleash it again." Stephen begins to speak in an unknown language as his hands begin to move with the elegant grace of a dancer.


The group of Atlanteans makes the short journey from the vessels to the entrance to the tomb. Despite their proclivity for the dark waters of the deep, the guards carry ceremonial staves coated in a bioluminescent slime, which does a pretty good job of illuminating the surroundings. When you're an Atlantean, you're not afraid of the many horrifying creatures who live at the bottom of the ocean.

"Here it is. Leviathan's Tomb. Or so say the Sacred Texts." Namor sounds almost doubtful as he looks at the stone door in front of him, because it's much smaller than what one might expect the entrance to a tomb for a Leviathan to look like. It's barely big enough for an aircraft carrier to fit through. "I must confess, I wonder what use I have for a creature who is smaller than even one of my warships?"

Krang seems to share the King's doubts as well, his fingers tugging on his goatee with a small amount of consternation. "Perhaps the tomb is bigger on the inside? The sorcerers of Ancient Atlantis could work many curious miracles, as the Sacred Texts illustrate."

A smile creeps into the corner of Namor's mouth. "We have not come for a trick of mirrors. We seek a creature that can destroy whole fleets with but a flick of his tail." He peers at the carvings on the stone door, the wheels in his head clearly churning faster than normal. "It says… 'Awaken not…. something something… lest the oceans turn red… something something…. '"

For a moment he frowns, and clutches the horn in his hands a bit tighter. But suddenly, the spark in his eyes ignites, and his recklessness (some would call it madness) propels him forward. "Turning the seas red? I should have worn looser garments to hide my tumescence. Come, let us go inside. As soon as you and your men lift the door."

Krang's men look disgruntled at the thought of having to lift such a heavy door, and terrified at the thought of what might lie inside.


A deep baritone voice echoes through the water, "Awaken not the sea of dawn where all do well, the calm of his people has broken. Once-coddled infants, wrapped in shades, compose the cobble trail beneath their frantic gait. Ruination of palatial temples. Debauchery of the sage who is misshapen, misspoken. The serpentine begets dear tempest in steeplechase of sate. The incalculable herd of vermin across the earth cascade. Lest the oceans turn red. Eyeless they stream, dripping roses, wont to asylum. Demented, as each ivory beam shatters." As a single point of light appears directly in front of the door.

As the light begins to pulsate, the very ocean seems to shift and swirl outward as a bubble of air is formed and in a rush of wind explodes outward. The very seas beginning to push back as the dome of air begins to expand at an alarming rate. All those caught within the dome touch solid ground under their feet as it expands 300 meters in each direction from the single point of light in front of the Tomb.

"I do not come to harm you King of Atlantis." As red folds of fabric begin to swirl and form in front of Krang's men. Doctor Strange's feet lower to the sea floor as he takes a glance around his dome of air to make sure it is secure before his slate colored eyes turn upon Namor. "I am Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. I have come before you because I can not allow you to unleash the beast against on the world, and I believe your horn will do just that."


"Neptune's scaly balls!?" The guards are the first to encounter the air bubble. Caught in the explosion, they fall nearly twenty feet as the water disappears from around them. But they do not fall into the silt and slime that they were no doubt expecting. The thud of their bodies impacting with solid, and mysteriously dry, ground can be heard in all directions, but that's not really what they seem to be most concerned with.

"A trap!" Krang attempts to react with his usual over-the-top violence. Curved blades are pulled from the sheaths on his belt before the air hits him. But when he too falls to the ground it's clear that the fight has gone out of him very suddenly. Dropping his blades on the solid ground with a clang, he begins grasping at his throat "Poison!" is all that he can gasp out before he begins scrambling away and past the wall. All of the other men assembled quickly follow him into the water, and it is only when they can breathe again that they seem to realize that they've left their King behind.

Namor, for his part, looks more preturbed than terrified. But as he's been practicing his angry stare for almost ninety years that's perhaps to be expected. It also helps that air is no threat to him, and in fact he doesn't even lose his position. The wings on his ankles continue to hold him in place, suspended in the air with his arms folded in front of him, one hand clutching the horn near the mouthpiece.

In overly formal, but passable English, the Sub-Mariner responds to the uninvited guest. "The King of Atlantis does not consult with conjurors and charlatans. Begone, gaudy spirit. Namor commands that you remove yourself from his path." He says his name almost as if it were a password of some sort. It's clear from the tone of his voice that his orders are in no way a suggestion.

He must get cryptic warnings from supreme sorcerors more often than most people to take things in such a natural stride. Or perhaps his composure is merely an act?


As he folds his hands in front of him, the Doctor has faced down Gods, Demons, and the Devil himself. His face remains stoic and calm like a lake on a summer morning. He returns the King's stare, yet makes no aggressive moments or stances. As he waves a hand in front of his mouth, his fingers glow for a moment and he begins to speak perfect Atlantean, "Perhaps this is more comfortable?" He takes a moment to glance at the door and then back at Namor. "Again your Majesty, I can not and I will not. I have an obligation to protect this dimension from magical creatures like this…"

As he waves a hand in front of him, the air wavers to show a large and imposing beast destroying ships and eating numerous people, "The path of death that follows this beast can not be unleashed. You will not be able to control it. Allow me to investigate the horn and what it can do exactly before you unleash or try too. You have no idea what is in there."

Doctor Strange looks at the warriors on the edge of his bubble floating in the water, before turning his attention back to Namor with his unrelenting aura.


From his vantage point outside of the bubble, Krang shouts warnings at the man who so easily dispelled his dignity. "Don't listen to this fancy lanternfish. He is no spectral warning from the Ancients, he is merely a spy from the surface world, here to thwart our purpose. Crush his skull and let us continue!" Warlord Krang, ever the voice of reason.

All four of the guards seem to concur with Krang's careful analysis of the situation. There were similarly humiliated, so it is perhaps not unreasonable for them to also desire some sort of retaliation.

Namor, however, seems less certain. "If you are from the Surface, then you are clearly either a competent mage or a fool. I will do you the courtesy of assuming the former to be the truth. However, I must insist that you explain yourself immediately. Are the lives of your fellow humans so dear to you that you would risk decapitation or a life spent on one of my prison ships?" He slowlys descends from the air, standing now on a footing roughly equal with the Sorceror Supreme. The furrows between his eyebrows stand out in stark relief, so tense is his expression.

"Know this, human, Byrrah's Horn compels all of the creatures of the deep to obey my will. I will enter Leviathan's Tomb, and I will awaken him." As if a new idea has possessed him, his face relaxes. "Perhaps you would like to accompany me inside, so that you might see the end of your world and the revenge of Atlantis?" It's clear that this is not a question.

Krang holds his tongue, but clearly doesn't agree with this plan.


"You will find I am not so easily intimidated, Namor." As he takes a step back, his hands falls it his sides and his fingers extended with a spell of protection at the ready. "And I am sure that the person who blows the horn, must bear the willpower to control the beast they choose. Poseidon himself could barely control the Leviathan and had to call upon his brother Zeus for aid. Do you now think your stature has grown so high that you can do what Poseidon can not?"

As the Eye of Agamotto begins to glitter and open, "I will not allow it. I am asking you to see reason. Your plot for revenge is only fueled by your Warlord's desire. Allow me to take the horn and study it. I will find out it's true nature and what it can do. But if you continue on this path…" Doctor Strange's eyes begin to glow yellow, "I will be forced to try and stop you here and now."


"Bored now." Keeping the horn clutched firmly in his left hand, Namor pulls his dagger out of the jewel-encrusted sheath on his hip with his right. "Defend yourself, intruder. Imperius Rex!"

The men outside of the air bubble begin to cheer as their King draws his weapon and begins rushing toward the Sorceror Supreme. Clearly, they do not get enough violence in their daily routine. It's also clear that they think that this fight is a mere formality, that the frail-looking Sorceror's blood is already spilled and creating a murky red cloud around his body.

Namor seems to think as much as well. Perhaps this is why he hesitates slightly, why his speed is not used to full effect. Perhaps he drags his feet in order to give the intruder a chance to escape. There's realy no way to know for sure, but Namor's heart doesn't seem to be quite as set on murder as his reputation might cause one to believe.

As he nears the Doctor, he lifts the dagger up, preparing to swing the blade in a wide downward arc.


As a growl escapes his lips, Strange moves with the grace of a monk as he turns at the waist and places a hand on the door of the tomb. "By the power of Vishanti NONE shall enter this Tomb but I!" The pulse of blue magic extends from his hand to the center of the door. The magical energy begins to swirl as it forms a glowing rune in the shape of the Eye of Agamotto. The rune begins to solidify and it forms an unbreakable seal upon the door.

As the finishes locking the tomb, the King's knife slams into his ribs and Stephen lets out a cry of pain! However, his blood will not be drawn for nothing because it allows him the chance to be in close range to the horn. The Sorcerer leans in and says in the wavering tone of an injured man, "You will not release the Leviathan this day, King of Atlantis." Stephen places his right hand on the horn and lifts his left hand into the air and snaps his fingers. The Sorcerer and the horn are gone in a flash!

With the Sorcerer Supreme no long present to maintain his Dome of Air, the ocean begins to instantly revert back to it's original state as the salty water begins to rush back into the empty space with a violent swoosh!


"Neptune's Scaly BALLS!" Now it's the Atlantean King's turn to curse in a manner that is both ignoble and extremely blasphemous. To Atlanteans, anyway. The cloud of blood fills his nostrils for the briefest of moments before it is completely dissipated by the rushing, churning water. It's a smell he'll probably remember for a long time after, no matter how brief his exposure to it.

With the offensive air gone, Namor's men are suddenly back at his side. Including Krang, who has quickly recovered his knives and holds them as if he never lost them. "The cowardly trickster flees, My Lord. Say the word, and the Fleet will pursue him before he makes good his escape."

For a moment, Namor says nothing as he stares at the mystic sigil placed between him and his goal. "No. Delay that order. None must know of what has transpired here." With a sudden flurry of motion, his knife lashes out in all directions, and four Atlantean guards float around him and attempt to breathe their last bit of water, hacked to pieces in a veritable tornado of fury. Krang clutches his knives tightly, but does nothing to help them.

"You and I will keep this secret, Warlord Krang. My authority must not be challenged by a mere Surface Mammal, lest the fleet lose confidence. Tell the men that we were set upon by Lemurians… and summon the mystics." The ocean has already cleaned the blood and gore from Namor's dagger, so he replaces it in its sheath. With a look back at the dying men, his expression clouds. But he has no time to waste on regrets. There is a war to fight, and he must conquer.

He turns away, and swims hastily back toward his ship, leaving Krang to clean up the mess.

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