Once again, shut up Solas. Strange just glares daggers at the elf, but his pride prevents him from doing the logical thing and admitting that he has no idea what he's doing. Because you know what? Fuck you, Fen'harel! He's got this!
Or at least, he's slightly got this. As Strange walks over to Arabella's corpse, he places his hands over the body and starts muttering. Nothing. He changes his hands around, making various gestures as he continues muttering. Nothing. He snarls, giving one of the signs of rot a glare, before he mutters something fervently in a language that's rarely spoken, and makes a gesture like he's grabbing something from the air above the rot. Oddly enough? He is. The rot slowly vanishes from the corpse's face, lingering around Strange's hand like a smokey black fog. And honestly? Strange looks damn surprised, as if he didn't know he could do something like that in the first place. What Strange had in power, he was lacking a bit in technique. It's obvious that his method of magic is patchwork, taking previously established spells and techniques and improvising and adding his own additions until he gets a result.
The problem here is that he doesn't really know what to do with this small swirling cloud of rot, about the size of a strawberry, now hovering over his open palm. There's a pause as he looks it over before Strange takes one finger and traces it down a vein on his forearm. The cloud dissipates. However, at the same time, a trail of black something swarms through Strange's veins, going from his hand to his arm, as his face turns slightly paler. Who knows where it goes after that, as Strange's clothes prevent Solas from seeing the trace of the rot as it dissipates through Strange's body.
So maybe there was a little bit of truth to those rumors of Strange's madness. One thing's apparent: he doesn't care as much for his personal health and well-being as he honestly should. Still, Strange at least realizes his actions are a bit worrying. "Like I said. I would prefer her revived sooner rather than later."
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Or at least, he's slightly got this. As Strange walks over to Arabella's corpse, he places his hands over the body and starts muttering. Nothing. He changes his hands around, making various gestures as he continues muttering. Nothing. He snarls, giving one of the signs of rot a glare, before he mutters something fervently in a language that's rarely spoken, and makes a gesture like he's grabbing something from the air above the rot. Oddly enough? He is. The rot slowly vanishes from the corpse's face, lingering around Strange's hand like a smokey black fog. And honestly? Strange looks damn surprised, as if he didn't know he could do something like that in the first place. What Strange had in power, he was lacking a bit in technique. It's obvious that his method of magic is patchwork, taking previously established spells and techniques and improvising and adding his own additions until he gets a result.
The problem here is that he doesn't really know what to do with this small swirling cloud of rot, about the size of a strawberry, now hovering over his open palm. There's a pause as he looks it over before Strange takes one finger and traces it down a vein on his forearm. The cloud dissipates. However, at the same time, a trail of black something swarms through Strange's veins, going from his hand to his arm, as his face turns slightly paler. Who knows where it goes after that, as Strange's clothes prevent Solas from seeing the trace of the rot as it dissipates through Strange's body.
So maybe there was a little bit of truth to those rumors of Strange's madness. One thing's apparent: he doesn't care as much for his personal health and well-being as he honestly should. Still, Strange at least realizes his actions are a bit worrying. "Like I said. I would prefer her revived sooner rather than later."