“That it?”

“It” was a solitary adobe building rising from the arid landscape like a shimmering mirage. Its walls, weathered by the relentless sun, stood as a testament to resilience in the harsh environment. Two towering minarets on either side stretched towards the infinite blue sky above.Intricate designs on both etched against the backdrop of the barren horizon representing a silent sentinel amidst the unforgiving desert.

There were no banners or flags flying, only a tiny wooden stable attached to the building’s side beside a grove of palms. If she didn’t know better, it appeared its previous occupant left the derelict structure for the sands to reclaim.

“It is. Doesn’t look like much from the outside, but wait until we enter.” Jarl pointed to the building and turned to face them. “Now listen. Like I said before, Suicide Mages are a bit...odd. I’ll see if they let me talk with my friend.”

“Sounds good. We’ll go stable the hitors.” They made their way to the encampment and realized it became less impressive when they were close.

“There’s a sparse pond out by the trees. Spring fed, so the water is clean.”

“Thanks. Those shaded palms look mighty inviting.” They led their animals to the rickety stables.

Jarl hammered on the bleached wooden door three times. A panel at eye level slid open, revealing a pale, emaciated guy staring out at him. “Hi there. I’m Jarl Brecchian, and I’ve come to see a man named Clemson Smog.”

The eyes behind the door darted back and forth, then peered over Jarl’s shoulder at the quartet of drow near the stables. With a husky whisper, he pointed at the elves in the shade. “What about them? The dark-ones?”

Jarl turned his head to look at them, then returned to him. “It’s ok. They’re with me and we aren’t here for trouble. We have coin.” He patted the pouch on his belt.

“Wait here.” He slid the panel closed, leaving the paladin to stand there in the dry heat.

A few moments passed, and he heard heavy bars being lifted from the other side of the door. It creaked open, revealing the withered visage of his friend. A smile grew from his sparse whiskers and stretched his face, creating even more wrinkles. He embraced the Zeroam. “Jarl, my old pal. It is wonderful to see you.” Jarl winced at his awful body odor and filthy appearance, but returned the embrace. “Clemson, you look a little rough. You well?”

The mage released him and threw his hands up. “For now, yeah. What dragged you across the desert?”

Jarl shoved a thumb over his shoulder. “I need to call on that favor from before. Can we come in?”

Clemson studied the shadow-elves with a suspicious eye. “You in trouble?”

“No, my friend. They’re ok, but on a mission.”

“Of course, yes!” He looked over Jarl’s shoulder and waved the drow in. “Hey! Enter, please.”

Saffron, Dayne, Thulaeth, and Maarko walked over and followed the two humans into the dark entrance. A blast of frigid air greeted and shocked them as they crossed the threshold.

The interior of the structure didn’t match with the outside. While dim, once their eyes adjusted, they saw that it was three times larger than it should be and twice as tall. The air was noticeably cooler than the oppressive heat they had left. “How…? This building was so tiny out there? And it’s so cool in here!” Saffron said.

Clemson grinned, revealing rotting teeth set between thin scabbed lips. Wisps of brown hair blew from an unseen breeze. He wagged his fingers in the air at them. “Magic, dear. The marvelous power of magic. Follow me.”

The grand hall was adorned with majestic tapestries that seemed to come alive with the flickering of torchlight. The air was thick with incense and the faint sound of chanting filled the room, creating an eerie atmosphere. Towering marble columns supported the high ceilings and cast long shadows across the intricate mosaic floors.

At the center of the hall, a group of odd figures stood in a circle, their faces hidden in the darkness of their tattered cloaks. Each one wore robes of deep crimson embroidered with ancient symbols that pulsated with otherworldly energy. Strange orbs of magic floated around them, emitting a soft mystical glow that gleamed against the velvet fabric.

A sparse bunch of mages with frayed gray hoods covering their angular features danced off to the side to music that existed only in their heads. The lack of melody didn’t appear to stop them from their procession. The wizards moved with a grace and precision that seemed almost supernatural. Their spastic movements synchronized as if part of some intricate ritual or summoning. As they chanted in a language long forgotten, the very air around them seemed to shimmer. The otherworldly power sent shivers down the spines of all who beheld them.

One mage, an ancient gold-elven woman, approached them with a bundle of dried herbs clutched in her scarred grip. The shrubs smoldered with thick gray smoke and a musky stench of sage tickled their noses. Her eyes were pale white and opened wide, surrounded by deep wrinkles in her cracked skin. “Can you provide me with the scent of a silver dragon?”

Saffron stared at her, unsure of what to say. She looked at Jarl, who shook his head and mouthed the word No.

She took his lead. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

The woman appeared confused, then said, “Outstanding, dearie. Never give it up. It is priceless.” She moved on, still holding the burning herbs which trailed smoke around her body.

Saffron turned to Jarl. “What the hell was that about?”

“Some of these wizards are so burned out by their spells, it drives them mad. Keep moving and try not to make eye contact.”

“Is our guy crazy?”

He kept his voice low. “Clemson? No, he only focuses on one type of dark magic. Phasing. He’s obsessed with it.” Saffron was relaxed by his answer.

They rounded a corner and approached a hall that stretched on to disappear into darkness. “My room is the third door down on the left. Come.” He hurried down the chamber to a heavy wooden door. Red magical orbs near the ceiling cast an otherworldly and sinister hue on the party. “Here.” He pulled a corroded set of iron keys from his pocket, which jingled as he unlocked it.

A mishmash of oddities and curiosities covered every inch of the cramped chambers. A collection of ancient relics, half-completed experiments, and shelves overflowing with dusty tomes and jars of strange liquids. Towards the middle of the room, the only clean area, were arcane symbols scrawled on the floor. Extended swooping lines surrounded a broad circle drawn in white chalk. In the center were three red candles burning, but no wax had collected at the base.

The cluttered room is a testament to the twisted genius of a desperate mage in the endless pursuit of arcane knowledge. One thing was certain to the adventurers - within these walls, anything is possible.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Please find somewhere to sit.” He gestured around the room. “It will take me a minute to get ready.” He moved through the area, unsure of what he was doing, then stopped. “Oh yeah. Before we start, I want to give you a few ground rules. First off, payment up front, I insist.” He pointed to a brass urn on a nearby table. “Place the coins in there. I’ll also need a fingernail clipping from each of you for the spell. It’ll bind you to the magic so you can phase.”

They each took a knife out, removed a sliver of nail and set them in his outstretched palm. He rushed over to the center of the circle and placed the clippings on a silver plate. Thulaeth spoke. “How long will the teleporting take?”

Clemson stopped and held a finger up, but made no eye contact. His mind was a million different places. “No. Teleporting is theoretical. Phasing is not. Well, not really. Give me a minute and I’ll explain.” He moved to a shelf and pulled a carved wooden box, knocking a thick layer of gray dust from the surface. Opening it, he brought out four canvas dolls. He placed them on the floor at the base of the candles, then put a fingernail clipping on each one.

He returned to them; his tone was frantic. Clemson appeared to have so many ideas cluttering his mind that his voice couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. “Phasing is the movement from this reality through another, then back to here. To me, or anyone not phasing, it will appear instantaneous. To you, it may seem like twenty minutes, give or take. Depends on the distance, but that is about average.”

“So what? Are we going to float around the Aether for twenty minutes?”

Clemson fidgeted, brought his fingers to his cracked lips, and bit his nails. “No, not floating.” He stopped his twitching and ran his hands through his greasy hair. Saffron gave Jarl an unsure look, which he returned with a subtle thumbs up. He continued. “Think of it as a path. You’ll be in a tunnel of pink or purple light surrounding you. This is rule number one. Stay on the path. Do not step off.”

Dayne spoke up. “Why?”

The nervous mage shook a finger at him and grinned an unflattering display of gray teeth. “Oh, boy. Bad, bad news screamed the town crier! You may become lost in whatever reality you’re in.”

“Okay, so stay on the path. What’s rule number two?” Saffron asked.

“Stay on the path.” He moved around, preparing his spell.

This amused her. “You, ah, already said that.”

For the first time, he stopped and looked at her dead serious. “It’s that important.”

Maarko stood from his seat. “So, what are we going to learn during our twenty-minute tour?”

“Can’t say, really. It isn’t always the same. There are infinite realities. It may look the same as here. There might be monsters or emptiness. I can tell you that, provided you stay on the path, nothing will hurt you. Whatever is in that reality can’t see you, which is why being on the route is so important.”

He rushed over to a cabinet filled with strange and exotic curiosities. Returning to the group, he handed a bundle of herbs wrapped with a ribbon to each of them. “We are nearly ready. Each of you step in the circle and face the candles. When I say the word ‘shyloatha’, light your shrubs and place them at your feet. Jarl has already explained about the year of your life, yes?” He bit his nails again. Saffron could see blood dripping from his chewed fingers. They nodded.

“Perfect. Now you may be nauseous when you re-emerge, which is normal. At least those of you who are still alive.” He gauged their surprised expressions. “I’m joking.” Then added. “Not really, though.” He waved his hands at them towards the arrangement of symbols on the floor. “Alright then. When I begin the incantation, no one speaks. It is important that I remain focused. Phasing is a delicate procedure.”

He froze in place and forced his ever-moving mind to stop. Clemson was the most still they had seen him since their meeting. “One more request. I’m giving you friend prices, so I ask that you do a task for me.”

“What?”

“As soon as you come back, please write about where you were and what you saw. It is important for my research. I’m trying to document as many realities as I can. Agreed?”

Saffron nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Jarl walked up to Saffron with a solemn expression on his tanned face. “Hey, this is where I have to say goodbye.”

“You aren’t coming with us?”

He shook his head. “No, I have my places to be. I have to go see a lady about a mage. Tetathay promised to give me information if I would help you find Dial’s last location.”

Saffron reached out and took his hand in hers. “Well, while I had hoped you would join us, I can certainly understand your own task. Thank you, Jarl Brecchian.”

He shook her hand. “You are welcome, Inspector DeGuerro. Best of luck to each of you, and I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

“You are a friend to the drow, paladin.” Dayne clapped him on his shoulder.

Jarl nodded and embraced Clemson. “Wonderful to see you again, buddy. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for.”

“And you, Jarl.”

The Inspector stopped Jarl before he reached the door. “Hey?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Why does he want us to write that stuff down and what did you mean you hope he finds what he is looking for?”

“You should ask him that. Have a safe trip.”

She simply nodded and let the zeroam leave the chamber.

Saffron reached into her bag and pulled out her Dialspeak, still wrapped in a leather sheath. “Before we do this, I have to report in with the information we have so far.” She moved to a corner of the room and placed the crown over her silver hair.

Her fingers touched the polished green jewel in the middle of the device and recited the phrase. “Communicato Esuria, Tetathay.”. The gem pulsed, glowed, and illuminated her face.

The soft, recognizable voice of her Magistrate formed within her mind. Inspector, what’s your progress?

Saffron didn’t even have to speak aloud. She concentrated on the words she needed to say. We met with Jarl, who pointed us in the precise direction. It appears Marcrumm was last seen in a town near in Deepwater called Fontenot Park.

“That certainly matches up with the intelligence we received about Governor Cross. The elven lands are far from Samhir Desert. How soon can you get there?”

Well, Jarl introduced us to a friend of his. A Suicide Mage who can phase us to the location. It’s the fastest way there, despite the danger.

True. It would take two days to get there by airship. How do you feel about phasing?

I’m ok with it, but the team is unsure. Regardless, I would like to arrive before the intel is outdated. Two days is too long.

Agreed. Brief me when you receive more information.

Of course, mum. The voice in her head fell silent.

Clemson walked over to her. “Ma’am, we are ready to begin if each of you would please step inside the circle.”

“Oh, yes.” She placed the Dialspeak back in its leather pouch and in her bag. “Clemson? What exactly are you looking for? Jarl had told you he hoped you find it.”

His eyes dropped and welled with tears before he sat on his bunk. “My wife and daughter died two years ago when our trading wagon slipped off a cliff side near Arioford. It was supposed to be a simple trip to a small hamlet close by, so I didn’t go, but I now wish I had traveled with them.”

“What happened?” Saffron moved close to him.

“Bandits, thugs, or whatever you want to call them. They saw a couple of women alone and thought they would be easy pickings. Chased them, but I guess my wife lost control around a sharp bend.” He stopped to wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his filthy robe. “I left to look for them that night and traced their route. The wagon rolled over and killed my daughter instantly, or at least I hope she was.”

“What about your wife?”

“She was alive, barely. Told me what had happened. I tried to move her up to the road, but her injuries were too extensive. Since then, I’ve devoted my life to studying ways I could’ve helped them. Learned about the alternate realities of Phasing, so I thought that was a perfect start. Being a suicide mage is a win-win for me. Either I die trying or phase to a reality where they still exist.”

“That’s why you need this information. You are hoping to catalog the phenomena?”

“I am, so I would really appreciate your help.”

“Of course.” She could see he was still upset, so she changed the conversation back to the business at hand. “I suppose we should start, yeah?”

“Yes, let’s begin. Before I start the procedure, do you have plenty of water and food? You won’t be able to interact with the world around you while you are in the tunnel.”

Each of them nodded.

The Daggers were hesitant, but walked into the circle, still clutching their herbs. “Alright, I’m going to begin. Luck be with you.” A heavy hum started in his throat. Soon it changed to a rough, growling tone. The rich sound reverberated as he spoke. The words came across unpronounceable in any tongue, yet flowed with a strange melody. Clemson moved his arms in a gentle waving motion around his body with his eyes clenched tight.

The chalk circle glowed and ripple like waves on the ocean. Blue light outlined the edges of the markings and made a slow ascent from the floor to envelop the party. Bright azure wisps sparkled and crackled as they traveled with the glow. The group listened to his words and grew anxious, except for Maarko. Unfamiliar experiences were a drug for him he could soak up and store deep in his infallible memory. Exciting and frightful emotions drenched them as their fear rose, unsure if the trip would be safe. A strange ambrosial smell filled the room, similar to berries and sweet cream, and worked to calm their anxieties.

Finally, his voice resounded, and he reached the last word in his chant. “Shyloatha!” They lowered their bundles to the flames, lit them and, as instructed, placed them at their feet. Bursts of brilliant yellow flares shot up from the three candles, but without heat.

Their vision blurred, darkness found them, and they vanished.