(Tower-top, windy, patchwork sky)

Ba-Rairius walked clockwise within the inner circle, surveying the six children, who knelt within their own smaller containment circles. First was Abbadon, Baubazax, Daulfet, Gaelrom, Mikkel, and Limos. “Feel the moment of the shift, how it alights the spine, do not picture a destination.”

Teleportation was a complicated art, a rift in space, torn through the realms of death, either in fashion of a gateway or a moment of brilliant sound and color. Availed only to necromancers, moreso it was only permitted if one’s access through the afterworlds did not unleash the wrath of a hell or heaven and thus allow denizens to pass to the mortal plane. Ba-Rairius clutched a silver spear and the blood of the dead in a thin, glass flask. 

“The purpose of this exercise is to see what afterworld (or worlds) you pass through… and if that world wishes to come through you to ours.”

It took nearly five minutes for the hum of magic to rise to an audible level, the air in front of each began to warp and twist, “very good, all, very good. Maintain that, push into the sensation. Don’t forget to breathe.”

He circled again and turned on his heel, now walking counter-clockwise. Most untrained portals would open into an empty sky of whatever realm, but in the off chance… Ba-Rairius tightened his grip.

It took another fifteen minutes for all portals to be open, all to skies. He pulled from the folds of his robe a book and quill, holding them in the air and noting.

Abbadon; Black-likely abyssal, two visible rings. Silent.

Baubazax; Light green, cloudy, one visible ring. Silent.

Daulfet; Darker green, sunlight, no visible rings. Silent.

Mikkel; Red, fiery- definitely Abramelin’s hells. Two visible rings. Silent.

Gaelrom; mostly blue, flashes of lightning- one of three. Thunder.

Limos; Darker green, no sunlight-smoky, no visible rings. Distant screeching? Scraping metal?

Abbadon felt lured into the blackness, he saw distant stars, some which disappeared and reappeared but having moved. He glanced over his shoulder, certain he could maintain the opening and when Ba-Rairius had turned away, stepped in. Finding no purchase on the other side, pushed off with his back foot lightly.

It was cold, not uncomfortably so, there was no wind yet he could breathe. A sweet-smelling, unplaceable scent that scratched a familiar itch. The stars (the ones which did), moved again, not all at once but almost in a ripple from his left, centered around one. They appeared to move haphazardly, but remained within a set area. Then. 

He saw. 

Stars revealed behind where the moving ones had been, and stars which hadn’t moved before now gone. That which moved watched him back. Brief but paralysing fear took hold of him; ‘if it wanted to it would have already,’ he told himself, ‘I hope.’

Terror exploded through him, this time more certain as he felt something grab his collar and rip him backwards towards the opening.