It swirls around you,
wrapping your cloak around
your legs, and continuing
to grow in strength until
you are forced to take
hold of the strange alter
in front of you.

The dust blows through the
air, circling the room along
with tattered pieces of cloth
ripped from the curtains,
the strange wind growing
and circling until it's a
deafening roar in your ears,
yet the book in front of you
remains unaffected.

The whorl wind within the room
begins to spin faster, tightening the
circle, and you blink as the air
stops rushing past you, moving
on to a space before the alter
that you are still clinging to.
It centers in one spot and you
stare in disbelief as a inky
black portal forms before
your eyes.

And then the foreboding silence once
again settles over the room.
Staring into the portal in front of
you, you think you can vaguely
make out the familiar land of
Olmran, and the urge to leave
this place drives itself deep
within your bones.