Acrid stench filled my nostrils as I stepped through the portal, when my first breath gave me a lungful of wood-smoke. I hacked and wheezed. Stumbling from whatever platform I had been deposited upon, I splattered against soft, wet earth. I wiped mud from my eyes and blearily took in my surroundings from where I lay in the boggy, scorched undergrowth. Burnt out trees and roots rose around me, a flame-touched cage for giants. One great oak had been felled by the apparent blaze, its roots still dug deep into the swamp and anchoring it at a low, sloping angle. A soft, red glow emanated from beneath those roots, and I could see and hear crackling and smoldering embers in the high branches of the trees. The air around me was thick and hot as I struggled to my feet, clutching my sodden staff for balance. I foundered once when my deadened foot slid in the loose mud, and I drove the staff deeper into the muck before I fell again.

I wiped clumps of dead vegetation from my vest and trousers, though the stains would remain for a while yet, and craned my head back to the thick root from which I had fallen. I caught a glimpse of orange cloth against the pale marble of the Citadel beyond, before the gnarled oaken door closed and faded into the burnt husk of a tree. I cleared my throat and heaved a sigh as I scratched my scalp, all too aware of the caked mud in my hair and kippah. The fires were dying, and would be gone soon, I noted as I drew my wand from a pocket. Some kindling still remained, however, and I would needs be mindful of where my spells fell, lest I be engulfed in my own flame.