He twitches in alarm, then soothes himself and smiles and waves widely when the door opens.

A vaguely humanoid creature, with great silver-and-rainbow butterfly wings, and a golden slightly insectoid face - with purple shadows at subtly wrong angles, and a dark symbol burnt into her forehead - strides through the door, and then stops immediately in surprise.

This abandoned building is... full of friendly people? Warm and inviting? Decorated for a winter festival?

Did she just die and not realise it?

She looks behind her - no, that's a perfectly normal stretch of burnt-out forest.

Oh well. It wasn't a very interesting stretch of burnt-out forest, and nobody is trying to kill her straight off.

She closes the door politely behind her, in case this is some kind of shielded dome, although nobody is shouting at her to do that.

"Greetings," she says to the waving person, somewhat imperiously. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Binder Nico, the binder of Whitecliff demesne. Though Milliways, this place, is not my demesne - it's a wonder, somewhere entirely separate, and welcome to all. Welcome, you look like you need the break! What interesting person have I met here?"

"I am Apharanta," she replies.

Hmm. He looks human, but humans get everywhere these days. Binder isn't a title she recognises, but 'the binder of Whitecliff demense' could be 'the builder-theurge responsible for the magical defences at Whitecliff'. That and his general demeanour, and the likelihood of Whitecliff being a coastal settlement, kind of suggest Known World forces, but appearances can be deceptive. She'll wait and see if she can get him to offer a little more information before deciding which set of allegiances to claim.

"Welcome to all?" she enquires, just so she doesn't come across as completely impolite.

He looks at her inquisitively, then chuckles. "Milliways is a liminal place. Connected to everywhere, at times. Let me guess that iridescence, dragonstorms, and the use of beads of crystal magic as a currency are unfamiliar? No, I've found my world isn't much like the others. But come, apparently it's a holiday. Peace and joy to all." He spreads his arms wide. "And the bar is a person, and offering free drinks."

"I have, at times, been known as the Iridescent Butterfly," replies Apharanta. "And we do have mana crystals, although not exactly in such profusion as to constitute a practical currency. And I can imagine someone calling the great magical storms 'dragonstorms'.

Perhaps this will be more revealing - by what names do you know the gods, and how many do you recognise?"

She doesn't usually just ask straight out - it's not great for the general sense of mystique and angelic all-knowing-ness - but this is not exactly a usual situation.

If this last gambit doesn't work out, well, at least it seems like she can score a free drink. It's not like she needs to eat or drink, but she has rather missed it.

"Ah, well that depends on who you ask, no? Some worship the four magics. The whisperer, the deadspeaker, the horotract, and the mentalist. Some worship the dungeons. Some worship the dragons, or think the iridescence is a god. Some have weirder ideas like Treehold's insistence that all the living things of the world collectively form a god called Gaia, like the cells of her body. I don't do any of that."

She takes a moment to think. So the four magics, that sounds like - theurge, necromancer, sorcerer, herbalist. And they've got dryads. But no actual contact with the gods.

Oh well. Taking people at face value has always worked out terribly for her, but that doesn't mean she's figured out any alternative strategies. Probably she actually can't. It's not that bad a trade for being immortal, she supposes.

"That sounds like you have no contact with the gods at all," she replies. "Neither the pantheon led by the Weaver - the Teacher, the Smith, the Huntress, the Merchant - nor that of the New World - the Serpent, the Ant, the Basilisk, the Jaguar, the Coyote.

I am their angel," deliberately ambiguous, she hasn't spoken to everyone in the room yet and she doesn't know who's overhearing her, "and I can teach you to pray, if you like, although I am not currently blessed to initiate.

Assuming you have a soul, they should hear you; it sounds like you have theurges, necromancy and dryads, so it seems likely that you do."

"You are correct that we have no contact with your gods. As I said, milliways connects different worlds, some wildly different. I would hesitate to compare things directly. 'Theurge' is translating strangely, and we don't have any plant women unless a deadspeaker has a specific fetish... Which they might, come to think. I will decline to learn prayer at this time, though perhaps you should sit down, have a drink, and tell me more."

She nods, and glances at the bar. It appears somewhat deserted.

"How does one go about claiming one's free drinks?" she asks. "And are there any limitations? Given the surroundings, I must confess that I am daydreaming of hot chocolate with warm winter spices..."

A napkin suddenly appears on the bar. Along with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

Well, that's - one way of doing it, she supposes!

Her estimation that this is in fact actually some kind of bizarre Maelstrom pocket to which she has been transported as, probably, some kind of practical joke has markedly increased... but that does look like some good hot chocolate.

She touches the handle of the mug very gingerly to check its temperature, then leans her halberd against the wall - it's not exactly a practical weapon in these close quarters anyway - and picks up the napkin in her other hand in case she feels the need to steady the drink before it's cooled down.

The nakpin has writing on it.

Welcome to Milliways. Enjoy this on the house, and do note that violence is forbidden outside of private rooms. I assure you that our Security is highly effective. I hope you enjoy the holiday!

The handle is cool, though the drink is warm and smells wonderful.

That... no. She is going to sit down. And have a nice drink. And talk to the nice person. And... probably not talk too much more religion, unless someone asks.

She looks around for a backless seat that isn't going to interfere too much with the wings. She is absolutely not in the mood to take the wings off right now.

There are backless barstools!

"So, you're an angel? How does that work?"

"I am sent by the gods to do their bidding in the world. We were created at the beginning of all things, and -" she breaks off for a moment, closes her eyes for a second or two. "And most of us will see the end of them," she finishes, slightly more uncertainly.

She blows on the surface of the drink, tests the temperature with a gentle touch, then blows on it again. The aroma is lovely, but she doesn't know how long this body has to last, and it would be a terrible pity to burn her mouth just now.

"Oh, agelessness. Lovely. Rare and coveted perk for us, that is. Of course, it means that Dungeon Binders tend to die by violence..."

"Yes, what is a Binder? I had assumed some kind of theurge-builder, as you have a demesne, but 'dungeon' appears to be doing rather a lot more work as a word than I'd generally expect..."

"So, demesnes form around cores. They protect from iridation, making it safe for human life. The area of a demesne is centered on that core, and it must be protected. Furthermore, it's a sphere, so most of that area is sky or rock. Sky, you can build up into. Rock, you can dig down into, and people do, extensively. Helped by the fact that a dungeon binder - the one who owns the core - has effectively infinite magical power within their demesne and can shift tons of rock with a thought, if they know whispering. Lots of underground construction, safe and sturdy shelter from dragons. Thus, dungeons, dungeon binders."

"But - do you build the core yourself, or do you just - find one that someone else created?"

Sounds a lot like a Dome of the Maelstrom, with advanced sorcery to reshape the rock, and advanced theurgy to let them tap into more of the power... and apparently dragons are a problem, again?

Everything certainly lines up for 'this person is from the future' - if he wasn't human, she'd also be tempted by the hypothesis 'deeper into the continent', but she's fairly sure humans couldn't have got so far to have this level of magic be normal to them.

"You build the core, yes. Or find one whose binder died. Or murder a binder for one."

"I think we call these things 'domes of the Maelstrom'," explains Apharanta. "They're relatively new to - where I just came from, but I know further into the continent they've had magic for longer." Or in the future, she does not say. "They start off as just a shield against external magic, but there's no reason you couldn't unlock the full power of - well, of here. A Maelstrom pocket, where you can create anything you can imagine.

At least, I'm assuming from the magically appearing hot chocolate and other convenient properties of the location."

"Once again, this is milliways, not my demesne. I-"

Whatever. Not worth arguing about.

"Whatever. Not worth arguing about. Being a Dungeon Binder is a very good gig, though Whitecliff as a whole is still fairly tenuous. Were you stuck in this 'maelstrom'?"

"Oh, yes, I was assuming that this was someone else's pocket." Certainly not speculating about whose pocket or who might have decided to scoop her up from the middle of nowhere. If she doesn't have any expectations, she can't be disappointed.

"Define 'stuck'. I haven't been actually stuck for a while, although there was a little while there where everything was somewhat - out of balance." Phew, just about avoided making it clear she's here by the grace of the Weaver. A lot of the gods have some kind of concern about some kind of balance, and the Weaver doesn't mind her lying to people as long as it's funny useful to Her ends.

"'Maelstrom' denotes several quite different phenomena, albeit related, so I suppose I should be clear about the distinctions.

There are the great storms in the midst of the ocean, which separate the continents of the world, which did briefly have a traversable gap but now, I believe, are quite closed once more.

Then there is the world beyond the world, which is what I will normally be referring to when I use the word, especially regarding 'pockets' or 'domes'.

Neither of which are where I directly entered this place from, which was an unremarkable stretch of countryside in the Southern Continent - save that it had recently been visited by the magma kraken."

"Stuck- Be or remain in a specified place or situation, typically one perceived as tedious or unpleasant. Oh, magma kraken, that sounds like a singularly unpleasant dragon. Lots of fun magic in your world, it sounds like. For all that binders are able to use all four kinds of magic, actually doing so has proven... Let's say 'unintuitive'. Born a whisperer, still barely enough deadspeaking to seal up scrapes and cuts."