It's wilderness. Most places you could land if you land somewhere random are. The sun - if it's the same sun - is high in the sky, like he's travelled quite far or for quite a long time. It's quiet. Songbirds are warbling.

Well. There was a very small but real chance that something like that might happen. Isarn's on a lot of ley lines. 

Félix, still on his shoulder, squawks. 

"Quiet, you."

       "This doesn't look like the martyr's park."

"I'd noticed."

       "If I teleported you someplace that was supposed to be martyr's park, and wasn't, I'd bet anything you'd be squawking." 

"Go ask those birds over there where we are." 

South of the smoke! North of the forest! 

Félix flaps back.

           "I vote we move away from the smoke." 

"You know, I told Lucien we should grant the franchise to familiars, but I don't think he thought I was serious." 

            "Don't be cute, boss." 

So they'll head south. 

They see no smoke, then. Félix, who can see from a better vantage point, will eventually spot a fortress; stone, reasonably well-made, built into a hill overlooking the plains that they're presently trudging across. It'll be a long walk.

How long? Élie can take an hour to prepare Mount, if it's worth it. 

Yeah, this will take them most of the day to walk.

Alright, then. Magic horses. 

When he's been riding for the fortress for perhaps ten, fifteen minutes, Félix spots a large number of mounted riders coming out of it. Perhaps unrelated; they'd need extremely sharp-eyed scouts, to have spotted him at this distance. He's a lot smaller than a fortress. Félix can't pick out individuals in the departing party.

Lots of things have sharp eyes. 

Élie's horse is magic and will last approximately two hours. Their horses are real. If he tries to escape, this is not a race he will win. 

He'll angle to ride towards the scouting party until his horse gives out. 

They catch up to him about when the horse is running out. They're - not human, though they could pass at a glance. Too tall, too uniformly young and beardless. The horses are too large, too. They're armed, obviously, and wary, just as obviously.  

On whose authority do you travel here? someone asks him Telepathically, once they're close enough he can hear their horses' heavy breathing. 

The fuck. Telepathic communication is possible, but usually only for powerful wizards – who'd just cast Tongues instead of wasting 6th circle spell on talking to someone right in front of them. 

Aloud, he asks Félix – "Did you hear that?"

Telepathically he responds: If I am trespassing, I did not intend it. I'm here because of a teleportation accident. I don't know where I am. I do not wish you harm.

And, privately, he prepares himself to notice if his mind is being read. 

They're definitely reading his mind. 

A teleportation accident.

Élie really hates having his mind read. He's also decent at not thinking inconvenient thoughts when it's happening; he's had enough practice. The trick is to focus on something else, something that can easily absorb the natural push and pull of his thoughts – some question, like, how the Hell did he get here. 

Yes. I've never heard of this happening with a dimension step before, but of course it's not impossible, just rarer. I suspect I stepped in a leyline – I do try to keep track of all the major ones around my home, but we've seen a great deal of magical combat lately and sometimes that causes them to shift – I'm from Isarn, in Galt, in northern Avistan. 

A longer pause. I have never heard of any of those places, the voice says.

Could you speak aloud in - whatever language is spoken there?

"My name is Élie Cotonnet, of Isarn, and that's an interesting question. As I am a citizen of Galt, and a patriot, I'd say that it's Galtan, though if you were to ask my old Chelish schoolmaster he'd tell you it's a degenerate dialect of Avistani, and probably have me whipped – and most of the rest of the world would say we were both speaking Taldane." 

He can repeat that telepathically. What are the not-quite-humans doing with their weapons?

They're mostly keeping spread out like they expect that if he's something dangerous the weapons will be of limited use; a few of the ones in a distance do have a bow drawn on him.

It's hard to tell which one is speaking, what with the telepathy. They're all in nice uniforms - extremely nice uniforms, actually, silk dyed a deep red with effortful detailing on the sleeves and collars - but the uniforms don't immediately betray who is in charge. 

These are nations of - men? People of your own race? 

"Men – as in, humans? Mostly. My nation, Galt, also has halflings and tieflings and the odd dwarf or half-elf or hill giant. Other species are more common in other nations, though humans are the majority in most of the ones I've heard of. What are you? Where is this? Would you also speak aloud in your own language?"  

An even longer pause. 

"We call our people Quendi," says (and sends) the one in the lead, "and the continent Beleriand, and the world Arda. There are humans, here, but - not nations of them. I ...don't think we'd have missed them, if there were some. I don't think the Enemy would have, either."

"Now I'm much more confused about how I got here. The kind of magical accident I thought I was in isn't known to transport people between planets. The world I'm from is called Golarion. I've never heard of a species called Quendi, though there are many things I haven't seen. I do not know of any language like yours. 

...We do have – if I've got the sense of it right – an Enemy, but I'd be very surprised if they were the same." 

And the man dismounts. "I propose that you come with us," he says and sends, managing to maintain at least a trace of ambiguity about whether that's an order.

"It seems I can do very little else," he says and sends. "Félix, the gentleman asks us accompany him." 

(In fact, there's one thing he can do – try to make his will save against the mind reading and see if it gets a reaction). 

It works. Not instantly, like he threw off a single casting of a spell; it's more like, once he starts trying, he can actually just slowly but surely fence that presence out of his head, if he wants.

If it was possible for them to get even more tense, they're even more tense now. No one demands he do anything else, though.

The tall Quendi picks Elie up and places him on the horse, as if he weighed about as much as a five year old at his first pony riding lesson, and then jumps up behind him.

"Your language is very beautiful," he offers, once he's done so. "This is probably a trick of the enemy somehow, but we didn't know him to have much of an ear for beauty."

On the one hand, this is objectively a terrible decision. On the other hand, Élie really hates having his mind read. He'll fail his will save when they ask. 

He's also very sure that's not how making a will save against Detect Thoughts works. 

"Thank you! I agree. I'm partial, of course, but I really think no other language has as much depth and richness of expression as our Galtan. We take great care to cultivate it."

That earns a smile! A convincing one, even! "That is a priority of ours in our own speech as well. Quendi like beautiful things. It is one of the most notable differences between us and Men."