It's dark and airless for a long while, or at least what feels like a long while. She hits more turbulence along the way, and several times, strange sensations accost her, often feeling as though various esoteric parts of her are being tugged and ripped at. More than once, that part of her feels like it gets pulled off, or pulled out, or pulled apart. One of those missing parts is that connection to deathly power which sustains wights and other undead. It might be terribly painful, if pain is still something that exists in her.

There's a final, powerful pull, attacking her body itself, like being drawn and quartered except pulling at every inch of her, but she is able to hold herself together, and when it passes, so does the darkness.

Green and brown resolve into a forest. The sounds of wind-rustled branches and startled animals greet her ears, the gentle scent of a well-managed grove enters her nose. She is falling still, but only briefly, before colliding with the soft earth of the forest floor.

She's arrived, wherever she is.

Wights do feel pain. Which is why Tess spends a minute with her eyes closed, slumped against the ground, before the gravity of the situation sinks in.

The Voice at the Gate isn't there anymore. Her feelings about that are - mixed, and mostly irrelevant, because her connection to the Death of the Middle Realm was actually kind of important. No Voice means she's been cut off from her essence supply. And no essence means that there's no way to repair her body, which hasn't been made of flesh and blood since she first returned from death. She'll unravel if she so much as nicks a finger.

Tess gets up, carefully. She makes sure that her dagger is properly secured. Then she looks more closely at her surroundings. Maybe there'll be a way back. Or another deity she could appeal to. The Lower Realm supposedly has a Death of its own.

No portal is apparent, at least anymore. Just trees and underbrush and a curious little furry creature watching her vigilantly from a tree branch overhead. No obvious deities either, or anything that especially tickles her feeling for magic.

The trees are green with flower buds and fresh leaves. They're fairly regularly spaced in neat rows, and all quite straight-trunked, so it's not hard to see hints of civilization off in one direction.

Well. It's more pleasant than the ashlands, except for the part where she's going to die. And this world's... total absence of ambient magic, which is a bit disquieting. It's as if there had been music playing in the background for her entire life, and then it suddenly cut out.

She heads towards civilization. While keeping her distance from sharp edges, tripping hazards, animals, other people, and anything else that might put her at risk of a lethal papercut.

The grove is actually quite orderly. There aren't any big changes in elevation, patches of bramble, bundles of roots, or animal dens. Making her way to the edge without suffering even cosmetic damage is no trouble, though the vigilance alone might make it a bit tedious.

Regardless, it's not a long walk. Even before she steps out from the shade of the trees, she can see a large clearing, with a sawmill squatting on the bank a river on the far side. There's a team of people present, maybe a dozen and all human, sitting under the shade of the sawmill's roof and sharing a meal.

She shouts greetings in a few of the more common Middle Realm languages.

The quiet chatter of the sawmill team stops immediately, all of their heads turning to Tess's general direction, though unless she's stepped out into the sunlight none of them will spot her immediately.

Regardless of whether they can see her or not yet, the first thing they do is send one of their number over to a crate at other end of the sawmill's platform. The man steps rapidly, and then knocks loudly on the crate's top side. A moment later, it a strange mechanical sound, loud and clanking, emanates from the direction of the crate, followed by a quieter sequence of quick chirps, rings, and whistles, and then by speech in a language that's too quiet for Tess to make out. The other humans all give each other looks as this happens. There's a long, pregnant pause after the speech stops, as more of the humans turn their heads toward their compatriot and the crate he is apparently communicating with.

...Tess walks closer. Mostly so that she can get a closer look at the crate.

In the sun, it becomes clear that she may somewhat overdressed for the local climate. It's quite warm, though without the trees to break it there is at least a pleasant breeze.

Seeing her approach provokes an immediate response from the humans. The one interacting with the crate quickly shouts some agitated words in an unfamiliar language at it, while the other humans all stand up, abandoning their meals on planks of wood and squares of cloth to hastily begin collecting various forestry tools and brandishing them as makeshift weapons.

In the midst of the one man shouting at the crate (which, from the closer vantage point, seems like a pretty normal if somewhat large wooden crate, constructed from wooden planks and rope), the knots holding the crate closed become untied. The crate promptly unfolds, revealing a roughly cubical machine of sorts, which itself begins to unfold, transforming into...a vaguely humanoid machine-golem of sorts, standing nearly twice as tall as the tallest human in the group, and which is now walking off of the sawmill's platform towards Tess.

Tess backs up and raises her palms to show that she isn't holding a weapon. If that doesn't persuade them to call the golem off, it's probably time to start running.

The humans don't seem especially placated by the gesture, remaining in an anxious defensive line under the roof of the sawmill. The golem itself, however, does react, stopping its walk, mimicking the gesture, and then producing several phrases in an unfamiliar language (or probably multiple different unfamiliar languages, as they have a breadth of verbal textures that would be surprising for a single language).

Okay. She's not sure what their deal is, but at least nobody is resorting to violence.

None of those verbal textures bear any resemblance to a language she knows, so it's time to go back to the basics. She points at herself and says "Tess."

The golem doesn't mimic her action, this time, instead replying with another unintelligible phrase before beginning to whir. Panels, dishes, and antennae extrude from within the golem's torso, mostly but not exclusively pointed in Tess's general direction. After a brief moment, all of the apparatuses are fully extended, the whirring stops, and she can feel the barest hint of magic, soft and warm, brushing against her temples.

It'd be understandable if she ran, and if she does, the golem will follow, maintaining roughly the same distance and adjusting its instruments dynamically to keep them focused on Tess's position.

Yeah, Tess is going to try putting a building between herself and the giant metal monster. The attempt at communication was promising, but she's heard of combat magic that can boil someone from the inside, and she isn't going to stand there while it blows her head off.