While travelling at the relatively slow speeds needful for a ship to thread through the dweometric lattice that forms the boundary of a Sphere, the crew of the Astalwa at first didn't notice a great deal of difference between space within and space without. That perception changed abruptly as they moved out through the Everflowing and felt for the first time the raw, untempered power of the primal dweomer. Even those with no training in or affinity to magic shivered in the onslaught of the thaumaturgic storm, and the very air was illuminated with an eerie blue light. On the second day out the Helmsman felt a tugging sensation, and the Navigator perceived a concentration of energy. They manoeuvred closer to investigate…

Suddenly they found themselves weightless, tumbling through a maelstrom of light and colour, flashing, strobing, and scintillating at every frequency of the spectrum, through a cacophony of sounds blaring, squealing, roaring, soaring up above audibility so high that an itch was felt in their nerve endings, descending so low that the thudding hammered their bones like cudgels. Every piece of glass on board trembled and sang, adding to the din, while the sails boomed and the lines thrummed as if in a gale. And then…abruptly, all was stillness.

They were motionless in space and completely disoriented, but as they tried to pull themselves together after their ordeal, the Captain made use of his treasured Spyglass of True Seeing and detected the shimmer of the Crystal Sphere. The shaken Helmsman reported that the Helm was once again responding, and they decided to head for home and report on all they'd seen.

They slipped through the matrix of the spheral barrier without undue trouble and gratefully plotted a course for home. However, within a tenday they knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong. The sun. What had happened to the sun? The light was…white, odd and glaring, much brighter than the sun should be. The planets too had changed. Where was the huge, magnificent gas giant, Taurandír, with its hundred moons? Even if they were in opposition from its orbit, it should still be visible…but in the path where it should be floated a much smaller blue orb, surrounded by a faint, hazy ring. Where were they?

With growing trepidation they continued their journey to ports unknown, but even the youngest and most optimistic crewman couldn't pretend that they were going home anymore. However, on their 28th day of travel since entering the sphere, a most peculiar yet hopeful event occurred. Subtle but insistent, a string of images began trying to poke their way into the Helmsman's mind. Alarmed, she called for backup…but the intrusion wasn't painful or horrifying. It did, however, convey a definite sense of "otherness".

She saw first a pretty good representation of the Astalwa, an image that grew smaller and smaller until it was an infinitesimal dot, the ship as seen from a planet located where Arvandor should have been. She saw verdant fields, oceans embellished with lacelike foam, deep, cool forests and soaring mountains…spread out beneath a sky of brilliant heliotrope. She saw patient herbivores grazing on cerulean grasses, animals with the thick wool of sheep, the long legs and necks of horses and the pendulous udders of cows. They were herded by dogs that looked no different from the one they'd left behind on Arvandor. She was shown grassy mounds that had neat round doors painted in pure clear colours, windows beautified with billowing white curtains, and extending from the crest, a metal chimney-pipe emitting a plume of friendly smoke.

With growing excitement, she watched as a bipedal creature about four and half feet tall entered one of those mounds. He was covered in greyish-brown fur and had a long bushy tail banded with alternating light and dark rings and a triangular face with black fur around his eyes that contrasted sharply with the white fur that covered the rest of his visage. His eyes were kind and knowing, but apparently rather short-sighted, for lenses set in gold wire frames perched on his long nose. He wore a simple garment similar to a vest for the sole purpose of having a place for pockets and pouches. He held out a crystal ball…and seemed to look directly into the Helmsman's eyes. Finally, the Astalwa appeared again…and then what seemed to be a blank canvas filled only with an unmistakable sense of expectation.

By such psionic means, over the next twelve days, through trial and error, but powered by good will and determination, communication grew between the sailors from Arvandor and the procyonids from the planet the inhabitants called Nexhan. By the time the Astalwa arrived they had been given detailed maps and both sides had agreed upon a landing site. The planetologist analysed the air composition and declared it sweet and fresh and the temperature at the designated landing site to be comfortably invigorating. They had known for several days that the gravity was very close to that of Arvandor. There was still considerable apprehension, as was only natural, but the Captain decided to step out on faith…while keeping the Helm manned for a quick get-away and stationing spellcasters and bowmen ready to repel boarders! They began to spiral down through the atmosphere.

They touched down with barely a ripple to disturb the placid sea and sailed up to a wharf where a colourful crowd had gathered. At the end waited the mage the Helmsmen had seen so often telepathically, accompanied by a rather larger fellow, half a head taller and broad in proportion, with darker fur, wearing a red-and-white striped vest embroidered with intricate azure curlicues and an orange hat shaped like an oval frustum that rested between his ears and sloped upward a good ten inches to end in a fluffy pompom of purple, green and gold. Shiny brass buttons marched down his chest and beribboned brooches of gold and silver stretched across it. He was obviously a Very Important Man. He stepped forward extending his long-fingered hands (with two opposable thumbs) in a gesture of welcome that transcended racial and cultural differences.

The Captain stepped forward to meet him, not quite sure what was expected of him, but willing to try, dropping his innate resistance, allowing the dozens of divinatory spells he felt flicking at him to work. The mage made a small chirring sound that could only have been laughter, reached out and took the Captain and the Dignitary by their respective wrists, and guided them through the local greeting, touching palm to palm, then cast Comprehend Languages on himself, several of his fellow Nexhans, the Captain and the Helmsmen. Interspheral diplomacy was off to a very good start.

When the Astalwa finally left Nexhan three months later the numbers on the manifest had been augmented by a delegation of mages and sages. A small part of their purpose was diplomatic--if they were successful they were eager to further trade and education between the two spheres. However, the main part was altruistic. Nexhan curiosity about the universe, and the divinatory skills they had developed to study it, far exceeded the expertise of the Arvandorians. Procyonid technomancers had long speculated about the confluences of dweomer and energy that existed outside the Nexhansphere. The appearance of the Astalwa had confirmed the most widely accepted explanation, that the conjunctions were Discontinuity Points where the universe warped the fabric of space, time and magick. It was time to go look for them…and with luck and grace help the stranded explorers go back home.

They started searching for the one the Arvandorian ship had emerged from. They were fortunate in that the point (now know as DP: A1-N1 on every Dominion stellar chart) was a singularity and not a polydiscontinuity nexus. They were beyond fortunate that the Nexhan diviners knew where to look and what to look for. Still, this was brand new to everyone. They searched for over a month and a half before they found it, and spent another half a month analysing and planning, considering consequences and contingencies. They decided to go ahead. As the crew said privately to each other, if they wanted to see home again, what choice did they have? The Nexhan astronomers had located their home star, a tiny twinkling spark in the eastern sky, and calculated the distance. Four light years. Almost a lifetime, even for an elf. None of the dwarven crewmen had a dream of a chance. They sailed forth.

This time, braced, with sails trimmed and everything battened down, neither the noise nor the sense of dislocation were quite as bad, but no one could deny they were plenty rough enough! However, their discomfort was forgotten when they saw a star precisely the right colour and exactly where it should be, a huge gas giant surrounded by a hundred moons…a flotilla of familiar ships keeping station where the Astalwa had vanished. They'd made it home!