A small, pocket universe torn in the fabric of reality by those who had come before. Here, the only landmass floats in a black void, and light is a constant. Sometimes in the blackness of the void, blinding white fissures rip through space, and holes in reality manifest. Riftstorms. In that moment of turbulence, people and things from other places arrive. Apart from that, it is quiet there. It is theorized that the Rifthome was originally an experiment grounds for ancient mages, so they may conduct them safely without harming some original plane of existence.
You may have come here unwittingly, finding yourself walking into blackness and appearing here. You may be a mage, and miscast a translocation spell of some kind. Maybe you came here on purpose. If you have, then you won't need to read further. In many cases though, you are taken by chance. In the
infinite multiverse, there are instabilities. These instabilities are loose, less tethered to their home than others. Places with a weak fabric of reality, like your innumerable bermuda triangle type phenomena. Imagine an hour timer. A sandglass. All the sand is pressed up against each other, but the ones close to the hole in the middle fall through to the other side, and the other grains of sand move inward to take its place... you are one such grain of sand, and another almost identical version of you has taken your place back home, unknowingly. They may have a difference of only one memory or blemish.
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