The Item Itself
The SP117 is a wand with the approximate size, shape, and color of a yellow highlighter and the approximate weight of a gallon of yellow paint. There may be various insignia on it, usually matching those of a well-funded army, or a group of protesters that stole it from an army. It has “117” printed on it in bold, uniform type.
Someone familiar with it would offer you approximately the price of a nice piano for it, probably looking to pawn it off on a government or war historian.
When used, it transports any being capable of being injured, and anything they’re touching, to another plane. (The floor won’t come with you, but your bag will, and the rug might.) This looks like vaporization to the untrained eye. After each shot, the wand will prompt the user, by way of an inaudible magical whisper, to “shake or fire again to continue”. If the wand is not waved or fired again within five seconds, it will then transport anyone holding it, and anything they’re carrying other than the wand, in the same way. The wand itself will try to teleport to a nearby shelf or table in the original plane, or, failing that, fall to the floor.
SP117 has five charges. It takes anyone trained in magic worth their salt about ten minutes of repetitive, intense work to charge it up again fully.
The Sanctuary
SP117 transports beings to a gigantic hexagonal room, with mighty, glossy metal walls and floors. It smells as if every scent molecule more interesting than “faint sickly-sweetness” has been eliminated. There is a 10-foot circular rug on the floor, decorated with geometric patterns. It is cheap, but incredibly comfortable.
The text “SP117” is printed along one wall. Below it is simply encrypted text that reads ALUR DEATHTAKER, WITH MUCH RESPECT: STAY OUT OF THESE WALLS when deciphered.
To the right of the labeled wall is a contraption with an interface of buttons, a basin at the top labeled “HOLY SYMBOL OR FOCUS ITEM”, and several smaller drawers, labeled and stocked with common components for healing spells. When operated it allows one to cast a spell hands-free. The interface is difficult to learn, but is barely a hindrance when mastered.
Moving further right, there is a door labeled EXIT. It takes approximately six minutes to leave, most of which is operating well-known magical machinery. Those who leave will arrive in the original plane, in the same room as the wand.
Directly opposite the labeled wall is another door, leading to a room with identical dimensions. In it lie nine adjustable bedframes without mattresses and parts to a tenth, a bookshelf with long, vapid books, and a comfy loveseat. It also contains a stall with a toilet and a kitchenette stocked with a magically never-ending supply of water and palm oil soap. A compartment with a trash receptacle contains a broken but salvagable wand of brisk shrink, a cumbersome wand which causes an item to shrink to pocket-size for approximately ten minutes.
Another wall has an ancient interface embedded in it. By pushing blocks labeled “1”, “2”, “4”, “8”, and so on in and out, it provides a binary representation of important stats of any being standing on the rug-- height, weight, a number corresponding approximately to how many thwacks from a club it would take to kill them, and so forth. It also provides numerical codes corresponding to the strongest curse inflicting them, the last kind of magic they cast, whether they are allergic to various families of healing spells, and so on.
There is a secret compartment below this interface, triggered by pressing one of the blocks with the digit worn off by fingerprint oils. It contains six healing potions, each diluted with seven parts water.
Along the last wall is a locked door labeled NETWORK. To unlock it would take entering a 6-digit passcode. Entering three incorrect codes springs a trap that has long run out of ammunition. It would take a little less than 30 hours to brute-force. What could lie beyond it?
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