This is Age of Anubhamun...better known as Ishmael-3979. In this reality, Coptic wizardry never fell...and a dark wizard named Anubhamun controls the Coptic Ministry of Magic.
Together with his four Horsemen, Anubhamun rules this world. He and his four Horsemen each rule one of five colonies: Afroasia, Malaysia, Turkey, Brazil, and Iran. The Horseman of Blight rules Malaysia. The Horseman of Death rules Brazil. The Horseman of War rules Turkey. The Horseman of Famine rules Iran.
In Iran, the Horseman's herd of centaurs is constantly, and vigilantly, on patrol, all across the Persian lands. They're armored, and wield spiked maces forged by goblins.
In the sky, hobgoblins help them out, aback emerald-jeweled metal gliders. With sphere-shaped jars full of potion to spare, they're always grinning, always armored, always armed, and ready for anything. Unlike their ground-dwelling kin, they laugh a lot. They call themselves the Emerald Goblins.
As public transportation, winged palominos fly freely around Persia. Some of them tote bags on their harnesses...with which their clientele pay them for their services. Under the Horseman's rule, a lot of them do this.
All four of the Horsemen have at least one centaur herd in the service of their auror office. And they've all replaced their respective Knight Buses with a herd of flying horses...of sorts.
Making thunder as they run, an armored centaur herd runs past a polecat hole. They're good; not a single one gets his hoof stuck in it. Soon, they're past. All falls silent.
Inside the hole, much is just as silent. Initially, it doesn't seem like anyone...or anything, in fact...lives here...
Someone has been marooned here, though. Although "marooned" probably isn't the right word for it...for her costume is purple.
Meet Clarice Fong...of Ishmael-295. Needless to say, she's a long way from home. Don't let her cute little Chinese feminine body fool you. She's a mutant. As a person, she's hardly as dangerous as they come. Alas, her mutant power of bio-molecular spatial displacement (i.e. portal creation/teleportation) has been known to kill.
Alas, something's wrong. Ms. Fong is under a thousandth her normal size. Clearly, the Wands of War did this to her, when they attacked the Exiles. Up until that point, she commanded the Exiles. Despite her small size, she was very qualified to do so. It turns out her world has an Anubhamun of their own. Once upon an Ancient Egypt, his name was En Sabah Nur. Now, he's Apocalypse.
Like a mite in the sand, she lies. She's got no clue what hit her...and still won't when she wakes.
Her eyes open. They're green; this is rare, for a Chinese girl. There's also a tattoo of a purple diamond on her forehead. It's unclear as to whether she got this from a tattoo parlor, or if it's part of her mutation. Her hair is long, flowing, and raven with streaks of violet. Her ears are elf-like...but she's neither an Otherworlder nor an Alfheimer.
She sits up, and looks around. She calls for Valeria. She calls for Sage. She calls for Morph. She calls for Khan. She calls for Gambit. She calls for Beak. She calls for Holocaust. She calls for anybody. As she makes all of these calls, her voice resonates off the tunnel walls.
Poor girl; she still doesn't know where she is, or how much bigger her own world is. And I DON'T mean Age of Apocalypse.
She doesn't have to put up with this. She's a mutant; she can go anywhere she wants. So, she stands. She creates a portal at random, and leaps through it.
The portals take her throughout the ferret tunnels. Before she can try to go home, she first has to know where she is.
Alas, portals later, and she STILL hasn't figured it out. Something's wrong...
Finally, a portal takes her to it. And she freezes...as she looks up towards a very large black serpent.
Lucky for her, it's asleep. Alas, Clarice's not sure for how long she can stay here before he wakes. It's just as well that she doesn't linger.
In his sleep, the black mamba flicks her tongue. In a flash, and without thinking, Clarice opens another portal, and leaps through it.
This time, she lands in the fur of a sleeping jerboa. This is where she realizes it: that black mamba was no giant. And neither is this jerboa. The Wands of War must've cursed her with a very powerful re-sizing spell... The arduous magic of Pahlavi, no doubt...
OTOH, Gaffari just as likely force-fed her a shrinking potion. He's VERY good with those. Hell, he probably knows a few herbalists who grow shrivelfigs...
This jerboa's fur is comfy, so Clarice rolls over, and decides to stay here for a while. Her team is nowhere to be found; nowhere close, at least. She dreads what the Wands have done to them. Alas, that's tomorrow's problem. And Clarice won't likely come up with a working solution if all she ever does is try to rush her way out of this mess...