Thinks to everyone who reviews.

Disc-laimer: I own none of this.

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For everyone who has ever owned a lava lamp, or at least has stared at one for a long amount of time, bring it to mind. Imagine that the blobs of wax are in fact universes, merging and unmerging at their own discretion. When a blob splits, look closely; there will probably be a small blob that neither goes with the separating wax, nor sinks back to the bottom. It snaps free of both. Imagine this blob to be a very small universe.

The Dean was getting a bit upset. Shortly after beginning his 'Blacksmithing and the Occult' lecture, one of the students had finally snapped and tried to leave. The Dean used his normal reaction, which was to fire a spell at the door, which would keep the student from leaving. The Student, whose name was Omar Murdock, had gotten the door open, but saw the outside hall fade into blackness before him. He looked around, and there was the classroom behind him, and the doorframe on both sides, and utter, utter blackness everywhere else. The air did not rush out of the room, and the candles, which were its only source of light, as it was an interior classroom, did not even gutter. They slowly burned down as the lecture ended and it became clear that there was nowhere to go. The students had actually started reading the handful of books on the shelves, which though not dense or magical enough to connect the room with L-space, were able to explain what had happened. The Dean had overtaxed the reality near the doorway, and the classroom, the Dean, the books, the students, and that hideous mounted duck which the Dean had tried to throw into the void unsuccessfully ("I can't think with it staring at me!"), were now their own little universe.

Bring back the picture of the lava lamp. The wax will all eventually settle back together. But it is extremely unlikely that it will sink back in the same spot. But it will sink back together

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Ponder Stibbons stared. The Farrell Duck was the least remarkable creature he could have imagined. The stuffed version had looked much more majestic. This duck simply sat there. It was also slightly unnerving where it sat.

"Buggrit," said Foul Ole Ron as Coffin Henry handed him a grimy sausage. The beggars were huddled around a whale oil drum which had some sticks and other junk in it and was blazing brightly. Off to one side was the quarry.

The Duck Man.

The Duck Man was sitting next to the drum and would occasionally toss a stick or broken board into it. Ponder stared. On his head was the Farrell Duck, which was napping quietly. No one seemed in the least bit surprised or interested by this phenomenon.

"Hello," said Eskarina smith, who had simply walked by the staring Ponder. "I'm Esk, a wizard, don't ask, and I require duck feathers.

"Oh, hello," said the Duck Man. "That's nice."

"Couldn't you give me any?"

"Nope. I haven't had a duck for anything in years."

"Buggrit," affirmed Foul Old Ron.

"But, there's a duck on your-" started Ponder, but Esk cut him off.

"Anyway, I used to study ducks." Said the Duck Man, dreamily. "Fantastic creatures. And then I stopped. And the next thing I know I'm here telling Ron he can't eat something he found in the Ankh. Mazing, really. I have no idea what happened in the middle. Nope, haven't seen a duck in years."

"Close your eyes," said Esk.

"Huh?"

Esk let out a sigh of frustration, grabbed the duck, which had been sitting there for weeks without moving, and then only to quack, and yanked out a feather.

"What was that noise?" The Duck man tried to turn around.

"Nothing, nothing at all. Anyway, thank you."

"John. John Farrell." And he shook their unresisting hands.