Rogur, expecting the same refreshed feeling he previously experienced upon passing through the Amber Room steps easily into the circle and watches Elpy. Was that the right sigil phrase? He had never had much of a head for that kind of brute-force memorization that seemed to be a wizard's bread and butter. Not much to do now but wait, in any case. The familiar sense of comfort and refreshment passes through him.
But he is quickly dismayed as he feels (Senses? Smells? there's no word that quite captures it) the cloak around his shoulders begin to jitter, as if someone had grasped a thread at its base, yanked, and started running in the opposite direction. Intuitively, he gathers the cloak to himself, willing it to remain whole, and he feels some vital force pass from himself into the bundle of cloth. The stone walls of Erszebet's tower close around him and he collapses to his knees, panting as if he had just sprinted a furlong, and clenching his jaw to keep from retching.