The Journals of Connor Garvill

[Dorganath]

Yet another delayed writing in this journal.  It's a bit out of order, but perhaps grouping things together will make more sense than a piecemeal rendition of events.  Perhaps if I tell myself that enough, it will be true.  It's been difficult though, so many overlapping things, so many events, both great and small. Finding time to put down my thoughts has been difficult.  This time now, is likely a calm before the storm.

Before the fall of Bloodstone, my sister Kat got somehow involved in events that eventually led to crisis of succession as King Karem Waylend died before our eyes.  She was summoned to Pranzis by a woman named Dezare.  No one had heard of her before, least of all Kat, but we went anyway, right to the castle, as requested.  We were expected, but we find out on arrival that Dezare is ill and the King is near death.  But who was this Dezare person anyway?  She seemed to be some kind of....advisor or trusted friend of the King's, and she was very musically gifted.  Apparently the woman had a...magical command of sound, and through it, she could make wonderful things happen.

It seems the King had been ill like this in the past, and Dezare had cured him through her song, though apparently it was not working this time, perhaps because Dezare was too weak or too old.  I don't really know. As we spoke with Dezare, word came that the King was getting worse.  We rushed down, per request, and stood in the King's bedchambers of all places. Hardly alone of course, there were advisors, the king's wife and two nobles who I assumed were related.I found out later that one of them, Kayana, is the daughter of King Waylend, and the other, Shaviro Palma, is a noble from Roldem but apparently a cousin in King Waylend's family.

Kat tried singing, as Dezare had told her earlier, and it seems the song was working as it had for Dezare, but the King apparently had other plans.  His doctors stated he just decided to die, and die he did.  Quite an odd thing that...watching a king die.

And shortly thereafter, Dezare died.  It was as if she was waiting...maybe sustaining the King for as long as she could.

And then things got very strange.

They couldn't decide a successor, as the two potentials were of approximately equal claim to the throne.  Succession laws favor male heirs, but Kayana was closer in blood.  Under the eyes of the law, both could take the throne, so the advisors and sycophants of each were vying for position.  And then of course there were those who sought the opportunity to make political requests during the time of turmoil.  And on top of all this, while politics and rules could not decide on a successor, the people of Pranzis were running out of food, as the food stores could only be released by royal decree...

And this is the center of our world's authority?

Through a twist of fate, it seemed that Kat would have a great influence in who would succeed King Waylend. Or perhaps she was being recognized as some sort of successor herself to Dezare. To be honest, things just got very confusing in general.  And there were so many questions, like who and what was Dezare?  How does Kat fit into all this? Who could tell more, who should succeed the King: Kayana or Shaviro....or a third... *ink blot*  

Sadly, most of the questions went unanswered.  For starters, in the final days of the war against Blood, I left to Xantril to help take on Blood and his forces directly.  Kat stayed on Dregar to aid in the defense of Pranzis. Unfortunately, the defenders could not withstand the assault by the forces led by one of Blood's "generals"....a dwarf named Broegar.  He claimed the city and installed himsef as the ruler.

Broegar has been quite well-received by most of the residents of Pranzis....or Prantz as he likes to call it now.  I write that with a hint of skepticism, though on the surface, Broegar has done nothing but good things for the city.  The people are fed, the walls and buildings are repaired, the city is safe.  For those who endured the turmoil of 60-odd years of war and the death of a King, I suppose Broegar's rule has been something of a positive. I can't say I agree...but that is not a fight for me to undertake this day.

For all his changes, the one that grates me the most is a banning of the use of magic within the city walls.  Who does he think he is?  And to make the practice punishable by death!!! I am certain the Church will have something to say about this.  In the mean time, however, I will not push my luck.  So I'll mind his little rule...for now.

Some time after, a member of a resistance movement contacted Kat.  He called her an Alysornette...a singer of spells. He was kind of a jerk, really, though that could have been due to the rather harsh verbal treatment he got from Freldo.  I like the guy, but sometimes he needs to learn some restraint of his tongue...or one of these days, he may find it missing.

The man, his name was never given, wanted us to know that at least one of Kayana and Shaviro (he was not sure which, or if it was both) were being held at Arms Keep, pending a very public show trial and execution to be held in Pranzis...or Prantz...whichever.  He contacted Kat on this because apparenly while their prison was warded and watched against magic, he believed the Alysornette could sing her way through undetected.

So the plan was to infiltrate Arm's Keep, rescue Kayana at least (Kat's favored successor) and get her to the resistance near ********* (Location blotted out).  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I was not able to regroup with the others in time for this mission.  I did try and track them to Arms Keep, and in fact all indications were that they were inside.  Using my magic, I hid among the rocky cliffs, watching, listening and waiting until they came out, but they never did come out.  Though it became apparent that they were no longer there. Drat!  An alternate exit, as I suspected.  It was time to head back, but first I thought to try and contact the resistance.  I had no luck, and had to turn back to Pranzis, as my sister and friends were due to stand their own trial and execution along side the two heirs.

What a joke that was...what a mockery of a trial.  Not that I'm much for laws or the sometimes overly-complex legal system in general, but to call that a trial is like calling card tricks magic.

Broegar, ever the showman it seems, officiated the trial himself, some puppet Rofireinite posed as their advocate...such a joke. He did, in the end, decide to show his benevolence and mercy and stay the executions of all the accused, including the two potential heirs.  Though in the surprise, the headsman slipped, dropped his axe and beheaded Shaviro on the spot...by "accident" of course. And then as Kayana's bounds were being removed, she lashed out verbally at Broegar, hurling insults and spitting at him...actually the most I've heard from her, well, ever.   Of course, she was rewarded for this by one of Broegar's guards introducing her to his axe.  So scratch two heirs. Those who survived their trials were banished from the city.  So Broegar got what he wanted...a chance to look "fair", he got rid of some "troublemakers" and he got rid of two legitimate heirs to the throne in which he now sits.  I just hope he doesn't know about the third one....

I'm a bit worried for Kat.  She left so quickly after the trial.  Jharl said she was doing well the other day, and that I should talk to her. I certainly wish to do so, and I've been looking for her, but our paths have not seemed to cross as well as I would like.  Though perhaps if I was not quite so far behind on writing, I would have more time.

I have a feeling our paths will cross soon; they have a habit of not staying uncrossed for very long.

[Dorganath]

Following an old map and receipt, we headed for the Blood Desert and a small town called Adara in hopes of finding the group of enchanters who created the wedding jewelry for Narsil and Emily: The Keepers of the Sacred Flame. Our welcome was less than warm, as one of our group...a young Wizard named Malor...decided to take a bath in their drinking water. Even so, we were directed, begrudgingly, to the enchanters' tower...only they no longer occupied it.  Instead, we found an elven scribe who apparently moved into the tower after the enchanters left. He did seem to have a fair amount of information on Narsil and Emily, having gone through all the records before sending them off to Spellgard....figures. We had just come from there.  He also talked about a box he found with the other records, a curious thing with draconic writings and a rather prominent rune. He allowed Brac'ar to copy his notes on the matter, and the rune in question was Gildor's. The partial translation of the inscription is:  [INDENT]Times long past sweep of wings did fall,  Times of past stories of old.  Secrets kept in enchanting space,  Radiance held in magic's embrace.  Story held for warning time,  Tears will fall over spans and lines.  When metal forced and steel hinges part,  Time will come to mend the fallen heart.  Drops of heaven, drops of stars,  Space to find the uncorrupted path. [/INDENT] I guess he tried to open the box but couldn't through any means, physical or magical. And of course, he sent this off to Spellgard as well.  *added later* He's lying...at least in part. The Keepers are still there.  *added later* Brac'ar has some "associates" who may know where the box is now. I hope it pans out.

[Dorganath]

Seeking information on the Dream that Gildor presented to Lucinda and Ilsare...the one that started the war...we sought out the Dreamers, and with their help, sought the Radiance in the mysterious dream realm. Radiance....how to describe it...dreams given form, but without real form. Once voice, many voices. It really defies explanation. So much we heard from Radiance. I suppose I could spend days trying to detail it all, though I don't think enough room exists in this journal to do so.

Long ago, Gildor came to the dream realm and it changed. It became more, as it is today. And later still, Radiance took form, and that form was known as Asiarenia, Gildor's wife. Asiarenia aided him out of love, and when Gildor placed himself into the Weave, Asiarenia lingered for a time, before fading and returing.

Radiance talked of tools....Narsil, Emily, Minaret, the Unicorns...many more, items and people alike. All tools to Gildor's plan, ourselves included. As we have done, we have done because he has wanted it to be done. Radiance warned that should we stray too far from this plan, he will have ways to force we adhere to his plan. Those who have his rune wrapped around their souls are the leverage, as he can simply release them, and that would be quite fatal to those like Diamond....and Allei.

Asiarenia did what she did out of love, and one more time will Radiance act as such, for when the Tear falls and the directive comes, Radiance will redirect it...and Lucinda will be bound and Gildor's long effort will be complete, even though Radiance's love for Gildor will then go unfulfilled.

Asiarenia did speak of the box, the one mentioned in Adara, and the one Brac'ar claims to know how to get. The box was hers, and she made it when she was angry at Gildor. Inside, she put the means to undo his plans, though she did not elaborate...perhaps because we did not ask. In hindsight, that may have been a mistake, for we will seek to find the one and only person who can unlock it...an elven girl somewhere in Saida, descended from Asiarenia and Gildor but who is all "hers". Any of the other of their many descendants cannot, and any others who try will find the effort extremely fatal. I am a little apprehensive about what the box may contain. The creations of an angry woman are nothing to treat lightly.

[Dorganath]

*** This page intentionally left blank ***

[Dorganath]

*written in what could be termed a combination of urgency and anger*
 
 Why can they not stay in the dark where they belong?!?!?  A stupid question, I know, for the ways of the Drow are sinister and borne of hate and a lust for power.  Meli was attacked...not long after we traded a book for another book and a bead...in the Blood Desert near some of the ruins...robbed of the Tome of Conjuration, stabbed and left for dead with a poisoned blade in her stomach... *ink blot*
 
*the writing calms slightly, but is still angry*
 
 Old adversaries, these drow, these particular drow...this poison.  Though never have they used so much. Thank Lucinda that Plen was present when Faewen came by in a state unusual for even her.  How her convoluted sense of logic led her to my door with Meli lying bleeding in Eld's pool, I'll never know, but it is fortunate all the same.  Plen healed her other wounds, but the poisoned wound resisted.  He removed as much of the venom as he could, but I knew it has already begun to take effect. She's in the care of the healers at Prunilla now...for the time she has.
 
 At the sight of the attack, Kobal, Lalaith, Plen, Kat, Acacea and I...well, mostly Lalaith, found evidence to the battle...and confirmation of who had done this...The Silence.  Veldrin's order.
 
 *written almost with a hint of amusement*
 
 And then there was the "gnome" dressed up like one of them.  Meli's handiwork, I'm sure.  Transformed from his true Drow form and Stuck in the ruins where Meli cast him before she succumbed to her injuries, hiding like a rat deep inside near an altar that may have once held the book that Meli carried...the one stolen by the Drow.  This "gnome" confirmed what I had suspected.  All he did not say, is why.  He said he'd tell us if we got him out, but he did not like our terms.  Probably he would have killed us the moment he was outside...though that would have been difficult, as we relieved him of his equipment. I doubt strongly he would have given anything useful...all the better, as he threw himself on the wards of the altar.  What remained was little more than some tissue and a few scraps of an old robe.  Good riddance.
 
 Or perhaps he would have given a clue, but there are other ways to find out their reasons.  Though knowing more of the books themselves might help to understand the reason for the contract.

[Dorganath]

*written a few days after the previous*
  The poison eats away at her, slowly, eroding the very magic in her soul.  Eventually, there will be nothing left of Meli worth saving. We can keep her strength up by regular infusions of magic, though it is draining to the donor, we can recover.  If it helps her hang onto life, then it's worth the effort.  The tell-tale mark on her neck hasn't formed anything more than a bruise...the spider form has not emerged, nor do I now expect it to.  Perhaps she was not meant to survive, so there was no need to prepare the...insurance.
  I have to believe she'll recover.  I will find it in my power to see that it happens.
  Lucinda watches.
  Lucinda provides.

[Dorganath]

The older part of me, the one who grew up simple in some forgotten forest takes great comfort in constancy...in knowing that things will remain somewhat constant or that in waking up one day, one finds things mostly as they were left. There is a certain calming, mundane contentment in such a thing, freeing the mind from the worries and troubles of a world that is always in motion, despite our best efforts. In the utter chaos of the last thirty-some years, such simple pleasures are few and far between.

The me that is now (though truly there is only one me and different parts of me choose to make themselves known from time to time), the me who has seen and embraced things so fantastic as to be quite beyond my old imagination, the me who has grown in faith and strength through Lucinda's loving embrace...that me knows that the only truly constant thing is change. It is what makes magic what it is, it is what encourages us to take that next step forward, what drives us evermore into what comes after. Even the constants in life change. Change is always. Change is necessary. Change is good.

Yet knowing such things and feeling them with sureity and certainty in the midst of difficulty can be disconcerting at the best, frightening or even paralyzing at the worst. Such is the difficulty of the now, and I find myself looking at the most troubling aspects of loss that I have ever faced. It has taken me some time to put down my thoughts. As if the prospect of Gildor's ultimate success was not enough, it's very difficult to grasp the true scope of what Eld has told me of a matter, perhaps, far more grave...almost incomprehensible to think that Lucinda Herself could be harmed, damaged or cursed through the very gifts that She gives freely to all...and that Eld could be lost permanently to this conspiracy, consumed as a mere component of a curse...a tool, a means to an end.

For rightful reasons, this has scared her, and me as well. The attack on her mother has not helped. She turns to me for comfort, and I try my best to provide it and support her through this difficulty, but it is hard, very hard, for I feel my words of encouragement are hollow, as I have little behind them except for faith...and a desire to keep what it has taken me so long to find. And guilt...the many pieces within me do battle for control of my mind, my heart, my soul. Each wants to have their say, and each has a voice that grows louder with each passing moment. For Eld and I, Lucinda is first before each other...our first and greatest concern. Such as it has been and will always be Though it would be a lie to say that whispers cannot turn into roars...whispers that tell me to defend and hold onto my Amael with everything at my disposal. Such has shaken my faith, not in Lucinda, but in myself, and so some of the darker voices, the hurt voices from the past, the voices that warn of threats where none exist, the voices which tell me to retreat back inside the emotional fortress in which I lived for so long before we became us...these voices speak up to be heard.

The struggle is constant, for the voices that desire happiness, the voices who do not listen to whispers of doubt, the voices that set me down this path...they speak as well, and they are heard, and it is those voices I seek to embrace. I admit, my success in that area needs improvement. Bah! I am rambling.

Soon, we will embark on a series of urgent tasks, the final to ensure Lucinda is not harmed, if we are successful. The chance of loss of the two I love most deeply is less, but still very real. Our enemies will bring great forces to bear on us. We can only have faith that our preparations and strength will pull us through. Still, there is the fear that the two greatest constants in my life...constants that are always changing...will be lost.

Preparations are made...Faith will see us through.

*written later in an excited manner*

Amael is safe!

Lucinda is safe!

*and then as an after-thought*

And She has a really nice house.

[Dorganath]

*A few bits of sand are wedged in the pages where this entry lies*

Meli is stable for now, magic infusions helping her keep up her strength, which I suppose buys us a little bit of time. I'm so very conflicted as to what to do. Knowing so little about the Tomes, it is difficult to think of why someone might request a contract to steal it, or to add Meli on as a "bonus". The clues so far seem to lead to Adara and a 50 year-old murder. *ink blot*

We know the cure for this, or a possible cure...all the ingredients are gathered, and ready to be assembled, but there are great risks, and I have sworn to protect...part of the cure...at all costs, and I am certain our old enemy will make an appearance at the attempt. For this, we must plan and plan well. All is lost if we rush.

And that which cannot leave my mind is the memory of the dream, or nightmare really, in that curious little box. The dream was many years of hardship and struggle to fix what the Drow had done, return what they had taken. That the dream could have been more seems likely; almost everyone returned from it physically changed in some way. If there's even such a possibility, it would be better if it never happens at all. *the period was dotted with some force, denting the page slightly*

For now, there is a mysterious shack in Adara, half a tale from "THE Greg", a blown up amulet, a dress for a pregnant elf, a vial of perfume, some sand that just won't behave...and magic that does not conform. This is important, I feel it. A short time more, and then we move on.

*below, several strings of runes appear, which while being clearly magical do not make any sense at all in conventional terms. *

[Dorganath]

How could I have let this happen? How could I lose sight of something so important as the life of Meli?  Was it my hope to avoid the risks involved with the cure?  Was I seeking to protect Magic from whatever plans the Drow or their employers may have had?  Did I let my curiosity get the best of me?  Was I doing what I thought Meli would have wanted me to do?  She did say to seek the Giant Head before slipping back into unconsciousness... *ink blot*

I don't know...  It doesn't seem as clear as it did any longer. I feel I misled myself, or allowed myself to be misled. Faith? Optimism? Fear? Either way, it was the voice of a friend with a knack of pointing out what should be obvious, but at times simply is not, that helped me to realize my error. A missive from the Tower came as well, but after my mind was already made up. I pray this realization does not come too late.  

Plans are in progress, plans to complete a task that started long ago...one that perhaps should have been completed sooner, but in retrospect, if it had been, the cure might not be available to Meli now.  Only two other possible sources of information remain regarding this venom.  If those do not reveal themselves to be immediately useful, then we move on. Other concerns will have to wait.  The mystery of the shack, the items found within, the trapped spirit...they have persisted for fifty-odd years, they can wait a bit longer.  

May Lucinda light our path, and may She keep those dear to Her safe...just a short while longer.

[Dorganath]

Several options before me...several paths to take, none seeming clearer than the others as each had reasons, both practical and personal for pursuing. One, a path walked long ago, now a path of life, love and completion. Another, a path of duty and service, though perhaps such terms to not describe the path quite accurately. Last, a path of curiosity and possibilities, of past and of knowledge. For better or worse, a choice has been made, and this path must be followed for it's length. Lucinda willing, it will cross back with the others. I feel it's the right one. I can only pray it ends up being the best one.

This path, however, has taken some unexpected turns. Some more welcome than others. It is funny, though usually welcome, how many times some fears end up going unrealized, while others, usually a very few, end up coming to pass with uncanny resemblance to the most dire of predictions...and still others, old forgotten fears sometimes find ways of making sure they are never forgotten in some rather unexpected ways. *ink blot*

And now, with the means of salvation in-hand, the means of freedom for so many and life for one now complete after what seems like an age, I find I am now faced with more questions than I thought this would create...and yet another puzzle to solve.

[Dorganath]

*Several pages are missing here, as evidenced by them being torn roughly from the bindings. Based on the tear patterns, they were removed individually, as though each was a separate and failed attempt at writing something.  The next page after the ones torn out reads simply...*

It's been a long time.  Too long.  But finally a burden that has been carried by a few and that has plagued thousands more is at an end.  Those marked, those whose souls were slowly being dissolved in the venom of a dark god are free.

[Dorganath]

Sometimes the most spontaneous decisions and actions can have the most profound effect or be the most rewarding...or sometimes both. In my life, there have been a few, some which I recall now and refelct how well they have influenced my life thereafter, others which sit just at the edge of memory, waiting to be rediscovered at some other time. Sometimes such decisions are viewed favorably in general, while others are viewed as foolishness...though often it is both and greatly dependent upon the viewer

My latest such spontaneous act seems to fall into the second category. A few understand though, and I guess that's what's important. The odd looks and offers of aid I get would be greatly amusing to me, were it not for the headaches...those can be managed though. It's been a difficult adjustment, sharing my head with another...for both of us, I think. It has been very interesting though, and it would take pages to describe the interactions we share. He does not talk but communicates in images and feelings...and sometimes blinding headaches. It's all very new to us both, but we're adjusting...and I've learned to brew Willow Bark tea in a way that the flavor is not completely distasteful.

For as unnatural as it may seem to many, there is no coercion on either part, and I know I will miss him when he is gone, one way or the other. And he's been helpful in trying to understand what happened to him and his family. His sister too...thankfully she's still quite alive and living in her own head, and under Eld's watchful care.

He's a smart boy, and seemingly has a touch of talent...like his mother, unless I miss my understanding. Something she knew, or sensed perhaps, may have led to their fate. One by one, those responsible, and those who would use them for whatever purpose are being tracked down. The Scrying Eyes should stay away, I think. If not, I'll send another message. I'm beginning to feel sorry for the man though. His lucidity and sanity are fragile things. And why does Welke send him into hysterics?... I hope once is enough. Storold's protections against his gaze have been effective, but he cannot maintain them indefinitely. We'll need to keep watch, but it's something we can manage. Lucinda provides.

[Dorganath]

*The following entry is scrawled across the page haphazardly.  The writing is rushed and sometimes manic.  The page is dotted by stains that seem to indicate both candle wax and drops of water*

Always there is change[INDENT][INDENT]              Things are different now
[/INDENT][/INDENT]Better? Worse? Perhaps...Together still, but not the same

Different isn't bad is it? Can it be how could it be?

Sadness much sadness sleep now sleep comes to us and dreams
Sadness comfort together apart pain of hurt and time and memory
Sad and tired and dreaming and awake and cold and tired and happy and angry so angry
[INDENT][INDENT][INDENT][INDENT]                                         Why why why why they need to go away
[/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][INDENT][INDENT]              So tired rest now soon but not now
[/INDENT][/INDENT]WHY DID THEY HAVE TO DO IT???

*The remainder of the page is marked by smeared ink and lightly scorched parchment*

[Dorganath]

The passing of time is a strange thing. Events come and go, and obstacles no matter how great they seem at the time all eventually crumble in the relentless march of moments, as even the mightiest of mountains are worn down by the ever-flowing winds and waters.

Nearly half a century has passed since I answered the call of a dream.  I wonder if things are truly much different now than they were then.  The world faced different challenges then than it does today, yes.  Yet the whispers and rumors I hear do little but make me suspect we have traded one threat for another.

A pair of letters arrived...one from an unknown source about someone and something very well-known, the other from a known source for reasons unknown.  One problem resolved, another emerges. I suspect such will be the way of things.  Always the same, always changing.

Once more the flow of time carries me along, a continual movement through destiny. For now, I float along with it, for ahead I foresee a junction of sorts, and for that, I may need to swim.

[Dorganath]

*Connor sits in his darkened study, the last blue-grey light of the day filtering in just enough to outline the room's contents.  He walks to his desk carrying his journal.  He sits at his desk, placing the journal on its surface before him.  With a thought and the slightest hint of a gesture, one that has become more habit than necessity, the surface of his desk is illuminated from above by a soft white glow. In the light, the journal is revealed as an old book whose simple leather cover is littered with smudges, scrapes and stains of all varieties, whose pages show evidence of various environments and occasional mistreatment and which has expanded beyond its original binding with the miscellaneous extra scraps of parchment poking out between pages.  He opens the journal intently to the very last page, all others being filled with the kinds of things that journals typically collect. He takes a rather ordinary quill from its holder and dips the tip into a black ink of unremarkable quality and begins to write...*[INDENT]

I suppose we always knew that at least one of us would not endure past the end of these trials. I had mixed feelings when I received the news. I had long suspected our next meeting would be the turning point for one of us...perhaps even both, though I also knew there was a good chance such a meeting would never happen.

And so it will not.

But for the lasting imprint of such events on those who were touched by them, the things which brought us all together and which seemed so dire at one point have begun to fade into the background noise of daily life...just one of many happenings for good or ill.  It would be a story to pass down, if one could call it a story at all.  Most stories have a proper conclusion; this one simply ends.  Whatever it is you did will likely never be known by any to whom it mattered most.  I suppose I should not expect anything different. Such was always your way.

Even so, I had hoped for one last meeting...once more to stand before you and to know whether we would stand together for a common purpose or opposed as adversaries evermore. There were answers I needed from you, but now, the questions seem no longer important or even valid. All but one, though the answer to that question seems to be answered.  Or perhaps not.  As such things have gone, I may find my own answer to the question, or I may not.  I don't expect it will matter either way.

And so it has ended. I doubt you will ever see this, so it is more for me than you. If by some circumstance our paths somehow cross in whatever lies beyond this life, it will be a new beginning for both of us, I think. For all the things I might want to say, there is really only one thing left that has any meaning:

Thank you, Brother....thank you




and good-bye.



[/INDENT]*Connor replaces the quill and places the cap back on the inkwell. He blots the ink on the page dry. Without hesitation or ceremony he closes the joural, then with his hand on the cover utters some quiet words of incantation. A pale blue nimbus surrounds the book for a moment before absorbing into it and vanishing completely.  He stands and picks up the book from the surface of the desk and places it on a shelf on the other side of the room, taking up residence among an assortment of other books and tomes collected over the years.  He walks from the room, and with a gesture the glow above the desk fades out and the room is dark.  Moving through the dim light of the house, Connor gathers a few things into his pack, offers up a small silent prayer at his shrine to Lucinda, and retrieves his staff that rests propped up against the wall.  He makes one final survey, then moves to his portal, steps in and vanishes.*