"I've got to find a way to predict the random portal locations before they flare!"

With a strong sigh Lord Siphon sat at his make-shift desk and pulled out his notes to write down these new locations. Each time was different, the spells required to reopen the rift to Eldador required a known portal location; and Siphon could not possibly predict where a portal would be present when the key part of the spells were ready. It's been, what feels like, 6 months since his seemingly voluntary departure from the Elven City; but, from the few scrying spells Siphon has managed to pierce the veil with has shown otherwise. Years have passed. Faces have changed. The world's life force has dwindled.

What is happening!? A wave of frustration and hopelessness washed over Lord Siphon as he completed his notes and put his instruments and charts in their appropriate storage spaces.

" I must return!" Despite his power and ancient knowledge, it just isn't enough. Eldador will have to continue on without him for an untold amount of time. The world Siphon lives in is no unfriendly place. It is mysterious and hides a very power magical element. Something extremely ancient and powerful lives here. It is no place for an elf, the only of his kind. This place must be left behind and the rift closed securely behind him.

Lord Siphon's only respite and comfort is the presence he feels when he peers through the portals as they open. While he cannot transverse the void, he can temporarily peer into the world in which he came. The question hanging in the back of his mind, nagging him through these months, what is seen from that side? Thinking back, he never remembered feeling these portals as he lived in Eldador... are they new? Are they attached to him in some way? How many other worlds or universes share these traits? Are these the ancient shards whispered in the spells that power the magic of the world?

Perhaps he'll never know.

"Ah! The marker spells are in place. Now, to wait..."  Siphon suddenly wondered if talking to himself was odd. Then again, with no one to talk to for this unknown amount of time, perhaps it's normal? With a shrug he makes his way to his well established home to await the appearance of the fading portals.

They flared up like fireworks during the first 6 months or so but began to taper off shortly thereafter. Now they appeared infrequently; however, they spawned in a more routine pattern. That gave Siphon plenty of time to study the magic involved and to set up a marker system set to hold the portal in place with what remains of his otherworldly magic.



Hours later a flare of orange light pierced the walls of Siphon's loft and awakened him. It is time! With all the speed the aging elf could muster he jumped from his bed, grabbed his tools and made for the door. Upon opening it a strange scene was unfolding near the portal. Magics between the two worlds were battling. Flares and strands of light pierced at each other and worked to smother one another.

Siphon set a shielding spell on himself and held his black staff ahead and set into a sprint toward the trees of Eldador. The forces of the magic buffeted his path and nearly knocked him unconscience but he felt his body pass through an icy and electrifying field before the blackness finally overtook him.

Siphon awoke sometime later in a setting slightly unfamiliar to him. Eldamar was no more! His friends are gone. Anoron owned Eldamar! What had happened?

Peering around the structures that used to be the entrance to the city, Siphon recognized a few of the surrounding buildings.

"So the city still lives..." Relief swept over him just before a the feeling of emptiness set back in. Some magic still seemed to pull at his soul though, the realm he had just escaped must still have lingering effects.

"Now to find what remains of my race and family. And someone else to talk to!"

And so, Lord Siphon has returned to the realm of Britannia.