World of Warcraft®

Caileanmor's staff makes a dull *tok-tok* on the stone as he walks the halls of the northern wing of the Northshire Abbey deep in thought. He enters the far library and surprisingly comes face to face with an old friend. Cail looks up at Genevra.

“Ducky!" Genevra smiled down at him. "How are you?”

“Oh! Genevra! Fancy meeting you here.” Caileanmor grips onto his staff, using it for support. "Oh, I'm well enough these days. How about yourself. How have you been holding up?”

Genevra nodded, "Me as well, things have been okay for the majority."

“That's a relief to hear. I've been meaning to make a trek up to Lakeshire, but work here in the archives has me so bogged down. You wouldn't believe the mess some acolytes leave behind. Then again, you may.”

“I expected as much, given that there is an influx of information pouring in from the other place.”
Genevra frowned slightly, "Mess?"

Caileanmor grinned a little, waving his hand. "Oh it’s nothing that I can't handle. Just the complaints of an old gnome. Youth can be rather inconsiderate. Pulling out stacks of books and leaving them in the oddest places. Then of course there is that matter, of the influx of information. So much to catalog and correlate. I fall further and further behind each passing day.”

Caileanmor chuckles half-heartedly. "I hardly have time for my own studies, it seems."

Genevra frowned, "I am sorry, Ducky, that I have not been much help as of late. The Cathedral has been requiring more of my time with everything being in a state of flux, there are so many who continue to doubt their faith during crisis’s like this."

Sims chirps up at the gnome. He mutters down to it, "Yes, yes, I'll get to that."
Caileanmor nods at Genevra. “I can understand that. It's not every day a new world is discovered, or the Dark Portal reopens with a new invasion of Orc.”

Genevra looked between Sims and Cail, "What is it that SIMS is worried about?"

Caileanmor passes an annoyed glance down at Sims. "He's just impatient. Wants me to tell you about a few rather minor and possibly insignificant discoveries I've recently made."

Genevra laughed softly, "Ah, of course. I'm glad to see that he's doing well.”

Sims beeps a soft whine of gratitude at Genevra for her concern.
Caileanmor fumbles for his notebook within a large belt pouch. “Well, if you have a moment, I suppose we can take care of that business.” He fumbles through the pages of his small notebook.

“Yes, of course, anything I can do for you, I will.”

Caileanmor makes his way over to the table to lay down his notebook. He stands leaning heavily on his staff. The old gnome points to the page. His handwriting is messy and barely legible.

“Within the pages of the book Practical Illusions for the Journeyman Sorcerer a mention is made about shadow magic which led me to an older anonymous tome simply titled Black Magics Revised. In it a short section is dedicated to the Shadow Council of one Gul'Dan...whomever he is.”

Caileanmor scratches his unruly gray beard. “I still need to brush up on my histories, it seems. Very little is really revealed about this shadow council and it talks mostly in circles and conjecture, but a curiously ominous mention is made that drew attention.”

Caileanmor points to a particular line scrawled across the page and reads it aloud. “Staves and corpsetree combine them three to reveal argus wake liberated from shadows.”

Genevra looked worried.

“Staves. Obviously some sort of item, but corpsetree. Is it the name of an item? The name of a stave? The name of a place? What if it’s the name of a person?”

Genevra frowned, "I .. I am not sure Ducky, are there any other clues?"

Caileanmor scratches his chin beneath his frizzled whiskers. “I haven't the foggiest notion, to tell the truth. The rest of the book might as well be gibberish to me. That quote is very cryptic.”

“Is there anything that I can do to help you?”

“I'm willing to bet there are several leads I can pull from it, if I had time.” Cail smooth’s down his beard. “I'm sure there is my dear, but I honestly don't know where to begin. I could use a few extra scribes, scholars, or librarians if you have them to spare. I'll even take a few acolytes if there are any. If not, you're welcome to dive in yourself and see what you can dig up for me. The more eyes on this the matter the better.”

Caileanmor's mustache twists to match his concerned frown. "I know how busy you are, so I don't want to ask more of you that you are capable."

“I am busy with the Cathedral's work but I am more than certain that there are those who would be able to help you with this matter.”

Caileanmor pulls his hood back, giving his crown a deeply needed scratch. Genevra looked down at Cail. "This is the work of our order, searching for knowledge, I can see no reason why we cannot devote more people to your cause."

Caileanmor nods his agreement. “It is. On that note I'd like to follow a small curious lead of mine and see what turns up. Well, I can't really call it a lead per say. It's not even really a hunch.”

“Of course Ducky, whatever you think is best. I trust you. But... where will this take you?”

Caileanmor chuckles. "It's more of a whimsy I suppose. I've been terribly curious about this Draenor. I keep hearing all sorts of news, the most recent of which is the foot hold our Alliance has gained. I'd very much like to make an expedition to this garrison and get some preliminaries sorted out. A record of these orc might prove to shed some light on our studies here... not to mention the Draenei. Perhaps there are more complete histories and such kept in their own archives... if I can gain access.”

Genevra smiled finally and nodded. "You are always so curious Ducky."

Caileanmor grinned. "A hazard of being born a gnome I'm afraid. Our curiosity knowns little bounds." The old gnome stands a little straighter, stretching his back. "Old age is creeping up on me, however."

Sims buzzes sardonically at the gnome. Cail shoots him a glare. "Oh hush. Let’s skip a few of your regular maintenances and see how spry you feel."

Genevra laughed at the back and forth between the pair, "Don't go dying on me Ducky, we've been through a lot together and I wouldn't want to lose you."

Caileanmor grinned up at Genevra. "Of course not, my dear. Not this gnome. I've learned very well from my most recent endeavors that adventuring is for a younger sort. To that end, I'll be seeking out a competent mercenary. Someone to handle the heavy lifting.”

“We do have some of those in our employ who might be able to help you with that.”

“Is that so?” The old gnome scratches his chin. “Huh, it hadn't occurred to me. Perhaps you could...eh... give a look-see at our rosters? Maybe there are a few you could recommend?” Cail pats the purse hanging at his belt. "It would surely save me a bit of coin." He chuckled.

Genevra laughed, "I'll do just that and get a list to you as soon as I can."

Cail nods. “Very well then. I look forward to it.”

Genevra nodded, "How… long do you expect to be gone so that I can tell them? People do like to know these things."

Caileanmor squints in thought. “I hope to be underway sometime this next week, scheduling and such concerns permitting. I don't expect to be gone longer than another week for this first trek. Long enough to set up a base camp of sorts, establish ties, that sort of thing. If time permits maybe we'll do a bit of scouting to get the lay of the land. I couldn't be away for too long a stretch however. I have undertaken a few responsibilities here at the archives that I can't just trust to anyone else. Not at the moment at least.”

“I think I know just the people to recommend then.”

Cail puffs out his chest a little. “Yes, I foresee this being a much grander operation. Several subsequent treks will be in order... and not just into Draenor.” Caileanmor furrows his brow. “Come to think of it, a mage would come in quite handy. Yes. Several mages in fact.”

Caileanmor clears his throat with a grin. “There I go, getting ahead of myself again.”

Genevra laughed, "Mages, I'll keep that in mind."

Sims beeps at the gnome, who pulls out a pocket watch in response. "Quite right, Sims. I don't know what I'd do without you." Sims buzzes sarcastically. "Oh, come off it." Cail replies indignantly. “That wasn't even my fault.”

Genevra quirked a brow, "What is it?"

Caileanmor tries to wash over his embarrassment. "Nothing, nothing. Just reminding of a matter...” He clears his throat. “...concerning my piloting skills."

“Don't let me keep you, I do have to get back to Lakeshire so I can see to Daisy.”

Caileanmor nods at Genevra. “Yes, of course! Is there anything I can do for you, my dear?”

“With your endeavors it will help knowing that you are holding things down here while the Cathedral is keeping me away.”

Caileanmor smiles at Genevra. “Certainly. It is the least I can do after the kindness you have extended to me. After all, Conclave has a very important mission that must be tended too if it be kept alive.”

Genevra smiled at him, "Thank you Ducky."

((Adapted quickly from text logs, so please forgive is rough nature.))

((Wait a second... this isn't ERP! When I see a post with something like "expeditions" in the title I expect to find ERP! What false advertising. Downvoted and unsubscribed!))

((But in all seriousness I assume this is a story arch and not Cail taking a break from WoW.... right? <.<; ))

The day was slowly drawing to a close, and so it was also with his work. It was, even in his elder age, difficult to pull himself away from his studies. He delighted in even the mundane nature of his work curating the archives of Conclave, but on this rarest of days the old gnome had managed to mostly satisfy his curiosity. Knowing when to stop while he was ahead, Cail pushed himself away from the table and stood to his feet, stretching a yawn.

Sims perched on the corner of the table and watched silently.

The old gnome scratched deeply his beard along the jaw and again his unruly mane along the crown. He sighed with the relief it brought. A low satisfied grumble escaped his whiskers. The gnome blinked, glancing around the room for his things while smoothing down his silvery robes. He paused a moment with the thought of how odd it was to be wearing robes.

For so long he favored a simple set of overalls, a flannel shirt, his worn fishing hat, pole and tackle not far from his side. He'd become immune to the aroma of fish gathered on the line hanging from his pack. He knew full well even then that to many it was a stench, but to him the scent of fish, the smell and feel of moist earth beside a babbling stream, it all was the essence of freedom.

Freedom to come and go as he pleased, where he pleased, but also freedom from the rigors of day to day life. The daily schedules people had to keep, the people they had to please, demands of others that must be met. It weighed his spirit down so that he would at time welcomed the respite actual bars and chains would have brought. Until of course that short time he'd been captured by orc and made a slave, but certain horrible things were best left laid to rest.

The irony of it all, that he had again donned the robes of responsibility, faded when he spied his bag and things. He secured his cloak about his shoulders, replaced the epaulettes, and drew on his hood. Lastly he replaced his usual utility belt, the one relic of his freedom he'd not parted with, and patted his pouches to make certain everything was on his person. He made his way to the other side of the room and took up his staff before exiting. Sims scurried close behind the gnome.

His thoughts wandered as he shuffled his way down the halls and through various rooms, closing doors and snuffing lamps. *tik*...*tik*...*tik* the tip of his staff sounded with every other foot step.

"Sims." He softly called to his mechanical companion. It beeped its acknowledgement. "Remind me to write out letters when we reach our quarters. I need to finalize some business and reach Zatia to let her know we'll be leaving for Draenor soon."

Sims intonated a query. "I hope this week. Poor dear. Must be frustrating waiting on an old gnome."

Sims chirped a response. "Yes, I hope she has other things to keep her busy as well. I expect she does. All the same, the thought of her waiting to hear from me, frustrated by the uncertainty of our departure, does make me feel a bit of pity."

Sims whined a tone. "Yes, I agree. It is what it is, and what else can you do when all that can be done is done? Even so, remind me about those letters. Lets see if we can expedite this venture."

"All too often the hardest thing is getting started. If we can just get this initial trip under our belt then the rest that will surely follow should roll smoothly enough." Quietly the old gnome hoped it would be so.

Silence befell the darkened archives the final old door groaned to a close on its iron hinges. Now all that was left was the climb up to the abbey above, and to secure the main vault door. In the quiet stillness of the air the soft shuffle and tap of the gnome faded away with each stone step he climbed up the spiral stairway.

Nary a month had passed since the first stones began to roll.

As momentum grew he felt the shifting of his own purpose, and so adjusted accordingly. Several of their acolytes and scholars had been reassigned to aid in this venture. By day the archival vaults of Conclave were a buzz of activity. Seldom did any other candle burn as long into the night as Curator Mahlr'D (as many were beginning to call the old gnome), but several occasionally did.

Only a few nights past did an earnest Father of the Abbey above seek to complete the first stages of a larger work he and two invested associates (an librarian and scholar of Conclave each) had begun. As per usual the old gnome finished his work not long into the hours of second sleep. He moved from chamber to chamber tidying up, dowsing magical arclights, and closing doors when he discovered a horrid scene.

Father Vincent. Dead. Slain where he sat, the chest of his robes torn open. At his feet amidst the bloody mess were the bodies. Scholar Christopher Keats. Librarian Kallie Whatley, junior grade. Both dear friends. Each suffering an unthinkable manner of death.

First shocked. Then horrified. Cail's shadow beating heart hardened with both rage and fear. Rage against the atrocity he'd discovered. Rage against the fouled beast who'd committed it. Fear for the families of those whose lives were senselessly taken. Fear, for the moment the perpetrator could still be near. Emotions ran high and flashed before him, but thankfully his decades of training took hold.

Cail rallied what was left of his senses. He knew he had to preserve the scene, and that proper authorities had to be summoned. He glanced at his mechanical companion and was relieved to see that Sims was at least one step ahead of him. The small mechanical squirrel perched atop the back of a wooden chair near the scene. His head and ears raised high and alert, Cail knew he was running a security scan of the area.

The old gnome skirted the scene, careful not to disturb or contaminate. His ears peaked in the way ones' do when a barely audible sound is made. Swish. Far corner, opposite side of the room. There it was. Movement in the darkness. There was a doorway at that end, Cail knew. As fast as his old legs could carry him the gnome covered the distance and gestured for the magical arclights attached to the walls. Two illuminated the corner and doorway. The door itself half opened.

He thought for a moment to push open the door with the end of his staff, but then thought better of it. Standing as he was he knew he'd be inline with the exit of the archives. The perpetrator could be long gone by now...but then again...

Cail pulled free his palm sized hearthstone powered communicator and keyed its mic, calling for assistance. It was meant as a rouse, doubting he'd catch a proper signal this deep, but to his relief a voice from the Stormwind City Watch answered.

----
Moments later, which felt like hours, an officer arrived. Introducing herself as Officer Reading, she sequestered Cail in the adjoining chamber and disappeared for a moment. Cail knew she was properly conducting a security sweep and waited as patiently as he could. She eventually reappeared with Sims in tow.

"Everything's secure Dr. Mahlr'D. Crime Scene Investigation will be here shortly. Until then why don't you tell me everything you know, from the beginning...."

The old gnome gave his statement. He told her everything. Somewhere in the middle an fellow gnome appeared, an investigator, and began processing the scene. He stayed in the adjoining chamber afterward for a time at the officer's behest, but eventually he was released.

Dark thoughts chased across his mind. He couldn't simply return home and fall in bed as any other night. The air was heavy and his thoughts grim. Father Vincent must have been onto something. Gradually his weary thoughts began to convince him of it. They got to him. They silenced him. Who's they?

Cail turned and sat on a nearby stone bench. He heaved a grieving sigh and noticed that he was in Stormwind's cemetery. Any other night he would have chuckled at the oddity at finding himself here of all places. Any other night...