World of Warcraft®

((Short story, branching off from the "Cruel Words,..." story line found here: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18132724884?page=3 ))

The hour was late.

The old gnome heatedly paced the darkened corridor outside his office. In his mind he was still curator of Conclave’s archives, though he knew otherwise. Deep below the abbey’s north wing library is where his mind felt most at ease. Down here things remained very much the same.

With Genevra gone he was forced into assuming her role as steward, one he would have happily accepted were it not under these circumstances. For now the offices above were still her’s along with its title, and in his mind they would remain so… at least until after her services…

Cail halted in place. Her services. “Oh cursed cogs.” He moaned. Who was planning her services? Was that something he needed to be doing? It would make sense after all. “Damn this old mind.” He chastised himself. It was evident he was going to need a secretary.

Just then, the sound of tiny bits of metal scraping across stone echoed through the quiet halls. Bursting from around the corner came SIMS, his mechanical squirrel companion, at break-neck speeds! Startled, Cail raised an arm half shielding his face. Ultimately a poor defense had there been a real danger. The small mechanical creature skittered to a haul. It sat back on his haunches and peered calmly up at the old gnome.

“Blasted bolts Sims! Don’t do that!” He screamed. His voice croaking hoarse. In that moment he sounded every bit his elder age. “You’ll be the death of me, boy. I swear it!”

The small machine displayed its artificial intelligence, beeping up at the old gnome in varied tones.

Cail smoothed down his robes. “Yes yes, of course it’s good to see you.” His agitation calming. “Old friend. You’ve been sorely missed.”

SIMS intoned an explanation.

“You did? Well, I’m sure to be hearing about that soon enough. Those Watch-types are a touchy sort when it comes to evidence up and walking out under their noses.” Days prior, just before leaving Genevra Stoneheardts’ murder scene, Cail has submitted the mechanical squirrel as evidence based on the recording of Genevra’s murder he’d happened to capture.

SIMS beeped a further explanation.

“Yes, well at least their Chief Engineer, Professor Dibik, has everything backed up. In that case there really would be no need for you to stick around. But still, proper protocol is to wait to be dismissed.”

The small mechanical squirrel intonated his defense.

“Well that’s a rather cavalier attitude to take. Still,” The old gnome chuckled lightly. “I don’t fault your logic.”

Cail sighed heavily just then. His eyes became distant prompting SIMS to inquire about his mental state.

[1/4]

“Yes, I’m agitated.” His tone betraying as much. “I’ve just had an abrupt confrontation with the mastermind behind this fervor. These zealot ‘Rememberists’.”

SIMS queried with alarm.

“No, not ‘just’ now. Earlier today… or yesterday. Whichever. Several hours ago. It’s raised my blood pressure and I can’t sleep.”

SIMS inquired further and Cail spent the next few minutes reviewing the conversation with her, the meeting with Crusader Llanus, and the brief exchange with Eidan Zherron. All while he paced up and down the corridor.

SIMS beeped up at Cail as he passed.

“Yes. I did find that a bit odd, but passed it off as paranoia.” The knee-jerk reaction to a suspicious mind, his thought trailed off. SIMS retorted.

“Yes. Also a tired mind.” Cail paused to rub his tired face with both hands. He exhaled a long dramatic sigh. Its true rest had eluded him since…
His thoughts ticked back to the paranoid tracks.

How was it that Eidan knew so much about the threat? The red mage after all had only just levied her terms, yet he’d asked if I was going to really turn any over. Strange that he would appear so abruptly after she’d left.
Was he stalking her?
Was he stalking me?
Why am I so suspicious of him? Eidan’s a good friend and loyal to Gen.
This is ridiculous, Liam. Pull yourself together gnome!

Cail slapped himself. Twice. SIMS cocked his head curiously to the side. He beeped up at the old gnome.

“Oh? That’s how Nixim fixed your neck?” Cail grinned, distracted for the moment. “Huh! I wouldn’t have thought of that. Just a few dislodged gears and spindles.”

His expression immediately hardened, though his eyes were red and tired. The irritation of his surprise meeting with the Red Mage still relentlessly very fresh. SIMS intoned a query and Cail nodded.

“Indeed. I meant every word of what I’d said to Eidan. Had I a better command of my shadows, I would have left the woman a babbling mess on the cathedral floor.” He paused his pacing and gazed at his open hands.

“Damn this old body.” He growled.

SIMS intonated a query.

“How? Shadow magic.” He indicated himself with frustration, picking at his robes and the thin undulating layer of shadows that still cloaked his entire form. “This. This dark… stuff.” Clearly tired, his descriptive vocabulary wore thin.

[2/4]

“In all my exhausted studies I’ve learned about all the wondrous things one can achieve with its mastery. I’ve practically memorized the very few instructional documents I could dig up. Hmph. Even calling them instructional is a stretch. More scripture and doctrine than procedural, it’s like reading an incomprehensible language. Theological babble. Thanks to Gen’s patience I at least understand the concept of how it counters and balances the light. One complimenting the other.” He clasped his hands behind himself and resumed his pacing.

“I have difficulty with… even the most basic...“ His hand churned the air as he thought. “…the most basic conjuring. I just have no skill. Yet I’ve been told time and time again that the power is there. My grasp of it is near. In time. Patience.” Clasped behind his back, his hands began to wring themselves. His body tensed with anger.

“She was standing before me, Sims. Had I not been so old, so frail,…” His pacing slowed to a shuffle. “So useless. I could have used the shadows to reach into her mind.” The old gnome’s anger began to overtake him. A type of maddening fervor crept into his gaze. His seasoned control and temperance fell away.

“I could have turned her into my puppet, Sims.” Cail snarled. “Stripped her of all her memories, erased everything that made her human, like wiping a machine’s mainframe.” SIMS took a few steps backward.

Cail’s rage intensified. His lips curling into a sneer. “She’d be nothing more than a quivering mass of flesh and bone. Worthless. Useless. She deserves no better. Death is too good a reward for what she’s done.”

The old gnome’s chest pounded. Muscles tightened. He gripped the robes at his chest. Sharp pains threatened to take him to the floor. A hand reached out for support as he stumbled a little. Finding purchase against the wall, Cail panted. SIMS scurried to his side, then up a nearby table leg to its top. Stretching its full length, the mechanical squirrel studied Cail intently for a quiet moment before beeping softly up at him.

Cail breathed. “I…I’m…fine, Sims.” His voice relaxed a bit. His breath slowly returned. “I’m-I’m so very tired, Sims.” His featured drew long. The weight of his long years came to bare, slumping his shoulders. The sorrow and pain he felt brimmed to the surface, etched into his eyes. SIMS scurried into his office and promptly returned dragging a simple hewn wooden cane across the stone floor. Straining the limits of his servo-joints SIMS managed to stand it upright and prop it against the table. Cail took hold of it.

“Thank you, my friend.”

[3/4]

If the mark of true intelligence, artificial or otherwise, was the development of complex emotions, then it might have been said that in that very moment the small mechanical squirrel felt concern. Watching the old gnome shuffle back into his office and ultimately toward the small bed just behind his desk felt a sense of worry. This brought forth old data logs to the forefront of his memory core. Log that had been compressed and archived a very long time ago.

Analytical subroutines compared at lightening speeds the emotions recorded from Cail’s maddened outburst against the data these older files contained. A handful of instance were prompted to the forefront for review. Each were recorded accounts of times when people who had been close with Cail were killed or otherwise had perished.

Closer scrutiny revealed that only one of these instances mirrored the emotions just now displayed. The file name was a long complex gnomexidecimal string containing both numbers and letters, letters in both the common and gnomish language. It was marked as the first and oldest of the few data files flagged for review.

The file name ended with the gnomish word for ‘family’, dated to a time prior to the first war.

[4/4]

((picked up, roughly, from here http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18132724884?page=3 , post #58))

Why is he sitting there staring at me?

The scantly armor-clad woman sat stoic and unmoved, staring across a hastily cleared desk at an old grizzled gnome. The gnome sat atop a short stack of thick books to reach the proper elevation. Obviously this office space, in the north library wing of the abbey, was not suited to a gnome's use.

This is starting to get awkward....

The woman drew in a sharp breath. "Did you have an specific questions about my resumé?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, hoping to break this old gnome's curious trance. Behind him, to one side, stood a familiar figure. The mage she knew only as Spectral. She'd been surprised to learn that she went by an actual name among these other people. That of Ceidy Brooks. Furthermore she was some sort of magistrate of this Conclave. Not terribly surprising really. It befit the auburn haired woman.

The old gnome fabricated a cough. An excuse to avert his stare and regain a modicum of composure. She was beginning to have her doubts about this old gnome.

"No. Uh..." He flipped through the three pages she'd handed him when she'd entered the room. "No. It's all very clear... here... to me." He manufactured another cough as if to try and mask his glance back at the mage standing behind him.

"Where..." He coughed again, attempting to be delicate. "Where did you say you found... I mean... met her, Ceidy? Again?"

[1/5]

Ceidy Brooks, magister of Conclave, bent low at the waist. "We fought together. Most recently as part of the Iron Vanguard."

Cail blinked hard at the thought.

It was difficult enough trying to wrap his head around the notion that this magus had been directly involved in that conflict. It was totally out of place in his mind. He had always pegged her as the studious book worm, more interested in her magical tomes than anything else. As far as he knew, she spent most all of her time in that wing of the archives. The image of her wading through a battlefield swinging a sword or slinging spells just didn't mesh.

More pressing however, it was difficult to see how she could ever run in similar circles as this... woman. He wasn't certain what to call her really. He didn't want to be rude or appear bigoted, so he was doing his best to skirt the topic of his disease.

This... woman... entered the office as a tall, menacing, fur-clad, armored worgen. Propping her weapons, her rather impressive... spear and really big sword? (Cail could only guess)... against the wall she immediately, and very suddenly, reverted to her human form. Her much shorter, much less furry, much more attractive and revealing, human form.

It was all a lot to take in all at once. So many contrasting images and revelations, conflicting with his established knowledge, challenging his firm grip of the world around him, and only complicated further by his momentary emotional confusion.

Who is this woman? How is it she can swap so effortlessly between to very contrasting... beings... and yet still maintain the same menacing-wolfish persona regardless?

The biologics of it alone were fascinating. What's more, to Cail, she struck a rather attractive figure. That she was so scantily clad only inflamed that notion. It was all he could do to keep from turning beat red. Yet his staring was induced by a strange wonder, sparked by his purely professional-analytical physician's curiosity, at how one body could carry so many scars and still appear fit... and functional. Seriously. Her flesh was a road map of battle scars... and some how that still didn't detract from her...

Cail shook his head, then corrected to appear as though it had been in fact a nod to what Ceidy has just told him. He even threw in an interested "hm" for good measure. He was so confused. And uncomfortable. And doing his best not to look the part.

That's it. He'd had enough. If Ceidy was vouching for her then that was good enough for him. He made a show of flipping through the pages of her resumé again.

"Yes. Well. Everything appears in order. I'll be forthwith, your rather checkered past is a concern. Being that you're so forward about it, and that you come highly recommended by my trusted associate, I'll say that you should start immediately."

The old gnome slid a pre-written form across the desk. "Look this over. It's a standard contract of services with a standard remuneration. If its agreeable then sign your name at the bottom."

[2/5]

The woman looked over the page the old gnome had pushed toward her.

She couldn't read a word, though she recognized a few numbers and symbols. Such a fact might be embarrassing for others, but for her it was just apart of who she was. The intense training she'd received in throughout her youth didn't leave room for such pursuits, and she'd assumed that if it were important then she would pick up the skill sooner or later. That she hadn't must mean that it wasn't all that important.

Though Ceidy hadn't been totally forward about the measure of their acquaintance, she nevertheless trusted the magus. If she said this was a worthy pursuit, and that she was indeed needed, then she was in. This old gnome however gave her a brief moments pause. She wasn't certain just yet how to interpret his reactions to her. That he'd had many was plain to see.

Bringing her thumb to her lips. With a very controlled slight transformation, her canine teeth elongated just enough to become sharp enough to piercing the flesh of that thumb. Sufficiently bloodied, she pressed that thumb to the page where the old gnome had indicated.

It was done. Once she'd given her blood oath to fulfill her part, she was in for better or worse.

Then she caught him. Just before he spoke, as the old gnome pulled the page that was her contract away, his eyes darted over her body. A familiar ill sensation sank into the pit of her stomach. He was a old pervert.

[3/5]

"Ok then." What's with the blood mark? When not just sign your name? Strange woman.

He couldn't help it. As he pulled the page away his eyes glanced over the myriad of scars that criss crossed her very exposed flesh. She wasn't denude in the proper sense, but still... there was little left to the imagination.

Oh cogs. She didn't just notice that glance, did she?

Cail smiled his best, awkward, its not what you may think, smile. "Um, in the room to your left as you exit is an acolyte. He'll show you to where you can pick up your tabard, gear, and... sundry... equipment." His glance drifted to the long spear and large sword propped against the wall.

"Veronika Talent." The woman stated flatly. "Call me either name that suits you, but not both."

Cail grinned. Maybe she'd missed my inadvertent glance. Good. He mentally sighed relief. "Veronika. Yes. I'll be calling you either by your title, Guardian, or your last name... for... formality... reasons." The fel is wrong with me? I can hardly formulate a cogent sentence.

"Cail Liam Mahlr'D. Curator of the Archives and acting Steward. No need for formalities though, most call me either Cail, Doctor, or Ducky..."

"Movement." She stated again, flatly, cutting him off. She stood and moved to where she'd left her weapons. Cail looked back at her confused. "My armor. Stares and averted glances betray you, Curator Mahlr'D. I prefer what I wear to be open and nonrestrictive..." The woman grunted slightly as she assumed her bestial worgen personage. "... especially as I am now."

Sliding the large sword through the leather hanger at her back, she took up her blade topped spear in one hand and turned to him with her eerie wolfish glare. "I'll return once I'm situated, Curator."

There it was again. That slight edge when she spoke his name.

[4/5]

As she left the room Cail slumped backward slightly in his boosted chair. She'd seen then.

He rubbed his face, ending with a stroke of his beard. "Great." He muttered to himself, then immediately regretted it. He'd forgotten the mage was standing behind him.

Ceidy stepped to his side and leaned against the desk. Arms folded. "What's the matter, Ducky?" She asked playfully. "Fluster much?"

"She thinks me a lecherous old gnome." He groaned, embarrassed.

"Can you blame her? If I didn't know you better, I would have thought the same."

He waved his hands in frustration. "That's all I need. A bodyguard that resents me."

"Relax." Ceidy chastised, with a slight smirk. Pressing off the desk she stepped around to the other side patting him on the shoulder. "She'll come around. She's as hard as they come, and professional. Whatever she thinks, or feels, it won't detract from her duty. She gave you her blood oath after all."

Cail lifted the contract and looked it over with a little wonder. "Is that what this meant? I thought it rather crude and overplayed."

Ceidy sifted through a few personnel files. "She couldn't sign her name. She's illiterate."

He immediately felt a pain of sympathy. "Oh."

"It's not like that either." Ceidy corrected. "It's not that she hasn't had the opportunity. Her mind is as keen as any weapon she can wield. She could pick it up quickly if she wanted. Matter of fact I suspect she knows more than she lets on. However, it's just never been a factor in her life or work. Reading and writing just hasn't been necessary to her skill set."

Cail shook his head, a bit in shock. "I am surprised. I never thought I'd hear that kind of tone from you. You make it sound as if its a trivial matter."

"It's the truth." She continued sifting through files.

"How on earth can that be the truth? How would you be able to understand orders, or attain a new contract for that matter, if you couldn't read? It would seem rather fundamental to me. Seems I read somewhere that some of the finest warriors around are very literate. Even artistic!"

"I agree, at least in theory, but she's not your typical warrior or soldier. Remember also that standard you speak of greatly differs between cultures, and even eras. That's partly why she's so direct. Her intense training has conditioned her to always seek the most direct route. To try and end the conflict before it has a chance to begin. You'd need to be able to read people very well. Make correct life or death snap judgments. It's what's made her so good at what she does. It's also kept her alive this long."

"...at what she does." He murmured to himself. "You mean killing?"

Cail's features turned worried at Ceidy's nod. She smirked a little. "She's not a loose canon, Ducky. Think of her more like a sharp instrument. Like a surgeon's knife. Once she's given her word, or in this case her blood oath, her existence then revolves around that duty until it is finished. She's fiercely loyal and dedicated to a singular purpose. Trust me, you've nothing to fear from her."

"One day, magus, you and I need to have a long talk about your mysteriously colorful past."

Ceidy unceremoniously flopped down a few chosen personnel files. "One day perhaps, but today we need to get through a few more candidates. These are waiting outside to see you."

Picking up the files, Cail rolled his head around his shoulders.
This was turning into a very long day.

[5/5]

Meena quickly slipped into the office as the candidate for guarding the old gnome left. Her entrance was not unlike the previous woman's entrance; but, from a small songbird she became a young Kaldorei. Her appearance was deceiving, anyone with a strong aptitude in magical studies could sense something much more... ancient about the young druid. Her blue-grey hair was an absolute mess that was barely contained by a leather band.

"Hello!" She chirped while keeping her distance. "I might have followed your little squirrel-thing yesterday and think I should - er, need to talk to you!" It took a moment for her quickly spoken words to sink in, their possible connotations made her wrinkle her nose.

"Not followed in a bad way. I want to help! Or try to.... All the names tied up in these events are friends of friends." Meena glanced down at her feet with a small frown, "The one would move mountains for Genevra, if it would help... she just... has not been in Stormwind to hear the news and has a family to protect..."

"Can I help for her?"

Cail passed a glance up at Ceidy. The mage studied the night elf with some amusement before nodding down at the old gnome. He turned back to consider the night elf's proposal, still trying grasp the wonder of the transformation he'd just beheld.

"That was quite a... uh... a feat, miss. I've only read about the talent your people possess for shape changing. Druids, I believe they are called?" He set down the file he held and interlocked his fingers. "At any rate I have many questions I'd like to ask of you, such as who this 'one' is and whom are these friends you speak of, but that is not a condition. I will gladly accept your aid if that is what you wish, miss."

Keeping her studious yet bemused eye on the night elf, Ceidy pulled a blank contract from a nearby stack of papers and handed it to Cail as he spoke. The old gnome pushed the contract across the desk.

"I'll just need you to sign this contract of service." The old gnome grinned.

"Oh! Here are my manners" He smoothed down his beard. "Cail Liam Mahlr'D is my name. Doctor, retired, Curator of Conclave's Archives and acting Sterward of Conclave."

He indicated the woman standing at his side. "Sorceress Ceidy Brooks. Magus of Conclave and Magistrate of Conclave's Arcane Archival Research Department."

Indicating the night elf he asked. "And you miss are...?"

"Oh! Thanks! Yes, druid. Although, I have knowledge in... more obscure realms of nature magics." She rocked back and forth on her barefeet, an idle representation of her barely contained energy. "As long as they are not trick questions. I never really learned to pick up on those. Imperon liked to confuse me with those sometimes."

"But, that is not the "one". Uhm..." Meena takes a deep breath while attempting to organize her thoughts. "Alright, WELL... Kandri Stormtree knows... er knew Kordrion, they were friends before she went of to Pandaria and returned all grumpy." The young druid counts on her fingers the connections to the various names involved.

"Shauraria knew Arlston, way back when there was some nonsense about mystery letters... I was not really paying attention to any of it at the time." Two fingers are held by her opposite hand.

"Finally! The one is Ciellia Oakenfury. How she knows Genevra was a period of a few years ago, when she was married to Cyrus Sagewind. He considered..." Meena's nose crinkles up as she tries to recall the man's name. "N... Narnicka? I think it was... as a brother... So Ciellia met Genevra and considered her extended family. She still does! She just has been at her home, raising a new baby."

"That should cover everyone... And yes! I wish to help." Her gaze flicks from the gnome back to the mage with a bright smile as she steps forward to look down at the paperwork.

"Meena Leafdancer, druid with knowledge in stuff I probably should not know much of." An impish smirk finds her lips as she signs the contract. "I was recently guest at Lluchduu Ocheliad's Tower to assist in matters involving The Emerald Nightmare, if you need to gauge what my skills are."

Mid-day. Middle of an important guild meeting covering minor operational details. Cail's mind should have been fully engaged, but as the old gnome stared across the conference table at the pair of scholars steeped in discussions his mind was elsewhere.

Genevra Stoneheardt, Steward and Matron of Conclave, had suddenly returned from the dead the day before. That was a lot for anyone to process. He had been over joyed, of course, at her return. She was a bright light in an often bleak existence.

Being completely honest with himself, Cail had come to terms with the fact that he really didn't have much left to look forward too in life. There was always the simple pleasures, but even those become vain and empty at the prospects of not having a dear friend with whom to share your fishing tales. To Cail, Genevra had become so much more than that. She was practically family. The only family he had left to him.

At the moment however the stress of returning command and control to its rightful place, at Genevra's feet, was proving more complicated than it was assuming it all. It all seemed rather counter intuitive. Why can't I just sign a sheet and be done with it all?... he'd wondered on several occasions. Things were never so simple in the political realm, even within their own guild.

Pressure has been steadily mounting however. There was another element to his mental distress, something subtle and uncanny. It was a notion the old gnome had become well aware of some time ago but every attempt to identify it eluded him.

Like a speck of dust in one's vision. It's there, you can see it in the periphery, but try looking at it and it disappears. Wiley little bastard. Cail signed mentally. He dropped his head into a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ah. There it is. Again. The dull headache. It had plagued him ever since...well in truth since Gen's murder, but it didn't really become a constant issue until she made her presence known.

Red Mage. The old gnome stewed. Cail glanced up at the pair of scholars sitting across from him.

"Hm? Say again?"

"I was wondering if you had anything else to add to the discussion, Curator Mahlr'D."

Cail shook his head and remained silent, averting his eyes. The meeting adjourned and one by one the several guild members in attendance began filing out of the room, but Cail remained.

As he sat, pondering, an eerie presence gradually befell him. It shrouded him all about. He could almost feel the presence of a pair of arms that fit right for a gnome encircle him slowly. Embracing him, lovingly.

The storm of thoughts running rampant through his mind was gradually opaqued but the resurgence of a long forgotten memory. Sitting in his comfortably padded chair at the now vacant conference table, Cail slowly stroked the length of his thick gray mustache.

He blinked.
A single tear rolled down his check, disappearing into his thick gray beard.
_____________________________________

In a small pouch inside the band of his belt was tucked a way a small shard. Its dark polished surface was usually rather translucent, like gazing into a cloudy gem. In this moment the shard was opaque. Its hue a deep purple.

The darkness within pulsated. Its rhythm in tune with the beating of Cail's heart.

His shadow enshrouded heart.

The night provided little respite. Thought the old gnome's body lay still and at ease throughout, Cail's mind wandered.

His dreams took him to various places. His restless feet meandered the quiet halls of the abbey. His feet found their way into Stormwind along the cobbled streets of the canals. He wandered curiously into the grand majestic keep and stood a silent witness to the daily (or rather nightly?) struggles of the various nobles, politicians, and military authorities. The events playing out in far away Draenor had been taking their toll on the leadership of this city, despite the apparent positive headway our Alliance had been making.

Draenor. His dreams shifted and Cail suddenly found himself standing in a vastly unfamiliar landscape. Green lush grassy hills rolled endlessly along. Herds of animals the likes of which he'd scarcely ever seen (and only truly read about) grazed their expanse. Though the sun seemed muted, casting the lands into an eternal twilight, life seemed to flourish here.

An uneasy sensation at his back caused the old gnome to turn. At the edge of a cliff he stood, looking down into a wide valley where stood several tall monoliths. Their configuration reminded him of a burial site. A strange people wandered far below tending to this sacred site. He couldn't really see their features this far away but they seemed strangely familiar.

Just then another sensation made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Unseen eyes were watching him. The old bearded gnome turned his head and found himself eye to eye and nose to nose with a large angry face, painted with the image of a glaring skull.

Cail startled, waking suddenly. His heart was beating out of his chest. Panting he lay a moment to regain his bearings and catch his breath. He could recall little of his dream, aside from the sensation of falling. That's what must have awoken him, he'd decided. Turning under his disheveled sheets he reached from his time piece and groaned.

"Ohh, where does the night go?" It was morning, and an hour past his usual time to wake.
Where do I go in the night? He mused as he sat up in bed. It was the strangest sensation to feel physically rested but not completely revitalized... as if his mind were still very much tired, or even asleep.

Cail swayed a little, fighting the urge to plunge back into his sheets. Reaching his staff he pushed himself to his feet and proceeded along with his usual business.

"Today is going to be a very long day, Sims."

The mechanical companion lay curled upon a shelf. It's tireless eyes ever watchful.

Refuse me...

Cail glanced up from his desk deep within the archives. For days he'd been working his fingers to the bone, so to speak, with all manner of paperwork. The seemingly endless piles that would just never die no matter how much he stabbed each page, metaphorically or otherwise, he could deal with. Oddly enough, the redundancy of paperwork seemed to sooth his troubled mind. Fel if he knew exactly what it was that troubled him.

His past four nights were spent tossing and turning. Three of the four nights his mind seemed to rest, yet his body would not relent. Those mornings he awoke with his sheets tied in knots and aching terribly throughout, though his mind was clear enough to meet the day. The forth night, last night actually, his body would lie perfectly still throughout yet his mind raced in endless circles. This morning he awoke in much the same way he'd fallen asleep, but with a splitting headache and unable to focus on much at all throughout the day.

Thankfully his strange sleeplessness had only affected a single day, and with a little creative rescheduling he was able to push most of his duties off on assistants and acolytes anxious to please. Still, this matter was getting out of hand.

Cail rubbed his tired eyes and breathed deeply, trying to cleanse his mind and regain a sliver of focus. Sims beeped over to him softly from his perch on a distant shelf.

"I'm fine, Sims." A gnarly yawn twisted his features a moment. He blinked again, looking his the mechancial squirrel's direction. "Thank you for your update on Genevra. I feel at ease knowing that for all the apparent gaps in her current guardian scheduling, at least you're there with her. Make sure she well sought after. Hm?"

Cail grinned tiredly at Sims. A moment's pause from the machine, to the astute, would have revealed a delay in Sims' processing. A quirk perhaps, nothing more. Or maybe a thought? Who could really tell. Certainly not the old gnome. Not in his state at least.

Sims nodded its small metallic head and groaned its understanding. Lifting itself from it's perch the machine shimmied casually down the bookcase and began to make its way across the room toward the exit. Cail resumed his writing.

Refuse me.
The voice dared with a sly hint of malevolence.

Cail's hand slipped, marking a line across the page. "Blast." He grumbled. The old gnome fumbled across his desk for a clean sheet and absently tipped the ink well on its side. The dark substance poured over a stack of other miscellaneous forms needing review.

"Damn!" he growled. Sims hesitated. It beeped up at him, concerned.

"I'm fine. I'm Fine!" He snapped. I just happen to be hearing voices, is all. "Don't you have some place more important to be?" The old gnome scowled deep lines across his face as he worked to mop up the mess he'd made.

Sims wined softly. It hesitated a moment, then turned back and scurried off at a less-than casual pace to return to Genevra in the night.

Alone, Cail sopped up the ink with whatever he could find. As tired as he was, he was remarkably focused. The ink smeared and stained everything it touched. There is almost no way to fully clean the things it touches. They'd all have to be burnt or boiled. It's the only way to truly sanitize the linen. A younger-distant voice observed.

The black ink transformed in his vision. His hands grabbed fist fulls of white linen paper sheets and moved the thick viscus liquid around his desk top. His table top. The blackness tinged red. The faint odor of copper...

I will burn it to the ground.
The voice thick with malevolence.

Cail worked harder, grabbing more sheets, scrubbing harder and harder. His scowl deepened. Tears brimmed. His body quaked.

Exhaustion finally caught up with the old gnome. Against his relentless stubborn nature to keep pressing on in spite of whatever issues he's been experiencing, sleep claimed him.

Kicking himself awake, face flat upon his desktop, Cail wearily pulled himself to his cot in the corner of his office. From noon on through the night the old gnome slept. Sims returned for his daily report on Genevra's condition and whereabouts. Finding him fast asleep the mechanical squirrel posted itself outside to ensure him peace and quiet.

Quiet it was, all through the afternoon, the night, and clear into the following morning. No dreams. No voices. Nothing. Just peace.

Cail found himself renewed, animated throughout the day. Driven forward, some might say, with a cheery optimism and a kind word for all. That night passed much the same. Calm. Peaceful. Quiet.

As this day drew to a close, Cail looked at his desk. His inbox was manageable. His outbox was full. He shimmied off his chair and shuffled past the nearest bookshelf, passing a finger over the spines of the various rosters and ledgers he'd finally completed, and fully updated.

Among his myriad of documents that were signed, sealed, and ready for posted delivery was a thoroughly detailed draft of the guardian program for Genevra's review. It was a first step, and by no means definitive. There was much room for improvement and growth, he'd been certain to structure it so. Regardless it was a thing he was proud about, having crafted it with his own two hands. Granted, he'd had much input, so the credit wasn't entirely his own...but still.

Looking at it sitting among the other work he'd completed made him feel good. Useful. Accomplished.

He called out to a young acolyte of the guild that was standing just outside his door. One of a few that he, as Curator, kept available should he need something important to relay. The young human boy opened the door and stepped eagerly inside.

"Sir." He bowed his head.

"Son, I have an important task for you. Sort through this stack of missives here and have them delivered appropriately." Cail idly gestured to the large stack of documents sitting in his outbox. "See that you do this promptly and without error."

Mention the outline. He should hand deliver that to Genevra.
"Yes, indeed." He mumbled. "Nearest the bottom there is a rather thick document with the Steward's name on it. See that you hand deliver it personally and promptly."

That's far too much for him to handle. A soft female, decidedly gnomish, voice whispered. He's so young and new. Have him seek help from another.

"Yes. That's a fine idea." Cail muttered, staring at the stack of papers in his outbox. The boy darted a glance between he and the paperwork.

"Wha-what is...sir?"

Cail blinked. "Hm? Oh! Your suggestion. Perhaps this is a bit much for just you to take on, so by all means find another acolyte outside to help you with this task." The boy blink back at Cail, bewildered.

It all needs to be delivered timely. The soft voice whispered as Cail spoke.
"It all needs to be delivered timely-yes-yes-I know, boy. Why are you speaking over me?" The old gnome glared up at the child who stood several inches higher. The boy squirmed in his shoes.

"I-I wasn't...I mean...I di-didn't say anything sir. I was just listening."

Cail blinked up at the boy, incredulous. He harrumphed. "Well. No matter." Gesturing at the paperwork. "Gather these things and be about it already."

Just as Cail began to turn he caught the glimpse of something. A figure. Standing behind the boy just outside the door. He paused mid turn and quickly glanced back, eyes wide. The boy moved to the desk, out of his field of view, and revealed the softest image of a sweet little gnomette standing in the doorway.

Pretty green eyes sparkled back at Cail. A shaft of evening light from a distant window bathed her red hair in an unearthly brilliance. The pair made eye contact. Cail blinked, and the image was gone. He blinked again. Nothing was there. The old gnome turned away and back again quickly one last time just to make certain, and still the doorway was empty. He glanced at the boy and caught him standing with his arms full of documents, watching the old gnome, looking rather amused.

Cail huffed and the boy scurried away, trying desperately not to drop the awkward bundle in his arms. The sight gave the old gnome a little chuckle. Children, he thought to himself as he returned to his desk. Oh to be young again.

The week had proceeded 'business as usual' for the most part.

Most of the old gnomes nights were still filled with fitful sleep, such that he'd finally turned to the use of alternative means of relaxation. In the past that would have meant drinking himself blind, but being a retired physician he knew better. His body had finally passed that point in life where he may never recover from such recklessness. No, Cail turned to more homeopathic remedies. There happened to be many fine alchemists throughout the city, and not all of them elfin as stereotypes might suggest.

Cail knew that he was only treating his symptoms. He needed to find a cure for his ills. They type that he doubted any sort of medication would provide. He was still of a mind that his answers lay in the lost and forgotten texts that Conclave held, and so his mind was singularly focused on them. This night especially.

The old gnomes' hands still lightly trembled with anger as he shuffled his descent deep into the archives of Conclave below Northshire Abbey. Hours earlier he'd been completing a tranquil -if rather sullen- walk among the tombstones of the city's cemeteries when he'd passed by the cathedral's gazebo.

He spied Genevra sitting alone, looking rather peaceful, so had decided to pay her a passing visit. Come to find out the mood was anything but peaceful. When Eidan arrived suddenly from the shadows Cail immediately recognized that he'd stumbled into something much more serious.

Cail paused to catch his breath at the bottom of the spiraling steps. His mind tripped over the details of their brief encounter and agitated he stamped his staff upon the stone slab flooring. Irrelevant. He grumbled in his own mind, continuing down the long darkened corridors.

What Genevra does or doesn't do concerning that other girl is of no consequence to me. Alieth... The name echoed in his mind, spoken with particularly vile ting. ...that girl's sister. The Red Mage. She's the one.

Passing through several antechambers and taking a shortcut through a few libraries Cail finally pushed open the door to chambers of the Curator. His personal study and for that past several months (has it been a year already?) home. He glanced around the room, tossing his hood on a table near the door and unfastening his pauldrons. Still no sign of Sims. Must still be with Genevra. He wondered. That's good.

In truth he was remiss not having his constant companion with him tonight. Eidan spoke Alieth's full name in conversation but the old gnome only caught the first half. It was something finally to go on, and he'd need to communicate this update to the few agents he'd dispatched weeks prior. So far they'd turned up nothing.

Some agents. He scoffed. Loosening his belt he dropped his outer robes to the floor and stepped carefully over them. Shuffling to his desk he leaned his staff against a nearby bookcase and sat heavily in his seat. Leaning an elbow on his desktop he massaged his forehead in deep thought.

Gnomeregan. A soft voice murmured in the back of Cail's mind. So soft that it came to him as if it were his own thought.

"They had machines..." He mumbled to himself. That could nullify arcane magics.
"I wonder if..." He mumbled again. If their schematics had been saved or recovered after its fall.

Blackwrench.
"Yes." Cail mumbled.
Professor N.H.D. Blackwrench.
"If anyone knew it would be him."

Cail scribbled over a blank page, formulating a missive to one Professor Blackwrench of the Stormwind City Watch. It was a valid idea to pursue, that of an anti-mage device. A brilliant mind such as he would know if it were possible. A flash of a distant long-forgotten memory shook Cail's arm, causing him to scratch a long black line across the page.

Panicked, the old gnome dropped his pen and pushed the papers away. Pulling open a drawer he found his bottle of sleep aids and fumbled it open, swallowing two.

"No. Not again." He grumbled. Voice quivering.
"Not tonight, you devils." He grunted as he stood. "Leave me be."

Shoulders slumped and stooping a bit forward, Cail shuffled to his nearby cot and rolled into it. Though he soon fell into a deep dreamless sleep the lights would remain lit. It felt juvenile at times but he knew, quite personally, what nightmares the darkness brings.

A quick series of pops and crackles accompanied a cluster of sparks and pinpoint flashes of light. Reality warped and shimmered for an instant then *POP*, a pair of gnomes suddenly appeared near the center of New Tinkertown. One of the pair, a youthful female who donned purple robes and a pointed wizardly hat, stretched her arms into the air.

She drew in a deep breath. "Ahh, the mountains." She squeaked. Her tone ripe with youthful exuberance. "It's sooo goood to be back home." She released a bursting exhale. "Don't you think Nixy?"

She turned to find the other gnome, a middle-aged balding male with brown hair, doubled over in the snow beside the path. He fought back a retch. "Uhg. You know how mu-much I..." He paused to catch his breath. "...how much I hate teleportation. Especially with you, Tink."

"Nixy, baby, don't tell me you're still sore about Uldam." Tink planted her fists on her hips.

"It was Tanaris, and yes..." Her stomach gurgled again. "You've completely ruined me. I never want to visit another desert."

Tink cantered her hips to one side. "Give it a break, 'big boy'. I caught you didn't I? Besides. Who in their right mind ever wants to visit a desert. All of that sand and heat." She imitated a quiver. "So not good for your skin."

Nixim stood straight and dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. Checking to make sure his green tinted goggles were still strapped to his forehead, he returned to the path beside TInk. She punched him playfully in the arm. He returned the gesture with a disapproving scowl.

"Are you sure you can get us inside the quarantine zone, Nixy?"

"It's been a while, but I still have a few contacts on the inside." His color returning, he stuffed the hanky into his back pocket and turned to face the large cog-shaped entrance in the distance. "Gnomeregan." He said, breathing a hint of nostalgia.

Tink tilted her gaze at him. "Are you sure? You burned several bridges when you left to set up shop in Thelsamar."

Nixim cringed slightly. "Thanks for reminding me."

"I'm serious. You riled a lot of..."

"I KNOW." He groaned, lifting his face to the sky. "WILL YOU JUST TRUST ME FOR ONCE."

Tink rocked back looking wounded. "What's that suppose to mean?!" She folded her arms.

Nixim began marching down the road toward the subterranean city. "Always nagging me! Never a moment's peace!" He gestured wildly with his arms as he spoke.

"I do not nag!" Tink protested as she marched after him. The pair argued back and forth along their way.

[WARNING]
Read the caution on the large black and yellow stripped sign.
[QUARANTINE ZONE]
[Authorized Personal Only beyond this point.]

A pair of gnome guards stood to either side of the wide barricade. Each dressed head to toe in their air tight radiation suits, pneumatic gear shield on their back and serrated blade at their side. Nixim and Tink stood a distance off, just out of ear shot of the guards.

"So what do you do now, genius?" Tink whispered. "We can't get by without proper permits, which could take weeks seeing as how neither of us works for S.A.F.E. anymore." She huffed quietly, folding her arms again. "What are we even doing here anyway? All of our company work permits were cancelled when you left and any further contract proposals are continuously denied."

"Research." Nixim groaned quietly.

Tink's demeanor improved. Her child-like curiosity peaked. "Research for what?" She gasped as she had an epiphany, excitedly grasping Nixim's arm with both hands. She shook him slightly. "Areyouresuming workon thequantumarcanapolaritymodulationdampener?" Standing several fingers shorter than he, she peered up at him with her piercing blue eyes. A dopey toothy grin spread across her face.

Nixim glanced at her with a disapproving huff. "You're speaking too fast. You know I can't understand a word you say when you get so excited." Tink could hardly restrain her squeaks as she tugged on his arm like a child, jarring the gnome back and forth.

"Alright! Fine!" He wave his arms and brushed off her grip. He whispered back. "Yes, I am resuming my work on the dampener, but only as a personal favor for a close friend."

"Woohoo!" Tink whispered, raising her arms in triumph. "Favor for whom? Do I know them?"

Nixim shook his head. "No, you don't, and that's the last we're going to speak of this for now."

Tink lowered her arms abruptly and nodded to Nixim. She mimed the act of locking her lips with a key. Nixim rolled his eyes and muttered. "When will you grow up?"

As the main piston lift arrived at the surface, the wide cautionary barricade opened. A large group of sanitation workers disembarked. A lone gnome remained standing with a proud posture near the center of the lift. He had an official look about him. Markings on his radiation uniform indicated he was a supervisor. He motioned and the pair of gnomes, Nixim and Tink, stepped onto the lift. The barricade closed behind them and the lift's alarm sounded their impending descent. Red lights on the walls and ceiling spun their warning.

Nixim approached the official and the pair extended their hands in greeting just as the large piston lift dropped.

The magus paced slowly back and forth behind a stout book pedestal. Loose sheets of paper floating gently around her.

The large circular chamber in which she stood stretched far and reached high above her head. Book shelves lined the walls floor to ceiling and clusters of shorter shelves created a complex labyrinthine library system. At the center of the room a wide hole opened revealing several more floors of similar construction bellow. In the center void pulsated a soft blue energy, utilized by fellow magi scholars to lift and lower themselves between floors.

The pedestal held aloft a large bound tome. As she passed the book Sadie gestured with a hand and the pages fluttered to a large illustration of a heraldic line. The name at the top of the page, scrawled intricately in the way of the Kirin Tor mage scribes of old, read Taldir. She studied the image again before turning away to resume her slow pacing.

The name troubled her. It read familiar, and she felt as though she should have known another by that name but all efforts to recall any memories failed. She paused as a page drifted before her. One of several pages of the transcript Curator Mahlr'D had sent to her.

A mage-scholar wandered past with an arm full of books. She stopped him, calling his name. "Archibald."

"Yes, Magus?" He turned offering her a nod.

"Inform the others that I'll be away on business." Sadie gestured and her robes shimmered, shifting to purple. Boots, gloves, matching pauldrons and hood also appeared, already donned.

"Where shall I send word if you're needed?"

"Dalaran." Sadie lifted the deep hood over her head. Gesturing with her arms to cast her teleportation spell, the magus shimmered and swiftly vanished with hardly a disturbance.