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by Caileanmor on Jan 15, 2017 at 02:21 PM
Where once was light
Now darkness falls
Where once was love
Love is no more

Don't say - goodbye
Don't say - I didn't try...

These tears we cry
Are falling rain
For all the lies
You told us
The hurt, the blame

And we will weep
To be so alone
We are lost
We can never go home

So in the end
I will be what I will be
No loyal friend
Was ever there for me

Now we say - goodbye
We say - you didn't try...

These tears you cry
Have come too late
Take back the lies
The hurt, the blame

And you will weep
When you face the end alone
You are lost
You can never go home

You are lost
You can never go home

***Lyrics from Gollum's Song; Howard Shore and Fran Walsh***

((Obvious ties to Lord of the Rings aside, the lyrics themselves lend to some deep lament that cut across boundaries. I was reminded of this song recently and felt it encapsulated perfectly my own Demon Hunter's lamentable tale. I thought I'd share it with you, as it really tells the tale of all who are lost for one reason or another and suffer for it.))
by Caileanmor on Oct 09, 2016 at 08:44 PM
Ninth of October
::Work Log::

It has been nearly a week ...six days now? My advancement to High Priest within the Conclave of Netherlight. I have spent each day since engaged in one matter or another. My duties, responsibilities, and therefore workload have increased drastically. Not only must I tend to my duties as a Curator of Conclave's archives, artifacts, and antiquities but I also have duties as a High Priest of the Netherlight Conclave.

Duties as a High Priest vary greatly, thankfully. Each High Priest has their own set of strengths, desires, interests; skill sets differ. There is no shortage of tasks that need handling. My own set of skills have increased over the past year alone yet I still feel most comfortable at my research. I work jointly with Lamae primarily, but also other High Priests, recovering relics and artifacts from the Broken Isle, cataloging these finds, recording events, histories, and any relevant discoveries along the way. Not unlike the work I already perform for Conclave as a Curator. Many long days and nights spent behind my desk, buried deep in notes, scrolls, and ledgers; but I am not left without some outlet for adventure.

Anecdotal Evidence:
Lamae conducts quite a bit of field work as a High Priest. Given our friendly relationship being that she is my former mentor in the Light I've taken many opportunities this past week to accompany her in the field. No shortage of excitement.

Just the other day I accompanied Lamae into Azsuna to further document the existence of the Blue Dragonflight presence. Our objective became two fold as we learned that many of their whelps had been drawn away from the safety of their hold at Azurewing Repose and were in danger of falling easy prey to the Withered, who also have a strong presence in the area. We took the task upon ourselves to do whatever we could to ensure the safe return of as many Whelplings as possible.

It wasn't easy. The Withered, alone, posed no great threat to us. In groups of however dealing with them became complicated. Danger increased exponentially with each Withered drawn to us, and so we had to take care and choose our path (and battles) wisely. Our work lasted us the better part of two hours, but we were able to lend aid. All of the Whelplings were recovered though not all of them were in good condition. As a Doctor I did what I could, and was later reassured that they'd be carefully attended. Intrigued by the healing properties of their mana infused waters, Lamae and I tarried a while longer affording me more time to document this processes of healing. The dragons there also allowed me to take a few samples for cataloging and analysis testing.

I was further flattered when one such Whelpling appeared to take a liking to me. There was some discussion between a few of the elder administrative dragons that I wasn't privy and I was soon given permission to care for this Whelpling. Imagine my utter shock and surprise! I tried to decline. I've no idea how to care for a whelpling! Nevermind the fact that it just can't go everywhere I go. Not only for safety reasons, but can you imagine the chaos an unattended whelpling would cause in a library? Perish the thought! I just simply couldn't allow it, but they insisted. I must admit that there was a barrier in language and understanding that made it difficult.

In the end, I had no choice. And so now I am accompanied by a small whelpling of this newly discovered Blue Dragonflight. An honor, I suppose; but feels more like an unfathomable burden. I have more responsibility now than I know what to do with as now I have to tend to the needs of this creature. May as well be another child in my arms.

...and this is but one tale of the great many happenings that transpired this week alone. Faint to consider what this next week might hold.

Kalinagosa. The name of the Whelpling now in my charge.
Turns out the little dragon is a 'she'. I have no idea how to properly sex a dragon and so on a lark I thought I'd politely ask before beginning any examination. To my amazement the whelpling answered. Much also to my relief, now having an idea to her level of intelligence such an examination could have become very awkward.
Though considered an infant by any means (being only a couple years or so since her hatching) she is in fact highly intelligent. Not the slobbering, babbling, troll-baby, poop mill I was dreading. Though she is very childlike. Playful. Curious. Inquisitive. Inadvertently destructive at times (as evidenced by the burn marks on this page). I nevertheless am able to engage in intelligent conversation with her.
My fears of caring for and rearing an infant appear to be unfounded! Dragons appear to have a very accelerated growth rate as well. All of this and so much more data I've begun to keep within a registry of my observations of Kalinagosa. The little creature, while not without challenges, is nothing short of astounding.
by Caileanmor on Oct 03, 2016 at 04:52 AM
It has happened. Finally, the day has arrived. Sooner than I'd imagined. Much too soon to be honest. I would have rather my advancement within the Netherlight Conclave come under different circumstances. Things being as they are, I fully understand.

My mentor is a brilliant and lovely Draenei woman by the name of Lamae Bal. Some months ago she took me under her wing after Ainsley... Banshee... brought me into the fold (so to speak). Banshee also taught me what it meant to be a Shadow Priest. A true Shadow Priest, after the fashion of Natalie Seline. For those two reasons alone I will always be in her debt, and will remember her fondly.

Not too long ago Netherlight Temple was invaded by the Burning Legion. More specifically by a particularly nasty Nathrezim (is there any other kind?) by the name of Balnazzar. At least, I think that was his name was. At any rate, it was a rough battle. He had us until an unlikely turn of events brought a powerful ally into our midst. Warriors of Light, I think they were called. Our salvation by any other name.

After our day was saved and matters were resolved, amidst the extensive cleanup and rebuild, that's when I found her. Ainsley Gravestone. Our Banshee. She'd put up a valiant effort but was overwhelmed. Soon I would learn that she was but one of far too many. Our day of victory was marked by somber remembrance. What I did not know at the time was that she had only just received news of her advancement to High Priest when the demons struck. It was an honor but also a testament to how far she had come back from the darkness, and turned her life back around. Some days later I learned all of this from my own mentor, Lamae.

In some surreal ironic gesture Lamae extended my own advancement to me. After the tragic loss of so many brothers and sisters of the Conclave there was a notable void. They needed competent priests to fill those ranks and Lamae could think of none other than me. She also thought it a fitting tribute that I receive the advancement in place of our dear friend, Ainsley. Graciously I accepted, though I know I am not yet prepared. Nonetheless, I will strive each day to be equal to that which I am entrusted.

I am now High Priest Cail Mahlr'D. One among a rather select and elite class of priest, I think. Lamae also presented me with a special gift. A staff that Ainsley would have received but was now to be bequeathed to me. An astonishing relic, an artifact of great worth, prestige, and power. They could not tell me much about it at first, but if nothing else I am a scholar. I owe it to Ainsley to discover all I am able about this priceless relic and wield it's power in her honor.

Now I have two rather extraordinary artifacts in my possession. A rather brilliant staff with the striking resemblance to a Naaru, and a viciously wicked dagger with a mind of its own. Life has taken so many strange turns I've stopped bothering to keep track.

Rest in Peace my dear Banshee. You are never forgotten.
by Caileanmor on Sep 27, 2016 at 03:48 AM
Black ink lines swirl over the entirety of the page. It may make little sense, but to those with even a mild connection with the divine arts may begin to pull bits and pieces from the mass and mess of lines.

Most of the page appears to be a sort of rudimentary map. Locations are marked along particular flowing lines. A rendering of a particular fish also becomes apparent. Then the words begin to flow.

The temple had need of supplies. Seems there important preparation afoot. I'm scant on the particulars, but I am no idiot. The bigger heads are preparing for trouble; hence the need for supplies. I'm fairly handy with a pole so I spent the day tracking up and down the rivers, lakes, and ponds of Suramar for their more coveted species of fish, the Runescale Koi.

There was no shortage of dangers to negotiate along my paths. The wild life of Suramar is particularly vicious and unforgiving to the uninitiated. Luckily, I've had my fair share of dealings with the renegade Shal'dorei. They have no shortage of tasks to fill and I am more than happy to lend my aid where I am permitted. Not only am I able to further hone my shadow magic skills, but they have a wide variety of intriguing botany; not the least of which is the Starlight Rose...

Today however, I was on a mission of fish.

The text continues with detailed descriptions of water flows, vegetation, food sources, and migratory habits of the elusive Koi. All a person might ever want to never know about this particular fish, including where to best catch them.
by Caileanmor on Sep 27, 2016 at 03:29 AM
The black ink lines scrawled across the page appear at first blush to be nonsense. The mad pictorial of a disturbed mind. If you possess even the most modest of sensitivity to the divine magics, then with patience and focus these scribbles may begin speaking to you. Tiny indistinct voices whisper their inky ramblings to the back of your conscious mind until at last these scribblings begin to make sense… or is it that you too glean a touch of maddness? Who's to say.

The twenty and sixth day of the ninth month.
Fall is upon us, and soon winter will blanket the hills back home. Dun Morogh. It's been far too long since I've thought of those mountains as home. After our sacrifices during the many demonic invasions, Kharanos somehow feels more like home than ever before. Strange that.
The sprawling kingdom of Stormwind will be seeing their rains soon, if they are not already. A bitter cold will soon snap across Westfall. Elwynn will be damp and cold, feeling as though it should snow and yet it never does. Frost will cloak the shores of Lakeshire and chill their red hills. Duskwood will, well, remain much as it always has been I suppose… if a little more chill. Even now I long for the festivities of the realm. The cheer, the feasts, the drink and well wishing; as well as the gentle kindness that seems to befall the many and varied peoples of the Alliance. This is a good time of year to spend at home surrounded by family and friends, not off waging war against an unfathomable foe. Inconsiderate demons.

I long even now for the games, the food, the drink, the diversions of Brewfest but I dare not abandon my work to indulge. Such are all of our sacrifices of late. Our days grow long and dire in our struggles against the Legion. It hardly seems fair for me to desert my fellows of the Conclave, leave them behind in Netherlight Temple to toil and struggle while I abscond to parts unknown for fun and games. I will not abandon them. I admit however to stealing away from my studies (and work) now and then for a mug of lager at the Blue Recluse. I still marvel at the distances one can cover utilizing the established portal systems. I return to Stormwind ever only when the case load becomes too heavy, and the voices too loud. Dark Lager, I’ve found, is particularly effective as a dampener. The burden of their constant chatter becomes bearable once more with merely half a pint. The other half induces a very mild inebriation that can facilitate a sound nights rest. Not silent however. Not ever.
I was counseled (harshly) by a peer recently that I needed to hone my discipline, and perhaps consult with a monk. At the time I hadn’t the heart to argue the facts with the impetuous creature. She plays an exhausting game of verbal wills aimed at constantly establishing her superiority over all those with whom she engages. If she’s not proving her power and prowess with rather minor can-trips and (albeit tepid) displays, then she endeavors to paint you as the fool (or her lesser) with her knowledge and apparent wisdom. I’ve always found such people rather engaging at the least, but ultimately any attempt at civil discourse proves to be an exercise in futility. There is no way to reason with them on a common level, nor is there any way to earn a modicum of even social respect with their kind. They are right. They will always be right. Their protective battlements are raised and nothing you do or say can ever touch them. Nothing is ever correct unless it agrees with their selfish ego, and even then you’re a lowly sheep for ever agreeing. If I let them, these kind will never fail to infuriate me. Nothing is sacred lest they deem it so, and everything is condescended.

[Lines crisscross and swirl across the page, dancing as if relating a fragment of a greater spell form.]

Yet… She continues to intrigue, so I weather her storms.

At any rate, I’ve already counseled with many Pandaren monks and healers along my road.
It is a testament to their skills and training (and to their art) that I am here now, and coherent as I am. I’d lost myself to madness once before. It took a considerable amount of will and personal strength (and the aid of dear friends) to pull myself back to the ledge. Even now I teeter at the brink, but I have found my stride as it were. My mind remains open to their aid, their counsel, and the direction of my many monk associates; as well as with those few paladin, priest, and even a few warlock associates. She may not know it (though to be fair she may indeed be aware) that even she is teaches me.

I must admit, with a certain amount of chagrin, that she’s caught me on more than one occasion gazing at her from afar. Stealth apparently not one of my more developed attributes. I was certain that she would interpret my gazing as some form of inept sexual advance. A flirtation. While she is, in her own manner, a remarkable creature to behold; my stares were ever always of a studious and curiously contemplative nature. How she so casually conducts herself through the use of her void prowess is instructive. Insightful. Even masterful, to a degree. I’ve already learned much from her observance alone. I wonder how much more I might learn if she would but let her guard down just a little and have an honest dialog. Such a thing would be impossible, I am certain. I believe her to be a profoundly damaged being. A person so deeply lodged within their own pain, fear, and regret that for all her insight she remains blinded.
As are we all I suppose. I’ve no idea what she’s suffered, and suffers still that it saddens the soul to even contemplate.

I am reminded of a comment made by a draenei paladin during my latest attempt at hosting one of Genevra’s sermons. Her name and exact words have since faded from memory, as I’ve no desire to remember such a negative persona, but the spirit of her words linger still. I was called, in essence, a fool for even suggesting that the Shadow has a deeper nature to it that one might appreciate. Something other than merely being the Light’s opposite. More than simply a “balancing force”. Her singular reaction attests to why we shadow priests prefer to dwell in darkness. For all their mastery and understanding of the Light they remain ignorant to the broader scope of their world. Like a child they fear what they can’t possibly understand; not for any lack of capacity but for their lack of capability. They dare not try and so remain unable. It’s sad. Willful ignorance has always saddened me.

In their defense however, I admit that my “sermon” was more of a cerebral exercise than maybe they were accustomed. Perhaps I should have taken the safer road and followed Genevra’s example by throwing out warm and fuzzy blanket anacdotes. People attend her sermons to feel good, after all, and be reassured that they are in-fact not terrible people. All rather subjective in my own opinion. One person’s holy is to another an abomination. But if I did that I’d betray my own nature, so… I didn’t.

[The lines and swirls extend down through the margins and cross the page. Faint indistinct runes appear but melt back into the page the moment they are looked upon.]

Enough ruminating on such things. On to more important business.
My discoveries from the latest round of work performed in the name of the Netherlight Conclave, and my journeys through the Broken Isle.

I have learned a great deal on the art of manipulating the mind. Meditating before the shadow altar within the temple has wielded surprising results. I rather think I am on the verge of a kind of mastery as I’ve taken what’s been revealed to me out into the field.
I’ve delved into the addled minds of the withered Nightborn Elves that meander Suramar. It has proven endlessly educational. I lament that not all of my subjects initially survived my mental probings, which is why I chose to work with the withered in the first place. They are pathetic creatures but an excitable sort not without their dangers. In their confused fury any one of them are capable of inflicting grave injuries upon even the most seasoned (albeit careless) adventurer. Attracting more than one can easily escalate into a painful death sentence, which it has on more than one occasion. More capable (well… interested) minds are hard at work trying to correct the quagmire of their condition, but until such time they are able to cure the incurable it is left to those such as I and a multitude of other warriors, soldiers, and capable adventurers to keep them held at bay (when my service permits). Every now and then a culling is required in order to keep pathways and sanctuaries clear. Though I take no personal joy in the act, I am nonetheless eager to engage for no other reason than the expansion and understanding of my own shadows.
I freely admit here that it disturbs me easily the destructive nature of the void occasionally flows from me. I even admit here, and only here, that there is a part of me (touched by madness) that enjoys the weaving of such darkness. How easily a mind can break, tear itself apart, or be torn to shreds. The flesh withers and flays with such frailty. Such delicate creatures we are… we’ve become.

[The lettering devolves into a few lines of unintelligible scribbles upon a lattice work of writhing ink-shadows.]

That’s the dagger’s influence speaking. Of all the voices that whisper to me, it’s is the loudest and most domineering by far. Which is fine by me. When she speaks, the others fall more silent. She tempts me, I know it. I dare not allow myself to fall into her sway, for it would surely mean my destruction. Yet…

My studies in the light are progressing nicely.
I am now rather adept at employing the light in the healing capacity, and have even revived more than a few allies from the waning depths of near-death. For these feats and my progression I’ve been granted a few advancements of rank and station within the Conclave.
It’s only been a month yet it feels like much longer. So much has occurred. The skills and discipline of the priesthood (as I have come to generally call the practice) are gradually unlocking before me. I have recently been entrusted with a degree of leadership responsibilities over several fresh acolytes. They were all assigned to me, and though they are under no obligation they nevertheless have remained my pupils. A number of the more tested zealots have also come under my wing of their own accord. Seems I am forging a reputation of capability and confidence within the Conclave. I have been promised greater trust and rewards as my standing within Netherlight Temple improves.

Strangely, I am finding myself feeling a degree of importance! Best not let that get to my head however. No telling what madness might take hold. Heh.