Monday, February 25, 2019

Forging a New Path

((written with Zinnaella's player, with gratitude)

A folded note was pinned to a notice board in the Curious Octopus. Elegant script formed one word upon its surface. 'CHESS'.

The fellow known by many as Jon Chess entered the Curious Octopus tavern o Boralus, and saw the note. Chuckling, he mumbling "That would be for me..." as he took down the note and unfolds it so he might read it.

The note was simply the drawing he'd done of the back of a woman's head at the performance near the Cathedral Gazebo in Stormwind.  The lady had sat on the bench in front of Chess as he had sketched, and he had left it for her - a sketch of the back of her head. In the corner, where an artist normally signs their work, was that same elegant script. 'BRING COFFEE TO TINY HOUSE IN THE BLACKWALD. GILNEAS.' It was simply signed with a Z.

Jon grinned.  Time to take a trip to Gilneas!

It was still dark, that time between when the glow of the coming of day lightened the sky before the actual sun crested the horizon.  The fellow known as Jon Chess summoned his Shadow Raven and flew north to the Great Sea.  He flew aerobatic tricks on his way to the rocky, treacherous Gilnean coast.  Gilneas had, in ancient days, been settled by Kul Tiras colonists, who had, over decades, carved their own homeland out of the wilds of South Lordaeron, eventually establishing themselves as much more than a colony, but the Kingdom of Gilneas. Jon landed in Stormglen, and dismissed his raven, making his way to the Blackwald Forest on foot.  Jon kept to the Shadows by reflex and instinct; there were threats in the region, threats that had flourished since the assault by the Forsaken and the coming of the Affliction.

Jon was only aware of one cottage still standing in the Blackwald.  Seeing no signs of residence, he sat down to wait.

The area around the cottage was strung with bells of various types. Cowbells, brass bells, small silver bells with their tiny tinkling rings. Even the roof of the cottage was covered in them as well as what appeared to be sharp shards of broken glass. The chimney occasionally gave a puff of smoke, strange behavior but it appeared harmless. From outside, he could see her moving around through the open door. She appeared to be sweeping...or dancing?

Jon watched through the window, taking care to be unseen, wishing to enjoy watching her dance... or sweep.

From behind him came a soft growl, though it sounded more like the creaking of tree branches.  Tiny footfalls to his left sounded like the crunching of autumn leaves. The sounds grew no closer, but he knew eyes were upon him.

Jon went to the front door and knocked.

The occupant fo the house spun around,  brandishing the broom like a weapon.  "Who's there!? What do you want?!"

"Coffee delivery!" called out Chess cheerfully.

"Coffee? I didn't order any....ahhhh." Realization hits her as she focuses on the fellow at the door. A smile curls her lips and lowers the broom. "Mister Chess. I didn't expect my, um, delivery to be so soon. Please, come in."

"I was taught never to keep a lady waiting," quipped Chess.  "And it is even more unforgivable when it is coffee for which you keep her waiting!"

"Yes, cold coffee is unforgivable." Quickly, she clears the small table of various bottles, clay pots, and dried herbs, depositing the armful on a small counter. A dish towel is quickly plucked from her waistband and she dusts off a chair at the table. "Please, won't you have a seat?"

Jon put the coffee on the table and took a seat as indicated. "I apologize for having to rush off the other night, but a friend was in peril.  Do you get to Stormwind often?" asked Jon.

She dug around on her counter looking for two relatively clean mugs, wiping them out with her dish towel. "Oh, that's alright. If a friend is in need, that takes precedence. As to whether or not I get into Stormwind often?  No, I don't."

Fishing around for her coffee press, she 'Ah ha's' when it was discovered, having found it's way to the back of the cabinet. The cofee press and mugs were carried to the table and set down. "I hope you like your coffee black, I've no cream. I do have sugar though." A generous amount of the coffee was poured into the press and she smiles at the aroma of the freshly ground beans. She hustled to the hearth and retrieved the tea kettle. Hot water was poured into the press and the little machine was reassembled. She let the coffee steep for a little bit, looking at Mister Chess.

"I usually drink tea, but I like my coffee like my soul - dark and bitter," Jon said.

"I have tea if you would rather have that." She pressed down on the top of the contraption, squeezing the grounds to its bottom.

"Nah, this is good enough - I brought the good stuff, not Kul Tiran 'Sailor's Choice' or that crappy Miner's Coffee they serve in Draenor," Jon said, smiling.

"I doubt my pallet would be able to tell the difference honestly." Lifting the press, she pours coffee into the two waiting mugs.

Jon paused, and thought the better of offering to help her train her pallet. "I was happy to get your note - I was wracking my brain, trying to figure out how to find you again.  It seemed important that I find you, somehow..."

Lifting the mug to her lips, she took a sip of the brew. "Eh, not bad." Looking at him, she quirks a brow. "Oh? Why would it be important to find me?"

"I have no idea - but I felt that it was imperative, and not because you are remarkably lovely."

Sitting down on the tiny stool across from him, she fixed him with a stare. "How often does your honeyed tongue catch the little bees wonder?" It was clear that the flattery might not work on her.

"Often enough that it pays to keep in practice, but any person who cannot tell the difference between idle flattery and honest appreciation is a fool, and not worth the time to charm," Jon replied. "And I do find you remarkably lovely - should I not say so?"

"I've not been told that since my husband passed away. So, forgive me my hesitation in believing it as truth."  She sipped at her coffee.

"I am sorry for your loss," Jon said, not unkindly.  "So, if I may be so tactless as to ask, why did you ask me to visit?  Surely not as your own personal delivery boy?"  Jon smiled.  "Although I've traveled further for less..."

Setting her coffee down, she pulled a silver locket from around her neck. She held it out to him, her eyes watching it sway.  "I was impressed by your artistry and I wanted to know if you could possibly fix this."  Inside was the tiny portrait of a freckle-faced, green-eyed,  brown-haired girl of maybe 7 or 8  years old.

"What is wrong with it?" Jon asked, looking for a defect.

The portrait was faded, near invisible.  "I want her to be... vibrant again. I want to open it up and gaze upon her face like she were still here." Her eyes dropped. "Every artist I've taken it too has said that it is too tiny to fix. The original artist is... no longer with us."

"I..." Jon hesitated, and then continued. "I guess trying will not do any harm.  May I take this with me?  Or perhaps, given it's importance to you, you might like me to work here?" asked Jon.  Clearly, the portrait miniature held special meaning for the lady, and Jon hated to disappoint anyone.

Fingers tapped on the tabletop as she debated. "I... I suppose you could take it. If it makes you feel  more at ease to work where you are comfortable." It was her most prized possession, but if she could get it restored she supposed she could part with it for a time.

Jon shrugged.  "Miss... and what should I call you, by the way? I am just as happy to bring my tools and paints here.  What I intend on doing is copying the original, but with - hopefully - revitalized colors and vitality.  There is no reason to risk damage to the original, after all."  What Jon did not say is that his hostess had inadvertently picked one of the best kind of artists for the task at hand; while Jon sketched for pleasure, and partially to keep his skills fresh for when he had to create likenesses for clients for missing person cases. He had attended a much more rigorous art curriculum than most - he had been trained by the best forgers in Ravenholdt, working to create stamp dies for creating counterfeit coinage.  He had never painted on such a tiny scale before, but he already had the magnifying glasses, white-light lanterns, and miniature tools for the job.

"Zinnaella. You may call me Zinn." She looked at him and nodded. "If you would like to work here, that would be fine. I can clean you a space to work." She gave a soft sigh, relieved that he wouldn't be taking the locket away. She'd gone through too much to get it back.  "Thank you Mister Chess. How much will this cost me? I imagine that such delicate work cannot be cheap."

"... Madame, I will be frank - I had not thought to charge, but rather to reward myself with the challenge and the potential delight in your smile should I succeed.  iI I am to work here, perhaps there are other supplies from Stormwind, Boralus, or Dalaran I might bring you since I will be coming every day until my task is complete?  Do you like cheese, perhaps?"  The remoteness of the cottage must make the acquisition of such items difficult.

She raised a slender brow at him.  "No charge? No, there must be a charge. Paints do cost coin and I am willing to pay to keep your supplies full." She relaxes onto the stool a bit.  "I don't currently need any supplies.  I do like cheese, but my lack of the ability to keep things cold keeps me from having it unless I go  to Stormwind."

Jon chuckled.  "Then perhaps I might bring you fresh cheese to delight your palate every day?  Some men might bring flowers, but I... I am an Agent of Cheese," he proclaimed proudly. "Oh, and do you not have an icebox?  The Kirin Tor can enchant them to not have to use ice; my friend Phredaria specializes in Cold magics, and I am sure she'd be happy to help!""And how about this?  If I need to purchase additional paints, I will submit an expense report?  I do that all the time for my other clients' but painting in miniature should not take much above what I already own; I often mix my paints and inks freshy from herbs, ground earths, and other materials. But where there is expense, I will allow you to reimburse me upon approval of the expense report?" Jon offered, not mentioning that if he needed supplemental supplies, he was more likely to steal them from wealthy patrons rather than buy them for a cash outlay.

"I do not have an icebox. I don't think I'd have room for it in here."  She looked around the tiny cottage. Everything was in one room. In one corner, she'd put a privacy screen that served as a wall to a makeshift bedroom.  Then there was the hearth that contained a massive cook pot and the short countertop with one upper cupboard and two lower cabinets. The counter was full of....things; bowls of various sizes, dried herbs, plates, and kitchen tools, several different sizes of mortar and pestles as well as bottles of liquids of all shapes, sizes, and colors, and jars upon jars of...best he didn't know what some of the jars contained. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to where things were placed. "I agree to the payment of charges on the expense reports."

"On your approval of the expense reports," Jon corrected.  he had seen unscrupulous merchants pad expense accounts before.  "When would you like me to start?"

"Yes, my approval." She nodded her head a bit. "When can you start?"

"I can start tomorrow... I will fly in my equipment and supplies later today if that suits you?"

"That would be fine. It gives me a chance to set up space for you. Is there anything, in particular, you need as far as space?" She thought perhaps a spot near the hearth so he'd be warm.

"No... I will bring some special lamps, and a small table to work upon," he thought, making a mental list.  "Daylight is not often enough for regular work, so I don't trust to caprice."

She nodded once again. "Alright. I'll tidy up the place.  I know it must look a sight. I do apologize."

"Well, a sight to cheer men's hearts, perhaps... but I will remember - 'no complements' while I am here," Jon grinned.  "I will be as sober as a judge - but not nearly as corrupt..." Jon replied, finishing his tea.  "I will leave you in peace now, and go pack!"  Jon got to his feet.

She also stands, extending her hand. "Thank you Mister Chess. I can't wait to see what wonders you will work on my Fawn."

"I will attempt to please you, Miss Zinnaella, although I do admit to a reservation about taking your commission..." he said, heading outside.

"after all, have you never heard the old aphorism - that "the wages of Zinn are death"?  Jon spoke a few sentences in a guttural, ugly tone, The air seemed to rip and tear, and a deep purple glow manifested and then resolved into a rather large Shadow Raven, which alighted near Jon.  Jon leaped into its back, waving to his client before guiding the creature back to Stormwind.

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