Jon And Alia

Jon and Alia

A Rogue's Diary - Phredaria and Gnomeregan

The woman known as Alia Atherton, but known to Jon Chess as "Beloved", looked up from her desk, where her field notes and sketches were being translated by Alia into a more formal record.  It was a tedious but necessary part of fieldwork; translating things learned and experienced in the field into a cohesive, thoughtful, and complete narrative for the official records of the Kirin Tor.

"Time for a break before I fall asleep", she thought with a smile; her Shadow had been late returning home from a trip to Vigil Hill, and she had welcomed his return with many a passionate embrace.  At first, she had trouble sleeping with someone else in her bed, but now, some months later, she had a hard time sleeping without her paranoid and protective paramour.  As was their habit, Jon had woken early and made breakfast for her.  He had returned to their bed to wake Alia with his lips, and sometime later they had repaired to the breakfast table.  Jon had made her tea and reheated the now-cold meal, and they had eaten together before Jon had departed on business of his own, leaving Alia to her own work.  The hour candle Alia habitually burned to measure with accuracy the hour of the day had melted in its smokeless uniformity until it was almost time for lunch.

Alia stepped away from her desk to fetch a thick journal, whose pages were uniformly blank.  The leather4boud cover simply said "A Rogue's Diary".  Jon had told her that at Ravenholdt the students had been trained to make daily entries to record their activity, but also to hide it from the eyes of outsiders by using a special ink, undetectable under certain circumstances - only the speaking of a cantrip of Shadow magic would reveal the contents, and then only for a short time. 

As a sign of trust, Jon had taught Alia the key cantrip that would unlock the words.

She sat in the leather-stuffed armchair and began to read the cramped but precise script Jon used, losing herself in the story.

*      *     *     *     *

Anno 25

I approached the area in Ironforge where the refugees from Gnomeregan had been given residence; they had renamed it Tinker Town, and it was their new temporary home until they reclaim the clockwork city of Gnomeregan.  High Tinker Mekkatorque and his advisors had set up shop close to the tram to Stormwind, and it was a busy, chaotic mess.

I had an appointment that had been arranged by my friends Nipsy and Monte Goldgears, the pair of Gnomes who had employed me to provide them with rat meat for their kabobs.  I needed the services of a mage and an engineer; while I had turned down employment by SI:7, I was not blind to the advantages of portal teleportation and an augmented armory. Nipsy and Monte had a cousin they thought might fit the bill - she was a researcher for the Kirin Tor, and loved to play around with various mechanical devices that she sought to improve using the arcane.

Sounded ideal, if she would agree to work with me.  As my teacher Zan Shivsproket had said more than once: "There are very few problems - professional or personal - that cannot be solved with the suitable application of explosive devices."

I had arranged to meet the lady at Springspindle's Gadgets; I'd bought a Gnomish Cloaking Device that worked well enough, but needed a new power supply after every use; while it made the user invisible, it only lasted for about ten seconds.  Still, very useful when used with a smoke grenade for a quick exit.

I entered the shop, and almost immediately the silver-haired Trixie Quikswitch came over to flirt with me.  "Jonny, it's been *ages* since we've seen you! Where have you been hiding, cousin?"  Her sister Jemma rolled her eyes at her sister; Trixie joked that because she and I had the same hair color, that we must be related.  "I hope you remember who has the most explosive touch to serve your needs?" Trixie said, not waiting for me to answer.  Trixie was the engineer who often made me my supply of Small Bronze Bombs, which I found almost alarmingly useful.  She had used a Silver Contact to set the bombs to explode after a five-second delay, and I'd practiced throwing the damn things so that they'd go off at chest height on most humanoids, their bronze casings making effective shrapnel.

"How can I forget a lady whose beauty is only exceeded by her skill with such useful devices?" I replied, flattering her shamelessly, smiling my best mischievous smirk. "May we talk about how much a case of grenades is going to set me back, later?  I came here t meet someone... a miss Phredaria Goldgears.  You know her?"  It was a safe bet; the refugees fro Gnomeregan was a tight community, and most engineers bought parts for their own devices rather than roll a bronze tube or painstakingly assemble a hair-trigger mechanism themselves.

"Phred?  Yeah, she's in the back, looking at some schematics to see if there is anything new," the apprentice engineer said.  "HEY PHRED!  A TALLARD OUT HERE TO SEE YOU!"  I grinned; gnomes rarely used "tallard", which was kind of an insult, around others not of the roper, perfect height.  Like I said, Trixie liked me, even if she liked my gold more, probably.

A gnome came out of the back room, and joined us.  "Phredaria Goldgears.  You must be Jonny Chess, right?  Nipsy and Monte told me that you have a need for someone who is a mage and also for someone who is an engineer and I happen to be both, which is most convenient for you, and advantageous for me!" Phred said in one long breath.  She was a little on the tall side for a gnome and had short, pink hair.  She wore the familiar robes of the Kirin Tor, but her robes were crumpled and stained; perhaps with oil from the workbenches. "They also said that you could be trusted, which is a rare quality."

"Among tallards?" I said, smiling to indicate that I had taken no offense.

"Among anyone... " she said, snorting indignantly. "After all, it was Sicco Thermaplugg who took advantage of the trogg invasion to convince Mekkatorque to flood the halls of Gnomeregan with bob radiation to get rid of the troggs. Between the troggs and that traitor, we lost eight of ten of our brothers and sisters!" Phred's eyes grew wide with tears but refused to acknowledge them. "It wouldn't surprise me in the least if that bastard was the mastermind behind the entire trogg invasion, he and his toadies and the damned Dark Iron dwarves!"

One tough cookie, this gnome. 

"Yeah, I do... I work for Captain Kestral in Theramore," I explained. "We run supplies and luxury goods there from Stormwind and Menethil Harbor, but between the Blackwater Raiders, the Bloodsail pirates, and the Horde privateers I sometimes need... an edge.  Explosives, useful devices, and the sort.  Plus the occasional locator spell or teleportation portal... We have plenty of gold, the route can e quite profitable... if we survive the run.  Interested?"

"Maybe... Monty and Nipsy tell me you are a stand-up guy, and are pretty good in dark places. I don't want gold.. well, maybe some, but mostly I'd like to trade services...?" Phredaria countered.

"Oh, I can assure you that Jonny has done some of his finest work in the dark..." Trixie said, leering. "He's got strong fingers and a tongue as silver as his hair..." she insinuated, "...so he can talk or fight his way out of trouble!"

Phred's eyes went wide and she blushed a deep red at Trixie's attestation.

"I... ah.. I will take your word for it, Trix," Phred stammered.  "Here's the thing... I want to go back down into Gnomergan.  There are pockets of folk still there, and while Ironforge has been generous to take us in, they have to taste for helping us reclaim what is ours by right. So, Mr. Chess... you help me with my problems, and I will help you with yours - no questions asked by either of us.  Deal?"  She offered me her hand to take.

"Phredaria... I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

*      *     *     *     *

Alia closed the book. Phred had told her that while she had liked Jon immediately, and that Jon had first become a field medic so he could help refugees trapped in Gnomergan escape to the surface. Phred had told her that she had fallen in love with him when once Phred and Jon had been trapped with a dozen refugees, heading for the surface, when wave after wave of troggs had cut them off and trapped them in a cul-de-sac.  Jon had ordered Phred to make a teleportation portal for evacuation and then used his explosives to clear a space, charging into the mass of troggs... and using his last explosive device to seal the tunnel behind him.  Phred had gotten the refugees to Ironforge and cried for a week, sure that she had seen the last of her ally and friend. A month later Jon had shown up again, alive.  He had been taken as a slave to the Dark iron mines around Shadowforge City... but her Shadow was a sneaky little street rat, and had escaped.

But that was another story.

Coins and Commerce, Part I

The fellow many people knew as Jon Chess sat it what he privately called his "Thinking Spot", sitting on a boulder which sat in the stream that drained the Lion's Rest park into the sea.

The night before he had run into Hinik and Raysse of the House of Stewards at the Ironforge Craft Faire.  Jon had been awarded of medal for "intrepid exploring" or somesuch, he had not really been paying attention.  The truth is that his fiance Alia had a research expedition that Jon had helped fund in such a way that it would help repair her tenuous relationship with the Kirin Tor.  Alia was possibly the most brilliant mage Jon had ever known, but was limited by the scope and breadth of her library... and her pride. 

Jon had accompanied Hinik and Raysse back to their base of operations in Vigil Hill, a town in south Tiragarde Sound near the southern border to Drustvar, overlooking Daelin's Gate. After the destruction of Daelin's Gate, the Irontide Raiders have repeatedly launched attack after attack. Before he was asked to join Tandred Proudmoore's crew, the local defense had been commanded by Lieutenant Tarenfold, who had organized the local militia and integrated them with the defense force of Kul Tiran marines.  The House of Stewards was a key element in beating back the Irontide raiders, and had bled in their defense.

That night Hinik had shown Jon some counterfeit Kul Tiran coins that his folk had found in Freehold, the lawless city of those who decide to live outside the reach of Kul Tiran justice.  Jon had given his opinion, but there were many unanswered questions:

Who had created the counterfeit Kul Tiran coins, and for what purpose? 

Freehold has traditionally served as a haven for pirates, scoundrels, and those who wish to live free of Kul Tiran control. Recently, the Irontide Raiders have brought the city under their control, building a virtual army of various pirate crews under their banner, funded in part by the traitorous Priscilla Ashvane and her Ashvane Trading Company. Were the coins part of the payment she had given the Irontide Raiders as part of their employment?  Or were these coins part of the booty taken by the Irontide Raiders as part of their depredations.

The coins Jon had examined had been excellent; the edges of the images on the front and obverse sides had been clean and clear.  Whoever had struck the coins had done so from dies produced by master engraved images; the largest challenge for any counterfeit operation was finding an artist with the skill and lack of ethics to create a precise enough image; from the sculpted master, the dies would be made, and over time would degrade as coin after coin was struck.  In Stormwind and Ironforge, the process was augmented by steam-powered hammer assemblies, and the coins struck from large sheets; the flash, or the leftover metal, was collected and melted down into other sheets. 

Kul Tiras was not as progressed as their Alliance allies, and the coins were struck from heavy hammers one at a time.  Kul Tiras merchants welcomed Alliance coinage, which had poured into their coffers like a gentle rain as the Alliance military passed through on their way to Zandalar.

Still, counterfeiting coins was a labor-intensive process, and a lot of coins needed to be reproduced to finance the effort, and the first principle of any criminal investigation was "Who benefits?".  Jon had thought about the list of possible suspects:

• The Ashvane Company, using the counterfeit coinage to spread its resources beyond their already-impressive fiscal reserves.  Fomenting a rebellion against first the Proudmoores and then the Alliance was an expensive enterprise.
• The Irontide Raiders, using counterfeit coinage to buy the loyalties of the disparate independent pirate crews; the Bilge Rats, the Cutwater crew, The Blacktooth crew, and myriad others all required a constant flow of gold to keep them in line and useful.
• The Horde might be using counterfeit coinage to devalue the currency of the Alliance in general and Kul Tiras in particular.  Reducing the confidence in the value of the coinage undermined the moral of both the military and civilian populations.

This could also be the work of any number of other criminal organizations; the Coldwater Cartel, the Blackwater Pirates, even (although doubtful) the Uncrowned (or elements of it).

Regardless of who, the best way to fix the problem for the longer term was to destroy the dies and kill the engraving artists.

One did have to identify the pieces before you could take them off the board.

Kaneka Hillyard Art

I commissioned a piece from my favorite for Jon's friend Kaneka!

Kaneka Hillyard

On the Making of Cheese

The making of cheese is a multi-step alchemical process, and takes weeks, months, or even years to produce the desired product. There are several common steps to the crafting of cheese; culturing, coagulation, draining, scalding, and ripening.

The beginning of the cheesemaking process is to culture the cheese. The cheesemaker brings milk in the cheese vat to a temperature required to promote the growth of the culture, which may be the native culture of the cheese, or an additive of starter stock from various herb extracts, such as Peacebloom. When the fermentation of the culture is at an appropriate level, the cheesemaker adds rennet, which is produced my extraction from the fourth stomach of baby cows, lambs, or goats (the age of the calf will determine the strength of the rennet, which in turn will widely affect the flavor of the cheese). This is the coagulation of the cheese, and the fermenting milk will form into cheese curds. These curds are drained through cheesecloth, and the dehydrated curds are then scalded. Scalding involves cutting the curds into small cubes (the process called "cheddaring", where the curds are cut, turned, and stacked) and then heated to about 100 degrees. The scalding the cheese produces whey, which is drained from the curds, which are then milled into ribbon shapes and mixed with salt. The salted 'green cheese' curd is put into cheese molds lined with cheese cloths and pressed overnight to allow the curds to meld. The pressed blocks of cheese are then removed from the cheese molds and are waxed. The cheeses are then stored for maturation, which may take varying times in accord with the type of cheese.

Common types of cheese made throughout Azeroth include:

• Darnassian Blue - Darnassian Blue cheese is made from a mixture of sheep and nightsaber's milk. The final product is spotted or veined throughout with blue or blue-green mold, and aged in the caves east of Auberdine. The characteristic flavor of Darnassian Blue tends to be sharp and a bit salty. The smell of this food is widely considered to be pungent, even compared to other cheeses. It can eaten by itself or can be crumbled or melted over foods.
• Dalaran Sharp - Dalaran Sharp is produced primarily in the areas around Ambermill area, although some does come through Southport from Pyrewood by merchants whose sense of timing is precise. This cheese is colored a deep orange by annatto, an extract made from the silverleaf plant, and often packaged in black wax.
• Dwarven Mild - Dwarven Mild is produced from goat's milk, and like all cheese made from goat's milk, has a slightly tart flavor. It is usually packaged in red-wax encased wheels of great size.
• Stormwind Brie - Stormwind Brie is a soft, cows' milk cheese. It is pale in colour with a slight greyish tinge under crusty white mould; very soft and savoury with a hint of ammonia. The white mouldy rind is moderately tasteful and edible, and is not intended to be separated from the cheese during consumption.
• Fine Aged Cheddar - This cheese is made from cow's milk, and matured longer than most, giving it a delicate, subtle taste.
• Alterac Swiss - This cheese has a distinctive appearance, as the blocks of the cheese are riddled with holes known as "eyes". Alterac Swiss is known for its nutty, bittersweet taste. Since the destruction of Alterac, most of this type of cheese is produced in the Southport region in Hillsbrad.
• Garadar Sharp and Mag'har Mild Cheese - These two cheeses were first produced by the Mag'har orc tribes in northern Nagrand, and much of its production comes via the black market activities around Halaa.
• Spiced Onion Cheese - This cheese is produced almost exclusively for Brewfest by Ironforge clans, and is flavored with herbs, spices, and onions. Many dwarven clans have their own jealously-guarded recipe for this seasonal delicacy."

Rook Takes Pawn

The man many knew as Jon Chess watched Alia Atherton walk into the Pig & Whistle Tavern in Old Town, accompanied by a nervous-looking young man, who Jon recognized as one of the Gilnean refugees which had taken over the position of rat-catcher in Old Town.  Jon had himself held that position when he had first left the orphanage, and the coppers had been all that stood between Jon and starvation.  He remembered how grateful he had been for the job, and how his life had changed when his skill with a knife and poisons had brought him to the attention of Elling Trias, starting him on the road to Ravenholdt and being an Agent of Cheese. But... why was he walking with Alia?

It was in that very thought that the Magna re-emerged from the building, her head scanning the street-ways with an eager impatience. There was an innocent little smile on her face, almost childlike in how firmly it was painted on her face.

Which could only mean trouble for the poor man.

Alia caught sight of him and waved him over,” Mr.Chess! Come here, I need some assistance in a matter!”

She used his last name. Double trouble.

Jon stood from his customary table under the stairs, nonplussed.  She was smiling that smile, which meant she was happy, and about to spring a surprise on him, but he had never heard her formally address him; something about their first real meeting, with her using her arcane powers in conjunction with Arexzia's healing to burn the addictive drug Sa'Diablo from his blood, causing him almost unbearable agony had discouraged such societal strictures.   He rose as she had bidden, and walked over to her, a slight smile fixed to his face.  "Beloved," he greeted Alia, turning to the fellow, his eyebrows asking a question.

"I know you!" Greyhawk blurted.  "You're the Cheese Guy!"  Jon Chess was well-known by sight; he and Elling Trias had made sure that the refugee community had all the cheese they could eat, going from camp to camp carrying bags of Gilnean White and Darnassus Blue.

Her smile twisted into a grin.

This poor boy.

“Oh good, your reputation precedes you! Dearest, this is Dahn Greyhawk, Old Town’s newest rat catcher. I’d like to make that newest into a former, with your help.”

She looked up at him, her face turned away from the boy, and her smile dropped into something resembling a pout. Jon’s mind was touched with a gentle loving presence. Alia’s voice was calm, though slightly pained.  ”Shadow, he’s an orphan, a boy; look how skinny he is! Dahn is barely younger then me, by my estimates He has good enough aim with a blade, and he’d have the balance if he’d eat better - I don’t mean to burden you but...what good is success if we do not use our power to help others? Where would we be if we weren’t lucky enough to be found in favor with Fate?” Many things could be said of Alia Atherton, but lacking a big, good heart was not one of them.

"Rat-catching is an honorable profession; it certainly kept the wolves from my door in lean times..." Jon said with a disarming smile.  "Where did you get the Syndicate blade, Master Greyhawk?""What, this?" Greyhawk replied, indicating the knife.  "Some guy in black with an orange face mask wanted my dosh... he ended up in the canal, begging your pardon.  But he had a good knife, and no more use for it..."

Jon nodded approvingly.  "The orange mask means one of two things  - either he was a member of the Syndicate criminal organization, or he wanted you to think he was... either way, he got what he deserved, if not what he asked for."

"Beloved, your heart is almost as great as your brain, but what am I to do with him?" Jon sent along to Alia via their link.

Alia stared down intently at Dahn. “Was it your first?”

"He should be given the opportunity to make something of himself, but perhaps not Ravenholdt? Hmm..." Alia sent back across her link to Jon.

Greyhawk looked at Alia, and said  quietly "It's not something one should talk about."  Alia recognized the same dead look in his eyes - she had seen it often enough in the eyes of her Shadow when he spoke of things he had done for the Alliance, under mission orders.  Not his first, then.
Jon noted that all-too-familiar look and his heart ached.  He sent to Alia through the link "Perhaps not Ravenholdt, Beloved... I am grateful for all they taught me, but let's give him a chance to be more than they made me. I have a mind to send him to the Temple of the Tiger.  They can teach him how to defend himself and others... and discipline."

An unseen hand, more of a feeling than anything physical, took his own. ”The Temple of the Tiger? In Pandaria? Yes, yes that will do...That will do.”

"Well, Master Greyhawk... I can certainly find employment for you if you want to give up the life of catching rats in Old Town... as you said, I am the 'Cheese Guy', and often find myself in need of a messenger and scout... especially in Pandaria, where cheese is rare.  If you accept, I will send you to the Temple of the Tiger, to learn something of Pandarian ways and customs, as well as a little formal training in their style of fighting... I spent some time there myself, not too many years ago."  After his mind had been raped by a Scarlet Inquisitor, he had traveled there to learn their meditation techniques and how to resist psychic attacks.  "I will bear the expenses involved, as I will make full use of your talents, and pay you in the bargain.  Who knows?  While you are there you might find me a good supply of Aged Mogu Cheese! Oh, and I have a letter for you to deliver on the way by way of Lordaeron.  Do you accept?"

Greyhawk thought about it - Stormwind held nothing for him, and as one of the rare un-Afflicted Gilneans, he was an outcast from his people.  "Yes, I accept," he answered.

Queen Takes Pawn

((Look!  A Jon Chess story without Jon Chess!))

The slender throwing knife tumbled end-over-end and neatly caught the housecat-sized rodent which had just darted out in front of the Magna Alia Atherton, who had been walking to the Pig & Whistle tavern in the bowels of the Old Town section of Stormwind.  She jumped back a half-step, glad of the precise aim of the projectile and feeling a moment's twinge of sympathy for the dead rat at her feet.  A man - more of an overgrown kid, really, clearly at the last stage of adolescence ran out from the shadows, but noting Alia, stopped his rush to retrieve his blade and bowed to Alia.  "Beg your pardon, mum," he said, his use of the Common Tongue having what she recognized as Gilnean underpinnings.  He was a whipcord scarecrow of a fellow, wearing a threadbare blue tunic, dirty gray trousers, sturdy boots, and a weapons baldric festooned with small pouches and slots for three throwing knives.. one of which was newly empty.  A wicked-looking knife similar to a straight razor hung from his belt; Alia recognized it with apprehension as the sort of knives carried by the Syndicate crime organization.

“It’s- it's alright. You just scared me.” Alia Atherton straighten her suit, turning her attention from the rat to the scrawny...well she wouldn’t call him a kid, him appearing to only be a few years younger than her. Three years at the most, she reckoned. She looked over to the knife, then to him,” It’s a good thing your a good aim, yes?”

"If you miss, you often lose the knife.  I can't afford to miss very often, Miss," responded the fellow, who knelt at Alia's feet.  She watched, a little fascinated and revolted at the same time as he used the knife to lift the rat corpse and chop off its tail.  The tail went into a small pouch at his hip, and the carcass into a larger "kill bag" on his thigh.  He stood, cleaning the knife with a filthy rag.  "My name is Greyhawk, Miss - please remember me should you find yourself in need of a ratch catcher."  He smiled, and his careworn face lost ten years - for a brief second, he appeared to be his age.  His eyes remained downcast, and he would not look her in the face. "Nipsy, the gnome what sells the Rat Kabobs in the tramway, can often find me at need; he and his brother always need the fresh meat! 1 CP to the city for the bounty on the tail, and three CP from Nipsy for the body."

A name she recognized with a smile,” I’ve heard of him. Rorik is quite the fan of the Rat Kabobs... but with an aim like that, I reckon this isn’t your... let’s say your dream profession?”

The fellow shrugged, looking away.  "Ain't got no family, and what I lost everything I had when Darnassus burned.  The other Gilneans... they don't like me, much... they say I don't belong because I don't go furry like they do.  Too old for the orphanage... not a lick of talent for the arcane and such, but I'm not too stupid, and not too slow that I can't out-think a bunch of rats.  This will do, at least until something better comes along... maybe I'll enlist, I hear there are constant promotions... and if nothing else, someone else would see me buried alright.  I don't fancy a life as a lobster, taking the Alliance coin... but if the winter is hard,  it beats freezing... of course, then they'd just send me to Northrend, thinking I'm Gilnean and they could save the cost of a jacket... the joke would be on them, eh?" Greyhawk laughed at his bitter joke.

The Magna stood there, reading him with violet eyes. Studying the way he talked, the way he stood. It reminded her of someone.
"Alia. Alia Atherton." She stepped forward to shake his hand, a new, brighter smile on her face.

"The honor is mine, Miss Atherton," said Greyhawk.  "Dahn Greyhawk... everyone calls me Greyhawk though," Greyhawk replies, shaking her hand. "So what's a member of the 'White mice and pumpkin' set doing down here in Old Town?  I thought all of you lived over by the University or in the Sky or somewhat?"

She laughed out loud, "White mice and pumpkin set? Whaaat?" She covered her mouth, but her eyes were smiling for her, "I'm sorry, that was probably the best thing I've heard all week....and some of us have better things to do than stay up in some fancy floating tower complex." Her smile dropped after the mention of Dalaran. "Why I am in Old Town? Why I'm here to wait for my- ah friend...in fact, you should come with me to meet him, Dahn."

Greyhawk took a step back, looking around quickly as if expecting an ambush. "I apologize for anything I might have said or done wrong, Magistrix... I will leave you on your own."  He looked as if he had been caught picking her pocket. He half-turned as if to bolt.

"Light, Fel and- Wait!" She trotted up to him, "You haven't offended me, and even if you had, I'm not so petty as to do anything about it. Both my friend, who is really my fiancée, and I are orphans too. Now I'm painfully aware that if fate had been reversed, I would not be here, and he probably wouldn't be either." If he ran, she'd freeze his feet, "You have great potential, Greyhawk, I can see it. And I don't think you want to spend the rest of your days hunting rats or end up six feet under dying for a cause that you don't really believe in...Correct?"

"....no... no, I don't.  And who is your fiancé, Miss, if that isn't too impertinent?" Greyhawk said, his voice a touch suspicious.

"The man who's going to change your life around." She smiled and pulled him from his restraints into the tavern. She was strong, surprisingly so. She sat him down in a chair along the wall and pointed the crystalline end of her staff threatening if he tried to move. "Sometimes the hand of fate must be forced, Dahn. You'll thank me for this one day."

Greyhawk looked at her doubtfully.  "We'll see... but it won't do any harm to escort you through the streets to where you are going. Old Town is kind of a bad place at night, what with rat catchers jumping out and all!"

Alia Atherton Artwork

Done by one of my favorite artists!

And from a different artist:

Victorian Poison Book

When I had Kaneka smuggle Sa'diablo for Jon, I didn't know that my idea of using a hollowed-out book was actually a well-known ruse in the Victorian era!

Tag!

((Begun my Alia's player, and ended by mine!))

Alia waited for Jon to be engrossed in writing a report, or at least a book, before she slid her hands down his chest, tugging and pulling at his leather jacket. “It’s been too long since you last kissed me, Shadow...” She’d whisper into his ear softly, intimately, with an unspoken promise of more. More of her lips at his neck, more of her hands on his chest pulling him to her, more of her hips grinding on his as she spun him around in his chair and straddled him. She’d capture his lips with hers, gently at first, but growing in heat and passion; tenderness became ravishment, playful nips became enflaming bites, love became lust. She’d push him closer and closer to that edge of control, where she knew - or at least hoped she could accurately predict - his willpower would begin to fail... and got up and left him to his discarded tasks. A breathtaking, smoldering gaze over her shoulder, and the telltale ache of a mark forming on his neck the only reminder of her presence.

Unless of course, the wolf gave chase...

Jon raced after her, pacing himself - he knew his minx's pattern now, so he raced just fast enough for her to blink... and grinned, knowing how the pursuit would end.  She could only blink so many times, and the exercise was good for him.  She blinked once... twice.. thrice.. and Jon sprinted ahead,  knowing that that was her limit.  As he was about to place his hand on her shoulder, she gracefully spun and teleported an unprecedented fourth time, back the way they had come.  Jon, taken completely unaware, stumbled and fell, twisting in the air to avoid a painful face-plant in their bed.  before he could recover, Alia jumped upon his prone form, smothering him will passionate kisses.  "Don't ever make the mistake you know all of my tricks, Shadow!" she gloated, and Jon surrendered to her, enjoying his defeat at the hands of his clever minx.

For the Alley-iance!

((This takes place about a month after Jon and Alia begin their courtship. As ever, I would be worthless without the inspiration and editng of the player of Alia Atherton))

The fellow most knew as Jon Chess was smiling; no, not just smiling. Jon often smiled - a sardonic grin, a mocking, taunting smile, a mischievous smirk. Almost never did he *beam*, his smile brimming with good nature and affection.

If a passerby thought that Jon's rare expression denoting happiness and goodwill was due to the woman walking next to him, her arm entwined with his, they would not be mistaken in the least.

The woman was a human, dressed in a Kaldorei set of robes, standing the same height as Jon.  Her chestnut hair fell in luxurious waves just below her shoulders.  A smattering of freckles decorated her face near her nose, but were rarely noticed below her large, stunningly purple eyes, indicating that she was an experienced user of the arcane.  Robes inspired by a Kaldorei Moonpreist's uniform, the white, purple, and gold. Her name was Alia Atherton, but to Jon she was called his Beloved.

They were walking in the canal side of the Cathedral section of town, ambling at a comfortable pace, almost without purpose; relaxed, speaking of nothing serious.  Although relaxed, Jon's eyes swiftly darted around in a preemptively watchful fashion; they had recently come into conflict with an organization of Lightforged Draenei which were threatening anyone they considered unworthy of continued existence, the Void Elf population being particularly at risk.  Jon and Alia had stood by their Ren'dorei friends and come into conflict with them, but they were still at large in the city.

Suddenly, Alia clutched Jon's arm as they passed an alleyway, pulling hin sideways and off the street.  "Inquisitors!" said said, and Jon immediately reacted, turning to face the mouth of the alley.  Twin daggers leapt to his hands, almost as if by magic; Jon was a master of the concealed weapon, after all.  He backed away, going deeper into the alleyway, trusting Alia to lead them while he safeguarded them.  Guttural sounds left his lips in a low, harsh voice - the language of Arakkoa shadow magic, concealing Jon and Alia from casual observation. Alia led them deeper until the alley opened into a small garden alcove; the nook was a pleasant place, with grass and shrubbery pleasantly maintained.

Jon, his eyes locked forward, noted the change but maintained his watchful vigilance... until he heard his Beloved stifle a chuckle.  In a flash, he understood - Alia had pulled a carefully planned ruse so that the two of them could be alone.

Pretending to be fooled, Jon said "We should be safe now, Alia... but it would perhaps be wise to remain here for a short while, to wait until the Inquisitors tire of the search for whomever they are looking.  Fortunately, for a small niche, this one seems more comfortable than most... I will leave up the concealment spell, so we shouldn't be noticed unless someone makes a concerted effort."

"An uncharacteristically wise choice, my Shadow," Alia agreed, running her hands over his shoulders, urging him to turn around.  He moved as she desired, and brought her into his arms in an embrace.  "We shall have to stay alert, for safety," Jon murmured, capturing her lips with his own. "So perhaps passing the time in this manner is perhaps not the best idea...?"

Alia shushed him with a more passionate kiss.

"We'll hear anyone coming down that narrow alleyway, Shadow... and you owe me something... you do tell me that, relatively speaking, you are a trustworthy man - for being an admitted spy and assassin, for whom deception is the coin of your trade?" She kissed him again with reassuring verve and enthusiasm.

Jon Chess had a reputation as a bit of a rake; his romantic adventures were the stuff of whispers among those of the  Brotherhood of Valor.  She had not known the precise details of his romantic history, and she had not known what to expect the first time they had kissed, precisely.  Jon was a good kisser and had been almost frustratingly respectful of her.  It was quite apparent that he was deeply in love with her - but while they had kissed, and cuddled together in front of the fires, and shared a bed in the evening, it hadn't been until last night that they had gone deeper.

Last night Jon had sat against the headboard of Alia's bed, legs spread.  Alia had sat between his legs and had reclined against his body, wearing only a nightgown and soft mageweave panties.  Jon had kissed her neck and nuzzled her hair and told Alia what he referred to as a "bedtime story" - a tale of erotic fiction.  While his voice purred in her ear, he had touched her through the nightgown and panties, mirroring the actions in the story.  He had raised her passion and imagination, and her body had responded eagerly - embarrassingly eagerly, to tell the truth - to his touch. She had let her reservations drop and her passion free - and Jon had thoroughly and delightfully pleasured her with his hands to the edge of a cresting wave - and beyond.

Several times.

That morning, while Jon made them breakfast and Alia got herself ready for the day - she had reflected on the night, and whether or not she dared open her heart to this rogue, this self-described street rat that was such a bundle of contradictions - a ruthless killer and a gentle, considerate fellow, a devout follower of the Light and an adept of the forbidden Shadow magic, the consummate spy and scrupulously honest man. His actions and attentions since they had become emotionally intimate had been slow and respectful, almost shy. She had determined that Jon owed her a debt - how dare he say and do such things, to lead her to the precipice and over again and again... and not allow her to give him the same?  In the cold light of the morning after such a passionate encounter, she felt acutely how much more she could have if instead of Jon putting her needs first he relaxed and trusted her to be a full and equal participant.

He owed her at least that much, and it was a debt she intended to collect - at least if her nerve held out,  Alia was not at all cowardly... but she was raised to be a woman who put things of the mind first.  Her studies and her research was paramount in her life, and she was unsure how to deal with the inclusion of a wildcard such as Jon.  He was a most pleasant distraction, granted - but he was a distraction nevertheless. She had pulled him into the alleyway on a whim, although she had known of the small garden spot before, from her explorations of the city. 

"I am not sure that I would describe myself is such glowing terms," Chess chuckled, "but what do you think you are owed?"

"After last night?  You owe me you! While I won't deny that I enjoyed - thoroughly enjoyed - your... ah... storytelling last night, I felt bad that I was not able to do something for you before we fell asleep!" she exclaimed, blushing at her admission.

Jon gave her an answer in the form of a passionate kiss, which went on for an extended period and left them both breathless. "Beloved... I have been trying to take things slow.  I know my reputation is at odds with this, but I need to earn your trust before I take matters further... You mean more to me... I refuse to screw this up because on my own desires and impatience."

"Farting Fel-Stalkers!  Last night... I was more than ready! Do you know what I think, my dear Agent of Cheese?  I think you are too scared to take matters further - I think you think me a fragile flower of feminity who might break under the crude maulings of a certain street rat with pretensions!" She grinned at him mischievously, hoping that her playful manner would take any sting from her words.

"Of course I am scared - for all the vaunted intelligence of the Kirin Tor, you seem a little on the thick side!  Can't you get it through your head that it is very important not to blow my chance with you?" Jon said, his voice growing in volume until he was practically shouting at her.  She might have quailed then, but for the familiar grin and fire in his eye. Her heart soared - he was playing back!

"My handsome Shadow..." she purred, stepping away from him and dropping the purple-and-gold portions of her clothes on the soft grass, leaving her clad in only a thin, white, translucent under-dress and purple undergarments. "Talk.  Is.  Cheap."

((Fade to Black!))