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.
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.
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