The Blessing of the Tidesages, Part IV

It was not much beyond half of an hour when Jon finished the silver inlay work when there was a knock on his rented apartment door.

So focused on his work, Jon had not noticed the rainstorm that had set in until he opened the door. Sister Cordelia stood there, hand still in the motion of knocking, with a polite but expectant smile on her face. She was soaked to the bone, her robes, and hair heavy with the extra water.

"Mr. Chess, I am pleased to hear of your success." Her voice raised to be heard over a crack of lightning and roar of thunder.

Jon stepped back, opening the door widely.

"And may I ask from whom you heard of my success?" He asked, not expecting an answer that would make sense to him; Jon had long ago come to the conclusion that many of the Tidesages were accustomed to listening to unseen voices.

The Tidesage just pointed upward, "The depths whispered it in my ear as the storm came in, having heard it from the rain as it fell into the streams and rivers as they themselves followed the current's flow back to the Tidemother's embrace. As I said before; Everything - eventually - flows back to the sea."

Jon smirked.  Precisely the sort of answer he had anticipated.  "Of course. " Jon went and gathered the books and lantern for the Tidesage.  "These are for you, Sister Cordelia. No humans were hurt in the retrieval of the items."

"They are not human, but your commitment is praiseworthy nonetheless." Cordelia picked up the books, inspecting them carefully for damage before wrapping them like one would a newborn in watertight oilskin, then tucking them into a bag made of the same material. She then picked up a set of scrolls, the ones Jon knew to be named "Tales of Ny'alotha", and in one fluid motion cast them into the fire, the dry paper nothing more than parched pine needles to the roaring blaze, which disintegrated the text in a flash. Cordelia's eyes never left the flames until they were wholly consumed. The room was dark, given the hour, yet the shadows seemed to grow darker and darker still until Jon was forced to turned his head to study this phenomenon. The room was the same as it had ever been. Nothing was moved, no other individual could be detected with his well-trained eyes. Had Jon not been adept in the ways of shadow, he might have chalked it up to a trick of the light, perhaps a strange combination of effects between the lightning outside and the fire, or maybe his own tired mind.

For better or worse, he was knowledgeable in such matters. He knew better than to think it was just a trick of the light.

"Your timing is excellent, although I suspect that is not accidental." Jon brought her to the makeshift workshop, where the pile of silver-laced weapons was neatly stacked, awaiting blessing. "I have never seen the Tidesages consecrate a weapon, so I was not sure as to what materials you might need.  Please, tell me what is needful before we begin, and I will see it done swiftly, for time and tide wait for no one."

"Indeed." She smiled slightly, her fingers tracing the inlay, "I have brought most of what is needed. I just need to know, are these made of storm silver or conventional steel?"

"Conventional steel. We didn't have time to gather such quantities of storm silver."

She hummed a dissonant tone of disappointment, "Very well. I can not guarantee how well the blessing will take hold without it, but tide willing, it will grant you the boon you seek regardless. Get me a pitcher, and a something that can hold water. The bigger the better."

Jon nodded.  "In anticipation of the need, I took the liberty of obtaining a quantity of sea water."  Jon pointed at the 31-gallon former beer barrel in the corner of the workshop."Filled yesterday with fresh sea water."

Jon had purchased the empty barrel and then paid street urchins silver to carry bucket after bucket of seawater from the pier until the barrel was full to the brim.  He had an excellent relationship with the street urchins nearby, as he had made a habit of being liberal with his cheeses, with the result that the street urchins had become quite protective of "the Cheese Man", self-interest being what it was.

Her smile widened, "It is good to see your reputation is not unfounded. Bring the weapons to the barrel."

Sister Cordelia picked up the lantern that had not been moved from where Jon previously left it. The metal of the lantern was sturdy but ornately decorated in swirls and wave-like patterns, with the pieces framing shards of un-uniform, green tinted glass that was smooth to the touch. These shards made up not only main lantern but some crystalline shaped ones that dangled from the bottom and sides on delicate links. This glass was not made in any shop but combed off of the beaches in Stormsong, naturally produced by the sea herself. Years of rolling and tumbling pieces of broken bottles, broken tableware, or even shipwrecks had rounded off all of the edges, and the slickness of the glass has been sanded down to a frosted appearance.

The metal framing was of course made of storm-silver, a metal famous for being resistant to corrosion, and thus the preferred material for shipbuilding and the smithing of weapons and armor by both Kul Tirans and the Zandalari. Sailors and pirates alike swore by the metal, being also light-weight enough that one could still swim while wearing armor made from the material. Rumor even held that the naga used storm silver in some of their weapons because of its strength. Normally, after the Tidepriest's blessed the ore, they would it bury under the water for a year, letting the magic take hold completely before it was uncovered and shaped into whatever was required. Unfortunately not having that kind of time, and the weapons not being made of storm silver, this standard would have to be adapted to circumstance.

"This will have to be done with some element of speed. I will add this sand here to mimic the sea floor," She pulled out a large jar of sand from her bag, and placed it on the ground, "Then I will bless the waters, and two at a time I will dip the swords into the barrel, and hand them to you. I understand that they must be cleaned and oiled to maintain their integrity, but I advise that you let the water sit for as long as you can. Any questions?"

"How long must the water stay on the blade before I clean it away?" asked Jon curiously.  The corrosion of salt water on steel was well-known and the care of weapons at or near the sea was constant maintenance labor.

The Tidepriests paused, her fingers playing in the water. Her eyes were studying the water's surface intently, "... some six hours should be enough...Yes, that should be fine."

"And after that, there is nothing to do but clean them and ship them?"  Jon could use the time to create leather scabbards for each blade, another detail often over-looked by weaponsmiths.

"Correct. That will be all."

"Very good, Sister.  When would you like to begin?" asked Jon.

"If you don't have any objections, now will suffice." answered the Sister, as she lit the lantern and hung it up to provide them with light for the work ahead.

The Blessing of the Tidesages, Part III

While he waited - not precisely a model of patience - for the Tidesage Sister Cordelia to contact him, Jon Chess had many things to do. Avoiding Stormwind because of the sickness which had resulted in a city-side quarantine, he went to Ironforge and purchased certain equipment from the merchants near the Great Forge - an annealing hammer, a selection of awls, a wooden mallet, awl depth guides, and several different sizes of screw clamps. In Boralus, he over-paid for the immediate delivery of a sturdy workbench to his rented apartment.  He paid visits to his neighbors, warning them of some construction noise that would shortly begin and last for a few days, offering them small purses of gold in leather pouches marked with ShadowForge City Vault (Jon was a great believer in the use of Other People's Money to finance operations) to help diffuse their annoyance at the inconvenience.

He bought several large spools of pure silver wire in 10-gauge width from the jeweler Sam Colton in the Tradewinds Market.

"This needs to be pure silver, Master Colton.  I am willing to pay a premium for your personal guarantee, and to pay a premium to ensure I get what I need," he had said, watching the merchant's gaze light up with avarice. "But be aware - lives will be lost if the silver is not pure.  Should even one fatality because by any impurity of the wire, I promise I will not take you to court in the Admiralty courts; rather there will be at least one additional fatality."

"I assure you that the silver wire I sell is quite pure," Colton had reassured Jon, a sickly smile on his face.

Jon had taken away several spools of the wire.

When Kearnn, the House of Stewards Master Blacksmith, notified Jon that the bladesmithing work had been completed, Jon rented a pony and cart to collect them and remove them to his workshop. Jon took the finished blades and used the clamps to secure each blade in turn on the workbench.  Setting his awl gauge, he carefully inscribed each blade with a 12-gauge width and depth in each blade in parallel with each other, between the edge of the blade Next, he laid the silver wire in each of the channels he had created and used the annealing hammer to pound the wire, which as slightly larger than the groove, into the blade. Most blades were built from steel with two different tempers; the core of the blade was a softer, but more flexible temper, and the edges were of a harder temper, better able to keep a sharp edge.  The silver was close enough to the edge that only the most superficial of cuts would not have the silver also enter the wound made by the blade.

Finally, the blades were ready to receive the blessing of the Tidesages.

It was not much beyond half of an hour when Jon finished the silver inlay work when Sister Cordelia knocked on his rented apartment door.

The Blessing of the Tidesages, Part II

The man known as Jon Chess was waiting, albeit not patiently.

Jon had been charged to enlist a non-corrupt Tidesage to bless a small armory worth of weapons for the House of Stewards, and he had enlisted Sister Cordelia, who Jon had met while cleaning up the mess the Ashvane attack had made of Boralus during what was now widely called "The Seige of Boralus". Jon liked her, and more importantly, had been sure she had not been a k'thir in disguise.  After searching the waterfront for hours, he had found her, and she had agreed to bless the weapons - for a price.

Renegade Tidesages loyal to the now-deceased Lord Stormsong had stolen an artifact - a green lantern - and she had requested that Jon recover the lantern, along with several books from the archives in exchange for the blessing.  Jon had agreed, and in the wee hours after midnight he had swum out through the frigid waters of Boralus Harbor. He had used a grappling hook and spider silk cord to scale the walls, bypassing the monastery's loyalist guards, and snuck his way into the archives. The archives were in a locked chamber below a sunken area where the Tidesage archivists studied and copied sacred texts. Jon had mumbled an incantation in Ravenspeech, the language of the arakkoa, whose forbidden tomes of shadow magic Jon had studied, and entered the concealment of the Shadows.

Jon had not come to kill, but to steal. While Jon would not scruple at killing the corrupted Tidesages or their minion guardsmen, that was not the mission - the mission was to retrieve the books and the lantern and return them safely to Sister Cordelia. Killing always complicated theft; a discovered body and the monastery guardsmen would go to full alert, and while Jon was confident in his abilities - he carried F.R.I.E.D grenades for a reason, after all - the books or the lantern might be damaged in his escape.

Jon was a professional, after all.

He had unlocked the archive, and located the desired books, slipping each into watertight oilskin bags and securing them across his back.  He had exited the library, locking the doors securely after his departure, and gone to the tall building in the center of the monastery. It was fortunate that the Tidesages who built the building had loved their aquatic decorations to their architecture - a Kraken's tentacle made for very effective hand-holds. Jon stayed in the shadows, watching the building through several guard changes and patrols, making a tally of the timing. Finally, he waited until the guard rotation just before dawn, and following the patrol at a safe distance, waited until they rounded the corner of the building and went up like a cat scaling a convenient oak tree.

The building itself was several stories tall, with no windows and topped by a bell-tower, which rested above a giant clock  Like most monasteries everywhere, they attached importance to the timing of conducting certain prayers and rituals. Ordinarily, Jon would have slipped the latch on a convenient window, but somehow dark oppressive gloom suited what the Tidcesages who followed Lord Stormsong had become, worshipping the ancient evil of the depths. Jon ascended to the bell tower, and attached his own grapple hook and rope, allowing them to spill down beside the bell ropes. He descended swiftly and opened the trap door access. He barely touched the ladder as we went down alongside the clock mechanisms. The door to the Abbott's private study was on the floor below. Jon removed a long, strong but slender pry bar and began to work the floorboards next to the clock he worked slowly but swiftly, prying up a floorboard until he could see into the room below.

The room was well furnished, with shelves and bookcases, a desk with an overstuffed leather chair, and sturdy wooden chairs for the Abbott's guests. Apparently, the Abbott was not satisfied with the guards at the entrance of the tower nor the regular patrols of the guardsmen; there was a loathsome k'thir sitting in the Abbott's chair, watching over the sanctum. Jon worked more floorboards loose until he could easily fit his well-muscled body through the hole. Readying his balance like a cat about to strike, Jon leaped down, twisting slightly in the air, landing behind the tentacle-faced watchman with a soft thud.  His readied mithril wire swung out and around the neck, and Jon caught the wooden dowel at the other end of his garrote. The mithril wire was thin and incredibly strong, and Jon had wound another wire around the first. Jon pulled back with all his weight behind it, making a sawing motion with the wire. Like a tree saw, the wires bit and gouged deeply into the throat of the k'thir, and Jon's weight did the rest. The k'thir struggled frantically for several long moments, trying to gain purchase on the garrote with his fingers, the tentacles severed to the floor. Jon coiled up his garrote and began searching for the ritual lantern. The lantern was bracketed by books in a bookcase, as if on display. Into the oilskin back it went, and Jon slipped out the chamber door.

Achieving the bell tower once more, he took a short run and flung himself out over the rocks as if preparing a fatal swan dive, but as he reached the apogee of his arc he tapped his heels together, activating a surprise boost.

Phredaria, Jon's friend and forensics mage, and attached rocket boosters to Jon's boots. Powered by concentrated volatile rum, they burned for only a few seconds, but their explosive force propelled Jon like a springboard, lengthening his arc safely beyond the rocks, almost to the center of the bay.  A short swim later, and Jon was before a fire in the apartment he had rented for the occasion.

When he and Sister Cordelia had parted, she had demurred to inform Jon where he might find her, saying only that she would find him. So Jon sat naked in front of the fire, a mug of restorative Thistle Tea in his hands. He would wait. Albeit not patiently.

The Blessing of the Tidesages, Part I

((Thanks are owed to my compatriots in the House of Stewards and the player of the Tidesage, my frequent collaborator. All mistakes are my own.))

The fellow known by many as Jon Chess left the blacksmith pit in the trade market area of Boralus, heading for the griffon nests.  He had been charged to assist Acenovath in preparing weapons for the tasks ahead in Drustmar; some of the threats required silvered weapons, blessed by a Tidesage.

The Tidesages were the dominant religion of sea priests in the Kul Tiras society, based in the Stormsong Valley, not coincidentally also the center around which the mighty Kul Tirasan navel vessels were built. For decades, emissaries from the Shrine of the Storm had regularly blessed not only the mighty sailors of Kul Tiras, but also consecrated their ships. Most people in Kul Tiras look to the seas for guidance in much the same way that many of the races of the Alliance look to the Light, but the connection of the Tidesages to the waters runs much deeper.

The Tidesages were led by Lord Stormsong and their guiding council, with a representative for each aspect the Order's duties and responsibilities to the people they served - feeding the poor of the kingdom, overseeing the building and blessing of it's might shipping, et cetera.

The most recent Lord Stormsong had become a pawn of the queen of the Naga and had corrupted the guiding council.  The corrupted Tidesages had begun to use Void magic, and many Tidesages had been replaced with shape-changing k'thir, creatures coming from the darkest reaches beneath the tides. Most had thought the k'thir were a myth, perhaps a parable against the dangers of delving too deeply within the oceans of Azeroth. The disguised k'thir took control of naval facilities and forcefully corrupted humans into k'thir, while other fanatic followers of Lord Stormsong willingly went through rituals to be transformed as well.

Lord Stormsong himself led the way, becoming k'thir.

The corruption was revealed by Alliance operatives working for Brother Pike, who had become the defacto leader of the resistance to Lord Stormsong and the k'thir. While many of the Tidesages had turned their backs on humanity and started worshiping the horrors of the ocean, others remained firm in their duties to Kul Tiras. The loyalists freed the Kul Tiras fleet from their imprisonment with the aid of Jaina Proudmoore, allowing the fleet to save Kul Tiras from Priscilla Ashvane's Irontide Raider invasion fleet.

Jon had served Jaina Proudmoore during what was now called the Seige of Boralus, and had assisted several of the loyalist Tidesages during the aftermath, helping the people of Boralus recover and rebuild.  It was one of these trusted Tidesages that he hoped to find now, and convince her to bless the weapons that the House of Steward's blacksmith Kearnn was making for their expedition in Drustvar.

Sister Cordelia

It took four hours for Jon to scour the Upton Borough neighborhood of Boralus before he found his quarry.  Sister Cordelia, when she was not healing the sick and injured, or blessing a newly-captained sailing ship, could often be found somewhere within sight of the Stormsong Monastery which dominated the Boralus Harbor. He found the Tidesage priest looking out across the bay at the Monastery, a serious look on her face. The Tidesages of the Stormsong Monastery had long studied the dark magic, betraying their tenants and teachings.  As an archivist of the Tidesages, Sister Cordelia had once called the Stormsong Monastery home.

Jon chess approached her, making sure to make enough noise so as to not startle her. "Excuse me, Sister Cordelia?"

The woman, clad in the hooded robes of a Tidesage, did not turn. "Yes, Mr. Chess?" she acknowledged.

"Sister, I was wondering if perhaps you might be available to help me with a project?" Jon asked.

 "I'm available to you for as long as you need, Tidemother willing," she replied, smiling faintly. Sister Cordelia removed her hood. Her copper hair and green eyes framed a clear, pale complexion, with only a sprinkling of lightly-colored, almost invisible, freckles. To Jon, she seemed young, almost impossibly so.

"You are kind, Sister," replied Chess.

"I am kind to everyone, Mr. Chess. Now, what would you ask of the sea?" she rejoined, clearly amused.

"Sister, since we last met, I have joined the House of Stewards, and they are preparing for some activity in Arom's Stand against the corruption of the witches, weapons with a silver patina might be of great use.  The efficacy of such weapons would be greatly increased if they could be blessed by an uncorrupted Tidesage.  Naturally, I remembered you from our time after the Seige of Boralus, when you worked tirelessly to heal the wounded. So I hope to impose upon you to bless these weapons when they are finished, in a couple of days?" inquired Chess.

The Tidesage seemed amused by his request as if he had been a proud six-year-old repeating a catechism correctly. "Has Alia ever told you that you talk too much, Mr. Chess?"

"...you know Alia?" asked Jon, surprised.

"No."

"Alia has often said as much before forcibly shutting my mouth with a kiss..."
Jon grinned at the recollection.

"You should listen to her." Sister Cordelia's smile widened

"I do listen to her - which is quite distinct from obeying her.  Since she gives me the incentive to yammer on by shutting me up with her kiss, she gives more reason to talk verbosely, not less."

"You're doing it again."

The motormouth known as Jon Chess shrugged. "Force of habit.  I can never quite give up the hope that Alia's kisses will be forthcoming.  By the way, do not think I did not notice you not actually answering the question of how you have come to know of Alia and her importance to me?"

Sister Cordelia's smile widened even more, becoming a grin. "Everything eventually flows back into the sea, Jon."

"I don't believe that sewage disposal was the topic under discussion."

"No, it wasn't." She looked back to the Stormsong Monastery before returning her gaze to Chess. "When will the weapons be ready?"

"Sometime in the next few days," replied Chess.

"When will you need them after they are given to me?" she asked.

"As soon as possible, Sister. Time is of the essence."  Jon replied, adding, "Naturally, I would like to make a donation as well as cover your expenses."

"I will not take the coin, but I could use your help in other ways," Sister Cordelia said, her voice thoughtful.

Jon Chess nodded.  He was well-experienced in the trading of favors as currency.

"You have but to ask, and if it within my power, my aid shall be yours," Jon replied.

Sister Cordelia turned her head to look behind them. Jon followed her gaze to the Stormsong Monastery.

"There is an artifact that was stolen by a group of the corrupt loyalists to Lord Stormsong before his demise. They fled when we retook the Shrine. The Storm's Wake wants it back. There are also a number of books that would go a long way to restoring our Order, locked in the archives there."

"I see... And that artifact is in the monastery?

"Yes. It looks like a lantern one would use to light a ship's way."

((OOC digression - there was an OOC discussion about the possibility of the lantern being green, and that Jon must recite the sacred incantation to invoke its power:

In the Brightest Day,
In the Darkest Night,
No evil shall escape my sight,
Let those who worship evil's might,
Beware of the power of the Green Lantern's light

...but then we said "NAAAAAAH"))

Jon nodded. "How will I know which of the lanterns in the monastery is the artifact?"

"It'll be quite simple; When you find it, they will try very hard to kill you," said Sister Cordelia.

"Sister. they will try to kill me the moment I set foot on the island; how will that be any different?" Jon chuckled.

"They'll be more insistent about it," informed Sister Cordelia.

"They probably think I talk too much, Jon mumbled.

"Everyone thinks you talk too much." Sister Cordelia said with a sweet smile. "Well, except Alia." There was a long pause. The sky was beginning to darken, thunder and lighting rolling through the clouds in the far distance. A rainstorm was quickly approaching.

"Do you know what many of my brothers have become?" The Tidesage, whose back had been to Jon, turned around to face him once more as she asked.

Jon visibly shuddered. "I know that some have been transformed into k'thir, and are no longer human."

Sister Cordelia's lips curled with contempt. "Something tells me I do not need to warn you of the terrors that lurk in the deep."

Sister Cordelia looked up as it started to rain, thunder splitting the sky. She seemed to relax, letting the squall hit her face. She was silent until it had passed. "Hm. I must tell Thomas to fish on the east side today." She looked back at Chess.  "The sooner the better, Chess. Wouldn't want to keep your friends waiting for their blessing."

"Indeed not. I will go tonight, hopefully under the cover of the rain. Can you provide me with a list of titles you want me to steal... reclaim for your Order?"

"Very well," she nodded, approvingly. "Any books will, of course, be welcome, but I would particularly welcome "The Legacy of the Tidesages", "The Blessing of the Tides", and a set of scrolls called "Tales of Ny'alotha".

Chess nodded, committing the short list to memory. "How will I find you when I have the recovered items?"

"You need not worry.  I will find you."

"Something tells me it would be unwise to ask how," mumbled Chess.

Sister Cordelia simply smiled at him. "Good day, Mr. Chess."

Good Morning, Beloved

((Co-written with gratitude with the player of Alia Atherton))

The man sometimes known as the Shadow of the Magna stood silently, a lazy grin on his visage, as a small lumpy fluff of egg cooked.  The fellow was significantly under-dressed, wearing only green leather trousers, and only sporting three knives (two openly, and one concealed). His bare chest looked like a wall that vandals had left graffiti upon; three claw scars stretched from his upper right pectoral muscle diagonally across his chest to where his abdominal muscles met his lower pectoral muscles. Other lesser scars - blade marks, burn marks (both accidentally and intentionally inflicted), fang and claw marks - decorated the rest of his torso. His body was like a roadmap of mayhem and misadventure, several of them had only recently healed from operations against the Horde in defense of the village of Fallhaven, earned alongside his compatriots on the House of Stewards. The cool morning air of the Mage Tower in which he and his fiance lived felt good on his skin.

There was a creak of wood not of his own doing. A pair of feet shuffling towards him. He did not turn, or acknowledge his awareness of it in any way, even as his finely-attuned ears tracked its progress.  His mind mapped its slow shuffle as if it were the tread of a zombie.

He and his Beloved, the Kirin Tor Magna Alia Atherton, someday to be Alia Atherton-Chess, had been gone for some time, leaving the Tower in the care of Alia's dragonkin ward (and legally, Jon Chess's 'younger brother') Rorik.  Rorik had done a fair job of making sure that the place was clean, though perhaps they should have emphasized the need for dusting. The layers of dust were thick on the various shelves and cabinets. Not to the point of being disgusting, but thick enough to offend Alia enough to require immediate cleaning. Jon made a mental note to get his so-called 'little brother' to spend less time frequenting the taverns of Stormwind and more time doing chores... he grinned, recognizing his hypocrisy. There were always gnomes who were willing to come down from Ironforge to do a thorough job cleaning, especially for the Jon Chess, who was well-known for his expeditions into the dangerous parts of Gnomeregan to guide refugees to New Tinkertown, thinning the ranks of the kobolds and renegade Dark Iron dwarves who persisted in claiming the lost city.

There was a loud thud behind him, punctuated by swearing in a voice tinged with rudimentary Thalassian distinctions. Jon fought to keep an idiotic grin off his face.  The shuffling gait resumed, closer now.

The eggs were done, and he swept the skillet off the cooking surface of the stove and plated them alongside the honey-laden toast and fried potatoes and onions he had finished earlier. He moved to finish the morning coffee, using the same precise measures and movements that he used in the distillation of his various venoms and poisons. A spoonful of sugar, but not too much to overwhelm the spices he had added during brewing. A dash of milk, to mellow the bitterness of the coffee and cool the temperature so as to not scald the tongue. Mages, priests, and warlocks may be able to perform complex rituals with their magic, but the art of making coffee for his Beloved was its own school of magic that Jon had long since mastered.

Two slim, olive-skinned hands snaked around his waist, and any coherence in Jon's train of thought was completely derailed. The hands pulled him back against the body of their feminine owner. Like vines of ivy, the fingers weaved a delicate pattern, each hand its own entity. They moved sinuously, slowly, up his chest, feeling out every familiar dip and bump. Lips kissed his shoulders and shoulder blades. The hands danced down his ribcage, not quite reaching into the front of his trousers before rising again to rest on his stomach. A tired giggle, muffled by the lips nuzzling his back, sounded a musical welcome, announcing her presence - one that made Jon's heart sing like a Cathedral choir.

“Beloved, I thought I told you to stay in bed,” Jon said in a soft voice.

He looked over his shoulder into the labyrinth of dark brown hair atop Alia’s head. She shrugged, tugging him closer. The soft skin of her bare breasts felt glorious against his own skin, and he purred, which elicited a coo from Alia.

“I got cold.”

“Then put on something warmer.”

She was covered only by a thin embroidered bathing robe that evoked the deep green and blues of the sea; a gift from Jon while in Kul Tiras. While the fabric reached shin length normally, it was just barely draped over her to preserve a modicum of decency for the parts not presently hidden with his body, leaving her shoulders bare. Her hair was gathered to one side, her neck a tempting, unspoken offer that he would take her up on later.

Alia Atherton groaned. “I would, but some rat-bastard hid my clothes.”

Jon Chess laughed. “Guilty as charged.”  Upon rising, Jon had picked up the trail of both their clothes that had begun hitting the floors and stairways of the tower after the front door had closed. With Rorik out haunting the taverns, Jon and Alia had taken advantage of the privacy. They had spent the evening exhausting each other, only punctuated by Jon making them a late-night snack of cheese and fruit. When they had awoken, Jon had let his mouth ravish her intimately and at length, after which he had admonished her to stay in bed while he made them a proper breakfast.

"And that rat-bastard still is owed something, I think..." she murmured, turning him around and reaching up to kiss him.

"What do you mean?" Jon murmured between kisses.  "It was only fair that I get up to make you breakfast, as you allowed me to make you my breakfast..." he chuckled at the now-familiar joke between the two of them.

"Like so many of your bargains, Master Cheese Merchant, it sounds fair on the surface, but upon inspection is far from equitable. If you must insist on having two "breakfasts", then after breakfast I shall take you for a morning ride."

"Alia, my raven of the arcane, we have no horses." Jon pointed out.

"That may be so, my Shadow... but for the kind of ride I have in mind, we don't need horses..." Alia took his hand with a devious grin, "All I need is you. And coffee."

Artwork - No'lariel

From my favorite artist, Jon's friend and ally No'lariel!