A Dream in the Desert

The man named Jon Chess was in the grip of a nightmare.

“Come on. Hurry up!” You stand in a city whose walls and streets are made of smooth black stone. Red fire ignites the sky,
and thorns cover the landscape like shrubbery. Alia, in her slim Kaldorei inspired suit, stands
beside you, just out of reach and only in your periphery. She giggles in a thousand voices, eyes glassy
and soulless. “We’re going to be late!” Her voice sings in the air. She stands now at the base of a path, motioning you to follow, and skipping through an archway
into a courtyard. You follow. There are others here, others you know, both the living and the dead. They stand by
fountains of crystals, breathtaking blue and gold, others malevolent crimson and dark purple. These
old friends and foes are dressed in noble finery, conversing and laughing amongst themselves. You try
to see them clearer, but their faces are distorted, their voices tainted. You call out to them, but they can
not hear you. A scream. Someone needs help! You try to run, but each step is slow, sluggish. Like wading through thick sludge. Like wading
through blood-soaked sand. Sand that rises, first to your feet, then to your waist, then finally over
your head. You keep sinking, until you’re not sinking, but falling… You land on your feet, standing in front of a new archway. Thorns creep down over the walls like
smoke, whipping at your heels and legs, grabbing your limbs, jerking you around, and you struggle.
Oh how you struggle. If you could get to them, you could help them, you could save them! The thorns
teared into your flesh as you break free, throwing you to your knees. A woman, a man; an elf, an orc, the face is never the same twice, their identity obscured from your
view, fighting for their lives against their assailant. An assailant in the colors of The Rook. “It was your fault.” The Rook’s eyes lock with yours as he chokes the last flicker of life from his victim. “It WAS your fault!” The helpless, lifeless victim falls to the floor, and The Rook strides off, blending back into the shadows.
You run to the body, turning it over to see who you have failed. A inky blackness starts to encircle you. Alia stares back, her cold lips grinning wide. “After all this, late for the first time. You disappoint me
Jon." You should have gone the other way. You can see it now, the bright light calling you, pleading you to
follow, to come closer.

You look down, and green eyes, YOUR green eyes, stare back at you. In your arms is no longer
your Beloved… but you. You awaken before you can answer the lights call… but not before you watch your hands turn to
wolven claws, and sink into your chest , attempting to rip out your own heart.

((This dream is happening in the middle of an RP adventure of which Jon is a part. Dream sequence written by the GM)).

Art from WhimsicalMe!

Jon Chess

Phredaria

From the artpad of the amazing WhimsicalMe!

https://www.patreon.com/WhimsicalMe/

Jon Chess & Friend (NSFW)

Jon Chess and Friend

From the marvelous Wickertop!
https://www.patreon.com/wickertopart/posts

Jon's Rules of Private Investigation

Jon's Rules of Private Investigation.

Rule #1 - Never get romantically involved with your clients.
Rule #2 - Never discuss client cases with anyone but the client, without explicit prior approval.
Rule #3 - Do not accept all clients nor cases.
Rule #4 - Never admit to having performed illegal actions on behalf of the client - especially TO the client.
Rule #5 - Never overcharge a client.  If you need cash, thee are always people who can help you remedy a shortfall.

Forging A New Path - Sketchings

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

The sound of Shadow Raven wings presaged the return of the fellow most knew as Jon Chess to the cottage in the Blackwald Forest in the more-or-less deserted kingdom of Gilneas.  The beast landed just outside the small flagstone courtyard and sat patiently while Chess unstrapped the cargo from the pack saddle he had made the creature wear.  Stacking the boxes neatly off to the side of the entrance, Jon melded into the Shadows to await his client, the mysterious woman named Zinnaella, called Zinn.


From the path, Jon would see the form of a great cat slowly making its way toward the cottage. It appeared to have something in its mouth. The fur of the beast appeared to have been replaced with feathers..a very ravenlike looking beast. Clearly, the beast hadn't seen shadow raven or man, perhaps it was lost in its own bestial thoughts.

When it made it to the small gate of the cottage, the prize in its mouth was dropped to the ground. Two dead rabbits. Curiously, the figure shimmered and shifted and moments later, the naked form of Zinn stood at the gate. She still hadn't noticed anything amiss in the courtyard. Bending, she grabbed the rabbits by their ears and made her way toward the cottage. The woman, though in her 40s, still held on to the svelte figure of her youth and moved with cat-like grace. The cream-colored skin was adorned with tattoos; whorls of a burnt umber color decorated her thighs and up her hips, across her belly and up between her breasts. As she made her way past the shadow melded Jon, he would see that her back was also tattooed in the same type of patterns.

 Jon held still, waiting for Zinn to pass inside before making his presence known, not wanting to startle nor embarrass her.  His eyes roved over her naked form with appreciation. "Hard to think of her as naked with that tattoo... the artist must have enjoyed themselves greatly," he thought, a grin forming.

She paused in the doorway, gaze moving to the crates that weren't there before. A tilt of her head and a sniff of the air had a half grin tugging the corner of her mouth. "Please Mister Chess. Do come inside. I'll have breakfast ready in a moment."  It was evident that being naked before him made her neither uncomfortable nor embarrassed.  She continued her way into the large room, tossed the rabbits onto the table and moved behind the privacy screen that served at her bedroom.  She dressed quickly, just a plain skirt and blouse before she moved to the table to skin the rabbits.

Jon flushed red at having been caught out, and entered as bidden, standing on the correct side of the privacy curtain as she dressed.  "My apologies, Miss Zinn;  I am in the admittedly-bad habit of waiting in the Shadows.  I did not mean to intrude upon your privacy," he apologized.  "I have brought my supplies.  I intend to make an enhanced copy of the miniature if that suits you.  If you are satisfied with the replacement, I can then attempt to refurbish the original - but because of the inherent risk, I want you the to have the duplicate anyway. Where should I set up?"

Zinn points to the cleared out space near her privacy screen, in a semicircular alcove surrounded by windows. "I thought you  might like to have the natural light, though, not much ever really shines here." She chuckles as she rolls up her sleeves and picks up a skinning knife, grabbing a rabbit by its ears. "You must be pretty comfortable in the shadows to want to stay there all the time hmm? And don't worry about intruding on my privacy. I'm not ashamed of being nude. The naked body is what it is. Everyone has one, be they Human, Elf or Orc. It's nothing to be ashamed of."  Quickly, she slits the throat of the rabbit, holding it over a bowl to catch the blood.

Jon chuckled. "I spend so much time hidden in the Shadows, I often forget; it was a lifesaving habit during the final battles against the legion, and a good idea in Zandalar as well." Jon started to move his equipment, which included a bright lamp, into the cottage. A small work desk and folding chair came first, then a magnifying lens, which was bolted to the worktable.  Paints, brushes, a mixing palette, and jars of pigments were unpacked, granite mortar and pestle joining them.  "Well, your body is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, to be sure.  I found the artistry of your decorations to be quite well-done," he said.

"I can see where that would be a useful trait."  She looks at him with a smile. "Thank you for the compliment. My whorls were given with every...well...I'm not sure that spell is the correct word for it. I am a type of of...kitchen witch. Nothing like the coven witches in Drustvar mind you. My work is strictly for helping and healing."  The skinning blade was drawn through the soft belly of the rabbit, followed by her hand. The wet sound of organs and viscera being pulled from the cavity echo through the room, the contents of the rabbit set onto a plate. She watches him set up his station as she pulls the skin from the rabbit then quickly lopping off its head.

"Well, whether aesthetic or pragmatic, I am sure your beauty will haunt my dreams," Jon said with a smile.

She gives a little snort and a chuckle. "I can make you a potion to stop that if you'd like."  The neck of the second rabbit slit and again the blood drained into the bowl.

"No, it is probably one of the more pleasant dreams I'm likely to have, but thank you!" Jon answered.  "May I see the locket?"

She looks down her chest at the locket around her neck, to her bloody hands, then up at him. "Would you mind? I'm a bit of a mess and blood is such a troublesome substance to get out of clothes." She moves around the table to stand before him, inclining her head so he could either undo the clasp or pull the necklace over her head.

Jon stood over and put his arms around her neck, deftly undoing the clasp as if he was well-experienced in the removal of jewelry from other people's bodies.  "Thank you.  I will return it each day to you, for safekeeping," he promised, returning to his desk.  Opened his sketchbook.  "The first step is for me to practice making copies... if it is not too personal or painful, could you tell me stories about... Fawn, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Fawn."  She moves back to the table to continue prepping the rabbit.  "She was an unexpected blessing.  Her father and I had been trying for years to conceive. We had all but given up. Then...there she was. My perfect little Fawn. I named her that because her hair was the same color as a newborn fawn, just without the white spots. Oh, but she was a perfect baby. She didn't cry very much and it seemed that even at a few days old she would smile."  Skin ripped off the rabbit and this one lost his head too.  "We were the perfect little family. My husband, Hanson, worked as a smithy. I was the village harvest witch, making sure that the crops came in like they should. I did my work with Fawn on my back. Her laughter delighted me as I worked to make sure soil was perfect and plants were healthy. "  She picks up a towel and idly wipes her hands on it.  "We were happy. Fawn was growing into a beautiful little lady. Her eyes rivaled emeralds and had a similar sparkle. She was smart, too smart for such a little girl. She was both book-smart and full of common sense."

She busied herself with chopping the rabbits into chunks. "Yes, we were happy. Then the feral Worgen came. Roving bands of them flooding the countryside."  He could hear her sigh.  "I wasn't home when they passed through our little hamlet. I was helping in a nearby town with child birth. It was a rough one. The baby was breech and his mother's pelvis was so narrow. So very narrow. The birth was a success though." The chopping pauses and Zinn runs her fingers over the pink meat of the rabbit.  "When I came home....I...I found them.  Hanson had been gutted, his entrails littered the entrance to our home. Like..he'd been used to decorate the walls. I couldn't help him."  She swallowed hard. "I rushed inside and..." The rabbit flesh was being squeezed tightly in her hand, pink bubbles squeezed between her fingers. "I found him crouched over my Fawn. My beautiful little Fawn. He was...eating her. Her little face was covered in blood, her hair matted with it. Cold emerald eyes stared at...nothing. She was gone. The light of my life was gone."  She hung her head, tears streaming down her cheeks and she tried to compose herself. "I don't know how the ax got in my hands. My swings were wild and I caught the beast off guard. I chopped and chopped and chopped, my body covered in the blood of the most hated thing in the world to me at that moment."

Jon remained quiet although unbidden tears made his eyes sparkle wetly.  He remembered all too well when the feral Worgen of Arugal had destroyed Pyrewood, leaving a young Jon Chess an orphan at about the same age was when Zinn had lost her daughter.  He remained silent; this was Zinn's moment to remember her beloved daughter, and he would not dilute that moment with his own memories. He sketched Fawn's likeness again and again, finally after some hours, he presented the sketchbook to Zinn.

"Madame, tell me if I am ready to proceed to canvas," he said, his voice soft.  The evolution of the images in the sketchbook could be seen; a softening of her jaw to reflect her happy nature, a sharpening of her gaze to enhance the intelligent child her mother had described.  As he had progressed, Jon had added a background of the Blackwald as it must have been in those happier days.

Zinn had since cleaned everything up around the room while Jon had worked on the sketches. Rabbit stew was slow bubbling in the hearth and bread was baking in her tiny makeshift oven.  She flipped through the several sketches until she found one that was, for lack of a better word, perfect.  "This one. You've captured her eyes...her smirk of a smile perfectly. It's like..you've pressed her face to the page and created an exact replica."  She ran her finger over the sketch's jawline, a soft sad sigh pushed through her nose.

Jon nodded.  "I will start the replication tomorrow when I return.  Please... keep the sketchbook overnight."  Jon handed her the locket. "And you can wear this again; I won't need it again until later."  Jon started the minimal amount of cleanup and went outside to teleport himself to Dalaran.

After Jon left, Zinn ate her simple dinner of thick rabbit stew and freshly baked bread in the silence she was used to. After dinner and quick cleanup, she took the sketchbook outside. Silently, she walked toward the tiny graveyard near her cottage. Passing through the rusty iron gate, she made her way to the two well-tended graves near a tree. She smiled and sat between the two headstones. "Look, Hanson, he's managed to draw her perfectly. Don't you think?" She holds the sketchbook out to the headstone on her left. Fingers run softly along the stone's back. In the worn grooves. Turning to the stone on her right, she leans and presses a kiss to the cold granite. "Soon I'll be able to look upon your face again Fawn. I miss you so much my darling. So very much." Zinn sits quietly between the stones for hours, flipping through the sketchbook. Reaching into her skirt pocket, she pulls out a little vial full of a swirling purple liquid. She drinks it all and makes herself comfortable on the ground. "Goodnight my loves. I'll see you in my dreams."

Confessions in Boralus

(Written with the players of Tarvasha and Thes'salia, with gratitude! This takes place before both "Forging A New Path" and "The Mage Tower" but was delayed because of the nature of collaborations.)

Jon Chess, private detective and renowned Agent of Cheese entered the newly-opened Lost Hearts Cafe ((Which is based, in-game, in Goldman's' Cafe)) in the district of Boralus called Upton Borough, home to haughty nobles and the wealthy elite of Kul’tiran society.

Upton Borough

He paused just inside the entryway, letting the redolent scents of ground coffee and sweet pastries pleasantly wash over him.  The proprietor, a lovely woman named Tarvasha, greeted him. Tarvasha was an attractive human woman with long auburn hair, and she smiled when she saw Jon.

Jon and Tarvasha had been acquainted since their meeting at Stilettos, a now-defunct "gentleman's club" in the Elwynn Forest near Stormwind.  Jon had enjoyed watching her dance and had followed her as her employment and circumstances had changed.  She had recently opened the doors to the Lost Hearts Cafe, and Jon was intent on supporting her in her new business; while not precisely "on the way" from his apartment above the Scribes and Nobles bookshop in the Hook Point district to his de facto "office" in the Curious Octopus Tavern in the Mariner's Row district, but she deserved his patronage and support.

"Good morning, Tar!" Jon said, smiling in what he thought was a charming manner. "Everything ready?"  Jon had arranged for a private parlor so that he could meet with his confessor, the Ren'dorei priest named Thes'salia Dharkgrove.  It had been some time since Jon's last confession, but Boralus did not yet have a church dedicated to the worship of the Light.

Thes'salia was slightly shorter than most Ren'dorei, with bright purple hair with its streaks of platinum blond, a remnant of her former existence as a Sin'dorei. Tendrils of the Void sometimes rested upon her shoulders. She had te toned, supple body of a dancer, and full, high breasts that seemingly defied gravity.  Jon knew she had a penchant for feminine, frilly lingerie, and always wondered what was worn under her priestly robes.

Tarvasha nodded and led Jon to the parlor.  It was a comfortable room, with a small table and set of chairs.  A carafe of coffee and Suramar Spiced Tea had been prepared, and there was a plate of small pastries and cookies, freshly baked. Jon paid Tarvasha, and both of them returned to the entrance.  Jon ordered some coffee, doctored it with cream, and sat to await Thes'salia.  When she arrived, he led her upstairs to the parlor, ushering her inside.

Thes'salia Darkgrove

Without further ado, Thes'salia invoked the Rite of Absolution, and they became surrounded by a sound-proof ward. Within the confines, anything could be said, at any volume, and nobody outside would hear a thing.  She finished the ritual and sat on the wooden chair behind Jon. "Blessed be the Light. Who comes forth to unburden himself and seek clarity of mind, and the comfort of forgiveness?"

Jon smiled at the formality, even while appreciating the appropriateness of it. "My name is Jonathan Chess," he replied.

 "About what may I help you to unburden yourself?" she asked.

Jon sat down on the chair, facing away from Thessalia; he had no desire to see her reactions to his recitation fo sins and faults. "Recently, my fiance, a Ren'doei woman named Zane Grimsky, faked her own death on a mission, letting me think she was dead.  The illusion of her demise didn't last long, but it hurt me deeply - first, the pain of having sent her on a mission that led to her death compounded the feelings of loss, with the additional anguish of having been the one who sent her to her death,  Shortly thereafter, I found that she had faked her death and run to escape an old enemy from her past and that she had let me think her dead to somehow keep me safe... Either way, the pain and loss has filled me with despair and anger. I feel like I am angry, seethingly furious, all the time."

Thes'salia listened to him hearing the way his voice sounded both hurt and angry all at the same time. She refilled his tea, walking around to face him, pulling an ottoman towards him as she handed him the drink. Taking a seat on the backless chair as she then smoothed out her robes while composing her thoughts on the matter folding her hands in her lap she gave him a compassionate look. "That certainly is quite an issue. It seems the foundations of your relationship might be upon unstable ground. I mean there was the reason for protecting you from an old enemy of hers, that is quite a caring gesture on her part. Though you, yourself are a witty and most cunning of shadow walkers, who might have been able to end them quite easily."

Jon smiled weakly, looking up at Thess from his downcast head.  "Holy One," he said, formally, "You are amazingly tactful, but let us not mince words - I am a very effective assassin for the Alliance.  I understand the intent of her misleading me - but Fel-be-damned,  am also insulted.  I have devised and executed very effective plans against Horde spell-casters - and that is what this renegade is, at the end of the day - a jumped up Sin'dorei with delusions of superiority.  Do you have any idea how many of those I've put in the ground, personally?" The anger started boiling up, hot and violent, but carefully controlled - Jon was a professional, after all.

Thess gently placed a hand on his looking to him as she listened to him.  She nodded as he spoke; she knew his mind was as sharp as the daggers he wielded. She knew that he was also as agile as the very panthers of Stranglethorn Vale. Hearing this anger in his voice was certainly new to her since she had only known the charming and witty Jon as of recently.

"I am certain you've placed many of my kin in the ground and they probably deserved it since they managed to find their way on to your list of ones to be taken care of. She certainly should have come to you with this issue of an old enemy who had come back from the Abyss. You both could have strategized quite the plan to end him rather quickly." Thess leaned in, smiling. "I do hope you don't mind, but I will be borrowing that description you so eloquently put."

Jon looked a little shamefaced as he remembered that the Ren'dorei were, for the most part, former Sin'dorei. "Oh, feel free to steal anything I say - it's not like I ever expect them back..." he said, smiling with what he hoped was a disarming grin.  "I  apologize,  I didn't mean to go on and on about it... I just wanted to explain to you why I feel so angry, but that is not my confession."  Jon frowned, getting to the blunt truth of the matter. "My sin was... well, the other day I mistreated a woman because of my anger, taking her without any tenderness, without any feelings of affection, just... took her.  I used her mouth with less regard I would show a courtesan... I fucked her mouth and throat like a cunt, and then stripped her of her clothes and make her orgasm relentlessly, spreading her wide and fisting her until she came repeatedly, until she collapsed from exhaustion.  Then I pulled out of her mouth and spent my seed on her face and breasts."

"I treated her horribly, and the worst part... is that she thoroughly enjoyed it, it was like her tonsils had a direct line to her clitoris. She spent herself when I called her my cumslut whore; it was like such behavior set her on fire, even as I was mortified that I could mistreat her so".

Her jaw dropped hearing him describing what he had done to a woman, even though she had heard many a varied combination of things done while lost in the realm of passion and desire. She licked her lips, leaning over to pour herself a glass of water.  She took a deep sip and cleared her throat a little. "Well, there is the thing with that, Jon. It might have been her fantasy to be such and you were providing her a release just as you were receiving a release as well. Was that act consensual? If so then they wanted you to gain as much pleasure from them as they were gaining from you." She then gently patted his hand looking to him. "We all have desires and itches that yearn to be taken care of, you shouldn't feel bad for yours."

Jon looked at her with mingled horror and gratitude. "Well, yes... of course.  Clearly, she was enjoying herself - thank the Light!"  Jon grinned at the thought of thanking the Light that his potential victim had enjoyed... had craved being treated that way.  "But I cannot help wondering, asking myself whether or not I would have acted any differently if she hadn't. Jon looked away, blushing from shame.  Once upon a time, he had done similar things upon request to bed partners - but only when they had made it clear that they had wanted him to.  He had been able, in the past, to blame his other identity, "the Rook" for those urges he had so callously satisfied, but now he had nobody but himself to blame.

"Jon, the light can be found in even the darkest of places." Placing the glass of water down beside her on the floor she rested her hands down upon the sides of the ottoman, she then turned his head to face hers looking into his eyes. She sensed his shame in what he had just verbally wondered shaking her head. "I am certain you would have acted honorably Jon if she hadn't wanted you to treat her as such. I don't believe you are that cruel to take pleasure from one who might say no."

"That is nice of you to say... but we'll never be able to be sure, can we?" Jon said, sounding sad and disappointed in himself.  "Fortunately for me, that is the worst of it... although I did... ah... indulge in a bit of the Sin'dorei art of Shibari last night... the things one finds oneself learning so as to be able to fit in while disguised in Silvermoon."  Jon chuckled.  "Not sure that rises to the level of needing absolution, though..." Jon grinned, remembering the delighted surprise on the face of his Ren'dorei partner when he had used Shal'dorei Silk rope to make a diamond harness.

((I really want to go into detail of how to tie up a lover in a diamond rope harness dress, suitable for wearing all day under clothes, but I need to consult my notes at home.  Finding opportunities to practice are a bitch to find./ Note to self - try and locate a rope bunny for practice))

"Well absolution is universal, darling. I can take your vice usage into account in my many prayers for you." She laughed softly thinking on how many she had consulted who had addictions to various vices in her time at the Sunwell. Some she had managed to guide in recovery, some... not. She sighed a little, thinking of the ones she had lost. They were also among the many of her prayers when she visited the monastery these days.

"I will spare you the recitations of mission-related killing, as we already know what I do for a living, and for whom..." Jon said.  "And I am happy - and a little surprised - that I have only killed 37 people for personal reasons, since my last confession.  And most of those were self-defense... I have interaction with Scrimshaw Gang members on a regular basis, it seems." Jon refrained from mentioning how many of those "incidents" Jon had provoked into them becoming "self-defense".(

"That is quite impressive, in that it's rather lower than expected. I suppose, given the season, the need for work might be a bit low these days. But you are free to discuss the details if you wish." Thess then leaned back to him resting her elbows on her knees picking up her glass again taking a slow sip while looking to him "I am always interested in your line of work be it your cheese dealings or those of more hidden circumstances." (

"Oh, well... cheese dealings are boring, really... and some of the other things I may not talk about, like client cases," Jon said, embarrassed by Thessalia's interest. "Some things are not my secret to tell."

Thess nodded though she was rather surprised to see him appear embarrassed by her wish to learn more of his work. She considered his absolution carefully as she bit her lower lip glancing at her bookshelf as an idea began to form in her mind. "Two things before giving you what you must do to cleanse your soul; first, I asked for details cause really I don't get all that many interesting people coming in for confession these days. The biggest crime I've gotten has been some farmer stealing his neighbor's seed harvest for their own needs." She shrugged laughing softly at that crime. "Secondly. how long were you and this woman losing yourselves to the bliss of pleasure?"

"Well, then I will have to start asking you out for coffee outside of confession, and tell you stories," Jon said with a smile.  "I just had never thought to... impose upon your time and patience." Jon blushed a little before answering the second question. "I was not checking time, but I want to say somewhere on the order of three hours, give or take? Once I got into it... I didn't really worry about my own satisfaction, or rather I took emotional satisfaction from proving that it was not my performance as a love that drove my ex-girlfriends away."  Jon laughed.  "I used to think it was the Rook that drove them away, but now that he and I are... integrated... I guess I have nothing and nobody to blame for my failed relationships except my won personality."

"Alright... so thirty-seven kills and three hours of carnal bliss," Thess smirked looking to him as she thought more on his absolution, the smirk on her face turned almost into a Cheshire Cat-like grin as she laughed softly. "Well, I think you might be spending a month and seven days or nights aiding the priests in the Cathedral mending the wounds of those injured. I'm more than certain a man of your immense knowledge and skill knows how to mend injuries. For the cardinal bliss three nights reading bedtime stories to children in the Stormwind Orphanage."

Jon smiled.  "Thes'salia, I am certified as an Alliance Trauma Medic, trained in Theramore.  And I already read stories to the orphans in Stormwind a few times a month as it is!"  Jon grinned.  "Its a shame I have not been able to bank things against future sins!" 

The Mage's Tower

((Co-written with Alia Atherton's player, with gratitude.  Any mistakes are mine alone!))

The fellow named Jon Chess looked up at the tower in the Elwynn Forest, ostensibly the home of his friend Alia.  Alia had attuned Jon's communications amulet to hers, ensuring that he didn't get lost.  The tower was similar to other mage towers he had seen in the past in Theramore and elsewhere - several stories tall, with a long winding staircase on the inside of thick stone walls. Jon had been to enough towers to be wary when approaching; some of them had nasty surprises for those who had mayhem in their hearts; something, on this occasion, of which Chess was innocent.

For a change.

He saw no signs of occupancy, but that was not necessarily unusual for mage towers; they had a tendency towards privacy that made Jon's own precautions look like the play of a child.  Jon walked up to the front door and knocked loudly.

There was no answer for some time, then the creak of old metal from above. A young woman, whose appearance looked more akin to a banshee then anything remotely similar to Alia Atherton, stared tiredly down at him.

“Jon Chess? I-I’ll be right down!”

Alia Atherton

The window slammed shut, and a moment later the door opened for the towers winded mistress. “I see you finally decided to take me up on my offer. Please come in, I have coffee started and- OH! Watch how you step. I’d prefer not to be skinned alive by all the women in the city as a result of my hand in your demise.” She winked sly over her shoulder and led him up the long stone spiral staircase to the main room.

As Jon thought, the inside of the doorway was lined with runes that hummed with magic.

Spacious though it seemed on the outside, the interior was quite cozy. Dark wood bookshelves, cubbies, and cabinets lined the walls. Books, scrolls, and random notes filled them with an authoritarian level or organization. Tables and desks covered in typical home goods, a fireplace with a kettle, a book that floated in the center of the room without assistance, with candles and loose pages floating aimlessly around them; all of it came together as a tapestry of arcane mystery and homemade warmth.

"The only women who might regret my passing are those women who haven't met me yet; once they get to know me, I become more invisible to them than a Grand Master of the Shadows..." Jon chuckled bitterly, carefully watching his step nonetheless.  He looked around at the homey decor. "Your home looks most comfortable - although I admit that my tastes tend towards books, books, and more books. Of course, yours are scholarly monographs and the like, whereas my books are... fiction of a dubious nature."

An exasperated sigh as she cleaned up a table. A large piece of wood covered in strings connecting maps, notes, and pictures was propped up in front of the window it faced, "And what am I? Chopped liver? Stop selling yourself short Jon Chess." She laughed, "And what gave you the idea that I don't have books of dubious nature as well?" Alia grinned, making direct eye contact with Jon, "Who is to say I don't love myself a tale about torrid romances and well-placed metaphors from time to time?"

"No, I don't think so... I always imagine you bent over a folio or tome, reading crabbed foreign scripts by candlelight, making obscure notes on a properly-ruled parchment, with a cup of stone-cold, neglected coffee at hand," Jon said.  "If I could posit that you have literary tastes as smutty and lowbrow as my own, I'd want to make you dinner and read to you all night."

The corners of her smile fell, and Alia stood there frozen, eyeing him up and down with a mixed expression. Clearly, something he said started her gears turning. She opened her mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it. She turned her back to him, busying herself with the finishing touches of coffee making.

“Tell me, what have I, or more likely haven’t done, to earn this audience with you?” She continues, ”Every time we run into each other, you always seem to be busy with some other task. I’m not the subject of a case, am I?” She laughed softly to herself. “I make it a point to return Ms.Whisperleafs book on time, to the hour, you know.”

Jon pondered her words for a moment and then spoke with an uncharacteristic honesty and candor. "Alia, I am not sure what you think is going on with me, but you are not the focus of a plot, conspiracy, or campaign.  I have recently been very... damaged, emotionally.  I find you attractive, not only because you are lovely - you are - but also because you and I have kept running into each other, but not by any design of mine.  I frequent bookstores because there are some subjects in which I have a scholarly interest and because I love reading stories.  I chanced upon that encounter with the incompetent footpads, and rather than follow my first, rather violent reactions I instead tried to help without anyone being defenestrated.  You are sharp-witted and smarter than I am, and I like you.  I am not courting you, per se, but think that kissing you might be quite a pleasurable thing, and the start, perhaps, of something more; I am wary of making assumptions about both how my attention might be perceived by you, and a lot of doubt as to how welcome they might be, so I am going slow, trying to get to learn more about you, and ... yeah, I'm out of words.  I do not often show it, but my brash outward forwardness is a masque hiding an insecure street rat who has no business aspiring to more. Madame Whisperleaf is a sometimes-client, but I am not part of some 'goon squad' whose purpose is to beat up patrons late on their book rentals!"

The clatter of a spoon falling to the floor broke the long silence that followed. Alia spun on her heel to face him directly; She had bitten down on her bottom lip hard, and eyes were wider than anything Jon had ever seen from her. Like a fish gasping, she struggled for breath and words both. ” Jon... I- I...wish... I wish you would have said something sooner.” She laughed nervously, her eyes tearing up even as a brilliant smile overtook her. “I was convinced.... tha- that you knew, and were just.... stringing me along!”

With a great deal of caution, she stepped towards him,” Jon Chess, you have been an enigma that has plagued my waking mind for too long. You command attention and respect when you speak, but your words are never harsh or demanding. I have never met a mind that is as hungry for a good story until you, and the light in your eyes when I gave you those books was one of the most beautiful things, other then perhaps the idea you kissing me, which I have spent a great deal of effort trying to bury because I did not want you to think I was a silly little girl playing at being-“ She took a deep breath, shaking a little,” My point is, I happen to like this particular street rat, and I think if he’d listened to me for just a damned minute, he might see that he absolutely has the business of wanting more....”

Now very much face to face, she stared down at his shoes, a red blush spreading to the tips of her ears.  “And good! It’d be a waste of your incredible talents!”

Jon stepped the rest of the way towards Alia and leaned within inches of her.  "You should be wary of giving me too much encouragement, Alia - you might never be able to get  rid of me."   Something of his usual self-confidence seemed to return, but he had learned long ago that when hoping for a kiss, a first kiss, to go close, but let your partner finish the movement; that kisses were best done as a duet.  Jon began as he meant to go on - slowly and gently, so as to not unsettle Alia... too much, in any case.

The sound of his voice brought her back the moment.

“Unfortunately I have a knack for not knowing when to stop...”

She met him halfway, hesitating, cautious, if not fearful at first, but growing in confidence as her lips pressed against his. Her fingers brushing his as they reached out for his hand.

Jon felt her lips press against his, and he smiled.  The kiss was not overly long in duration, nor was it exceptionally passionate; this was a reconnaissance mission of sorts, not a full-fledged battle.  Jon felt her fingers brush his hand, and he took the questing fingers gently in his own.  Jon pulled back a little, amazed that either fire nor ice nor arcane bolt been launched - and yet, he felt an impact as welcome as it was delicious.  Conflagrations could spring from a single such a beginning.

Alia held onto his hand even as he pulled back, giving it a small reassuring squeeze. Giving him space, she led his hand to her lips, kissing his palm in the same manner he had once kissed hers.

“I... could get used to that. Unless of course, that was entirely the worst kiss you’ve ever had, in which case I’ll have to ask you to use one of those knives on me because I will not be able to live with the embarrassment.” She rambled almost incoherently, her grip getting tighter the longer she went on.

Jon used her held hand to draw her close once more so he could kiss her again.  He captured her lips with his, still gentle, but with a more controlled passion behind it.   His right hand in hers, his other hand snaked around her waist, pulling her gently to him.  His lips parted slightly, and he enjoyed the subtle taste of her lips as he sought to both calm her and ignite her.

Catching her mid-sentence, she had no way to hold back the small moan that escaped her lips as she was pulled, nor her free hand that slid across his body to cradle the back of his neck. “Jon I-“

She pushed him back, though still very much in his embrace so she could look into his eyes,” Jon I need to know.... and don’t take this the wrong way, but am I the only one your... ‘trying things” out with?” The hand on his neck made its way to his cheek, her thumb caressing it absentmindedly.

Jon grinned, pleased that she was not one to play games and would instead ask forthrightly as to what she wanted to know.  "At the moment, I have no regular lovers, and aside from my auction date with Cassiela, have no plans to date any other while we pursue ...possibilities." Jon gave a little sigh, forcing himself to be very honest - which did not come naturally to a spy and assassin.  "I am not always forthcoming and honest - I have lived too long in the greys of twilight for that.  But I will tell you something that nobody else knows... I have a connection, of sorts, with the Power called Aviana; I think she's kind of adopted me as a mascot since my working name is Rook.  I would not dare to swear by her falsely; while I will never intend to mislead you were our relationship is concerned, if you ever have doubts, make me swear by Her."

Though she said nothing, Alia’s eyes did her speaking for her; They smiled at his honesty, hinted at jealousy, and finally lit up as they so often do when her lust for knowledge is ignited,”Aviana? THE Aviana? Highfather’s wisdom Jon! Now that’s a story you have to tell me.... but perhaps another time?” With an almost predatory grin, she leaned into him, leaving wisps of kisses along his jaw, and down his neck before coming easing off. “We can’t waste all of our stories in one night.”

"No indeed!" agreed Jon, "but before you make me forget all about my reason for coming here... well, my overt one, anyways... I wanted to ask you what kind of dinner you would like me to make you tonight?"  Jon grinned, repressing vocalization of his thought that she herself would make a fine thing to feast upon. "Slowly, Jon...do not even think of rushing things with this one.  She matters" he thought to himself.

She muttered softly under her breath, letting go of him and crossing her arms in front of her chest,” My answer depends on where this dinner is? Because I will warn you, I have...very little here.”

"We may eat wherever like - picnic style, perhaps.  I can show you my meditation spot, for example.  I will cook at Phred's house in Dalaran, and then take it wherever would suit you," Jon half-planned logistics while he was talking.

“As long as it’s not conjured, I will follow you and your food to the ends of Azeroth.” She laughed, more to herself than anything else, and in a blink of an eye was on the other side of the room, pulling down a cord that activated a fold away staircase, and back in front of him before he could lift a finger.  “I want to see where the incredible Jon Chess finds his solace, now that he has seen where the moronic Magna finds hers.” Her eyes flickered with violet energy when she returned. “I imagine it’s very close to a cheese shop.”

"What, Phred's? It's near the Violet Citadel, actually - she loves the libraries at the Kirin Tor.  But she values food, so she has a well-appointed kitchen so she can have me make her lunch when I need a consultation."  Jon laughed.  "I have all the cheese I need. ...is Magna a name or a title?" he asked, his well-developed curiosity getting the better of him.

“You? Enough cheese? Well, I never!” She laughed right alongside him,“...it’s... it’s a title. Magna, or Magus, depending on gender, is the title bestowed on a mage who has proven themselves to be of suitable skill. Thinking about it as a ladder, it’s considered a rung or two below an Archmage. It just means that the Kirin Tor accept me as one of their own. Well, it used to anyway...” she explained in a monotone voice, like reading it from a book.

"Not in their good graces?  I thought that 'Magna' was Old Arathor for 'The Great'?  And the Kirin Tor has their uses - I just won't work for them."

“I believe at one point it was, but it got repurposed during the days of the first Alliance or something like tha— and it’s more complicated than that. I’m not sure if... you’d understand me. No that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

Jon looks at her quizzically. "The minute you offend me, I will forgive you - but you haven't managed it yet!"  Jon grinned.  "I know that I am not the sharpest blade in the armory.  Just curious and stubborn... although that can have an edge all its own."

Alia just sighed, though her smile had regained its warmth.

Light, Void, and Nether, this man will be the death of me...a wonderful, joyful death. But still death.