An unspecified time after Cerce arrived at the shipping town of the Foul Mouth...
-
“Easiest five gold pieces you’ll ever make,” Cerce grumbled to herself, trying not to move her mouth, which was held in a pleasant smile a little unlike her usual casual toothy grin.
“What was that my dear?” Asked Treave from across the room. Cerce couldn’t see the Gnome from the place she lay; his tiny form hidden entirely behind his easel. Occasionally the stool he stood upon would give a wobble, and his great nose would poke out to take a glance at her, mustache wiggling.
“Nothing, nothing,” Cerce said. She wanted to itch her knee awfully, and then after thinking of that for a moment, realized she wanted to itch her nose as well, and then the sole of her foot. It seemed everything itched the moment you’d been told not to move a muscle.
“It’s just...when Adam told me you were in need of my services… I’m usually called on for sort of...adventury type things, you know.”
“Oh yes! Absolutely! I have heard many a tale of the great Cerce Stormbringer in the last few months! Like wildfire, they spread,” Treave said enthusiastically as his little face popped out to gaze at her momentarily, bright eyes glinting behind his over-sized spectacles before his face disappeared again. “When I was told of you, of your tall form and your marvelous hair, I knew I had to reach out! And that skin! Oh!”
“Yes...when you reached out I expected you might have needed help, of the danger variety, or some-such.”
“Oh no, no everything is quite wonderful with me, thank-you! Extend your arm a little more over your head, would you? Elbow up, knee a little higher.”
Cerce did so, feeling the stretch in her shoulder and wondering how much longer this would take.
“Hope you’ve got a lot of green paint...” she mumbled.
“I heard from Master Iggles of the shoe-store that only last week you single-handedly protected the merchants caravan from a full scale assault in the pass outside Penryan! Incredible. So dynamic. I should have loved to have been there to watch. What a painting that would have made!”
“Yes...” Cerce murmured. It had been three poorly prepared highwaymen, but she’d not correct the gnome. She was counting on the newly inflated story getting her bought a drink or two down the Hound’s tooth later on. “Of course I was wearing my armour there.”
The little gnome gave a tut of dismissal.
“Yes well that sort of thing wouldn’t match my style at all of course.”
-
Cerce gave a sigh and tilted her eyes across the room where her great halberd was leaning in a corner, along with her new leather armour and the pink silk shirt that Adam had bought her at the festival. Close by it on the floor, she bemoaned, were her undergarments.
“Roughly how much longer-” Cerce began, and was interrupted when the door to the studio seemed to open by itself. The bustling sound of the town could be heard, and at first it seemed the wind might have blown the door open, before Cerce looked lower to see the small figure, standing barely two feet tall. The tiny Gnome peered at Cerce and she gave a chirp of surprise and instinctively dropped a clawed hand to hide the mound of hair between her thighs.
“Not to worry,” said Treave, casually. “Treave the younger is well versed in the necessities of the artistic method. Aren’t you lad?”
To his credit, the young Gnome did indeed pay Cerce no mind as she lay bare and instead spoke only to his father.
“Some friends of the lady Stormbringer are here to see her, most important apparently. Shall I see them in?”
“You bloody better not!” Cerce spoke up, sitting up suddenly, trying to cover multiple areas with only two hands.
Treave the elder gave a sigh and hopped down from his tall stool, his smock filthy with paint.
“Such is the life of a fearless adventuress I am sure! Please, best go to them, who knows what great adventure lies in wait!” he approached, gesturing grandly as Cerce got to her feet. “Will you be able to return soon? Another session or two should see our artistic endeavor to completion!”
Cerce gave an awkward smile, baring her fangs, and tried not to think about the Gnome’s unfortunate view as he stood peering up at her.
“It would be… a pleasure, of course, Master Treave.”
He clapped his tiny hands and shook them in happiness.
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” he went on as Cerce sprung to reclaim her garments.
Draped in her silken shirt and fastening the belts of her skirt and leathers, Cerce reclaimed her halberd lastly and felt like herself once again. Onto something she could hopefully be fearless about.
Treave gave a nod to his miniature son as the relatively huge figure of the Stormbringer ducked her head to leave the studio, and he gestured to the work in progress aboard his easel.
“What luck! I think I may be the first to paint a Nadyr nude in all the southern coast! I can’t wait to see the look on that fool Firkus’s face when this goes up next to another of his tiresome spread-eagled Dawn elves.”
