When queried about her victory over the planar elemental, all the Gith would say was that, being a construct of the shadow weave, a weave based Spell of Unmaking was called forth to discorporate it. Once she defeated her adversary, she dismantled the containment globe and returned to this plane.
During their exchange, neither Tie, nor the Gith noticed when the sorceress's eyes rolled up in her head and she sank to the ground.
Tie was kneeling over her, a healing potion with Sand's trademark ring around the bottle's neck was in her hand. Though she hated the taste of the stuff, Qara needed a boost; She drank.
"This scroll is indeed a boon," the Gith said as she unrolled the prize taken from Luskan's ambassador. "My intuition tells me all the names are here, but I am not certain. We have no way of knowing."
"Is that a wisp of doubt I hear," the Knight-Captain asked, unable to resist the rare chance to shake Zhjaeve's reserve.
"Why... no," the Gith replied, looking quizzically at her. "I was merely stating a fact. Know that these True Names may be the Shadow Reavers' undoing, but if even one is missing, that is one that will be impossible to defeat. We must prepare for that possibility."
"Well, we're one step closer," Tie said, rubbing the exhausted sorceress on the back. "Thanks to Kossuth's gift to us, here, we'll be just that much stronger. Can you stand?" she asked.
Qara looked up and tried to smile; She wasn't quite used to the attention. "Let me rest here a minute, give that potion a chance to work. I need to think," she said, running her fingers through an unruly shock of red hair.
Sydney Natale's revelation didn't come as a surprise to her. Magister Johcris was responsible for the animus elemental's summoning. His daughter, Glina, was expelled from the Academy after a bar fight with Qara had boiled over into the street. It seemed that only the spilling of blood would satisfy his honor. Qara didn't understand-Was a silly street fight worth a death sentence?
About a ten-day after her release from imprisonment at Crossroad Keep by Black Garius, the Gith cleric, Zhjaeve, sat beside her at a corner table in the Flagon's common room, unbidden. Qara's resentment at the Zerth's intrusion melted away as they talked quietly. Her issue with the world-at-large was trust. No one had ever been there for her. Zhjaeve's question; When have you been there for someone else? gave the sorceress pause-She had no answer.
"My dear, know that trust is a... mutual respect and faith that one holds for another," the Gith knew she had a wall to break down in this confused young woman. "To start, you must show that you are worthy of another's trust."
"And just how would I do that?" she asked, showing the face of a very unhappy child.
"First, you show through, not just your words, but in your deeds, a tolerance, even sympathy towards the weakness of others," she answered. "Then apply your strengths to aid them in their time of need."
"Oh, sure," she sneered. "and the more you kiss someone's butt, the more they take advantage of you." her answer was filled with a young lifetime of pain and disappointment. Qara had yet to shoulder the responsibility for any of it, though deep down, she knew most of her troubles were of her own making.
The Gith was thoughtful. "That is certainly a colorful phrase. If your reference is being taken advantage of, a worthy person will not take from you without giving in return." She thought for a bit before asking, "Isn't someone who takes without giving unworthy of your trust?"
"Your damned right they aren't," Qara agreed. "How do you know who you can trust?" she asked shyly-She really didn't know.
"First, you seek out someone who is worth trusting-Someone who really cares about themselves as well as others. Then develop their trust in you over time into something that is strong, something they can depend upon. You do that by being there when they need you."
"What about me?" she asked, now confused.
"Understand that the other person must, in turn, earn your trust. By them being there for you when you need them, your trust in them is strengthened." The Gith noticed a subtle change in her facial expression-That stubborn look of a closed mind had been replaced by one of thoughtful introspection. It was time to take a chance on breaking through. "May I make an observation," Zhjaeve gently asked.
"Sure, go ahead," Qara replied. She was resigned to enduring another boring lecture about her faults.
Knowing she was taking a chance, the Gith forged ahead; "From what I have seen, you want to be alone," she said with a disarming smile. "Others are not allowed near, neither physically nor emotionally. Those that try are rebuked." After seeing that thoughtful look return, she continued, "from what you've told me, trust is the issue, is that not true?"
"It's true," she said with a sigh. She had to admit, being alone wasn't any fun, but it was easier for her to handle. There were fewer disappointments and a hell of a lot fewer unpleasant surprises.
Zhjaeve's smile was sympathetic as she took both hands in hers and squeezed. "A suggestion, if I may... If a situation appears to be... untoward, take a moment to be sure that things are really as they seem; Know that misunderstandings start wars," she said, looking into the girl's eyes for understanding. "Can you consider what we have spoken about?" she asked.
"I suppose so," Qara said, there was a lot for her to think about.
"One final thought," the Gith concluded; "An old Githzerai saying comes to mind, There is strength in unity. None of us can stand alone for long. A wall is not one stone block, but many stone blocks together form a formidable barrier." With that, she finally got Qara to see she needed others and others needed her-No one could stand alone. Her brush with Ammon Jerro much later drove the point home-Without Elanee and Grobnar, there would now be no Qara.
The strange green-skinned woman from another plane of existence believed in Qara, believed in her power, but it was a power without focus, a power without purpose. With the Gith's influence, the war with the King of Shadows was now her focus. Her personal vendetta with Ammon Jerro was on hold, for now, they were on the same side. Trust? ...Qara knew she'd have to work on that.
A feral smile formed on Qara's features. Johcris's undoing was at hand. "Would it be alright if I did a... little backslide... just this once?" she asked, looking back and forth between the Knight-Captain and the Gith cleric. She whispered her plan in Tie's ear, occasionally gesturing at the Hosttower mage's corpse and Tie's harvester.
At the Knight-Captain's insistence, they buried the bodies and removed most of the evidence of battle. The only trace of their presence was a scorch mark that would take some time to heal.
The Cloaktower-Lieutenant was once again in Neverwinter. The common room at the Sunken Flagon, once their base of operations, now seemed smaller somehow-A home she was reluctant to visit. She had moved on now. A last look, for old times' sake, she thought as she'd pushed through the front door.
A shadow fell across the table, someone had blocked the dusty mote of morning sunshine. "May I... join you?" her visitor asked.
Neeshka looked up. Upon seeing the red-haired sorceress, she pulled out a chair. "Sure, have a seat," she invited. "Tie tells me you wasted that Luskan witch at her own meeting."
"I played a very small part," she said with a dismissive gesture. "We all had a hand in settling that harpy's hash." She sighed. "I'll get to the point-I need your help."
Her request was an unexpected surprise. In Neeshka's experience, Qara had never asked anyone for help-Never. "Sure thing," the rogue answered immediately. "As long as we don't kill anyone-I'm supposed to be respectable now," she said, pulling a face.
The red-haired sorceress went on to explain how an instructor at the Academy here in Neverwinter, had mounted an assault on her virtue. His longing gazes at her had gradually progressed to the point that she feared being alone in his presence. After nearly a ten-day with no response from her, he moved on to easier prey. Qara's fight with his daughter had piled more fuel on the fire of his hatred. She went on to outline her plan to put the fear of the hells into the bastard.
"I like it," Neeshka enthused. "But let's take it a step farther. Are you a virgin?"
"No. I'm no sporting woman, but I've been around the block a time or two," she said, smiling at the memories.
"So, why don't you give him what he wants?" she asked, the plan forming in her mind.
Duncan passed through the room, pausing to watch the red-haired brat and the devil-girl with their heads together, probably gossiping, by the sound of their laughter. He shook his head in dismissal and descended the cellar stairs. Some of us have to work for a living, he grumped. Shifting the stock around had to be done and no one would do it for him.
The night was half-way done. The shadows deepened as the moon dipped below the far treeline. Two black cloaked figures made their way past the Academy dormitory to a cluster of smaller dwellings reserved for instructors and administrators. They went without error to the door of the Magister's office.
The cloaked figure with red eyes carried a farmer's reaper and a tightly sealed bag that appeared to have some weight. "This is where he sleeps?" it whispered the question. "Doesn't he have a home?"
The green eyed figure shivered. The cloak she wore covered a thin silken nightgown-Scant protection from the chill. "He's lived here since his wife died, two, maybe three summers ago."
Red eyes passed the pole arm and the bag with its noisome cargo to her companion and knelt to work on the door's lock. "Huh," she scoffed. "Might as well leave it open." Opening the door, she slipped inside the office. "No one here, come on," she whispered.
Green eyes pointed to a door in the far corner. "The bedroom is upstairs. The door is to the right on the landing," she whispered.
The third stair step was loose, its groaning cry announced their presence. They waited for a long one hundred count, expecting a fight at any moment. When no one stirred, they continued.
On the landing, green eyes gasped, holding out a restraining hand. "That door's warded," she hissed, pointing to a rose colored rune painted on the polished surface. "Let me try..." she closed her eyes, a blue glow covered her hand, and she began gently wiping at the spot on the door.
The blue aura on her hand was snuffed out and she groaned aloud. Her companion managed to catch her before she hit the floor.
Inside the bedroom, their mark rolled over in his sleep, moaning as if from a bad dream.
While her friend sat on the floor, resting, red eyes took a quick look into the other room on this floor. It was filled with covered furniture and other assorted junk-There was no threat here.
The rune on the door was now gone-It was safe to proceed. The shadow with red eyes had the door open in a trice. Opening it, mindful of any noise it could make, she peered carefully inside.
Seeing their way was clear, the two shadows entered the room, lit a candle, and took their places.
He liked it when he was awakened like this. Who was with him this time? A student from the Academy making up poor grades, or a tavern fly from the poor side of Neverwinter making coin? Hells... no matter; This woman was good. She knew just what to do to please him. Her hips were talking to him, This way to paradise. In response to her ministrations, his hands caressed her flanks, her back, her breasts. He had yet to take her-His lust, though growing had yet to reach its peak. He had plenty of time, and was in no hurry. "You smell so damned good," he moaned, taking in her musky scent with a shuddering deep breath.
"I'm glad you like me," his lover purred. Her hips continued their slow rhythm. "It will get better-I promise."
There was something familiar... her voice. He'd heard it before. Intrigued, he opened his eyes.
A pair of heavy-lidded emerald green eyes framed by a sheaf of lush red hair regarded him from above. Pale skin that almost spoke aloud of its velvet softness begged to be touched-explored. A delicately traced tattoo extended from hairline to eyebrow, hinting at the intellect within. "You're awake," Qara's voice poured like honey. "Now the real fun starts."
His desire was snuffed out like a candle. His manhood wilted. "You... you're dead," he choked out. "...back to the hells where you belong." His shock was being slowly replaced with fear.
She lowered her shoulders, brushing his bare chest with her breasts. "Does this feel like... I'm... dead? Don't you still want me?" she asked, her face was now very close to his. "I'm not at the Academy any more... I can be yours for eternity," she brushed his forehead with her lips.
"Begone... spawn of demons... your soul is damned... I am not your chattel," he stammered, his face was working, his throat closed. He could say no more.
Disappointed, her face fell. "Well, if you don't want me," she lamented with an exaggerated pout, "I'll go." She slowly dismounted and strolled to his bedroom door. She turned back to him, rubbing herself against the open door. "My bed's in Grenpoli, that's in Maladomini." The liquid words rolled off her tongue. "When you get there, look me up. I'll be waiting," she said with a salacious wink. "It won't be long... Ta, love." she kissed a finger, and extended it in his direction. The door clicked shut-The sound was thunderous to his overstimulated ears.
His heart was slowing from its all-out gallop when a shadow detached itself from the wall. Tendrils of blue-white fire danced around the scythe's blade held in the thing's right hand. Red eyes beneath a midnight-black hood bored into his. The stench of death followed this dark one-It now filled the candle-lit room.
The shadow moved to the bed, the butt of its pole-arm thumping on the floor with each unhurried step. It stood beside his bed, watching him, not uttering a word.
"Y-you... who are you?" he managed to say. "What is it you want?"
Was that a sigh, or a long exhalation? After looking at the recently closed door, the apparition raised its left hand, something was clutched in that left hand. What gift this apparition placed on the bed between his upraised knees took a moment for him to recognize; It was a severed human head with eyes that looked up at him with damning accusation. "Oh Gods... Sydney Natale," Magister Johcris gasped. His weary heart gave up its fight.
The tiefling rogue and the human sorceress were sleeping soundly in their room at the Flagon and did not hear Glina screaming when she found her father.
A/N Thanks Wyl, you're right-Pace...focus! C.