Callista did not trust the blue-skinned oni any further than she could throw him. Even with her noteworthy strength, that still was not very far at all.
“Surely, my lass,” he offered in as sibilant a voice as a being such as he could muster, “the price for these wondrous trinkets is not so very much to ask?”
Amalielle glared indignantly at the ogre-mage. “I am afraid, Estevan,” she replied curtly “that your reputation in the Cage precedes you . . . “
“You wound me, young aasimar! Never in any of my dealings with the Chapel of Resounding Justice have I ever asked an unfair price! Why, nearly every exchange has left me close to ruin! And now you would assault my very reputation, as well? Preposterous!”
Callista listened to the two natives of the City of Doors continue their verbal dance. Both participants appeared to be thoroughly enjoying their haggle over the final costs of the new magical equipment that they had ordered only just before their contest with the drow. After that encounter, their journey to the Chapel of Resounding Justice had been refreshing to the soul. This, however, was . . . something else entirely . . .
“Done!” The ogre-mage exclaimed at last.
“. . . Done,” Amalielle nodded in agreement, smiling ever so slightly to herself.
“Nyxara will see you to the next room, where you may pay for your goods and collect them anon!” Estevan grandly announced to the adventurers, shuffling them along in the general direction of his tiefling clerk. “And Nyxara, please make sure that our most valued customers are served only our finest refreshments while we conclude the days dealings!”
As the adventurers followed the tiefling toward one of the many side hallways, a small glint in the corner of Callista’s eye caught her attention. She paused to look, and spotted a large, baroquely decorated brooch placed on a wall behind the oni that she had not recalled seeing earlier.
“Ah, you have a fine eye, my noble warrior,” the ogre mage interjected upon noticing the half-orc in turn noticing one of his wares. He nimbly plucked it from its resting place and swept it gracefully before her for inspection. “A fine eye indeed! This is a most wondrous piece of craftsmanship. It’s origin is unknown, but it’s function is most ingenious . . .”
Amalielle turned abruptly at the sound of Estevan trying to hawk more of his wares to her friend. She did not much like the thought of anyone dealing with the scurrilous trader outside of her direct oversight, in fact. That, and now the halfling had gone missing. Again. She sighed loudly to no one in particular.
The aasimar priestess looked at the item that had caught her friend’s attention. The orcish knight seemed to have taken quite a shine to the trinket, actually. Amalielle looked at it a bit more closely and whispered the syllables of a minor incantation. It gave off no aura of significance. She concluded it was nothing more than a minor arcane focus for those who could utilize such things. She assumed her friend had been drawn to its fashionable, yet martial, attractiveness. Visitors to the Cage seemed truly fascinated by the exotic wares her home offered.
“Well, veninde,” she offered noncommittally, “If you find it that interesting, there is no harm in taking it off the hands of this unscrupulous merchant.”
The eyes of the aasimar and oni once again narrowed in challenge, as a second, pleasantly unexpected opportunity to test their wills against each other emerged.
* * *
Nyx looked at the jewel the half-orc knight had just affixed to her breastplate, then at her employer.
After the adventurers had walked out of the shop, she decided to raise the issue.
“I do not recall seeing that brooch in any of our inventories.”
Estevan waived off her observation. “It is nothing, a small bauble of questionable value that I managed to sell off for a price much greater than its worth.”
Nyx shrugged.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
* * *
Silvery, eldritch energy crackled between Callista’s fingertips as she held her hand up before herself.
Well, she thought to herself, THIS is new.
The energy crackles had begun as a slight tingling in her fingers not long after they had left Estevan’s. The tingling grew and grew until the little sparks of energy began to emerge and dance around her fingers, first on one hand, then the other, without any rhyme or reason. Without panicking, she suggested to the priestess that they stop and try to figure out what was happening. Without much difficulty, she quickly learned to control how the energy manifested and now she was playing about as if it were a game.
“Is this some new gift of the Grimjaws meant to further entice me to his cause?” the orcish knight asked of her friend as the two sat and enjoyed a strange drink Amalielle called ‘coffee’ at one of Sigil’s many street cafes. The others had gone on and agreed to meet them back at their lodging sometime later.
Amalielle carefully watched the tiny, shimmering bolts dance around her friend’s fingers. After a few moments, she frowned.
“I do not believe this . . . gift . . . comes from my Lord Tyr, veninde,” the aasimar priestess concluded. “It’s origin is not known to me. It causes you no pain or discomfort?”
“No.”
“It . . . stirs in you no . . . dark thoughts nor any thoughts of mayhem?”
“Amalielle!”
“Apologies, veninde,” she replied. “I meant no insult. This display of eldritch ability could be related to your sacred oath to the natural spirits of your world or to your people’s ancestors. A continuing and natural progression for you as you journey on, if you will . . .”
“But?”
“ . . . but, its expression implies something else entirely.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Like the eldritch gifts of the warlocks.”
“What?!? I consort with no such foul beings!”
“Nor do I imply that you do. Perhaps there is some other part of your essence that is only now finding its own expression. The City of Doors has been known to have that effect on strangers from time to time.”
Callista considered her friend’s words for a moment before once again summoning the dancing eldritch energy, carefully directing the sparks to leap between her hands. It was getting easier and easier.
“Do you think I can whip eldritch blasts at our enemies now?” She suddenly asked aloud, looking about with no small enthusiasm.
“Aaaah . . . ,” the aasimar began, with some trepidation. “Perhaps, but this is neither the time nor place to test this possibility. We might wish to wait and return to the training ground of the Chapel of Resounding Justice, first.”
Callista pondered this suggestions for a moment before frowning with disappointment.
“Okay. No reason to draw any unwanted attention in this place, I guess . . .”
The aasimar nodded vigorously and drank deeply from her mug, grateful for having avoided any disturbances.
* * *
Druust’ya Olaav’ya watched attentively from across the café as her green-skinned descendant experimented with her newly awakened powers. Each time her kinswoman summoned the dancing, eldritch sparks the ancient Gith felt the same tingle of power that the half-orc did. She smiled to herself and sipped from the mug of Zhentish tea she had ordered. Her favorite refreshment was appropriate for a moment of triumph such as this, no matter how small in the grand scheme of things to come.
The brooch had indeed kindled the latent power in the knight’s bloodline, just as the Githyanki had expected. The power in her bloodline. The younger woman was already taking to it, “Like a vin’isk to a jhe’stil,” she said, thinking the last part out loud. It had only required calling in a small debt from the oni merchant to have it placed within the range of Callista’s notice.
Her companion, Sa’amasan Saal, watched with considerably less enthusiasm.
“You have awakened a Bhat t’ch’r’ai,” the Gith warrior murmured disapprovingly. “A witch-knight. After all this time, and in this, of all places.”
“Yes, Sa’amasan, a witch-knight. A champion. My champion. Not the spawn of her mother’s barbaric traditions, nor of Tyr Grimjaws' devotion to mindless order. She is a child of the Infinite Void, and her instinctive acceptance of my gift is indisputable proof of this.”
The Githyanki sorcerer smiled maliciously to herself again, finished her tea and arose. Sa’amasan Saal looked at her curiously. “What are you intending to do?”
Without explaining herself, Druust’ya Olaav’ya crossed the length of the café, coming up before the table where Callista Armageddon and Amalielle the Confessor sat, still in the midst of discussing Callista’s current situation. Sa’amasan Saal followed close behind.
“What a lovely looking jewel,” the Githyanki princess remarked, as the two adventurers looked up in surprise at her sudden appearance before them. “Why, such a treasure could only have been wrought in the very heart of Tu’narath itself,” she said admiringly, leaning down and touching the ruby set in the center of the brooch.
Callista seemed both dumbfounded and flattered at the same time by this gesture, while Amalielle found herself in a high state of alarm— two Githyanki had suddenly appeared before them, taking particular notice of what Amalielle had considered to be nothing more than a bauble. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Enjoy it, young one,” Druust’ya encouraged her. “With it you are the very image of the Bhat t’ch’r’ai of old, the likes of which have not been seen in an age.”
Callista looked at Amalielle with raised eyebrows, very pleased with herself, and nodded in approval. Amalielle sat motionlessly, a tension rising in her as if welling up from the very heart of the Chapel of Resounding Justice itself. The aasimar priestess had no idea what the Gith had meant by Bhat t’ch’r’ai, but the word carried a foreboding aura with it and Amalielle did not like the sound of it at all.
The imposing Githyanki rose to her full, regal height, and before taking her leave, offered Callista the following in parting—
“Fare thee well, my child. chraith’kan zharn,”
The strangers nodded to the adventurers in turn and moved off into the City, to attend to whatever business had brought them to the Cage, leaving just as abruptly as they had appeared.
Amalielle stared at her friend, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Callista simply went back to lustily tearing into the shanks of barely cooked rothe steak the café server had brought them, while mumbling, “I told you this brooch was gorgeous. I mean, even random strangers can’t help but notice.”
“Random strangers,” Amalielle weakly repeated. She had not known the first term the Githyanki had used. She certainly knew the phrase offered in parting, however. Every native of the Cage had heard those words at one time or another. chraith’kan zharn.
May your enemies know agony.
* * *
Druust’ya Olaav’ya laughed aloud as the Githyanki moved away from the café and through the busy throughfares of the City.
“Did you see the look of sheer panic on the face of the little k’chakhi aasimar? How delicious!”
“Yes, yes, it was enjoyable, I will admit. It was as enjoyable as it was dangerous, My Lady.”
“My Lady, is it? It is only ‘My Lady’ when you disapprove of my actions.”
“You have awakened a witch-knight in a place where the wretched ghaik seem to skulk about in every shadow— any illithid that sees that brooch here will take note. Or worse. Any of Vlaakith’s servants who may also be here will seek confrontation.”
“And what of it, Sa’amasan?” Would any of them risk open warfare in the streets of Sigil? And risk the ire of the Harmonium, if not the Lady of Pain herself? I think not. No,” she said, fondly touching the cheek of her paramour. “Callista Armageddon and her companions will return to the place from whence they came and she will continue on to meet her destiny.”