The Red Banner – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 23.06.2020

A figure unfolds itself from the shadows in the corner of the Command Tent and an airotaur steps forth. Sheryl steps back, masking the start she had at not spotting the figure before they spoke. She sees he wears robes and maybe leans a little too much on the staff in his hand, though whether because he was stiff or if it’s for show, she is not sure.

His eyes sparkle as he continues. “We need to stall, buy some time,” he gestures to General Cassius, “but we also need to sow the seeds of what’s to come.” He clenches the hand he was gesturing with into a fist. “We must appear stronger than we are.”

“What’s your idea magus?” the fae-bard inquires, her lips lifting into a curious smile.

Instead of answering, he opens his hand and in it appears a six inch sized version of Markas. It raises its fists looking like it’s ready to fight.

“I can do that too.” Sheryl breathes a word of Sylvan and there stands an illusion of the airotaur in her palm, pretending to shoot magic from the tips of his fingers.

The mage grins. “Try touching mine.”

Curious, Sheryl steps forward and goes to poke the mini Markas in the chest but before she can get too close it smacks her finger away, sharply.

“Ow!” she exclaims, more in surprise than hurt. “That’s quite a solid illusion!” Sheryl turns to Markas. “It even hits like you.” The half-elf gives her a look and she giggles.

“My apologies I should introduce myself first,” the airotaur says, waving his hand and the mini Markas illusion disappears. “I am Nikolaus Morwing, Archmage of Zot Goran.” He bows to Sheryl and her friends. “This gambit will work, but only if you,” Nicholas points to the small woman and then to the others, “can keep this devil force coming to this camp distracted long enough!”

“A distraction for the distraction, which is also a distraction” Markas mutters, nodding approval.

Coils within coils within coils…

“It won’t be easy as the magnitude of the spell will require more than just myself to cast it. Some of my best students will be with me if we are to make enough of you and to make it believable.”

“I have this spell scroll,” BB says, stepping forward and pulling out a scroll case from her bag. The Archmage comes closer to her, a shift in his excitement. “It could be used to block any prying eyes, and keep you safer…”

Sheryl watches the others discuss the finer details, Taz giving his input from a more on the ground perspective, whilst Arkadus asks if anyone has any Fire Whiskey on hand because it’s been a long day and they are clearly not going to be resting yet.

“Are you alright Merla?” Astra asks her through their telepathic bond. Sheryl senses where she waits outside the tent and glances in that direction.

“I am fine, Astra. Just… thinking how we are to use Illusions and Charm to outwit an enemy that’s had centuries to plan.”

“Do you worry if it will work?”

“Oh, it will work.” Her face shifts and there’s a flicker of light to her eyes that wasn’t there before. No one notices the change though, they are too focused on the maps laid across the table and the plan they are trying to formulate. “Am I not the Daughter of Titania, Warrior Queen of the Feywild?”

“You are.” Astra’s tone is reverent.

“We will get the company ready for the next stage of the assault on the Stygian Docks, but all that will be for naught if you do not succeed.” General Cassius Razorback’s face is grim but firm. “We’re counting on you.”

There’s nothing else to say after that. Everyone departs from the tent, going to prep their gear or gather the few men they are able to take with them from the Errant Guard. As she comes out, Astra steps up to Sheryl and there’s a look in her companion’s silvery-blue eyes which was not there before.

“We have our next role to prepare for, Astra. Are you ready for what may happen?”

“By your side, I am.”

Sheryl smiles. There is no trace of kindness in it.

---

Raksus Highwatch, former leader of the Errant Guard, stands resplendent in golden armour with a fearsome maul by his side as his men, the Vanguard, come up around him. Enlarged to be seven foot tall, Sheryl is flanked on either side by her friends, Markas and Taz, Astra stomping her right front hoof in defiance at the minotaur’s preaching orations. Arkadius, Igrainne and BB are behind them, hidden amongst the clusters of rock formations for what little bit of cover they can find. Gone is the softness from Sheryl’s face. That is not the part she is to play in this battle. She is all sharp edges, blades of grass honed to steel tips with a mighty engine of starfire beneath her, ready to charge at a moment’s notice.

Ready to bring down a Summer Storm upon them all.

Raksus lets his gaze wander over the assembled forces.

“I see some familiar faces here,” he says, smirking. “I used to be the Commander of the Errant Guard. But I can tell you, all of this, all of what they have prepared…” he gestures to them and their small force, “it is all a farce. We fight for the Greater Good. We need Zariel. We need her to win. If the Abyss ever overflows and manages to overrun Avernus, there is no stopping them. Our best hope for the multiverse, and for K’ul Goran, is to help Zariel. This is The Mission that all of us were born for, trained for, what our entire society was raised for. I stayed loyal to the cause. These people that you fight for, they do not, they have forgotten their history.”

“And it’s The Mission that, today, you’ll die for,” Taz challenges. “I hope you’re prepared.”

Raksus sighs, mock pity oozing off him. “Unfortunate. But if we need to slaughter you here,” he lowers his head, letting his minotaur horns come down, threateningly, “so be it. We will still win, we will still invade the Material Plane, and we’ll take what is rightfully ours.”

With deft precision Markas lifts his crossbow and shoots at Raksus, the starting gun that triggers them all into action.

Astra leaps up, her wings shooting out, as Sheryl gives out a call that brings the essence of the Summer Court within her to the forefront, transforming her into the visage of a Warrior Princess. She sends that essence out to her friends to weave around their legs, giving them a burst of speed. Markas, familiar with this tactic, instantly darts forward. Before he gets too close, hand strumming across the harp at her side, the fae-bard unleashes a brilliant, mind rending explosion of energy centred upon the gold armoured minotaur and radiating out to his men.

They all reel at the forces that assail their minds – images of Wild Hunts, of Fey Feasts and Revelries, and Chaotic Music. Several of them clutch their heads in agony at what overwhelms them, Raksus the worst among them. With another kulning cry, Sheryl instructs Astra to return to the ground and prepare to charge head on.

The battle has finally begun.

Remembering what the Archmage told them, Taz brings a horn from his saddle up to his lips and blows, rallying the troops. The sixty or so Errant Guard who are with them and their illusion doppelgängers alike, charge forward. The Vanguard army runs to meet them and the chaos of battle flanks Sheryl and her friends on either side. It seems to be working, the illusion magics holding and somehow more believable with Taz’s rally. Arrows from Igrainne and fire from Arkadius rain down from behind the four in front as the rock formations come to life and start to batter the warriors around Raksus.

Still staggering from the psychic assault from Sheryl’s spell, the whites of Raksus’ eyes are very bright as he looks around at the merciless assault. No grin appears on her face, but Sheryl revels in seeing how his sanctimonious pride is already starting to break. He’s not so foolish to think the men he has with him will be enough anymore.

As one of the minotaur’s peel off to recklessly charge at her, battering Sheryl with his axe and attempting to throw her from Astra’s back, Raksus lifts his maul, the glow a beacon to summon his men to him as he calls for aid. Then he starts to call for healing for him and his men but Sheryl Counters it, vicious Sylvan cutting across the distance between them. Raksus’s gaze flicks to her and their eyes meet. He tries to hide it but she sees his panic clear as a midsummer’s day.

The Vanguard are weakening. The illusion is holding. Her friends are winning and Raksus’ men are falling.

It is Arkadius and Igrainne together that bring the golden armoured, ex-Commander of the Errant Guard to heel. With fire and arrows Raksus Highwatch falls and with it, the Vanguard army is lost without their leader.

But the battle is not over yet.

As it continues, Sheryl takes beating after beating from the berserker minotaurs. For every one that she dispatches another one takes its place. She doesn’t let up though, pulling on reserves within herself she has never had to before. Ida’s small weasel form squirms next to her breast under her armour as Sheryl tries to keep out of the way of the axes cutting into her, without much success. Ida squeaks and Sheryl feels like it’s coming from Arkadius, probably concerned over how many hits she has taken.

“I’m fine! But Taz-” she looks over to the dragonborn and sees how he’s staggering to stay up, “he needs help! Can you?”

Ida squeaks again and ducks down as the minotaur swings his axe at her. Astra rears back battering her hooves into his chest. As she comes down, Sheryl casts a Thunderous Wave of force out from them. Despite their hearty stature, the loss of their commander seems to have done something to weaken their resolve. One of them is blasted back and is killed outright, whilst the other barely holds on to his life as he is pushed back away from her. Sheryl has Astra fly up and sees Markas is surrounded on all sides by minotaurs.

Before she can dive down to help the monk, a prickling sensation touches the edge of Sheryl’s mind and with a bang that makes her turn a portal opens at the base of the ridge where the Archmage and his students are hidden, casting their illusion magics. The ring of orange, yellows and magenta fire laced with wild magic calls out to her and she feels the gem in her circlet light up in response. Through it rushes no fire or ash or devils, but a steady stream of gold, red, emerald and sapphire blue, accompanied by high pitched screams – not birds, though to the others it may sound like animals. To Sheryl it is similar to the calls she has been singing across the battlefield. It is a stream of golden warriors that pushes through the portal and fan out, passing through the lines of Errant Guard and illusions to engage the rest of the Vanguard.

The Fey Warriors of the Summer Court have arrived.

Thank you Femaer*!

Taking heart from seeing the people from her Court, Sheryl lets out another war cry and looks to her dragonborn friend.

“Keep going Taz! Hold nothing back!”

His fighting spirit is renewed as her words heal him. Then Astra swoops down, charging forward to hoof the minotaurs around Markas, Sheryl’s dancing blade cutting deep gashes across their flesh.

The rest of the battle is a blur of slashes, arrows and spinning flowers, as Markas takes the last one out with a right hook that tears the crude and rusted red mask from the Vanguard’s face.

The Red Banner has fallen.

Sheryl feels the hum of the battle still coursing through her as Astra stands on the blood-soaked battlefield. The illusion doppelgängers slowly start to pop out of existence until none of them are left, whilst the actual Errant Guard warriors start tending to their wounded. She is taking stock of her friends, making sure none of them are in desperate need of her help when movement catches her attention.

The eladrin and fey coalesce with their leader stepping forward, his intent to speak to Sheryl clear. She inclines her head slightly as the tall, handsome fey approaches, the two sabres at his side still crackling with energy from the battle. He smiles broadly and bows to her respectfully. As he does, she finally recognises their heraldry.

“Merla. It is wonderful to meet you and to see you in action. I am Arvel Morningdew, Commander of the Glorious Company, and I bring greetings from Queen Titania herself.”

“It is a great honour to have you here,” Sheryl responds, her words though sincere, are not without a sense of sovereignty. “Words cannot express the gratitude I and my company have at your arrival.”

“Well, the Queen wanted to support you in this dire time and in this daring expedition.” He gestures back to the fey. “And we would not have it – would not have it – for the honour to be bestowed on anyone but us to come and support you.” He turns back to her, resting his hand on his chest in veneration. “The Glorious Company will fight at your side until this campaign is done.”

“Excellent,” she said, noting his words. “There is much still to be done. But you are welcome here.”

“We were expecting nothing less.” He steps a bit closer, though his voice still rings out for all to hear. “It is wonderful to see that the praise I have heard of your daring deeds on the Material Plane have not been oversold in any way. What a display! But we certainly hope to prove our own value as we have done on countless battlefields, on many Planes before.”

The fae-bard quirks an eyebrow at the praise, but is still appreciative of it. “I look forward to it. My companions and I will make sure that it is known you are with us.”

He nods to her, then inclines his head to the others. Sheryl glances to her friends, very aware of how different she has been acting this whole time. There’s a brief moment where she worries about what they must think of the sudden appearance of the Fey. But then she remembers who she is with: people with whom she would trust her life. Everyone has different sides to them but what matters right now is where they are and what they are doing.

Chloris Skysplitter comes up and introduces herself to Arvel, expressing her gratitude for the additional help.

Nikolaus Morwing and his students start to come out from behind the protective Sanctum BB had cast, the Archmage praising some of his students for their excellent execution of the spell. Coming over to the fae-bard and her friends, smiling broadly, he congratulates them for a battle well fought.

“Yes, I think this went admirably well. Just the way I thought it would!”

“The illusions were pretty sick,” agrees Igrainne. Sheryl notices the half-drow has covered her face with a cloth half mask.

“Unfortunately I fear that trick is probably not going to be workable again. My students and I are quite drained and I’m not sure if they would fall for it again. But it certainly bought us the time that we needed.”

* Femaer = Mother

---

Back at the Forward War Camp, whilst everyone begins a short respite to tend to their wounds properly, having returned to her normal size, Sheryl shares a private moment with Astra.

“I am glad the Fey are here,” she says through their bond, leaning into the winged unicorn’s strong leg. “I wondered if the Queen would send help when I messaged her. I did not wish to mention it beforehand, to offer unintentional false hope to people when hope is all anyone may have.”

“The strength of the Summer Court is no small thing. I am sure they will help us immensely.”

Sheryl nods. Her muscles ache and the wounds she has thrum a little. She really should rest but her heart keeps racing.

“Something troubles you, Merla. What is it?”

She sighs a little and pushes herself back to look up at Astra’s starlight eyes. Though they share this bond there are some things Sheryl keeps to herself. But there are thoughts she has been having for a while and she wonders if now is the time to voice them.

“Am I ‘Merla’? Or am I ‘Sheryl’? They’ve been separate for so long, but now I see the lines starting to blur.”

“Is this more of a crisis of identity? Or a question of where you belong?”

There’s a long pause.

“I think I know the answer in my heart. It’s just… finding a way to accept it.” She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. “There’s so much I want to be, so much I want to do. But who knows if we will even survive the next battle?”

Astra brings her head down and she lightly plays with the braids in Sheryl’s hair, comfortingly, not saying anything for a time.

“We should rest for what little time we can. We will be fighting again before too long,” Astra finally says. Sheryl nods, eyes closing briefly as she once again feels the wounds ache. “Come.” Astra starts to kneel but Sheryl shakes her head.

“No,” she says kindly but firm. “I must walk, else my muscles will get stiff.”

Sheryl starts to make her way back ahead of Astra. From her right, the winged unicorn catches sight of a pair of Fey warriors watching the fae-bard as she makes her way with careful, regal grace through the camp back to where her mortal friends are. Astra stares at them until the two realise they are being watched. They do a hasty bow and move off to where the rest of the Glorious Company are encamped.

Astra’s starlight blue eyes trace their steps until they are out of sight. Then she easily catches up with her mistress just as Sheryl pulls out her harp and starts to play a Restful Song for herself and her friends.