Fell Shadows, Beckoning – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 30.07.20

---

The plush interior of the Flourished Hook in Port Ffirst is warm and comforting as Sheryl sits besides Arkadius. Her best friend pulls out a piece of crumpled parchment and glances at it briefly before looking at everyone gathered around the table.

“I wanted to say whatever faces us beyond this plane we call home, whatever challenges we face, know that from the deepest part of my heart I am thankful. I’m thankful for you coming to my birth place with me, for taking up my call for aid, and being here in my time of need. No matter what happens, you’re all doing me a great service and the least I can do is offer you the very same in kind, should you ever need to call on me. I don’t need to tell you that the Shadowfell isn’t a place anyone desires to be. It’s the plane opposite the Feywild, and yet equally as dangerous–” He turns to Sheryl, raising a finger at her anticipating a protest that wasn’t there, “And don’t argue with me Sheryl, I’ve seen the flowers.” There’s a mischievous twinkle to her eye as she raises an eyebrow at him. He continues, “Shadowfell is a dreadful, deadly, and at times an outright inhospitable pit of despair, but I will leave you with this: Hope shines brightest in the darkness, and for me, right now, you’re all my hope, and I hope that we may shine brightly.”

Sheryl raises her glass of feywine towards him. “That was very well said, Arkadius,” she says, bowing her head and giving him a wink.

“Are you sure you will be fine on your own Merla. The last time you returned from the Plane of Dread-”

“Astra, I will not have you come with me. Not this time.”

Sheryl can sense Astra's frustration through their bond.

“But why?”

The fae-bard tips her glass back and the last of the feywine falls into her mouth. She cannot put into words why she does not want to bring Astra along. A gut feeling perhaps?

“This is a promise between myself and Arkadius. It need not involve you. A word once given–”

“–cannot be broken, yes. As you say." Sheryl does not need to see the winged unicorn to know she is tossing her mane in exasperation. "Fine. I shall see you upon your return.”

The fae-bard’s high brow draws together under the imperial topaz gem of her circlet as she feels Astra start to move away from the seaside town. She debates saying something but before she decides on what, Astra is too far away. 

Sheryl would not admit it to her, but the main reason she didn’t want Astra to come was because she didn’t know how the Shadowfell would affect her. Astra’s lineage was unique, celestial and fey. The Plane of Dread had already left its marks on Sheryl the first two times she had gone and those were relatively short visits. This time however could potentially be longer – it all would depend on how easily they could get to the temple of the Raven Queen, and if the goddess would heed Arkadius’ call.

---

The grim, dark wastes of the Shadowfell had not changed in the month since her last visit. Tsue was kind enough to help on their first leg of the journey with getting them to the dark plane, offering the last of the golden leaf harp pins for Sheryl to hold on to for when they are ready to come back.

Wren and Faye were scouting ahead which left Sheryl, Arkadius and Bones to approach at a slower pace. The three of them were quiet enough but they still kept their conversation to a minimum. Sheryl had the feeling of butterflies flitting around inside her. She could not say why, but the sensation of something or someone watching their approach – watching her – was persistent.

“There are shadar-kai patrolling the temple entrance,” Faye points out as they meet up again. “How should we go about this?”

Sheryl looks to Arkadius and Bones before answering. “Approach the entrance, with intentions of going in. No subterfuge. Not threatening.”

Wren gives her a shrewd look but doesn’t say anything to the contrary. Everyone else seems to agree, tentatively or otherwise, and so they start to cross the final stretch of wasteland leading up to the temple entrance.

Kraa!

A raven lands on a rock outcropping watching their approach. Sheryl locks eyes with it and swears she feels something Other looking back at her. She hears Arkadius mutter something under his breath, not quite catching the words.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Just… Swan spoke to me for the first time in months, telling me to go back.” Arkadius tries to feign nonchalance, but Sheryl can sense his agitation. He lowers his voice and adds, “We are definitely on the right path.”

There is silence for a bit as they continue but then Bones stops abruptly. At the front, Sheryl doesn’t notice right away but the others are starting to slow down too, saying they’re hearing voices in their head. She is trying to see where the last patrol of shadar-kai could be when she hears it, a voice that sounds like many, speaking to her and her alone.

“That which has been lost… The prodigal child has returned…”

Sheryl’s heart starts to hammer against the cage of her ribs as a prickling sensation is felt between her shoulder blades, her Cloak of Many Feathers rustling in an imperceptible wind. She looks at the ravens surrounding them, how still they are as they watch her and her friends. Not wanting to stop she encourages everyone to keep moving, though the ravens keep watch as they approach the temple entrance.

A single figure stands barring their way, his pale skin, bald head and grim demeanor making all of them stop.

“I see one worshiper among you,” he says, nodding to Bones. “The rest, shall be sacrifices.”

“They are my bodyguards,” Bones says. The elf does not look convinced.

“If you are a true believer you would have no reason to fear.”

Arkadius raises his chin, projecting his voice, “I have spoken with the Raven Queen before and wish to again. Let us pass.”

“We do not wish to start a fight with you. Let us through so we may speak with the Raven Queen.”

As Sheryl speaks, the ravens perched around the entrance stir. She intended her words to be eloquent and convincing. Instead, what happened in Jarlaxle’s submersive ship happens again, but this time with such potency there is no mistaking the dominating and frightening tone in her words. The priest looks at her and in his eyes she can see the reflection of shadowy dread wings swoop up and out from behind her as the prickling sensation between her shoulder blades sharpens to talon points, digging into her skin. She would cry out but for the swell of shadows that roil around her, folding over Sheryl as the black, dread wings on her back flare out, a cold power instantly banishing the pain she feels. The conspiracy of ravens takes flight as the shadar-kai priest falls to his knees, bowing his head in awed reverence, swooping over him to disappear into the dark maw of the temple entrance.

“The temple of the Raven Queen welcomes you.”

---

Ravens rise up from below the uneven, obsidian floor, drawing together, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape of black feathers and shadows. A white face emerges from the darkness and the sounds of beating wings fade to the background as before them stands the Aspect of the Raven Queen.

Sheryl stands in the wide open hall, stunned. She sees Arkadius and Bones have fallen to their knees, similarly to how the priest had done to her outside the temple. Wren is nowhere to be seen. Attempting to recover quickly, Sheryl brings her right hand up to the gem in her circlet, pauses as she is about to touch it, then opts to bring her hand down in front of her before swooping it to the side as she curtseys low.

The pale, dark, terrible figure looks at all of them in turn.

“You have come to my temple seeking refuge, answers, deals. What do you offer in tribute?”

Silence echoes around them in the cold stone and cutting glass hall.

“What does one such as you wish of us, Great Queen?” Sheryl asks, an uncharacteristic quaver to her voice.

The Aspect focuses its gaze on her for a moment as another long beat of silence stretches between them all. As she turns her gaze away, the fae-bard gets the sense that the Raven Queen’s pale visage lingers on her longer than her shadowy head is actually turned towards her.

“I collect stories, memories, souls. But you come, you seek something. I know who you are.” She turns towards Arkadius. “We have met. You are from here. What is it you seek, child?”

“Home,” is his simple answer.

“All souls seek to return home… You may not like what you find.”

Arkadius nods his head slightly. “I think it’s a risk worth taking.”

A cold, mirthless laugh echoes through the temple, not coming from any particular direction.

“I can show you the way. I can provide guidance… I will need a favour, a boon, a tribute.”

“I’m fairly sure we can do what we can to provide a favour,” Arkadius responds, looking around at them all. Sheryl nods in the affirmative, giving her best friend a small smile, before her eyes are drawn back to the Raven Queen. His voice is a bit stronger as he says, “A service.”

The shadowed figure inclines her head. Some of the ravens separate themselves from her form, flying over to the pile of corpses in the middle of the room, beginning to pick away at them.

“There is a creature in my realm. It… trespasses. An enemy of old, traitor! Thief… I want you to hunt it, bring it to heel, end it. Add their stories to my vault.”

“Of course we will do this for you,” Bones replies.

“Out of interest,” Faye starts, “what is this foe? Cause I know you’re all about hatin’ on the undead, right?” The Raven Queen’s gaze turns to the eladrin. They swallow nervously. “I can get with that.”

“It bears my curse. It will suffer through the ages. But this one I want to see ended.”

“And what is this curse, exactly?” Sheryl asks.

There is another echoing pause.

“They will linger. They will see all their works turned to ash. They will suffer as only those who will never taste relief can.”

A dark foreboding feeling comes to Sheryl. The words the Raven Queen says feel more like a warning, though the fae-bard cannot determine if they are in general terms, or specific to her friends.

Or, Summer forbid, to me.

The ravens detach themselves from the pile of corpses, each of them carrying a putrid morsel in their beaks, returning to the Raven Queen as she addresses all of them once more.

“To hunt and track a creature here you will need to become one with the shadows. Taste of my offering and you will track my foe.”

One of the five dark birds circling the Raven Queen comes towards Sheryl and she nearly takes a step back in fear. But something about the black bird’s wings flapping around her gives her an odd sort of comfort, something almost familiar about it. She looks over to Arkadius again and the bird lands on top of the feathered cloak cascading over her shoulders. It gives a soft, growly caw as she takes the piece of rotting flesh it offers her and eats it, the raven gently poking at the circlet woven into her hair.

A cold smile curves the edges of the lips on the Aspect’s pale face. Sheryl starts to feel very hot, then deathly cold as her vision dims and blurs. The shadows and mists, which she only just notices have been clinging to her, have become more solid whilst what was once solid turns more translucent. She blinks, trying to keep herself steady, the effects of the Dreadful Blessing making her head spin a little. The bright colours of her armour, hair, even the summer glow of her skin, seep out of her into shades of grey. Part of her thinks she shouldn’t be able to see at all, but for some reason everything becomes sharper, clearer. A drop of blood falls from the ceiling, hitting one of the pools and it rings out like a grave bell. The shadows that would normally frighten her have brightened.

No, I can see into them! They are so clear, as if they aren’t truly there!

From the dark folds of her shadowy cloak, the Raven Queen pulls out a small, glowing wisp, pulsing with living energy.

“This servant will guide you on your journey. Take heed… Do not stray far from the path. You can get lost in the shadows and then you will remain in my realm… forever.”

---

At first Sheryl was with her friends, following the Soul Wisp through the temple, through mist and shadows. But between one step and the next she went from the silent, dark stone halls and into a dark forest of crooked branches and twisting roots. It is familiar, yet not, and a small flower of fear blossoms in her mind.

Looking down she no longer wears her beautiful fey-made studded leather armour and cloak of many feathers. She is small – so very small – with skirts dirty from mud and fragrant puffs of perfumed spores drifting up into the air with each step she takes. Eyes wide as saucers, she whips around trying to see where her friends are but they are gone. No one is with her. She is alone in a forest with vines and branches reaching out towards her.

A cackling laughter comes from behind her and Merla recognises that voice like a rabbit would the howl of a wolf.

“Where are you, little bird?” a voice calls sweetly to her. Merla looks to her left and right, short legs getting caught in the underbrush and she nearly falls back on her rump, the fear trying to take root, take control. “I will find you…”

No! Please, someone! Help me…

A softly whispered voice rings through the dark to her.

“They mocked you in our name. Blasphemy! They thought to use your meagre form to steal and channel our power. The fools! But you retain our blessings.” Merla feels cold shadowy hands lay across her back. They remind her of wings. “You are our herald now.”

Merla looks around but she does not see the Raven Queen anywhere.

“Wha… what does that mean?”

There is no response.

She starts to shiver. When she looks down at her hands Merla sees the ghost of calluses on her fingers from her years of playing music in the Summer Court, of holding a sword in battle. The Spirit Wisp floats between two thick ash trees, in a direction that goes away from Mother Maeve and the Unseelie Fey hunting her. Her tiny hands ball into fists.

“I’m not the same as I was,” she tells herself softly. “I’m not the same as I was.” As she continues to chant her voice gets deeper, older, more her own and less the lost child she was all those years ago.

Being careful not to step on any errant twigs and avoiding the thickest part of the bushes, Merla weaves her way through the trees. Each light foot fall sees her grow larger, her form returning to its proper height with her armour, sword and harp by her side. Like a moth to the flame, Merla follows the light of the wisp out the forest…

…and into the familiar grand golden hall of the Summer Court.

Emerging through shadowy mist, the fey of the court turn in fear at the sight of her, some reaching for their weapons snarling at her, their beautiful faces twisting. On her dais, Queen Titania rises and with grim determination on her stern face. She hefts her mighty blade, the heat of a thousand suns burning into Merla as she stares her down.

In one breath the fae-bard’s hands are by her side, empty. In the next, her rapier is being brought up into a battle ready position, the challenge clear.

What am I doing? Merla asks herself, looking around at the familiar faces, feeling like she has awoken in the middle of a dream. Or she has been put into one. Or perhaps… this is a possible future moment in time.

“You have grown in your absence, Raven Daughter,” the Raven Queen whispers. The shadows begin to wrap around her. “Strike down this arrogant queen who’d keep you shackled, a curiosity, a freak to be shown off at her parties. You are more than that.”

Merla tries to look to where the voice of the Raven Queen is coming from but she cannot move. Something will not let her.

“You are the storm in the high places. The dread wings over the field. You are the last song they will ever hear.”

Thoughts whirl through her mind – so many questions. Her indecision keeps Merla rooted in place like an ancient oak tree. There is something in the words the Raven Queen says that reaches to a part of her. Something she had not been willing to admit even to herself…

Stepping forward, eyes meeting her Queen Mother’s, Merla raises her blade up towards her, the tip pointing at the spot where a small sunflower rests under her silver breastplate.

“I am more than just a curiosity, and I think you know this. I am no one else’s but my own and I will get what I want in this life!” She slashes the blade down and across, emphasising her words. Merla’s hand squeezes the grip tighter, keeping her voice steady, the final button to this little performance. “Be it with you… or somewhere else.”

The fey of the court stepped back, appalled at the audacity of her words and shocked at the courage displayed to speak in such a way to the Great Warrior Queen. Titania lowers her blade, resting it point down. She nods to her right.

“Go from this place.”

The Soul Wisp darts in the direction the Seelie Queen indicated, flying through a doorway into a dark hall, waiting for Merla to follow.

Hiding the slight trembling in her arms as the adrenaline leaves her, Merla looks to her Queen Mother and though part of her feels like this is a dream, the lucidity of it makes it feel all too real. She cannot part from her Mother like this.

“Know that your Song will always be the one I love the most.”

Not waiting to see how Queen Titania responds, she moves towards the door, the distance closing faster than it should have. As glistening tears fall from her eyes…

…Merla passes through the doorway and though she saw the Spirit Wisp travel into a dark hallway, when she steps through her light feet have brought her into a warm home. The ceiling hangs low, the perfect height for one as small as she. There is a welcoming fire. The gem in her circlet gets brighter, matching its glow before exceeding it. Merla does not know this place, couldn’t know this place. She has never been here before. And yet there is something familiar about the pieces of the patterned pottery strewn over the floor, filling her with memories of warm hearths and clay covered hands.

Until she sees the bodies.

A halfling man, barrel chested with strong darkly tanned arms, is hacked to pieces. A woman, his wife, lies face down on the hardwood floor with a brutal gash on her back. Merla whirls around and her foot bumps into one of the three children of different ages, the youngest a girl still with a bit of childish youth to her face, stares at her with glassy eyes. Blood trickles from their lips as they speak to her.

“You left us. You left us. You left us to die.”

The door creaks open and the Spirit Wisp escapes through it. Turning around, Merla sees the Green Knight step into the room, the mix of eladrin and insectile features of his face perverted into a terrifying mask of a predator.

“What have you done? I did not save you for this!” He raises a long, deadly blade at her.

“I-... I didn’t-”

Voices, memories, dreams, visions. Merla is not sure what they are. Flashes of colour, feelings, a sensory overload starts assailing her mind as the gem in her circlet starts to burn hot against her forehead.

“…our little bird…”

The Green Knight steps towards her. Merla tries to keep her distance but she bumps into the body of the eldest daughter. By her hand is a beautiful spoon with a blue handle.

“…I want the butterfly spoon…”

Merla grips her head as she hears her own voice in that memory. Images start flooding into her. The sound of a deep baritone laughter. Running through an orchard. Crying because she scraped her knee. Screaming in excitement as someone picks her up to swing her about.

“…flying off on another adventure...”

Clay falling apart under her hands as she tries to mould it into the shape of a bowl. Warm hugs on cold winter nights. Soft brown eyes full of love and worry.

“…promise me you won’t follow that voice…”

“NO!”

A wave of melodious music and discordant notes, crashing cymbals that sound like clashing of blades on a battlefield, and the unmistakable exploding blast of arcane balls of fire reverberate out from her in a thunderous force pushing everything – broken pottery, tables, chairs, bodies and the Green Knight – away from her.

In the wake of the powerful magic she has unleashed, Merla stands isolated, alone, silence ringing all around her. The scene is broken, the bodies and the house receding into smoke and mist. The Green Knight tries to get his bearings even as he starts fading away. Merla eyes him warily watching his form dissipate even as her rabbit heart knows she cannot linger. He looks at her one last time. His voice is haunting as he speaks.

“What have you doneeeeee…”

Merla begins following the Spirit Wisp but her thoughts are lost in the shadows. What was that last vision? Who were those people? Why did they seem so familiar and yet she did not know their faces? The Shadowfell is the Raven Queen’s domain, her power in the memories and stories carried to her through the souls that pass to her. Who knows what was real in those visions and what wasn’t.

The light from the gem in her circlet has gone back to being a muted sun, rather than the brilliant ball of fire threatening to burn her. But for what? Merla isn’t sure what to make of these visions, the words whispered by the Raven Queen to her. This wasn’t what she expected when she said she’d help Arkadius and though she does not regret keeping her promise, she wonders if maybe her word should be more guarded in the future.

Then another thought occurs to her.

Am I even real? Can I even be sure?

---

“I’m sorry to do this to a fellow vulture, but in the name of the Raven Queen, get fucked!”

Sheryl can’t help but grin at Bones’ words as she looks over to Wren, singing out a healing phrase in Sylvan as her rapier glints in the dark, silencing the shadow hound that was on its last legs. Rays of fire bombard the Nagpa, the mortal enemy of the Raven Queen they found at the end of their separate journeys following the Spirit Wisp. It screeches out in rage at the sorcerer but Faye is trying to keep its attention on them.

Unfortunately it works a little too well. The Nagpa reaches out and Sheryl sees her friend stiffen as a magical paralysis takes hold of them. Then it turns it’s avian gaze to her and grins.

A horrible, twisted, evil blast from the Nagpa assaults her mind and all of what makes Sheryl who she is, splits open, is ripped apart, eviscerated and blasted away. Before she even knew it was happening she was gone. Nothing made sense. Everything was shadows, monochrome colours, and figures that were making noises she did not understand.

Then one of them ignites into a bright, hot light, before crumpling to the ground. She started to smile but then saw the shadows shift and heard the beating of many wings. Looking up she sees thousands of smaller shadows coming together in a beautiful dance so she starts twirling like them. Then she feels the gaze of those shadows watching her so she stops, not sure if she liked the way those eyes made her feel.

A tall and smelly figure came over and hugged her close, carefully avoiding the sharp, pointy stick in her hand. She couldn’t remember why she was holding it but she liked the thrum it gave off as she did, so she held on, but she was careful to avoid poking the Tall-Stinky-One with it. That would be bad. The Tall-Stinky-One was her friend, a very dear friend. She had to stay with him. Her heart said so.

Kraa!

The call draws her attention towards the One-Made-of-Feathers-and-Shadow. The pale face looking at her is impassive, but there is something to the eyes that makes her shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. She cannot look away though and she loses track of everything else. A pale arm reaches towards her and a black feather emerges from within the cloak of shadows. It is blown by an unseen gust of wind to cross the distance to her and play around her nose, eyes and shoulders before it swirls past her to return to the shadows.

Sheryl blinks. Her mind has been returned to her.

“Ow…” the fae-bard says, touching the bridge of her nose as the echoes of the magic that blasted her mind fade into distant memory. She looks around, sees everyone’s expression of relief – sees Arkadius’ smile – but it is the Raven Queen’s eyes that draw her in again. This time, she does not hesitate. Sheryl kneels down, bowing her head, not knowing exactly what happened but understanding the Raven Queen did something to restore her.

She is just not sure at what price.

In her mind the familiar whispered voice of the Raven Queen speaks to her, the censure unmistakeable.

“I expected better of you.”

Sheryl’s head snaps up, brow drawn, surprisingly hurt by the words she hears. She wants to say something, to ask what she should have done differently, but that does not seem right either. So she stays silent, words failing her in this moment, the bitter taste of affront and dubiety drawing her lips into a sharp line.

Faye comes over, helping her up and into an embrace, thanking her for all the help she leant to them whilst they had fought the Nagpa.

“We’re really glad you’re not, ya know, dumb.”

Sheryl nods and glances towards the Raven Queen again, but she has turned towards Arkadius.

“This one will lead you,” she says, indicating the Spirit Wisp floating beside her. “This one will open the way. This one knows the way having trodden the path herself, in a previous life.”

Cold laughter is heard again echoing all around them. The Aspect melts back into the shadows becoming a flock of ravens that disperses in all directions. Sheryl watches them leave as the Spirit Wisp becomes the portal that Arkadius steps through, Wren following close behind.

"Sheryl? Shall we get going?” Faye asks gently. She looks at the wintery eladrin and tries to smile but she cannot find a reason to. They notice and give her a searching look.

“Yes, sorry I’m-” She shakes her head. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Sheryl steps through the portal.


Continued in ‘Home Sweet Home’ 🦋