The Knight is Darkest... – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 8.10.20

---

“Lady Antonia, you shame the boy.”

Lady Cheryn’s tone is sharp like the sting of a slap. Sheryl looks at the knight, the self righteous way her nose has turned up at the words spoken by the knight out of time, of her past love and the fondness of that love remembered.

“Please, let us return to the matter at hand,” Lady Cheryn continues, her tone clearly meant to be the end of the discussion.

But Lady Antonia it seems is not put off.

“Shame him? I speak only of the tenderness shared by lovers. How, shame him!”

There is a slight lift to the fae-bard’s lips as Astra nods her head in agreement. In contrast, the dark skinned knight gives the fair haired Lady Antonia a long, hard look.

“Perhaps two centuries ago such talk was as common as the grass beneath our feet. But much has changed in your absence, lady. A knight of noble breeding does not discuss matters of the bedchamber, not at a council of war, and especially not with a spurless boy.”

Lady Antonia’s jaw becomes hard as mountain rock.

“Doth not the Bringer of the Dawn, the Lord of Birth and Renewal, desire that we exult in love and passion, in what joy our mortal frames are fit for, and in the very act of creation? I hope that we have not fallen so far from virtue as to forget that the opposite of death is life, and life well lived.”

“Here here,” Baine chimes in with a grin.

Lady Cheryn is silent as she continues to stare down Lady Antonia. The three squires look back and forth between the two knights, uncertain what to do and the moment stretches out for an uncomfortably long time.

Quick as a fox and just as deftly, Sheryl having enough, elegantly jumps down from Astra, walks between the two imposing knights and addresses Lady Cheryn.

“You must understand,” Sheryl starts, her voice firm but not without a gentleness to it, “Lady Antonia hasn’t been around for all of these changes. It is not, I think, a bad thing for her to revel in the things she is familiar with.” Something passes across her face and for a moment the fey in her really shines through. “I would be cautious on how you chastise or correct her. Have you been dead and gone for nearly 200 years to suddenly come back to see the world has moved on?”

“Careful, Merla,” Astra cautions gently.

Sheryl eases off whatever it was she was doing, not sure if it was her words or something else Astra was sensing in her. But even she felt the something that was stirring within her settle back down.

“Lady Sheryl.”

It was odd, hearing the title paired with the name she chooses to go by in the Mortal Realms. It wasn’t unpleasant, but there was something about it that quietened her even more.

Sheryl turns to face Lady Antonia and sees a familiar, hard and unreadable expression.

“Thy words, though well intentioned, are misguided. I need not your aid to fight my battles,” she says curtly.

Then the knight brushes past the fae-bard and heads into the pavilion, Sheryl’s eyes watching her as she goes. The “shamed” squire has gone over to where the horses are tethered in the hopes of getting away from the lingering awkward atmosphere. From the corner of her eye Sheryl catches Lady Cheryn giving her an indecipherable look before she follows the others of her order inside.

“This bodes very well, I’m sure,” Mace says from behind her and Sheryl shakes her head in agreement. Baine is clearly laughing to himself about something as he heads through the pavilion flap.

“But what are we trying to achieve? What are we trying to get out of these knights?”

“Didn’t Aurelia tell you?” Taffeta asks as she comes over, a slight hint of doubt to her voice.

“I’m here to represent the interest of Port Ffirst. But what else? We’re seeking to make an alliance with Vorsthold against the undead, that is clear. Could the knights be of use?” The tiefling gestures to the pavilion opening. He is not speaking loudly but Sheryl notices the squires are trying to subtly listen in whilst they busy themselves with the care of their knight’s horses.

“Maybe we’ll have to find out,” Sheryl says, not entirely confident in how well their discussions will go, but knowing the Order of the Sword of the Dawn will be necessary if Vorsthold is to have any chance at all.

---

Apprising the knights of the Order of the Sword of the Dawn for the increasing undead presence in the Dawnlands – particularly those attacking Vosrthold – was not easy. Lady Cheryn Hale, Knight Lieutenant of the Order, Lady Macida Ambrose, and Ser Lytton Trask were still keeping up their guard, weighing their options. This wasn’t the first time the fae-bard would have to convince others that a cause was worthy to lend aid to, but the minor ruffled feathers from earlier might not have settled and Sheryl knew there would be parts of what they were about to be told which the knights would not like.

Sheryl had not been there when Baine, BB and Ghesh had faced off against the lich calling himself the Dead King. From what she could read from the looks that passed between the knights, any mention of necromantic magic was going to be a tricksom topic to navigate, to say the least. She was wary of how they would take hearing about one particular side of the Vorstborn’s way of doing things.

But the Darites started off as they should – with the reason why Lady Antonia had called out to her Order.

The increasing numbers of undead attacks against Vorsthold, by what Baine and the others surmised was the Dead King, seemed to have many moving pieces to it. They did their best though in sharing what information they knew.

The first piece was how the lich seemed keen on making powerful undead mages that he could manipulate and control. The second and probably the more worrying piece, was how the militia-like city itself was held hostage by the very shadows it cast within its own walls. Though none of her friends had seen it the few times they were in the city, they all described how the very shadows themselves could become solid, and through a strange and unknown magic, these shadow creatures had the ability to move past the Vorsthold wards. The knights were very curious about this but like Sheryl, they did not know much if anything more about the sort of magic that could be involved.

“The undead encountered so far are not mindless,” Mace adds, really trying to make it clear how serious the situation is. “They display intelligence uncommon in summoned creatures. Our dwarven allies are surprised and disconcerted.”

“They are very private people too, distrusting of outsiders,” Sheryl adds, her eyes finding Lady Cheryn’s. “It has taken a lot for them to trust us. But it seems like the trust has been growing. We’ve done enough good that I think we,” she gestures to everyone sitting at the round table, “could be of greater assistance to them.”

“If only they’d let us.” Mace shakes his head sadly.

“They have had to rely on their own strength for centuries,” Sheryl continues with deliberate care in her choice of words. “As it so happens, when a dwarven soldier falls in battle their mages, through their necromantic magics, ensure the fallen can keep on fighting so that even in death they can protect against the darkness.”

The silence following her words is pregnant with surprise. Ser Lytton is shocked, while the two Lady Knights look disconcerted and unsettled.

“They use necromancy?” Ser Lytton finally asks, his low voice breaking the silence. He leans forward in his chair to stare directly at Sheryl. “These dwarves who trifle with such things, can they really be trusted? Are they truly fighting against the undead or are they perpetuating them?” He shakes his head, in disbelief or disgust, it’s hard to tell. “There are no shades of grey. There is only black and white, light and dark. And evil, like necromancy, begets evil.”

As quick as lighting Sheryl’s demeanor changes. Gone is the soft and pleasant smile, the shift so subtle it might have always been there beneath the surface. Instead, there is an edge to the curve of her lips, sharp as steel, as her eyes hold Ser Lytton’s gaze.

“To deal in absolutes is to invite folly, is it not? Not all necromancy is inherently evil.” She lifts a hand and gestures to Lady Antonia but her eyes stay on Ser Lytton. “Necromancy is what brought Lady Antonia back.”

Ser Lytton opens his mouth to say something, but Lady Cheryn catches his eye and with a small shake of her head he snaps his mouth shut with an audible click.

The discussion moves on from there to how many soldiers are ready to fight from Daring and her allies, to speculations at what the enemy’s strength may be. In the back of her mind Sheryl marvels at the path she finds herself on. This is not the first time the Daughter of Summer has found herself in the position of planning for battle with allies new and old. It was only four moons ago that the Rift War came to its climax. She and many of the friends who are sitting beside her now were instrumental in the planning and execution of their hard fought victory.

And here she finds herself again. There is always something, as someone once said.

---

“Baine!” Sheryl exclaims suddenly, standing. “I can’t make contact with Astra.”

For the first time, the half orc doesn’t speak out loud to Frankie like he normally would. It takes but a moment, then Baine looks back at her, his eyes wide and Sheryl feels a small bud of panic start to bloom in her stomach.

“It’s too quiet out there,” Ghesh remarks at the same time, getting up.

Everyone at the table – knights, adventurers, and the strawberry blonde dwarven guard, Kanorax, who had unexpectedly joined them – rose, heading over to ascend the stairs to the pavilion’s entrance. Sheryl could start to hear birds and insects outside but it was different than before, quieter. Curious, she pushes past Baine and Ghesh who had drawn and ignited their magical flamed weapons. The fae-bard stopped dead when she saw what lay beyond.

It was the same scene, the familiar rolling hills that her mind told her was where the city of Daring Heights should sit, but the buildings and people, farmlands and roads were all gone. No squires, no horses. No sign of Astra or Frankie. No sign of anything having ever been there at all. The indication of any kind of habitation was a small cottage that sat upon two chicken legs about a hundred feet or so away with an old woman, stooped forward and squinting in their direction.

It can’t be…

The old crone and her monstrous cottage came closer. Taffeta suggests they all go back inside but Sheryl is looking around, trying to determine when they have been brought to. For there could be no other explanation… could there?

The hag clambers down the crooked steps of her cottage once it settles on the ground. Unsurprisingly Mace strikes up a conversation with her, but Baine attempts to stop any sort of deals or bargains being made. Sheryl is only half paying attention, her mind trying to piece together what she can see and what she knows but it’s hard. Maybe if whatever magic – for it must have been magic that did this, surely – was cast again she could try to get to the bottom of it. The horrible cottage was certainly no illusion, neither was the stooped woman either.

Sheryl tried to keep her eyes away from her but something about Granny’s enticing green eyes drew her in with dark promises. Like something she had experienced before in a dark enchanted woods many many years ago. Thankfully, it was not her the hag was looking at in that moment, but Taffeta.

A grin breaks across Granny’s horrible face and it sends a shudder down the fae-bard’s spine.

“Be seeing you.”

Then, without rhyme or reason, the world shifts, one reality bleeding into another like ink on wet paper and Sheryl feels the familiar pull of teleportation magic. But this is different. It is crude, jagged, unstable and the distance she feels herself being pulled is farther than crossing the Planes could ever be.

Just when she feels she cannot bear it anymore, it finally stops. Sheryl tries to pull herself together before she can fully register what it is she is seeing.

Flames, screams of pain and the distant sound of people fighting. The sky is full of smoke and Granny and her cottage are nowhere to be found. Sheryl coughs a little and nearly gags as the smell of burning flesh hits the back of her throat. Lady Antonia and the knights draw their swords, whilst Kanorax seems as unphased by what just happened as a mountain in a tempest, though a frown darkens his face as he looks at the corpses. Humans, orcs, half-elves, and every manner of people one may come across in Daring.

“It’s the Xvart invasion…” Taffeta breathes in disbelief from behind Sheryl.

“What?” Sheryl asks. But either she isn’t heard or everyone is still reeling from the teleportation they all just experienced.

I have heard about this. This was when Daring was ransacked and burned to the ground by orcs. But that happened three years ago…

Then it clicks.

“Baine,” Sheryl calls to the half orc, trying to catch his attention but Baine’s stare is lost in the carnage around them. She turns to the others.

“I don’t know how, but we are being dragged through time!”

Kanorax looks at her and then up to Baine. His eyes are unexpectedly sad with a hint of accusation. There isn’t a chance to ask what the dwarf means by looking at her friend in that way because it happens again.

The scene starts to blur and Mace who is looking at the corpses closest to them steps back frantically. Then a magical hook embeds itself into Sheryl and pulls. She tries to prepare herself for it but it is rougher, uncontrolled, the magic jagged and more raw than the last time. With everything she has Sheryl holds onto that magical hook, willing it to end but scared of being left behind in some other When.

The moment it stops, Sheryl knows it is the right When.

“Merla!” Astra practically envelopes her mind in brilliant starlight, the relief coursing through every particle of Sheryl’s being.

“Astra, I’m so glad you’re-” she starts, but Astra rears back on her hind legs, her horn glowing bright.

“Behind you!” the winged unicorn shouts in warning, as Frankie gives a mighty howl. They all turn, only to see a nightmare in the air above the pavilion.

A large, skeletal dragon glowing with a horrible green undead fire as it beats its wings, casts a horrible shadow over them all. Riding on its back is a pale figure with large, irregular horns growing out of its head at odd angles. Their face has no eyes or nose, just a twisted mouth that is split into a grin too wide for its face as it leers down at them all.

There is the sound of tearing of cloth from behind the fae-bard and then Kanorax roars. To the surprise of all, the stout, strawberry blond dwarf transforms into a huge, adult bronze dragon. The Pale Rider scowls whilst the Dracolich it rides responds with its own roar.

“This thing all things devours,” they hiss as it points to Lady Antonia and the knights of the Sword of the Dawn. Sheryl shouts, but she knows she is too far away, so BB tries to stop the spell. But the magic being cast is strange and unknown and so her counterspell fails. To their dread, the knights seem to freeze, time standing still for them.

“Astra, to me!” Sheryl commands. She feels her own body begin to slow, the effect of the spell cast reaching out to her, Ghesh and Mace as the battle begins.

---

“Comes the Dawn!” Lady Cheryn calls out. Lady Antonia and the other two knights echo the call as they all descend upon the dracolich in holy fury, ending its existence.

The battle over, Astra descends to land near the bronze dragon form of Kanorax as Sheryl casts a healing word that makes the lustre come back to his necrotic damaged scales. He nods his thanks as he glances over to her, taking a small breath in. For a moment, Sheryl thinks she sees something in his eyes, uncertainty perhaps?

“Thanks,” Ghesh says, interrupting the look between the dragon and fae-bard. He climbs down from Kanorax’s back. “That was awesome.”

“Yes, nothing gets the blood pumping like a good fight, especially a righteous one,” Kanorax rumbles.

Sheryl dismounts from Astra, looking around at her friends, making sure they’re all okay. No one is worse for wear except Mace, but he is elbow deep in rifling through the remains of the Dracolich and what they now know as the Choronoturge so she lets him be for a moment.

Lady Cheryn comes over, praising them all for the way they fought, paying particular compliments to Baine and Ghesh. Sheryl is still thinking about the magic wielded by the undead, pale rider. How strange it is and yet undeniably powerful. The timing of the attack too. How did the creature know where they were? And so close to Daring, not a fifteen minute walk outside of the city.

“There is something strange about all of this, Astra. Time and Death sleep side by side, but they are not meant to be mixed like this.”

From beside her Kanorax gives a chuckle and then tilts his head to the sky, shooting out a storm of lighting from his mighty maw. As one Astra and Sheryl step back a little, marvelling at the power of the bronze dragon. BB, who had been standing next to Kanorax, looks like she has just received a very thorough blow dry as all the fur on her stands on end.

He then reverts back to his dwarf form, enthusiastically talking with Ghesh about past battles they have both been in. At the same time, Baine is pulled aside by Ser Lytton who seems to be intent on giving him a shield of some kind. Sheryl looks up to Astra, the question clear on her mind. Her winged friend nods and they both approach Kanorax tentatively.

“Excuse me, Kanorax,” Sheryl began, making sure to wait until he was done with the story he was telling Ghesh. The dwarf turned to look at her, again, that uncertainty appearing in his eyes as he looks her over.

“Yes?” he says, voice still easy.

“Before, when you mentioned you identified Marduk Lazlokath as one of the undead leaders threatening Vorsthold, despite having ‘died’ over 150 years ago you also mentioned another name. Szass Tam.” Sheryl pauses, noticing the knights have turned towards them, paying close attention to their conversation. “Who is he? What is the connection between the two?”

It is Lady Cheryn who answers her.

“Szass Tam is the undead autocrat of Thay,” the lady knight states, her tone serious. She and the knights come over to join the conversation properly. “He is the ruler of the council of Zulkirs and master of the Red Wizards.”

“He happens to be one of the most powerful liches in the world,” Ser Lytton adds.

There’s a weighted silence following those words.

“Yes, certainly someone I hope is not involved, but it is hard to know for sure,” Kanaorax comments. He turns back to Sheryl. “As for his connection to Marduk, Lazlokath was once one of the Red Wizards. But when Szass Tam went to seize power a century or so ago, he killed him. No love lost between them, I am sure.”

“Whether he is involved or not, the Sword of the Dawn will lend aid to Vorsthold,” Lady Cheryn states with a nod to Kanorax, who nods his approval at this decision.

“And the magic we experienced earlier when we were being pulled through time… Do you know anything about that?” Sheryl asks the dwarf.

“Dangerous magic, Chronomancy,” Kanorax says with a shake of his head. “Not something I have encountered myself – until now – though I’ve heard tell of it from others. It is a dangerous game, these Thayans play.”

Sheryl nods, already thinking about where she can start looking in Daring Academy to find out more about this Chronomancy magic. Mace finally joins them, coming over from the remains of the dracolich. He carefully puts down a few glass jars, a pouch of gold and a terrifying looking mace.

“I have a few questions I am curious to know about, oh mighty dragon friend,” the tiefling says, his pleasing voice honey smooth with sweetness. “What are you doing in Vorsthold? Do you live there in disguise? What sort of connections do you have there? Does the War Council know what you are?”

Kanorax gives a knowing look to Mace. “I am there covertly, assisting the Vorstborn in their struggle. The War Council does not know what I am.”

“So, um, I have a question for you,” Baine says, stepping forward, Frankie close on his heels. “Why do you always act like I smell funny?”

“I can smell the sins of your forefathers,” Kanorax says plainly.

Sheryl blinks in shocked surprise and then looks to Baine. The half orc is at a loss for words. He stares off into some middle distance for a moment then turns around and moves away. Frankie lets out a low growl in his chest, before following his friend.

“What is that about?” Astra asks her.

“I don’t know,” Sheryl replies.

“Fascinating,” Mace declares. “I would love to hear what you smell on the rest of us.”

Kanorax crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will not. I do not think you would appreciate your dirty laundry being aired out for all to see,” the dwarf implies to Mace, voice gruff. Accentuating his point, Kanorax takes a short, sharp intake of breath and wrinkles his nose.

Sheryl sees Mace mumble something about “all in good fun” before he busies himself with identifying what exactly he had pulled from the remains of the undead creatures they fought. Sheryl’s friends go over and start looking through the goods, but the fae-bard makes her way over to Lady Antonia who is standing a little apart from the others.

“The dragon keeps looking at you, Merla,” Astra informs her. “I’m not sure I like it.”

Sheryl glances back to Kanorax briefly and sees the question in his eyes.

“Let him wonder. Perhaps, another time, what he smells will be important. But right now I do not wish to know.”

Sheryl continues to make her way over to Lady Antonia, Astra trailing behind a little, staying close but giving her mistress some privacy.

“Lady Antonia, may I speak with you?” the fae-bard asks. Lady Antonia nods, her expression unreadable. Sheryl gestures to step a little away so they are not in earshot of the others.

“I would ask your pardon for the words I said earlier,” Sheryl starts as they walk. “It was not my intention to come to your rescue, to be a white knight. Rather, it was my poor attempt to let you know that I agree with you.” She stops and looks up to the lady knight. “Love in its multifaceted forms is not something we should be ashamed of. It is one of the most powerful forces across the realms that cannot be quantified.”

Lady Antonia seems to relax a little.

“Forgive me, troubadour. I spoke in anger that was not thine to bear. Tis strange, this land, this time – I am alone, and know not what to think.” She shakes her head as if to clear it then gives Sheryl a stiff smile. “You fought well. I thank thee for thy aid, and I beg pardon for the rashness of my tongue.”

“I can only imagine what you must be going through,” Sheryl says, empathy clear in her eyes. “Should you need anything lady knight – someone to talk to, a song to ease your heart, or a friend,” she gives Lady Antonia a kind smile, “call on me. I stay at the Four Fair Winds when I am not fighting to keep the balance.”