What the Raven Knows – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 22.10.2020

---

A small envelope has been placed in the middle of the Grandmaster’s desk. A familiar, elegant hand spells out his name, beside which sits a pale green and purple iridescent flower. When he opens it, the writing is a little less beautiful but still legible.

Dear Varis,

Do excuse this hastily written note, I didn’t have time to see you before I left to meet with the others.

I am going to the Shadowfell to speak to the Raven Queen directly. Astra is very insistent she is coming with me this time. In all honesty, I am comforted she will be by my side… Is Tueval as tenacious with you?

My attempts at trying to find threads here in Kantas have been unsuccessful so far. The Raven Queen is the only real lead I have. I’m unsure how we are connected or why, but I must find out.

I hope She will be forthcoming in answers.

“It is the work of our own hands that will determine our destiny.” I didn’t say it at the time, but I believe as you do – I just needed reminding of it. Thank you.

Merla

---

Tsue’s brow draws together in concern.

“You wish to go to the Shadowfell again,” she says, her voice coloured in confused disbelief. She looks from Arkadius back to Sheryl. “It is not a place to traverse lightly, let alone so often as you have been.”

“We know,” Sheryl says seriously.

“We wouldn’t be going if it wasn’t important,” Arkadius adds.

Tsue gives the tiefling a hard look.

“If you perish in the Shadowfell there is no coming back.”

The fae-bard lifts her chin, assuredness in the curve of her brow.

“Everyone will be coming back, Tsue. I will make sure of it.”

Sheryl taps a tuning fork hanging from her sword belt, it’s appearance mundane and unassuming. It would look like any normal musical tuning fork were it not between two others which were clearly made in the essence of the Shadowfell and Feywild.

The Harmonious Order agent shakes her head. “Very well.”

---

The air is sticky and uncomfortably humid, giant storm clouds on the horizon. Astra and Sheryl don’t go up high, caution already taking precedence over needing to push things. But they are both able to see well enough, with a little help from some Owl’s Wisdom for Sheryl.

Flocks of ravens swarm over and around the temple, diving and attacking each other ferociously. It is disturbing to witness, especially considering that these ravens are part of the Raven Queen herself.

“Was it like this the last time you came?” Astra asks her in mildly shocked awe. Her companion was a beacon of light and warmth in the bleak, dark skies. Sheryl had worried Astra would be spotted immediately but luck, or perhaps fate, made their patrol stealthy enough to not be seen.

“No. This is worrisome. She is angry and that does not bode well for us.”

Sheryl glances down to the barren, rocky landscape and spots a patrol of Shadar-kai.

“We are going to have to stealth our way in. Come, let’s inform the others.”

Returning to the ground, Sheryl tells Arkadius, BB, Ghesh and Traavor what she saw. They all agree stealthing towards the temple would be the better option. Their progress is quick enough but being on constant alert from the moment they arrived and already feeling the effects of the Shadowfell sapping at their fortitude, made it harder this time. Maybe it had something to do with the storm. But they are able to make it past the patrols of Shadar-kai without issue, a sheen of cold sweat on everyone’s brow to show for their efforts.

An ear splitting crack of thunder goes off overhead as they reach the temple entrance. At the same time a flash of lightning tears open the sky, like a dark scar. Everyone but Traavor looks away, something about the sight of it instinctually making Sheryl bury her face into Astra’s neck, fearful of what she may see in that darkness.

When it passes – Was it a second? A minute? Ten minutes? – they all see how shaken the half-elf is, his countenance paler than before.

“Are you alright Traav?” Ghesh asks him hesitantly.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, I just…” Traavor trails off.

Sheryl lays a warm hand on him and he looks up at her, startling slightly. She squeezes his shoulder gently and he nods, indicating he is okay, slowly falling back into his regular demeanor. Sheryl lets go and Astra steps over to Arkadius, the three of them looking into the entrance.

“After you, Arkadius.”

---

Ravens perch on ledges, bodies, and in dark corners as they enter the Great Hall. Whatever is going on outside, Sheryl can feel it magnified tenfold in here. She looks around, trying to spot the face of the Raven Queen, a particularly big raven, anything. All that looks back are thousands upon thousands of beady black eyes from the dark winged birds, expectant calls echoing like cries of woe.

Arkadius steps forward a little away from the group and starts to call out to the Raven Queen, entreating her to appear and talk to them. Sheryl sees some of the ravens fly down lower, their heads tilting to look at him more closely.

But there is no answer. Arkadius’ brow furrows in frustration.

“What do we do now?” BB asks quietly. Blue gives a little trill to accentuate the question.

“Maybe we need to give some kind of… offering?” Ghesh suggests, eyeing the morbid body piles with a wary eye.

Taavor shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot but does not say anything.

“I have these,” BB starts, pulling out a small bouquet. “They’re peace lilies. Thought she would appreciate some funeral flowers… maybe?”

Sheryl can’t help but smile, the sight of them a beautiful light in this sinister, dark place.

It gives her an idea.

Whilst the others continue to talk softly, Sheryl looks up to the ravens, her eyes scanning to see if there is one paying particular close attention to them. She spots it, standing on a ledge alone, separate from the others. With a slight nod, Sheryl takes her harp from her side and starts to play a soft melody.

        The first word was ‘dream’ heard while I slept
        Whispering beyond the forest
        Beautiful and sad was the voice, calling
        Leading me through the dark

Her friends have gone quiet, looking at her with wide eyes. Sheryl looks back and nods to BB and then to the pile of bodies, a gesture that says, Do what you were going to do. Astra then steps forward a little, and with each note she sings, with each string she plucks, Sheryl starts to glow like a sun, the gem in her circlet matching her brilliance.

        Then came ‘wind’ guiding me, enchantingly
        Weaving through boughs and autumn leaves
        Feather light caresses all around me
        Filling my wings, lifting up

BB goes over to the largest pile of bodies and reverently lays each peace lily down by the pale, cold remains of the Shadar-kai worshipers. Arkadius is looking from Sheryl to the flock of ravens above, as more of them start to descend lower and lower, coming closer and closer. Ghesh also notices how the birds are stirring, their calls becoming quieter and quieter as Sheryl’s voice builds and builds, gathering a confidence that only performing can do.

        Not a tear did I shed as I flew out of sight
        Weightless in harmony
        Maybe one day I can fly over
        To the paradise we once shared…

Sheryl’s voice echoes throughout the cavernous hall, the music she has been making a warm beacon to her friends. But like sudden lightning, another voice, one made of many, drenched in power, disjointed and full of anger, slices through the song, ending its call. This voice is all around them and there is no escaping its wrath.

“You dare approach, intruders. Thieves, all! Everywhere!”

They share confused looks.

“What do you mean ‘thieves?’” Sheryl calls out. “What do you mean ‘intruders?’”

Softly, from Sheryl’s right she hears Traavor mutter, “I mean, I am a thief.”

“I don’t think that’s what she means,” Astra says quietly to Sheryl.

The ravens start to cry out, getting noisier once again, their calls angrier.

“I see you. I see you aaaaaaaall.”

“Then you know why we are here,” Sheryl enunciated, brow drawing together as she watched the ravens. She gives Arkadius an encouraging look.

“Just here for a chat,” Ghesh adds, also looking at the agitated ravens.

“Yes my Queen, we’ve been here to serve you before and I am here to serve you again,” Arkadius says, placatingly.

“On your knees when you beg of me!”

“Wow,” Traavor utters. All of them feel cowed, but none of them kneel.

Sheryl’s brow draws together further, a line appearing beneath her circlet.

“Arkadius,” she starts, but keeps her eyes on the ravens above, “there’s something wrong here.”

His mouth is set in a grim line. “She is different, yes.”

“Merla, what are you thinking?” Astra asks her, her wings starting to puff out as an instinct to take to wing is battling with her mistress’ command to stay.

“That the only way out is through.”

“What has happened? Who’s hurt you?” Sheryl demands, her brazenness carrying her voice through the rustling feathers and cries. BB looks at her in a slight panic. “Can you be hurt?” she adds softly, not in doubt but in concern.

The ravens, in their agitation, begin to take flight. It is like a wave, building into a swirling vortex of shadows, feathers and talons. Some still stay on the obsidian glass ledges, calling angrily down at them from their purchases.

“She is calling us thieves…” BB starts, eyeing the larger birds as Blue lands on her shoulder, shakily tucking in close to BB’s neck. “What do you think we stole?” she throws out to the ravens swarming overhead.

Everyone instinctually presses in closer to one another, a foreboding feeling of something dreadful about to come crashing down on them.

“We can’t return what we have supposedly stolen if you don’t tell us what it is!” the firbolg shouts.

“Thieves come to presume and take what is mine. You have taken from me. This will not be allowed, it will not go unpunished!”

More ravens take flight and begin to circle down from the upper reaches before diving down towards Sheryl and her friends. Astra rears back striking out with her hooves in anger, but Sheryl brings her to heel, cautioning about not being able to see where the others are. Jagged talons and sharp beaks flash around her and Sheryl feels phantom pains coming from the scars on her back. She calls out to Arkadius and BB, to Ghesh and Taavor but they do not answer her.

The pain from the scars increases, growing white hot as she feels something is being torn away from her, a gift that was once given freely but is now being stolen away. A cold sweat breaks out across her body and Sheryl shudders, lamenting that which has been lost to her.

“Merla! Merla!! Are you alright? Please, answer me!”

She opens her eyes and looks down, surprised to see she is still on Astra.

“I- don’t know,” the small fae-woman responds, shakily. Her hand reaches out to touch the soft moonstone coloured hair of Astra’s neck and she feels like she is coming back to herself. But something is wrong. She can feel how tenuous the bond is linking them and worry grips her heart. “Astra, I can barely hear you. Are you alright?”

“I am well,” the winged unicorn assures her mistress but her voice sounds like it comes from a great distance rather than directly and clearly into her mind. “But it is hard to hear you. This Raven Queen is trying to cut us off from one another.”

The fae-bard looks around and all she sees is blackness. No light, no Great Hall. Just a void of emptiness.

“I cannot see the others,” she falters. Astra seems to be standing but there was backness everywhere. How could that be possible?

Then the Raven Queen, voice dripping in anger, composed of many voices all speaking as one, pierces her thoughts.

“You think you can make demands of me?
You are nothing!
You came for answers, yet you bring a thief I see!! Taste the rotten fruit of your labours.
You all squirm and wiggle, trying to escape, but it is too late!
Strands of red and blue, black and gold and grey.
None escapes the Weave of Fate!
Knotted with what was and is, leading to what might yet be…
All are parts of my glorious tapestry.”

She has to close her eyes as they cannot seem to find any purchase to get any depth perception. She feels dizzy, light headed, and the dull, throbbing ache from her back still pulls at her mind. Everything that has happened has done something to her senses. She knows she is sitting stride Astra, who even now is calling to her, but her voice is so far away. Is she truly with her? Is she even real?

Am I even real?

Blue topaz eyes open, looking around to see if there is anything in the black void which surrounds her. But Merla hears nothing. Sees nothing. There is just utter and complete darkness. There is no one around her and even though one of Astra’s sky-blue eyes looks back at her, the voice she hears is barely a whisper.

“Astra. I can barely hear…” Merla brings her hand up to her lips in shock.

She hadn’t intended to speak aloud. For some reason she couldn’t communicate through their bond. Something was broken in her mind, a connection that used to be there blocked. Tears start to well up in her eyes. It was worse having Astra here and not being able to hear her or speak with her, than being alone outright.

“Astra… don’t leave me,” Merla utters as silent tears fall from her eyes like moondrops in a night sky. Astra looks at her mistress, distress clear in the swiveling of her ears but Merla cannot hear anything now. Her small tanned hand threads through the pale hair of Astra’s mane, gripping it like a drowning man would a lifeline.

From behind them, Merla hears a soft sound, like someone exhaling. Astra promptly turns around to face it, ready to charge, her wings already half extended, but waiting on her mistress’ command. Merla blinks away the tears ready for something to attack them. What she sees, stops her short.

Before them sits a lone figure, pale as a corpse, tunic of green and gold soaked in old blood. The man stands up in one smooth, graceful motion, much like he would have in life. Merla’s hand subtly moves over to the sword on her left hip. He flashes her a murderous grin.

“Ah, the Lady Merla returns for another bout. You cheated me out of my victory last time we sparred.”

Arvel picks a familiar pin from his lapel; a black obsidian talisman with a raven feather attached to it. He seems to study it for a moment and then tosses it away, carelessly.

“We won’t need that again. This time I will carve you up. Let that be what they remember of me. Your pain shall be legendary.”

The eladrin commander draws his two familiar curved swords, one humming and one crackling with energy. Merla sits up straighter, the earlier panic and doubt pushed from her mind as a commanding and slightly imposing presence seems to come over her.

“I was not the one that truly killed you, Arvel,” Merla says, voice getting deeper as she draws her dancing rapier, its own musical hum filling the air. “But if it means I have to stop you again, to lay you to rest properly, so be it.”

Arvel sneers at her provocatively but she does not rise to it. Instead, she goes still, a fermata suspending this moment before the symphony continues on. There is a sadness to her eyes as she looks at him, her other hand not holding her rapier, goingto her harp.

“I did try to bring you back but Her hold on your soul was too strong. Fate, it seems, wanted you to stay dead.”

“If you thought that I wanted for this to happen, then you are more of a fool than I even thought you were,” Arvel scoffs at her. “No matter, I will have my revenge.”

The Commander goes to charge her but Merla’s quick fingers strum the unicorn hairs of her harp as she levels her Harmonious Rapier at him. The sound of the music explodes out one hundred fold next to Arvel in a burst of psychic energy. He clutches his head in agony, crying out in rage and pain.

When he is finally able to open his eyes again, what he sees is not Lady Merla as he knew her. Gone is all trace of the empathy she may have felt for him and his situation. Her heart is molten steel, raging winds of blistering summer heat are coming off her in waves, the glow of her skin is as bright as the sun in the Summer Court during Saliyusuli Veránal and from her eyes there is a challenge in them.

“You are more than this, Arvel. Stop this foolishness!”

He chooses to ignore her. He goes to rush at her but something in either her appearance, so much like her Queen Mother’s, or in her words halts him. He growls out a curse in frustration and starts to circle around her instead, but Astra keeps him in front of them, knowing what Merla would want her to do.

But even in death he is quick and one of his curved blades lashes out to strike her on the arm where he had hit her in their sparring match before. He grins at her and dirty teeth flash between pale lips.

“This is your chance, Arvel,” Merla says, the demand clear in her eyes, pushing aside the pain from his strike. “Tell me, why did you give me that cloak?”

He sneers at her and between his gritted, dirty teeth he enunciates, “I gave it to you to right what was wronged, to finish a plan begun long ago.”

“And who's plan-”

“Uh-uh-uh!” he interjects. Merla's brow darkens, not surprised that he would still adhere to some of the rules of their previous arrangement.

Not missing a beat, Merla plucks a chord from her harp, pulling the magical mica piece up to her lips and then sings into it in one swift and practiced motion. Arvel was prepared for this though as he sidesteps the majority of the shattering blast that erupts near him to come charging at her.

Astra suddenly rears up, her large form dwarfing him as her hooves batter his handsome face. They strike true and there’s an audible crunch from where his head is. When she comes back down he has stumbled back, eyes closed in pain as he covers his face. He glares daggers at Astra as he spits the blood and teeth from his mouth. His nose is completely shattered, congealed, lumpy blood oozes down his face to splash onto his already blood-soaked tunic. He twirls his sabres, ready for his next attempt to hit her as he continues to dance around them.

“Who is this plan for?” Merla demands, eyes flashing with the heat of a hundred suns. “Who did you work for before you died?”

Once again, between gritted teeth and taut, pale lips, the ghost of Arvel Morningdew spits out, “We are legion. I take orders from the Monarch That Was who would lead us to glory. But I work for myself.”

It is Merla’s turn to sneer at him.

“And how has that worked out for you?”

Astra rears up once more somehow knowing what Merla intends to do. When the winged unicorn comes down a wave of thunderous force blasts forward towards Arvel and he is pushed back ten feet, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Merla gives out a cry of inspiration, feeling victory close at hand for her and Astra and the winged unicorn answers with her own cry of challenge. For a moment, Merla feels the proud presence of her companion brush against her thoughts and the distant sound of her voice.

Before she can revel in it, Arvel has danced back to her and he strikes her with his second blade, this time on her left forearm. Merla flourishes her rapier between them but the eladrin sidesteps her swipes, his eyes wild. He closes in again, hacking away at her with two quick strikes that she cannot parry and she feels their cuts bite deep into her.

After the second strike he lets go of one of his swords and it falls from his hand. Confused, waiting to hear the clatter of it hit whatever floor they were standing on, Merla was too slow to pull back from his pale, corpse hand. It darts out to grab her in a vice like grip on her upper arm.

The chill of death seeps into her skin and goes directly to her mind. Memories of her moments with Astra flying through the skies over Daring, of the times Arkadius teases her about being mischievous, of BB’s smile when she saw the outfit she designed for the Necromance Ball, of Ghesh’s comforting strength when they were all trying to help free her from the cloak, Traavor’s curious look to her when they were in Luskan talking to Jarlaxle, of Varis’ hand in hers when she thanked him for being willing to help her, of Baine and Frankie’s infectious silliness in Elysium… All her friends flash before her mind before they are stolen away. Then her vision goes black.

Just before she falls from Astra she hears a familiar Song calling to her…

---

Sheryl hears the sounds of combat from a great distance. She doesn’t know where she is, only that she is softly floating down, down, down… back into her body.

Topaz blue eyes slowly open and see a familiar blue firbolg and winged unicorn looking down at her, concern colouring both sets of features.

“What’s happened?” Sheryl asks as she starts to sit up. Her body hurts, but not as bad as she thought it would. BB’s lanky arms help her stand, whilst Astra comes close, ready to be leaned on should her mistress require it.

“It is over. The others finished off the creature.”

“Oh, good,” Sheryl starts in Sylvan. Then her mind catches up with what she just heard and she lights up with excitement.

“Astra! I can hear you again!”

She nearly stumbles as she hastily embraces her partner, BB quietly trying to tell Sheryl to be careful. The winged unicorn gently nudges her shoulder affectionately.

“I could always hear you but for some reason you could not hear me…”

That concerned Sheryl but that would be something she would think about later. For now, they were in the Temple of the Raven Queen and Arkadius still needed his answers.

Looking around she sees the utter darkness from before is gone, though the shadows are plentiful and deep. Glancing up there is an opening to the sky outside where storm clouds still hang low. Around it crowds a number of ravens that are cawing, looking down. Some decide to fly down to take purchase closer to them as from among the shadows solidifies a form. Sheryl sees BB’s mouth drawn into a disapproving line as Arkadius kneels down in front of the Raven Queen.

“A wise choice.”

Ghesh has collapsed on the ground, exhausted from whatever ordeal he has been through on his own. Traavor stands solidly, hands behind his back, no indication of bowing or kneeling but not confrontational in his stance. For her part, Sheryl does not kneel, a part of her vehemently disliking the idea. Instead she does a formal bow, one that would be considered respectful to other Lords and Lady’s of the Fey Courts. Astra, seeing her mistress do so, takes her own cue and bows her head, though stays upright on her legs. The Raven Queen’s eyes scan over them noting each person’s choice.

“You came looking for answers,” she says, her voice quieter, more unified. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No, my Queen, I did not,” Arkadius answers, his words measured and careful. “I still have many questions and I still seek your audience.”

“Speak, child.”

“Previously I pledged to serve you,” Arkadius enunciated. “In trade for restoring my friend’s mind many months ago. Since then it has become apparent to me that you may not have fully understood that it was I that pledged to serve you and not my friend, Sheryl.”

“Arkadius…” Sheryl tries to warn him.

“It’s fine Sheryl,” he intones, “let me speak.”

Her best friend looks back to the Raven Queen and with a his own brand of bravery, Arkadius stands up defiantly.

“The cloak. Explain the cloak.”

And there it was. The fire that was Arkadius’ soul Sheryl could see was alight in his cat-like eyes as he stared down a god. She did her best to hide her smile.

The imposing dark figure does not move or even truly seem to acknowledge what Arkadius said. However, something shifts and while she is still looking at Arkadius, the Raven Queen suddenly appears in front of Sheryl. Astra and BB both come closer but she is not scared. There is just the faintest of twinges from the scars on her back beneath her split cape.

“You are… the thief. You are… my herald no longer.”

Sheryl keeps her face neutral, though hearing these words are a relief to her.

“I was deceived.”

“As was I,” Sheryl confided.

The Raven Queen’s chin lowers slightly. “Some wish to make use of my power. Some wish to make use of yours. Some may wish they never tried.”

A flash of concern flits across Sheryl’s face before she can hide it, but the Raven Queen does not seem to care. Feeling like this is an opportunity, Sheryl reaches into her handy satchel and pulls out the cloak, looking at its myriad of beautiful feathers.

“I have held onto this because it didn’t feel right to merely discard it,” Sheryl explains to the Raven Queen, her brow drawing together under her circlet. When she looks up to the Mother of Ravens, any uncertainty she felt up until that moment is gone.

“You have left a mark on me. And maybe… I have left a mark on you. But my Destiny is something I will figure out on my own, born from my own actions.” Sheryl holds the cloak out to the Raven Queen and the light in the imperial topaz of her circlet is mirrored in her eyes as her lips quirk into a small smile. “Not being a pawn of others. I think you can appreciate that.”

The sound of the Raven Queen’s soft, soul-stirring laughter echoes in Sheryl’s mind like moving rocks.

“Ah, child. You think you could ever be free of being influenced? What do you know of being a pawn and being used? Yes you were. Yes you are. But Fate always finds a way.”

“As does Love,” Sheryl declares, responding back through the telepathic link they are briefly sharing. “And it is just as powerful.”

A flock of seven ravens detach themselves from where they perched and in a fly by grab hold of the offered cloak, taking it from Sheryl’s outstretched arms. The fae-bard feels BB move closer to her defensively, as does Astra, but Sheryl is not afraid. She is happy to see it returned to the Raven Queen, and glad to be rid of it once and for all.

“Know that the powers that sought to trap you still have designs on you and for their plans. They think themselves clever, but they fumble in the dark like all of them do.”

“Then I will cast a light upon their plans that will expose them for what they truly are.”

Sheryl doesn’t see it, but feels the Raven Queen smile.

“I will continue to watch you, child. Those arrogant enough who think to manipulate me will come to rue the day when the tables are turned.”