The Aegis Accords – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 1.12.2020

---

Sheryl was restless, something in the air of the Great Hall of Fort Ettin making her uneasy as she held a glass of feywine in her hands, untouched. She was only half listening to Aurelia welcome everyone as an all too familiar prickling sensation started creeping down the dark scars on her back. Her brow draws together as she scans the crowd again, trying to ignore these phantom pains. She spots BB easily, her height and silvery-white hair making her friend noticeable in the crowd. Another tall figure she was hoping to see was Arkaidus, but he must have chosen to spend more time with Kassandra in K’ul Goran. Varis and Baine stand together but a little more off to the side of the room, the pale warrior scanning the crowd like she is doing. Many other familiar faces and friends, and many more unknown to her, but none of them the one she was hoping to find.

“Have you found them yet Astra?” Sheryl asks again.

“I am looking, Merla, but so far I have not.”

“Keep searching. The moment you spot anyone-”

“I will tell you right away. You can rely on me.”

“I do, Astra. It’s just if one of the Cabalite is here then-”

“I know.”

Nikja, the young tiefling girl she had spent most of the day with, was standing beside her, an easy smile on her face. Sheryl had noticed how attentive the young woman had been, especially after she mentioned meeting the Raven Queen. Nikja seemed to genuinely love the Mother of Ravens though she has not met her. When the young woman had prayed to the Raven Queen earlier, calling on a divine favour to help them find a missing dwarf from the Vorsthold party, a raven had led the way.

If only it had shown us where the Cabalite had gone to instead.

“Today is the day we mark and celebrate our friendship and pledge ourselves to protect each other, to defend our interests,” Aurelia said from the stage at the centre of the room. “To everyone else, to anyone else who might look at our individual groups and say, ‘You know what? Maybe they could be taken.’ The answer is they cannot be taken while all of us stand together.

“And so we pledge mutual defence to each other with these accords. We will shield each other from harm. Although, of course, the caveat in any such treaty is that we will not support aggression against others,” Aurelia lowers her voice slightly, “unless severely warranted.”

The prickling sensation gets a little sharper. Sheryl does her best to ignore it.

“For our part we are holding this here, in Fort Ettin, a symbol of the Dawnland’s primary contribution to the efforts to defend each of our various lands. That is,” Aurelia gestures out to the crowd, “our adventurers. Good, noble, trustworthy people.” Sheryl hears a few people snicker. “Who are here to help defend and right wrongs, and to take care of those problems beyond the mundane. And this place is a testament to all of you and all of the fine work you have done over the last few years. Can I have a round of applause for our adventurers?”

Aurelia starts it and various people pick it up. Soon the whole hall is filled with applause. Some are a bit more ironic in their clapping, but Sheryl notices those that are genuine in their support. It eventually dies down and the archmage continues.

“We have, as witness to these Accords, none other than Queen Sarastra, who we are very grateful to for being here. As the Queen of all Fey, her presence here as a witness is overwhelming. Thank you, all. Now, without further ado, we’d like to sign these Accords and bring the Dawnlands and all of our nations into a new era of security and prosperity.”

Aurelia gestures and representatives from the three nations come forward. Sheryl sees the silver-scaled kobold and priest of Bahamut, Prelate Loran, and the copper-scaled kobold and priestess of Tiamat Maria Rilome step up to the stage for Kundar. From Vorsthold, Mayor Carrie Grimblefoot follows behind them, and from K’ul Goran, a familiar minotaur, Senator Rhodes follows the Vorstborn. One by one they sign the document placed on a small desk in the centre of the stage. With each one that signs, they turn and there is a bit of applause for them. Then Aurelia steps forward and signs on behalf of the Dawnlands. Finally, Queen Sarastra leans forward, a quill magically appearing in her hand, the last to sign the Accords.

Kraa…

Sheryl looks behind her, thinking she felt something brush against her hair but there is nothing there. Nikja looks at her, asking if she is alright and Sheryl mumbles a vague response. A cold sweat has broken out on her brow and she suddenly feels colder, despite all the people starting to press closer as the Fey Queen of Night and Magic steps forward to speak.

“Friendly neighbours of the Material Plane,” Sarastra begins, “we thank you for your gracious hospitality and for including ourselves in this most ambitious of undertakings. Struggle between peoples is a natural part of the Great Cycle, but cooperation and community have their place too. Who can say what may spring from this auspicious beginning that you have crafted for yourselves. We of the Fey Realms will watch keenly to see what fruits this new alliance may bear, and we take our roll of guarantors of these Accords most seriously.”

Something about Sarastra’s words had Sheryl listening closer. Or maybe it was something else that drove her to pay attention.

“Without further ado, we invite you to join us in a toast to the prosperity of your realms and the forging of the most noble compact. The Aegis Accords!”

Everyone who had a glass lifted theirs up in salute to the stage and those standing upon it. Everyone but Sheryl. She had started to, but had felt a tug, a pull from something that made her stop mid motion. Sarastra was gazing around at them all, her face a mask of resplendent beauty but unreadable. There was a moment where Sheryl thought the Queen had locked eyes with her, but as quick as a shadow flitting across the moon, her eyes passed over Sheryl, and Sarastra took a sip of her drink.

“This is a privilege for me to see so many different folk. It is truly special that despite your differences you come together, united.” The Queen of Fey smiles. “Now, with the dry affairs of state out of the way, ahem… All that remains-” she coughs softly, “is to celebrate…”

Sarastra pauses, a hand going to her throat. There is a gasp from someone in the crowd – perhaps from the stage, maybe from Sheryl, possibly from Sarastra herself, it is hard to say. The Daughter of Summer is transfixed as she sees the Fey Queen’s neck begin to glow red, then orange, then yellow, then white. She stumbles, dropping her glass, the faint sound of it shattering on the stone floor so quiet next to the rushing that is flowing past the small woman’s ears. She watches in horror as the white glow spreads from the Queen’s throat and soon she is glowing like a dying star. Cracks begin to form in her flawless skin as the light is replaced by darkness, her form burning away like paper in a furnace. Eyes widen as a high keening rings across the Great Hall like fingers on a crystal glass, hanging in the air long after her body has been consumed by the fire within her, to drift away like ash in the wind.

There is a moment of transient stillness.

Then an eruption of magic.

Sheryl feels something white hot and burning cold tear out from the scars on her back and she cries out, dropping her glass. Simultaneously, the gem in her circlet flares with light and she feels a familiar dark magic surge through her veins. Around her swirls a sphere of shadows and feathers, pushing everyone next to her away. Sheryl’s eyes open and she sees Nikja staring at her, mouth agape.

As suddenly as it came the sphere disappeared. Nikja comes over to her, trying to ask what happened but Sheryl isn’t answering. All around them other people have activated their own defensive wards as screams and accusations are thrown at each other across the room. The fey are in an uproar, Sarastra’s retainers looking menacing at the fey from the other Courts, the dignitaries, and adventurers alike.

Pulling herself together, Sheryl catches BB’s looking over, a worried look on her face. Sheryl nods to her, indicating she is alright, then gestures she is going to help Varis who has started looking around, his eyes glowing with divine light. Her tall blue friend nods, then she and another halfling woman make a beeline for the doors.

“I’m fine, Nikja. It was just-”

“Those were ravens. I saw them. That was- That was Her wasn’t it?” Nikja asks, a light to her eyes. “The Raven Queen.”

Sheryl takes a moment to calm her breathing, knowing what just happened was a manifestation of some change in her.

“I cannot say for sure, but-” The words get stuck in her throat. Sheryl has a moment of panic, thinking she is speaking in Sylvan, but she knows she is not. Then what could it be?

“Know that the powers that sought to trap you still have designs on you and for their plans… Those arrogant enough who think to manipulate me will come to rue the day when the tables are turned.”

Oh.

“Yes. It was. Somehow…” Sheryl trails off.

“Woooow,” Nikja looks at her with renewed awe.

The fae-bard turns away from the young woman, seeing Varis exchanging quick words with Commander Jadfist as she attempts to control the mayhem that is spreading throughout the Hall.

“We can speak of this later. For now, we need to help. It is, after all, what we do,” Sheryl says, her tone serious.

“Oh! Right. Yes! Let’s go.”

There had been a moment after the initial outburst of panic when Sheryl had to cast a strong spell of Suggestion to keep people calm when she thought some of the fey might recognise her. But by chance, luck or fate, no one spotted her or put the pieces together, discovering or realising exactly who she was.

Hours later, after the ambassadors, dignitaries, and guests have been either escorted back to Daring Heights or especially transported away to safety, after the Fort has been searched and only one lead found which turned into a dead end, the fae-bard slips away for a moment alone to a quiet garden just outside of the Fort.

“Femaer, Queen Sarastra has been killed by cold iron poisoning, burned to ash. Cabalite spotted, but they escaped. I…” She hesitates, knowing she is almost out of words – wishing to say more but unsure how even this message will be received. “My investigation continues.”

Another pause as worry and homesickness finally break through the barriers she has tried to build around her heart since her banishment. Now, with this new magic coursing through her, all she wants is to return home. But she cannot. 

“Please, be safe.”

There is barely a pause before a string of a dozen curses that few mortals could even comprehend wrack her mind, making her wince in pain for how strange and otherworldly they sound.

Queen Titania says, “This will mean war, on one battlefield or another. You have my thanks.”

Then the Daughter of Summer is alone once more.