Reminders – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 17.02.2021

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Daring Heights has seen many things pass through its streets – good, bad, and plain old ugly. Some of these things have nearly destroyed it whilst others have helped protect it. Over the past tenday, there was yet another notch on a never ending post of Bad Things Doing Bad Stuff to Daring Heights and Her Citizens.

It just so happened that this time, it was personal.

“Do you think it’s trying to scare people off from using the portal?” Pieni asks the group as they stand in the foyer of the Temple of Waukeen.

“Except it’s only at night,” Taffeta points out.

“Why the song too, of all things?”

“Why not? We won the games,” Merla states, frustration colouring her voice. Then her expression shifts, becoming abashed. “I did casually threaten the River King. He allowed it but it doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be repercussions. And there’s what Varis said to him. It’s clear that Ulorian is very changeable. But we have drawn his eye back to Daring by winning, by being defiant, by making promises. I am not saying it’s Ulorian himself but it could be someone from his court.”

“I just wonder if there’s another goal,” BB says. “They’re terrorizing people but what if they’re building up to something else? Is there an end goal?”

“Probably,” Merla says, her expression dark. “But until we confront them, I don’t think we’re going to find that out.”

Pieni turns to look at her. “Who’s Ulorian?”

“The River King.”

“Oh,” they reply, surprised.

“King Magnificent Bitch-face, if you will,” she continues, biting out the words.

“Sheryl, have I ever told you that I like you?” the blue aarakocra stated.

A knowing grin spreads across the fae-bard’s face. “I like you too, Pieni,” she says with a wink. Then she turns back to the others, the smile dropping from her face. “So it’s clear this creature can mess with people’s minds. I have a spell that might help some of us.”

Ghesh starts to say something but Merla doesn’t hear it. Instead, she feels something trying to press its way into her mind. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the sound of the rain beating against the double door gets louder and heavier. Merla half turns, expecting to see someone standing behind her but there is nothing. Just the firmly closed doors at her back.

The scars on her back begin to prickle.

“Sgiâth cridhé,” she sings softly, casting the spell that will protect her mind.

“Merla, there’s something-”

Astra suddenly screams across their bond and aloud, her cry cutting through the steady hammer of rain. Then the connection is lost and Merla is alone.

“Astra!”

Merla throws open the door, running into the storm.

From somewhere in the dark comes a voice. The tenor timbre would be beautiful were the words being sung not coming out in sharp pitches of biting distaste, almost like whoever is singing is spitting the words in her direction.

        The bridges were burned
        Now it’s your turn, to cry

        Weepe ye a rivere
        Weepe ye a rivere
        Weepe ye a rivere
        Unto me, yeah yeah

Through the torrential rain and darkness Merla sees a sixteen foot tall, hooded figure step towards the temple of Waukeen. Taffeta and the others have followed her outside, stopping once they catch sight of the hooded figure.

“Did you really think I would let that insult stand?”

The figure raises his arms and the rain clouds above them begin to swirl, getting thicker. Forming a mighty storm, lightning flashing inside its dark nebulous shape. A small bolt of lightning strikes the ground near Merla’s feet and she has to blink away the imprint of light that has cut across her vision. As it clears a huge creature of wind and lightning rises before them, the wind and cloud making the shape of a bipedal creature with a head of lighting and thunder. It opens its arms and Merla barely has time to brace herself before a wave of thunder crashes into all of them, knocking Ghesh back against the wall of the temple.

Light on her feet, Merla runs around the huge creature to the market stalls in the Plaza, strumming her harp as she goes. The magic follows the trail of her fingers in front of her before she splays her hands out and a cone of prismatic colours shoot out. There is a moment when the hooded figure tries to cut off her spell but the gem in her circlet flashes and Merla’s words stop the figure’s spell from countering her own. The creature made of lightning gets dosed in a beam of acid whilst the fey – for Merla knew it could be nothing else – got struck with a bolt of lightning.

The fey screamed, bent over as the electricity wracked his body. When it stopped he glared at Merla. She glowered back, the unnatural summer glow of her skin brightening as she called upon the wild and untamed magics of her home, the Summer Court.

Her friends spring to action as well. Pieni summons his galaxy bear who shares a lingering look with the blue aarakocra bird before attacking the lighting creature. Traavor disappears into the shadows on the opposite side of the square, no crossbow bolts firing from seemingly nowhere yet. BB gifts Taffeta and Ghesh invisibility before her dragonfly wings appear and she flies up to get some distance. Merla hears Ghesh roar before attacking the lighting creature with his morning star.

Merla cannot see the fey’s face, but she feels him grin at her before he disappears from view.

She bites out a curse. She tries to see where her friends are, but realises, unless she can see where they are, she cannot help them.

From her left a thunderous arms of cloud and lighting bashes into her side, trying to knock the wind out of her. Keeping her hand up by her face, Merla touches the ring wrought of dark smoke on her third finger of her right hand, as she subtly gives herself the ability to see things as they truly are.

Immediately she sees where Ghesh and Taffeta are by the lightning creature, and shouts an encouraging word to her dragonborn friend. Then she spots the fey and he is grinning at her.

An invisible hand closes around her throat and Merla feels herself lifted from the ground. In her mind his voice speaks, venom dripping off of every word.

“Could you do me… a favour?”

Merla sneers back at the hooded figure.

“You’re not worthy of favours.”

Her friends continue to fight, battling against the swirling vortex of cloud and lighting. Merla tries to grip the telekinetic hand holding her aloft, something, anything, as she feels her vision start to blur around the edges. Cold fingers replace the hand of force and her scrambling hands finally find some purchase.

Blinking the rain from her eyes, Merla sees she is higher off the ground, almost looking down at the fey forcefully choking her. The glow of the imperial topaz in her circlet gets brighter as her anger flares, yet she still cannot see their face.

This fey dared to hurt Astra, has been using the song she helped create for their team in the River King’s gladiatorial games to torment the citizens of Daring. One woman was nearly driven completely mad because of what he did, whilst others have been seriously hurt.

Merla was not going to let this fey get away with any of it.

He brings her close, forcing her to look away as he presses his lips to her ear as he whispers to her.

“Did you honestly think I would let you live down an insult like that? He is beautiful. He is gracious. And you do not deserve to even look upon him.”

Something settles under her skin and begins to worm its way through her. Merla writhes in the fey’s grip, trying to resist the sickly burning fire but unable to do so. She cries out in pain and frustration, fingernails scratching at his hand to let her go to no avail. Then it stops and she is gasping, gulping for air, the rain a cool blanket washing over her. Her vision darkens a bit further.

She just barely sees Taffeta, still invisible, sneaking closer, analysing where to shoot. The fey is still invisible, but at least being held aloft by this fey means her friends have something to target. Merla gives a small nod before letting out a choked laugh.

“If you are so in love with him, you should just tell him,” Merla goaded, defiance in her eyes.

Two bolts fly from Taffeta’s crossbow at the same time Merla evokes a word of thunder. The bolts find their mark, striking the fey in the back and the choking grip he has on her tightens. Unfortunately, the fey must have been expecting her to do something so what would have been a wave is but a small shove that ends up doing no damage at all to him.

“Try to shoot him aga-” she shouts, before her breath is cut off as the fey squeezes her throat.

Once again, the sickly, burning fire buries itself under her skin. Merla kicks out instinctually, trying to get away from it. But she cannot. She isn’t even able to cry out this time. her breath is trapped in her body by the incredibly strong and suffocating grip the fey has on her. She paws at his hand, her small fists beating at his arm but it does nothing. Black spots bloom in her eyes, spreading their dark petals across her vision so she cannot see. Merla cannot even feel the cold rain on her skin. Her whole world has become suffocation and pain, fire and darkness.

“Tell the pale one I am coming for him too.”

Then she is flying and suddenly she can breathe. Merla barely registers the hard cobbled ground of the Plaza coming up to meet her face before she tucks into a ball and rolls. Her shoulder crashes against the stone but she keeps the momentum going for a turn or two before coming to an abrupt stop.

Wincing from the pain but thankful that she is now free of the fey’s grasp, Merla gets to her feet to see Taffeta has managed to do some serious damage to the fey. She takes a step forward but finds her legs are a bit unsteady – probably due to whatever necrotic magic the fey was casting into her. Taking quick stock of where her friends are, Merla bends her fingers towards her palms, positioning her hands in front of her, almost like she is placing them on the strings of her harp. Then she quickly pulls her hands apart and an explosion of synaptic psychic energy explodes thirty feet away from her, catching the fey in its blast.

Clear, mirthful laughter fills her mind. Then she realises her mistake – the fey is unaffected by the spell. Merla curses again, a variation of a phrase she heard her Queen Mother use once. The air ripples with raw power around her.

The lightning creature gives a howling scream and suddenly explodes. Everyone nearby, including the fey, are caught in the blast. Merla takes a panicked step towards her friends, scared some of them might be severely hurt or worse. But all appear to still be standing.

The hooded fey suddenly bends over, dark blood spattering the cobbles only to be quickly washed away by the rain. They look over their shoulder, casting a spell that stuns Ghesh so he is stunned into immobility. Merla is about to draw her rapier to charge forward when, to her surprise the fey does not retaliate any further.

“Well, this sucks,” he says, an irritating wine to his voice as he sulks.

The fey from the Wander Court looks to her, spits on the ground and starts to cast a spell that will plane shift him out of Daring. Merla starts to cast a powerful spell that would stop him from leaving, but the fey was clearly anticipating this. His counterspell cuts hers off and with one final look the fey vanishes from the Material Plane.

They are all left standing in the now abating rain, the atmosphere changing to a feel warmer and less frightening. Merla comes over to her friends, checking to make sure everyone is alright before telling them what was said to her.

“I am sorry Taffeta. I have inadvertently put the town in danger,” Merla apologises as she looks from the halfling to her friends.

“Of all the things my friends have done to put Daring in danger, yours isn’t the most stupid,” Taffeta says, only partially teasing.

“I cannot say for sure they were acting independently… but there is a probability that Ulorian would not be mad about this happening either.”

“I don’t expect they’ll do anything about it but we should tell the Council we have dealt with the problem as it is,” Taffeta suggests and the others nod. “Maybe telling them anything we know about their abilities or weaknesses.”

“Agreed. I don’t think the Council needs to know the details about how the situation arose,” BB chimes in, looking to Merla. “I’ll help in any way I can with these angry fanbois and their rude attacking.”

Merla chuckles a little at that.

“I worry that he might come back,” Taffeta says quietly. They all nod. “Maybe we should take the fight to them?”

“I will speak with Varis about what we can do. This includes him as much as it does the rest of us. I won’t let Ulorian get away with this.”

“I have a question,” Pieni says. They tilt their head to the side a little as they look at Merla. “Why do you use the River King’s informal name?”

Merla raises an eyebrow, surprised it isn’t obvious.

“I’d have to respect him in order to use his title.”

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Varis’ stillness does little to calm Merla’s thunderous heart as she paces back and forth in front of the low fire in the hearth. It is early in the morning, before dawn, and she feels bad for coming over at this early hour to deliver her news. But she had a restless night’s sleep, unable to shake the feeling of being tangled in another fey plot.

A pot of nettle tea sits on a small table with two simple cups, steam rising from their full mouths indicating neither has been touched. Recounting the events of the night before had only served to make a maelstrom surge within her, feeding the frustration Merla had at Ulorian and his “white knight”.

“He was saying things like, ‘Did you honestly think I would let you live down an insult like that?’ and ‘Tell the pale one I’m coming for him too,’” she says in mock imitation of the fey’s voice. “I tried to make him stay so we could finish things then and there but they eluded my attempts to counter their Plane Shifting spell.”

Merla shakes her head, casting her eyes down as she sits in the elegant armchair opposite the simple stool Varis sits on. She reaches for the tea, looking down at it as she holds it close in her lap.

“It’s because of what I said – what we said to Ulorian.”

“This only reinforces the point – Ulorian is an enemy of Daring and a danger to her people,” Varis points out, his voice low but firm. “He must face justice for his crimes, and the crimes committed in his name. Until then, we will remain vigilant, and shield the Dawnlands against future threats, but listen to me Si Penaal,” he leans forward, making her look at him. “We cannot hold ourselves accountable for the crimes of others. Our duty is to protect our people, and to seek justice for the wrongs done against them. The shepherd does not blame himself for the wolf’s hunger.”

She lets out a sigh and gives a small nod.

“I understand…” Merla remembers the look of abject fear Johanna had last night when she sang the song that was their team’s theme in the Dust Bowl Dance. The very same song the fey had used to torture the poor woman’s mind. Her lips press together into a sharp line.

“But I cannot deny that my words and actions have consequences. It’s frustrating – I wanted to protect this place, my second home. Instead it has become the target of a mercurial Archfey’s boredom, again.” She scowls. “The fey that was here preyed upon the citizens of Daring and though he is gone and they are safe once more, the promise of his return to find us remains.”

Merla takes a big gulp of tea and feels the heat spread through her chest as she swallows. It helps to relax her somewhat.

“Telling you what happened is only part of why I came,” she continues as she sets the cup aside.

“Taffeta and the others agree that the underlying problem should be solved by people we trust to deal with it effectively. You mention justice.” Her eyes get a bit brighter, resolute. “I have an idea, but you have had a stake in this longer than me. Do you have something in mind?”

“I do not consider my personal stake relevant to the outcome we seek. I merely believe myself to be well positioned – perhaps better than any other – to achieve it,” Varis states matter of factly. “That said, I doubt Ulorian will submit to any justice we could offer.” His eyes turn hard as milestones. “We must appeal to a higher authority, or we must be prepared to mete out a red judgement.”

Varis looks at her and she can see the fierce warrior in his eyes for a moment before it retreats.

“I would prefer to avoid that,” Varis confides. “So I suggest we find someone who’s authority he cannot ignore – his peers, for example, or perhaps one of the gods.” He lightly touches the symbol emblazoned on his tunic. “I could perhaps petition my lord Tyr. Primus has also acted as a judge of matters celestial before. If we chose to seek the aid of the other Archfey, we would no doubt need to earn our trial, and even then it might be in their own interests to rule against us. What think you?”

Merla’s brow furrows under the glow of the imperial topaz in her diadem, considering their options.

“I am not sure Ulorian would listen to the authority of a god, even one such as Tyr. From my experience, the Archfey’s view on the gods is a tenuous one, sometimes even scoffed at – and I know next to nothing about Ulorian’s opinion.”

The half-elf’s brow furrows. “If what you say about the Archfey is true, then perhaps we will have to rely on their aid to get justice for the Lassitude. It is that or a trial in absentia and a sentence executed by those of us who are willing and able.”

“If you do petition your lord Tyr, and if this trial did go forward, you can count on me to be there with you,” Merla promises. “However, your ideas align with what I was thinking. I say we try both avenues. I could appeal to Queen Titania on Daring’s behalf. The fact that this threat extends to her daughter could be reason enough for my Queen Mother to lend us aid.”

Varis raises an uncertain, questioning eyebrow and a thought suddenly occurs to Merla.

“Wait, you don’t know! Many things happened when our friends came with me to speak to Kruxeral. I can tell you the details later if you wish to know, but suffice to say we took out a number of the Black Heart Cabal’s members, including Archon Varra.” Her expression pinches, a shadow seeming to pass over her as she says this. “I also discovered the name of the Matriarch of the Cabal. I told Queen Titania then and there and she said we are due a reunion.” She smiles letting out a small laugh. “I am no longer banished from the Summer Court it seems.”

Second-hand relief alights in the Grandmaster’s eyes.

“I am glad to hear you have cleared your name – I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to help you deal with this cabal,” he says kindly.

“It is alright, Varis,” Merla says, her smile softening. “I may still need your help. We did not eliminate all of them, and…” She trails off, exhaling a sigh. The shadow returns, coupled with worry now painting the panes of her face. It is a bit disconcerting for the Grandmaster to see. Merla shakes her head, picks up her cup of tea and has another deep drink. When she puts it down, the cup is empty

“I’m sorry. There are just so many threads and I am doing my best to keep them all together. It is a bit overwhelming at times.” She gives him a sheepish smile.

“Not one road leading to victory, but all roads leading to a victory,” Varis says, returning her smile. “We will have justice for Ulorian’s crimes and those of this cabal.”

The Daughter of Summer nods. “Indeed, we shall.”


Continued in ‘When All is Lost…’ 🦋