Stone Hall Recon – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 17.09.2019

---

Sheryl was exhausted.

The return journey from K’ul Goran had not been easy on any of them. They all hadn’t said much upon stepping through the portal back to Daring Heights. Everyone was either shell-shocked, grim, or too tired to think. Sheryl could barely manage to lift her hand to the others as she departed to wander her way through the streets to the Red House. It was late, or early, depending on who you asked.

Sheryl pushed open the door to the dim establishment. There were still a few patrons around, but it was getting close to closing time. The bartender noticed her enter but continued to clean glasses with a rag that should probably have been washed two days ago. Pulling herself up onto one of the stools near where they were, she said very quietly, voice horse, “Faewine please.”

Dark paws went about opening the bottle and pouring a generous amount into a sparklingly clean glass. He silently places it in front of Sheryl, who stares into it, watching the bubbles rise to the surface to fizz out of existence. She lets out a small sigh, gently takes the glass and downs half of its contents in one swig. The tabaxi’s pupils dilate a little in surprise, but he makes no comment, slowly starting to go back to his work but within easy talking distance.

A few minutes go by in a silent stillness.

“I left my home to see the realms, to experience what life was like outside of the Feywild. I had heard so many stories about so many different places and peoples that I just had to see it all for myself. But today…” She pauses and the tabaxi’s ear flicks as it hears an audible click in her throat as she tries to swallow. “...today I saw the start of something that truly terrifies me because of what it could mean.”

Soft pawed hands put down the glass they are cleaning and the tabaxi leans forward, attention completely on Sheryl. The small woman looks up, lips quivering a little as she says, “I think I saw the beginning of a war.”

---

Racing against a horde of hill giants in wooden skiffs – hill-surfers as they are called – to get the word of warning that the giants were coming, that all needed to hunker down, build up their defenses and prepare for battle. To prepare for a war.

The wind lashed its hands at the small woman, but Sheryl had kept her wings tucked in and crouched down low in the long-boat of the surfer. Her hands were shaking and she gripped her harp with numb fingers.

When they had arrived at Stormbreak, exhausted and windblown, Kassandra wasted no time. She leapt from the hill-surfer she had been piloting and cut straight through the soldiers dashing around in the fervor of preparations. For a moment Sheryl just sat in the wooden boat unable to move. What she had seen – so huge, dumb and violent they had been – it had shaken her. She was a small woman, smaller than everyone who was running around shouting, “Raise the spikes!” and, “Prepare the anti siege weapons!” and, “Where is the commander? I must speak with him!” Calls from every direction. She barely remembered getting out to follow Faye and the others from the surfers to the meeting room.

Torches were lit inside, a map of the stronghold and the surrounding terrain laid out on a table Sheryl could barely see over. So small. So weak. Part of her wanted to sneak off, find the transport to the city and curl into a tight ball around her harp.

“I will stay and help you fight,” Mystogan said to Kassandra and the other officers. He had told the group, and Faye had confirmed that he had taken out one of the stone giant leaders on his own with a single spell.

I want to help.

“No, we cannot ask you to-” Kassandra started to say but Mystogan held up his hand and shook his head.

“You do not have to ask. I will stay and I will fight.”

I want to stay and help.

So small and such a slight thing, barely a blip on everyone’s radar. She wasn’t strong, not in the way these people needed. She was skilled enough with a blade, and even better with magic. But she knew nothing of the kind that could fight such large creatures.

“Well, stay close and I’ll watch your back so you don’t die,” Kassandra said with a rueful smile on her face. “The rest of you, transport leaves in ten. You’d best be on it. You don’t want to stick around.”

Kassandra meant well, and Sheryl knew what she said was true, but she still felt like she was letting these people down, that she wasn’t doing enough to help. The minotaur had turned to leave when Sheryl remembered there was one small thing she could do.

“Wait! Please, take these,” she reaches into her satchel and pulls out two glass vials with a red liquid inside. “They are healing potions. You will need them more than I. I-...” her voice wavers and goes quieter. “I hope they can make a difference.”

Kassandra nods her thanks, a grim look to her face as she accepts the bottles. Milo and Heret follow suit, offering up some of their stock of healing potions. Sheryl looks around at everyone, each of them catching the other’s eye, not wanting to be the first to turn away but feeling anxious at not wanting to miss the transport back to Zot Goran.

Faye is the one who breaks the spell by placing a hand on Sheryl’s shoulder. “Come on,” they say gently. She went gladly, but as she walked away a pebble of guilt grew in her stomach. It continued to grow as the transport vessel quickly dashed across the rolling hills to the grasslands, back to the city of wind and music, all the way to the portal that waited to take them back to Daring Heights.

---

“He stayed whilst the rest of us left,” Sheryl says, a complicated mix of awe and repugnance overlapping each other. “I had only just got back when I found my feet carrying me here.”

She swirled the dregs of her fourth glass of the sweet wine before downing the last of it in a rough gulp. Her cheeks were in full rosy bloom as the drink went all the way to the tips of her ears making her head feel a little too light. She squeezes her eyes shut, gives her head a little shake, then opens them again attempting to focus on the bartender’s face.

She starts gesturing as she talks, hands waving to emphasise each point. “I can sing a song that could raise the spirits of any army. I can call forth to the hearts of any living creature and fill them with delight and laughter. I can even charm the most disgusting of people to be more bearable to be around!” Her hands fall to the bar, palms up, a gesture of defeat. “But I cannot sing a song that could even hope to fight such an enemy. It’s… impossible for one as small as me.” Her face falls forward and her hands come up to catch it.

The tabaxi bartender looks at Sheryl, a thoughtful expression flitting across its face. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t,” the soft growl of his voice gentle in the large empty room. Everyone else had departed, leaving with the coming of dawn. He takes Sheryl’s empty glass from the bar top putting it on a shelf below to deal with later. As he straightens up he gathers the right words to say. “I have seen you perform on that stage over the weeks and I can say with certainty that I believe even the smallest of us can change the hearts of many.” Sheryl lifts her head up from her hands. “I believe it only because of you.”

Tears prick at the corners of her tired eyes. “R-Really?” He nods.

Sheryl looks down at her tiny hands, the calluses on her fingertips from years of music making, of learning, surviving, adapting the magics and studying the ways of the Fae. She curls her fingers into tiny fists and looks up at the feline’s eyes, the beginning of a resolute grin tugging at the corners of her lips. A single tear falls from her eye.

“Thank you.”

The tabaxi nods again. Then he says, “Now go. Rest. I must close up.”

Sheryl looks around, realising how late, or rather early, it actually is. She thanks the tabaxi again, starts to rummage in her satchel for some coin, but he waves her away. She smiles warmly at him and waves goodnight as she exits the Red House. Outside, everything is shades of blue in the early, pre-dawn light.

Sheryl is exhausted, but her heart feels warmer. She starts plucking out the beginnings of a melody on her harp and softly singing lyrics to herself as she makes her way to the Ettin to sleep, rest, and plan how she can change things for something better.