Sheyna's final journey
The world was a confusion of light and dark. When she opened her eyes, it was to a scene of demons and battle. Friends being attacked, friends on the floor. Friends needing help. She’d get up, she’d fall over. She saw faces on waking: Ryn, Giblet, Ravenfire. She saw faces as she fought. She saw Seraphim. She saw demons. She went for the kill, again and again. She finished the demon wasting Seraphim on the third try, and the world went black once more.
“Oh no…”
Oh, I’ll be fine. Cosaint’s here.
“By a Dragon’s grace, in the blink of an eye…”
I’m going home. He always gets me home.
“You were supposed to set me my Hunt”
Why is Ravenfire screaming?
“There’s not many of us left”
Many of who?
“She was my Sister…”
Wait, what?
“…lay her to rest…”
…
Warm hands held hers, holding her, pulling her upright. Sheyna blinked, and the image of Cosaint standing over her dissolved in a cascade of silver light. The world swam back into view once more, and she looked around, bemused.
The room around her was warm wood and white paint. Sturdy oak rafters arched over her, and wooden benches and tables surrounded her. A large fireplace housed a warm, crackling fire on the far wall, and the end of the room was an enormous bar with a lone figure sat talking to the barmaid. There was scattered straw on the floor, snow falling outside the windows, and someone, somewhere, was quietly playing Colours.
As the elf took a step towards the bar, the barmaid there raised her head and smiled at Sheyna. Sheyna paused, trying desperately to place her - her features were so familiar - she swore she’d known her all her life, but couldn’t place where they had actually met.
Then the other figure at the bar turned around, saw her and all other thoughts became irrelevant. He leapt to his feet, running to hug her. His bandana was askew, as usual, and his shirt looked like it had never seen a hot iron, ever.
“Arrius?”
“Sheyna!”
She crushed him close in a hug, squeezing him so tight he squeaked in protest. She simply stood there holding him, until he squirmed free and pointed at the bar, at the two glasses of cherry brandy waiting there. She looked at the barmaid again, and suddenly she knew exactly where she was, and who she was looking at.
But that means…
She stopped, her hand just short of the glass.
“No, no no no, I can’t be dead. What about the others? What about Cosaint? Ryn? Ravenfire and Giblet -“
The barmaid placed a gentle hand on Sheyna’s arm, and said softly
“Don’t worry. Drink, and you’ll feel much better.”
Her voice was like silver moonlight flowing over the bar. It calmed and eased, gentle and melodious. She took the glass, necking the drink without thinking, and then…
It was as if she was looking through the eyes of a bird in the tree behind the amphitheatre. Below her were the Lions, battered, tired, sad. At the back were her friends, clustered around the remains Cosaint had brought back. A healers Guild sash had been placed across her. Her brother was giving something to Lenia. Ravenfire and Ryn were there by her side. Elspeth was casting something. Around her, all those who she had cared about. They had made it out after all. But where was Giblet? She closed her eyes as the realisation struck her - he would never have left her behind…
Sheyna looked back up at the barmaid, and She took the elf’s hand. Again, the words flowed like liquid song.
“If I can find him, I will. I’ll make sure he gets to where he wants to be. Just like you, who always kept me in your heart…”
There was an almighty crash from behind them, as the door to the bar exploded inwards. Shards of wood flew everywhere, and the wind howled in through the doorway like the cries of a thousand baying hounds. A lone figure stood there, bare to the waist, blue woad swirling across his flesh. But within that figure burned the barely suppressed fury of the Wyld and all its inhabitants, and that power surged in and spread to fill the room as the figure pointed at Sheyna and bellowed
“That one is Mine, Bitch!”
The barmaid stepped out in front of Sheyna, Arrius by Her side. Sheyna’s baby brother gave his sister a jaunty wink and drew his mace. Together, they stood between her and Malar as the pub dissolved into a chaotic maelstrom of Ancestral fury. Malar’s furious roar filled her ears, and it was like a giant beast was digging its claws in and tearing her apart as the Silver light wrapped itself around her -
*My final gift to you, my loyal daughter. You have earned this, many times over*
There was a tearing, a single moment of intense agony and the world exploded into white light, blood and swirling silver skirt folds, with a furious roaring ringing in her ears - and then there was darkness once more.
Sheyna cautiously opened her eyes again. It was dark, and in the distance she could hear the soft swoosh of wings on the night breeze, fading into the distance. Within her there was a gaping hole, an aching sense of something valuable having been taken away, but it was rapidly healing over, filling with soft silver light and a familiar gentle warmth. She eased herself up off the floor, taking a look around her. She caught a glimpse of a panic-stricken young lanceman vanishing through a flower-covered arch at the end of what appeared to be a well-tended garden, before she realised that she was furry. Closing her eyes, she calmed herself, drawing all the power into herself and down to her tummy, before letting it back out through her link to the Planes of Life and smoothing the fur away in favour of skin. 30 breaths later, and she reopened her eyes and tried to work out where she was. It was a pleasant little garden courtyard, with a fountain in the middle and young trees lining the edges. Soft mossy grass coated the floor, and above the doorway the youngster had bolted through there hung a banner - it read “Welcome to New New Durholme”.
She stood, staring at that, not quite hoping to believe, when the sound of footsteps running back down the corridor echoed from the archway, and a painfully familiar voice could be heard complaining “Who the bloody hell thought it was a good idea to send that sodding avalonian tabbycat here: If I ever find out who did it I’ll-“
The figure came piling around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of the elf.
Sheyna stood and stared. Leather armour, half on and with strings dangling. His tabard not quite tucked into the belt correctly. A long bonesword, held loosely in one hand whilst the other was ready to cast. Green and black warpaint, smudged across the nose and one cheek. Floppy hair, tussled and refusing to stay put. Bright blue eyes, currently in that adorable expression of having been hit round the back of the head by a plank. There was a moment of stunned silence, neither side moving, just staring.
Then Lemming flung down the sword, scooped Sheyna up into an embrace, and she knew as they kissed that everything was going to be just fine.
She was home.
“Oh no…”
Oh, I’ll be fine. Cosaint’s here.
“By a Dragon’s grace, in the blink of an eye…”
I’m going home. He always gets me home.
“You were supposed to set me my Hunt”
Why is Ravenfire screaming?
“There’s not many of us left”
Many of who?
“She was my Sister…”
Wait, what?
“…lay her to rest…”
…
Warm hands held hers, holding her, pulling her upright. Sheyna blinked, and the image of Cosaint standing over her dissolved in a cascade of silver light. The world swam back into view once more, and she looked around, bemused.
The room around her was warm wood and white paint. Sturdy oak rafters arched over her, and wooden benches and tables surrounded her. A large fireplace housed a warm, crackling fire on the far wall, and the end of the room was an enormous bar with a lone figure sat talking to the barmaid. There was scattered straw on the floor, snow falling outside the windows, and someone, somewhere, was quietly playing Colours.
As the elf took a step towards the bar, the barmaid there raised her head and smiled at Sheyna. Sheyna paused, trying desperately to place her - her features were so familiar - she swore she’d known her all her life, but couldn’t place where they had actually met.
Then the other figure at the bar turned around, saw her and all other thoughts became irrelevant. He leapt to his feet, running to hug her. His bandana was askew, as usual, and his shirt looked like it had never seen a hot iron, ever.
“Arrius?”
“Sheyna!”
She crushed him close in a hug, squeezing him so tight he squeaked in protest. She simply stood there holding him, until he squirmed free and pointed at the bar, at the two glasses of cherry brandy waiting there. She looked at the barmaid again, and suddenly she knew exactly where she was, and who she was looking at.
But that means…
She stopped, her hand just short of the glass.
“No, no no no, I can’t be dead. What about the others? What about Cosaint? Ryn? Ravenfire and Giblet -“
The barmaid placed a gentle hand on Sheyna’s arm, and said softly
“Don’t worry. Drink, and you’ll feel much better.”
Her voice was like silver moonlight flowing over the bar. It calmed and eased, gentle and melodious. She took the glass, necking the drink without thinking, and then…
It was as if she was looking through the eyes of a bird in the tree behind the amphitheatre. Below her were the Lions, battered, tired, sad. At the back were her friends, clustered around the remains Cosaint had brought back. A healers Guild sash had been placed across her. Her brother was giving something to Lenia. Ravenfire and Ryn were there by her side. Elspeth was casting something. Around her, all those who she had cared about. They had made it out after all. But where was Giblet? She closed her eyes as the realisation struck her - he would never have left her behind…
Sheyna looked back up at the barmaid, and She took the elf’s hand. Again, the words flowed like liquid song.
“If I can find him, I will. I’ll make sure he gets to where he wants to be. Just like you, who always kept me in your heart…”
There was an almighty crash from behind them, as the door to the bar exploded inwards. Shards of wood flew everywhere, and the wind howled in through the doorway like the cries of a thousand baying hounds. A lone figure stood there, bare to the waist, blue woad swirling across his flesh. But within that figure burned the barely suppressed fury of the Wyld and all its inhabitants, and that power surged in and spread to fill the room as the figure pointed at Sheyna and bellowed
“That one is Mine, Bitch!”
The barmaid stepped out in front of Sheyna, Arrius by Her side. Sheyna’s baby brother gave his sister a jaunty wink and drew his mace. Together, they stood between her and Malar as the pub dissolved into a chaotic maelstrom of Ancestral fury. Malar’s furious roar filled her ears, and it was like a giant beast was digging its claws in and tearing her apart as the Silver light wrapped itself around her -
*My final gift to you, my loyal daughter. You have earned this, many times over*
There was a tearing, a single moment of intense agony and the world exploded into white light, blood and swirling silver skirt folds, with a furious roaring ringing in her ears - and then there was darkness once more.
Sheyna cautiously opened her eyes again. It was dark, and in the distance she could hear the soft swoosh of wings on the night breeze, fading into the distance. Within her there was a gaping hole, an aching sense of something valuable having been taken away, but it was rapidly healing over, filling with soft silver light and a familiar gentle warmth. She eased herself up off the floor, taking a look around her. She caught a glimpse of a panic-stricken young lanceman vanishing through a flower-covered arch at the end of what appeared to be a well-tended garden, before she realised that she was furry. Closing her eyes, she calmed herself, drawing all the power into herself and down to her tummy, before letting it back out through her link to the Planes of Life and smoothing the fur away in favour of skin. 30 breaths later, and she reopened her eyes and tried to work out where she was. It was a pleasant little garden courtyard, with a fountain in the middle and young trees lining the edges. Soft mossy grass coated the floor, and above the doorway the youngster had bolted through there hung a banner - it read “Welcome to New New Durholme”.
She stood, staring at that, not quite hoping to believe, when the sound of footsteps running back down the corridor echoed from the archway, and a painfully familiar voice could be heard complaining “Who the bloody hell thought it was a good idea to send that sodding avalonian tabbycat here: If I ever find out who did it I’ll-“
The figure came piling around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of the elf.
Sheyna stood and stared. Leather armour, half on and with strings dangling. His tabard not quite tucked into the belt correctly. A long bonesword, held loosely in one hand whilst the other was ready to cast. Green and black warpaint, smudged across the nose and one cheek. Floppy hair, tussled and refusing to stay put. Bright blue eyes, currently in that adorable expression of having been hit round the back of the head by a plank. There was a moment of stunned silence, neither side moving, just staring.
Then Lemming flung down the sword, scooped Sheyna up into an embrace, and she knew as they kissed that everything was going to be just fine.
She was home.