Monster.

Outcast. Scum of the earth. Thief. Scammer. Liar. Persona non grata. Reject. Pariah. Husk. Void. Monster .

...

Oh, but what has she said before?

"I do have a special place in my heart for monsters." Whether the literal monstrous gargoyles, drakes, hellhounds and creatures of the darkness, but also the assassins, thieves, necromancers and outcasts in general, the Witch was always ready to see past their spiky exterior; their scaly armor that shielded the world from their true selves, from what lied beneath that was so delicate, so well-guarded.

Kamille had imagined Morrigan's life to be a rough one, filled with hardships and troubles, clawing their way out of the hole that Fate has put them by scamming random people on the streets. She had never imagined the extent of his pain, of the void that he was born with, fighting her instinct of pulling back her hands as she touched their palm. Her smile flickered and slided off, her brow furrowing as her eyes seemingly got lost on their lines - truthfully, she saw nothing with her sapphire eyes, as her mind wandered through the maze of pain and sorrow that made up for Morrigan's early life.

The apprehension they saw in everyone's eyes, throughout their life, something that said they were wrong, broken - something the others realized was wrong. The bare minimum to survive was not enough to feed on one's soul and heart, and it looked like no one around his young self - Kaivalya, a name that felt so alien but still influenced them greatly, whether they realized it or not - knew how to handle that.

Kaivalya had never encountered someone who would extend a hand and help them hone in their potential, until Madam Medb came in.

A life of spectacles and bright colors and beautiful fireworks was everything that Kaivalya had wanted so far, not being handed the strong foundation to walk upon. Madam Medb gave them that, and although it gave them renewed enthusiasm for life, a new sense of meaning, it didn't address what was at the core. Stripped of all of the color and glitter, their heart was still yearning for something they didn't know yet, something they had never been given before Kaivalya was murdered by the Wizard of the Wastes.

Something true, unbending. Something real.

...

Well, at least until Kvasir came along...

Oh, but Morrigan was so confused... They didn't know what that was. They were as likely to get burned in the end. They were finally able to put their selfish self aside, stop pursuing merely what was on their own best interests, if it meant to impress his medic.

For Kvasir. As all things are.

It was right before them, and they didn't see it. As always.

For Kvasir.

---

Once again, the silence was heavy. Kamille could comfortably sit in silence, which added to her perceived respect and power, even if - even if! - when she once again raised her eyes to the fellblood, her sapphire irises sparkled with unshed tears.

The Witch was not one to hide her emotions. After a heavy sigh, still holding onto the charlatan's hand, she started.

".......As they often say, one would first need to know where one come from, to understand where one's going."

More than ever, it was a saying that resonated to herself too more than she allowed to admit. She waved the thought away.

"Commonly, our future is aligned with our past. We see our trajectory and we extrapolate a line. Sometimes Fate brings us sharp turns, but more often than not, we can see where we are going if we understand where we came from. And if you are to take just one thing from our talk here today, I'd wish you take this: clawing your way out of the past will not erase it."

Kaivalya is not dead, Mr. Moonweaver.

"Some things that happens to us are utterly out of our control. We try to attach meaning to some of them, but in reality, there is no cosmic meaning to most of these things... Why would a newborn be cursed, for that matter? What cosmic meaning would bring Fate to burden a sinless, innocent being? This is where we attach meaning to things. Outcast. Worthless. Husk."

Kamille idly traced her claws over the lines of their palm. It was clear the lines alone wouldn't say that much about them.

"One cannot run from one's own story, Mr. Moonweaver. Accept that. Truly. I've met mana cursed individuals that made the best of their situations - they re-signified their existence, attached other meanings to their being. There is still time for you to do it too. There's always time. You're not Husk, Mr. Moonweaver, I can assure you that. Maybe by doing that you'll finally fill in the gap you've been trying to - or better yet, maybe you'll realize you've already have what you need."

The Witch finally let go of his hand. It would seem she was done, as she took her glass of wine for a sip - but before it, launched one final jab, clearly intent on getting a reaction out of the fellblood:

"Mr. Sigurros sounds like a great person. Sounds like the real thing."

There was so much more she wanted to talk, but she'd rather ease them into it - if they weren't already keen on standing up and walk away on her by now. Despite her teary gaze, a hint of that mischievous smile was returning to her with that last sentence. A know-it-all, shit-eating grin that Morrigan had never seen before from Kamille, that made them feel for once like pray, entangled in her gentleness and smiles before having their soul stripped before her eyes. She understood, sympathized and still had enough sass left to taunt them.

She simply knew it.

The moment that Kamille’s smile slid off her face, Morrigan began to realize something wasn’t right. Whatever she was looking at, it… it wasn’t their palm, was it? All of a sudden their skin where they touched Kamille burned, a horrified sensation churning inside of them. Something felt… off.

And then she looked up at them, her eyes laden with unspilled anguish, and perhaps something akin to pity. A sensation that made their blood boil under their skin. What the hell was she going on about, the past was necessary for the future? Morrigan was proof that simply wasn’t true. They’d made a name for themselves, a reputation. Even those that knew Morrigan wasn’t exactly what they claimed to be saw them as a charlatan and a liar, not the empty pitiable creature they’d left behind in the White Sand Seas.

Kaivalya was dead. Murdered by their own hand. And that was the end of that.

“I’m not sure that’s necessarily true.” Morrigan muttered in rebuttal, their voice lacking its usual gravitas. No, the time for theatrics had passed - they could mot muster up the wizard’s persona while Kamille continued to speak, tracing idle lines along their palm with delicate nails, speaking truths that they’d never wanted to hear spoken by another person out loud.

Cursed. Outcast. Worthless. Husk.

They tried to jerk their palm away, but Kamille held firm. Spoke about things she had no right knowing. Had she dug into their past somehow, and this was all some elaborate setup to blackmail them with what she knew? No, that just didn’t seem possible - perhaps she could have dug, but it was impossible for Kamille to ever be able to connect them to Kaivalya. The young fellblood had been declared legally dead years ago, and the only person who knew of their origins was Medb herself. And that shrewd old woman kept her lips locked as tight as a Zeinavian tomb. Which meant she must have used some sort of spell, seen their life firsthand…

No, no, no.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Morrigan spat. “I’m not mana cursed. I’m not!”

Kamille let go of their hand, and Morrigan stood, throwing their jacket around their shoulders. Their voice dripped with venom - but not the poison of a predator. The last defense mechanism of a small, cornered animal. Their eyes were blown wide, face clammy and pale. Kamille had to be wrong. She had to be.

Too little, too late, it might have occurred to Kamille that not even Morrigan was aware of their status. Of the thing that made them so horrible from birth.

“I can be fixed.” Their voice was shaky with unshed tears. Morrigan couldn’t remember the last time they’d cried. They hadn’t even teared up when Kasra slashed into them, nearly ending their miserable life right then and there. And yet, this moment, confronted with someone so powerful and knowledgeable, talking about shit she didn’t know anything about, had rattled them to their very core. Morrigan slapped their hand on the table, rings clicking against wood. A delusion unraveling right in front of the Witch of Moonglade. Madness shimmered in their eyes.

“You’re wrong. I can be fixed, and I will fix myself. This ruse, this game - it’s just a placeholder until I can make it real.” They shook their head, taking a step backwards as if trying to find a way to escape from this snare… how cruel her compassion felt. Worse than a slap in the face or a harsh word. “I just need to cheat my way into the mage’s guild and make myself normal again. That’s what this has all been for, hasn’t it? I don’t have what I need. Not yet. But I will get it.”

Kvasir? What did Kvasir have to do with this? For some reason, the mention of him made all fight drain out of their body. Morrigan stopped moving, letting out a harsh breath.

“You just. You just don’t know, Kamille. Even if you struggled, you were born with power. I was born without a soul.”

Oh.

They didn't know. Morrigan didn't know what they had. It explained a lot, especially the hope the fellblood had that their condition could and would be healed and they would be "normal", as they put it. I will fix myself, they said. Kamille was no stranger to seeking cures that look impossible or inexistent.

And she was no stranger to the death of hope in doing so.

Morrigan put all of his cards in faking until they could sneak into the Mage's Guild... And for what? To search for a cure? She woud be the first one to understand the folly in that - as she had also been treading the same path for quite sometime now. She knew what it was to hope for the improbable, unlikely.

To hope for the impossible.

"I didn't take you for a fool, Morrigan Moonweaver," she started, perhaps a bit more harshly than intended. The fellblood already knew her propension for mischief and chaos, but that right there in front of them could've been something new: the grave, stern gaze. The grounding feeling of being slapped back into reality. The part of her that was judging them. "Don't be dramatic, of course you have a soul. And you have in your hands also something you decided to see as a problem. If you want to 'fix it', as you put it, it's your choice. But at least see it for what it really is. This might bring you closer to your goals than deluding yourself with castles of cards that are easily swept over by any breeze. Castles made of sand fall in the sea... Eventually."

It was grand coming from someone who also chose to not see certain things and chose to delude herself with certain people. But perhaps that was the point: she knew how to spot it in others, the same way Morrigan might have been able to see it in her if she was to open up.

Kamille didn't know of a cure to the mana curse. Perhaps Morrigan could be one to discover one? She wouldn't put it past them - they have showed themselves incredibly driven and talented in certain aspects...

Maybe all they needed was a little pull in the right direction.

"Cures are real, at least. Some cures exist, some can be created. I know a thing or two about elusive cures, if you'd bother to ask. But as for your past..."

Morrigan still didn't accept their past and the role of Kaivalya in all that they were now. Their reaction of anger was expected by the Witch - while usually gentle and patient, Kamille was aware her bluntness at times could make her look like a bitch. She was also one to know there were times to be gentle - and there were times to be stern. It was evident that mentioning Kvasir had an effect on the fellblood, and she felt that was a good thing. Despite their own beliefs, they were able to create attachments, which went directly against with what flew from the fellblood's lips just minutes before.

Men aren't ever worth that much.

For Kvasir. As all things are.

"Now, be honest: Would there be any Morrigan Moonweaver if not for who they were before? Would you be exactly here, where you are now, doing what you do, if you were not trying to get as much distance you could from Kaivalya?"

One cannot run from one's own story, Mr. Moonweaver.

She expected them to lash out or simply leave by then.

With every passing word, every admonishment, spoken like a parent scolding a child, Morrigan’s face turned a deeper purple. They scowled, indignant anger growing in the pit of their stomach. How dare Kamille speak as if she knew them? No matter how weak the mage might have once considered herself for all her shortcomings, she had never once lived as Morrigan had. Felt that empty feeling that desperately needed to be filled, but no matter how lavish you lived - no matter how much coin you collected, or food you indulged in, or lovers you enjoyed - you could not fill it.

No, lacking magic was not something that simply guided your life. It was something that permeated your very being, left you feeling like you’d never been alive in the first place, and envious of others who had that privilege.

“Then if it is a curse I will simply cure it and find a way to be normal once more.” Morrigan hissed between clenched fangs. “I did not decide this was a problem. Life decided for me. Alchemy and illusions are only a facsimile for the real thing, but I am quite good at what I do, Lady Kamille. And when I put my sights on something I will get what I want.”

They may have been a snake oil seller, but Morrigan had real talent at their craft. They just had to keep trying any combination they could until they found some sort of antidote, or something. And information on this… mana curse, as Kamille called it, it existed in the Mage’s guild. It had to. That was Morrigan’s ticket to fixing all this.

If at all possible, they seemed to grow even angrier at mention of their past. The past that Kamille had poked her nose into without permission. “I would always have been who I am now, with or without that stain’s existence. If I truly was born cursed, as you say, then Kaivalya was only a mistake. And I got smarter, and decided I wanted more. It’s only a matter of time before I fix what’s wrong with me, and then Kaivalya will never have existed at all.”

How in the world could she watch something like that, see the kind of silent, gutless worm that they’d been in their youth? Their entire family had been rooting for their death. It was only a natural progression that Kaivalya would die so that Morrigan would live. Hell, no one would miss them.

No one had missed them.

“I don’t want to hear any more of this. I respect you as a person and an ally, Lady Kamille. And clearly, you respect me as an ally. But in this matter, you are simply wrong. Kaivalya is dead, and the past has no bearing in the present. I am the Wizard of the Wastes - and one day, that will not be a false title.”

They glowered at her - despite the heat of the desert, their gaze was frigid. It was suicide to challenge a woman as powerful as the witch of Moonglade, but Morrigan had obviously never cared for what they were and weren’t capable of. The only thing they carried with them was the audacity to act greater than they were. Morrigan had defied the very gods before. A witch didn’t seem so frightening in comparison to Kasra.

It was a moot point, anyways. With any luck Kamille would drop the subject and they could go back to speaking as if this was a normal conversation. Morrigan could pretend nothing had happened, just as they always did. But if she pressed the matter here, allyship be damned - they would leave.

The fellblood's icy gaze met an unmoving, unbending stone stare with a thousand stars. Their anger was expected - no one was ever happy to get their past revolved like that, she was aware - but such cold wrath would find only the steady rock of her patient gaze. Clearly, she didn't think she was wrong - but she wouldn't push the fellblood either, as she could be sympathetic to their pain as well. The Witch could reason it might be a rare occasion for their facade to be taken apart so suddenly, without any warning. Well, truth be told, she did ask them if they wanted their palm read, right?

She didn't want to be the one to say "I told you so", but it was clear they would have to agree to disagree on that regard. The Witch was positive her voice would echo in their mind when it became clear the unresolved issues of their past would be the death of their future, if not handled properly.

"If there is anything I'd like you to take from this, is this: People do not get to run from their own story. No one. And on that note I'll drop the issue."

People's past are not so easily buried, and even from the grave, Kaivalya would come back to haunt the fellblood, she believed. But that was it - no need to keep torturing Morrigan...

For now...

The Witch gave Morrigan a minute or two, as she finished her drink and rested the empty glass on the table before them. While she found the fellblood resourceful and highly competent on their chosen field, it pained her to see them on the tracks to their own demise and not do anything about it. But in the end, their fate was in their own hands, whether they believed it or not.

...

So much for being stern and solemn.

Then, Kamille slapped on her face the best, most conniving smile she could muster - something akin to the first smile she saw on the fellblood's face as they first met.

"Now, we can discuss the subject of payment."

....She was joking, right?

She...... Must be making a joke at their expense, for sure...

"It's been a long time since I last read someone's palm..."

That was not, strictly speaking, true...

"...but I'll give you a friend's discount, don't worry..."

How ironic........... That sounded so familiar, except it was Morrigan on her place then...

"So, all I will ask........ I mean, I'm very curious about the doctor... I believe you just said something to the effect of 'men aren't ever worth that much'...? Does this apply in this situation?"

Morrigan blinked, their anger replaced with utter bewilderment in the span of a second.

“What.”

A friend’s discount? Oh, this was hilarious. Surely, she was taking the piss out of them considering they’d attempted to scam her out of her hard-earned coin upon first meeting. But they’d not actually sold her any snake-oil, only the single solar that she’d paid for the bunk tarot reading. But, no, she seemed completely serious… and why in the hell did she keep bringing up Kvasir?

Morrigan wasn’t foolish - not completely. Kamille had just dug through their memories like a sand-mole digging through the earth until they found something shiny to latch onto. Kvasir Sigurros had played a not-insignificant part in Morrigan’s life in the past few months. From meeting him in the Lantern Light Woods and finding him an intriguing mystery, to nearly getting killed by the parasite in his brain and discovering that there were some things that they valued more than money and their own life. Morrigan Moonweaver was by no means a good person. But there were parts of Kvasir that made them wish they could be who he believed he was.

The kind of juicy gossip that an ex- court mage such as Lady Kamille would be very interested in indeed. And now she was levying that information out of her in lieu of a payment…

Sly woman.

“Why, Lady Kamille, are you attempting to scam me now?” Morrigan gasped, pressing a hand to their chest. Admittedly, though they were more than a little ensconced that they’d been taken advantage of in such a way, they had to respect the hustle. “Well. Far be it from me to deny you favor for your services. You gave me a solar in turn for my card reading - I think it’s only fair I return the favor, no?” They pulled out a solar from their pocket, tossing it to the table in front of her with a flick of a clawed hand.

They didn’t really intend to feed whatever fantasy Kamille had cooked up in her head, but they didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about them. They weren’t sure what she was talking about with such a pointed look on her face, but they didn’t want any unjust rumors spreading about them. Taking a long sip of their drink, downing the rest of its contents, Morrigan spoke.

“As for Kvasir Sigurros, he is a dear friend of mine. He has suffered much, and he still thinks I’m this… this great wizard, and I need him to keep believing that if I’m going to purge that god from his brain and save him. I owe him that much.” The first person who’d shown him human kindness. They didn’t deserve to fade away the way Kasra intended to erase him. “Now, I think that’s payment enough, don’t you?”

They stood, brushing invisible glitter off their jacket. “Now, if you excuse me, I think this impromptu heart to heart has been more than enough for the evening. Until next time, yeah?” They winked.

“And, a word of advice when it comes to scamming. Hit them with an absurd offer first before leading into the price you truly want. Make them feel like you’re compromising so they don’t know they’ve given you what you truly want. It might make them more amenable to your demands, yes?” With the parting words, they waved, getting glitter in all those difficult to reach places in the dark feathers of her cloak and her ebony hair before they breezed out of the tavern.

Mischief quickly swooped over to take the coin.

“Looks like I have a lot to learn…”

Kamille seemed satisfied enough with what she got, if nothing else, to get to push some of the fellbloods buttons a bit. Even what they didn’t want to tell her spoke volumes about the subject. Morrigan wasn’t willing to share more about their friend - even more, they seemed to feel indebted to Kvasir.

It looked like there was a bond they didn’t want to admit.

There was also something about… purging a God? What was that? She would certainly want to delve into the subject when the time came, but for now… Kamille watched as Morrigan left the place. Even if she didn’t receive “payment” as she wanted, what she could imply was enough to keep her curiosity up. She brushed off a bit of the glitter from her cloak.

Interesting… Interesting indeed…

The next few days went by smoothly, and most people would not notice anything unusual from one day to the next. There was a static in the air, a heaviness and stillness that precedes the storm - the kind of calmness that warns people to brace themselves.

There was still a bit of glitter in her cloak catching up the dancing light of candles as she walked down the streets. Someone would have questions as to what a proper lady would be doing so late an hour on the streets. But the Witch was a known figure around the place, even so a tad predictable as of late. It was only a matter of time until something happened…

She had stopped to talk to someone in a dimly lit alley, a narrow corridor that would only allow for two people to walk side by side. Her conversationalist partner was safely tucked in her home, an old lady that bent forward over her window to whisper to the Witch. While they had been talking over the past few minutes, the old lady stopped abruptly, motioning to the end of the alley. A large figure loomed, alone.

“This is hardly a proper place for a proper lady…”

“I’m hardly a proper lady, and you know it…”

The old lady quickly recoiled back into her home, closing her windows with a loud thud. As the heavy footsteps of the man seemed louder on the dead of a silent night, he approached the Witch without a care in the world, as would someone approach a friend or old acquaintance. The vibrations on the ground warned her he was not the only one approaching, and while she couldn’t see anyone else, she knew he had gathered a few more to ambush her, in case the conversation didn’t go as planned.

As it certainly wouldn’t.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you, though…”

“All good things, I’m sure.”

As the man stepped into the light, she immediately knew who he was. Almost as large as he was tall, his head was shaved, his sleeveless robes were tattered, and she was pretty sure his fists were as large as her entire face. The Red Fist had a reputation for a reason.

Mischief cawed, his black wings erasing momentarily the stars as he flew by. Whether he was really more intelligent than he looked, or had been enough time with Kamille to feel when trouble was about, he had already begun to search for help, surveying the area for familiar, friendly faces.

“I’m not so sure… Lady Jasnah is not one to leave lose ends, you know…”

Morrigan got about five steps out of the tavern before the ramifications of what they’d just done hit them. They stopped in their tracks, tugging at their hair in frustration and shock. What the bell had they just done? Snapping at one of the most powerful and influential women in the world, the Witch of moonglade herself! First, they’d scammed her, then they’d actually made great strides towards building an alliance and endearing themselves towards her, and then they’d opened their big fat mouth and ruined everything!

“Ginma, what am I going to do now? I’m lucky she didn’t throw a damn fireball at me!” They grumbled, their face pale. Less than their own life, they’d actually been quite excited at the prospect of having someone in the mage’s guild at their beck and call, simply because she was amused by them! Think of all the secrets they could have had access to!

“Ahh, whatever!” They declared after a moment, crossing their arms like a petulant child as they addressed the empty alley. An audience of no one. It didn’t matter! Morrigan didn’t need an audience to shine. “I don’t need that nosey Mistress Kamille, sticking her big fat raven feathers where they don’t belong! I don’t need her power and influence! I don’t need anyone to be great!”

They didn’t need anyone.

Yes, this was just fine. Morrigan wouldn’t bend over backwards to please others. For everything she’d spouted back there, Lady Kamille was right about one thing. There were some parts of the past that Morrigan Moonweaver could not be erased. They’d grown up self-sufficient, doing what they’d wanted and following their own whims, damn what everyone else thought because they didn’t matter. They’d taken care of the person that managed the most, the number one. To hell with alliances with people that might look down on them for being lesser. To hell with the mages of the guild. To hell with it all!

With a huff, Morrigan threw their hands in the air in exasperation, spewing even more glitter into the air that made them cough and sputter as it got into their own lungs. Yes, this was just fine with them. They’d go about business as usual, and continue to grow their own brand. The next few days Morrigan doubled down, focusing on selling their snake oil and trying to put the entire incident out of their mind. Idle hands were the devils playground, and idleness invited stray thoughts. Morrigan abhorred staying still, when there was always something to be done, something to sell. And at nights, instead of meeting Kamille at the same tavern as was their routine for the past few days, they partied and ate and drank until they woke up with a hangover the next morning.

Every once in a while, though, they thought they saw a flash of black and a screech overhead that reminded them of Mischief, and it brought a bitter frown to their face. As with most unpleasant things, though, Morrigan shoved those thoughts to the darkest corners of their mind to gather dust with everything else they refused to acknowledge.

And time continued on.

It was late evening as Morrigan left a nightclub after a long night of drinking and dancing, stumbling slightly wherever they walked. Their face was pleasantly flushed with spirits, singing an old Zeinavian lullaby to themselves when they spotted a suspicious figure slinking through the dark, stalking with a purpose, as if he didn’t want to be seen. A familiar figure.

Morrigan squinted, trying to piece together where they’d seen this man before. As they were sifting through their memories, the figure stepped under a street lantern, and they caught sight of a grizzled face and mad eyes.

The Red Fist.

Shit! What was he doing here? He was working for Lady Jasnah now, was he not? Morrigan took a few cautious steps back, though the man hadn’t even seemed to notice the rather sparkly and lavender-clad circus charlatan, somehow. It was entirely likely that he was too focused on his mission at hand. But what was he here for? The entire plan had been to introduce him to Lady Jasnah and watch things blow up in the woman’s face by planting seeds that they might betray one another, wasn’t there? Or had they truly hit it off, and now the Red Fist was out here on some secret mission to assassinate the Sultan?

Morrigan’s tail flicked behind them thoughtfully. They’d meant to stay well enough out of it, but now… well, if there truly was some secret plot being carried out behind the scenes, then Morrigan could still reap the rewards by stopping it, right? At the very least it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at whatever was going on. With that in mind, the curious fellblood tiptoed after the mage, making sure to keep a good distance away as the man ducked into a back alley. Were those voices? From this distance, it was difficult to make out what they were saying, but, well, Kamille was not the only incorrigibly nosy person in the whole of Charon. Morrigan inched closer, until they could make out the words in sharper clarity.

“All good things, I’m sure…”

Lady Kamille?

“I’m not so sure… Lady Jasnah is not one to leave lose ends, you know…”

And the Red Fist. A confrontation that did not sound particularly friendly, only punctuated by Mischief’s cry that echoed through the silence. Morrigan wrinkled their nose. If Jasnah was using her new attack dog to silence the people she’d propositioned for help, that meant Morrigan was next on the list! They bit their lip, wracked with indecision. Surely, Lady Kamille could handle herself, and there was no need for them to get involved? Right? But what if she could not? Then the Red Fist would only come after Morrigan, and they had a snowball’s chance in hell of holding off a beast like that when Lady Kamille could not. Ugh, this was so frustrating!

It was only self-preservation, they convinced themselves. They were just looking out for number one. That was what they kept repeating in their head like a mantra as they pulled out a glitter bomb from their bag. The Red Fist wanted to eliminate a danger to their plan? Then it was just up to Morrigan to throw a wrench in his plans.

As the tension in the alley escalated, so thick it felt like you could cut it with a knife, Morrigan stepped in. “Did you really think you could have all the fun without me?”

Before the Red Fist could react, Morrigan threw the potion bottle at his feet, the sound of glass shattering echoing through the air. And then the world exploded in a cloud of glitter and smoke that filled everyone’s vision with pink.[1]

---

1. Smoke Bomb 

"Lady Jasnah is a moro-"

But she stopped, as a familiar theatrical voice floated towards them. For a split second, she considered if she should tell the fellblood off while she handled it - as she was certain she was capable of, obviously - but the glittery horny bastard didn’t allow much time to think anything other than:

Oh. Fuck.

As if in slow motion, she watched the flask fly from their hand. And then it hit the floor, as both the Witch and the Red Fist pathetically watched, curiously. And then she wondered if blind people saw in pink, because GODDAMIT MORRIGAN!

"MORRIGAN! AFTER I'M DONE I'M GONNA-"

Whatever it was, it sounded pleasant. But the Witch was cut off, and soon after they'd feel the ground shake and the sickening sound of stone splitting open. Despite the glitter, which had clearly put the most puzzled look on the Red Fist's face - before that same face became covered in glitter - it seemed like it wouldn’t be enough to keep people who really wanted trouble from it. The Red Fist launched his huge, fiery fist towards the Witch, who quickly reacted by blinking away, her image shimmering out of the place to appear, once again, a couple of yards behind the Red Fist [1].

The wall behind the spot where Kamille stood a couple seconds before gave in, crumbling beneath the man's gigantic fist as if it was made of sand. A huge crack climbed up the wall, as the entire building shook. Smoke from the debri and glitter rose from the scene in a colorful cloud.

The Red Fist turned, and was imediately met with a massive fireball to his chest [2], which flung him against the cracked wall. He was quick enough to raise his arms to protect himself, but the force of the attack still pushed him back. Kamille was glad she didn’t need to see to locate the massive man [3]. But that was the least of her problems now as, as she thought about it, there was a high change the man possessed the same kind of abilities...

"Morrigan! Behind you!"

The Red Fist clearly tried to set it up as an ambush, as he had a few friends waiting for his signal to jump in and help. But unlike the pyromancers, they were completely blinded by the exploding glitter. One of them rushed forward blindly, bumping against the fellblood in his rush to do something. 

[1]Blink

[2]Massive fireball

[3]Geomagnetic sense

“SORRY, I CAN’T HEAR YOUR THREATS ON ACCOUNT OF BEING BUSY AND BEING AWESOME!” Morrigan’s voice echoed through the air with a ghost of laughter on their lips - through the smog and glitter, their location was near-impossible to make out. Not that the Red Fist cared. He was too busy with the real powerhouse right in front of him, the one adorned in black leather and feathers and a plethora of arcane energy crackling from her fingertips. Yes, there was no doubting that Lady Kamille was the real threat here.

But Morrigan? Morrigan was a nuisance.

The very earth shook beneath their feet as the Red Fist and Lady Kamille clashed, battle too difficult for Morrigan to discern in the pandemonium. They heard stone break apart where the Red Fist’s, well, fist, drove into the wall where Lady Kamille had once been, crumbling it to dust. The searing heat from the magical fireball. Kamille didn’t need to see to be a vicious force of nature. Unfortunately, Morrigan was blind to it all, stumbling through their own cleverly-laid trap while the consequences of their own actions were woefully lost on them.

The only indication they got that they were about to be ambushed was Kamille’s warning cry in the air.

Shit! Morrigan hadn’t actually thought they’d have to fight anyone! They’d kind of jumped in hoping that they could just stick to the sidelines and steal all the credit later! Panicked, Morrigan yelped, reaching into their bag before grasping their old reliable weapon, the very thing that had saved their ass from any number of scrapes in the past.

“POCKET GLITTER!”

The substance was thrown blindly into the air, where the dark lavender smog had been disrupted.^[1] A lucky guess. A few seconds later there was a startled yelp, and the sound of coughing and sputtering while glitter got into some unlucky goon’s lungs. Bingo.

Morrigan reached into their bag, fingers grasping a bottle at random. Either this was going to really help them, or really suck. With the practiced ease of someone who’d been in their fair share of tavern brawls over the years, Morrigan smashed the glass bottle over the unfortunate assailant’s head. The sound of shattering glass was punctuated with a pained scream, and the sound of flesh bubbling painted a thousand words.^[2]

“Oh, good, that was the acid.”

Well, that guy was down for the count. There were still two goons somewhere in this fog, the Red Fist, and the smoke was beginning to dissipate. Morrigan hated fighting - there was always a risk of damaging their pretty face - but they weren’t just going to allow themselves to get beaten by some has-been madman! With a wicked smirk, they reached into their bag of wonders.

They refused to allow themselves to be outshone here.^[3]

---

1. Pouch Sand
2. Parasite Poison
3. Yasaka’s Summer Beach Bag
PBVi6Ov0

Chaos broke through the neighborhood, as the ground shook and fiery tongues of half-finished spells rose through the air. Kamille seemed to be having some trouble in finishing her spells, as the Red Fist didn't seem at all visually impaired by the glitter bomb. Likely because of the same ability that allowed Kamille to keep tabs on everyone around, as she felt the vibrations on the ground - and because he was much faster than his size would have her assume.

She hoped Morrigan would be able to handle themselves, as the Red Fist was dead on focused on her. Her previous intentions were already off the plans, as she had hoped for this to be a quiet encounter and hopefully knock the Red Fist out and get whatever it was on him - clearly a mistake, as there was no way anything she did was quiet.

Another fireball flew, hitting another house down the street and igniting the surrounding area - it was hard to say who was doing what at this point, but another concern started to raise in the back of her mind. They could hear people screaming, and their fight was already causing enough damage, she couldn't just let it become a city wide catastrophe. For a brief moment the Red Fist hesitated and looked confused, as suddenly he couldn't feel Kamille's weight on the ground anymore, as she became a raven herself [1] and flew to a safer position. When she landed, she assumed she'd have sometime before her attacker did his move, but just to be safe, she threw before her one of her rook gargoyles, that imediatelly grew to their full six foot tall glory. It was a good move. The gargoyle itself looked confused, as the cloud of smoke and glitter wouldn't allow it to see properly, but luckly trouble found it quick enough in the shape of a fist. Damn, Red Fist was much faster than she had thought!

Still, the gargoyle imediately locked into a brutal fight with its attacker, as Kamille started to weave another spell, raising her arms. The dry desert air was suddenly filled with an unfamiliar umidity, a shy rain encroaching and picking up a pace [2]. It was not enough to fend off the heat emanated from the pyromancers, but all she wanted was to avoid the fire to spread out.

And if she could destroy Morrigan's hair in the process, the better-!

But her moment of distraction took the best of her in no time. Locked in a brutal exchange with Kamille's gargoyle, the Red Fist found himself on the ground on account of a mistake in judgement, pinned by the stony giant. Yet, as he looked around, he found himself to be just within reach of someone else...

"MORRIGAN! WE NEED TO-AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A hand closed around her ankle. A big, calloused hand. And next thing she knew, she was flying through the air like a ragdoll, re-evaluating her decisions that brought her up to that point while an ungodly screech left her lips.

Her next stop was at Morrigan, as they would both tumble down if the fellblood didn't move.

The rain was really starting to pick up now, a few puddles starting to gather in the street as the cloud of glitter and dust slowly started to set down.

More voices. More steps.

"...nhhhg..... tell me those are not guards, Morrigan..."

[1]Shapeshifters plate
[2]Drizzle

Unfortunately for Lady Kamille, an affair which Morrigan Moonweaver had stuck their shimmer-stained fingers in was never going to be a quiet one. And even when the situation seemed rough, just as it began to escalate and crescendo into something uncontrollable, Morrigan was absolutely there to make it worse.

In this case, it began with a cool glass canteen pulled from the Bag of Wonders.

Fireballs were flying haphazardly in every which direction, the work of two skilled pyromancers with no regard for their surroundings. Kamille had turned into a raven of all things, a blur of feathers and inky-black darkness cutting through the clearing glittersmoke before reverting back into her original form and preparing a spell that looked particularly nasty. Oh, Morrigan didn’t envy the Red Fist in that moment.

Next order of business, though - the goons. Two left, and one delicate little Morrigan. The effects of the glitter bomb had nearly worn off now, allowing the three to spot each other in the street… and allow the two to lock eyes with the innocent alchemist.

And charge.

“Uh-oh.”

Morrigan didn’t waste any time smashing the canteen of water on the ground. They had no idea what it would do, really - the bag’s whims were as capricious as its master - but it usually gave them items that were helpful. Most of the time. Unless you counted the picnic basket. But Morrigan’s wishes were answered, as the moment that crystalline glass shattered with a delicate noise, a burst of water and pressure erupted forth in a cacophony of noises, an amorphous blob of pure liquid rising forth and taking shape between Morrigan and the goons. Morrigan let out an ugly, triumphant cackle while the golem raised its limbs, pearls of water dripping from its form and reforming at its bottom. A horror straight from the seas of Zeinav.

“Yes! Let’s see how tough you are now!” Morrigan declared, as if they’d already won this battle. At the same time, the golem brought down its limb at the feet of one of the goons with a sickening CRACK, slicing up his legs and knocking him off balance.^[1] The second kept its distance, raising his finger and leveling it straight at Morrigan. Arcane energy crackled at his fingertips, nowhere near as strong as the Red Fist, but more powerful than anything Morrigan would ever be able to conjure with their own two hands. The flames coalesced to a single point, a beam of fire aimed at Morrigan’s chest. They whipped around, swallowing the spell with their palm as if grabbing it out of thin air.^[2,3] There was a brief moment as the curse flared up, a sensation of sickly… wrongness that hung in the air. A black hole of magic drinking everything in its surroundings, an antithesis to the very nature of existence and the formulae arcanum woven into the air. Morrigan seemed to notice none of it as the arcane energy cackled up their arm before dissipating, eaten up by the curse flowing through their veins.

They frowned, curling their fingers into a fist, before turning back to the mage who’d slung the spell.

“Oh, you’ve truly messed up now, my friend - BLAGH!”

Their moment was interrupted by the torrential downpour that descended from the air, as if a moment of divine anger - but no, this must have been the result of the spell Kamille had cast. Ugh! Now they were drenched to the bone and their carefully styled hair hung along their face in wet rivulets, and their boots were absolutely ruined! This fabric wasn’t waterproof! How the hell were they supposed to get the stains out of this now? Admittedly they’d coated her and her fancy cloak in glitter first and turnabout was fair play, but it was the principle of the matter. Morrigan sputtered as they pried the hair out of their face, a growl on their lips. “Lady Kamille…”

Unfortunately for them, the second goon took that moment of distraction as an opportunity to charge, swinging a wicked scimitar at Morrigan. The fellblood yelped and raised their hands in the air to protect their precious face, their skin sliced up as the blow cut through flesh and tattoo ink. Morrigan scowled, whipping their tail around and piercing the man in the throat with the blade hooked to the tip.^[4] Blood spurted from the wound, the goon letting out a surprised gurgle at the sudden surprise attack. Morrigan grinned and waved as he collapsed to the floor.

“See you in hell!” They announced cheerfully, turning around to face Lady Kamille and taunt - only to immediately get knocked over by the hurtling she-witch projectile that bowled them both straight back to the cobblestone street.

Morrigan’s world spun, a rather inelegant yelp leaving their lips that they will vehemently deny in any further retellings of this story after the fact. Kamille’s weight on their torso ached, and no matter how much Morrigan tried to wriggle out, they were well and truly fucked. Morrigan groaned, patting the woman on the side. “Ah… Kamille, can’t breathe…”

That was the moment they, too, heard the footsteps.

It was difficult to see much more than the sky and the torrential downpour in this position, but Morrigan craned their neck anyways, attempting to get a better look at the approaching sounds. Glittering gold armor, military sashes…

“Yep. That’s the… militia.” They wheezed. Then, raising their voice, they called, “Don’t worry officers! We’ve got the situation handled.”

The surrounding screams, still-blazing buildings despite the rain, and the goon being brutalized by the water elemental indicated they very much did not have the situation handled. Perhaps the guards might have pointed their weapons at witch and charlatan, but any further interrogation was halted by the sound of cracking stone and fire. The Red Fist had escaped the golem’s grip, and raised his hand to the air, shouting out a spell Morrigan did not recognize. But one they were about to become intimately familiar with, as flaming rocks started pouring from the sky in tandem with the rain, hurtling right down at the group of guards.^[5]

---

1. Water Whip - Water Golem
2. Spell Drinker
3. Favored Foe
4. Knife attached to Prehensile Tail
5. Summon Meteor - Red Fist

The rain was really starting to soak up the area, and the Water Golem was definitely adding to it, but it did help setting down the dust and glitter. Wait, a Water Golem? Looks like the fellblood was full of surprises! She would never expect that-

And then, that was expected, but still rippled through the mantle of mana and hit her with a feeling of wrongness and void. The Witch had seen it in the fellblood, but still could perceive the hairs on her scruff rising when Morrigan seemingly became a void that drank up the magic from one of the Red Fist's minions.

There was a place in her that felt sympathy for the fellblood - but a part of her could also see how that was useful-

Not that it mattered much right now, as the Red Fist rudely interrupted her line of thinking by yeeting her at the fellblood. A second of distraction and her whole body exploded in pain. She was not built for the meelee, how dare he toss her around like a ragdoll!? The downpour gluing the glitter on every inch of her feathery cloak, her hair sticking to her face and the guards running towards them...

She had better days.

"....nhhhhg.... for the... what do we..."

Grunting, she pushed the pain aside to stand up, not without some trouble, relieving the fellblood from her weight. Sadly, both her and the fellblood were more directly into the guards line of sight, so a good portion of them seemed to be running directly towards them, at the same time the Red Fist was preparing something. Her eyes darted around quickly, trying to find a solution to that mess.

Ah! A puddle!

The rain had really built up at that point, and a couple puddles started to gather on the street. Kamille pointed at one of them, and without hesitation jumped on it...

...And was completely swallowed by it [1]! Some of the guards looked a bit shocked, as if they thought there was a hole on the ground beneath the puddle - but what truly happened was that the Witch ressurfaced on another puddle, this one much closer to the Red Fist.

"Not so fast!"

With one hand she motioned towards the Red Fist, cutting through his weaving and interrupting his flow of mana [2]. Then, the other hand came forward, this one crackling with electricity, all converting to a fine point on her hand, gathering up until-

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK

A loud, thunderous boom cracked in the dead of night [3,4]. The force of the lightning was so strong that it pushed the Red Fist forward - the huge, soaked mage and fighter, flew forward down the street, landing...

Right before Morrigan.

[1]Puddle portal
[2]Counterspell
[3]Lightning bolt
[4]Sound of thunder

Morrigan was loath to admit it; but Lady Kamille was a certifiable badass. With barely so much as a flick of her hand and little effort she’d woven magic into existence, disappearing from where she’d been prone on top of Morrigan, only to reappear behind the Red Fist, halting his spell with a flick of her hand. Morrigan could not help but feel awe at seeing such a miracle - real, genuine magic - laid bare in front of them. No trick or mere illusion created by smoke and mirrors and careful alchemy, but a spell that carried with it the power to move mountains, split seas, and rewrite reality. So yes, Morrigan was in awe. Kamille was everything that Morrigan tried to be but could never achieve. Kamille was the one that the guards were watching with adoration on their faces. Kamille was the one who had been blessed with an abundance of mana, which seemed to radiate from her like an overflowing chalice.

There was awe, and there was horrible, bone-chilling envy.

Lightning BOOMED overhead, Lady Kamille bringing down the force of Avasha with deadly fury upon the Red Fist, which was an honestly understandable response given her leathers were drenched from the rain. Which she’d called down from the heavens, but hey, the Red Fist had been the one to force her hand! And return the favor she had, skyfire clashing with the flames of the earth, knocking the Red Fist to the ground… right at Morrigan’s feet. He landed on his chest with a dull thud, prone where he halted in front of the charlatan - Kamille may have been the one to knock him down, but right now, Morrigan was the one he was prostrating in front of, almost as if in prayer or forgiveness.

Well, as oft was the saying in show business, the last act was often the most critical. That was the part that stuck in people’s minds, the finale that echoed within the confines of the audience’s subconscious while they shuffled home after a play. And that deep, envious, inadequate part of Morrigan was determined to steal the show, as they always were. Their voice cloying and sweet like honey, Morrigan leaned over the mage at their mercy.

“Well, well… what have we here?” Morrigan raised their voice loud enough that the nearby guards could hear every single word uttered by the theatric fellblood. “Conspiring against the Sultan himself, threatening a pair of innocent civilians enjoying an evening out on the town? What is to be done about that?”

The Red Fist might have offered some indignant response that was muffled, due to the fact that his face was smothered in the cobblestone. Not that Morrigan cared what he had to say or not. They didn’t particularly care about matters of treason or breaking the law, but they were awfully petty, and this mad dog and his lady had forced Morrigan to go through a lot of trouble to uncover this conspiracy. By now they weren’t feeling especially charitable, and coming from someone so self-obsessed and vain that goodwill was a rare act in the first place, they were feeling less inclined today.

They wrung the water out of their hair while planting the heel of their sandal on the small of his back, pinning him to the ground. They may have lacked much strength in the physicality department, the power department, and the… everything department, but one did not need to be strong to force others to kneel. Their tail flicked behind them like a deadly viper before stabbing downwards, the knife at the tip stabbing into his wrist. Keeping him pinned like a moth to a cork board.

The Red Fist struggled, murmuring a spell under his breath - but Morrigan wasn’t going to give him the chance, leaning down to press their hand to the back of his skull and gently keep it pressed to the stone. And all around them, that odd feeling returned. Wrongness. Emptiness. Like a sickness in the air, a spreading plague that emanated outwards from Morrigan in a ten-foot radius.^[1] The Red Fist’s last ditch efforts, effectively crushed before he could sling out any further spells.

Morrigan straightened, preparing themselves for this next bit. Sometimes, having a flair for the dramatic - and looking utterly pathetic while drenched - came in handy. Blinking their eyes until they were watery with big crocodile tears, Morrigan turned to the members of the Zeinav militia who’d responded to the situation. “This man attacked us unprovoked! He was saying all of these horrible things about a plan to hurt the sultan, and threatened to kill us poor, defenseless bystanders just for overhearing information about his dastardly plan! He’s a murderer and a traitor to the throne! Please, come arrest him! Quick!”

Well, at least Morrigan had one thing going for them. Morrigan played a very accurate pathetic person.

---

1. Mark of the Mana Cursed

Kamille wasn’t really mad - or surprised - that Morrigan would go out of their way to steal the spotlight. For all that matters, she'd prefer it that way. If there was one moment in her life she didn’t want anyone important to see her, it was now: soaked like a street cat, breaded in glitter. As the heat of the battle started to wear off and her muscles started to relax, once again the pain of being tossed around set in. Gods, she needed a warm bed now...

Morrigan's finale certainly seemed to make an impression on the guards, who ran to help contain the Red Fist before he had the opportinity to build up his strength. The Witch would've prefered they wrapped up the situation in private, so she could snuggle whatever it was that the Red Fist had received as payment from Lady Jasnah. But that was not an option anymore.

The downpour started to die down, and it was not entirely clear if it was because Kamille resumed the spell, or if it was an effect of Morrigan's mana draining abilities. She tried not to chuckle at Morrigan's performance, as she had seen their professional acting before, first hand. It was not pity she felt towards the fellblood scammer, no... But the Witch certainly had a feeling Morrigan could be so much more...

And she could help them...

"Who are you? And what're you doing here this late o' night? Speak up!"

The first guard to come up to the fellblood, after they managed to put the Red Fist in shackles, didn’t seem too keen on trusting Morrigan that much at first sight. Luckly, another man stepped forward - and by the way all guards opened way to him, that seemed to be the captain.

"Calm down, Matt. You'll excuse my men for not being so pleased with the ruckus all of you caused tonight. This is not the place that honorable, hardworking people tend to-"

Splash

Kamille also had to play her part, if this was to work on their favor. As she tried to take a step, she purposedly fell to the ground, splashing the water of the rain. Another guard came up to her, and Morrigan could notice her usual mischievous tone replaced by that of a sweet, sweet dame - certainly not the same who cracked thunder and storm just a second ago.

"Oh...! I think I just... No, I'm not hurt... I guess... My feet just refused to move..."

The captain turned back to Morrigan, as the guard was helping Kamille back to her feet.

"Are you hurt, perchance? You said something about him being a traitor to the throne. Pardon me, but that is a serious accusation. I'm gonna have to ask you both to come with us to sort this out."

"Ask" was not the right word for what he meant, though. And while they wouldn’t put Morrigan and Kamille in shackles, as they did to the Red Fist, the fellblood could take a hint that the militia wouldn’t shy away from using force if they didn’t go willingly.

Hopefully that wouldn’t mean an audience with the Sultan, but with the mention of treason, she highly doubted they wouldn’t get to witness an angry Sultan in his pjs and fluffy slippers being dragged out of bed tonight. The Witch glanced over her cloak, covered in glitter.

Sigh

At the very least, her proficiency in Eyelash Batting granted her a ride of her favorite kind: after helping her to her feet, the guard seemed to come to the conclusion she needed a hand, and ended up picking her up in bridal style. Something good had to come from this catastrophe, right?

The Red Fist offered little resistance, glaring daggers at both Morrigan and Kamille. Sweet talking his way out of situations was clearly not his strong suit, so he probably came to the conclusion that he'd better shut up for now.