Zeinav City. A melting pot of people and cultures, where folk of all races and origin converged to create a city of light, mirth, and more importantly, money. There was no shortage of marketplaces along the city’s crowded streets, bazaars under colorful tents and vendors in stalls all trying to make the most coin from traveler and local alike.

It was in one of these marketplaces that Morrigan Moonweaver had made their mark for the evening. Set up in a stall that may or may not have belonged to them, the fellblood had taken residence near the end of the marketplace, in a more secluded area where the foot traffic was lighter. While less seasoned merchants may have wished for a spot in the middle of the action, the best confidence men knew to play coy, and make the customers come to you.

Morrigan had been here for a few hours by now, reading fortunes in the cards and selling potions (or as Morrigan affectionately called it, snake oil) to customers for a few hours now, and the sun was already beginning to set. It had been a rather successful day, if their loaded coin purse at their feet was any indication. Satisfied with their haul, Morrigan decided to pack up after their most recent customer left with her purchase, a vial she believed contained a cure for her festering sores. In reality, it was just colored water with a couple of rose petals, but really, if she thought it would work, then what did it matter?

Just as Morrigan was about to start cleaning, however, a figure caught their eye. An elegant woman, possibly one of the most beautiful Morrigan had ever seen, was breezing effortlessly through the streets as if she belonged there, adorned in a gown that put the local noblewomen to shame.

Morrigan’s tail flicked in interest as they carefully paused their setup. Was she a tourist? It was difficult to tell, as she blended in so well with her surroundings. Either way, she looked like she had money, and Morrigan couldn’t pass up such a beautiful opportunity.

They set their cards back down on the table, a small, conniving smile growing on their face. Yes, this would do them quite nicely. One more sale to end the night, and a chance to converse with a beautiful woman.

They made sure their costume was secure as they called out in a saccharine-sweet voice, “Excuse me, madam, would you care to have your fortune read this lovely evening?”

Zeinav was starting to reveal its charm to her. The scorching sun didn't seem to bother her as much as other people. Bellighul had shown her his favorites boutiques and shops, but for some reason or another, she found herself wandering alone through the streets of Zeinav City while the Necromancer tended to his own duties. Or as alone as she could be.

She couldn't see them, but Allan and Poe were always close, with a veil of invisibility covering them. Edgar was the only one visible, trailing behind her from the distance. With a brown cloak and shemagh over his shoulder and face, he didn't stand out as much as the woman, but was certainly, clearly following her. He towered over most common people of the market that day, a head taller and very muscular, with his black attire under it all hiding his weapons. It was always a deliberate choice to have Edgar clearly visible, as his imposing figure was able to undermine most petty thieves' and con artists' confidence.

But certainly not this one...

A voice called up to her, or so she thought, and she stopped on her tracks. The tiefling's eyes met her, and she looked down on his stall to the cards before him. Her eyes lit up with recognition, before turning again to look at the handsome tiefling. She had one of those smiles that reached her eyes, and it only seem to grew larger as she inspected the tiefling. She had been warned of this kinds of people, but she was not without some kind of generosity, and felt like she could entertain.

She approached, and only then, when she stopped in front of him, he could notice the stars seemed to swirl in her eyes, like a deep blue nebula.

A mage. This one was a mage, clearly.

"Oh....? My fortune? I guess I can oblige... That is, of course, if this doesn't cost me much..."

She knew zeinavians to like to haggle, so she braced herself for it. All the while, she glanced over to the cards, trying to discern by the back of the deck if it was a copy of her well-known marselha deck, or the rider-waite one, or something completely different......

Morrigan’s confidence waned somewhat when they spotted the imposing figure trailing behind her that they’d initially missed, and even more so when she came close enough for them to see the cosmos in her expectant stare.

Ah. Morrigan had royally, as the expression went, stepped in it.

But if the fellblood gave up at the first sign of adversity, then they would never have become as successful as they had today. Of course, they would never have seen nearly just as many failures, but that was neither here nor there.

Their smooth smile never once faltered- nor did their hands pause in their shuffling as ring fingers picked up the deck and worked it with an ease and efficiency that spoke of a practiced cardsman. When they spoke, the barest traces of an accent were audible.

“The price? Why, nothing more than a meager solar from your pocket, my lady.” It was what came after that hurt one’s pockets the most. “I have found myself on the receiving end of unsatisfied clients whose cards foretold tragedy in the way of cheating spouses and sick family members and such, all of whom believed I was the cause of their suffering. Thus, I’ve learned to charge little for my services. What matters most is a satisfied client.”

They paused, considering the woman before them. The only sound that could be heard was the gentle tapping of the cards as they hit the table, and the clicking of the rings on Morrigan’s fingers. The cards were traditional, rider-waite, and had clearly been shown love and care over the years if the frayed edges were anything to go by. As they moved, they categorized any information they could on the woman based on her countenance. Information was the most important part of any con was knowing as much about your mark as you could to pull on their strings.

She was clearly important, Morrigan thought as they kept a wary eye on her muscular guard- but powerful enough not to need it. If she was magic, the real deal, then there was a chance that she had already come to the conclusion that Morrigan was as powerful as a blind, three-legged alleycat in terms of magic. And yet, the smile on her face said that she was still interested enough to entertain the fellblood.

Morrigan would not let such an opportunity go to waste.

“But what do the cards hold in store for you, my lady? Would you care to find out?”

They finished shuffling their cards in clean, elegant movements, setting the deck down on the cloth-covered table. Morrigan held their hand out, palm extended, an open invitation.

The woman seemed to be enchanted by the tiefling, her smile broad and sweet. But it felt like there was something more than just a delighted customer looking for a reading......

"Well....... If that's the case....... I want to know."

Kamille took a seat before him, pulling up a solar and leaving on the table already for his service. She didn’t touch any of the cards, but propped up against the edge of his stall, expactantly. Bellighul warned her of people like those, but yet she still saw the opportunity. Raising her eyes from the cards, she stared into the tieflings eyes for a moment. Despite her playful attitude and smile, there was a weight to her gaze that seemed uncharacteristic of a noblewoman, or even a rich woman. She was certainly a mage - and if the warm air around her gave any indication, one certainly blessed by Ginma, first and foremost.

A deep sigh came from her lips, as she rested her chin on her hand - the woman was not without some dramatic flair to herself either. Her eyes wandered through his tent for a moment, as if searching for the answer. Or rather, the question.

She probably found it, because she looked back to the tiefling with a broad smile, somewhat mischievous.

"I want to know if my business will do well."

Morrigan picked up the solar and briefly inspected it before rolling the coin across their knuckles deftly and slipping it into their pocket. It would not do to insult the woman by questioning the origin of her coin.

Let’s see. A business?

Her words offered Morrigan little to go off of, a playful lilt in her smile, as if she was delivering a particularly difficult test. Morrigan couldn’t help but be struck with the feeling that just as they were sizing her up, she was assessing them in turn. She was brighter than your average tourist, that much was certain.

Morrigan’s lips parted, offering yet another smile as they picked up the deck of cards. Their hands were restless- always on the move, always looking for something to do. “An entrepreneur, you say?” They were not as surprised as they ought to have been at that tidbit of information. She was clearly sharper than your average noblewoman- then again, most of Morrigan’s dealings with the Zeinav aristocracy had been with those who had grown fat and happy with their power, content with their place in life. This woman was clearly different.

She was leagues above those fools.

“You must be a very passionate woman.” Morrigan praised, hand lingering over the first card as they decided their best course of action. Yes, a horseshoe spread would do nicely. While Morrigan tried to keep their readings simple, the fine lady had asked for guidance on a specific question, which required more effort than vagaries and simple platitudes.

“Shall we see what the gods have to say about your query, my lady?”

Morrigan plucked the top card from the deck between two sharpened nails, flipping it over on the tablecloth at the top left position of the horseshoe, where the lady could clearly see the image depicted in vibrant colors, along with the roman numeral nineteen.

The Sun.

“Ah, a lovely card.” Morrigan said, drumming their fingers against the table. “This card represents past events that impact your current question. In this scenario, your business. The Sun tells me that you possess a certain joie de vivre that has contributed to your success. How commendable!”

Next came the present, the card representing the problems the fine lady currently faced. Morrigan already knew what it would be before they flipped it over- they had arranged for this to happen, after all. They knew every single card in this deck by heart, every bend and tear, and knew how to manipulate it to get to their desired outcome. This particular card was placed to the right of the Sun, in the second position in the horseshoe spread.

The Ace of Cups, reversed.

Morrigan frowned, brow furrowed as if the answer troubled them.

“Oh, my. It seems that your present is murky, as if you stand at a crossroads.” Morrigan looked up into her eyes, which still swirled with unspoken power, and said, “This card warns of a loss of faith in one’s self. If I may be so forward, my lady, has there been any recent incident that has negatively impacted your self-esteem?”

"You must be a very passionate woman."

That much was clear, and it could be infered within moments of looking at her.

The woman's eyes were alight with excitement, although...... seemingly not with surprise. She seemed more interested in the tiefling than in the reading itself, her eyes following the move of his hands, expert in spreading the cards and rolling the coin. Then, when her eyes should have been on the cards, they were quickly wandering through his makeshift tent - that may or may not have been his - before turning back to the table. The Sun turned up, a fairly familiar card, good omen in many ways - but she didn't seem interested in the good omens of the cards, turning to face the tiefling briefly.

Yes, that was an interesting one... She wondered how far he would go.

Her eyes looked down on the Ace of cups for a moment, and a small, sheepish smile curved gently her rosy lips. She had a thin, dark and embroidered veil covering the lower half of here face, but the tiefling could know she was blushing lightly still. There was something off about that woman, and even if she didn't seem like your average noblewoman of Zeinav, she seemed to be hiding something.

"Oh, don't get me started! So much work! And someone who I thought to be a friend might prove themselves to be something else, you know what I mean? I shouldn't have trusted them, I guess..."

It was... more or less, a well placed truth, completely unrelevant to the reading, but it still made her blush. She was still bad at lying, but she thought she was getting better.

"See, to be fair, I never thought I could truly trust the person, but it's always a sad thing when someone you wanted to count on turns out to be... Not what you expected. I need people I can rely on. Even if all I can rely on is for them to tell me what I want. I'm fairly generous, you see, so it's a double blow for me... I cherish my relationships a lot."

Once again, she found it easier to lie if the lie was laced with the truth. Some of it was clearly true - some of it was not, but it was hard to tell which one was which. The woman had hoped that her slipping another golden solar out of her clevage would give the tiefling enough distraction to let it go by without much thought. She roled the coin in her fingers in a distracted way. Her hands were delicate, the kind that never held a weapon in her life, only a quill and books.

If Morrigan were a touch more cautious, they would be alarmed by the fact that the fine lady’s attentions wandering elsewhere during the reading, or that they were being observed just as intently as they were observing her in turn. But Morrigan was already wrapped up in the fiction of their tale, and- as cliche as it was- rather distracted by her beauty.

They nodded along emphatically as she spoke of her plight. It was not entirely related to Morrigan’s question, but that was what Morrigan found interesting about people. They made connections on their own, if you gave them just a gentle nudging. She had brought up a trust misplaced in someone- a business partner, a lover, or perhaps even both…? Based on the look on her face, a faint pink barely visible under the veil, she had revealed more than she intended.

As she spun nother solar around in dainty fingers that looked as if they’d never seen a day of manual labor, Morrigan considered their options.

This was where they would normally lean into the con and push products that the customer neither wanted nor needed, fake potions that were meant to “boost confidence” or “improve one's love life” or “act as a miracle cure-all for all ailments”. They never worked, of course- Morrigan’s real elixirs were contained within their bag. But the customers believed they did the trick, and a satisfied customer was the most important part of any con.

But it would not be so easy with the lady in front of them. She was still clearly amused, but not blindly trusting.

Yes, Morrigan would have to go further.

There was another, smaller part of the fellblood that was intrigued by the rarity seated across from them. If there was one thing that caught Morrigan’s attention more than the prospect of a good old fashioned scam, it was people. And she had mystery in spades. Morrigan wanted to learn more. They wanted to continue the game.

They looked away from their box of snake oil, still concealed beneath the patchwork tablecloth of Morrigan’s own creation that was draped over the table.

“The worst kind of pain is the sting of the knife that comes from a person you once thought you trusted.” Morrigan agreed, picking up the next card. They twirled it between elegant fingers, perhaps a bit distracted as they spoke next. “As a powerful mage, I’m sure you’ve seen no shortage of people attempting to gain your favor to covet such magic for themselves. In your business, you need allies who you can trust. Allies who aren’t interested in such things.” They said, perhaps a bit pointedly, as if gauging her reaction.

They stopped spinning the card, finally setting it on the table face-up in the next part of the horseshoe spread- hidden influences.

“Such events can shake our perceptions in our other relationships. But there is often more going on behind the curtain than we realize. What hidden factors could be influencing you?”

They tapped their next card, face up on the table- the Ten of Pentacles.

A card that represented financial boon, if one only knew where to look for it.

Morrigan looked back up at the fine lady, awaiting her response.

Silence. A slight raise of the eyebrow, but then just silence. And she was not looking at the card despite the quick glance - she was looking at Morrigan.

She knew this game - sometimes she liked to play it herself, even if she admited not to be as good as the tiefling. Her own rider-waite deck was stuffed somewhere among her belongings back home, all the cards as old and used as the man's deck. And while trust was a strong word to throw around these days, she did feel inclined to... consider further business.

And while she kept her thoughful gaze, they would both hear a caw. By the lack of response for the woman, who didn't look a bit surprised when the flutter of wings was preceded by a raven flying in. Certainly it was hers, since it landed on her shoulder. The bird took a deep look at Morrigan, straight in the eyes...

"CAWWW! Hello!"

And then yanked the gold from the woman's hand. She barely reacted to that, as if it was common place, but she did start to take a look around his makeshift tent. Instead of answering his question, however, she questioned him:

"Do you often work here? Or do you keep moving from place to place?"

Might've sounded odd timing for such questioning, but despite her odd behavior, she looked genuinely intrigued. Not by his reading, but by him. Now her eyes wandered around his figure, his clothes, his hands. Kamille would often prance about gloating to read people's palms, but truth be said: people's hands do spoke a lot about their life. Hers were smooth and soft, the faintest of callouses on the middlefinger of her writing hand. A scholarly one without a doubt, if it wasn't clear enough already.

But this man.... She wondered how much of his story was the same as everyone else in that situation. He certainly had the charm to win in life that way, but he could also be so much more.

"But I guess it is naive to assume people will not, ever want something from someone. People do have different values, however. For instance, while you are expecting the gold from this reading - for this is what you want right here and right now - I want something too."

The woman turned to the raven in her shoulder, yanking the gold solar from its beak with some resistance. Then, she placed it on the table, right on top of the Ten of Pentacles.

"I want stories. True stories. One for each night, seven days straight from here. Anything interesting you might see around. Any drama, any curiosity, any.... Mischief."

"CAWW! Hello! I'm Mischief!"

As the curiously named raven cawed at his face, the woman lifted the finger from the aditional solar placed on top of the card. Her cobbalt eyes raised to meet his once again, expectantly.

The lady did not seem particularly amused by Morrigan’s latest assessment. She seemed simply content to stare at Morrigan, unreactive, searching for something in the tiefling’s gaze that Morrigan couldn’t pinpoint. The bird caught them momentarily off guard, but Morrigan had heard before that mages often kept curious animal companions. Her next inquiry, on the other hand, caught Morrigan off guard.

Cards abandoned, Morrigan fiddled with one of the silver rings affixed to their finger. Their hands were, perhaps, the biggest traitor of their humble beginnings- they bore callouses that spoke of hard labor, long since healed. While the clothes, the hair, the mannerisms, all spoke of someone accustomed to the fine things in life, the hands told a different story- they bore the marks of someone that had clawed their way to this position.

“I find myself growing impatient if I stay in one place for too long. There is far too much in the world to be seen and experienced for me to be content here. I prefer to go wherever the road may take me in the given moment.” They weren’t sure what she was searching for- if this was some kind of test, Morrigan could not find the answer in her eyes. They did not like not knowing.

Morrigan had been asked a number of things in their life, but not something like this. Most customers simply sought a cure to their ailments, or a few kind words to brighten their day, before they were off in the faceless sea of people. It only made the woman in front of them shine even brighter.

Stories, is it? Morrigan could supply that. Their whole life was a story, after all, an elaborate piece of fiction carefully cultivated to draw the interest of others. True stories was another matter entirely, but the tiefling knew plenty of those, too. They had seen more than their fair share in the desert, and heard secrets that would make the Sultan himself gasp in shock.

Just as the lady was more interested in Morrigan rather than the reading, Morrigan was much more interested in her than the coin she offered. Their gaze lingered a moment on the solar, hand hovering in the air as they hesitated.

She was clearly a powerful woman. It would be in Morrigan’s interest to curry her favor, and spread their name and influence.

Morrigan smirked. While their previous smiles could only be described as jovial, if not a bit sleazy, this smile was more conniving. The woman, for the first time in their encounter, was treated to a real glimpse of the man behind the curtain, one that appeared more sharp and cunning than one would initially expect.

“You are Mischief?” Morrigan asked, addressing the bird, suppressing a laugh. An apt name for such an odd little creature. Morrigan plucked the solar from atop the card, making it disappear with a flourish of their hand. “You may call me Morrigan Moonweaver, and I would be more than delighted to satisfy your curiosities, my lady.”

There were these days when she woke up that looked just like the day before, nothing of extraordinary implied on the same, identical sunrise. But fate had other plans for them, and in a surprising turn of events, a simple card reading has led her to this encounter.

Kamille wouldn't be one to blindly trust this kind: charming, fast hands, the climb through life evident by the marks of his hands. But even so, a mutually beneficial agreement could be made, and she surely had a lot to offer in return for this friendship.

And, though it hasn't happened yet, also a lot to offer in the case of a betrayal....

As she expected for these types of charming mischiefs pulling up this kind of job, he wasn't one to stay in one place for long, which was good for her. His ears could reach farther that way. And if she was generous enough, he might willingly seek information for her - not that she expected such things. Her eyes brightened up when he gave her his name, but mostly when she saw a glimpse of his cunning eyes behind the act. She liked friends like these, that could challenge her on that regard. The woman raised her hand to shake his.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Mister Moonweaver. My name is Kamille."

She hesitated. Was it too soon? Maybe it was best for her to be straightforward with him.

"People call me the Witch of Moonglade."

If he already didn't know a little bit about her just by that, it would be easy to find the information of her adventures so far, as well as her recent gathering of a few assassins under the name of The Black Quills.

The presence of the big guy in the background would start making some sense now...

After shaking his hand - or not - Kamille rose.

"It may come as without saying, but I always find it good to reinforce it: my friendships often come attached with my protection. If you wish to help me, I'll go out of my way to extend my protection towards you too. And for the right price, my services of Master Alchemist as well..."

Maybe it was for the best that he hadn't offered her any of his potions...

"But it all depends on the stories you bring me. Remember, I want true stories - there is a time and place for fake stories, and it isn't now. For the time being.... See you tomorrow, at the Two-Headed Serpent, at nightfall."

Of course. A good old tavern with questionable reputation, at the fringe of the tougher neighborhoods, proper for some good storytelling.

“People call me the Witch of Moonglade.”

Morrigan’s entire body went still.

They’d heard of her reputation, of course. Who hadn’t? Anyone who hadn’t might as well be living under a rock. And in Morrigan’s line of work- a charlatan masquerading as a mage- it was important to know exactly who to avoid to ensure they were never outed as a fraud. And yet, here Morrigan was, floundering around like a fool who thought themselves a scholar, pretending to read her fortune in some hackneyed attempt to peddle snake oil.

It was no wonder she found them amusing!

But then, if she had known their fortune-telling was a ruse all along, then why had she gone along with it? She claimed to have some use for them, but surely, there were more powerful people she had at her beck and call, much like the towering man behind her…

Oh, Gods. The Black Quills.

Before the panic could set in, Kamille raised her hand to shake their own, and the charlatan remembered the manners ingrained in them by their mentor- no matter how deep you dig yourself in, you continue the ruse until the bitter end.

Morrigan shook her hand. Her palms, as expected, were delicate.

She stood, with promises of protection and potions that Morrigan wasn’t quite sure to trust anymore. And yet, the conniving part of their brain couldn’t help but be curious what she had to offer. While an entertainer and conman by nature, Morrigan was an alchemist by trade, capable of far more than the fake elixirs they toted around for a quick bit of cash. If they played their cards right, there would be much to learn from Lady Kamille.

Yes, the deal was still on. Morrigan was not one to shy away from a challenge, and would not stop now. While it had gotten them into more than their fair share of trouble, it had yielded the highest rewards. Who didn’t love a gamble with fate every once in a while?

“I shall see you then, Lady Kamille.”

And come the next evening, at the Two-Headed Serpent, Morrigan would have just the story to tell her.

She saw the light of recognition in his eyes, and knew him to know her name. She wondered if it would open her way or make things harder from now on, but only time would tell. Once she bid her farewells and flashed at him a final, gentle smile, she took her leave. The man that had been following her, who Morrigan now knew to be a Black Quill, remained a few seconds longer, only to stare at the tiefling menacingly before leaving, blending into the crowd. It was his job to be the menacing one, apparently.

As a good Lady and a good mage, Kamille would always be slightly late. Not too much, as to not cause worry - but never precisely on time. She was still covered in the traditional zeinavian silks, but stepped down a little bit, with fewer jewelry and a more discrete cloak to cover it all. Still not her usual, feathery cloak, that made her so easily recognizable - there would be another time for that.

None of her Black Quills seemed to be around, but that was a well known lie. They were always around.

The day had been fairly productive, so she was excited to meet the tiefling once again - or not, she was also prepared to the possibility that he wouldn't go through with it. She had caught wiff of so many interesting dramas unraveling on that strange city, it would be nice to understand it a bit more... There were some stories about some families plotting to overthrow the Sultan, others about people wanting to seduce him to put an heir on Zeinav's seat of power, the usual. She was hoping to have something juicy for the night, so as soon as she entered the Two-Headed Serpent, she looked over to find Morrigan, quickly closing in as she recognized him.

Despite the charlatan’s initial nerves upon learning Lady Kamille’s true identity, and her belligerent bodyguard’s intimidation tactics, they found themselves at the Two-Headed Serpent precisely as the sun began to set, pockets laden with coin after a successful day at the markets. Much to their chagrin, their focus had not been on the task at hand- rather, what kind of true story might interest Lady Kamille. Not for lack of options, as Morrigan had heard plenty in and out of the city to pick from. But selecting just the right one for a woman of her caliber had proven to be a challenge in striking just the right balance.

It had to be something that would hold her attention for the nights to come, and prove that Morrigan was more than just talk. On the other hand, it could not be something so grand that she might not believe they were telling the truth. In the end, Morrigan had settled on a theme, one that would hopefully both entice her and prove useful to a woman of her caliber. Seven nights, seven people, seven plots.

As time dragged on, slow as the ticking sand through an hourglass, Lady Kamille had yet to show. It had not been too long since their agreed upon meeting time, but Morrigan drummed their fingers against the table, a small, nagging suspicion growing in the back of their head that perhaps this was all an elaborate ploy to set them up, and the mage would not be the one to stroll in through those double doors, but a handful of guards set on Morrigan’s arrest. Of course, the offer was too good to be true.

Their suspicions were squashed, however, when the lady strolled in, still dressed like a jewel of the desert, but not so much so that all heads would be turning their way in suspicion. In awe, perhaps, but that was to be expected for someone like her. Morrigan had decided to dress down for the occasion themselves, their usual coat slung on the chair behind them. In only a thin tunic, their tattoos all down their arms were easily on display, swirling geometric patterns, curving lines and shapes that almost seemed to move along lavender skin the longer you looked at them.

There was no magic in the ink- this, too, was a necessary illusion.

Morrigan smiled as Lady Kamille noticed them and made her way over. “Good evening, my lady.” They said as she took her seat, elegant as ever. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve already ordered my own drink. Anything you’d like to order is on me, of course.”

They sipped at their drink, a more relaxed, genial smile playing on their face. Anyone who might look over at their table would simply think that this was a meeting between two friends, reminiscing about the old days.

Now that she was here, though, Morrigan’s worry had evaporated away into anticipation. This was what they did best, and a chance to sell their skills to a potential ally.

Morrigan leaned forward on the table, propping their chin in their hands. “Well, I won’t waste your time with the pleasantries and jump right into it. Tonight I am going to tell you about the Lady Jasnah Zuldan, and her cunning ploy to take control of the Sultan’s Chair.”

Kamille had started to understand the charms of Zeinav as of lately, so different they were from Moonglade. While the peaceful forests back home looked quiet on the outside, with shadows bursting with activity, Zeinav struck her as more abrasive on the outside. The sands still held all kinds of vipers, though, and she was trying to learn how to handle those.

Upon seeing recognition in Morrigan's eyes, she started to wonder if they would actually show up - or maybe just backtrack on their deal. Sometimes people just didn't want to get caught in her business, and she could understand that. And the opposite was also something that could become a problem: some would want her favor so much they would give her useless or fake or outdated information. But Morrigan had struck her as a resourceful one, never one to let their face slide.

She sat down to his side, so they would be able to keep their conversation discrete. A quick glance was shot towards his tattoos - certainly, she identified them as not being trule imbued with the arcane, but instead of a judging face, she looked rather... approving. Morrigan was willing to go the extra mile to round up his appearance for his business. Smart, resourceful, determined. She liked that. Clearly, she aproved of this meeting, seemingly arranged by fate.

Only the Gods would know how far they could go, however.

"Such a gentleman. I'll have just a mint tea then, please. Thank you."

As Morrigan jumped to the story of the night, Kamille's eyes lighted up with delight. That was one she was hoping to hear the details to. It was well known that the fact the Sultan Adatian had no true born sons had left his succession uncertain. It was only natural for people to start and have their go at Zeinav's seat of power by any means at their disposal. And while she didn't have plans to meddle with the politics of the place, she did like a good gossip. She couldn't contain the smile, once again, the kind that reached her eyes.

"This sounds like a good start. How does Lady Jasnah Zuldan plans to take the Zeinav's seat of power?"

Morrigan waved down a waiter and gave him the lady’s order- a mint tea- and waited until he was out of earshot to begin their tale for the evening. The Lady Kamille’s eyes sparkled as Morrigan informed her of the topic, a promising sign. Morrigan capitalized on that interest, taking a sip of their whiskey before beginning their story.

This particular event was one Morrigan was intimately familiar with, given their involvement in it. They did not bore her with the details of the sultan’s lack of heir, or the current political unrest in the city as all the major players in the game questioned what would happen after his rule came to an end. Lady Kamille likely knew all these details- it was unnecessary to bore her with them.

“First, it is important for me to explain who Lady Jasnah is.” Morrigan started. “The Zuldan family is a minor clan- they are old money, and own a successful gambler’s den as a side business. They are not ambitious folk, mostly content with their lot. Or, at least, they were.”

Here, Morrigan gave a thoughtful pause, allowing Lady Kamille to digest the information before continuing. “About five years or so- perhaps six- Master Farzack Zuldan, died in an unfortunate incident in which he was discovered to be stealing funds from his casino, and was murdered by a scorned customer in broad daylight. It was all very public, and incredibly humiliating.”

Morrigan was in the city when it happened- word of mouth spread like wildfire, and the Zuldan’s familial reputation was in tatters by sunset. It was a simple enough story, and by all accounts, that should have been the end of it.

“Now, herein lies the problem. At the time of Master Farzack’s death, the lady Jasnah was with child. In the early stages of pregnancy and socially bankrupt, the lady had nothing to do but claw her way back into power any way she could. A plan eluded her, however, until very recently.”

With the Zuldan’s honorable reputation being called into question, so too was the father of Jasnah’s child. The timing was the main question- Jasnah neither confirmed nor denied any rumors, until only a few months ago.

“Lady Jasnah claimed Sultan Adatian as the father of her child.”

Now, Morrigan leaned back in their seat, laughing softly to themselves as if they’d just delivered the amusing punchline to a joke. The idea truly was absurd- there was absolutely no possibility of the Lord Sultan being the boy’s father, but given his current lack of an heir, and the pressing need for one, people began to… talk. Barely whispers of speculation, but people began to wonder if perhaps the Sultan had yet to respond to the accusation because it was true.

“Now, this may seem like a far-flung idea to us, but keep in mind that around here, the lack of a legitimate heir is an opportunity. Everyone wants to stake their claim, one way or another, and everyone wants to ensure that the right sort of person ends up on the throne. Lady Jasnah capitalized on that weakness and doubt. While the notion is ridiculous, she seeks to force the Sultan’s hand. You see, Lady Jasnah intends to seek an audience with the Sultan, and now that the seeds of uncertainty have been planted, she intends to kill him.”

This was where Morrigan entered the story. Only a month ago, Jasnah brought the great Wizard of the Wastes with a peculiar request- “She desires a powerful mage to get the job done, and leave no trace behind.” Morrigan had denied her, of course. They still possessed some semblance of morals, and aiding in a political coup was not something they wanted any part in.

“Once the Sultan is taken care of, without any legitimate heir, his ‘son’ will be the only viable candidate to take the seat. Her plan may be convoluted, but even a fool with a dagger can still strike at your vital spots if they’re lucky enough.” Morrigan finished with another long sip of their drink. So much talking had left their throat somewhat parched.

“How do I know all this? Why, she attempted to hire me, of course.” Morrigan said with a wink. “But that's the end of my long-winded tale. I hope this humble story is to your liking, Lady Kamille.”