“I live to please, my Lady Kamille. What purpose is a story if not to put a smile on one’s face?” They replied in a cheeky manner, as if they were sharing an inside joke with Kamille, at ease the more that her sour attitude lessened while they spoke. That praise gave them the motivation to weave their story with aplomb. They were especially pleased to note the surprise in her eyes as they shared what they’d learned. They knew it was not exactly public information, but the fact that they’d managed to gather information that not even her spies could touch was a good show of their value.

“I’ve encountered no shortage of tombs and underground cities during my time in Zeinav.” They replied with a wave of their hand. Truly, it was a bit of a concern, the hourglass that was the White Sand Sea. The longer time marched on, the more the sands ticked away to reveal more hidden treasures from ages past. Treasures that a charlatan with no true power of their own had a vested interest in. They’d spent many weeks combing the sands in search of places that might have held true power, to no avail. It seemed like Farzack had beaten them to the punch, though. “I’ve no idea the true scope of what powerful items he found, but I’m sure that it’s more than enough to fund a woman who has no concept of the gifts rotting away in her manor.”

Gifts that Morrigan would love nothing more than to get their hands on.

They were an opportunist at heart, perhaps too ambitious for their own good. That kind of trouble was what had gotten them into this situation, consorting with one of the most powerful witches of their age after immediately having their cover blown. Perhaps, if the situation called for it, they would have the opportunity to… steal some of that for themselves. Ginma knew that Lady Jasnah was certainly doing nothing with it. Lady Kamille’s sudden suggestion only solidified what they were thinking, though. The both of them were on the same wavelength, curious about the tomb and the treasure for vastly different reason - a scholar’s curiosity and a charlatan’s greed.

“Perhaps once we have concluded our current work, it would be a lucrative venture. If you are amenable, of course.” Morrigan hummed before cooing at Mischief. “Yes, Shiny. As much as shiny as you could imagine.”

They tilted their head while Lady Kamille described a mage expelled from the guild. There was a note of uncertainty in her voice, like even she wasn’t certain of what she was proposing. That meant her plan had to be risky and dangerous, if it made even someone as powerful as her pause.

Morrigan leaned forward.

“You are suggesting that we plant an idea in the Red Fist’s ear to put a wedge in the deal?” It was not a horrible plan, all things considered. The seeds of doubt were a dangerous thing, the death of any confidence man’s scheme. The second that a question was raised, it poked holes in any story until those reservations grew and spread like a virus. It had ruined plenty of Morrigan’s cons in the past… but now, such manipulations might prove valuable.

“I think it is dangerous.” They admitted after a moment’s thought, but there was no fear in their voice. Rather, they looked excited. “But there is fun in that, no? Such games might not be possible with Lady Jasnah, considering she knows the both of us. But seeking an audience with this Red Fist, convincing him to change his demands… that might be possible. After all, I have no connections with the mage’s guild.”

Regrettably.

“I’m sure we could find common ground to speak of. Any ideas you might have for me to whisper in his ear, I will happily do so.”

They only had a week left to carry out their plans… a daunting task. But given how much the two of them had uncovered in the span of a few nights, Morrigan had faith that they would be able to pull this off.

Kamille appreciated Morrigan disposition for mischief and unfailing will to face danger. The Witch was finding herself to be quite a gambler in some aspects, but whenever possible, she liked to have a failsafe and plan around the situation - a plan B for her plan B. It was something new, for she had a talent for winging situations on the spot that had led her to where she was now. Even her, the Witch of Moonglade, felt like she needed to upgrade her game before her tactics were obsolete - and breaking routines always come with a pang of pain and resistance.

And yet, here she was, gossiping with a scammer she found on the street. What strange circumstances, huh...

"Yes, I would be very interested in finding such tomb. Despite the tomb already being searched by Lady Jasnah's husband, I imagine there might still be something we can get out of it. And even some dangers..."

But that kind of danger was the kind she felt prepared and well equipped to handle. Excited, even. Monsters, traps... The enemy right before her, that she could see and touch. They were the easy ones to handle. The enemies that lurched on the shadows, the snakes that slithered beneath the sands... That's the ones she had to be careful about. That's the reason she gathered the Black Quills.

But what kind of Pyromancer would she be if she wasn't excited about blasting things up into the air? That much she felt she shared with the Red Fist, although the Red Fist was possibly getting himself tangled in affairs he would probably come to regret.

"You may have noticed, but I'm not well versed in the ways of subtlety... But I would imagine that planting the idea of treachery in his mind would work. I learned the Red Fist likes to drink, so maybe that's an easy way to approach him. Maybe you could tell him a story about how some noble or other has dupped you and gone back on an agreement. Lead him down a path of distrust, so he can hopefully arrive at the decision of being more firm in his demands."

Kamille took the rest of her wine. A series of delicate, golden bands with asorted gems glinted softly in her hands. Her reservations lied more on a more curious ground: empathy. She came to know the Red Fist's story and couldn't help but feel he was the kind of simple guy that got caught up with vipers and schemers with no sensible way to defend himself. The Witch wouldn't want him hurt if she could avoid.

"On my end, I can push Lady Jasnah to believe no one will take her offer, and that finding someone who will be either willing and efficient in due time is a difficult task. The Lady seem to not have lost faith in getting my help, so she wants to have tea again..."

She had to give it to the Lady. She was persistent. But then she flashed a small, mischievous smile at Morrigan.

"I'm sure you'll be able to sing that song..."

Morrigan and Lady Kamille seemed to possess the same amount of subtlety in their body - which was, not very much. But Morrigan was old hat at this song and dance. It was the job of a snake oil salesman to sell you garbage and make you think it was a miracle. It would not be so difficult to plant the idea of treason in the Red Hand’s head and make him think it was his own. And Kamille’s idea was an effective one - paint a suggestive picture, tug on the Red Hand’s heartstrings. The scorned mage would not be an especially difficult part to play.

“I slip into a tavern, work the red hand… and you work Lady Jasnah in turn?” Morrigan mused. “My lady, I think that might just put a sufficient wedge in things indeed.” They’d be causing an unstable chemical reaction - a fire, not one of magic and brimstone, but from the chaos and fallout between two untrustworthy criminals who believed money could solve any problem. They would light the fuse, serve as the catalyst, and all that would be left was to wait for the resulting product.

And this particular explosion was one that Morrigan was very much looking forward to watching. Not because they cared about saving the Sultan’s life, but because they savored the idea of watching this hackneyed plan descend into madness.

“A persistent one, isn’t she, this Lady Jasnah? I certainly don’t remember her trying to desperately to win me back.” They laughed, pressing their hand to their chest in fake offense. “Trying to usurp my title of most influential mage in Zeinav?” They asked, but there was humor in their voice.

They then waved a dismissive hand, alchemical glitter flying from their sleeve with the motion and covering the table in the bright substance. “All the better for us, in the end. With the deadline for this meeting approaching, I imagine that she’s rather impatient for a solid ally in her corner. I would imagine some competition from the Witch of Moonglade herself would only make the Red Hand doubt her even more.”

Their grin widened.

“Oh, my lady, I’ll croon like a canary, just you wait.”

With the plan solidified, there was nothing else for them to do but go their separate ways, left to weave more layers into this complicated tapestry. Rather than make their way back to the Wagon of Wonders, though, Morrigan left Lady Kamille in favor of seeking out an audience with the Red Hand in a tavern on the other side of town. All it took was a sympathetic ear. A couple of well-placed anecdotes. By the end of the evening, Morrigan could see that they’d successfully planted the seeds of doubt - their efforts had born fruit. There was a thoughtful, almost angered expression on the mage’s face while he stared into his mug while Morrigan stood, breezing out of the tavern with a smug grin on their face.

Their side of the plan had been taken care of.

Morrigan only hoped the fish had taken the bait.

Kamille chuckled at the glitter that Morrigan left with his gesture, more amused than annoyed. If her business card were the black feathers, Morrigan's clearly was the glitter.

Adapt and improvise. Re-assess their resources, take a step back, plan again. She could've taken things by force, but not without having her image compromised. Long's been the times when she would frolick around without any regard as to the image she would cast - things were different now, and her name was part of her power as well.

And to recruit a scammer to whisper into someone else's ear sounded like a sensible plan. A risky one, but like they said, it kinda made for things more exciting...

They parted their ways for the night, but the effects of their scheeming was quick to show this time. And just like Morrigan had expected, it was explosive.

For what looked like the last time, Kamille went to have tea with the Lady, who had seemingly grown tired of the Witch and her refusal to work with her. Not only that, but she also started to see Kamille as a threat, and commited the same mistake that Morrigan did when first approached by the half elf: to try and win on the Witch's field of expertise. Lady Jasnah finally lost her temper when Kamille simply used a Remove Condition spell to revert the effects of an attempted poisoning and expeled her from her mansion. An amateur trying to poison a professional? Nice try.

Lady Jasnah wasn’t particularly smart or subtle, so to add salt to the wound, Kamille once again started to prance around in her regular attire that she was known for; the slitted skirt, laces and of course her feathery cloak. It felt like a very public middle finger raised in defiance to Lady Jasnah, who had tried a few more attempts on her life before the day was over. If for once the Black Quills were all working without stop, for other Kamille seemed to be taking an effort in being a clear target. It was like she was saying "Come and take me down. I dare you."

Not to say that she came out of that unscathed: when Morrigan entered the tavern that night, there were clear signs of a brawl that had recently taken place. Some chairs turned, some broken, a few employees cleaning up, but clearly evident for Morrigan was Kamille seated on a table on the back. A young girl that they have already seen serving at the inn was apologetically cleaning what appeared like a cut on Kamille's forehead, apologizing profusely with shaking hands. Despite the bleeding, the messy hair and general chaos around her of employees coming and going to clean up, Kamille had a satisfied smile upon her lips.

Very fitting, actually, that she seemed so happy with so much chaos unraveling around her...

When she spotted her favorite scammer walking into the place, she quickly dismissed the girl that tried to tend to her wound.

"It's okay, sweetie... I'm fine, I can take it from here...." 

Of all the scenes Morrigan might have expected upon walking into the tavern the next evening, finding a warzone was not one of them. Remnants of battle were currently being swept up by bartenders, though even they could not cover up the slash marks on the wood that looked like they’d been made with blades, or scorch marks on the wall that Morrigan was almost certain had been made by the mage currently sitting at a nearby table, looking very much like the cat who got the cream.

It did not take a genius to figure out what happened here.

Morrigan stepped over the carnage, furred boots crunching over broken glass and stains that looked like they could have either been alcohol or blood. Lady Kamille waved away the attendant taking care of the cut on her forehead when Morrigan got close, giving the two of them some privacy. Morrigan’s gaze lingered on her, waiting until she was a safe distance away before turning back to Kamille and reaching into their bag. A moment later, they pulled out a crystalline vial containing a red liquid - one that looked like it contained more glitter than it ought to.^[1]

It felt ridiculous to offer a healing elixir to the Witch of Moonglade herself, who contained so much power even in just the tip of her pinky finger that she was probably capable of healing herself with a single thought. Maybe. Morrigan had no idea what she was truly capable of. But it felt the right kind of courtesy, especially given how impressed Morrigan was with the mayhem that had occurred around them.

“Here.” They offered. “This should take care of those nasty scratches and bumps. From my own personal stock - not the kind I sell to clients.” They added with a wink, letting her know this wasn’t just the snake oil they gave to any old customer. Morrigan’s specialty wasn’t really healing - they much preferred turbulent chemical reactions, the kind that fostered explosions and poisons - but they kept a spare reserve of healing elixirs just in case. What if their face got injured? It was turning out to come in handy now.

They set the potion on the table, leaving it up for the Lady Kamille to accept or deny the offer. They would not be particularly offended if she chose not to take it.

They pulled up a chair next to her, propping their feet up on the table. “So let me guess. Our mutual friend wasn’t especially interested in what you had to say during your meeting?” They were, of course, talking about Lady Jasnah, though considering what had likely taken place here, Morrigan was at the very least smart enough to avoid mentioning her by name where anyone could still be listening.

So Lady Jasnah wasn’t pleased with Kamille. What did that mean for the both of them? Morrigan hummed, fiddling with a solar procured from their pocket, twirling it around in their fingers. “I suppose I’ll get straight to brass tax. I met a downright pleasant man at a bar on the other side of town last night and shared with him my tale of woe. I’m assuming your own meeting was… less successful in obtaining your intended effect, but no less productive for it.”

They glanced around the bar, questions sparkling in their eyes.

---

1. Potion of Minor Healing (1/2)

Lack of confidence wasn't something normally associated with the Witch, but it became clear were she felt more at ease: while not lacking on the field of words, it was truly on the field of actions - violent ones, specifically - she excelled. Surrounded by chaos, battle scarred and victorous, the delicate lady would feel like a queen in her throne. Since when she felt so suited for chaos? Since when it came so naturally? Intellectually, she had always been making an argument in favor of order and peace - even if she could admit that a little bit of chaos had its role in keeping the general order. But lately she's been feeling the pull of pure, utter and random chaos, and had been just feeding into it without thinking...

Morrigan approached, offering a potion of their own - a real one, they assured her, which made her chuckle at the admission that there were potions for selling and potions for consuming. There was... a lot of glitter on that one, but life was not worth it if they couldn't spice things up a bit, right? If Kamille trusted Morrigan enough, or trusted her own abilities for whatever ends that would produce it wouldn't be clear; but the fact was that the Witch promptly accepted his potion.

"Thank you, Morrigan."

Kamille took the potion in one gulp, without fear. Just like they promissed, it quickly made the bumps and scratches dissappear. That, it would seem, was true about the scammer: despite taking the road they did, Morrigan was able to make effective elixirs after all. Interesting.

Returning the empty bottle, Morrigan would notice her normal attire was very different from the silks and laces she wore around Zeinav: while still high quality leather and black laces, it was fully black, maybe a bit more showy and flashy if that was possible, and curiously enough she had stiched black claws to the ends of her gloves. The feathery cloak hanging from the backrest of her chair, it was clear she truly did take the persona of the Mother Raven, and was promptly recognized by that.

"I'd say she was very interested, actually... Just didn't like the content. Apparently her patience has come to an end. That's good news for us."

She had to consider she was good at pushing people's buttons and depriving them of their patience. She chuckled at that. Yes, that she could do well. Kamille leaned in to listen to their story - this time, she wasn't having anything to drink.

"I'm glad to hear your conversation was rewarding. I'd expect nothing less. I, in turn, heard a tale of woe from a downright pleasant man that... Well. He made me a proposal I had to refuse. Curious how some man turn to violence once rejected. Curious, but not surprising, sadly. Luckly I'm better at violence than he is."

Still, she held back enough to give the man hope that a rematch was possible, specially if her Black Quills weren't around. Now they just had to press them more.

"What's the impression you had of him?"

Morrigan finally noticed what looked so different about Lady Kamille when she plucked their proffered elixir from the table and downed it in one gulp. Gone was the traditional Zeinavian attire of a noble lady, replaced with something that looked far more familiar and expected of someone who kept the company of an entourage known as the ‘Black Quills’. They were so in awe of the black-stained leather and baudy ensemble that Morrigan nearly missed her look of surprise that Morrigan could actually make effective potions.

It should have come as no surprise, really.

She had no idea that, once upon a time, Morrigan actually had been trained in the ways of alchemy. No traditional education in a classroom or laboratory, of course. But rather, by a circus charlatan who had once gotten her gnarled, old, prune-like hands on a chemist’s tome from a game of cards. Or at least, that was the story Madam Medb told Morrigan. Sometimes she seemed a touch too sharp or learned for that story to be true… but Morrigan didn’t care.

Your body may be weak, boy, she used to spit while idly brewing her next batch of poison in a cauldron while Morrigan watched. But once I’m done with you, you’ll be sharp as any knife, and just as cunning. Where honeyed words won’t work, sometimes all you need is a little poison to slip in the tea.

Some are born to be heroes, but when I look in your eyes, all I see is the emptiness of someone destined to be a criminal. I’m just giving you the tools to achieve that.

Empty eyes? Madam Medb, I don’t understand.

One day you will understand, child. You will look into the empty eyes of a madman, and you will see yourself reflected in them. Then, you will know.

It was not until meeting the Red Fist that Morrigan understood exactly what Madam Medb meant.

“He is… a man strong in his convictions. Unstable. It was not difficult to find the right catalyst to set him off.” It was not unlike watching a toy doll, one with wooden cranks and screws that you could simply just wind up and watch him go. Perhaps Morrigan ought to have been worried that their meddling would have the intended outcome, but they were too short-sighted to think about the consequences of their actions. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Either the Red Fist would turn against Lady Jasnah and blow her up to kingdom come, or she would kill him in turn - either way, that would be one half of the problem solved.

Morrigan leaned back in their chair, gazing adoringly around the destruction surrounding them. A hot woman with a fiery temper, having so easily dispatched Lady Jasnah’s thugs. Gods, they’d been so close to getting on her bad side…

Morrigan suppressed a shiver.

“I’d say your propensity for violence is far greater than that of any other’s I’ve met, my lady.”

Morrigan's words had an unexpected effect: Kamille flashed one of those smiles that brought a twinkle to the eyes, dimples and all, and even a flush of color to the cheeks. She blushed as a noble lady would if they had complimented her on her dress and hair, but the situation wasn’t nearly comparable.

"There is a saying about liars and pants on fire that we could will into reality, you know," she jested, while arranging the empty vial of Morrigan's potion to give back to them.

But what he brought was forward was interesting. The Red Fist didn’t strike her as a man with a stoic temperament to begin with, but instability was another thing entirely... This should be interesting. Kamille leaned back in her chair, scratching her chin thoughtfully as her mind wandered. Even her gloves had claws.

"There’s a....... friend," she started. Long pause, soft blush again. "...that enjoys gardening, and I've been interested in it as well. He cultivated these beautiful deep purple roses, almost black. And this feels to me like gardening, don’t you think? We don’t actually have a fine control over what's to come, but we can... plant the seeds where we want... tend to the buds that we want to se growing... rip off the weeds..."

From all the people, that was a conversation she never expected to be having with Morrigan. She wasn't sure how much seriously they took what she said, so it was kinda refreshing to have a lighter perspective on the matter.

"But most of the times, we need to wait and let nature take its course. I would love if I got to avoid a serious encounter with the Red Fist before he is paid, but that will probably mean we'll have a short window of time to act on. Now we watch and wait, and when he's ready to make his move against the Sultan, we jump in. I can even imagine what he'll think..."

The Red Fist was already, apparently, seeing her as competition, and their relation to the Guild would only work on their favor now. The half elf turned her starry eyes to Morrigan; while lies didn’t come easy to her, her honesty often came as disarming and charming.

"I'm sorry, I must sound like an old fart ranting right now....Your potion is very good, by the way. An interesting combination, one I wouldn’t have thought about. And it works. You are very good at it. Where did you learn? And why sell the snake oil when you could make a name on the real stuff? I'm sure your life is filled with excitement, but... Well.... As you might have seen already, my life is also filled with excitement..."

It was a toothy, mischievous grin this time, as she propped her legs crossed on the table. Kamille had spent nearly equal amouts of time at the Court and at the dirty taverns on the docks of Sol City to hear the latest news firsthand.

“Gardening is an apt metaphor for this endeavor.” Morrigan nodded in agreement. “I’d say that we’re getting close to seeing the fruits of our labor, are we not?”

Morrigan was reminded of an old saying - you could lead a horse to an oasis but you could not force him to drink. They had led the horse, the Red Fist, to this river. Would he partake in the sweet elixir of life, or would he perform in an entirely unexpected way? Either way, they had wound him up, and it was time to watch him go. Morrigan didn’t particularly care for the outcome. The act of meddling in of itself was entertaining.

“We’ll have to time this pruning carefully, then.” Morrigan nodded, continuing along with the garden metaphor. Now came Morrigan’s least favorite part of any con. The terrible, horrible waiting. They were impatient on the best of days, and downright unpleasant on the worst of days. Instant gratification… the crux of everything Morrigan did. “I suppose all we can do is… wait.”

They spat the word like venom.

“Why thank you.” They dipped into a bow in the chair they were in, swiping the empty bottle before it disappeared into their sleeve with a magician’s flourish and a bit of glitter. The bottle would later be reused and filled with more of the glittery substance. The lady Kamille seemed honestly surprised that Morrigan actually possessed some talent with potioncraft, even going as far as to asking where they’d learned.

“I’m sure that we could spend the entire evening swapping stories about how interesting our lives are.” Morrigan hummed. They could not deny their curiosity about everything that Kamille had seen and heard in her life. She lived the life that Morrigan had always coveted - where their glamor and fame was all an illusion, she possessed it all. The power, the high standing, the reputation.

They were as possessed with ugly envy as they were awe.

“But we would be here for a rather long time, I’d wager.” They replied, though it was obvious from their tone of voice and the gleam in their eye that they would not pass up a chance to speak about their favorite subject - themselves.

“Contrary to yourself, I did not have a traditional education in the way of alchemy. My origins began in the circus, under the guidance of a fortune teller who once had the pleasure of learning under a great alchemist. Well… great is subjective. I believe he was once kicked out of the Golden Consortium for being a madman.”

They laughed behind their hand.

“I prefer to think of him as creative. His methods may have been unconventional, but he passed them to my mentor, who passed them to me. She taught me everything I know. From reading the cards to putting on a show, to brewing elixirs of all manner. Healing potions are not my specialty, though. If given the chance, I would savor the opportunity to show you some of my poisons and glitter bombs.”

Their voice was full of faux-humbleness as they spoke. 

“Perhaps not entirely up to the standard of your scholarly expectations, but there is a saying that Madam Medb used to impart on me. You cannot break the rules if you do not know what they are in the first place. Unconventional methods yield unconventional results.”

Now it was their turn to dig, as unsubtly as it was. “I know a fair bit about your magical background, but your alchemical one interests me far more. You clearly possess knowledge on the subject. With such infinite power as yours… what possessed you to learn?”

If Morrigan loved to talk about themselves, they have just found a captive audience. Kamille was a good, intent listener, her eyes reflecting her emotions clearly as the fellblood told their story.

Contrary to yourself, I did not have a traditional education...

That got a grin out of her, oblique and disengenuous. It was easy for people to see her success as the result of an efficient, traditional education, and she couldn’t blame them. It was common knowledge, after all, that she was the apprentice of the current Court Wizard of the Sun King. Everyone seemed to forget she had always been regarded as the failed apprentice, while her rival thrived. 

The playful twinkle in her eyes seemed to falter as Morrigan talked about the Master of their Master. This story brought hints of familiarity, but she quickly brought the smile back to her lips.

"Let me tell you something about traditional education, Mr. Moonweaver. It is faaar overated, for sure. I was a failure under my Master, as much as he was a great arcanist and able teacher. My rival thrived and I was stuck for most of my life."

And then, she left Court, still with the marks of hands around her neck. Milly, what happens when you open a door in a building that's on fire? 

What exactly happened when she left Court?

"Unconventional methods wield unconventional results, that is much wise. Only a madmam keeps on doing the same thing hoping for different results. I'd love to meet your Master if possible, I can only imagine what kind of person they are...."

Despite the mischievous smile, she looked genuine. Even the spark in her eye seemed to return when Morrigan spoke of teaching the poisons and glitter bombs.

"Don’t promise me what you can't compromise. I would love to learn anything from you, Mr. Moonweaver. Including your fortune reading skills, if you wouldn’t mind. The cards are not my friends, it feels like, and I often find palmistry more on par with my capacities."

Kamille may have looked a tad surprised about their background, but in reality it made complete sense! And she wholeheartedly accepted it in the blink of an eye, without thinking any less of them. On the contrary, it looked like it only awakened her mischievous side even more. It was clear that her curiosity and thirst for learning and knowledge was what probably brought her to the status she was now. 

"My "scholarly expectations" probably have nothing to do with where I stand right now. Everyone has their own path, you can't compare one with the other. I see much potential in you."

The mention to her background as an alchemist made her features change ever so subtly - which, for someone like Morrigan, would look glaring. The smile was still there, even if the luster of her eyes had faded. Bittersweet memories flooded her mind right now.

"My father is an alchemist, Mr. Moonweaver. The best I've seen, though this might just be memory of a little girl. He taught me before I could read, write or even reach the counter without a tall stool. He was the most patient, understanding teacher I could have had."

And then, 100 years later, he wrapped his hands around my neck.

Morrigan could not hide their surprise at the admission that flew from Lady Kamille’s lips, that she’d once been considered a failure by her mentor. Admittedly, though they knew bits and pieces of Lady Kamille’s life, their knowledge was cobbled together in piecemeal from bits and pieces of rumors they heard from others. A legendary witch, who’d once been the apprentice of the King’s wizard themselves. Life always seemed like it came… effortless to her, as if everything just seemed to work out. Things that she wanted was handed to her on a silver platter. Though the bitter smile and the admission that her rival had once far outshined her told a different story.

… Then again, perhaps that had been projection on Morrigan’s part. Born from a bitterness and deep-seated envy rooted in the very essence of their core, the assumption that everyone who had what they lacked meant their lives were far easier than Morrigan’s had once been.

In some ways, though…

We’re not so different, you and I, Morrigan mused. Both once tasted the bitter sting of inadequacy and defeat, and sought to claw their way out of that pit through whatever means possible. The only difference was that Kamille was actually able to scramble to the surface and make a legend out of herself. All of Morrigan’s accomplishments were nothing but hearsay, lies crafted to give substance to an illusion. Fact versus fiction.

“As far as I know, that pruny old hag is still traveling with the Dreamscape Bazaar.” It had been some time since Morrigan had left the circus - they must’ve been, oh… eighteen? Young and hungry and full of themselves, even more so than they were now. Conning people in the circus had been a comfortable arrangement, but Morrigan wanted something more substantial. Madam Medb had been… displeased when Morrigan decided to strike it out on their own, to say the least, but Morrigan didn’t stick around long enough to figure out what she really felt about their decision.

Assuming they hadn’t burnt that particular bridge, it would be quite easy for them to arrange a meeting of sorts between the Witch of Moonglade and the Seer of the Cirque.

“I would be more than happy to facilitate that kind of meeting.” Morrigan propped their chin in their hands, deep in thought. “Assuming you wish to share alchemical tricks with the scummy, selfish woman who taught me everything I know.” If it was even possible, Medb was even more selfish and cutthroat than Morrigan. A meeting between the two had the potential to either go horribly right… or end up in flames.

“You wish to learn my fortune-telling skills?” This request, too, came as a surprise. “Why, Lady Kamille, I would be more than happy to share my techniques with you. My first secret - learn to shuffle your cards so you can always pull the desired card you’re looking for.” They said with a wink. “Though I agree. I think there’s much we could learn from one another.”

They assumed their next line of questioning had been innocent enough, but in one second, the air went from feeling light and amicable to heavy and cold. There was no shift in Lady Kamille’s expression - she appeared as lovely and genial as ever - but there was something deeper in her tone, a kind of sadness that said, don’t pursue this line of questioning. Leave it be.

Their throat felt rather dry, an odd sort of sensation that couldn’t be quenched even as they took a sip of their cocktail.

“… I see.” They hummed. The topic felt far too heavy for them to touch, so where sincerity and sentimentality failed, the charlatan changed the subject with flattery. “I’m sure he wanes in comparison to you, my lady. The student is meant to surpass the master, after all. Innovation trumps tradition any day. And even given our brief acquaintance, I can tell that you like to think outside the box. One can't train that kind of talent.”

Their eyes glinted with mischief.

“Yes, perhaps it would behoove us both to learn from one another, if you're amenable. I hope you don’t mind glitter.”

Kamille always found it curious the surprise people would express upon knowing she once considered herself a failure. Undeniably, it gave her some satisfaction to remember how she overcame that. And now, with some new information that came to light about her past, she was starting to wonder if her delay was just the result of a wrong approach to teaching, or something else entirely....

"Whenever that could happen, I would be very much pleased... I imagine she is a busy woman, though. You haven’t seen her lately, then? I can’t blame you, I haven’t seen my old Master since I left, I guess... I have seen my former rival, though, a couple of times. It's interesting how a bit of distance can put things into perspective. We used to prank each other all the time - and that bit didn’t change. But now it feels different... I remember that when his father was arranging to have us both married, we both rejected the idea vehemently. Life would've been so different, I guess..."

Probably easier, even more luxurious and still close to the Court. Probably she wouldn’t be as powerful, as well known. Probably... Probably there wouldn’t be a Witch of Moonglade. Kamille would rarely ever wonder on the grounds of what could've been and is not, and the thought wasn’t all too common to her, but...

Yes, she found that the path she was in ended up better for her.

It didn’t come as a surprise for her that Morrigan would manipulate the results of the cards to get what he wanted. It seemed to serve the purpose of steering the conversation towards a lighter ground, as she once again showed them that bright smile that sparked her eyes.

"I would love to learn from you, Mr. Moonweaver. A little bit of glitter doesn’t intimidate me."

Perhaps she was overestimating Morrigan a bit there....

"Whenever you'd like to show me your skills again, I'd be more than happy for a second round. And whenever you'd like to have your palm read, I'd love to take a look at what your hands can tell me about you..."

Though, truth be told, there seemed to be something more to that offer... While the future was still nebulous to the Witch, and for the most part she didn’t even dare to pretend to know something about it, what was written on stone was another thing entirely.... She had ways of bringing it back to the surface. She had ways of coming accross information - it was no wonder she would often deal in secrets, instead of coin.

"Perhaps sometime I can invite you over to the Villa of Lost Souls for us to exchange knowledge.... Hopefully in the near future."

The subject away from her past and her father, she leaned towards the fellblood with a mischievous disposition once again. If a bit of flattery wasn’t enough to win her over, it certainly helped to keep the conversation going and the spirits up. She had reasons to believe the fellblood was the same.

"Is that what led you to abandon the direction of your Master? Have you surpassed her? Or just wanted to do things your way?"

For her, it was an innocent enough line of questioning, for she didn't imagine they had more in common than at first glance. Wildly different backgrounds, but the same strokes here and there - perhaps even the same pallete of colors, some similarities here and there. Failed apprentices, sour relationships with their mentors. Her interest in the fellblood was genuine.

“I must have been… oh, eighteen when I saw her last? You’d think she would be bothered to pick up pen and paper to send her favorite student a letter, but you know. Sometimes it is best to let things rest where they belong in the past.” Interesting, how Kamille seemed to be fascinated by Medb. Morrigan couldn’t fault her for that. The Witch of Moonglade held a fondness for shiny things and all that glittered and sparkled with the promise of something fun. Medb was much the same in that regard, a woman who cared little for the proprietary stiffness of society and the niceness of manners. Even more interesting, though, was Kamille’s admission that came next.

Morrigan wondered how many of her confidantes knew such vulnerable information about her.

“Arranged to be married to your rival?” That fact above all seemed to grate at the charlatan. To be stiffed in court was one thing, but to have your freedom chained down, your wings clipped, all for the sake of someone else’s whims. They looked calm on the surface, but on the inside Morrigan seethed on her behalf, and grew disdainful for the court of Moonglade. No one had the right to control such a fearsome and awe-inspiring woman.

But more importantly, why did she almost seem to… lament the loss of those days?

There was a kind of melancholic twinge to her smile, almost as if despite the bad, there had been times that made such torment worth it. What could possibly make her think like that? For someone who burned every bridge they left behind and didn’t look back, such sentiments didn’t seem possible.

For all Morrigan could puzzle together the thoughts and feelings of others, tug on their heartstrings to make them buy snake oil, they just didn’t understand. Nor could they understand why those feelings eluded them -

That was a dangerous line of thinking. Such sentiments were too dangerous for a criminal to hold, anyways. Morrigan was better off without them.

The smile that donned their face next looked rather pinched in comparison to the more natural one they’d held earlier. The tension relaxed as Kamille confessed she wasn’t warded away by a little bit of glitter.

“Ha! A little?” Oh, she was in for a treat, then. But Morrigan would save that one as a surprise for the illustrious witch. They hoped that glitter was easy to wash out of black leather and feathers…

At the mention of palmistry, Morrigan perked up. “Oh? I would be more than happy to provide you with another reading if you so desire, though I think one good turn deserves another, does it not? A reading for a reading? I’m ever so curious to know what the fates hold in store for me.”

Without hesitation or an ounce of thought as to who Morrigan was offering their hand to, Morrigan held out their arm with their open palm splayed to the sky, allowing Kamille to grab it if she so desired. Their eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Well, what do you see? Do I marry a beautiful princess, or become the head of the mage’s guild?”

Well, no one could say they didn’t have ambitions of grandeur.

The question of what led them to leave their master left them stumped, for a moment. “I suppose you could say that.” They offered Kamille a wry smile. “Working in the circus was her… ah, retirement is the right word for it. She was comfortable there, but it was not stimulating enough for a young fellblood of eighteen. And so, I stand before you now! The ruggedly attractive and dashing confidence man!”

"Like I said, traditional education didn’t do much for me... I like to learn under the most unusual and unorthodox. Your Madam Medb sounds like an interesting woman... If... she's still around, that is."

Morrigan looked quite unphased and non-chalant about their former mentor, which led her to believe they didn’t part ways in the most civilized way... If the fellblood was this wild now, she could only imagine what he was like during his teenage years. The thought brought a smile to her lips once again.

Kamille looked amused at Morrigan's reaction to knowing the Witch was once thought to be marrying her rival. Maybe it was hard to envision it now that she had made a name for herself, but not long ago she had been a scaredy cat, under the provisory grace of the Sun King because of her father's long years of service.

But that was well over in the past now. If that piece of information seemed to surprise them, she would love their reaction to what was about to come next:

"Oh, that's not even the best part of it....... You know who was it that I wanted to marry at the time? His brother."

There was a time, not long ago, she wouldn’t be able to talk about it so lightly- so despite the tinge of longing and yearning for a future that could never be, it didn’t seem to hurt anymore. Her former rival became her friend, to the point they may have made quite a pair, but most importantly, she didn’t seem to hate on her former flame quite as much.

There were things, people, that were more important now. It made for a good story, if a bit convoluted.

"But their father was a stuck up noble that didn’t think I, not-a-noble, would be a good match to his heir, the handsome knight, possibly soon to be Captain of the guard of the Sun King... Instead, I could be a good fit for his bastard... which also happened to be the other apprentice under my former Master, thus... my rival. It was one of the hottest gossips on the Court before I left. Our relationship was nothing if an open secret at that point. I may have tried to set my former lover's head on fire when I heard he was about to marry someone else....... Glad it didn’t work. He wasn’t worth the trouble."

It may have come as a surprise how much Kamille seemed to open up about her past - to a near stranger! One couldn’t claim to know the other full well after a couple of days of mischief and scheming... But truth be told, nothing she told so far was a secret or sensitive. Such information was somewhat public or easy to find - with the right people - and she didn’t seem to want to hide it much. It all fit under what was well known about her: she once lived at the Court, and left because of a scandal....

Supposedly. She had always found it easier to hide the hard truth under smaller, easier truths.

The beautiful half elf barely contained her smile when the fellblood extended a hand to her - she'd hope the juicy gossips would keep them from thinking much about her request.... as it turns out, Morrigan promptly offered his palm, without a second thought!

One of them was clearly in for a surprise, only question was which one.

Kamille accepted their hand, her delicate fingers traveling across all the marks, scars and calluses. She wasn't sure they wouldn’t notice her spell, but she would do it either way [1], her face taken by a focused expression as she squinted her eyes at their hand, seemingly trying to read their palm.

[1]Reveal Truth

“His brother?”

This was hardly anything that wasn’t public knowledge, but these little bits of juicy gossip was utterly riveting! Where Morrigan’s life had revolves around leaving behind a stream of lovers and casual dalliances wherever they went, Kamille had been entrenched in court drama, the sauciest kind to be had. They let out a burst of shocked laughter, the corners of their eyes crinkling as they did.

“Honey, men aren’t ever worth that much.” They said with a wink. “Believe me, I’d know. I’ve a long list of them that were nowhere near as pleasant sounding as this knight fellow and all of them bringing a whole heap of trouble along. Though… I would pay good solars to watch you give him a scalp treatment via fireball.” They said with a wink as they handed their palm out to her with little thought.

Perhaps if they weren’t so entrenched in the promise of court drama and the gossip that entailed, they would have thought the fact that the Witch of Moonglade had a specialty in divination magic. Perhaps it would have occurred to them that Kamille had ways of drawing secrets out of others… and that every single one of their carefully construed lies was about to be stripped bare.

---

Having spent a few days in the company of the self-proclaimed Wizard of the Wastes, there are a few things you’ve picked up on regarding their personality. Their ostentatious nature, their loud presence, their inflated ego. You are aware of the veritable fountain of bullshit that spews out of their mouth, the lies that they’ve given you to convince you of their power. You, of course, know that they are paper- thin. You’ve not sensed a drop of magic in the ‘wizard’s’ body - quite the opposite, in fact.

There is a sense of… hollowness about Morrigan. Something that sends your skin crawling as you feel it, a sort of blank emptiness that seems to permeate your very soul.

They are wrong, wrong, wrong.

In your wealth of experience, perhaps you have encountered this sensation before.

Nearly every living being in this world is born with at least some magic in their bodies - an ethereal, unknowing force that ties all creatures together.

Not Morrigan.

As you traverse the recesses of their mind to their very soul, you learn two incontrovertible facts about the charlatan in front of you.

One - that they are one of the unfortunate misers afflicted with the mana curse, so potent that every instinct in your body screams that they are a mistake, that they should not be allowed to exist, that they are a black hole contained in a person’s body, and;

Two - the person named ‘Morrigan Moonweaver’ doesn’t rightfully exist.

…

Even holding the hand of a mana cursed makes you sick to your stomach, a compulsion that overtakes you even as you weave your spell. Dare you continue? Perhaps it is sick curiosity that pushes you forward, a desire to know exactly what a person could have done to earn a curse as twisted and cruel as this. So you forge forward, sifting through the forest of lies to find the seeds of truth.

It is unfortunate for you to learn, then, that Morrigan did nothing at all to earn this curse.

They simply made the mistake of being born.

Morrigan - no, Kaivalya Hridyanshu - is born in the back of a moving wagon as part of a caravan traveling through the White Sand Seas. One would think that someone born in motion, as energetic as Morrigan, had been born with that much enthusiasm. This couldn’t be further from the truth.

In fact, Kaivalya is born so silent and cold that the midwife mistakes them for a stillborn.

They are nearly thrown to the wolves without so much as a sniffle - it is only when the nurse things to check for a heartbeat do they realize that Kaivalya is alive, barely. Elka Hridyanshu holds her child to her chest, this shell of an infant with no willpower, no sadness, not even enough energy to so much as cry, and she feels nothing for this stranger.

They are, simply put, wrong.

Elka and Payekha Hridyanshu are told that their child will likely not live to see five summers.

They anticipate the worst. Kaivalya, in their first years of life, is not even given a name. Elka and Payekha fear getting too attached that the loss of their weak child will destroy them. They raise Kaivalya as if he is already dead, confined to a locked room in the back of their family’s wagon where no harm or joy or love will ever come to him. Kaivalya does not earn a name until they pass their life expectancy, and they do not learn to properly speak until they are ten. They get by learning sign language through books, picking up words from listening to tense, hushed conversations in other rooms.

Oh, they are a weak sliver of a thing, but they survive.

When Kaivalya is six, their parents start taking them around to give them a sense of the world.

The Hridyanshu’s are members of a fellblood trading caravan known only as the Scorpions, a group of crackshot merchants that are hungry for a deal and even hungrier for coin. The Hridyanshu’s are the best of the best, shrewd and pragmatic, and best of all, powerful. Elka is a powerful healer and a connoisseur of enchanted artifacts and rare curios. Payekha is a follower of Ginma who carries his blessing - if his life had been different, perhaps he would have been a priest. But now he lives as one of the most cutthroat merchants in the Scorpions, capable of selling a pile of bejeweled shit to a sultan. By the time Kaivalya turns six, they are young and hungry, and growing curious. There is nothing for their parents to do but bring them along to deals, where they sit silently and watch, and listen, and absorb.

They are wrong, and everyone knows it.

The other children in the caravan take to calling them Husk.

Elka and Payekha secretly wish that they hadn’t had Kaivalya at all.

And Kaivalya watches and listens and absorbs it all, watching other people love and live and never understanding it. How can they, when they have never been shown these things? When they’ve never received so much as a hug, words of encouragement, or even just kindness from another person, when others avoid them like the plague?

They watch and listen, and practice casting spells in the dark of their room with the hopes that they will one day be normal until that hope grows dim and dies out within them. Until that odd emptiness in their heart is filled with confusion, bitterness, and envy so deep-rooted that these ugly feelings still persist today. They watch their parents make deals and haggle and grow shrewd. They learn the value of coin, wealth, and influence, a power that does not discriminate. And oh, how they covet power.

If Kaivalya cannot be normal, then they will grab that power with their own hands.

The sheltered life of a traveling merchant persists until Kaivalya is around fifteen. They’ve learned to speak by now, though they rarely have anything to say. They are a quiet child, and their body is weak. But how they dream, desiring a life grander than their own. They dream of being the leader of the Mage’s guild, of being the sultan of Zeinav, of commanding power and respect from everyone around them.

Perhaps if they had that, then people would love them for once.

They find their answer in the form of the circus.

The Dreamscape Bazaar just so happens to be visiting Zeinav City at the same time as the Scorpions. You see Kaivalya holding a flier, begging and pleading their parents to visit the circus, to see the traveling acts. Elka and Payekha are hesitant at first - they don’t want their child to get hurt. They agree, on the condition that Kaivalya is chaperoned. So they take him to the circus, holding tight to his hand so he doesn’t get lost anywhere.

And that is the first day Morrigan Moonweaver feels alive.

The lights, the magic - not spells made of mana but from clever illusions, well-timed tricks, and copious amounts of glitter - it enthralls them. Kaivalya cannot tear their eyes away from the tantalizing sights and sounds, the entertainers with bright smiles and juggling acts and fireworks. But it is the fortune-teller that enchants Kaivalya.

A scammer and alchemist posing as a divination wizard, the illustrious Madam Medb. Kaivalya steps into her tent, eyes alight with curiosity, and something deeper, and Medb instantly recognizes a like soul. The scum of the earth, someone who has been so wronged by the world that they will do anything to get what they desire. She grabs their palm, much in the way you hold their palm now, and uttered the words that changed their life.

“I sense great success in your future.”

She is the first person who has ever believed in Kaivalya. She is the only one who has looked past the physical weakness, the effects of the curse, and seen someone worth tutoring. Someone worth treating like an equal.

Kaivalya wants more.

That night, they drug the caravan’s meal with a dash of sleeping powder they haggled from a merchant, and stole away into the night, never once looking back. They run to Madam Medb, with one simple request -

“Teach me.”

And Medb merely smirks. “Are you sure you’re ready to learn?”

And if it meant pulling themselves out of that sinkhole of a life they’d lived before? Kaivalya would fly if she asked it.

Kaivalya dies that night, killed by Morrigan Moonweaver’s hand. They cast their name aside. They cast their family aside. They cast their weak, pathetic personality aside. Morrigan kills any trace of Kaivalya with the promise that they will never allow themselves to be silent again, never locked away in a room for their own safety. They will live, and they will be free to do what they want, when they want, and take what they deserve.

(They do deserve it… don’t they?)

Morrigan learns all they can under Madam Medb, hungry for power and knowledge. She is a harsh teacher who imparts in Morrigan how to scam customers, how to utilize their silver tongue, how to brew potions to aid in their exploits. Morrigan takes it all in until the student surpasses the master. They make a killing reading the cards and manipulating others for a couple of solars, but they want more.

So they strike out from the circus at eighteen, and the Wizard of the Wastes is born.

It’s the perfect grift! People finally love Morrigan, because they’re fun and loud and exciting and colorful! They live the easy life, selling snake oil to unsuspecting customers who adore them, and spreading lies about their greatness. They want the fame, the power!

They want attention!

… So why is something still missing?

It is difficult to place quite what it is. Morrigan has spent their life searching for something to chase that empty feeling that has haunted them since their birth. They try to fill it with fancy items and the latest fashions, with the thrill of daring scams and grifts for magic items and coin. But still… something is off. They still don’t know what makes them so empty, so wrong.

Once a husk, always a husk.

Though, there’s something odd in their memories. A spark of something you see as you sift through years of traveling Zeinav, living a comfortable life. You see them, beyond all rhyme or reason, making friends. You see a light, a brilliant one. A healer from Moonglade, one that Morrigan originally intended to scam, but couldn’t bring themselves to. You see Morrigan laughing and joking with him, feeling light and airy, overjoyed at meeting someone who makes them laugh with his dry wit and his sardonic humor and his down-to-earth nature.

Kvasir Sigurros.

Kvasir.

Morrigan’s dearest medic.

You see a meeting in the snow-capped mountains of Frostgale - not all is as it seems. Kvasir is possessed by something, something that threatens Morrigan. The path ahead seems fraught with danger, association with Kvasir dangerous…

But when has a little danger ever stopped Morrigan from taking what they want?

Perhaps they don’t know it now - the change brewing in their gut. For their entire life, Morrigan had only ever thought about themselves, a selfish asshole that had to take care of their survival first. And her, there is room for something new there, something that Morrigan can’t place. They would do anything for Kvasir. Why would they do anything for Kvasir? Why do they feel like this?

… What is this weird feeling?

Morrigan doesn’t know - and they don’t care. All they know is that they would do anything for Kvasir, the medic that owns the tattered remains of this shriveled, pitch-black heart. Oh, yes, they are a self-absorbed asshole, a hack con with no real redeeming qualities. But perhaps a small part of them wants the lie to be real, if only so Kvasir will keep looking at them with admiration. A small part of Kaivalya that still exists - a little, vulnerable piece of their child self yearns to be loved, just as they are.

But that will never happen.

So they settle for being Kvasir’s friend, and keeping up this charade for everyone. All the while, wanting. All their life spent running, chasing something that even they could not name. And perhaps they’ve found it. Who knows? But for the first time, they are woefully aware of their emptiness, and how much that stings. If only they could fix it, tear out this weakness in their chest like they tore out Kaivalya and replace it with something real-

They return to Zeinav after that encounter in Frostgale, Morrigan and Kvasir parting their separate ways.

And then, Morrigan meets you in a marketplace stall, and the rest, as they say, is history.

---

Silence.

Morrigan wiggled their fingers idly where Kamille still held to their palm, bored. Their lines couldn’t be that interesting, surely?

They clicked their tongue, keeping their tone casual. “… So, see anything fun in my future?”