It was the week before Winter’s Crown and all through the alley, not a creature was stirring, not even a rat.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true. There was one creature stirring, slinking through the alley with near silent, cat-like footsteps. She slunk through the shadows, a dark hood covering her clothes and white hair. Though the streets were dark this time of night, she had no trouble seeing through the dim as she approached her destination.

The mission was simple, really. There was a poorly guarded warehouse in one of the nicer areas of Darkveil, owned by the wealthy Rochere family whom like many of the powerful people in Darkveil gained their wealth below the table, so to speak. Recently, through much scheming and plotting, the Rochere’s had secured a monopoly on importing cheap cotton and wool to Darkveil only to turn around and sell it at prices no commoner could hope to afford.

Iryla’s job was to… liberate some of the crates inside the storehouse and redistribute them. The Rochere’s must have gotten cocky, their pride emboldened by their recent gains if they left the goods so poorly guarded like this. Honestly, it was like they were asking for someone like Iryla to come by. Maybe this was one very elaborate way to make a donation to the less fortunate, who knows.

Iryla certainly didn’t care what their reasoning was, as long as it worked out in her benefit.

Creeping around the side of the building, Iryla spots what she had been looking for. Scouting this place out in the daytime had revealed a small window on the side of the building that was kept open. Likely the guards and warehouse workers didn’t think anyone could fit through such a small space. But Iryla was small for her age, and would be able to slip through just fine. That was why she had been chosen to go on this little excursion.

She’d get in, steal a few things, help the poor, hurt the Rochere’s, and no one would even know how she’d gotten in or out.

Behind her in the shadows, a few of Zarius’ men lie in wait. Once she was in the warehouse she’d be on her own as none of them could fit through the window behind her, but she would be able to push out bolts of wool and cotton that they would then take away back to where ever they would be kept until being given away.

Iryla can feel their eyes on her back as she makes her way up to the wall. Taking a breath she steadies herself, then she backs up a few paces away. She darts forward in the darkness and at the last minute makes a jump, just catching the bottom of the window sill.

Phew. Okay, good. As quickly and quietly as she can she pulls herself up and looks inside the warehouse. Much to her benefit, there were already a few crates stacked underneath the window, almost as if they were waiting for her. But she does not waste time contemplating her good luck. There would be time for that later. Instead she fully pulls herself through the window and lands quietly on the crate below her. Hopping down, she takes a look around.

It didn’t seem like there was anyone inside the warehouse this time of night, which was good. The guards that had been posted here had all been placed at strategic positions on the outside of the warehouse, meaning she likely had free reign of this place.

Softly she creeps further into the warehouse among the darkened shelves. Wool and Cotton. She needed to find the Wool and Cotton.

She could make fun of the Rochere’s idiocy with Cyran and Zarius when she made it back safely.

It was the week before Winter’s Crown, and… Morrigan was completely and utterly bored.

Where normally their night would spent in utter debauchery, of parties and wild nights until they either found themselves being kicked out of taverns, or at the receiving end of a spurned customer or a lover, all in the sake of holiday merriment. Unfortunately, the charlatan had gotten themselves involved in what one might call an unfortunate misunderstanding.

Their tale of woe regarding how they had currently ended up in this predicament started with a simple day in the marketplace, in which innocent Morrigan, simply out shopping for a new fine cloak, encountered a stall selling goods made from the scratchiest fabric that Morrigan had ever seen, while claiming it to be Zeinavian silk. One touch was all it took for Morrigan to tell that this was simply the ruse of a hack salesman attempting to sell shit as gold. When they had politely informed the seller as such, they’d been apprehended by the merchant’s guards.

… So perhaps the phrase I wouldn’t use this cotton to wipe my ass wasn’t the most respectful thing to say. And how was Morrigan supposed to know that they’d incidentally insulted the wares of the Rochere family right in front of their place of business? And that when Morrigan demanded that they be allowed to speak to the owner of this less-than-fine establishment, that they would be rudely dragged into the office of the very head of the Rochere family, where they would be forced to provide free labor to provide for their transgressions?

No, Morrigan had not expected that unfortunate chain of events to unfold in such a way, nor would they ever take the blame for actions that were entirely their own fault. So instead, they were lamenting their pitiable fortune like a petulant child, occasionally kicking at crates as they stood in the middle of the Rochere’s warehouse.

Their current- unwilling- mission was this: guard the warehouse from the dastardly thief known as the Red Rogue.

“The Red Rogue strikes every year around Winter’s Crown, costing the honest businessfolk around here a fortune.” Morrigan was certain that the businessfolk in question were about as honest as the snake oil salesman themselves, but they rather liked keeping their pretty face attached to their body so they, for once, kept their mouth shut. “I’ve caught word that they’re supposed to strike tonight. You’re going to watch the warehouse tonight and protect the goods from getting stolen. Mess up, and-”

He dragged his thumb against his neck, which painted the picture well enough.

Morrigan didn’t particularly care one way or the other if some thief made away with everything in the winter night. “It is not as if anyone would want such cheap cotton in the first place.” They grumbled to themselves, before raising their voice and shouting, “If you want any of it, you can take it! It’s not as if this swill is worth anything!”

Well, now that they were here, they may as well actually make an attempt at guarding these goods. They started making their way through the rows of crates and shelves, whistling as they walked, keeping an eye out for any potential thieves. With any luck, no thief would show up and Morrigan would get away scot free. With less luck… they might need to cut their losses and find a way out of the city before things got ugly.

“If you want any of it, you can take it! It’s not as if this swill is worth anything!”

The shouting sends a jolt through Iryla, though she does not let herself make a sound in response. Instead she moves, half on instinct, half on adrenaline. Shadows dance at the edges of her senses¹ as she quickly slips into a shadow cast by the shelves around her.

Fuck, so her information had been wrong. There was a guard posted inside. At least one that she could currently hear. Straining her ears to listen past the shouting, she could hear the echoing of footsteps, but could only make out the sound of one pair. That didn’t mean there wasn’t potentially another guard somewhere inside of here, but if there was, they were likely stationary and easier to avoid…

But that still left the guard who was clearly roaming, airing his frustrations to the empty night air.

She creeps forward, keeping herself unseen in a path of shadows and darkness² through the warehouse, and moves towards the sound of the guard. When she is finally close enough to peek around the corner of a crate to look at her opponent she is expecting to see a challenge. Perhaps someone tall and physically fit, the kind of burly figure who usually made a good guard, someone she knew she would not want to be in a physical altercation with.

Instead what she sees is a skinny little tiefling about the same height as herself, wearing far too much jewelry, pacing around like he thought he was on a cat walk.

Ah.

So the Rocheres were still idiots, then. They may have realized she must be coming, but clearly didn’t put too much thought into their precautions. Well… It seemed that way on the surface, but Iryla reminded herself that appearances could be deceiving. Perhaps this strange guardian could still have a few tricks up his sleeve.

Or… Or maybe the real guard was just hiding in the shadows much like herself..?

Though she didn’t see³ anyone else hiding inside the warehouse. No, it seemed like it was just herself and the tiefling in here.

That… Yep. Okay. This was fine. Everything was still fine. The plan would still work, she just needed to be a little more creative this way. She could do that.

Iryla shifts her feet, feeling the rough concrete under the soles of her shoes, though the action makes no noticeable noise. She doesn’t take her eyes off of the tiefling even for a moment as she subtly feels around, only pausing when her foot just brushes against a small, loose stone in a crack in the floor. Perfect.

Her fingers are quick as she takes the stone and chucks it, and she is already moving in the opposite direction from where she threw it by the time the stone lands with a clatter. She’d start with items closest to her escape route and work her way further into the warehouse from there, as long as she remained unseen.

At least, that is her plan of action as she grabs her first bolt of fabric and carefully shoves it back out the way she came, hoping the muffled sound of cotton hitting the ground outside doesn’t grab the guard’s attention too quickly.

---

<sup>1. One with the Shadows
2. Pass Without a Trace
3. Shadow Sight</sup>

When their annoyed cries were only met with silence, Morrigan huffed and pulled out an ornate fan from their belt, opening it and fanning themselves more out of boredom than anything. So far, absolutely nothing had happened, and they were beginning to get bored. I really should just cut my losses and run… they had no idea what the Rochere family thought, sending someone with such delicate capabilities to take care of an entire warehouse! If they were expecting their things to get stolen, then shouldn’t they have hired someone more suited to the task? From what they understood, Darkveil had no shortage of criminals that were constantly searching for coin.

Instead, Morrigan had been sent here like some lamb to the slaughter.

“Ahhh…” They let out a small breath. “One would think they expect me to die here.”

Those words were spoken in jest, but Morrigan wondered if there was a kernel of truth to it. Their outfit, resembling more like a lavender peacock than anything, did not lend to stealth, and the charlatan did not cut an imposing figure. No thief in their right mind would be deterred from robbing this warehouse, especially with them going around announcing their presence by shouting whatever came to mind.

In fact, the thief currently obscured in the shadows was not at all worried by Morrigan’s appearance, as a few seconds later, she pitched a stone that clattered against the ground in the distance.

The noise caught Morrigan’s attention- they paused their fanning, a grimace growing on their features. Was that really the Red Rogue? Morrigan had assumed that someone stealing from the rich only to give such charity to the poor didn’t make much sense to the tiefling. If one was going to go through all the trouble of robbing things, they may as well keep it for themselves. Not to mention this was some of the cheapest material that Morrigan had seen in their life.

They supposed they should actually go check it out, though, so Morrigan reached into their bag and pulled out a small, rounded vial- just a precaution- and made their way to the source of the noise to investigate.

There was nothing really of interest that they could make out from the dim light of the wrought-iron lanterns hanging from the ceiling, or any kind of movement. Morrigan’s eyes narrowed, struck with the distinct feeling that they’d been played somehow. Or maybe it was a mouse, and they were just being paranoid. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. Raising their voice once more, Morrigan called out,

“To anyone hiding in here, I am warning you… it would be best to surrender now. In some circles, I am known of the great Wizard of the Wastes, enchanter, diviner, godslayer, and maker of elixirs most wonderful. All it would take is a flick of my hand to bring this warehouse- and anyone inside- down with it.”

Silence.

One of Morrigan’s ears twitched as they listened for another sound that they hoped was any potential thief coming out from hiding to immediately surrender at their confident proclamation, but none came out. Instead, they turned around, scanning the area to try and find where the second, quieter sound had come from.

That was when they spotted something along the wall- an open window, letting in the cold air from the outside. That must have been the sound they heard- the sound of a window snapping open and slamming against the wall.

“How the hell did that happen?” Morrigan muttered to themselves, stalking up to the window. They had to crawl up on a crate underneath to reach it, getting on their toes just enough to grasp at it and snap it closed. “It’s letting ash all over!” They grumbled, brushing aside the pile of ash that had accumulated from the outside. If they’d been more observant, or less wrapped up in their own head, they would have noticed the wares that had been dropped outside, or the signs of activity that indicated someone had already broken in.

It was a shame that they were still too busy lamenting their miserable fortune to pay attention to any of those blatantly obvious signals.

“Man, I need a stiff drink…” Morrigan hopped off the crate, sticking close to the window nonetheless. That was a real security risk- what if someone tried to break in through it?

“To anyone hiding in here, I am warning you… All it would take is a flick of my hand to bring this warehouse- and anyone inside- down with it.”

That.. That was a joke, wasn’t it? Iryla had very little experience with magic, that is to say, she had none at all. Magic was something rare to find on the streets of Darkveil, those gifted with it naturally destined for more glamorous lives than rooting through trash and stealing pocket change for a living. At least, they had a much better shot at making a decent living. So she had no idea how to recognize a sorcerer in the flesh.

But somehow, she knew she didn’t need to be worried about this ‘Enchanter’. It was a strange instinct that whispered to her. And perhaps a bit of common sense that said, if they were truly powerful, truly a godslayer, would they announce it to the world? Or would they let his power speak for itself?

At least, she likely didn’t need to worry about any divine magic smiting her, or whatever they had talked about. What she did need to worry about was them closing the window, her only way out.

Well, shit.

That made things more difficult for her. But it was not an impossible roadblock to overcome. It didn’t appear as if the strange ‘diviner’ had locked the window, not that it would have mattered if he had, seeing as Iryla had a bit of a knack for cracking open locks placed in front of her. All she really needed was for this purple clad fool to go anywhere else in the warehouse so she could continue her business.

Flexing her fingers, Iryla smiles faintly to herself in the darkness. Maybe this would prove to be some fun, or at the very least, a test of all she had been learning in the recent months.

Its like a dance for her after that, moving through the shadows on light, silent feet¹. She ducks away from her target, searching and searching for something she could use to give herself a distraction. When she spots the glinting of light off of glass out of the corner of her eye on one of the shelves, she knows she’s found what she’s looking for. Two small crates containing some kind of liquor. It’s easy to move one of them so it is perched precariously on the edge of it’s shelf², and the other?

The other comes crashing to the ground, liquid slowly seeping across the floor while Iryla once again moves through the shadows of the warehouse, around the corner of another shelf and out of view from where the broken crate lays³.

---

<sup>1. Silent Step
2. One with Shadows
3. Pass Without a Trace</sup>

Morrigan was still standing near the window when they heard a loud CRASH in the back of the warehouse. They flinched at the sound, immediately whirling in that direction, only to see a crate of what looked like alcohol, though it was difficult to tell with the bottles all broken and the drinks spilling onto the ground.

Okay. Morrigan was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that they were being played here.

Fanning themselves anxiously, Morrigan made their way to the broken crate, boots crunching over broken glass. They’d talked big game earlier, but if it was coming down to an actual fight with this red rogue, they were sooner to tuck their tail in between their legs and run. They didn’t actually give a damn about the Rochere family, and their patience would only extend so far. They’d much rather risk a bounty on their head for cowardice than get their beautiful face and clothes mauled by this Red Rogue.

But when they approached the crate, there was no one there.

Damn.

“I can see you’re no average thief.” Morrigan called out, hoping that whoever was hiding in here would finally take the bait and reveal themselves rather than torturing Morrigan with this game of cat and mouse. “But if you surrender now, I swear no harm will come to you.”

Just to be sure, they reached into their bag and pulled out a small, rounded flask, one that contained a liquid swirling in a myriad of colors that looked as if Morrigan had plucked starlight straight from the heavens and contained it in a bottle. Clutching it in their hand, Morrigan waited expectantly for someone to show…

And still, nothing.

Morrigan huffed, stamping their foot petulantly on the ground like a child throwing a temper tantrum. “Fine. If you want to play it the hard way, then that’s how we’ll play this.” Their tail flicked behind them as they stared up at the nearest stack of boxes, where the other crate of liquor was stored. Morrigan stared at it longingly, once more wishing that they could be at some tavern having the time of their lives rather than sniffing around for some rat that seemed to have made their way in.

Come to think of it, Morrigan had only been tasked with protecting the fabric shipment…

As they made their ascent to higher ground, pulling one of the bottles out of the crate before accidentally nudging the crate over the side. It tumbled to the ground with a second CRASH just as loud as the first, splattering priceless alcohol all over the floor.

“Oops.”

It was the perfect crime.

With a little bit of effort given their short stature, Morrigan managed to hoist themselves onto the top of the highest crate in this particular pile, bottle still clutched in their hand. They surveyed the empty warehouse, still unable to find any sign of the thief. Wherever they were, they were hidden well.

“I’m warning you, Red Rogue, this is your last chance to come out and surrender peacefully in the name of the Rochere family… yada, yada, yada.” They waved their hand clutching the vial for emphasis. If the thief didn’t poke their face out from wherever they’d taken refuge, then- well, Morrigan hadn’t exactly been instructed to keep this place clean, either.

They could always smoke the thief out if need be.

As soon as the ‘Great Wizard’ begins to move toward the crates, Iryla moves as well. She darts through the shadows like a wraith, quick and silent. Along the way, she snags another bolt of cloth and tucks it under her arm.

She may have found it a bit silly, but it was a good thing for her that her opponent seemed to enjoy talking too much. Not only did the sound of their voice let her know exactly where they were in the warehouse at all times, but they seemed intent on distracting themselves with their own talk.

It was convenient, really.

The sound of another crash in the warehouse, one not caused by her, sends a shock through Iryla. For a moment, she stumbles, and though her feet make no noise as she catches herself, she nearly drops the bolt of fabric she had grabbed.

Shit. That scared her. But it didn’t seem like there was anyone else in the warehouse but the two of them still. She couldn’t let that get her off track. If that noise meant something was happening, she needed to hurry even more.

There is a moment, only a short one, where she has to leave the shadows. It’s when she climbs back up onto the crates leading to her window. As she steps up to push the window open once more and push the bolt of fabric out, light and ash from the outside world gently illuminate her pale hands and her face: her too-young features and the determined set to her eyes.

Then, with the stolen goods safely outside, she slips off the crates and once again disappears into shadows. It was a better idea just to get out now while she could, but if they were going to make it easy on her, she might as well stick around and steal as much as she could.

After all, plenty of families in Darkveil needed this much more than the Rocheres ever could.

… Even after Morrigan’s threats, no thief made their appearance, which did slightly put a damper on things. Morrigan huffed, already ready to give up the ghost. They didn’t even really care about these goods, and if the thief wasn’t going to show up, then what was the point in protecting all this stuff? It was far much more trouble than it was worth. They were about to hop off from their perch on the crate when the faint squeaking of hinges caught their attention- they whirled around back to that window, when they finally caught sight of the dastardly criminal that had been scuttering around the warehouse.

It was barely a glimpse, enough to catch a shock of moonlight-white hair and a face that still hadn’t quite shed all its baby fat. Their mouth hung open in shock, but before they could even say anything, she slipped into the shadows, disappearing from sight once more and leaving Morrigan with the faint impression that this entire night was the universe’s idea of a sick joke.

What the hell? I’ve been wondering what kind of professional thief I’ve been dealing with and this entire time it’s been some kid giving me the workaround?

Okay. Morrigan hadn’t given a damn about the Rochere family or their trashy, shitty fabrics. Nor did they even really give a shit about whatever good cause the thief might have thought they were working for. But to learn that the Red Rogue currently humiliating them was some snot-nosed grubby street child?

Now it was personal.

“Oh, you little sneak!” Morrigan hissed, suddenly invigorated with an energy they’d not possessed before. While the comings and goings of Ash Land crooks weren’t worth a solar to the charlatan, petty squabbles and insults to their pride set their blood boiling like no other. It was no surprise to anyone that met them that Morrigan was a vain creature, but this was taking things to an entirely different level. But Morrigan was too ensconced to consider that beefing with a teenager was probably taking things a touch too far. All they knew was that they wanted this kid obliterated.

They rolled up the sleeves of their coat, finally taking this thing seriously. The motion revealed the black tattoos adorning their arms from the wrist all the way up to the shoulder, swirling geometric designs and swooping lines that resembled magical runes… any true enchanter would have been able to take one look at them and tell that they were fake, but the illusion wasn’t meant to work on real mages.

“Alright; I’ve been nice so far, mouse, but I’m not playing games anymore. Prepare to meet my wrath!”

Morrigan may not have been much of a fighter, but there were a few things they excelled at. The first was that, despite their lackadaisical nature and the way they made money, Morrigan was actually quite good at development potions that worked.

The second thing Morrigan excelled at was being a magnanimous pain in the ass to everyone around them.

They raised the rounded flask above their head before smashing it to the ground, immediately filling the warehouse with a sparkling lavender gas that blocked out all of their vision and painted the entire room with glitter and smoke.^[1] Within seconds, neither thief nor unwilling guard would be able to see anything in front of them, much less continue with their dastardly plans to humiliate Morrigan.

-Or steal the goods.

Morrigan really needed to stop forgetting about the fabric.

---

1. Smoke Flask

A light colored smoke and glitter fills Iryla’s vision and her lungs. She coughs, but at the very least she is used to hardly being able to breath in Darkveil, so she is able to keep her coughing small and quiet until she’s finally able to cover her mouth with the corner of her cloak.

Fuck. Fuck! What was she supposed to do now? Squinting through the smoke reveals nothing to her, and with a sinking feeling she realizes she won’t be able to see at all as long as his smoke fills the room. There wasn’t enough airflow in this place to clear it all quickly, so she’d likely have to wait for the smoke and glitter to settle again before she could see clearly-

Seriously, who filled a smoke bomb with glitter?! If any of it got in her eyes she could have been blinded!

Clearly, her opponent was a bit deranged. She hadn’t seen a pair of goggles on them, though perhaps they could have been hidden somewhere. Either they were cleverer than Iryla initially realized, or they were simply reckless and didn’t care for their own safety.

Whatever the real answer was, it didn’t matter. Iryla could still hardly see, and that threw a wrench in everything. Sure, she could sneak around a bit more freely in this purple mess, but how was she supposed to navigate without her sight?

Panic rises up in her throat, unbidden and acidic in taste. If she couldn’t see… How was she supposed to find her way out? Forget the plan, forget the fabric, her only safe escape was that one tiny window and if she couldn’t find it- She- She’d just be a sitting duck, waiting to be found here-

No, she couldn’t panic here. That wouldn’t fix anything, nor would it find her another way out. Iryla closes her eyes. For a moment, she just tries to breath to calm herself, though it’s not very effective through the thicker fabric of her dark cloak. She feels sick to her stomach. She tries breathing a little deeper. She feels-

She feels a bit of a breeze.

Snapping her eyes open, Iryla looks around wildly for the source of the breeze before she realizes where it’s coming from.

The window!

The guard must not have closed it. She could still feel a faint breeze from the outside brushing against her cheeks, not enough to clear the smoke, but enough that she could feel it.

That was right, she could feel. The half-elf girl didn’t need to be able to see to find her around this place. As long as she could stay hidden, all she needed to do was feel her way around. She could still do this!

Iryla closes her eyes again as she slides her foot silently against the ground. Then she slides the next one forward slowly. She moves like that, keeping her hands in front of her and at her sides to feel the edges of the shelving units around her while her feet slide silently against the floor, wary of anything that might trip her up. Occasionally the tip of her foot brushes against something large like a box, and she is quick to change directions and silently creep around her obstacles.

Then she feels it. On one of the shelves. It feels like one of the bolts of fabric she had snuck out before, but the quality of the material under her fingers is infinitely softer and smooth to the touch. She hadn’t known anything of quality was supposed to be stored in this place, but now that she’s found it she can hardly believe her luck.

Slipping the bolt of silk off the shelf isn’t easy for her. It’s definitely heavier than the fabric from before. But somehow she manages to slide it free as quietly as possible and she tucks it under her arm.

Now all she had to do was follow the feeling of the wind.

She could do this. She was almost there.

The good news was that the thief’s vision had been impaired. The bad news was that Morrigan couldn’t see, either. Admittedly, they hadn’t thought very far into this plan.

“Ah, fuck!” They swore in infernal as glitter and smoke filled their vision, nearly dropping the fan in their hands. In the absence of sight, they could only rely on their other senses to gather their bearings. They strained their ears, only able to make out the barest scuffing of the ground from the shuffling of feet, and their own loud jewelry clinking together as they moved. Man, do I really sound that obnoxious?

They could figure out the answer to that question- which would have been a unanimous yes- after they dealt with this little mouse sneaking around. Morrigan closed their eyes and started stomping in a random direction, bound and determined to make it out of this bombed area…

Only to immediately slam face-first into a box.

“Son of a bitch-!” This swear was also uttered in infernal as Morrigan groped blindly in front of them, trying to parse out their location before they hurt themselves again. There were a couple of boxes in front of them, but they couldn’t make out much more than that. Which meant it would be best just to pick a random direction and hope for the best.

This time, they held their arms out in front of them, looking for any obstacles.

Progress was slow-going, but they eventually made their way to an area where the smoke had thinned and begun to dissipate near the wall. Somewhere along the line they’d come out near the window where the window was, the one they’d found the little mouse lurking around.

They couldn’t see inside the smoke, but they could stand here and wait for the thief to emerge. Morrigan was not much of a brawler- when it came to combat, they preferred to use nasty tricks and misdirection to win their battles, if they were even forced to fight at all Morrigan’s first strategy was to run like the wind.

But this was just some brat. If they couldn’t even handle this kid, then they didn’t even deserve to be called a proper false wizard. Morrigan pulled out the enchanted dagger from their sleeve, the one that had the concealment enchantment on it that rendered it nearly invisible.^[1] They’d wait here and hold this position, striking the second the mouse tried to poke her head out and make her escape. This time, she won’t be able to escape from my grasp, if my name isn’t Morrigan Moonweaver!

---

1. Pale Ice Enchantment

So they had not had their own countermeasures prepared for their trap. At least that’s what Iryla gathers from the sound of cursing and clunking around in the smoke. She has to stop herself from snickering a bit when she hears the distinct noise of someone colliding into the side of a wooden box face first.

Good, serves them right for being so foolish. Really, a smoke and glitter bomb? She’d be coughing up glitter for weeks no doubt. Ugh, not to mention the fact that she’d never live it down if Zarius caught her trudging into the Rookery while sparkling.

By the time the smoke has thinned enough for her to see again, she is hidden in the shadows near the window. The Half-Elf girl holds that thick silken brocade close to her side as she looks carefully around. The noises from earlier had told her that her opponent had been heading in this direction, but their movement and the noise that came with it had stopped, and she could not spot them among the crates and lingering smoke.

Iryla knew a trap when she saw one. It would be too easy to run to the window and try to slip out now, far too easy. And while she was fairly certain her pursuer was a fool, even fools could be dangerous.

But that was her only exit.

Her free hand goes to the dagger strapped to her hip, but she doesn’t draw it just yet. She knew she could fight her way out, but it would be difficult with this last roll of fabric hindering her movements… With a grimace she thinks, tapping her finger against the belt at her waist, trying to come up with a plan, or a solution, or–

Her belt.

Looking down, Iryla eye’s the strap of leather wound around her waist. It was a rather long belt, one that she had to wind around her body two times just to keep it properly tightened. With quick and deft hands she unties the belt and unwinds it from her body, slipping her dagger to the floor while she tries to maneuver things quickly and quietly.

When she is done she picks her dagger back up and experimentally shifts her shoulders, testing the weight of the roll of fabric now strapped to her back with her belt. It wasn’t a perfect set up, but it would free both of her hands and make running so much easier now.

If she had to fight, she could do so now.

Which meant it was time to be a bit reckless. Cyran would likely yell at her if he ever found out about this- but that merely meant she wouldn’t tell him what she was about to do. She didn’t have any fancy tricks like the so-called enchanter, no way to distract them if they were laying in wait and watching her escape route. She could try to sneak up there, but once she was in the stream of light coming from the window there would be no way she wouldn’t be spotted.

But she was very quick, very quick. Hopefully quicker than the diviner supreme, or whatever they called themself.

Taking a deep breath- And only coughing a little bit on inhaled glitter- Iryla steadies herself.

And then- She runs. Right for the window and right for her freedom, nothing more than a dagger in her hand, some silk on her back, and reckless faith urging her forward.

Silence settled over the warehouse as Morrigan waited, on the lookout for the slightest move, the slightest twitch or sound that might give away the mouse’s location. And yet, only the dust and remnants of glitter drifting through the air marked the passage of time, marking every second that the thief did not emerge from the glitter, leaving Morrigan to wonder if she’d found some other exit elsewhere. But that was impossible. The only other door was currently locked, and Morrigan would have heard it open if she’d found it through the sparkling pink mess from the glitter bomb’s remains, the smoke slowly beginning to evaporate.

Huh. Perhaps she did somehow escape, after all. Morrigan straightened, relaxing their stance as they sheathed their knife once more, no longer on guard. Well, if that was the case, then they should probably cut their losses and skip town before the Rochere family decided to make mincemeat of their delicate features. Morrigan needed their face! It was the money-maker, after all, and it wouldn’t do if it got sliced up by some horrid mafioso because some little sneak slipped out from Morrigan’s nose-

Suddenly, the little girl darted out from the remnants of the smoke bomb with a startling speed, with what looked like a roll of cloth strapped to her back, darting straight for the window like the devil was on her heels, and the only thing running through Morrigan’s mind at that moment was FUCK SHIT HELL.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Morrigan shouted, immediately diving for her out of lack of better options. For all they boasted of magic, it was true that they held none themselves- all Morrigan could conjure was the facsimile of power, a bottled miracle that would never come close to the true exhilaration of magic thrumming in one’s veins. They could just as sooner call down Solaria from the heavens as they could produce the smallest flame from their fingertips. And this thief, whoever she was- Red Rogue or not- would only ever be on the receiving end of what little strength the small charlatan could cultivate.

Unfortunately, in this moment, it was not much.

Never let it be said that Morrigan Moonweaver, the great Wizard of the Wastes, did not go down without a fight.

Morrigan soared through the air in an attempt to tackle the little moon-touched mouse, but she proved to be faster, ducking and rolling out of the way before Morrigan could slam into her. That left Morrigan to hurtle through the air, slamming face-first into a nearby crate, unable to recover as the thief began to scramble up towards the window.

“Oi, you get back here!” Morrigan called as they picked themselves up, nose completely bent at an awkward angle and trickling blood from the impact with the crate, but that was a minor annoyance in comparison to what the Rocheres would do to them if they failed…

… And she was already gone.

Great.

Admittedly, Morrigan hadn’t put up much of a fight.

The charlatan huffed, taking a seat on one of the nearby crates as they reached into their pouch for the bottle of wine they’d swiped earlier. Whatever. She could have her cheap fabrics if she wanted, though Morrigan still wasn’t sure what any thief worth their salt would want with such cruddy material, and Morrigan would simply have to lay low if they were going to remain in the city a while longer. One thing was certain, though- Morrigan was going to kick that thief’s ass the next time they saw her.

Assuming she didn’t attempt to kick theirs first.

Fresh night air hits Iryla’s face like a balm. There is a rush of downwards momentum and before she knows it there is rough, solid ground under her feet made slick with a fine coating of black ash. She was outside.

She was outside!

’I did it!’

A triumphant smile threatens her lips but she forces it back. Now was not the time for celebration, not yet. Though she was outside, she wasn’t completely in the clear. Footsteps in the ashes and the lack of fabric on the ground let Iryla know that Zarius’ hidden men had already picked up what she had thrown out the window before. That meant all she had to do now was cover their tracks and meet with them.

Crouching low so the ends of her cloak drag against the ground behind her, Iryla sweeps through the darkened street. Though her cloak leaves unnatural streaks in the fallen ash, combined with the rockiness of cobblestone streets it is enough to cover her tracks and those of her allies as she flees from the scene of her crimes.

The girl runs and runs until her legs begin to tire. She was almost to their meeting place now, and so far she hadn't heard the sound of footsteps running after her, or the sound of the guard she'd left behind raising any kind of alarm. A glance over her shoulders confirms her suspicions up to this point. No one had followed her.

All was quiet in the alley. Not a creature stirred, none but a mouse.

She had done it. She had really done it. Her lungs itched and she was coated in a fine lavender powder and glitter, but she had won.

Her first real heist.

A bit of well earned pride bubbles in her chest. She would have to tell Cyran about tonight when she saw him next. With any luck, maybe he’d even be proud of her.

Even if she did look a bit more like a purple rogue than a red one tonight.