Scents of fried food wafted through the air, accompanied by the clamoring sounds of merchants exchanging goods and coin with customers, only occasionally broken by the staccato sounds of angered screams from deals gone wrong. The rhythms of bustling streets of Zeinav wove a delightfully familiar melody, and there was no one that commanded it better than the maestro currently strolling down its streets with an air of grandeur, as if they were the sultan themselves, and were every bit aware of their own importance.

Despite their slight stature, the people of Zeinav gave them a wide berth- whether it was due to their incorrigibly bright appearance, draped in nearly every color of Zeinav’s finest silks, or the arrogance with which they held themselves, it was obvious that they were well known by the locals, who regarded them with wide eyes as they passed, whispering a single title in hushed, disbelieving tones.

The Wizard of the Wastes.

Morrigan Moonweaver always loved the sound of respect.

Oh, it was true they loved travel- restless legs and a youth spent in the shifting landscape of the White Sand Seas never lent to the practice of planting roots- but in recent years they’d learnt there was something special to be had about returning one’s homeland. They’d built a name for themselves here, an empire of falsehoods, but it was one that they’d carved with their own two hands nonetheless. And more importantly, they loved the adoration that came from those that recognized their countenance and the patchwork symbol on the back of their jacket, and the coin that came from that respect.

This particular visit to the High Market had been an impulsive, but much needed one. Morrigan had tried their best to be on their best behavior- truly, they had. But the siren’s song of the charlatan’s life was an alluring one, and it wasn’t long before Morrigan began to get the itch, the restlessness that could only be cured by the risk and reward that came with a new scam. They weren’t quite sure what it would be, not yet- all they knew was that they needed that familiar thrill.

As much as they loved adventuring with Kvasir, and meeting others, keeping up appearances, tucking away the nastier parts of their personality and staying on their best behavior, the act became… tiring. The weight of Kvasir’s gaze was only a reminder that Morrigan did not meet the high regard he held them in, a fact that had been bothering them as of late when it should only have been a mere trifle. The duo had separated for the time being, Kvasir returning to his practice in the oasis, which left Morrigan to wander their old stomping grounds. They needed to push their troubles aside, take their mind off things. It was time to shed the enchanter’s skin and step into the scorpion’s.

Yes, Morrigan smelled opportunity in the air today, and it was awfully similar to spiced meat. Today, they were going to find something exciting, they could feel it.

They purchased a skewer from a nearby stall with a handful of coin, a hand nonchalantly tucked in their pocket. In familiar territory, they felt no need to be on guard- they were simply content to wander for now, barely paying much attention to their surroundings. Perhaps someone of their notoriety should have been a little more cautious- for as loved as Morrigan Moonweaver was loved by the people of Zeinav, they were hated in equal measure, and the criminal had no shortage of enemies that would be quite interested to know of their return.

But Morrigan had never really been good at being careful, had they?

The Wizard of the Wastes, in all their finery and glory. Izzy had been told they would be easy enough to spot, but even she had not expected quite so much resplendence. Smoke trickled from the corners of her smile from the cigar as she watches them walk past, before quietly slipping into the crowd at a distance. Casual like. Well, at least it would be hard to lose them; they were a sight to behold, and the people clearly knew who they were, giving the Wizard a wide berth. Now, what had brought them back to the city they had apparently been giving a wide berth to, that was interesting. At least enough to interest a couple of people who had less than kind things to say about Morrigan Moonweaver. Most seemed smart enough to say such things behind their hands, but some clearly had a bee in their bonnet about the shimmery tiefling. The smell of opportunity was indeed in the air.

If Morrigan was the conductor of the wonderful harmonies of Zeinav city, then Issala Arodre, grinning ear to ear quite a ways back behind the crowd and making her meandering way, was the quiet but jarring first few bars of the impending piece from that one play about a shark and a boat. She forgot what it was called. Gnaws?

Close enough, probably. She smoked as she walked, glancing through the stalls and markets to maintain the aura of being ever so casual, just a normal, seven foot tall tiefling with hair like blood and skin like sun-bleached bone with the protrusions to match, loping behind a crowd like a lazy predator who wasn't really into their chase. To her credit, she was at least dressed to protect her glaring skin from the weather... and to avoid blinding people. But most of her ability to follow at a distance was all skill.

For now, at least, her job was to observe, to gather information for potential use later. What came after that, well, that wasn't much of her business until the coin was in her hands. And she was very content to watch; what an interesting person. Bedecked in silks that would get you robbed blind if you were anyone else wearing those so openly on the streets, oozing with a smug confidence one could only hope to aspire to, wearing their smile like impenetrable armor. She bet they had one of those feathered lounging robes. If they didn't then they should, that would be a missed opportunity.

Izzy taps the ash off the end of her cigar and continues to follow, brushing awnings and banners with the tips of her gnarled horns as she follows Morrigan around the corner.

It wasn’t long before Morrigan came upon an open square, filled with people of all shapes and sizes bustling about. Morrigan finished off the last of the chicken with sharpened teeth- the sharpened edge of the skewer was stabbed carelessly into the side of an overly-ripe pear as they passed a nearby fruit stall. Hands free once more to be tucked in the pockets of their striped pants, Morrigan’s eyes roamed the stall in search of the next prospect, the next exciting thing. There was nothing much save the lively, upbeat ministrations of a group of bards nearby. Their song put a spring in Morrigan’s step, boots tapping the sandy stone to the rhythm of the drummer, and the audience clapping their hands. As they passed by, a couple of coins from their pocket would serendipitously find their way into the performer’s hat, an anonymous donation.

To anyone who knew of Morrigan’s true nature, the action might have been an odd one- but while Morrigan coveted riches and power, they spent money just as easily as they accrued it. The lavish life was one they wholeheartedly embraced like a king who wined and dined and enjoyed all the fineries of life without a care how much gold it took to get to that point. One of the young bard’s eyes widened, bowing gratefully as Morrigan passed with wide, awed eyes.

“Oh, thank you, Master Wizard!” The bard bowed, never once stopping the gentle rhythm on the mandolin that his practiced fingers wove. He could not see the wizard’s face. Perhaps if he had, he would have noticed the smarmy grin that grew on Morrigan’s face at yet another person who would no doubt spread tales of their generosity.

Only a few minutes later, Morrigan’s trek was interrupted by an elderly woman stopping them in the street, grasping their hand between her old, gnarled ones. “Do my old eyes deceive me? Are you the one they speak of, that can call forth lightning from the very sky without so much as a thought, the Pioneer of Al’Aethair, the maker of miracles in a bottle?”

Such interruptions were not… uncommon whenever Morrigan ventured out into the public. Their appearance was vibrant enough that description of it stuck in your mind, stories of them so outlandish that they could not help but stick in one’s mind as they wondered whether it was true or not. And all of it carefully designed by the liar who was currently dipping into a low bow, a charming look on their face with the practiced ease of someone who had done this hundreds of times before. “Indeed I am, my good lady. They refer to me the Wizard of the Wastes- but you may call me Morrigan Moonweaver.” They paused, regarding the old crone’s face with a glint in their icy eyes. It was not the first time an elderly woman had approached Morrigan looking for their solution to their problems- they’d heard it all before. Cure-all potions for any kind of disease, remedies to lessen their aches and pains… even miracle potions to treat the malady that plagued all mortals- age itself. What particular poison would this woman be interested in?

“But something troubles you, my lady. It takes courage to ask for help- such boldness should be commended. Tell me, what need have you for a powerful mage such as myself?”

The lady’s knobby hands shook as she looked up at them with hope in her cloudy eyes and unfocused expression. “You see… it’s my grandson. He’s plagued with horrible nightmares, and his health grows worse by the day. No doctor has been able to provide a remedy- we’re growing desperate. They say you can chase away even the most violent demons with the wave of a hand… please, if there’s anything you have- anything at all to help my little boy-!”

“Say no more, my lady.” Morrigan interrupted the poor elderly woman’s hysteria as they reached into their bag of potions. “I’ve brewed many a potion in my day for terrors such as this- I’m afraid that there’s a chance your grandson might be haunted by an evil spirit.”

“Oh… oh my…!”

“But fear not!” They said quickly, producing a crystalline vial full of a sparkling, colorful liquid from their bag and holding it in the air triumphantly. Light sparkled as it caught on the fine glass. “I happen to have prepared a batch of Spirit Silencer just this morning. I would love nothing more than to supply you with a bottle right now.”

“Oh, Master Wizard, I would be ever so grateful!” She reached for her belt, where a leather strap held a coin pouch that appeared neither meager nor plentiful. “Please, this is… all my life’s savings. A pittance to someone of your caliber, but please accept this humble woman’s offerings.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” Morrigan insisted with all the affixed humbleness of someone who could possibly.

“But the components to make such a potion are not cheap…”

A few moments later, the elderly woman retreated behind Morrigan a coin pouch lighter and a bottle of genuine snake-oil heavier, and Morrigan’s conscience not one bit rattled as they counted the Solars they’d won out of the deal. Only thirty… it truly was a pittance, but considering that what they’d given away essentially amounted to colored water, they could live with it.

Morrigan tossed the coin pouch between their hands as they continued on their walk, whistling the song that the musicians had been playing earlier.

In the distance, the band’s song changed tempo, picking up to a rapid pace in minor key, as if something were about to descend upon Morrigan. But by the time they would notice it, it would already be too late.

Ever watching, still idly smoking, Izzy continued her observations with growing interest, from the jaunty walk to them stabbing their kabob stick into a pear on a stand. Izzy herself was attracted to the sounds of the minstrels, head turning towards the lilting, pleasant sound even as she kept her ember eyes forward on Morrigan. And it was a good thing she did, catching the little jig the Master Wizard did on their way past the bards. Unable to suppress the snicker, Izzy allows a small, appreciative nod to herself; the little dance she was tempted to do herself. Honestly, it was a pretty good tune-- oh, and what was this? A little bit of magnanamity, a gregarious gesture of a generous donation from her target. Fast eyes counted the coins, the brows above them lifting slightly. Welllll, the donation was certainly a point in favour of the Wizard of the Wastes, but my, my, that was a comely amount of coin. The corners of her smile pull a little wider.

There were a lot of ways one could get coin enough for expensive silks, to buy the kind of reputation Morrigan had that generated a forcefield of untouchabilty about them, and to comfortably toss a handful of gold at a busking group of bards in the streets, but the ones Izzy knew best were far from legitimate. No one rich got that way through kindly and compassionate means; it was usually daddy's money, or procured such lofty heights by stepping on the backs of the vulnerable, or otherwise robbing them blind in one way or another. Of the three methods, Izzy thought the 'robbing-them-blind' method was the most honourable, if you could even call that such a thing. At least you weren't lying to yourself, but more often than not, it was a combination of two, sometimes all three.

And in no time at all, she got an eyeful of just that. Ah, the poor old woman that ran up to Morrigan, grieved and desperate-- a perfect mark. There were stars in the old woman's eyes that spoke of the things she believed about the Wizard, the earnestness of the veracity of the tales that lent to all those titles she spoke. Izzy slowed her pace, exhaling a long breath on her cigar as she drifted near enough to listen. The old woman might as well have been wearing a sign on her back that read 'SCAM ME!'-- honestly it was impressive. Izzy was mentally taking notes; imagine if her sister could just have people walk up to her like that, instead of having to hawk to customers, or hunt for unhappy rich men to seduce. Maybe it was all about marketing!

She has to bite on the inside of her cheek as Morrigan informed this poor old woman about the probability of her grandson being haunted. What, not going to examine them first? No, no, never, not a great Wizard like Morrigan Moonweaver, they could simply tell from a cursory conversation... but also cleverly stated so as not to take on liability. Masterfully done. They had clearly done this a hundred times before. Izzy's smile grew wider.

In no time, the shiny, almost certainly useless vial, was in the hands of an assuaged old woman and her coin was in the hands of Morrigan Moonweaver. Hearing the little shift in music behind her, Izzy detached herself from the wall, doing a small jig of her own as she slipped up behind Morrigan, letting them get ahead of her once again to see where else the Wizard went next.

Time to see if Morrigan Moonweaver could indeed chase away the worst sorts of demons.

As it turned out, Morrigan was not adept at chasing demons away, metaphorical or literal.

This fact would become readily apparent the longer their unseen tail ended up watching them traipse through the city, selling snake oil to vulnerable men and women through the streets with absolutely no shame or guilt in their heart. Each customer, leaving with a smile on their face, an empty coin purse, and pretty little placebo potions wrapped in elegant bottles with neat bows.

It was quaint. Satisfying.

But Morrigan wanted more than just the money that jingled in their pocket.

They wanted something bigger. Something that would captivate the audience and earn them the fame and attention they so desired. Snake oil scams paid the bills, and were the bread and butter of their scams, but Morrigan was nothing if not ambitious- they were always seeking to expand their influence. As Morrigan strolled through the streets, an idea occurred to them.

They could manufacture a live miracle.

Perhaps this was the moment any rational person would stop and wonder if what Morrigan was about to attempt was taking things a little too far. But Morrigan had no such reservations, and could not think of a reason why coating the blade attached to their tail with a horrible poison only to strike someone random in the crowd and heal them in public to garner approval was immoral. But if Morrigan concerned themselves with such trivial things, then nothing would ever get done!

Which was exactly why they sneakily applied a poison to the invisible blade attached to their tail, only to subtly strike a random man in the back as they passed by.^[1]

Screams erupted in the crowd as the man collapsed, screaming in pain from the poison that was now running through his system, flesh bubbling where the incision had been made with pinpoint accuracy. The sting of a scorpion was a brutal one, but what was even more fearsome was when you’d been caught in their clutches with no end in sight- where your only fate depended on its hunger or its mercy.

The second that Morrigan heard the first scream, they whirled around, fixing a horrified expression on their face.

“Oh, Ginma, what happened here?” Morrigan asked, playing the perfect part of a shocked bystander as the crowd immediately began to flock around the poisoned man.

“He just collapsed out of the blue!”

“Is there anyone that can help him?”

That was Morrigan’s cue to jump in. “Everyone stand back! I can heal this man!”

There was a beat of silence accompanied by this proclamation, and the sound of awed, hushed whispers, all muttering the same, familiar phrase. The Wizard of the Wastes. All it took was that one title to make people give them a wide berth, curious to see what they would do.

Morrigan stepped up to the screaming man, arms spread out to keep others from getting too close. “Now keep your distance! This is a very dangerous and complicated healing spell, and the light will simply blind the eyes of mere mortals!”

It was fortunate for them that all the passerby in the crowd closed their eyes, none particularly keen on being blinded by the wizard’s magic. Fortunate for Morrigan that none of them saw the glass jar that the charlatan pulled from their belt, one that contained a writhing black leech, which they opened and deposited right at the site of the poison. In seconds, the leech had sucked away the poison, and the pain dissipated.

Morrigan waited a moment, grabbed the leech while it was sated enough to be docile, and shoved it back in the jar before proclaiming, “He is healthy once more!”

Cheers erupted in the crowd at the wizard’s miraculous feat of magic, utterly oblivious to what had really happened. Of course, as usual, they were completely shortsighted to their surroundings, nor had they considered that there might be others in the crowd that might be interested to see how they really solved their problems. And that said enemies had just been given enough ammunition on the true nature of Morrigan’s scummy practices to sink them forever.

---

1. Parasite Poison (coated on blade attached to prehensile tail)
Black Bog Leech used to heal poison

Morrigan was certainly popular, so well regarded. So many faces came up to them with their own problems, each as suscpetible as the last. Well, flies were attracted to honey and bullshit in the same degree, and that was essentially what was within those bottles, to Izzy's opinion; as she watched, a sixth person came and went, a new bottle in their hands. Her sharp teeth were fully on display, her smile full of knives. Now, that wasn't precisely illegal, but a case could be made for fraud. Not that her employer was especially keen on utilizing the courts as a revenge mechanism against The Wizard of the Wastes; much too slow. Justice was so much better dealt when in the hands of the people. Not that Izzy cared about that one iota-- business was business and right now, business was booming. Honestly, she was charmed by the smaller tiefling, plying their trade and their scams so easily through the streets, and with a title on their name to boot. And, there wasn't enough meat on this kabob, not yet. A tasty caramellized onion of deceit and pretty parcels. Damning, certainly, but irrefutable, unarguable? Not yet.

That said, she didn't have to wait long.

At first, Izzy didn't catch the reason the man had begun screaming-- it was so fast that she narrowly missed the blow, only seeing just a bare gleam of metal on a purple tail before it was out of view. She caught a peek of red on the blade before the man yelled and went down, and the real show began. Her eyes were affixed to Morrigan as she stood under the relative cover of an awning, watching the whole thing play out. Getting the crowd to avert their eyes, warning them against the magic, and producing... a bug? Yeeech. Embers for eyes flickering gleefully, she sees it applied, grow fat and swiftly replaced in its jar up their sleeve.

Izzy can't help but emit a disbelieving snicker over what she just witnessed. Never before had Izzy met someone so ruthless, so conniving, so downright brazen and opportunistic, a proud vulture of the gullible and the misinformed. They were horrible. She LOVED it. Now that was a juicy piece of kebab.

And more to the point... whatever that was, that little manufactured crisis that helped to boost the mythos around The Wizard of the Waste, that was decidedly not magic. She hadn't seen them cast a spell even once. How odd for a Wizard.

Her smile turns sinister as she lumbers out of the shadows. Now would be as good a time as any to strike, to bring them in--- oh, but what was this? Izzy slowed her advance, seeing a couple of people gesture to one another and start to walk after Morrigan, brows raised. Oh, no. This would not do. She follows, hanging back a little ways as she monitors this, happy to step in. Morrigan was her mark, and Izzy wasn't going to let anyone interfere.

There was always something sort of funny about the way life seemed to reprimand you for your own misgivings. Morrigan was not a religious person - quite the opposite, really - but maybe if they’d stopped to think about their actions, it might have occurred to them why divine punishment was completely justified considering the horrid actions they had just committed with absolutely no shame.

And yet.

Somehow, they could not comprehend why they were currently being cornered in an alley by four men, all bigger and stronger than them, all holding blunt weapons and wearing murderous expressions on their faces.

Morrigan forced a smile on their face, a nervous chuckle leaving their lips. This was hardly the first time the charlatan had been cornered in such a way, but what in the hell could it possibly be for this time? Morrigan hadn’t given away any fake potions, not that they could reasonably prove. And what they didn’t know didn’t kill them, right? As they pressed their back against the wall, Morrigan desperately wracked their brain in an attempt to figure out what these guys could want from them.

Scorned lovers of someone Morrigan had shared a night of passion with? Victims of one of Morrigan’s countless crimes? They’d done so much it was hard to keep track of- an endless list of wrongs they’d committed that Morrigan would never admit to. Well, if they were about to be pummeled, they may as well just ask.

“Is there something I can help you with, gentlemen?” They asked, forcing the same kind of grandeur into their tone that they would when putting on any other show. In a way, they supposed this was just like any other performance- the kind where Morrigan put on the usual song and dance to save their own skin. “Ah… did you perhaps witness that healing earlier? I regret to inform you that such spur of the moment healings are rare, but if it’s magic you’re interested in, I would be more than willing to part with some home brewed elixirs of my own creation-”

“Don’t waste your breath, charlatan.” One of the men snarled. “That little stunt you pulled in the market? We saw that.”

“... I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.” Morrigan chuckled, a bit of strain creeping into their voice.

“You don’t gotta play dumb, you hack. We don’t know how you pulled it off, or how you got everyone in that crowd wrapped around your little sparkling finger, but someone’s gotta make you pay for your crimes.”

Well, damn.

The smile immediately dropped off Morrigan’s face, any semblance of the wizard’s facade blowing away and replaced with a nasty smirk. Despite the fact that the odds were stacked against them, Morrigan shifted their stance, expression smug like they’d already won this encounter. Ice-cold eyes assessed their options, glancing every which way in search of an escape route.

“So forward. If you’re going to show me a good time, you may as well buy me dinner first.”

“Shut your mouth!” One of the thugs in the back swung their weapon, slamming it into the brick wall only inches away from Morrigan’s face and it took all of their willpower not to let out an undignified screech. “There’s nowhere for you to run anymore, Wizard. It’s time to pay the piper.”

Shit. Shit! Morrigan stiffened as the situation grew more dire, any possible escape route closing as the angry thugs got closer, apparently done with the talking. Morrigan may have created fake miracles to earn fame and adoration, but right now, they needed a real one. Closing their eyes, Morrigan reached for the bag of wonders and tried to pull something out right as the first thug drove his weapon down right for Morrigan’s face.^[1]

---

1. Jolly Bag of Gifts
hbW9CeTZ

Izzy considered herself someone who was laid back, probably irresponsibly so. Her laissez-faire attitude, the devil-may-care, roguish, coquettish facade she wore was as convenient and easily slipped on as a cloak. It was authentic, but it wasn't precisely true, now was it? It was so much easier to brush off the things that bothered her, writing them off with a dismissive laugh or misdirection that carried her on through the conversation without ever having to dip lower than the surface level of that carefully crafted charade, rather than fight against the tide. It was convincing; it had carried her through her whole life to this point... but she could not fool herself. There were sharks in that water, and the way her jagged teeth were bared now much less resembled a smile than it did a warning of an imminent bite.

Some people had to learn the hard way what happens when you forget to mind the sharks in the water.

Not that anyone could really appreciate that, though, thanks to the attention being paid to Morrigan at the moment. A group of angry dissenters-- now, see, they were just plain lazy, they didn't even see what Morrigan had done, not properly, but it appeared that the rest of Morrigan's terrible reputation had preceeded them. That, or someone else had sent out a little request for action to be taken against the Wizard of the Waste. A silent little snigger jostles her shoulders a bit, though, hearing the feigned innocence of the tiefling as they get more and more cornered, the cavalier remarks. Facetious to the very end. Oh, how she appreciated that.

At the very least, it allows her to approach. She draws her sword, pressing the advance. These wastes of skin would be dead before they knew it. And, if she was lucky, she could come off looking the hero to her target. Two birds with one stone.

Though it seemed Morrigan Moonweaver was not without a trick up their sleeve, as well.

As the blade plunged down, Izzy easily reached over the heads of the men, grabbing the one with the blade by the hair and yanking him backward with a yelp. The action caused the other three to stumble in surprise, whipping around to look upon the person who was currently leering over the man with a dagger, palming his head in her giant hand, black talons digging into his scalp.

"Tsk tsk tsk. The lack of respect," She drawls, slow as poisoned molasses. Respect for whom? It was hard to say. Just how she liked it. But right now, she is a vision of death, looking down at this man with bloodthirst in her eyes and in her smile. "Where are your manners?"

On the last word, Izzy runs the man through with her rapier, twisting the blade in his stomach before ripping it back out and dropping him. "Ah, there they are. Whoopsiiiie~," Izzy cackles, flicking the red 'manners' off her blade at the other three, spattering them in the face. She pivots backwards, shifting to draw the attention away from Morrigan so they can get back on their feet and perhaps do some of their 'magic'. "Y'alright there?" She calls out to them.

It really was a shame that these guys didn’t want to play the game.

For all their faults, Morrigan was a skilled liar, adept at sprinkling falsehoods into whatever story they told, using nothing more than a honeyed tongue that hid the sting of poison to get themselves out of sticky situations. They were indeed a weaver - not the kind that constructed miracles and dreams from stars in the sky as their name might imply, but one that had woven a legacy from nothing but an empty vessel and the desires of an ambitious teenager with nothing to their name. All it took was careful whispers here, a couple well-placed words in the right ears there. Perhaps if these gentlemen had been more receptive, Morrigan would have been able to turn the tides in their favor, plant seeds of doubt in their minds until they could no longer discern fiction from reality.

Perhaps then, Morrigan would have been able to strike at their vulnerable hearts.

But they didn’t seem especially interested in words, not when simply bashing at the problem until it went away would do the trick for them just fine. Morrigan didn’t have time to react just as the first thug’s blade soared through the air, aimed right for their precious money-maker, barely able to bring one arm up to protect their beautiful visage, and the other to reach into the bag of wonders for anything that might be able to help get them out of this godsdamned mess, when their hand wrapped around something solid and familiar-

A shadow passed over them.

Rather than the pain Morrigan expected from the oh-so familiar sting of steel, there was a brief, startled yelp from one of the other men, prompting Morrigan to crack open a hesitant eye.

They’d asked for a miracle to get them out of this situation.

Apparently, what they’d received instead, was another demon.

Dark eyes bored into her meal as the predator dragged her claws lazily along the poor mook’s face, voice a lazy drawl as if she were in no particular hurry to deliver her message, more focused on savoring the look of shock on Morrigan’s would-be-attacker’s face before sealing the deal with the kiss of a blade, painting the alley red. There was a beat of horrified silence from everyone else in the alley, punctuated by the thud of a body striking the ground.

And then the predator turned her attention to Morrigan.

Panic threatened to siege their mind as Morrigan tried to figure out what in the hell this tall, striking lady could want from them. What was she doing here? Simply protecting them so she could claim the glory of the kill for herself? What could she possibly want? But then she grinned at him, as if this were a casual reunion between old friends and not a threat concealed behind a maw of shark’s teeth, and asked if Morrigan was alright, and the showman’s instincts kicked in once more.

Morrigan swept into a low bow, long tail brushing against the sand-covered brick, flashing a fanged grin of their own at their savior. Whatever she wanted could wait until later. For now, she seemed content on letting them do their thing for whatever reason, and dealing with that particular problem could wait until Morrigan had done something about the very real thugs that were beginning to recover from the shock of the strange woman’s sudden intrusion.

“Right as rain now that you’ve come to my aid, my lady.” Their grip tightened around the dragon’s fang that they’d procured from the bag of wonders before raising it into the air in a grand flourish. “A capital show, really.” The compliment, it seemed, was genuine. Morrigan could recognize the flair for drama in her voice, the way she held herself, as if the world was a show, and she was an actress, one who delighted in the confusion of others to her bouts of whimsy. They were two peas in a pod, really.

But Morrigan would show her who the true master of the show was here.

The ringmaster behind this performance.

“But I think it’s time you saw what real magic looks like.”

They threw the fang on the ground, and the alley lit up in an explosion of color and light, and the faint ringing of bells.

When the colored smoke cleared, Morrigan was no longer standing on the ground, but rather perched on top of a long, fur-covered dancing dragon of lilacs and silvers rather than red and gold, a beast with a jovial smile painted on its face that mirrored the one of its master as it pranced and hopped around the alley and bounced off the walls, trailing silver ribbons where it went.

They didn’t give the thugs a chance to recover. With lightning-quick hands, Morrigan whipped out another vial of poison, quickly coating the blade on their tail.^[1] They commanded the dragon downwards, knocking over one of the thugs, and the Scorpion’s Stinger striking the second, barely a blur as it slashed for the thug’s throat. Poison and blood intermingled on the silver of their tail blade, barely visible in the glinting sunlight as Morrigan continued moving along on the dragon, never once giving the thugs a chance to reach them.

They flashed the strange lady a smug grin, as if to say, top that.

---

1. Frostfire Extract

For the briefest of moments, the teeny, tiniest little blink, the look of genuine fear that existed on Morrigan's face was enough to make Izzy pause a half second longer than she herself had intended. They bounced back so quickly she didn't even have a moment to process it before things shifted again, but that brief moment was immediately filed away in Izzy's memory for later; not a part of the investigation, not evidence, but something else. Something uncomfortable.

But that was a problem for Later-Izzy. Now-Izzy was minding these men with from the corners of her eyes as they started to draw weapons, while mainly watching Morrigan. Certainly giving the impression of confidence, of dismissal of their opponents, while she was truly doing anything but that. It was a practiced performance she knew well, a second skin to fit into, and that Morrigan reflected it, bested it so easily only served to widen her grin. Izzy returns the bow in kind, a little lower, bloody sword still pointed at the men who had cornered the Wizard. "Such flattery!" Izzy takes a half step forward and then back again, to try and entice the men into doing something ill-advised. One flinches a bit, but they otherwise don't take the bait. Shit. She pretends to ignore it. "It's truly an honour to aid a master of the Craft."

While that was concerning-- these men were no fools and she might have gotten the drop on one of them, but they were clearly battle hardened-- Izzy was much more interested in what Morrigan had up their sleeve, figuratively and literally. How would they react now that the odds had been evened out somewhat? Improv was the soul of good theatre, after all. That and a rousing musical number.

In truth, referring to Morrigan as a master of the craft could not possibly have been more on the nose.

As Morrigan spikes the object on the ground on the heels of their declaration, shimmering and bright colours explode from the spot. For a moment, Izzy thinks maybe it is a smoke-bomb of some kind (where can she get some of those?) when the smoke clears and Morrigan emerges, resting on a draconic throne of resplendent purples and silver-- and it danced. They danced together, the litte bladed tail Izzy had seen before catching rare glints in the sunlight as the man who was struck staggered back, clutching his bleeding throat while the poison started to take it's il-effect.

Izzy's expression is one of pure, ecstatic wonder. "WELL, HOT DAMN!" A wild laugh bubbles up, thrilled at this unexpected turn of events. Now THAT was a show! How could she possibly top that? Morrigan flashes her the challenging smile, and though Izzy is positive she cannot possibly match that grandiosity, by jove, she was going to bloody well try.

"Ohhh, we playing now?" She titters; the men could not decide what to attack first, Morrigan and their dragon, or Izzy. She takes advantage of that confusion. Sure, that would mean ending the remaining three-- now two, thanks to Morrigan-- as quickly as possible, but where was the fun in that? This was a show, and it would be one Morrigan and Izzy would make sure none of them would forget, were they unfortunate enough to live through it. They were part of the performance, whether they liked it or not.

Izzy joins in the dance, taking the choking, poisoned man by his hands and twirling him into one of the others. She follows the unheard beat easily, side stepping with a jig as one of the only men still standing rounds on her flashing out with his sword to try and get away. Izzy parries it to one side with a flick of her wrist and disarms him, her considerable reach adding to the ease of the gesture, not interrupting her little dance at all. But the man presses, snarling-- the best way to get the advantage on someone with reach was to take away their advantage, close the distance. "PIECE OF--" He lunges again, driving his fist into her stomach. It turns Izzy's laugh into a breathless wheeze, though she is still laughing, somehow, shoulders bobbing with amusement even as she tries to catch her breath. She grabs the wrist, twisting the joint, and pulls him close, firey eyes flickering as she grinned down at him. "Dance card's full, sugar," she manages to hiss.

CRACK. The man howls in pain as his wrist snaps, only to be cut off with a garbled sputter as Izzy follows up with bringing her horned forehead down with a crash onto his, headbutting him. He staggers back down the alley towars Morrigan, dazed, bleeding from his broken nose, and clutching the limp wrist to his chest as the last, untouched man, starts to recover and decide how he wants to die.

It was rare that Morrigan met their match in terms of wild energy. It was obvious that this woman - whoever she was - knew how to play the game, and play it well. They heard her amusement, awe evident in her voice as Morrigan pranced across the walls on the dragonmount to a rhythm only they knew. They expected the shock, the surprise. But then this giantess of an ash and bone tiefling joined in on the fun, her own discordant rhythm joining in with Morrigan’s own. She didn’t even hesitate to leap into the action with all the grace of someone who was well-versed in the art of confusing others, and one who obviously wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty to do so. Perched up high, accompanied by the jingling of bells attached to the dragon and their joyous laughter, Morrigan had a front row seat to the violence wrought by her own two hands, the belle of a ball of blood and broken bones.

“Ooh, that’s gonna leave a mark!” They cackled, waving a triumphant fist in the air as she pulled one into the other. The grin on their face slowly slid off, though, when the last remaining thug drove his fist into her gut. “Ooh, that one’s gonna leave a mark, too.” They grimaced.

A tempo change - all of a sudden she grabbed his wrist and bent it downwards at an angle no human bone should ever be at with a sickening CRUNCH and a wail of pain. She reared her head backwards, knocking her thick skull into his own and sending him sprawling backwards.

Morrigan clapped their hands together gleefully. This woman was an artist! A prodigy! A commander of whimsy and mayhem! … Morrigan was endlessly grateful all that seemed to be on their side! If they’d actually had to fight her along these men, they might’ve actually had some trouble. They’d grown more competent in the past few months, more skilled with potions and blades and any manner of sharp and pretty things, but even with all the poisons in the world, they could not compete with the sheer power this woman radiated with every step and coy smirk.

They dropped from their mount onto cobblestone, the dancing dragon still prancing gleefully behind them, barely even paying attention to the injured thug frantically glancing between the wild beast in front of him and the one behind him, a man forced to choose between the gallows and the starving wild tiger. Neither were particularly pleasant options.

Morrigan pulled out the small, beaded fan that hung from one of the colorful loops of cloth on their hip, opening it with a flourish and fanning themselves delicately. “Mind if I tap in?” They asked, delight sparkling in their eyes before darting out and grabbing the thug by his broken wrist, forcibly spinning the two of them around in a wide arc, using his momentum to throw him staggering backwards until he faced both Morrigan and the stranger.

“What the hell? You were supposed to be an easy mark!”

“Hm. If I was supposed to be easy, then I wonder what that says about you.” Haughty disdain dripped like venom from their voice, sharp teeth hidden behind layers of pearls and lace and concealed blades in their fan. “Now… are you going to do the smart thing and give up, or do you want my friend here to beat the reminder into you that you don’t touch the Wizard of the Wastes?”

“I - you - smug bastard!”

Morrigan was too slow to notice the arcane energy that had been gathering in the thug’s hand, the very air around him shimmering with heat as Ginma’s blessing. They barely even had time to throw their arm up, palm extended as the bolt of fire came hurtling towards them -

But no impact came.

The fire fizzled out before it could even reach Morrigan, the heat slowing down until the magical spark was barely a candle’s flame as it hit Morrigan’s open palm.^[1] They curled their hand into a fist, smothering the rest of the flame until nothing but ash left behind. When they opened their palm, smoke curled from the magical remains. The thug’s eyes widened, bewildered as to how the fake wizard had managed to do that. Weren’t they supposed to be a fake? But then how did they absorb that energy like it was nothing? In that moment, any magic user in the area would have been struck with a vague sense of unease, and… wrongness, as if, for the briefest moment, they were gazing into a black hole in the space where Morrigan Moonweaver stood.

It was obvious, whatever that display had been… it wasn’t magic.

Morrigan’s eyes were empty, expression indecipherable as they fluttered their fan delicately in front of their face. Their arm felt tingly where they’d absorbed the brunt of the spell, until it dissipated to wherever it went whenever Morrigan absorbed it. It was almost like the energy… disappeared. It was a weird feeling. And not one they liked. Just another painful reminder of exactly what they lacked, that the pieces that they should have been made of were cruelly flipped around until their insides were twisted and wrong. Where magic should have been fostered, they’d been left with this instead.

When they looked back up at the poor, unfortunate sap whose signature on their death warrant was still barely dried, there was no more humor flitting around in their expression. “Oh, you should not have done that.”

The thug tried to run, of course. He didn’t make it out in time before meeting the concealed blades in Morrigan’s fan, spraying ribbons of blood and gore through the air in clean, beautiful lines.

The song drew to a harsh close with the sound of a fan snapping shut.

Morrigan barely afforded the body left behind a halfhearted kick before turning back to the strange woman. That was one threat taken care of… now to determine if the other was going to pose a problem. Still slightly jittering from the magic they’d taken in, Morrigan held their arm out for her to place her hand in. Should she accept, she would find a kiss placed on the back of her hand before Morrigan looked up at her, some of their jovial attitude from earlier slowly returning.

“I should thank my savior properly. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

---

1. Spell Drinker (Mage Slayer I)(1/2)

Still wheezing a bit from the blow-- maybe she needed to invest in some proper armor?-- She looks up hearing a light applause, to see Morrigan descending from the dancing dragon, a veritable vision of aloof grace and bright charm as they fan themselves as if brushing off a bit of extra warmth. Izzy is practically beside herself with delight, her purpose temporarily forgotten as she bows graciously to the Wizard. "Be my guest~."

And cut in they do, grabbing the limp, broken joint and twirling the man away. Izzy cackles-- oooh that had to hurt. While the confused, bewildered would-be-- assassin? That sounded a bit lofty for whatever these guys were doing, clearly they lacked the finesse-- mugger was trying to figure out what had just went wrong, Izzy shifted to stand off to the left and behind of Morrigan, tapping the tip of her rapier against her boot, shaking the extra blood off it. Hearing Morrigan's harsh, mocking words, Izzy couldn't help but titter, thoroughly enjoying the threat and the adding of insult to injury. Literally. "You've got at least six other breakable joints I can get to before you'd pass out," Izzy says cheerfully; she'd be all too happy to render this guy to a pulp.

There's a flare of magic suddenly, but Izzy was not expecting it; no time for her to properly react. She sees it after Morrigan does, and though her hand comes up, there is nothing Izzy could do to stop the firebolt from careening right into Morrigan and--

Except it doesn't.

Morrigan holds up their hand and simply... crushes the spell into a void. Compressing it in on itself; that was the best way Izzy could describe what she has seen. Something along her spine writhes uncomfortably at the sensation applied to what she is seeing. That spell was not countered by magic. It was... absorbed.

Her mind jumps back into investigative mode. The expression on Morrigan's face is utterly incomprehensible-- that sticks out to her. Their face had seemed so malleable and shifting, like many tiny mirrors refracting and catching the light. Now it was cold, stony, flat. That spoke much more to Izzy than any of the performance from earlier. That was a glimpse into who Morrigan was underneath.

As if to punctuate that thought, Morrigan effortlessly cuts the man down with their fan, leaving delicate ribbony splashes along the walls of the alley before he hit the ground.

The alley goes silent the moment the fan closes. Izzy looks down at the shorter, purple-er tiefling with a smirk as they turn back to her. She bends to wipe the blood off her blade on one of the men's shirts, and then tucks her rapier away. The look on their face was still static, and Izzy was unsure what they would say or do. Her mind already starts spinning things-- oh.

Of all the things, Morrigan could have done, offering to take Izzy's hand to kiss the back of it was the very last thing. No one ever did that. She practically giggles; she knows this is part of the act, but she also gets the sense that it is at the very least one part genuine appreciation. Izzy lets herself be charmed, allowing the little kiss and fans herself. "Oh, my. You are far too kind, Master Wizard,"

As they inquire her name, Izzy weighs a couple of options here. To divulge, or not to divulge? That was the question. Time to take this day for a proper spin.

Izzy gives them a sweeping bow with a flourish. "I am Issala Arodre, good Master Moonweaver, but I would be most honored if you would call me 'Izzy." She straightens once again to smile down at Morrigan. "I can't exaaactly pretend to be a good samaritan, I'm afraid," Izzy bowed slightly, demure. It's false, mostly, but she doesn't have her hands anywhere near her weapons, instead pulling out her cigar to light it with a match. She takes a drag and then offers it to Morrigan.

"I'm a private investigator, you see. Of a sort." A very particular sort. "And if there's one thing I have managed to figure out, thus far, it's that you have a looot of enemies, Morrigan Moonweaver." she gestures to the bodies on the ground, and then offers her arm to Morrigan. "I don't think I would very much like to be one of them. May I escort you some where a little less... viscera coated?" Particularly before the guards arrived. Though she looks back at the dancing dragon. No idea what to do about that.

Izzy was about to become intimately acquainted with one of Morrigan Moonweaver’s most insufferable traits. “Then I shall oblige, Mistress Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre.” They replied while she dipped into a bow of her own, responding to their own faux-gentleman’s manners in kind. It was worth noting that her bow, for all the height this giantess of a wild spirit held over the small charlatan, only brought her down to eye level with them. They didn’t seem especially bothered by this. Morrigan Moonweaver may not have had height, but their own presence itself took up more space than it ought to, walking around with the grandiosity and entitlement of a king. Even as they looked up at her, it felt more like standing face to face with an equal.

“Oh?” Their brows rose in the face of her manufactured sheepishness. The admission was… unexpected. If she was here with malicious intent, then why bother jumping in and doing this whole song and dance of assisting them? Was this some kind of strange mind game to lull them into a false sense of security? But then why be upfront about it? Their mind was running at a mile a minute, all trying to calculate whether this encounter was going to end with them getting stabbed in the back of a dark alley by that shiny rapier. Their musing was interrupted by a cigar being thrust in their direction, an olive branch extended between clawed fingers and accompanied by a smoke-filled smile. “Oh, no thank you, I don’t often partake in the mortal pleasure known as smoking…”

They trailed off when they heard her next words, the bane of any confidence man’s existence.

Private Investigator.

“Give me that.” Morrigan snatched the cigar from her hands, taking a long, shaky drag. The only sign that they’d actually been rattled by what this Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre had said. What she’d seen. Ordinarily, they wouldn’t give a single damn about what any old private investigator observed about them. There was a certain level of plausible deniability that came with what they did. Those who didn’t actually practice magic couldn’t claim that Morrigan actually had none - oh, there were signs, ones that talented practitioners of magic could easily spot if they knew where to look. It was how their cover had been blown so easily by the Lady Kamille. But even she had not seen Morrigan do… this.

That thing.

They didn’t like to think about it.

The fact that Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre had that kind of information at her disposal now could ruin them. No proper mage could do what Morrigan could. Magic rejected them with every fiber of its being, no matter how they tried to get rid of this damnnedable affliction. It was the one thing that Morrigan Moonweaver so desperately tried to hide, a gold mine that Izzy had accidentally stumbled upon.

They were, for lack of a better term, up shit creek without a paddle.

No, no. They could fix this. All they needed to do was get Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre on their side. She already seemed amenable to such a thing, apparently. If she was willing to deflect, then Morrigan just needed some way to keep themselves on her good side. Money? No, it would not be so easy. A woman as capricious as her would need much more than that. Morrigan just needed to stay calm and learn more, first.

They handed her cigar back to her. “Don’t I know it.” They replied. “So what is it this time, hmm? A scorned lover, an angry customer, an envious business competitor? Or, perhaps…” Their eyes widened. “An old member of the circus who has it out for me?” The list was seemingly endless. Honestly, even Morrigan didn’t know the full list - and any one of them could have been the one with enough jealousy in their hearts to hire an investigator.

Their eyes narrowed briefly as Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre offered to take them somewhere more private. This business should definitely be conducted where they had less chance of being overheard, though they didn’t want to mindlessly follow her into the dragon’s den. “Anywhere you had in mind?” They asked, clapping their hands together twice. The dancing dragon disappeared in a burst of mirthful laughter, bells, and confetti. Morrigan still looked… on guard, though amenable to following Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre wherever she wished to go. Loathe as they were to admit it, she held the upper hand right now. They loathed being under one’s thumb, but they would play along for now.

And who knew? The day may have held even more opportunity than they’d originally thought. If they played their cards right, they might come out of this with a new ally. And Morrigan was an incorrigible cheat.

Izzy can't help but snicker just a bit as Morrigan takes her cigar and takes a deeeeep pull. The switch from confident to shaken is one she can't pretend she doesn't delight in, but it's not as... fun as it usually is. And maybe that was the reason for Izzy tipping her hand a little; the genuine fear on Morrigan's face when the dagger had hovered above their head, tense before a plunge, had kicked off a little, annoying chain reaction in the tall woman. Even she wasn't quite sure (or terribly willing to explore it) but even to herself, Izzy was notoriously capricious, doing things on a whim and without much rhyme or reason. That was probably it.

Or, maybe she got a glimpse of her sister for just a second.

But she can see the impact, plain as day, and for all her understanding, she does feel just a liiiittle bit smug. Privately, deeply, pleased that she had done such an excellent job. This could be worth a lot of coin, and Morrigan knew Izzy knew that. She could practically see the wheels turning behind their pale eyes. Izzy had seen something she really shouldn't have seen. She doesn't quite understand it, but it is interesting. And maybe interest is more than enough reason to see what else is going on here.

Nothing she can say at this point, Izzy knew, would prove that she was not about to harm Morrigan. They'd never believe it, and honestly, that was very smart. So, she just remains still until Morrigan hands back the cigar, popping it between her lips without skipping a beat, and grinning. "You know, normally I'd say some shit like 'that's confidential' or some shit-- client privilege and all--" not that Izzy actually cared for 'rules' like that at all, but she did try to adhere to some decorum, "But actually? Iunno." She shrugs.

As Morrigan takes her arm, Izzy gives them a rakish grin, and starts to gallantly lead them out of the alley."Oooh, you pick. I don't expect to be led to your abode or what have you, but it's probably not wise to give me the fair shake in deciding where to go, all things considered" Izzy muses out loud. Her tone is light and mirthful, but there's a serious point in there; If she was taking Morrigan somewhere they could feel safe, that needed to be a place Morrigan chose. If Izzy chose it, that tipped the scales too much in her own favour, and that wasn't informational. She had already seen Morrigan at a weak point; she wanted to see them when they were at their most effective.

Making sure to take alcoves and little twists and turns so they could smoothly get back out onto the main street without the guard catching sight of them. She starts speaking again to Morrigan, her voice low and calm, so only they could hear. "The client aid well and used a go-between. No names. That's pretty typical for my line of work, people don't want to get double-dealed, and I know better than to ask questions about where the money comes from. Fortunately, that leaves me the means to act on my own devices. Fortunately for you, in fact,"

Her ember-like eyes shift down from their corners to look at Morrigan. As they walked the street, she kept an eye out for anyone else potentially on the fringes, waiting to catch The Wizard of the Wastes alone. "Those amateurs in the alley were either someone else, or the same person who hired me trying to make an assurance. I doubt the latter, but the former... well. Yeaaah, that seemed likely," she snickers again. And if it was the latter, well... that was a deal breaker for sure. "But that means someone else is trying to muscle in on my job, and I very much do not appreciate that."

...

"--Not that I am currently planning on concluding said job," Izzy adds casually, looking back up at the road as they walked. "I am interested in this situation you've got coalescing around you. You're an artist, and I can appreciate the drip." She exhales more smoke toward the sky. "Seems a shame to cut that short."

In one moment, Izzy went from amused to… conflicted, if Morrigan was reading the sudden shift in the smile properly. It was subtle, unexpected. It seemed that Morrigan’s ultimate move had worked its magic - being so fucking pathetic that others couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. At the moment, they took little joy from the revelation. Not when Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre had just uncovered something that would ruin their entire reputation, everything that they’d built for themselves here. If Izzy sold that information to whoever had hired her, then who knew how long they had before word spread around Zeinav that Morrigan Moonweaver was nothing more than a liar, a twisted thief whose ‘magic’ was nothing more than carefully placed light shows and their potions were nothing more than a bit of oil and perfume?

They would need to leave town. Flee, and take a new name, after they’d grown ever so attached to this one. Morrigan could start over, of course. Any good con knew how to cut their losses, and they had enough money saved up that all it would take was a little bit of effort and clever disguise to pack up and move shop to another country. They could cut ties again, leave this place behind and never look back. That was safe. That was how a confidence man survived-

Kvasir.

And just like that Morrigan’s carefully-laid plans crumbled to dust.

What would Kvasir think if he heard the rumors? If word got out, there was no doubt he wouldn’t. Word got around fast at the oasis, and he saw any manner of patients at the Desert Rose Apothecary. Oh, it would take a moment, sure. Perhaps long enough for Morrigan to skip town in the Wagon of Wonders, off to a newer, comfortable life where they would be able to continue their work in peace. There would be disbelief at first, they imagined. Kvasir waving away the warnings that he believed to be falsehoods. Morrigan Moonweaver? Of course they’re no liar. I’ve seen them do magic myself, accompanied by that little breath of a laugh he made when he was taken aback. But then he would start thinking, perhaps about how he’d never truly seen Morrigan cast a spell at all. Kvasir was smart - all it would take was a single seed to make him question everything Morrigan said and did.

Maybe he’d give Morrigan a chance to explain themselves. Would he venture all the way to Zeinav City, only to find that Morrigan was already long gone? Of course he would, because he was kind and caring and he would want answers. His life was already built on uncertain foundations as it was. Add Morrigan to the mixture, and the chemical reaction became a ticking time-bomb. He would search, in all of Morrigan’s old haunts, in the spaces they had occupied together during benign, happy days. How long would he look for a figure that had fled the city months ago? And how long would it take him to learn that figure had never existed in the first place?

… How long would it take him to condemn Morrigan, too?

The world began to blur.

Their chest felt tight in the way one felt short of breath when a poison began to hit their system and their nerves felt frayed and numb until they could feel nothing, not even the smoke in their lungs, or Izzy’s voice as she explained… something. That she didn’t know who hired her. She sounded honest, at least. Maybe. Morrigan didn’t know, and they were having a hard time following. Their mind felt like it was being torn in two directions at once. One one hand, every instinct screaming at them to leave before Izzy took her info to whoever would buy it for a pretty penny - the other was running through every interaction with Kvasir Sigurros, his smiles, his desperation in the World Crown, his mortification when Morrigan did something stupid. Not just Kvasir - with a start, they realized they were thinking of Cantio Von Lumen, Fish, Cirice Lunestra…

“I. I can’t.”

Couldn’t what? Morrigan wasn’t even sure what the words meant as they left their mouth, unbidden. And then, the realization struck them, a bolt straight through the heart. They could not afford to leave Kvasir. Leave the others. They had grown… comfortable here. Happy. And somewhere along the line, they’d started having all of these weird thoughts about their friendship with Kvasir, even going so far as to put his own happiness before his own. And Kaivalya had grown ever so fond of him.

Their grip tightened where they held onto Izzy’s arm, claws digging into ivory skin like razor-point needles. Pull yourself to-fucking-gether, Moonweaver. They’d pulled themselves out of worse situation before. Morrigan Moonweaver lied, cheated, and clawed their way from the pits to the top, had their entire life. And yet, right now - in this dirty alley, barely able to stand upright, much less breathe, it all left a sour taste in their mouth.

Why am I even… doing this?

Just for some thrill?

And that. That particular question finally broke them.

They sighed, all the fight, the exuberance, leaving their body at once. There was no reason to maintain the theatrics, not right now. They looked up at Izzy, feeling every bit as dull as they had the moment they absorbed that firebolt from the air. “I have a wagon not far from here.” It felt pointless to try and hide it now. Not when Izzy probably knew about it, or would find out the longer she watched them. “We can talk in there. Come.”

Even stranger was the fact that they were completely silent as Izzy told her story. It was pretty standard fare. A middleman for deniable plausibility in the event a spy was captured, or defected as Izzy had done. There was intrigue glimmering her eyes as she spoke about the ability of a mystery, a possible third party that had sent those thugs. It seemed likely. As Izzy said before, Morrigan had a lot of enemies.

Only today did they feel the weight of what that truly meant.

“And you could not get anything about your employer? A nickname, a possible motivation about why they might wish to spy on me?” That wouldn’t truly help narrow down this needle in a haystack search in the slightest, but it would give them something. “Wait, why are you even doing all this in the first place?” That bullshit about their artistry couldn’t be the only reason she’d jumped into that alley and saved them, or why she was telling them all this in the first place.

Morrigan paused while they were walking, forcing Izzy to look down at them. “That cannot truly be all there is to it. What is it you want? Are you hoping to extort money from me to keep my dirty little secret under wraps? What are you hoping to gain from… all this?”