Izzy was always one who kept her ear to the ground in Zeinav. It tended to pay off, in more ways than one. If she was not actively listening or tailing someone because she was being paid to do it, then she was usually doing so because she could sense that she very soon would be.

Like tasting blood in the water, Izzy idly rocked her chair back and forth on its two back legs, listening to the low, slightly tipsy conversation of the two men behind her. They were dressed well, though not in anything particularly stunning; not wealthy themselves, but paid well. Well enough to spend good money on a private table at the Dancer's Den at any rate.

"The Iskemleji might be in trouble if he can't arrange it himself," one says, shaking his head as he sets down his cup. Izzy's interest piques. "He has to prove that these trips South aren't a waste of the Sultan's money."

"He's tasked me with surveying some local... 'adventurers'," the second man heavily employs the use of finger quotes here. "For the lowest price he can get."

Oh-ho~. Now what did the Iskemleji do? She leers to herself as she smokes, rocking back and forth.

"I will be putting out the notice tomorrow to arrange for interviews."

"Do you think that will work? You know what sort of... people that sort of sign will attract?"

"I am hoping, Solaria willing, that the low asking price will keep the greedier one's at bay. Gods help us if anyone finds out about what--"

There's an abrupt, harsh shushing from the second man's cohort.

"Fool! We're already implicated! Don't go running your mouth in a place like this! You never know who might be listening..."

A slow, upward curl stretches across knife-sharp teeth, entirely to herself. Who indeed.

---

It didn't take long to find a buyer. It turned out that there were several people interested in what Iskemleji Osman Zeivi might be doing and would gladly benefit on the information Izzy might be able to provide. He was a distant relative of the Sultan himself, given the job of a high ranking Page... but he appeared to be falling out of favour. After his commanding officer in the had been arrested under suspicion of embezzlement and misappropriated funds, further inquiries were being directed at the nervous young man, who seemed to have few answers and several places to be.

Izzy had her suspicions, but before she could make good on gathering any evidence, first, she would have to get close. To get close, she needed a wide swath of convincing power that would supercede the Iskemleji's penchant for being incredibly stingy when it came to paying others. And who better to place on notice than her favourite purple friend, Morrigan Moonweaver, famed Wizard of the Wastes?

It was easy... especially when she got rid of the other competition.

The first step was to get rid of all the posts marked on bulletin boards and pay off certain tavern owners to not spread the word they had been paid to spread. Then, it was a matter of convincing Morrigan to play a part in this grand facade-- but only once everything was on lock. There was no sense in disturbing their incredibly high-value work if it would amount to nothing.

To that end, anyone who had noticed prior to her well-timed thefts and had made their way to the meeting place for this interview, found themselves waylaid. Feet broken by falling bricks, heavy blows to the head from a poorly timed broom sweeping the streets, even a piano falling in someone's path, was more than enough to deter any other enterprising "adventurers" who might be so inclined to pursue the Iskemleji's request.

And so, the retainers of the Iskemleji found themselves in an office, with no one showing up. Except for one person.

Izzy arrives, busting through the doors with a grand entrance, sweeping her arm forward. "The Wizard of the Wastes has heard of your woes," she announces with heavy gravitas-- and lays Morrigan's card on the table. "In service of the crown, they would like to offer their services. For a nominal fee, of course."

It was the end of the day, and neither retainer wanted to return to their Iskemleji empty handed. They did not trust this... demon looking fellblood as far as they could throw her (which was, to say, not at all) but... the name of the Wizard of the Wastes held weight. Perhaps even a guaranteed journey from Zeinav City to King's Valley from all the potential hazards that would lie in wait for them. They exchange a glance, and then look back up, up, at Izzy.

"One hundred solars for the trip. No more, no less."

---

"So anyway, I got them to a hundred solars a day, and the trip is supposed to last a couple weeks," Izzy chatters, very early in the morning, sitting cross legged on Morrigan's table. "They are really bad negotiators. They want 'discretion' but don't want to pay full price? Pssh. But, that's just the tip of the iceberg; those interested buyers I mentioned?" the slow, predatory smile plays across her face, "There's six, and they all want a piece of the pie. A couple are offering me a thousand solars just for the recognition. Which I'd be happy to split with you of course, but think about the glory."

Izzy leans across her knees to grin at Morrigan, ember-like eyes sparkling with excitement. "This all pans out, you get to be the one to unravel the mystery. The Wizard of the Wastes, unveiling the true corruption in the Sultan's court. You'd be a hero! Of the people, of the government! Who knows, maybe you'd get knighted or whatever. Do we do knightings here? Eh." She dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand, before reaching it across to Morrigan, her grin as broad as ever. "So, O Great Wizard; only you can help this poor sod make it across the desert alive! And only you can stop his nefarious plot. Allegedly."

"So... whaddaya say~?"

There were many words one could use to describe Morrigan Moonweaver. Trickster, liar, alchemist, and hack were some of the most common ones. Charlatan was a particular favorite, spat in angered tongues from scorned customers or those who looked down on Morrigan’s criminal background.

One word no one would ever think to ascribe to Morrigan: dependable.

Their word was as flimsy as quicksand, and even assuming anyone might bring themselves to trust such a shifty character, it wasn’t as if Morrigan’s physique did them any favors. Given their short stature and their utter refusal to cast any sort of spell in the presence of others, they didn’t exactly paint the picture of someone that you could trust to protect someone from threats that might be lurking in the corners. Not to mention it was a total mood-killer to have that person’s life in your hands. Responsibility was a word that Morrigan was utterly allergic to.

When Miss Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre, a friend of Morrigan’s and probably one of the only bad bitches in Zeinav who could handle their energy, arrived with word of a potential bodyguarding gig for them, Morrigan was skeptical to say the least. Despite the usual anticipatory grin on her face, Morrigan couldn’t help but wrinkle their nose. What could possibly be fun about watching someone’s life… where they would be expected to play nice and not pawn off some of their snake oil on the side. But the more she explained, the more Morrigan had to admit that they were… interested.

There was more to the story than met the eye. Political intrigue, private investigation, and possible favor in the Sultan’s court… well, a little bit of positive attention never failed to sweeten the pot, did it?

While Izzy explained, Morrigan lounged delicately amongst a swath of colorful pillows and blankets, sipping from a sugary drink they’d made for themselves. They looked… different, from the last time they’d met Izzy, though it was difficult to put one’s finger on why. Perhaps it was the way they carried themselves - Morrigan had always moved with grandiosity, but now there was added purpose to it. Perhaps it was their attire, a tad more practical than usual. Perhaps it was their hair, which they wore up in a braid. Small culminations that added to a big change, indicating that something in them had undergone a shift since they last met Izzy.

They tilted their head, a spark of interest in their eyes as Izzy finished weaving her tale of wonder. With a completely serious purse of their lips, Morrigan fixed her with a grave look. “I think that it’s an incredibly dangerous job, and utterly irresponsible to stick my nose in the business of others. Even riskier that it’s a member of the Sultan’s inner circle.”

There was a beat of silence where their words hung in the air.

And then Morrigan’s lips split into a grin.

“Just kidding! Ginma, could you imagine if I were to pass up on such an answer? I’d have to be a fool! A blind fool!” They laughed, taking a long swig of their drink. Of course such a mission was dangerous, but the risk was what made it fun! What was life if not throwing one’s self into fun situations with a high chance of reward, a tightrope’s walk between success and failure? “My dearest shark, you had me from the moment you said this was a lucrative business venture.” And information worth solars in the thousands! Oh, Morrigan craved the money, sure, but what they valued even more was the weight of those secrets. Being able to hold onto knowledge that was so coveted that others would be willing to do anything to get their hands on it.

They straightened, flipping their braid over their shoulder. “It sounds to me like you don’t just need a wizard - you need a champion. Luckily for you, I happen to have a bit of training in the creed of desert warriors now. Think that adds to my credibility, no?” They added with a wink. That much, surprisingly, was the truth - over the past few months, Morrigan been going through some training of their own. Learning with Fish how to actually make good use of their blade, reminiscent of the order of the Scarab.

And then there was the small, brand-like tattoo on the nape of their neck that Izzy couldn’t see that they’d had to burn on to make it stick.

What Morrigan’s true motives might have been for pursuing such things were unknown. Perhaps it was just another flight of fancy. Perhaps there was something deeper. Whatever it was, the motivation didn’t matter at the moment. It would be beneficial for them here, and make it easier to get close to this Iskemleji for Izzy’s sake.

They stood, stretching languidly before flashing Izzy a grin. “So when do we set out?”

Iskemleji Osman Zeivi should probably start to fear for his life right about now.

---

Bringing Pets
Adult form Bubbles (Adult Drake: mount)
Luna Rose (Beastmaster companion: doesn't count against pet cap)
Flitter (Flitten: counts against pet cap)
Junior (Black Bog Leech: Doesn't count against pet cap)

Izzy meets Morrigan's very serious expression with one of her own; intense, firm, only barely smiling. But when Morrigan's face cracks, so does Izzy's. "Pffff-- HAAAA!" Izzy points at Morrigan with a broad grin, as though they were sharing a very deep inside joke. And, to a degree, they were. They, as the kids said, tended to share a braincell, but oh, what a braincell it was.

She snickers, delighted. "And you are neither of those things, last I checked! I thought it might interest you~." She preens, sliding off the table to stand-- well, not at her full height, she has to tilt her head slightly so her horns don't brush the ceiling of the wagon.

As Morrigan details what they'd been up to in brief, Izzy's brows lift, delighted. "Oooh The desert warriors, no less? A fine champion you'd be indeed! Is that what you've been up to? I had noticed a bit of a change; you were a bit willowy-er and less svelte last I saw you; you been working out, Glitter God!" She cackles, approving of the new look. Morrigan seemed to be a chameleon of all sorts, able to change not just who they were and their appearance, but what they chose for hobbies as well.

Now, when to head out. That was the question, wasn't it. "Oooh, what time is it..." Izzy makes chripy noises with her pursed lips as she takes a glance out the window. "They wanna leave at dawn, we have a couple hours at any rate. Now, we could get there late, you know, be fashionable about it-- they are on your time after all, and beauty sleep is so very important, or so I've heard.

...oooorrrr~."

---

Just before dawn, at the designated meeting place Izzy does a double check of the packs and supplies they'd be bringing for themselves, satisfied that they're well prepared for a trek. If they were to get separated or otherwise waylaid, well, it wouldn't be so hard to make their way to safety without the caravan. Such was life in the desert. Couldn't always rely on the people you travelled with, especially not when they were rich, stuffy paper-pushers who thought an apple cost ten solars.

One thing Izzy could rely on Morrigan for, always, was for them to put on a show. As dark sky started to shift to hues of indigo on the horizon, Izzy looked to Morrigan, grinning broadly. "Just about show time! Time to lock 'em in. Do you need an announcer or a hype-man for your grand entrance?" She bounds over, excited.

Izzy was a hoot and a holler, as always. She managed to understand Morrigan’s humor perfectly, and she played off of them well. Perhaps if scamming and private investigation didn’t work out, the two could take their comedy act on the road if they so desired. Alas, Morrigan was far too good at crime, and Izzy was far too good at being Izzy. A missed opportunity. But perhaps they’d be able to bring some of that humor with them during this escort mission.

“Oh, you flatter me.” Morrigan fanned themselves with the innocent look of a man who very much knew that they’d worked for their physique - embarrassingly so - and wanted it to appear effortless. “I might have done a little yoga… some palates, here and there.” They leaned forward, pressing a finger to their lips, as if sharing an inside secret with her. “I am not actually a desert warrior, you see. But who better to protect a high-ranking politician than the Wizard of the Wastes, the Sand Scorpion, master of both mana and physique?” They cackled.

“… Okay, maybe there was some actual training.” They added after a moment’s thought. And stabbing. Oh, had there been a lot of stabbing. Fish was a surprisingly good teacher when it came to matters of the blade, if only because they were relentless with their knives and forced you to learn how to dodge pretty damn quickly. “But I’m a delicate desert flower, you know!”

They delicately waved the beaded fan in their hands. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t really need beauty sleep. All of this-“ They gestured towards the kohl and glitter adorning their face that very much was born from painstaking effort- “Is natural. Though a fashionably late entry is very in this season.”

They paused, tilting their head to the side as Izzy proposed her counter-offer.

“Oh?”

---

The sky was still dark as Morrigan and Izzy made their way to the meeting point - Morrigan dressed in their finest silk covering, decorated in an obnoxious amount of fabrics that still somehow managed to catch and reflect the light despite the fact that the sun was not out. It sounded like a pretty standard caravan travel, the kind of multi-wagon train that most honest - and dishonest - folk used in the desert. There was safety in numbers, especially when it came to raiders and assassins. Yes, lots of unsavory kinds between here and their destination.

Good thing Morrigan was here to protect these poor souls.

They hummed, tapping their chin in thought. “A hype woman would be much appreciated, and befitting of the great Wizard. And none better to announce my entrance than the esteemed queen of nonsense herself, and my partner in crime, Miss Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre?”

A conniving grin slowly grew on their face. “You go announce my presence. I’ve got just the idea for my entrance.”

In lieu of any explanation, they pressed their fingers to their lips, letting out a shrill whistle. There was a beat of silence that stretched on long enough that perhaps Izzy might have thought that nothing was truly going to happen after all, until a shadow passed overhead. Morrigan spread their arms out wide, ever the showman, as a large, red drake descended from the sky and landed behind them with a THUD that displaced the sand around them.

“Izzy… meet Bubbles. In his adult form.”

And right now, the perfect vessel for a dramatic entrance.

The plan was simple. Morrigan would fly up into the air, wait for the signal from Izzy, and descend upon them in a flash of glitter and mayhem befitting of their titles. Morrigan blew her a kiss as they took up into the sky on Bubbles, thrumming in anticipation of the moment they would land below and begin this game in earnest.

It was showtime.

While Izzy was adorned in her usual travel clothes—hardy, worn, comfortable leathers, a shirt that offset her blindly white skin, and her arsenal of weapons—she was also wearing the colours of Morrigan, a loose shawl that she had definitely not stolen from her sister to wear over her hair to avoid the relentless midday sun once it rose, but for now, it was loosely wrapped about her waist.

Which made her perfectly suited for being the hype-woman for Morrigan, along with her upbeat personality. Never mind the fact that it was nearly dawn, and most people would absolutely loathe being put upon by a sudden performance before they had had their morning coffee. But that was a concern for people who were lame; these rich fools had no idea how lucky they were. Soon, they would know.

Izzy looks ever so smug at being referred to as the Queen of Nonsense, practically purring at the flattery. Yes, that title would suit her nicely. Ought to put that on the business card. Private Investigator Extraordinare, Good Time Gal, Hon. Queen of Nonsense.

At the high pitched whistle, Izzy looks around, expecting something immediate. When there’s nothing after a few seconds, she shrugs, figuring whatever it is will be right along, and gives Morrigan a wolfish grin. “You got it—WHOA,” She instinctively ducks her head as something large flies overhead, though quickly realizes this was the thing Morrigan had summoned as it lands behind the Grand Wizard in a plume of sand.

“THEY’RE SO BIIIG,” Izzy gasps, eyes filled with wonder. Bubbles! They really HAD gotten bigger than the last time Izzy had seen them in that alley some months ago. She wants to pet, to skritch those scales —no! Professional! “Big ol’ sweetie babyyy. You’ll get treaties form Auntie Izzy later.” She whispers conspiratorially to Bubbles. Backing up, she lets Morrigan take to the sky. Looking over her shoulder at the gates to the city, the slow grin of menace starts to take shape over her visage. Just there, starting to exit the gate, is the group they’re meant to be guiding.

Show time.

Izzy makes her way along the sand at a brisk pace, before slowing to a casual saunter, smile as broad as the rising sun. The group looks her way upon the approach, and Izzy spreads her arms wide, taking a deep breath.

“LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND THOSE OF US WHO KNOW BETTER,” Izzy crows, her voice carrying over the sand, the hues of dawn starting to bloom vibrant colour that light up the stage for the main act. “TODAY, YOU FIND YOURSELVES LUCKY ENOUGH TO STAND AT THE PRECIPICE OF HISTORY IN THE MAKING. PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR THE ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY TO BE DAZZLED BY THE EFFERVESCENCE, THE GRACE, THE RESPLENDENCE OF THE WIZARD OF THE WASTES, THE CHAMPION OF ZEINAV, THE ONE, THE ONLY, MORRIGAN MOONWEAVER!!”

And there was a cue, if ever there was one.

Bubbles looked rather pleased with himself when Izzy gushed over him. The Kobold was rather proud of his dragon form, tail wagging behind him excitably at Auntie Izzy’s complement, and the promise of treats once the job was done. Even in his adult form, he still seemed to hold some of the mentalities of his regular self. He perked up when Morrigan commanded him into the sky, though, excited at the prospect of flying.

And so they coasted through the air, far enough away that they were just out of sight of the caravan, but close enough that they could hear Izzy’s booming voice, announcing their presence with extravagant pomp and flourish. From up above, Morrigan pressed a hand to their mouth with a giggle. “Oh, stop, you’re making me blush.” They muttered to themselves, waving a hand in the air as if to say, oh, stop, you. “Champion of Zeinav, though… I like the ring of that.”

Yeah, they were definitely stealing that one.

Oh, wait, shit, the entrance. Well, no one could accuse Morrigan of not being fashionably late for their own announcement - which was exactly what they did as they finally maneuvered Bubbles to make a divebomb for the ground towards the caravan. With a mighty roar, Bubbles let out a burst of fire over their heads, narrowly missing - though a couple of scalps definitely got singed, which was probably not the best start to the protection mission.

Finally, Bubbles landed, spreading their wings in the air as Morrigan hopped off, unfurling their fan.

“I…” They said with a bow, “Have arrived.”

May the dead gods help these poor, unfortunate souls.

They straightened, showing off a row of pearly-white teeth while they surveyed the crowd. A bunch of nobles, adorned in jewels and finery and shawls, all looking utterly bewildered at the appearance of the glimmery Fellblood. In the silence that ensued, one could practically hear the thought on everyone’s mind.

… This is the great Wizard of the Wastes?

They looked like a strong breeze could blow them over - nevermind any number of assassins and bandits that might be lurking in the sand dunes!

Now, their suspicions might have been bad, but it was entirely off the mark! In reality… it was much worse than that.

Eventually, Morrigan’s gaze landed on some guy that looked like he was important enough, based on the jewelry he wore and the way he held himself. Spreading their arms wide, speaking as if they were talking to an equal or an old acquaintance rather than a member of nobility, Morrigan moved in to shake his hand in an awkward sort of half-embrace. “Ah, you must be Master Iskemleji Osman Zeivi. It’s absolutely wonderful to make your acquaintance - trust me, your life is in the right hands.”

Someone cleared their throat next to Morrigan.

Morrigan glanced over at a rather put-out looking noble, wearing jade-green rather than gold. They looked at the man who they were currently hugging, who was wearing a look of confusion on his face. They looked at Izzy, who was trying not to laugh her ass off as she silently gestured towards the man in green, as if to say, yeah, you’re currently hugging the wrong guy.

Whelp. Shit.

Morrigan immediately released their grip on the impostor like dropping a sack of hot potatoes, turning towards the right guy this time. “Ah, Master Iskemleji Osman Zeivi!” They repeated, with more oomph this time before going in for the exact same half-embrace. They couldn’t see Iskemleji’s face at the moment, but it was probably a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

Morrigan pulled away, patting him on the shoulder.

“I very much look forward to getting to know you over the course of this journey.” They added with a wink.

The entrance was spectacular; Izzy knew well enough to duck her head to as to avoid her curls catching on fire, laughing wildly as Morrigan descends when they were good and ready. Though their charges are much less thrilled than she is, looking skeptical, dubious even, at the appearance of the sparkly, shorter fellblood. Whatever; if they didn't have good taste, that was their problem. Besides, Izzy had seen first hand how effective Morrigan was at persuading people to their side.

Izzy has to try so hard not to laugh as Morrigan approaches the wrong person-- she only barely knew herself, to be fair, catching on only because she recognized who she had seen at the 'interview' last night. She gestures over the shoulders of the group for who Morrigan should be giving their affections to. They transition smoothly, effortless, the pinacle of grace, to the correct person, who looks... well. Concerned and less than impressed.

"...Are you certain you are up to the task?" The Iskemleji finally speaks up, gingerly trying to step away from Morrigan's hug and their winking visage. Though he asks it of the pair of Fellbloods, he looks side long to his advisors, glowering at them for putting him in this position.

"Of course!" Izzy chimes in, swooping in to lay an arm across everyone's shoulders with her wide wingspan. Her smile is bright and oh-so very pointy as she leans her head down to their level. "The name alone of the Wizard of the Wastes puts the fear of the gods into ne'er-do-wells of all sorts. Your path is more than secure with the two of us on hand."

"And what if these 'ne'er-do-wells' as you put it have never heard of you?" The Iskemelji asks skeptically.

Izzy leans back, putting a hand to her chest in affront. "Never heard of-- perish the very thought, good sir! They cannot simply be called THE Wizard of the Wastes if their renown is not so pervasive that their enemies fall like leaves before their path! Can you imagine how many might want that title?" She shakes her head in vigorous denial. "If they have been so unfortunate and so ill-informed to not know who the Wizard of the Wastes is, then that shall be corrected, I assure you."

The Iskemelji hums and gives another long look to his advisors. After a moment, they nod, shrugging, "The reviews are very good, my lord." "And being guarded by someone so well known would help make confirmation to the Sultan when we have made our destination. They would be easier to verify than some mercenary company."

The Iskemleji still looks skeptical, but sighs, moving towards his wagon. "We have little time to waste, then. Let us depart."

With that settled, and the advisors looking more relaxed, one approaches Morrigan, holding out a bag of coin. "For the first day's journey your... um... Wizardness." they say, scrambling for a title apparently. "We are heading to Thunderhoof Village in the King's Valley. Come, and let us make haste."

“Am I certain I am up for this task?” They repeated, mock offense in their voice. The question had not been directed wholly to Morrigan, but the Fellblood could not resist speaking about their favorite subject. “Why, good sir, you have never been in more capable hands. For I am the Great Wizard of the Wastes - enchanter, diviner, storyteller, godslayer, Sand Scorpion, Champion of Zeinav, creator of miracles and maker of elixirs most wonderful.” Their litany of titles, it seemed, had grown even more plentiful and annoying. “Those who gaze upon the visage of my wizard’s banner alone are struck with enough fear in their hearts that they do not dare move against me. I am known as far north as the World’s Crown, and tales of my heroics are spread even as far south as the Crescent Isles.”

They smirked as Izzy jumped in, offended at the very thought that someone might not know of Morrigan’s name or titles. Even the Iskemelji’s advisors seemed to think that Morrigan’s presence was fortunate for the success of this trip, though Morrigan did find it interesting that they seemed to have a vested interest in ensuring that it was important the Sultan received word they made it to the ‘right destination’.

Their tail flicked behind them as they hid their mouth behind their fan, where a coy smile grew on their lips.

Interesting.

“Rest assured. As someone who has saved the Sultan’s life in the past, he and I are not only acquainted, but he owes me a life debt.” A true tale, if not greatly exaggerated. Morrigan was fairly certain that the Sultan didn’t even really know who they were, though Morrigan had once stopped a plot against his life because they were bored. “Not only will you make it to your destination safely, but you will arrive there with style and panache, the kind of entrance befitting of someone of your standing.” They said with a bow.

Thunderhoof Village was their destination? Morrigan wracked their brain trying to think of what business a Zeinavian politician might have in the King’s Valley. “Oh? A rather scenic destination, I see. Planning on taking a vacation?” They dug casually as the party set out, ambling across the sands. Morrigan pulled themselves back onto Bubbles, the drake ambling on the ground next to the caravan. Meanwhile, they flashed one more grin at Izzy, excitement thrumming in their veins. There was something novel about this kind of scheme, something with stakes that Morrigan didn’t really get to experience. This was more than petty crime peddling snake oil to suckers who bought their words without a second thought.

This was something new and exciting - a high stakes game of chess, the back and forth of learning more about the Iskemelji’s secrets, while protecting him from other threats. Yes, there was a lot of fun to be had here.

And they had a rather long journey ahead of them.

Izzy gestures at Morrigan as they make the claim, the assurance, that the Sultan owes them a life-debt, as if to say ’you see? How could you possibly deny the saviour of the Sultan himself?’. The Iskemleji, to his credit, does look a little impressed to hear this. The people he surrounds himself with, however, look taken aback. That was not an expected turn of events. There’s a dubious glance exchanged between them before the other advisor goes to rejoin the Iskemleji in his carriage.

“The matters of the Iskemleji are personal and not of my station to reveal,” the advisor says brusquely. He looks… furitive. Perhaps even nervous, though that might just be standing in the great presence of the Wizard of the Wastes. “Just be ready for anything, of course. We do not wish to be waylaid by brigands or monsters.” More so than they already had been. He sidelong glances at Izzy before going to join the Iskemlji himself.

Once that is confirmed and squared away, and Morrigan gets astride Bubbles and everyone gets to walking. Izzy posts up next to the driver of the carriage itself, taking it easy as they amble along across the sands.

Despite her best attempts to be chatty with the Iskemleji’s attendants and the driver, they are soft spoken and tight lipped, something that strikes Izzy as… a little odd. And boring, but mostly odd.

Eventually, as the morning began to stretch into afternoon, Morrigan would hear a little voice in their head. “I spyyyyy. With my little eeeeyyyye. Something that iiiis. Blue.”
There was only the sky above their head and whatever Morrigan’s adornments were that were blue, so that would likely be a short round.

While they walk, one of the attendants pokes their head through the main carriage doors to whisper something to the driver. He grunts an affirmative and continues on… though those that were walking, especially those who were looking around playing an inane game of I Spy in their heads, would notice that the carriage was slowly starting to turn West.

Morrigan pursed their lips when the advisor shut them down without any preamble. They didn’t expect the Iskmleji’s retainers to play ball right away, but they at least hoped for a little bit of banter before getting hit with the verbal shield. They hummed, rolling around on Bubbles until they were lounging on their back, staring upside-down at the advisor with wide, innocent eyes while their braid dangled in the air.

“Oh? The Iskmleji’s affairs may be private, but you’re moving in the same direction, and going to the same destination, and I don’t think your affairs are so hush-hush, right?” They teased, not expecting any real answer - though their confusing train of logic could often be enough to get someone to confess to things out of bewilderment. “Yes, lots of unexpected threats. The road is fraught with danger… it is a good thing that danger is my middle name.” They said with a pointed look.

Unexpected dangers… Morrigan could not help but wonder if the warning was given with something specific in mind. Did they perhaps expect deadly assassins or something else after them? Given that the Iskmleji had no shortage of apparent enemies - members of the court who might know about his mysterious secret, or possible scorned victims to his crimes. Morrigan’s mind was already reeling with possibilities, a theater of drama where each scenario ended in the Iskmleji’s bitter end on this road to Thunderhoof Village.

Or perhaps not quite this road, given that their destination was ever-so-slowly veering off its intended course, unbeknownst to Morrigan, who had just gotten roped into a rather intense game of I Spy with Izzy to pass the time.

They hummed from where they were still lazily lounging on Bubbles’s back, hands resting on their stomach while they stared up at the scant clouds in the sky, painted light blue by the rising sun. That kind of lackadaisical, relaxed posture probably wasn’t the kind of thing you wanted to see of your bodyguard, but Morrigan was having a rather good time, acting like they were going on vacation rather than some tense mission.

“Hmm… is it the sky?”

Oh, they were good at this game!

A playful grin on their face, Morrigan whirled back around to scan the caravan and the horizon, looking for a new color, more engrossed in their current game than the actual security detail. “Ooh, let me try! Okay. I spy something… red - oh, wait, easy, that’s just your hair. How about… I spy something green?” Yes, that one would provide a bit more of a challenge. They were looking at one of the cactuses with a particularly pretty flower up ahead, but there was enough green stuff around that it might prove to be difficult.

Meanwhile, Morrigan’s menagerie of animals began to spread all about the caravan. Luna Rose managed to wriggle into the back of one of the wagons, and Flitter flew over and hid in the Iskmleji’s advisor’s sash. The loyal pets were hidden from sight, ready for mischief at a moment’s notice - and with any luck, to interfere with something damning.

"Ding ding~!" Izzy chirps. She starts to snicker as she looks around, looking for what could possibly be green. "Yeaaah, red would be meee. Lesseeee..." her gaze sweeps the horizon, looking for green. "Is iiiit the carriage's banner? Is it theeee oh, little bit of scrub grass over there? Is iiit--" she spies the cactus over to the left, but somethings weird. Unsure of what it is just yet, Izzy moves past it for the moment. "The one with the flower! Fuck yes."

While Morrigan's little pets start to disperse, looking for a chaos to unleash, the people Morrigan and Izzy are guarding, if they notice the little interlopers infiltrating their spaces and clothes, then they do not say anything.

"Alright, my turn. I spyyyy with my little eye. Something that iiiiis pink!" Izzy tries not to grin too broadly, thinking she was being very clever by picking the colour of the little Flitten's bow (an absolute cutie sweetie baby bean, in Izzy's eyes, who would also be getting extra treaties from Auntie Izzy).

As she chuckles, pleased with herself clearly, Izzy looks about their surroundings again-- head always on a swivel, even though nothing seemed to be happening at the moment.

Unless you counted the approaching rocky formation that they were starting to head towards. A strange outcropping of stone from previous earthquakes that had made a little valley through which people could pass through. They were still quite a ways off, but Izzy didn't remember that being on the route South. Her head tips, squinting.

Eh, it was probably fine.

---

It was not fine.

[1] Message

Morrigan gasped and clapped their hands together. “Yes, you got it, perfect!” Now they had to look for something pink… there was only one possible thing it could be in the vicinity. “Could it be Flitter’s precious little bow?”

To everyone else listening in the caravan, the duo’s ability to instantly pick out what the other was spying was uncanny. The truth was, their way of thinking was just pretty damn similar. Morrigan was so pleased at themselves for winning the game that they didn’t even notice the foreign rocky formation they were approaching. Morrigan had been all through Zeinav - often took these roads through to King’s Valley and the Marsk Flats when they had to travel to Moonglade by land. One might have called them familiar with the road to Thunderhoof Village.

It was a damn shame that they had the worst directional and spatial awareness known to man.

It wasn’t Morrigan’s fault! How were they meant to pay attention to some boring roads and stuffy rocks when there were more interesting things to look at and do during travel? So the fact that they were rapidly careening in another direction over the course of the day was not, in any way, their fault. They were positively blameless in this development.

They’d been on the road a couple of hours now, the sun having reached its zenith in the sky - probably around midday, then. The sweltering heat was making folks cranky, and Morrigan and Izzy’s games certainly weren’t helping. They were getting close to the pass, Morrigan still utterly engrossed in this game.

“I spy something brown - wait.”

They sat up, a thought occurring to them. They weren’t the one who’d planned out the route in this trip, but there was something off about this cave. They nudged Bubbles, spurning the drake over to where Izzy was walking without a care in the world. Perched on their mount, Morrigan leaned over and stage-whispered, “Awfully curious place to bring a caravan through, don’t you think?” They hummed, tapping at their chin nonchalantly before gesturing towards the valley. “An easy place for an ambush, perhaps? … But no, it’s probably fine.” They said eventually, an echo of her own words from earlier.

They were about to learn just how not-fine everything was.

"Ding, ding! Got it again, you genius, you," Izzy cheers, applauding a light, sophisticated clap at Morrigan's victory.

The game goes on for as long as it entertains them, and for the Fellblood pair who are both simultaneously easily bored and easily entertained, it becomes clear to anyone hearing the nattering (especially when it's one sided whenever Izzy decides to use magic to impart answers or questions to Morrigan), that this could go on for ages. Forever, even, if allowed.

Morrigan's pause makes Izzy pause, broken from the back-and-forth of their game by the purple fellblood noticing something. Her gaze shifts upwards as Morrigan trots Bubbles (sweetie baby) on over to her side to

Real curious.

"Yyyeaah. Yeah, it's fiiine, it's fiiineee, pffft, it's nothin' to worry about at all." Izzy replies with the same nonchalance and lack of concern.

Izzy was not what one would call the most 'careful' of people, but her years on the street, both as a child and as an adult had given her a profound series of alarm bells. At present, they were all chiming off in rapid succession. "Sssay," Izzy looks up at the driver, giving him a casual grin. "Funny question, but what's our ETA lookin' like?"

The driver gives her a side-long glance "Two weeks to King's Valley."

"And that's South, right?"

The glance turns into a suspicious glower. "...Yes."

"Riiight right. Just checkin'." Izzy flashes a toothy, innocent smile.

"Maybe you should leave the thinking to the navigators and go back to your little game." His glower does not shift.

"Capital idea, my good man!" she tips him a little salute off her brow and goes back to walking. While she does so, she messages Morrigan again, "I spy, with my little eye, the path of the fuckin' sun."

They were headed West.

Izzy was no cartographer, but West was definitely not South.

The pass was approaching, and as it did, Izzy started to formulate an idea. It was becoming abundantly clear that they were heading straight into a predetermined trap. That put Morrigan and Izzy in a truly unique position; to be able to ambush the ambushers.

A cruel little smile curls up her mouth as she dips into her pocket for her cigar. Normally she didn't smoke when she was on the road-- fast way to burn through a perfectly good bit of tobacco-- she reserved that for careful thinking and hunts. Once the smoke starts to rise from the corners of her mouth, Izzy messages Morrigan once more. "I spyyy with my little eyyye, someone that is expendable."

Izzy blows the stream of smoke out from her mouth, taking, briefly, the shape of the driver[1] before it evaporates into the rest of the air.

---

[1] Minor Trickery

(message also used)

Izzy responded with the same amount of loud nonchalance, the curious look in her eyes telling Morrigan she’d noticed the same thing. But why in the world would these guys want to sabotage their own caravan, if that was even what was happening right now? Whatever it was, the driver was acting awfully churlish in his answers to Izzy, even fixing her with a gaze of derision and suspicion. Morrigan perched on Bubbles, tail swishing behind them as they pretended to pick their nose instead of listen. So the driver was in on this, at the very least. But how far did this tale of inner sabotage and obfuscation run?

Morrigan smirked when they hears Izzy’s whispered message in their mind, her mouth not moving. The sound was slightly blurred at the edges, almost as if Morrigan’s body did not want to receive the magic. A frown tugged at their lips. Pesky curse.

It would be taken care of soon enough.

Izzy looked like she had a plan in mind, though. For all the woman liked to pretend she was no rhyme or reason, Morrigan saw the truth behind her - the carefully calculated woman who played the world like a chess board and she was about to take the queen or start eating the pieces to win. As the card ambled on, and Izzy pulled a cigar from her pocket, Morrigan had an idea of what she was going through.

Oh, the double trap was diabolical.

They snickered behind their fan as the illusion of the perfect rube began to take shape.

They really were good at this game.

Morrigan pulled a vial from their bag, tossing it to Izzy with a wink.^[1] “Here. One on the house, since we’re such good friends.” They added with a wink.

Izzy shouldn’t be the only one to get in on the fun. Morrigan wanted to prepare a fun little surprise, too. Hopping off of Bubbles with a small cartwheel, Morrigan dashed up to Izzy and flung themselves onto her shoulders, latching on like a little leech. “You know what might make this game even more fun?” They whispered into her ear in the infernal tongue. “Hide and seek.”

It wasn’t the most rational plan, but who didn’t love a little bit of drama and flair? Especially when it meant getting to stage another grand entrance. With a swish of their satin brocade, Morrigan disappeared, and in their place sat a little pink frog on Izzy’s shoulder.^[2]

Wizard? What wizard? There was no wizard here… just a perfectly ordinary, adorable, and inauspicious frog.

It was the perfect crime.

---

1. Morrigan Moonweaver's Dragon-be-Gone
2. Pondcho

Izzy reaches up to catch the vial, lifting her brows as she takes a look at the label of suspiciously glittery liquid. Dragon-Be-Gone, consumable NOT a grenade. Her smile nearly splits her face as she tosses Morrigan a wink. "Livin' up to the moniker, I see. Thanks Glitter God." She snickers and tucks it away in her breast pocket for the moment. Whatever Morrigan had in this vial, she was excited to find out what it did.

For the moment, though, Izzy was focused on the task at hand, her grin becoming a leer as they started to approach the pass. And then, suddenly, she was glomed onto from behind by her dear wizard friend, hardly losing her pace as Morrigan latched onto her like a gecko. With the enticing whisper of hide-and-go-seek on their breath, they vanish-- as does their weight, suddenly. Izzy blinks, looking around her-- before spotting the colourful little frog on her shoulder. Biting her lip to avoid bursting into laughter, she keeps on their forward path, grinning wildly.

The driver looks around for a moment, and then, frowning, looks to Izzy. "Where's the wizard?"

"Mm?" Izzy blows a stream of smoke into the air. "Probably off using the little mage's room. They should be back in a bit." She tilts her head towards the man, her expression ever so casual. "You alright? You look a tad on edge."

The driver glowers at her again. "Mind your own business," he says curtly, and faces forward once again.

"Oh, consider it minded." the grin widens a touch more. The looming shadow of the pass starts to obstruct the sun, casting them into shadow. Now there was a palpable quiet, a tension that weighed heavily on the air.

No sooner had they rounded the sandstone corner, a group of roughly ten brigands stood in the path, weapons drawn. The carriage rolls to an abrupt halt.

"We have you surrounded!" One of the bandits shout from the outcropping above. There's a clamor within the carriage itself. "Lay down your weapons and hand over the Iskmleji."

"What is the MEANING of this?!" The Iskmleji shouts, the side door opening as his two aids try to force him out of the carriage proper. "How dare you! Take your hands off me!"

"Oooh, shit's gettin' spicy," Izzy says outloud, apparently to no one... though there was one friend on her shoulder who was listening. She drops her voice to a whisper. "I'll take out the driver. Think you can distract 'em long enough for me to carve a path?" Faking another drag on her cigar, she quaff's the little vial in the bottle Morrigan had given them.

The driver pulls a hand crossbow up from somewhere by his feet, and aims it at Izzy. "Don't move."

"Just havin' a smoke, pal, take it easy." Izzy holds up her hands peacably, nonplussed and unbothered.


"What in the devil is going on!? Help me! I paid you for this!" He shouts at Izzy, fighting back against his aids while the bows are still being trained on them. "And where in the BLAZES is Moonweaver?!"