Zarius narrows his eyes at Morrigan. This scam artist really thought he wouldn’t notice them trying to change the subject in such a blase way. Fine, whatever. It was too much trouble to push the issue right now anyway. They needed to focus on escaping and unfortunately, it was likely an easier task if they played nice, at least temporarily.

Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t fire back a retort while Issala is still grinning at them like a complete fool.

“No shrine I am afraid, though I do have a purple training dummy which needs to be restuffed. It is not holding up as well as I expected.”

A sinister smirk spreads across his face.

“If we get out of here you will have plenty of time for that autograph. I am certain I can make good use of it.”

Then Issala breaks out into a monologue, full-on talking like she smokes more than usual and everything.

Gods. Help him.

“Miss Issala, this really is not the time for theatrics.”

This ship lurches and he staggers a bit, keeping his balance but unfolding his arms just as the ivory fellblood fixes her sharp eyes on him. He returns her look with an unimpressed expression. Then she busts into song and skips to the door.

It’s a miracle this woman hasn’t gotten them all killed yet. Though maybe it’s too early to say that as the hull of the ship creaks and cracks. He glances back over his shoulder in time to see the giant tentacle rising high out of the water.

Well, at least that got Issala to haul ass and chuck Morrigan through the open doorway. Zarius scrambles across the deck to catch up to the two as the ship’s deck starts to splinter and rip apart. He dives through the doorway, hitting the ground on the other side before rolling over his shoulder and up onto his feet as he tumbles.^[1]

For a brief moment, it seems the plan worked. Then he notices the abstractions. Shit. Are they just in a different painting now? He dusts himself off and looks around the extraordinarily long alleyway. It certainly was not the outcome he had hoped for.

Turning back to Issala and Morrigan, he lets out a sigh. “If the rumors are to be believed, it is possible that he perished after being trapped here. Though I suppose there is a chance he is still alive if time does not work the same as it does outside the canvas.” He gestures to her key. “Your item clearly does not work as intended here, so it is not that far-fetched of a theory.”

He ducks out of instinct upon hearing the sound of large wingbeats pass overhead. Of course there’s a dragon. Why would he expect anything less? A moment passes and it doesn't seem like the dragon is aware of their intrusion. Yet. 

Zarius lowers his voice and keeps one eye on on the sky. “As for its purpose, I cannot say for certain. Perhaps it was to trap people, perhaps it was to literally escape reality. Or maybe the artist was just insane. Who knows. All we need to worry about is getting out of here before we become blood stains."

---

Meanwhile, the chase continues through the narrow streets of Darkveil.

The man isn't too worried about his pursuers, trusting his mount to race along without his guidance. He chuckles at the declaration from his pursuers. 

“Oh, you sweet summer child you." He chuckles and rests his elbows on the top of the wagon. "You’re in Darkveil! Embrace the local culture why don’t you?”

Not really taking them that seriously and far too curious about what kind of tricks they would try, the man doesn't prepare any defenses as he watches the ornament thrown toward the back of his cart. The bomb explodes in glorious fashion as the firebolt strikes it and the man nearly falls backwards off his cart from the impact.  

"Oof!" He huffs and looks down at the left back wheel which wobbles loosely, threatening to fall off. Humming, he looks back at Mariposa and Ceres Celestia. "Now, now, no need to play so rough. Why don't you take it easy, hm?"

He raises his hands and twists them in the air. Arcane threads bend between his fingers before he throws the spell towards Sparkle Blossom. If it hits, Sparkle Blossom would become entangled in the magical threads, slowing their movements.^[2]

---

[1] Cats Grace
[2] Slow (Space Domain)

Morrigan, officially dubbed the Morriparrot - a serendipitously fitting role since they were bright and colorful and did nothing but echo the greatness of others around them - sat perched on Izzy’s shoulders while the fair-skinned fellblood’s voice broke out into an odd timbre, and lo and behold, they began to narrate. Morrigan immediately whipped out a piece of parchment, scrawling down what she was saying… for posterity’s sake, of course. Any songs that might otherwise be released about this venture in the aftermath would need to be as detailed as possible, and that would include mention of Izzy for her wit and loquacious nature… and probably a throwaway line about Zarius too, because he was, uh, standing there. All of which would greatly embellish Morrigan’s part in this journey, and they supposed Izzy’s monologue could make it in there too. The fact that this was some sort of magical trap from which the group likely could not escape had already escaped the charlatan’s mind. Peril, who? They were far more concerned with tales of their own false greatness.

Unfortunately, they were so preoccupied daydreaming about fame and fortune that they were still on Izzy’s shoulder while the private investigator moved to try this enchanted housekey on the captain’s door, hopefully something that would free them - meaning that they were helpless as great, spindling tentacles pulled from the very trenches of a special, watery hell and threatened to pull them under.

“WAAAAAAAA-“ Morrigan screeched, picked up by the back of their neck like a kitten by the scruff, helpless against being thrown through the doorway and into a new location entirely. Unlike Zarius, who managed to tuck and roll as he landed, the snake oil salesman of Zeinav hit the painted floors of their homeland with a soft grunt, skidding to a halt with enough force to tear their face completely up.

Hm. Yeah, that would definitely have to be edited in the post-production manuscript of this tale.

Well, they were out of danger for the tine being, no longer at risk of being devoured by a wicked seabeast. Morrigan picked themselves up, brushing blood and sand off of their torso with a huff before flicking their hair back over their shoulders. Zeinav, then? If Izzy’s key was intended to lead them home, then it clearly hadn’t worked. The alley sprawling in front of them - a valley of endless depths meant to drive anyone mad seeking an end that did not exist - was still most definitely part of the artificial acrylic world the trio had found themselves in.

“A man who died of his own folly and hubris?” Morrigan snorted. What a ridiculous notion. Clearly the man was not very bright if he didn’t build a failsafe of some sort into his own contraption. Some backdoor or secret code, at the very least. Well, just because he was a mage or whatever did not necessarily mean he was smart. And now it was their problem. “If I were some magical artist I simply would not have met my end at the hands of my own artwork. How embarrassing.”

The painting, evidently, was not fond of this provocation, because a shadow passed overhead, accompanied by the beating of wings. Morrigan’s head whipped up in an attempt to get a better look at the source of the sound, utterly unsurprised to see an actual winged dragon passing by overhead.

Well this day just kept getting worse and worse, did it not?

It was safe to say that Morrigan Moonweaver had nothing in their repertoire to fight an ancient being of infinite wisdom and rage.

“Oh; I’ve got just the thing for this!”

Morrigan dug into their bag, pulling out two bottles of a sparkling, shimmering liquid that more closely resembled a unicorn’s vomit than an elixir. “Could I interest anyone in a dose of Morrigan Moonweaver’s patented, kid-tested and mother-approved, Dragon-Be-Gone? There’s a free potion in it for anyone who’s willing to fork over the most solars.”

Hey. When in a threatening life or death situation, always take whatever chance you’ve got to make some money.

Despite their nonchalance, the charlatan was beginning to feel a bit unnerved at the situation. They truly despised being stuck in a place from which they could not escape. To be so utterly robbed of their agency and will. They needed to find a way out of here, pronto.

Hooking the Dragon-Be-Gone to their belt while waiting for any offers, they pulled a few more elixirs out of their bag and juggled them, taking care to apply poison to the concealed blades on their person. Frostfire Extract on the Scorpion’s Stinger on their tail, venom on their wrist bracer.^[1] A necessary precaution. A dainty flower’s gotta protect themselves somehow, no?

Preparations done, they turned to Zarius with a wicked smirk. They said that it was best for one to die doing what they loved, and Morrigan did so cherish being a bastard.

“Don’t worry, Master Zarius. If you’re afraid, you can always hold my hand. I won’t let the big, bad dragon harm you.”

There was nowhere for them to go but forward, so the charlatan set off, unable to suppress the feeling that something truly horrible lie ahead, but too determined not to be dragon chow. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. But it was always better to just keep moving forward rather than remain stuck.

---

The explosive bauble made its mark, a fact that the criminal seemed utterly nonchalant about. Mariposa wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch the man’s smug face in or take him out to dinner. Hmm. Well there was always time for the latter later after they completed the former. First, came the task of saving her bratty boss and extorting that rich guy out of a decent amount of coin. She was so busy daydreaming about the money she was about to make from this that she almost missed Ceres Celestia’s gasp and the weaving of the Formulae Arcana in the air as Sparkle Blossom began… to… slow.

Oh, hell.

“Well, thissss isn’t good.” Mariposa hissed, tongue caught between forked teeth. The criminal was gaining on them. “Well, can’t say we didn’t try, right?”

Ceres Celestia’s face had turned entirely pink, frustrated at being stopped so easily. She didn’t have the magical training to bend the fabric of space and time! She was just an earth mage!

… But she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Ceres Celestia picked up one of Master Moonweaver’s potions - one of the last of their reserves left with the two followers - and lobbed it through the air with an indignant yell, desperate to stop this dastardly criminal and save her teacher. She only had one shot at this. One chance to damage the man while he gained on them. The bottle arced wide, missing entirely - but Ceres Celestia was there to meet it with a spell of her own, forming a spike from the earth and piercing the bottle in an attempt to coat him with the poison.^[2]

---

1. Frostfire extract applied to blade on prehensile tail, Scorpion’s Venom applied to Desert Stinger
2. Mold Earth - Ceres Celestia

It was always the time for theatrics in Izzy's mind, but it was neither here nor there as the situation around them had rapidly evolved into being dramatic all by itself. What fun!

It wasn't fun, actually, Izzy much preferred to have some semblance of control over the chaos rather than be thrust into nonsense that she could only vaguely discern. Magic was a hell of a thing... would a counter-spell work in this situation? Probably not, and even if it did, dispelling the magical effect on the painting might not be enough to actually free them.

"It is pretty embarassing," Izzy mumbles an agreement, nodding along as she keeps her gaze up towards the sky as the shadow passed overhead. And it was troubling. The man was hoisted by his own petard, such as it was, and now the painting was a lethal death trap from which there seemed to be no immediate escape. "I think we need to keep moving," Izzy says as she wordlessly hands 20 solars over to Morrigan for the Dragon-Be-Gone potion. She had consumed Morrigan's products before, and was VERY aware they were illicit, but could not resist amping up their friend and also doing something ill-advised, in spite of the danger they were all in. "By that, I mean through... doors, paintings, whatever. We find a door, maybe we can stave off whatever hell trap du jour is tryna off us this time."

A shadow blots out the sun as the dragon again swoops overhead, the bone rattling roar closer this time. Its talons scrape against the stone buildings as it began to circle, lowering itself down for a landing. Looking up at the gargantuan creature; it was a gnarled shade of black, scales gleaming in the Zeinavian sun. A pale white-hot light began to burgeon around it's mouth.

Ah. Fiddlesticks.

Knocking back the potion, Izzy gives Morrigan and Zarius a quick shove ahead of her, "go, GO GO GOGOGOGOGOGO."

---

With her dear sister trapped in a painting, Ofeilia drums her long nails on the table, mulling over her options. Not a whole lot she could do from Zeinav, but she could see this man, had a rough idea of where he was, and perhaps could cause some general fuckery from a distance. Though, how, precisely? She didn't imagine this man had any of Izzy's belongings... Hmm.

She pulls away from the table, turning her hand over as she cast a message spell. "Darling, it's me. I need a favour."

If I were some magical artist I simply would not have met my end at the hands of my own artwork. How embarrassing.

Zarius gives Morrigan the most unimpressed look he can muster. 

"Really? You are going to push your potions now of all times?" He shakes his head. Unbelievable. What Kvasir sees in this fellblood, he'll never know. 

As Morrigan puts the potion on their belt, Zarius is about to turn his back to them and lead the way down the alley. But then he stops when he sees Morrigan take out a vial of something and start applying it to several concealed blades. The hair on the back of the fellblood's neck stands on end as he realizes what Morrigan is likely up to. 

By the time Morrigan turns back around to shoot Zarius a wicked smile, the charcoal fellblood is already several paces away further down the alleyway, having silently increased the distance between them while they were preoccupied. Zarius doesn't take his eyes off of Morrigan, or rather, Morrigan's weapons, and his body is poised to react should the alchemist make any sudden moves towards him. 

He can't help it. It's involuntary. His heart races, and there's a bitter, acrid taste of smoke rising up in the back of his throat. It takes every ounce of self-control to not retreat further from reach.

Morrigan's teasing gets a scowl in response. He'd rather face the dragon alone than stand even an inch closer to them right now. And at this rate, he's about to get that wish. 

As the dragon swoops down, he's distracted from Morrigan long enough for Issala to push the alchemist forward, closing the gap between them, then shove Zarius' shoulder. Like a startled cat, Zarius leaps back and then runs ahead, trying to keep well away from Morrigan while Issala chases them down the alleyway. 

The shadowed alleyway is illuminated by the hot white light as the blaze from the dragon's breath erupts forth. The narrow passage funnels the flames after them as the group flees. 

Zarius resists glancing over his shoulder and focuses ahead on any escape from the literal line of fire. This alleyway can't go on forever, right? No, no, it can. All this isn't real, or rather it doesn't follow the rules of reality. They can be in an infinite loop for all they know, never to escape the dragon hot on their heels.

Sweat rolls down his brow as the heat grows, and he's not even sure that heat is from the gaining fire or from his own growing desperation at this hopeless situation. He finally glances over his shoulder back at the Morrigan and Issala, and there, still silhouetted against the blindingly bright painted Zeinavian sky, the obsidian-scaled dragon with twisted horns, razor-sharp teeth, and angry reptilian eyes.

That's when he just catches the shadow of an opening in the wall that he nearly races right past. There's no door to use the key in, but it's at least a way to get some cover from the dragon's wrath. He skids to a stop, nearly scraping one knee on the ground before diving through the opening to brace behind the wall.

"GET IN HERE!"

---

Back in the streets of Darkveil, the chase continues.

The man chuckles. How tenacious these little pursuers are. He's almost jealous that their loyalty is to one of his captives and not himself. They may well be perfectly unexpected hunters. 

In his moment of musing over Mariposa and Ceres Celestia's potential, he fails to react quickly to the shattered poison bottle. The liquid splatters across his face and skin and he shrieks in agony, pressing his hands against his eyes and stumbling back only to fall backward over the front of the wagon.

The wagon does not stop though and passes over him as he hits the cobblestone below it, just narrowly being missed by both sets of wagon wheels as they wobble by. The man rolls on the ground in pain, screaming his head off. 

His mount trundles along a ways further before slowing to a walk and looking around confused since its master's voice is much further away than it was previously. 

Hm. Well. Morrigan’s jape about the unfortunate painter didn’t seem to quite land; understandable in the case of Master Zarius, who wouldn’t seem to know a sense of humor if it bit him in the ass, but Issala, Morrigan did not expect to look so troubled. Thus far they’d only ever known her to face trouble with smiles and a flippant attitude. And when it came to danger - real danger - Morrigan so rarely took things seriously. Even when the two fellbloods had nearly been killed by brigands in Zeinav, she’d only ever been exuberant and whimsical, her mind an enigma. They had always been kindred spirits in that manner.

That she was so lost in thought… it dimmed Morrigan’s spirits somewhat as they shelled out their Dragon-Be-Gone^TM to Izzy and pocketed her solars in the same smooth movement, but it did not ruin their mood. The situation was horrible. But the moment that people gave into the stress and allowed themselves to believe they’d lost, then they well and truly had lost. Well, if they were going to allow their light to dim, then Morrigan would just have to shine twice as hard.

“What better time is there to pawn off some of my wares. You’re practically a captive audience, and you look like you have at least some money. What, are you saying you cannot afford it?” They plucked the last dragon-be-gone potion from their bag, twirling it within their hands with a scrutinizing look at the swirling liquid within. “Besides, this batch should actually work. Maybe. I think. With a dragon in the sky, there’s no better time than the present to test it for yourself, no?”

Unfortunately, Master Zarius looked like he’d rather throw himself off a bridge than test some of Morrigan’s products, which the charlatan did not seem to mind one way or the other. It just meant that there was more for them to use if they needed it.

And by Ginma they were about to need it.

“OHMYGODSWHERETHEFUCKDIDTHATTHINGCOMEFROMI’MTOOPRETTYTODIE-”

Morrigan stumbled but caught themselves as Izzy shoved them, breaking into a dead sprint. Even they weren’t stupid enough to argue with anyone while there was an entire dragon bearing down upon them and threatening to rain hell. Yep. It was time to get the hell out of dodge. They downed their Dragon-Be-Gone like a shot; smashed the rounded glass against the ground.^[1] They sprinted like the devil was on their heels, utterly oblivious to the fact that they’d almost had their lights punched out by the crimelord, only focused on the very prevalent force of death behind them.

Heat simmered behind them from the breath weapon, sweat beading down the back of their neck.There was no way in hell they could outrun this. Down this endless, twisting alley of familiar walls turned sinister, a trap of acrylic and pigments. But they would be safe, Izzy would be safe from the hellfire licking the alley. Zarius would not.

There was a petty, vindictive part of Morrigan that felt satisfied at this development. But in the heat of the moment, they weren’t thinking about petty rivalries. After all, they could not continue to poke at his defenses and humble him if he was not alive for them to do so. Ugh. Oh, they were about to be the bigger person so hard right now. The prospect of whirling around and facing the flames was a dreadful one, but when everything in the world was capable of killing you, sometimes the bigger threats did not elicit as large of a reaction. Morrigan spun on their feet, hastily raising their hand, where Kvasir’s ring rested on their finger. Reserves of magic and the sensation of warmth that reminded them so achingly of Kvasir that it momentarily made them miss the stinging heat of the desert apothecary.

“Kvasir!” They cried, as if the foxfolk medic was actually here in the painting with them. Their desperation triggered the ring, the part of Kvasir’s magic that resided within the enchanted artifact sparked to life, warm light turned searing as it leapt from the emerald and solidified in the air.^[2] A wall of pure, brilliant and blinding light illuminated the alley, between them and the flame breath.

It would not hold forever. But just enough to buy them a few seconds. They just needed time. The wall flickered dangerously as fire slammed into it - the backwards momentum from their twist shoved Morrigan onto their ass, grinding their sprint to a dead halt. Morrigan let out a choking gasp, scrambling backwards on hands and feet, palms scraping rubble, unable to tear their gaze away from the still-flickering wall, when -

GET IN HERE!

Morrigan’s neck whipped in the direction of the call. A crevice that might house a shady deal for illegal goods and substances. But right now, it looked a hell of a lot like a miracle.

Morrigan scrambled upwards - not fast enough. The tattoo on their neck shimmered, leaping forward and trailing a powder of gold in its wake, the scarab flying towards the alley where Zarius was. In a second, they were gone, too.^[3] They appeared in a flash of gold next to Zarius behind shelter, too harried to even manage a weak ‘TAH-DA!’, not when Izzy was still out there. Morrigan pulled an umbrella from their bag, twirling it in their hands before shoving out the handle side as if to hook Izzy in, or give her something to hold onto to yank her to the side.

“IZZY!”

In the street, the light from the wall flickered and cracked, fire leaking through the seams, before the sheer heat of the dragon’s breath melted it entirely.

---

The poison trick worked - Mariposa let out a startled breath at the same time Ceres Celestia cheered, both watching as the masked figure stumbled to the cobblestone, the wagon plowing right on. The kidnapper was left under the carriage of his own vehicle, abandoned -

And right in the path of Sparkle Blossom’s hooves.

Mariposa tugged sharply at the horse’s reins, the young mage shrieking in her ear. The Wagon of Wonders ground to an abrupt halt, dust and ash and glitter dislodged when Sparkle Blossom reared back, confused, almost smashing the masked man’s head in - but she settled down, clearly confused but obedient. A few feet away, so too did the kidnapper’s wagon stop.

Mariposa wheezed, clutching at her chest.

Dear every unholy dead god in the sky, there better be a fat paycheck waiting for her at the end of this. She was a minstrel, meant to stir her lute and sing of the greatness of others, not participate in the chases herself. Still. They needed their boss back or she wouldn’t be able to keep doing that for much longer. This position was comfortable, and all she had to do was spread lies about the idiot’s greatness and she got a good cut of the profits.

She just needed to figure out how to get them out of that painting.

The bard snapped her fingers, calling Ceres Celestia to attention. The young mage straightened, fumbling with her large staff and nearly dropping it with her nerves. Mariposa sighed. Their last stand was a songstress and a fourteen-year-old girl. What a threat they were.

But they’d managed to injure him. That had to count for something.

Mariposa grabbed a spherical, crystalline item from her bag, holding it aloft in her palm. With her other hand, she gathered her swaying skirts and hopped off the side of the wagon, Ceres in tow. She made her way over to the side of the screaming man, casting no shadow over him in the cloudy, ash-strewn streets. Instead, she held her palm over him, where the orb hovered, unmoving, merely suspended in the air.^[4]

“Do you sssssssssee this?” She hissed, dragging her ‘s’ softly across her teeth in her irritation. “A memory orb. This entire altercation has been recorded, and if you do not relinquish the fellbloods you have kidnapped, then this orb might just end up in the hands of the guards. Or perhapssssssssss, even,” She paused for dramatic effect. Even the bard was not without her own flair, “An Ashen Father. I’m sure they’d be quite curioussssss, to learn of the rogue acting out on their turf.”

A bluff - Mariposa did not know anything about the mysterious figures that controlled this city from the shadows, but what she did know was that the mention of them sent most running in fear of what retaliation might mean. She only hoped this gambit might yield the same results.

---

1. Dragon-Be-Gone (2/2 used)
2. Kvasir’s Eternity Ring - Wall of Light
3. Spirit Walk (Scarab)
4. Crystal Ball - Mariposa

With Zarius and Morrigan running in front of her, Izzy dashes as fast as she can, weaving through the alley to keep up with her companions and stay out of the reach of the dragon-like creature flying above them. She felt a lot more secure with the contents of the potion coursing through her, but even with that confidence she usually wore like a well-fitting cloak, Izzy could not help but feel exposed by the presence at their heels, a deeply uncomfortable feeling.

Normally, she would be cackling wildly as they sprinted down the alley and away from certain danger, no matter how immediate or certain. Even a little titter, in the quieter situations, or a wide chaotic grin if she was out of breath. But there was no such levity in that moment. Something about the impending swooping creature was familiar in a way that made the tall fellblood feel sick to her stomach with the oppressive sense of deja vu, this certainty that the terrifying dragon above them would absolutely kill them, given the chance, an impending doom that seemed to mount with every passing footfall on the sandy path. She felt slow, like the alley was stretching out even longer and farther than it had been before.

She's falling behind. A dream-like quality that she knows she's felt before, right down to Zarius' silhouette farther ahead, messing with the door, calling for them, down to the sudden heat that licked at her hair and back, threatening to consume her fully if not for the dragon-be-gone-- and for the sudden burst of light from Morrigan's hand taking the brunt of the flame as they run. Seeing Morrigan stumble ahead of them, Izzy starts to slow in order to grab them-- only to see them vanish beyond the gold light of the door Zarius opened.

Ah. Hell.

She's so close, but not as close as they are. The heat begins to swell again as the dragon bears down a gout of flame at the end of the alley, and Izzy is sure this time, that's it, and she'll be joining the artist in this madhouse prison.

But then, again, serendipity. The end of Morrigan's umbrella emerges from the threshold to hook around Izzy's belt loop and pull her inside to relative safety.

She tumbles through the door, whipping around to yank the handle. Before it shuts, there is a loud roar that proceeds the fire, a stuttering within the sound that is not unlike a raucous cackle, before it is cut off by the slamming of the door.

Izzy flops onto her back, breathing heavily. She holds up her hand for Morrigan to fist-bump. "Dragon-be-gone for the wiiinnnnnn." says wearily. Then, she snaps a finger-guns at them. "You did a magic thing, that was fuckin' sick, my guy, I didn't know you could do that. Fuckin... clutch. Now," she pushes herself up to sitting and looks at Zarius. "Where'd we wind up?"

---

In the physical world, while far away from the current scene of distraction and chaos with the thief and Morrigan's retinue of miscreants, Ofeilia reaches out to an old flame for help. A funny choice of words, all things considered. Within Darkveil itself, a tall orcish man shoves open a door, striding through with a tusky grin on his face. "LOOK ALIVE, BOYS. WE GOTS SOME ART TO UNSTEAL."

Zarius doesn’t answer Issala immediately, frozen stiff as he recognizes their surroundings all too well. What was just a simple alleyway when they ducked into it originally has completely changed after Issala slammed a door that was previously not there shut.

What is the meaning of this? Is this fucking painting messing with them?

He clenches his fists as the three now stand at the end of another impossibly long corridor, only this one is a dimly lit hallway. The floor is a dark wood polished to a near mirror-like shine with a red and gold runner stretching all the way down and out of sight. On either side of the hall are windows with the drapes pulled close or dark wooden doors pulled closed. The walls between the windows and doors are adorned with paintings held in ornate frames and vases filled with Ash Roses sitting on carved pedestals.

Zarius knows this place. Even with all their surroundings still being made of brushstrokes and smudges of paint, the details are too specific to chalk up to pure coincidence.

He finally pulls his eyes away from their surroundings to glance between Issala and Morrigan. He can only hope they haven’t noticed the tension in his shoulders or his hesitation to speak.

“I do not know.”^[1]

It's not really a lie. Just because this place looks familiar to him does not mean it is the same place. They're clearly still inside the painting at least, but why does it look like this?

Issala already knows more about his family than he would like, last thing he wants is for Morrigan fucking Moonweaver to join the list of people who know too much. It'd be different if Morrigan wasn't important to Issala and Kvasir, but unfortunately they care about them for some reason. 

Zarius looks back at the hallway. There's no shortage of doors to try, but who knows what else the painting capable of replicating. He's stuck. Try as he might, there's no good solution for moving forward and he is at a loss for plans. How can you plan for the unknown? But if he hesitates for too long, the pair at his back will no doubt start asking questions, or drawing conclusions out of thin air. 

He takes a breath and a step forward. Much like the alleyway, the hall seems to continue on no matter how far they walk. At least there's no dragon...things are deathly silent which might actually be worse. 

As he passes by one of the windows, he pauses to pull back the edge of the drape and peer outside. Maybe if they can escape through a window instead or risking opening a door. His eyes widen slightly before he pulls the drapes closed again.

Nevermind. 

---

A bitter laugh leaves the man’s lips as he rolls over onto his knees. He’s still holding his face as the acid eats away at his skin.

"Asking a man blinded by acid if he can see? Miss, your sense of humor is so cruel." 

He scoffs as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and starts to dab at the blood oozing from the blisters and boils. 

"So what if it is recorded? Clearly, I did not care much for having a whole crowd of witnesses. People here are used to these things happening in broad daylight and the guards only care about their own paychecks." 

He waves a hand dismissively. It's odd how calm and chatty he is despite his situation and melting face. 

"Oh, I have no doubts a few Ashen Fathers would be very interested to know who I have tucked away in that painting. In fact, I'm counting on it. Preferably one with particularly deep pockets will want to make some sort of deal." 

After he has managed to slow the effects of the acid, he crumples up the handkerchief and tosses it aside. He looks at the pair as he sits back on his ass. 

"It's nothing personal kiddos, it's just business. I doubt I'll get anything for the other two so you can have them back AFTER I finish up my dealings. Can't risk losing my meal ticket, y'know? Hells, I'll even give you a cut. How does 70/30 sound?"

---

[1] Smooth Talking

You know the old adage; out of the frying pan, into the fire. In this case, they were already in the heat of the flames. What awaited them next would surely be another nightmare of artistic proportion… perhaps a hydra rendered in the paint, or even the disapproving face of Solaria himself gazing down upon them before squishing them under his boot. Whatever it was, they would merely have to deal with it, because they certainly couldn’t stay here! They were so close to freedom - they just needed to grab Izzy, she was falling behind, she wouldn’t make it -

And they were going to lose her -

And Morrigan simply couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

They whipped out their umbrella with an almost frantic speed, twirling around and lashing out at Izzy - just barely snagging the loop of her belt, and with all the strength they could muster, they yanked her harshly to the side, throwing themselves off their own feet in the process. The maneuver was rather undignified, but needs must, no? Morrigan hit the ground and Izzy spun, grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut with a harsh CRACK, punctuated by the dragon’s enraged roar at missing its meal. The sound reverberated in the silence of the room, the haunting final note of a pipe organ. A shiver ran up Morrigan’s spine, unbidden.

No one dared speak for a long moment, too busy catching their breath, the air in their lungs reminding them that they were alive. Only once they were able to move without their legs trembling did Morrigan stand, brushing dirt and sand off of their fine attire, and speak -

“See? I SAID Dragon-be-Gone would work miracles!”

They reached over and returned Izzy’s fist bump, wiggling their fingers to indicate sparkles with a flourish of their hand that released a wave of real glitter all over the prone fellblood’s face.

They winced when she mentioned the ring. Of course she’d seen that. It would not have been as big a deal if they were alone - Izzy was cognizant enough of their curse, and had seen it in action, but to speak it into existence in front of a man who was quite close with Kvasir, and had every reason and mean to destroy them - had even dug into their past to do so. If he learned about this…

They twisted the ring on their finger from Kvasir once and centered themselves.

“I told you I was a wizard.” They said with a wink, playing off Izzy’s surprise. They could work with this. It was the heat of battle, and he’d seen Morrigan cast a spell, somewhat… it would not convince someone as skeptical and brooding as Zarius, but it might at least throw some doubt into his suspicions that Morrigan’s claims of magic were total bullshit. Their eyes flicked back towards the charcoal-skinned fellblood, but he wasn’t even paying attention at all to the others. Too absorbed by their surroundings, something akin to dread and horror painting his features. His shoulders were practically drawn to his ears as he considered his words.

And Morrigan remembered they were not the only ones with skeletons in their closet.

But then he spoke with a shake of his head, denying knowing anything about where they were, which… made sense. Perhaps his disgust was just from how tacky this room was. Morrigan surveyed their surroundings, the ash roses on pedestals and the elaborate drapes. They snorted. “No doubt if you ever stepped foot in a room this tacky and macabre you’d remember it.”

Still… the decorations along the hallway walls caught their interest. Paintings within paintings? The three had entered this world through a piece of art, perhaps this was the key to their escape? Morrigan poked one of the paintings, hoping it might ripple and allow them entry to the real world much like the enchanted painting had acted. Nothing.

The charlatan wrinkled their nose, frustration evident. “Corridors upon corridors… this place is maddeningly labyrinthine. I’m quite ready to blow this place to kingdom come.” Perhaps if unweaving the formulae arcanum wouldn’t work, then applying enough raw power to it would. One thing was for certain. Morrigan Moonweaver was no stranger to fucking around and finding out. They reached into the Bag of Wonders and pulled out two items at random, one in each hand.^[1] The painting wanted to play? Morrigan would play.

---

Ooh, that acid damage looked worse up close than Mariposa expected. Yeah, that was - that was pretty nasty. Once they’d taken this guy captive she’d search through Morrigan’s things for a potion to heal the wound, because she was a criminal, not a monster, jeez. Best not to let him know that just yet, though. She had him on the ropes…

Wait, no she didn’t.

Huh. He did make a point. Still, it was pretty ballsy to think that publicly taking an influential figure hostage and charging a high price would get him what he wanted rather than a crossbow bolt through the skull. The man was delusional, it seemed. The dangerous kind. And with him still holding her stupid boss and the others hostage, he still had all the bargaining chips.

Oh, now he was offering to cut a deal with her. Interesting.

“Well when you put it like that…” For a moment, it sounded like Mariposa might have been considering such an offer… but then she stamped her stiletto heel on the ground, an expression of disgust painting her features, as if the scammer had offered a hot turd rather than a cut of the profits. “No. Seventy-thirty is chump change. I’m not a princessssssss, I’m a fucking queen. I won’t work for anything less than fifty-fifty.” Especially when it came to a scheme that would make a permanent enemy of the ashen fathers. Mariposa wasn’t stupid. She wanted to live a comfortable life with lavish earnings, not burning bridges left and right.

He couldn’t see right now, though…

Mariposa pulled a small vial from her pocket, the glittery substance taking the shape of a pair of sparkly handcuffs.^[3] “How about this, then. You come quietly, and my associate won’t use her magic to set the painting on fire.” Ceres Celestia looked faint at the prospect, but the criminal had no way of knowing what lines they might cross. And really, Mariposa had no qualms about it. If Ceres wouldn’t, she still had the explosive ornaments, and Nugget had finally caught up to them, the rainbow Phoenix swirling lazily overhead amongst the ash; and she’d get the job done one way or another.

---

1. Jolly Bag of Tricks
SnBQKjRq
2. Yasaka’s Summer Beach Bag

3. Shaping Putty·

Izzy lays on the ground a moment or two more, as glitter from Morrigan's fist bump drifts over her face. Like a clod of dirt being tossed onto a casket. It was very fitting. She snorts as Morrigan reasserts their title. "The Wizardest of them all. A miracle among miracles. Your praises shall be sung about this day! WOoOoOooo"

It was a lot to take in. That. Was a firebreathing dragon. Or something. They'd felt the heat and the reverberating roar in their chests, and even though it was a painting, it had been real, and she had very nearly been consumed by this thing.

And, for the life of her, Izzy could not shake the feeling that had been the point.

She sighs. She had no idea what she just experienced, but better for her to shove that feeling of profound omen to the recesses of her mind for later examination.

As she sits up, she finds Zarius staring down the endless hallway, frozen and tense, before he turns to address them. Izzy's brows drop in concern; Zarius, for all his confidence and poise, didn't even make the effort to be annoyed by her and Morrigan's antics.

It was a rather macabre room, and foreboding. There was a sense of... baleful coldness. A formality that was sterile and heavy, like a mausoleum. This place had a purpose, but what, Izzy could not hazard a guess. Zarius, at least, appeared unsettled by it.
'
"It's definitely dated," Izzy mumbles, shifting the gold runner thoughtfully with the toe of her boot. What was this, silk? "Old money kind of feeling. Reaaaal old." She glances up, catching Morrigan rummaging through their bags, and Zarius hastily closing the curtains. Izzy clears her throat and looks at him with an arched brow, gesturing to the window. If Zarius had been hoping to avoid questions, well.... it was too late for that. Unfortunate that he should have a private investigator and a charlatan as companions on this, people obsessed with picking things apart simply because it gave them something to do. "Aaand what was that?"

---

The sound of hoofbeats thundering down the road behind the two wagons approaches. While it had taken some time to catch up and find the right path, the riders of the Dead Wood knew these areas well, and were not burdened by things like wheels, which were known to catch on rocks and tree-roots. The horses they rode were of the Count's own cavalry's stock, for Ofeilia Arodre had lofty connections indeed, and while not yet upon them, were not too far away.

In fact, within eyeshot, through the treeline.

"BE A SMART MAN, NOW." a gruff, gleeful voice barks out of the woods, projecting loudly over the sound of the advancing horses. "YOU DON'T WANT THIS SMOKE, I PROMISE YOU."

Zarius resists letting a grimace spread across his face.

Dammit.

Of course this would happen while he's with people as perceptive and curious as Issala and as irritating as Morrigan Moonweaver. He meets Issala's gaze and considers what to say to keep her from pursuing answers further. 

"Nothing helpful. Unless you want to burn to death in an endless sea of lava."

He gestures back to the curtains. There was nothing beyond the drapery other than fiery oblivion as if Mount Drakolt itself had overflowed and flooded the whole world in molten rock. 

"Do not act rashly. We do not know what kind of threats could be hidden here. Or have you already forgotten we just survived running from a dragon?"

While Morrigan's idea isn't out of the question, they should only resort to destroying everything as a last resort. They still do not know exactly how the magic of this painting works, and wrecking things could either speed up their escape or ensure they're sealed away forever. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as Zarius senses movement nearby.^[1] He raises his hand just in time to catch the edge of a blade that appears out of thin air.^[2]

Manifesting in the hall as if painted into the scene just at the moment is a cloaked figure in dark leathers and wielding a longsword. The figure's face is covered in painted shadows and has no distinguishable features. But even then, Zarius dreads how the painting is getting even more specific with its details. 

"Shit. Watch your backs!" Zarius calls out to the others anticipating that there are likely many more invisible guards in these halls.

He pulls the blade forward and punches the painted assailant in the face. Luckily for them, these guards are much more fragile than the real ones haunting the halls of his family home, and a single strike splatters their paint across the hallway.

"We need to find a way out, quickly." 

---

The man snorts a bitter laugh. "Fifty-fifty, huh? You're a ruthless negotiator." 

He starts to look a bit more uneasy as the sound of thundering hooves approaches. He really doesn't need any more good samaritans jumping into the situation, and he REALLY doesn't need any more competition. 

"Listen, girlies," the man gestures towards his ears. "You hear that? No doubt the local criminals caught wind of our little chase. They'll storm on up and slaughter all of us just to get their grubby hands on that painting, and I can assure you they won't just let any by-catch walk free. We gotta work together here or else the only cut anyone will be getting is one across the throat." 

He's hoping that his gamble of recruiting the two to his side will pay off. Even if that means he'll have to split the pot in the end. 

Any hope of escaping now is sorely squashed, especially as a large shadow passes overhead. 

A roar shakes the earth and rattles all the nearby windows the way a crack of thunder during a storm would. A large silver drake lands on the rooftops overlooking the standoff. Static crackles between its razor-sharp teeth as it glowers down at them. 

The chameleon drake-thing cowers into an alleyway that is too narrow for the wagon to be pulled through, jamming the cart between the buildings and getting it very stuck. 

"Yo, the city ain't a racetrack."

A voice calls down to them from the drake's back. The voice belongs to a young dark elf who leans over to get a better look at the curious scene below.

Jumping off the drake's back is another figure in a cloak and brandishing a longbow. They position themselves to have a clear shot on anyone who makes any sudden moves and also to intercept the incoming riders as necessary.

"You're causing a real mess and racket. If you don't break it up real fast, we'll kick your asses." 

---

[1] Fighter's Senses
[2] Steel Catch

Okay. Morrigan had to roll their eyes at Zarius’s nagging. Who the hell cared about caution at a time like this? They were still rifling through their bag as they answered, as petulant as ever. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this entire place is out to get us. It’s a three-man comedy act where we’re the clowns. Everything here wants to kill us, so why bother with caution? It’s a no-win scenario, and I’m not keen on laying down and accepting my fate. Damn caution, I’m going to figure a way out of here -”

They let out a screech as a blade manifested itself out of thin air, only caught by Zarius before the fellblood whirled around and uttered a loud warning to them. Morrigan scrambled back as Zarius punched the guard, splattering crimson-red everywhere and DEAR GINMA DID HE JUST KILL THAT MAN - wait, no, it was just paint. Morrigan breathed a sigh of relief, but they weren’t out of the thick of it yet.

“This is why I hate the Ash Lands.” Morrigan muttered to themselves, pulling a colorful-looking ball from the bag of wonders. They juggled it in their hands for a moment, before tossing it into the air as they darted forward, stomping through the splash of red against the dreary floor. “Miss Issala Arodre! Do you know what happens to paint when scorching heat is applied?”

As they sprinted down the hall, painted figures coalesced into solid form from their surroundings, swords raised at the charlatan crossing their path. They threw the ball in the air and whirled around, winking at Izzy. As the ball soared through the air, it exploded in a burst of light and heat, creating a contained, miniature sun in the center of the hall; the air rippled with the scorching, arid heat of the desert, baking the painted figures before they could reach Morrigan. Their superheated forms turned brittle, cracking where joints tried to move.^[1]

Morrigan dipped into a low bow, spreading glitter along the painted floor.

“Ta-dah! You’re welcome, problem solved.”

For now. They had no idea what lay beyond this hall, but at least this place was safer for now. They gripped the other item they’d got from the bag, twirling a pair of cute little button eyes between their fingers. May as well use all the firepower they had. Morrigan threw them up, the snow taking form, building itself into a three-tiered golem…

And promptly melted under the heat of the sun.

“Oh.” Morrigan stared at the puddle of water at their feet. “That was anticlimactic.”

No matter. When one tried something, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Morrigan pulled out the beaded, lavender-colored fan from their hip - a Winter’s Crown gift from Kvasir - and delicately fanned themselves to stave off the heat. Alright. Thinking it through. Being cautious. Morrigan’s tail swished behind them, running through everything they’ve seen so far.

“Zeinav city…” They drew an invisible line between themselves and Izzy, “And the Ash Lands…” Pointed a clawed finger at Zarius, “Unless it’s coincidence, the painting is drawing upon our experiences and memories to make these scenes. And its attempts to kill us are getting worse. Perhaps there’s a key to escape somewhere in here… the closer we get to the truth the more resistance we need, no? Which means we’ve got to be on the right track.”

They just had to find the answer.

“Detective Issala, Dame Zarius… I daresay it’s time to look for clues.”

---

Mariposa offered the masked individual a sly grin, revealing sharpened teeth. Not that he could see it, anyways. “I hardly think you’re in a posssssssition to deny me, given you’re the one injured-“

The sound of hoofprints and thundering wheels made her stop.

Company.

Mariposa turned to glance at Ceres Celestia, who was gripping the edge of her staff, face pale and shoulders shaking from nerves. Chasing a criminal was one thing, but dealing with an entire coalition of them was far above her pay grade. “Ceres, get back in the wagon.” She hissed, eyes darting back to the criminal. An olive branch? A last-ditch effort for survival? Oh, this was rich. This was delicious.

And Mariposa was smart. She really didn’t want this smoke.

Mariposa leaned down, her voice barely a whisper. “Looks like fifty-fifty isn’t so bad now, yeah?” She was about to say more when the distant sound of beating wings and a large shadow rippled overhead. For a moment, she thought it might be Bubbles - but the drake had been left behind… which meant that this belonged to someone else. A suspicion that was confirmed only seconds later by the sound of a new voice, and the masked figure’s wagon getting stuck due to the actions of a skittish animal. Effectively trapping them all in between a rock and a hard place.

Double shit.

Well. Mariposa was no stranger to how things worked in Darkveil. This could evolve into an all-out turf war, with her in the middle of it. She eyed the crossbow warily, still wary of the approaching horses. She could still make a little bit of money out of it.

She grabbed the acid-stained masked man by the scruff, holding him aloft as a makeshift body shield. Changing the shape of handcuffs to a blade, she held the facsimile of a weapon to his throat. “Play along, now, dear.” She murmured before raising her voice. This was going to be a gamble. “I’VE GOT THE MAN THAT ABDUCTED THOSE INNOCENT CIVILIANS RIGHT HERE! ONLY HE KNOWS HOW TO GET THEM OUT OF THAT PAINTING! WANT YOUR FRIENDS BACK? THE INFORMATION GOES TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER!”

---

1. Heat Wave - from the Beach Ball

Izzy moves the curtains to the side, as Zarius invited her to do, and grimaces. It certainly did look like some fresh hell out there. She lets the fabric fall back over the window and clicks her tongue. Problematic.

As Zarius chides her, an easy smile flashes into place with a smoothness of a leaf skirting over the surface of a still pond. "Oh shit, was that today? Wiiild."

Easier to hide the unease with humour, though those keen enough might spot the lack of sparkle in her eyes as she made her jokes.

Case and point, Morrigan's assertion that they were but clowns on a stage has Izzy nodding sagely in agreement. "I'm so fucking funny," Izzy says, voice heavy with gravitas as she looks about the hallway. There had to be some indication of a solution around here somewhere. It's only as she starts trying to poke around to find any meaningful means of getting out of here when hell breaks loose.

Zarius handles the assailant swiftly and easily. In their last encounter, she did not recall Zarius utilizing his skills-- the man had literally just caught a blade on the downswing and obliterated the would-be assassin with the ease of-- oh, it was paint.

"Lunala's ass, man, I thought you turned that man into a paste." Izzy snickers, brushing some of the flecks of crimson off her armor before the group starts more earnestly down the hallway. She turns to Morrigan, whose eyes were bright with mischief and terrible ideas. Izzy grins broadly. "Why, I believe I do indeed, Grand Wizard!" she cackles, hopping to Morrigan's side to get behind them before they produced and whipped a glowing ball of death back down the hallway.

The paint shatters, crumbling under the flare of warmth. Tittering enthusiastically, Izzy drew her own blade, the Smiling Scimitar, to help keep some of these oil-based effigies at bay. "Well done! That takes care of those ones!" Though it wouldn't be long before more showed up; the whole place was made of paint, after all. They couldn't keep this up for forever.

"That means you're up, Momo!" Izzy chirps, grabbing the House Key off of Zarius and tossing it their way. "If you use this in a lock, it'll get us out of this spot at least." Whatever they could use to buy themselves more time and figure out a way out of the painting itself.

---

"Oy!" the lead of the riders call out to the drake and the archer, "WE are in pursuit under the Authority of Count Mallock! Sod off!"

It appeared that the group was not so easily deterred. They were members of the Count's own guard, after all.

Fortunately, their leader was quite familiar with the feminine wiles of a certain, shrewd, pale pink tiefling, and upon hearing the offer to buy information and coin, paused to think. Man, he really could get back in good with the lady if he got her that painting. He looks up tacitly at the dark cloaked person on the drake, stroking his chin while his contingent began to fan out into more strategic locations.

Darkveil had its own set of complicated rules. Something was being offered for a price. Before the person on the silver drake could act, the half orc takes a step closer, lifting his hand and hollering out "'Undred Solars!"

"Idiot," Zarius hisses at their purple companion. "Caution and surrender are two different things."

Explaining the difference to Morrigan Moonweaver would have to wait. More enemies could appear at any moment. 

He turns his attention to Issala as she continues to make jokes at his expense. "Yes, you are hilarious, now can we please focus?" 

Luckily for them, Morrigan actually manages to help in driving back more painted foes. It's almost praiseworthy, but Zarius knows better than to give the glittery fool an even bigger ego than he already has. Though just as quickly as Morrigan proves themselves useful, they just as quickly prove the opposite. 

"Tch," Zarius clicks his tongue as Morrigan's attempt to summon a golem only results in a puddle of water soaking their boots with a watered-down slosh of paint.  

His eyes narrow as the alchemist points their sharpened nails at him. While the connections are not hard to make, he doesn't like how they're starting to put things together. If they don't get out soon, the chance of them coming to an inconvenient conclusion only grows more likely. 

He grits his teeth and hisses under his breath as Morrigan uses a moniker he'd rather not spread. "Do not call me that." Gods, why did Issala have to be friends with this fool? Was there any worse combination of people in Charon? Yes. Yes, there was. However, that OTHER flamboyant annoyance has been pretty quiet as of late. 

Issala at least appears to have an idea of how they might get out, and he lets her snatch the House Key from him. "Are you sure that will work?"

He asks the question just before movement at the end of the hallway catches his attention. It's not another cloaked swordsman, but instead, it's a vaguely humanoid shape with shadows coiling beneath what appears to be a red-lined cloak. Pinpricks of red burn where the eyes would be and long spindly spider-like legs start to crawl along the walls from the twisting tendrils of shadow. 

"On second thought, hurry up and use it." 

---

"Hey, hey, not so rough," the masked man whispers as Mariposa hauls him up to use as a meat shield. "Get us out of this mess and I'll throw in extra just for you." 

Meanwhile, the dark elf drake rider makes an indignant expression at the declaration of the lead rider. "Like I give a flying fuck about who you work for. You sod off, jackass!"

The cloaked archer next to the drake gives her a bit of a side-eye. "Hey, take it down a few notches, will you? The Count is officially the most powerful man in town." 

Shael huffs and crosses her arms. "Like I care, everyone says the man is a lap dog for the Fathers." 

"Well, yeah but-"

"The fuck are they even going on about? What's this about abducted civilians?"

Snow sighs. There was no winning an argument with the teenager. "Seems like a hostage situation. I don't recognize the people down there though." 

"Only hostage I see is the guy on the ground and I'm pretty damn sure we don't care about him, right?" 

"Something's not right," the catfolk watches Mariposa closely while keeping an arrow trained on the group of riders as they start to spread out. Their own group has the high ground for now, but if the riders take to the rooftops they'd lose that advantage. The tip of their tail twitches under the hem of their cloak. "Wait for Eirynor to give us a signal." 

"Uuuuuuuuuuuugh," Shael drapes herself dramatically against Indra the storm drake's neck. "Fiiiine." 

Unbeknownst to the other two groups, an invisible half-elf slinks between two buildings and silently crosses the street to investigate what is going on with the two carts.^[1,2]

---

[1] Invisibility
[2] Silent Step

“Hesitating before stepping off the cliff is the same as retreating from the ledge yourself. You’ve surrendered your chance for freedom.” Flawed logic, but there was - for the briefest second - a flash of frosty chill that flitted across their expression. Flawed logic, but Zarius could try to explain it to them all day if he had the time. It wouldn’t change Morrigan’s conviction that fortune favored the bold.

The uncharacteristic chagrin was replaced with cool indifference, a vacant smirk twisting sharpened fangs. “Am I hilarious, Zarius? You neglected to mention me. Am I?” They couldn’t help but dig, because they, too, had the unfortunate affliction of poking at others to turn unwanted attention away from themselves.

They dispatched the primary paint sentinels. Morrigan turned to blow Zarius a kiss, unbothered by his empty not-quite-threats to cut it with the cute nicknames. “Now, that’s no way to treat the person who just saved your life.” Which wasn’t… exactly true, but at this point Zarius was probably learning it was pointless to try and guide the current that was Morrigan Moonweaver in any kind of direction that wasn’t the one they wanted to move in.

The charlatan caught the key Izzy tossed their direction as if the two had practiced this maneuver thousands of times before - like the act of tossing things was old hat between them. With the grace and dexterity only born from a cardshark’s fingers Morrigan fiddled with the brass ring bound around the key, spinning the heavy metal in their hand.

“I suppose it falls to me to save the day again, hmm? Not to worry, the Great Wizard of the Wastes will just have to step in and fix this mess. You can expect my invoice in the mail soon, with the friends and family discount -“

It was at that moment Morrigan lost control of the key they were spinning in their hands, the momentum from the spin flinging the heavy metal across the room, where it hit the wall and clattered to the ground through a small section that had been carved through the floor to act as a ventilation system.

oh, shit.

“I meant to do that.” Morrigan insisted, face rapidly draining of all its color. “I absolutely meant to do that. Because…”

Quick, they had to think of something. This situation had rapidly become sensitive and only quick thinking and a silver tongue could salvage the fact that they’d just fumbled the bag so spectacularly. Thankfully, Morrigan was just the person to accomplish such a feat, considering their quick wit and charm.

“Uh… what’s that over there?” They gasped, pointing behind the two at a random spot in the wall, drawing their attention away from what had just happened.

Conveniently, pointing straight at the shadowy figure that Morrigan hadn’t noticed until that exact moment.

---

The Count’s official guard.

Mariposa had officially stepped in it.

Well; in for a penny, in for a pound. Plus, she really wanted that money, and whatever something extra the masked magician had in mind. The most risky endeavors provided the most lucrative rewards.

At least the orc knew how to play along.

“ONE HUNDRED SOLARS!” Mariposa shouted, not particularly caring whether she deafened this guy on top of blinding him. They were the key to each other’s survival, but alive didn’t have to mean whole so long as he still had his tongue to spill secrets. “ONE HUNDRED SOLARS TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER, DO I HEAR ONE-TWENTY FIVE?” She turned to face the gal on the drake, as if waiting for the haughty teen to make a bid.

“THAT’S RIGHT, ONE TWENTY FIVE SOLARS FOR THE MAN WHO STOLE THREE - COUNT ‘EM - THREE FELLBLOODS FROM THE MIDDLE OF TOWN SQUARE? YOU WANT THOSE FELLBLOODS, DON’T YOU? ALL YOURS IF YOU CAN IT WITH THE SPICE AND THROW ME A LITTLE SUGAR! GOING ONCE… GOING TWICE…”

Mariposa prattled on, completely unaware of the spy that had ventured into their midst. Nor was she aware of the young elven mage who’d wandered into the masked man’s wagon in search of the painting.

”Master Moonweaver… Miss Izzy… the third guy I don’t know… I’m coming to find you!” Ceres Celestia murmured to no one in particular as she rifled through the magician’s things.

Izzy, satisfied with being called hilarious and not reading into the fact that Zarius was simply humouring her AT ALL, preens. She was hilarious; it was confirmed. No takebacks. But of more interest to her at the moment was this apparent fundamental disagreement between her two dear friends. Her brows lift slightly, as Morrigan, of all people, looked resolute in their statement that hesitating and giving in were one and the same. Flawed maybe it was, but it was extremely insightful into both of them as individuals and whatever the hell that dynamic was; An ideological unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

It was a strange sensation. Izzy couldn't recall many times where she found herself unambiguously in the middle, like a lynch pin of chaos that oscillated wildly between extremes for kicks. Had she ever been a voice of reason before? She could not recall.

Now they were in a place that resembled Darkveil, with some gauche decor, being attacked by painted assassins. She glances to Zarius, thinking briefly of how... tense he seemed here, even compared to being literally run down by a dragon a few minutes prior.

Then again, what were clowns for if not to distract from the present and obscure the discomfort of a situation? She bows ostentatiously to Morrigan as they deftly catch the key, watching it dance through their sharp fingers as they--

Fling it across the room, dropping it into a grate meant for air-flow (fuck this painting and it's weird details).

Oh, shit.

"Uhhhhh..." She flashes a wild looking little grin. The most she can do at the moment is keep Zarius from throttling Morrigan at least until they get to somewhere a little safer.

They just... really needed that key in order to do that.

"COURSE, YEAH, IT'S FIIINE." Izzy, knowing Morrigan is simply pointing over their shoulder to distract from their situation, does not immediately turn. This turns out to be a mistake-- just as Izzy caught the flash in Morrigan's eyes that they had perceived something genuine, Izzy feels something sharp slip against her back, reacting too late to avoid the painted assassin's knife. Her rapier is out in a flash, the pommel of the hilt connecting with where the painted thing's head would be as she pivots, sending it stumbling, bleeding carmine rouge as it staggers towards Zarius.

"YOU GOT IT?" she calls to Morrigan, hissing a little. She tries to touch the wound on her back, and her muscles spasm painfully. Again, a tight hiss escapes her sharp teeth, a familiar sensation of burning beginning to emanate from the wound. "Oh, fuck me, poisoned knives?" Walking backwards to cover Morrigan's back, she sighs in irritation. "This artist better be dead, because if he's not. I'll kill him."

---

"OY! WHO ARE YOU CALLIN' ME A JACKASS. DON'T YOU TELL ME T'SOD OFF, YOU SOD OFF YOU FEMORAL PORE SMASHER." The half-orc yells back. Around him and to the side, not disguising their movements at all, the Count's guard begins to slowly close ranks. Their apparent captain remains where he is, happy to be the focus of attention while his contingent attempts their patient advance. He looks up at the girl on the drake, hands on his hips as he grins with pride. What, they weren't going to bid? Easier for him, then! He would win fair and square, and get the painting back to the gal of his dreams, and he would have a great day.