Past
It isn’t like Astrid to seek out a person she isn’t exactly a fan of, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Few people ever talk about curses or know anything about them, but she distinctly remembers that Morrigan Moonweaver mentioned something about being cursed. In fact, she’s pretty sure they mentioned it on more than one occasion. Since this seems to be something impacting their life so much, they’re the only point of leverage Astrid has at this point.

The only other person she knows with a curse is Beist, but the friendly beast man found solace and a cure in his own way, and lycanthropy might not exactly be the kind of curse Astrid needs information on. No, this curse is vaguer, and she doesn’t know where to even start with it because she doesn’t know the first thing about it. It’s not that she considers Morrigan an expert, it’s that she… Well, why the heck is she asking Morrigan for help?

Gods, maybe the annoying fellblood can have one chance to not screw something up. Besides, it’s too late to hesitate, she’s already at the door to their wagon. Raising her fist, she knocks roughly at the door.

“Oi, Morrigan, open up or I’ll let meself in!”

---

Present
What better place to look for information on curses than a giant black spire in the middle of Sol City that the locals think is haunted? Well, that’s exactly where Astrid and Morrigan find themselves. Getting in is surprisingly easy. With most people completely avoiding even the surrounding area, there are fewer eyes to notice some trespassers. That isn’t to say that people haven’t tread on the grounds of the spire before. It tends to make a good spot for local teenagers to tell stories over firelight. Some even claim to hear the halls wailing when in reality it’s probably just the creaking of the old structure in the wind.

Just inside, they find the place lit only by sparse light peeking through broken windows, an entire foyer full of dust and decaying wooden furniture, remnants of small campfires, and a few footprint trails covered in slightly sparser layers of dust.

Astrid looks around, hands on her hips, surveying the area and finding that this dark room is unusually difficult for her to see clearly in. Her voice seems almost mature in the echoing chamber. “Well, we’re here,” she says. “Time ta start lookin’ around fer some answers.”

---

Quest details:

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: Trapped!
Participants: Two or more
Location: Anywhere
Post Requirements: 5 posts per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +1 Mystical Archive Ticket, +1 Mysterious Reward
Description: You find yourself as the main character in a Black Harvest story! Write out a spooky or scary story where you find yourself trapped in a dangerous or suspenseful manner. The location, villains, and details of the story are completely up to you, as long as this year's theme is obvious and consistent throughout the topic.

Past

Morrigan Moonweaver was honestly having a nice, relaxing day before She showed up.

Her.

The dark mistress of all that was unholy herself. The biggest thorn in Morrigan’s side to ever exist since the invention of the concept of the thorn itself. Astrid Stormstone. The scourge of their peace and happiness since she waltzed into the Desert Rose Apothecary with a half-dead Kvasir on her back and a chip on her shoulder.

Was it wrong to take issue with a preteen? Yes. Was Morrigan still petty enough to do it anyways? Also yes. Even though the two had reached some sort of tentative peace after Astrid Stormstone and her foster father - and perhaps, the only man besides Kvasir Sigurros that Morrigan had ever tentatively been able to call friend - invaded Morrigan’s dream to spook them in a righteous revenge quest, Morrigan had been quite at peace with the fact they hadn’t seen the hellion since. At least, not until she started banging on the side panel of their back door and demanding to be let in.

Morrigan, who had been in the middle of preparing a special caustic brew from ash and sulfur at the time, yelped and nearly dropped the bomb to the table of their alchemical workbench at the intrusion - fortunately, they managed to catch it before it hit the ground and went boom, but their peace had already been interrupted. Smoothing their hair down and shrugging their silk brocade over their shoulders, Morrigan grabbed the glass of wine they’d been nursing over the last couple of hours and traipsed over to the entrance, throwing it open.

“Well, well. If it isn’t little Astrid Stormstone. Tell me, what need have you of a renowned alchemist this fine afternoon? And without a babysitter, at that?” Morrigan could not resist the light jab, hiding their confusion behind a derisive smile. What was she doing here? It couldn’t have been anything good or benign. Morrigan was probably the last door she’d go barking up in the whole of Charon - and yet, there they were. Taking a sip of their wine, the fellblood’s tail flicked behind them while they assessed her. Whatever trouble she brought with her, Morrigan hoped it would not be too horrible.

---

Present

Oh, gods, it was all so horrible.

Morrigan was hardly a stranger to crime, nor did they have any true qualms about committing them. This was a fact that Astrid Stormstone was both acutely aware of and highly disapproving of. But the hellion seemed to have no problems when it came to breaking and entering (given their previous encounters in the Marsh Flats and her dream breaking and entering). Even more surprising, though, was her unusual request.

Well. If there was one manner of the arcane that Morrigan was ever versed in, it was curses.

They clunked awkwardly through the library, boots making an unsteady THUNK against the cold floor of the black spire. Well, they’d promised to help Astrid, partly because they’d felt… pity for her, they supposed. Demanding answers, getting to the bottom of this nebulous thing that plagued her. And in part, because they envied her. Astrid was far stronger than they, deciding to get to the root of her problems and fix them like the smith she was. Morrigan much preferred to shove their own maladies into a dark box of things they never dared touch. But a deal was a deal, and there they were.

Though by now they were wishing they’d just shooed her away at the door.

“You’re seriously worried about information at a time like this?” Morrigan grumbled, reaching on their tiptoes to grab one of the books from a nearby shelf - The Complete Historie of Maladies and Hexes Most Foul - surprised at how well their eyes were adjusting to the dim light. Weird. The room was entirely still save the echoing of rustling pages while Morrigan flipped through, skimming the chapters for anything useful. Loathe as they were to admit it, these books might actually hold some useful things. Things Morrigan hadn’t given thought to in a long time. It might even hold the key to fixing this mana curse they’d been so desperately searching for since Lady Kamille made them aware of it.

“It might help if you told me a little bit more about what to look for.” They grumbled, sounding more like a petulant teenager than usual.

Past
As soon as Morrigan opens the door, Astrid feels a wave of regret wash over her. It becomes immediately apparent that she hoped they wouldn’t be home, but then again, that would mean she has to make another trip out here or find someone else who might have at least some inkling to what the heck she needs to do to find some information.

“Ya really think a god-killin’ dragon slayer needs a babysitter?” she snarks back, crossing her arms with her hip cocked to the side – the epitome of a preteen girl’s attitude. But then her shoulders shrug, her pauldrons clacking against her cuirass while she does, and she lets her arms fall. It takes a moment for her to follow it up with much of anything.

“A while back, ya mentioned somethin’ about bein’ cursed,” she says. “So I wanted ta find out what ya know about curses or at least find out where I can start lookin’ into ‘em meself.” Her eyes glance up at the fellblood under her brow, so she adds on in a sugar sweet voice, the same one she uses at Court to get what she wants from slimy nobles, “If ya’d be so inclined as ta help me.”

---

Present
Each step Morrigan takes into the echoing chamber makes Astrid cringe a bit. She thought they were lighter on their feet than that. A change of boots shouldn’t make that much of a difference, should it? She regrets her silent judgment when she walks into a broken side table that she for some reason completely missed in front of her. “Ow, Avasha, ow, me knee,” she winces, reaching down to rub the bony knob at the bend in her leg. Hits are harder to take without armor on, but she finds it easier to step lighter at least. It’ll be something she has to get used to since she spent all that time carvin’ a bit of formulae arcanum into her wolf pendant to store the stuff.

When Morrigan complains, she looks over in their direction with disdain on her face. “Aye, that’s the whole reason we came here–” dingus. She manages to restrain herself. “Both of us gotta find some information on breakin’ curses. I don’t really see what better place there is than an old wizard tower or whatever the heck this place used ta be.” Cautiously, Astrid takes a step forward in the dim light, still waiting for her eyes to adjust, and she notices something glowing slightly on one of the shelves.

“Wonder what that is,” she says, carefully walking across the room to the object tucked away behind some books.

Past

“Someone sounds cranky because they missed their nap time.” Morrigan immediately snarked back, another retort prepared on their lips; until the sudden slump of Astrid Stormstone’s shoulders made them pause. Was she… upset over something? Oh, she’d better not be. Morrigan didn’t have an inkling of how do deal with tears and emotions. Wasn’t this something Cantio was supposed to deal with? He was much better with all the touchy feely crap, which was why he had a kid in the first place and was also probably one of the most selfless people Morrigan had met. But Morrigan, charlatan and liar, was most decidedly not like that. Which was precisely why she should have been home and not here.

And yet, she wasn’t. So either someone was dying, the world was ending, or Morrigan was dreaming.

The answer turned out to be neither of the three.

Morrigan’s lips curled into a sneer at the sudden, blunt sentence, spoken entirely without any preamble. Narrowed eyes glanced furtively at their surroundings, as if checking for any eavesdroppers or any of her little friends. She was always hanging around with Sir Blue Raspberry, the not-ooze knight, or her ghost foster mother, or gods knew who. She appeared to be alone, but their distrust did not wane. “Not so loud! You - you didn’t tell anyone about that, did you? That was for your father’s ears, and to some extent, yours only; not to be shouted to the heavens…”

They trailed off, vitriol and fear dying off as Astrid Stormstone pressed on, talking about her own personal interest in them. Now what possible reason would she have for poking into such nasty business? Morrigan had half a mind to call her father…

But they didn’t.

There was only one reason Morrigan could think of that someone might be interested in such a subject.

“Eugh.” Morrigan shuddered, opening the tent flap for her to enter the Wagon of Wonders. This wasn’t conversation to be had out in public for just anyone to overhear. “Don’t try to act all polite with me, it’s weird. Now get in here before I change my mind.”

If she chose to follow, Morrigan would shut the tent behind her, cloaking her in a warm bath of light from the numerous lanterns on the inside, all in a different shade of rainbow fire. A multicolored Phoenix napped on a perch in a corner, and a couple of potions were brewing in a series of small cauldrons on their workbench.

Morrigan took a sip of wine and set the glass on the counter, making their way over to the haphazard pile of books, skimming each title in search of something only they were privy to.

“I admit I haven’t learned much about my own… problem.” They spat the last word like it was poison. “There is frustratingly little documentation of people with the same malady. But I do have a record of other unfortunate jinxes and hexes throughout history. The application of it, I’m afraid I can’t help you with. But I might have some information, if you give me a little more to work with.”

---

Present

Morrigan winced in sympathy at the sudden and sharp sound of bone thudding against the edge of a table. “Oi, watch out where you’re going!” They hastily barked, mustering a momentary flash of panic that something might’ve been dislodged or seriously injured. They saw the force and ferocity with which Astrid Stormstone moved. That was bound to leave a nasty bruise in the morning. But she didn’t even seem to care about the injury, moving forward with grim determination to get the job done.

Morrigan wished they’d never even left their bed this morning.

They shot her the stink eye, sticking their tongue out at the implied insult in her voice. Ugh. The worst part was was that she was not wrong… they’d made it all this way though this damned haunted tower, a wizard’s graveyard, to find what they might have hidden. And say what you will about Morrigan Moonweaver - they may have been a coward and a cheat, but when they set their mind to something they wanted, they pursued it with all the cunning and passion they had within them. Even in their current predicament, they couldn’t deny that they would do anything under the dead gods’ green realm to rid themselves of the damn blight that had ruined their entire life-

Morrigan flinched at the sudden tearing sound, glancing down at the book they’d been skimming. Without even noticing, they’d ripped a handful of pages out. Wincing, Morrigan delicately set them aside on the nearby table, shoving them under a couple of scrolls. It was the perfect crime. No one would be the wiser.

Hopefully those pages hadn’t contained anything important in them.

Well. No time to start reading like the present, right? Morrigan flipped to a random chapter, towards the front, speed-reading the contents for anything useful.

No one is quite certain where the concept of the curse first originated. Most attribute it to the first days of civilization, in the days where spiteful humans prayed to the gods for the downfall of their thieving neighbor. And as mankind advanced, they learned to harness the Formulae Arcanum to quantify that hate. They are wildly varied, differ from mage to mage. Though it is commonly observed that when such a malady has been inflicted on a person, usually by hexing a lock of their hair or other piece of their living matter, it remains tied to the bloodline-

The sound of Astrid suddenly breaking the silence snapped them away from their reading - Morrigan snapped their head up just in time to see Astrid reaching something glowing with a softly pulsating light.

“Be careful!” Morrigan yelped, dropping the book and dashing towards Astrid in a panic… only to underestimate their own speed and bonk their head against the edge of the shelf Astrid was investigating, rattling ancient, dusty wood and the items collected on it.

Past
“Not so loud??” Astrid echoes. She turns and looks around at their surroundings. Nothing but desert sand, bits of trash, and some buildings on the outskirts of Zeinav City. Looking back at Morrigan, her hands motion around before dropping to her sides. Not worth arguing about. “No, I ain’t told no one,” she says adamantly. “I ain’t in the business of sharin’ other people’s business. Usually.”

When the fellblood opens the flap, she slips inside, careful not to catch her horns on the fabric. She’s immediately met with a plethora of smells and colors that she doesn’t find necessarily pleasant. Morrigan has a specific flare and none of it appeals to the little half-dwarf who prefers the scent of charcoal and metal slag. The phoenix catches her attention, and for a moment, she admires the bird silently. Not that she would let Morrigan know she would ever do such a thing.

While Lieweaver skims over their books, Astrid turns and watches them with some mix of curiosity and… something else that she can’t put her finger on. It’s when they ask for more information that she somewhat clams up because she doesn’t exactly have a lot of information. “Erm… Admittedly, I’m just gettin’ started on lookin’ into it, but… Guess the short of it is I got hunted by an undead Ur-Beast that seemed real out ta get me… or at least take out me clan. Problem is, I don’t know much about me dwarven family ‘cause I ain’t exactly knew ‘em. Never met another Stormstone, an’ the dwarves I met that did recognize the name said we were banished or somethin’.”

With her arms crossed, Astrid’s eyes look to the floor and her brow furrows in contemplation. “The Ur-Beast called us a curse, an’ it was real intent on killin’ me.” She shrugs a little. “Maybe I’m the last one. I dunno. Don’t feel like folks call people a curse without havin’ a good reason. Dwarves are superstitious in me own experience, equatin’ anythin’ unusual ta devils.” One brow arches as if to motion to the horns on her head. “Can’t be the only half-dwarf with horns, but most fellbloods I know look like you an’ da, all colorful with tails an’ whatnot.”

---

Present
Watch where she’s going? Astrid lets out a scoff. It isn’t like Morrigan felt the sharp pain of furniture meeting shinbone. Well, maybe– nevermind. Sure, it’s sore, but it’ll be fine. At this point, minor bruises barely register for Astrid. This one already hurts quite a bit, but that’s what she gets for not wearing armor in here.

The loud ripping of pages startles her, and she freezes in place, looking over to see Morrigan’s dumbfounded expression. Obviously, the books are in poor condition. What a clutz that fellblood can be. Sheesh, aren’t they supposed to be the one good at collecting things? Astrid’s the one that’s rough on stuff. It must not be important if they set it down. Anyway, shiny things.

If there’s one good thing about this situation, it’s that Astrid’s able to see things higher up a little more easily. It’s definitely convenient, and gods, reaching things? Wonderful. Reaching up, she pulls the thick tome from the shelf only for the book to fall free of her grip and land with a loud smack on the floor. Curse these spindly fingers. With a sigh, she reaches back for the now revealed… what is that?

Her hand jerks back when Morrigan yells for her to be careful only for her to be knocked forward by an accidental shoulder check as the idiot runs headlong into the shelf. “Oi, watch it!” she yelps. Everything rattles, wood creaks, and the whole thing looks like it could collapse. She steps back, looking up in fear at the giant shelf looming above that suddenly seems very dangerous. “Watch out!” Reaching forward, Astrid snags Morrigan’s collar and reaches for the glowing object then makes a break for it. Except that, gods, Morrigan is unusually sturdy on their feet, and her attempt to move them only makes them an anchor for her escape.

In the shuffle, Astrid overturns the magical item in her hand, and just before the shelf collapses, she and Morrigan freeze in place and seem to crumble into dust. Books and debris fall in the place they once stood, leaving the area in a complete mess obscured by a dusty fog.

“Gods, since when were ya so heavy??” Astrid asks when they materialize in another room entirely. Well, at least they aren’t crushed. Huffing, she looks at the item in her hand and realizes that it’s an hourglass, and the glowing golden sand inside is falling into the other vestibule. “Huh, wonder what’s up with this,” she ponders, turning it upside down again and finding that the sand’s trickle is unaffected.

That’s when she looks around and realizes that they’re in a room with windows shimmering with protective wards, and they’re much higher up than they were before, able to see the roofs of buildings down below. Except… Wait, the buildings are above them. No, wait. They’re standing on the ceiling of the top floor of the tower! What’s going on?!

Past

Evidently, sometimes miracles did happen. Fellblood and half-dwarf had been in Morrigan’s tent for all of a minute and they’d yet to even snipe or throw any harsh words at one another. There was a first time for everything… but the realization that they were both so focused on the task at hand that they couldn’t spare even a few choice gripes was sobering. That sensation left Morrigan rather unnerved. Their flippancy was a shield - stripped bare of that, everything felt far too uncomfortable and heavy. They took the opportunity to grab at their wine glass while Astrid Stormstone described what she’d learned.

And true to her word, she really didn’t have much to go on.

Morrigan clicked their tongue, making no attempt to conceal their frustration. It was, perhaps, embarrassing to admit, but there was a reason Morrigan rarely studied magical theory. They’d tried, back in their earliest days of the circus where illusionists would give them lessons in vain, hours spent in frustration where Morrigan simply could not create the same magical effects they could. And lessons simply seemed to… go in one ear and out the other. The malady in their blood meant that they could not even grasp the concept of the Formulae Arcanum when it was explained to them. That was why they liked alchemy. The chaos, the unpredictability. They didn’t use recipes so much as they followed their gut and what felt right.

This… this gave them a headache to try and parse through.

Morrigan pinched at the bridge of their nose with a sigh. There was nothing for it but to forge through.

“Some kind of affliction placed on your bloodline, then. And since you don’t know much of your parentage, I assume we’ve no way of knowing whether any other Stormstones bear the same physical resemblance to you.” There were not always physical markers manifesting as a result of a curse; Morrigan’s did not leave any physical oddities, which was why it had taken them so long to identify it as such in the first place. Before Lady Kamille peeped in their memories and gave the mana curse a name, they’d always just assumed it was the result of uncaring gods deciding that Morrigan was undeserving of their gifts, or that the blessings of their lineage had skipped over them completely.

They reached over to flick one of her horns, brows furrowed in thought.

“Are you certain that your other half is even fellblood? Or even a half at all?” Admittedly they knew little about her situation; information they might have asked Cantio Von Lumen, but Morrigan had the sneaking suspicion her foster father was unaware of this impromptu visit at all. A fact they were a touch torn about - on one hand, they were friendship bound to be honest to the minstrel, but on the other, they were also bound by their own moral compass to support teenage rebellion and anarchy. They’d certainly been presented with a rock and a hard place.

Fortunately, Morrigan’s desire to break their own hex won out.

“Regardless, if a god-beast smelled bad in your blood, the claim’s probably got some merit behind it.”

Merit that opened the doors to questions Morrigan’s scant collection of books could not answer.

“… We’re going to need more than this.” Book still in their hands, tail flicking back and forth in thought, they started pacing the room. An idea in their mind. A dangerous idea. “Fortunately, I didn’t join the Mage’s Guild for no reason. In my time here, I’ve unearthed word about an old wizard’s library, a hallowed tomb and testament to his knowledge of curses and curios. Only problem is that people aren’t exactly… allowed in there.”

They turned to Astrid with an impish grin.

“How open are you to committing crimes this evening?”

---

Present

In retrospect a babysitter-sanctioned breaking and entering field trip was not the smartest idea, as now they’d ended up like - well. Like this, and the two were no closer to finding answers than they’d been when they started. Despite Morrigan’s best efforts, they’d yet to unearth anything in these books, either, aside from a sudden frustration at how old and shitty these tomes were.

Astrid, apparently, decided to take a more hands-on approach in her investigation, reaching for the nearest item she could find - was she stupid or had she already forgotten how they ended up here in the first place? - and in their panic Morrigan smacked straight into the shelf and immediately made the situation worse.

The unexpected weight and the force sent the antiquated furniture toppling and threatening to break apart. Morrigan rubbed at the side of their head, face turning pale as they craned their neck to look up at the precarious tower of books. “Oh, shit.”

A slender hand reached around the scruff of their neck, attempting to pull them away like an impatient kitten, but neither of them budged - but then something in Morrigan’s core shifted and lurched, and they covered their face with their hands waiting for the impact of falling wood…

But no impact came.

Morrigan blinked, thumping at their chest to dislodge the dust in their throat with a hacking cough. “Are you seriously insulting my weight?” They wheezed. “Maybe I’ve just been lifting weights in secret to surpass you in strength, hmm…?”

The half-baked joke died on their lips, though, as Morrigan realized where they were.

No longer in the library that they’d been investigating, but somewhere else in Black Spire entirely.

“… Oh this day just keeps getting worse and worse.”

Okay. No. Morrigan could fix this. They approached the edge of the… ceiling the two had somehow found themselves on, where shimmering wards prevented the two from simply… jumping down to the bottom. They reached out, pressed their finger to the side - only to hiss and recoil in pain when it sparked against their fingertips. Arcane energy thrummed around them, alive, an ancient shield finally sprung to life now that some sort of trap had been triggered.

“Well, if it’s magic…”

Morrigan rolled up their sleeves as best they could, holding out a hand and focusing on the weaving of the ward. And as the charlatan closed their eyes in thought, they tried to grasp at that emptiness gnawing at their core, the gap where inherent magic might fill any normal person, attempting to throw it outwards…

But nothing happened.

They threaded their hands through their hair, exasperated, anxiety creeping up in their chest. “Agh! What good is being a magic sink when I can’t even use it when it matters? And what the hell is that item? Can’t you use it to bring us back to the library?”

Past
Understandably, Morrigan is frustrated with how little Astrid knows, but she’s certainly even more frustrated than they are. She’s the one that was hunted down and called a curse, a scourge upon the land, whose very existence resulted in an entire village being cursed with lycanthropy all because the Ur-Beast smelled her in the area. Life isn’t fair, and she knows that. It’s fine to be frustrated. At least they’re frustrated together and not at each other for once. She thinks.

“Aye, it might be on me whole bloodline,” Astrid says, nodding slightly. “I know me ma was a dwarf fer sure.” Morrigan has the audacity to lay a finger upon her, and while they may not be strong, the thump against her horn isn’t exactly a comfortable feeling. It takes every ounce of willpower not to snark at them, so instead she just gives them a bit of a look and lets her words express her annoyance. “No, I ain’t certain me other half’s fellblood. I dunno what it is. I never met me da, an’ ma never talked ‘bout ‘im...”

A shadow crosses Astrid’s face as she looks away again. This isn’t the first time she’s considered that the reason her mother seemed to despise her is because of her father's absence. What if she were some cursed child and her father left because of it? No wonder her mother wanted to be rid of her.

“Would be a lot easier if I knew…” she finally mutters.

Trying not to get dragged into a spiral of negative thoughts, she recalls a trip to Frost Gale with a definitely cursed dwarf clan. “Um, when I was in Frost Gale, I met a clan a’ dwarves that were all turned ta yetis. The clan head couldn’t put his weapon down, an’ once we wrestled it free a’ his grip, he turned back. They’d been that way fer a couple a’ centuries…” Her jaw shifts to the side a little as she considers that maybe something similar happened to her clan, but she doesn’t have enough information to go off of.

“I dunno if I’m more worried it does have merit or if it’s just a load a’ crap,” Astrid says, dropping her arms and turning to look around the wagon for something to help distract her in some way while Morrigan flips through books. “If some dwarves claimed me clan was banished, an’ an Ur-Beast came after me, an’ I never met another Stormstone, makes me think someone really wanted ta be rid a’ us fer some reason. Wish I’d asked them dwarves more…” But she’ll probably never see them again, and visiting any dwarven city in Frost Gale is problematic enough with how superstitious the short stacks are.

While Morrigan ponders, Astrid starts taking closer looks at the variety of things in the wagon. They really do have a weird and wild collection of things in here. Why did they ever need to steal an artifact from Cantio to get into the guild? Morrigan may be a scam artist with self-worth issues, but at least they have something to own up to. They’re a pain in the butt, but they don’t have to wonder about their heritage, and they’ve owned what they are.

Sure, Astrid feels like she’s made a lot of progress in becoming her own person, and she’s incredibly well loved by people who don’t care what she isn’t. Still… There’s something about not knowing that’s always bothered her because she doesn’t have anywhere to start if she did want to find out.

Flicking her finger gently against the dried husk of a creature’s paw on a shelf, Astrid murmurs to herself, “Least people don’t like you ‘cause yer an arse, not ‘cause yer a half somethin’. Wish I knew what bein’ a whole anythin’ was like.”

It’s about that time that Morrigan starts up about a tomb and asks if she’s up for committing crimes, so she whips around quickly to face them as if she hadn’t been poking her nose into their collection. “A’ course ya’d suggest doin’ crimes. If it’s near Sol City, I already don’t got a good reputation with the guards there. I don’t mind.”

There’s a crackle behind her as the paw flexes and magic starts to spread throughout the wagon.

---

Present
This is weird. This is so weird. Yet this is only the second weirdest thing to happen to Astrid in the last few days. Gravity is backwards. They’re standing on the ceiling. The floor is above them. Or… below them? Is everything flipped? No, no, the buildings are “above” them when she looks through the window. Okay, so things are backwards for them, but their hair isn’t falling overhead. She jumps up and down to test it. Yes, it’s gravity.

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING??

“Yer weight?” Astrid finally catches up on the last few seconds. “Well, it ain’t yer weight,” she clarifies. “An’ I highly doubt yer liftin’ weights…” The last words come in a mutter.

Well, freaking out about reversed gravity isn’t going to fix it. Try as Astrid might to correct the situation with the weird magic hourglass, she can’t seem to make the world seem right side up. Looking around the room, she sees the door down, but the easy access is on the floor. They can’t go out the windows because of the ward. Jumping into the air(??) at least works, but she can’t reach the door frame like this. Gods, if only she could use her–

“What are ya doin’?” she asks, watching Morrigan make some attempt to manifest…something.

Past

Astrid Stormstone’s face suddenly soured, and Morrigan at least had the wherewithal to know that they’d touched a nerve - and not one on her horn. They withdrew their hand, silent. Morrigan had the emotional capacity to recognize when someone was upset, but not enough real care to find false words of sympathy or try to patch scabs they’d accidentally picked at. That was better served for people like Cantio. Those whose emotions made them stronger, not weaker for it.

So instead of confronting that nasty emotion they’d accidentally unleashed, Morrigan turned away, focused on the books in their hands and the explanation she was offering. Not for the first time Morrigan lamented their lack of magical inclinations, the thing they’d been born wanting avoiding them like the plague. It made listening to any of this harder for them to grasp. They rubbed at their temple while Astrid explained her run-in with the yeti clan and the Ur-Beast. And internally, they could feel their mood souring, like milk left out in the sun to curdle.

Astrid Stormstone had few answers, but there was one thing Morrigan was certain of, listening to her speak. Whatever unknowns plagued her, they were remnants of her family. A hereditary hex that others had been able to identify. And it made others want her dead. But so far, it hadn’t… changed her. Not in the way Morrigan’s own curse had so fundamentally ruined theirs. Magic was not just the ability to cast spells. Magic was the essence of life, and without it…

Well. There was a reason Morrigan had once been known as Husk. Why their parents had once thought them so weak they might not even live to see ten summers. Why they spent their formative years locked in their room, like a porcelain doll, one that their family had been so afraid of breaking.

Astrid had no comprehension of what that was like. Even before she’d found love, she’d never experienced what it was like to be so empty that you had no thought, no free will of your own. Astrid, they could only assume, had been born with the strength of dwarves, and… whatever her other half was. And if there were other beasts that wanted to kill her because of her bloodline, she’d have no trouble taking them on! They simply could not comprehend it. Could not sympathize.

Ugh. Alright. But a promise was a promise, no matter how Morrigan felt that ugly, curling emotion in their gut that felt something like ugly envy. They’d not come from… entirely different circumstances, as it were. And yet, things just seemed to work out for Astrid Stormstone. A loving father. Powerful magic and acclaim. Friends who would lay down their life for her. Things Morrigan tried to convince themselves they’d never needed or wanted, but still felt the sting of their absence all the same.

They tried not to feel too bitter about it on the principle that Cantio Von Lumen would kick their ass if he found out they made Astrid sad.

“Right. So what I think might be more helpful to you right now is a book on dwarven clan history to find out exactly what your family did to make them public enemy number one.” Morrigan said after a moment’s thought. “But in the meantime, it would not hurt for sources on how to break a bloodline curse. If you ask me, though, I’d bet the key to it all lies within your family’s history. Some wrong that needs to be righted, or some other mystical bullshit like that.”

They nodded, relieved, while Astrid expressed that crime was fine - and bit down the snide remark that she seemed to have no qualms with breaking the law when it was anyone other than Morrigan. “Oh, good. That’s something we have in common.” They hummed, utterly oblivious to the crackle of magic in the air at first.

The charlatan had no shortage of weird items and curios stuffed haphazardly within this wagon. Some of them, items Morrigan understood. Most, enchantments and spells they couldn’t even fathom. And many, they’d never bothered to learn much about or even use. Unfortunately, it only made accidentally triggering one incredibly easy. Sometimes it was as benign as stepping on a sigil stitched in a rug. And as Astrid - and Morrigan - were about to learn, it was as horrible as granting a wish in the most twisted, horrible way.

Not that Morrigan had any idea what Astrid had unknowingly done. One moment, they were pouring through their books and getting ready to set their wagon for Sol City, and the next - in the blink of an eye - the hair on their arms stood on end, and they were staring not at their books, but an entirely different stack of magical items and scrolls.

Hmm. Well this was strange.

Morrigan rubbed at their eyes, wondering if perhaps they’d merely not gotten enough sleep the night before, only to hiss when they realized it wasn’t their own palms pressed against their face, but cold, hard metal.

That wasn’t right, either.

Morrigan hesitated to open their eyes again, but morbid curiosity compelled them to… only to find familiar armor, which most certainly was not theirs because Morrigan didn’t wear armor, not when it clashed with their complexion. And they only knew one person who dressed like this.

But it wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be.

They almost feared what they might see when they turned around to face where they’d been standing only moments ago. But Morrigan forced themselves to anyways, confusion and dawning realization stammering in their chest - and yet, they screamed all the same when they saw themselves standing there.

“What did you do?”

---

Present

And as they were upside down, Morrigan turned to regard their own face once more, mouth hung open in disbelief. And not for the the first time that week they opened their mouth, ready to tell her off for messing with yet another magic item she shouldn’t have been messing with - but they thought better of it, and stopped. It had saved them both from getting crushed by that bookshelf, and they didn’t feel like reiterating yet another squabble while they were upside down and with no idea how to get out of yet another godsdamned predicament.

So instead they crossed their arms, Astrid’s plate armor a heavy, unfamiliar weight, because they’d still yet to even find a solution to the first mess they’d found themselves in. They glowered at the hellion when she pointed out that it wasn’t exactly Morrigan’s weight that they were dealing with right now. They were all too aware of the strangeness of the situation they were in, thank you very much.

“Er. Well. Not lifting any physical weights, unless you count the burden of being so perfect and flawless all the time.”

And being that perfect person, Morrigan should probably at least try to make a concerted effort to get the hell out of this wizard’s tower. Only, their attempts to manifest their strange ability on purpose for once fell flat. They huffed, staring at the floor-turned-ceiling above them, trying to figure out a way to get down there. Perhaps they could whip up some kind of potion - oh, but they didn’t have their own alchemy pouch on them…

They startled at Astrid Stormstone’s question. Their first instinct was to bite out some churlish retort, but at this point it wasn’t even worth it. They waved their hand in the air, frustrated.

“My… thing, it isn’t just that I can’t cast spells.” They mumbled, the admission itself feeling like an antithesis to everything they were. But Astrid already had an idea as to what plagued them, and as they said, in for a penny, in for a pound. It didn’t hurt to be a little honest, even if it felt like swallowing glass. “It’s that the Formulae itself rejects my very existence. I can… negate it, to some extent. It’s why magic items and spells sometimes act weird around me. Though it’s never fucking useful when I want it to be!”

To make their point, they gestured towards the still-present wards preventing them from just climbing out a window. From there, they could probably use some of Morrigan’s transmutation tonic, and fly away… if only Morrigan’s curse hadn’t decided to be as maddeningly unhelpful and hindering as always.

”At least I’m trying to come up with solutions! I’d like to see you come up with a better idea, miss Genius Stormstone.”

Past
Astrid grimaces at Morrigan’s suggestion to look more into her family history. The thought has already crossed her mind more than once, but the only place she can think to start outside of the library at Sky Peak is either The Pale City, capital of the dwarves in Frost Gale, or the loathsome capital of Charon, Sol City. Neither of those places are friendly to her, but this might just be a situation where she needs to pull herself up by her bootstraps and accept that she won’t get answers otherwise.

And she thought asking Morrigan for help would be the worst part of the process.

The half-dwarf may never know exactly how Morrigan’s curse plagues the charlatan or if anything they could offer her would be of any help at all. Whatever these curses are –if what truly affects Astrid is even a curse or if being called as much by the Ur-Beast were not simply an insult– may have nothing in common at all. There could be some commonality, perhaps they’d learn a bit about each other in the process and grow to despise each other slightly less. At the heart of it all, some amount of envy for the other is shared, even if it’s soured with disdain.

Crackling magic tickles Astrid’s senses for all but a moment. After being struck by lightning, sometimes she feels like she can taste magic in the air, but when she blinks, that buzz is gone and she thinks little of it. Except… She now has a book in one hand, which feels surprisingly heavy despite its size, and a glass of wine.

Wine…? Morrigan would never–

And then she hears her own voice, but not her manner of speaking, shrill in her ears. Looking over, Astrid sees herself, but it isn’t like looking in the mirror, it’s like… looking at a duplicate. Only, it’s looking at a duplicate if she were standing on a chair. “I don’t remember summonin’ a replicant,” she murmurs in a voice that is not her own. No, that’s the slimy voice of–

She looks down at her hands. These dainty purple hands with manicured nails and a permanent layer of shimmery glitter aren’t her hands! And there’s a… a weird feeling at the end of her spine. Turning around, Astrid sees the slinky tail of a fellblood and the flowing robes of one Morrigan Moonweaver whipping after her movements. Her horn –or rather, Morrigan’s horn– gets caught on a hanging lantern as she spins around. It swings down and smacks her in the face with hot glass being the only protection from a serious burn.

“Ow!” Morrigstrid hisses, dropping the wine and rubbing her– their? –face. The book clatters but she flounders with reflexes that do not feel natural and manages to catch it and set it on the table. What happened? What’s going on? She looks toward herself, an expression that matches one Morrigan would make plastered on her face, and things start to click.

Hot lantern hanging from one horn, wine spilled across her clothes, and an unnerving stillness about her body, Astrid stands there in defeat and fear. She dares to ask.

“...Morrigan…?”

There’s some recognition in her own face looking back at her. They’ve both figured it out. Oh no. Oh hells no. Oh gods. Oh no. This is the worst. This body can’t stand up to a single ounce of being clumsy! One of them is going to get seriously injured or die, and it’s probably going to be her in Morrigan’s body!

In childlike fashion, she squeaks, “I didn’t do nothin’!” Why does that sound even worse coming from Morrigan’s voice? The fellblood’s eyes dart past the half-dwarf and see a single digit curled up on the paw on the shelf behind her. She points. “It was that!”

---

Present
Astrid feels every bone of Morrigan’s body sour at the sound of their own narcissism. The rudest first thought comes to mind, and she thinks to herself, If yer so perfect, ya wouldn’t have an issue with magic, numb nuts. But instead, she decides to be a sickly sweet little shit. “Aw, Morrigan, I can’t believe ya’d say somethin’ so nice about bein’ in me body. Must be nice feelin’ strong an’ capable fer once.”

Of course, the fellblood didn’t actually mean it as a compliment, but she’ll twist and take whatever she can get. Wait, does that make her exactly like– No, of course it doesn’t. She’s not slimy and doesn’t con people out of their money. She’s better than them, even in their own body, she’s better than them. Hm… probably not the best line of thinking. Maybe that’s their real curse: narcissism.

When she sees them waving their hands like a lunatic and trying… something that doesn’t work, Astrid furrows her brow and listens to them explain. “Oh,” she manages, her tone a lot more thoughtful. She rubs her chin thoughtfully. “Actually, since we swapped bodies, I ain’t got any connection ta magic. Usually feels like a dull buzzin’, like lightnin’ ready ta escape me fingertips. But… Yer in my body, so maybe yer feelin’ it instead?”

Adjusting her stance, Astrid looks at her fingers. Morrigan’s fingers. The ones that reject magic. She’s got ideas now. “If ya can normally negate magic, then maybe I can do that now. An’ ya can use magic. That’ll get us outta here if we can do it.” Morrigan’s own eyes look at them with a determined stare. “Try ta feel fer it, that buzzin’, like walkin’ through the Lightnin’ Fields where yer hair’s standin’ on end, an’ it could be over at any moment. ZAP! One bolt a’ lightnin’ that could snuff ya out or… in me own case, give ya that spark ya never thought ya’d have. Feels natural ta me, least it does after a lotta practice, but…” Her brow furrows again, still thoughtful in its wrinkle. “Well, if yer really cursed ta not be able ta do magic, this could be yer one real chance, ya know? I mean, who knows if we’ll ever get ta switch back. Might as well figure out how ta be–”

She starts to say someone respectable, fabled, exactly what Morrigan always craved, but she stops herself. No, discouragement doesn’t have a place here right now. If they want to get out, they’ll have to work together.

“An’ ya can tell me how ta unravel magic, then I can try ta take down this barrier.” The next step is jumping from the tower and flying away, but she doesn’t tell them about that part yet because she has a feeling they aren’t as willing to learn to fly with the threat of dying forcing them to extend their wings at the last second. Actually, maybe she should tell them about Beist’s potion. If Morrigan dies in her body then she might be stuck like this forever, and that certainly cannot do.

Past

Hell, no. Oh, hell, no.

In the middle of Morrigan’s onset of panic at the realization that they were here and Astrid was there but she was here and Morrigan was there and everything was all twisted and upside down, there was a racket and clamor while Astrid-not-Morrigan started running around like her-their tail was on fire, nearly knocking over a lantern and destroying countless of their artifacts! Glitter sprayed from pockets that were theirs but no longer theirs, and Morrigan was struck with the sensation that they’d taken just a touch too much Ginma’s Fuzzy Horse Grass the night before.

But, nope - as Astrid dropped their wine glass and shattered crystal, splashing crimson red all over their fine fabrics - Morrigan pinched themselves in the cheek with a still-gauntleted hand, and hissed in surprise. It didn’t hurt as much as it ought to… was this what having a decent constitution felt like? Morrigan couldn’t even bring themselves to feel joy at getting to be someone whose body was not made of glass bones and paper skin, because one - it meant that their mortal coil was currently being piloted by a hellion of a twelve year old with some sort of blood grudge against them, and two - if a single hair on Astrid’s head was harmed, her father was liable to go on a warpath. And Morrigan was already on thin ice with them because of the whole, you know, lying to him and scamming him a few times. If they screwed up here, that might honestly be the extent of Cantio Von Lumen’s goodwill.

Ugh. They were so sick of their actions having consequences.

And hearing their own name, uttered in their own hesitant voice, made their head spin.

Their chest heaved, body feeling like it was being flooded with ice-cold river water. Everything was swimming in front of them, their vision so much sharper in the dim light than they were used to and yet, so blurry - their chest was heaving, a leaden weight in their ribcage, like it was progressively being stuffed with cotton and ozone until Morrigan could no longer breathe. Just… stuck there, mind fuzzy as if it had been filled with angry hornets, unable to do anything but stare back into their own, shocked face.

Astrid breaking the silence, a petulant child’s whine in their own voice - and was that what they really sounded like? - broke the spell of anxious silence. Morrigan took a step forward, lurching because this was not their regular gait nor their usual weight, and it was wrong, all wrong. Morrigan stopped, held up a finger, and closed their eyes.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

And then they doubled over and dry heaved.

Okay, that helped… somewhat. Enough for Morrigan to finally pry their eyes away from themselves-Astrid, and towards the item she’d pointed at. It was not one of Morrigan’s own stray potions, but rather, a little fuzzy thing, a paw with one of the fingers curled inward. The rabbit’s foot? Morrigan had picked that up from some Zeinavian vendor a few months back, mostly because they’d intended on flipping it for some profit, not because they thought it had any real magical value. It was the byproduct of some children’s story. A cautionary tale cooked up by parents trying to teach responsibility and that ridiculous dogma, ‘be careful what you wish for’.

But if it really did work, and Astrid had used it… what in the nine hells had she wished for to make this happen?

“Okay! Okay! This is no big deal, I can fix this…” Morrigan winced, trying to ignore how awful their accent sounded coming out of Astrid’s voice, but pressed on, shrugging past Astrid Stormstone to grab the monkey’s paw. They had to stand on their tippy-toes to reach it, but that didn’t matter, because they were going to put this all right. Grasping the monkey’s paw in both hands, Morrigan closed their eyes. “I wish that Astrid Stormstone had never fucked up making her wish!”

The second finger curled. Morrigan held their breath, awaiting that crackle of magic, for something to change -

But nothing did, because technically, Astrid had never fucked anything up in the first place.

Morrigan shook the damn thing, growing irritated and panicked and forming a blossoming bouquet of emotion that could only be described as yes. “Oh, come on! Stupid magic item. If only you weren’t broken!”

The third finger, rather unhelpfully, curled, leaving them both with a dud magic item and one hell of a problem. Morrigan felt their blood run cold, heart hammering in their ears.

“Oh, no.”

---

Present

… A few days later, stuck on the ceiling of the spire, Morrigan and Astrid were no closer to solving their curse problem, their body-swapping problem, and now in spectacular fashion, they’d gone and thrown another one into the mix. With the both of them so woefully out of their element, stuck with one another’s things and skillsets, the last possible course of action was to grow the fuck up and try to actually communicate and cooperate to find a way out of this mess.

So naturally, Morrigan had to snipe back and have the last word.

“Well, you know what they say. It’s all about inner beauty, so it must be the inside that’s making me shine like a star right now.”

The teasing fell flat when the conversation turned to the actual topic at hand. Morrigan was as flippant as they came, rarely putting much stock or seriousness into anything. But there was one matter that forced them to clam up, a single sore spot that gave them pause every single time. They crossed their arms, petulant, while Astrid pointed out something that hadn’t even occurred to Morrigan. Something dangerous.

In the past few days they’d been stuck like this, Morrigan had never even stopped to think about whether they’d inherited her magic along with the rest of her person.

Eyes wide, they looked up at her - their own face - still not something they thought they’d ever get used to. “I think so… when we first ended up like this. I thought it was the byproduct of my panic, but it was probably just because I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”

They turned down to look at their palms - Astrid’s, all Astrid’s, because nothing of theirs was actually their own right now. Running a thumb over one of her hands, silent in their contemplation, Morrigan lamented the lack of a tail right now. They lamented a lack of their, well, everything.

Actually being able to cast magic…

This was everything they’d ever dreamed of, was it not?

They’d spent their entire life trying to unravel the mystery of that big ugly hole in their heart, why they’d been born lacking compared to everyone else. And when they stopped trying to find answers, they tried to fill those gaps with solutions. Incorrectly fitting puzzle pieces that only created jams where Morrigan tried to force them in. And now that they were here… they might actually have the power to cast a spell. Could they actually do it? Could they call forth lightning at their fingertips like Astrid could, or was their mind so accustomed to not being able to that even now, it would elude them? And wouldn’t that just break them-?

“Wait, you learned how to summon lightning because you were struck by it?” Morrigan demanded, incredulous, as they finally processed what Astrid was saying. “You know what? No, nevermind. Not important right now. The mana curse.” If Astrid’s theory was correct, then this was perhaps the key to them getting out of here. They just had to figure out how to get her to harness it, and break this barrier, and then that was one problem solved.

“Huh? Oh, no. We are most certainly not going to be stuck like this forever. I refuse to go through puberty again! Do you see this flawless face you’ve been graced with? It took a lot of pimple cream and facial cleansing serum to become that beautiful, and I am not putting the work in to achieve that again!” They snapped their fingers together, the gravity of the situation finally settling into their bones.

With the weary sigh only capable of a thirty year old perpetual child in a literal child’s body, Morrigan sat down, crossing their legs. Feeling that fuzzy sensation Astrid was describing in their palms, but not really knowing what to do with the energy, so they put their hands in their lap and fiddled with their thumbs instead.

“It’s probably best for both of us right now if I don’t mess with your spells unless absolutely necessary. We don’t want to blow ourselves up while we’ve no means of escape.” If one didn’t know any better, they might even describe the gravity in Morrigan’s tone as something… fearful. “The unweaving. The best way to describe it is this gnawing feeling in the pit of your belly. Like a serpent that wants to be fed, but no matter how much you give it, it will never be enough. You’ll never not be hungry. And you try to feed it what it wants, because you hope that if you sate it even for a moment… you might feel somewhat alive.”

They blinked.

Um. Right. That probably wasn’t helpful.

They cleared their throat, shaking those grim thoughts aside.

“But when it comes to actually using it, the cart generally just drives itself whenever I see a spell being cast. It’s just a matter of grabbing onto that feeling and… pushing it outward.”

Past
As much as Astrid is horribly upset at the circumstances, she feels like she’s handling it better than Morrigan who tries as hard as they can to throw up..? While in her body? Astrid can’t think of a single time her stomach was weak enough to vomit, even after eating rotten food, so whatever feeble attempt the fellblood in her body is making is… Well, it’s feeble, that’s it.

She’s quickly distracted by an eerie quiet about her person, or rather, Morrigan’s person with her stuck inside. It’s like the atmosphere has been sapped of energy. Unnaturally still, it reminds Astrid of the evenings when her mother demanded the utmost silence in their tiny abode. It’s as if any further squeaks, even of the floorboards, will shatter it all. This is terrible.

At least Morrigan sounds like they have a fix for it! They grab the paw and hold it between Astrid’s admittedly grubby fingers and… Hey, wait a minute, she didn’t mean to make a wish! At least not that one, not one that had any inkling of actually coming true! Her mouth, or rather Morrigan’s, parses open and closed a few times as she sputters out some attempt at a rebuttal.

“Wha– Hey, no, I didn’t–”

Not that it matters. The paw hears the wish, curls a finger and… nothing happens. “Well, maybe let me try ta fix it,” she says, finally stepping over to try to take the paw back, but before she knows it, Morrigan has actually screwed something up, and the last finger curls down. Morrigstrid stands there in stunned silence, looking down at the closed fist of the paw, the last possibly easy fix for this completely ruined by their own hubris.

“.....What do we do now?”

---

Present
Gods, Astrid cannot wait to get out of this situation. It’s so hard to make jabs at each other when it’s easy to turn it back around and pretend like the insult was a compliment or vice versa. After days of this, not sleeping well, and feeling a craving for more wine than food, Astrid is mentally exhausted. People have given her looks reserved for Morrigan, and admittedly, she’s made no effort to present the fellblood in any respectable light. As hard as she tries to be ostentatious and obnoxious, she wonders how in the hells Morrigan tends to just exist by exuding this much energy. She thought magic took up a lot of energy, but merely being a frail fellblood by the name of Morrigan Moonweaver is something else entirely.

No wonder they’re such an arse. They’re always grumpy because their blood sugar is always low.

Wait, are they actually equating controlling magic to something as easy as getting struck by lightning? “What? No, I learned by practicin’ a lot an’ workin’ hard ta control it. Gettin’ zapped just… Unlocked it? Thought it was a blessin’ from Avasha ‘til I found out all the gods are dead, so… maybe somethin’ else was just tryna kill me? I dunno. Ain’t like ya care.” The last bit comes in a murmur.

And just like that, they try to change the subject back to themselves. Fine, she did ask. “Wouldn’t call me face flawless,” she retorts, motioning to her freckled face worn like a mask by a charlatan. “Cute, but not flawless. Yers…” Astrid runs dainty fingers along the cheeks. “Notably a bit more bumpy than a few days ago. Ya should really try some a’ Cantio’s skin care routines. Now fer my face, don’t need ta make any changes. The less it’s covered in glitter, the better. Soot suits it well.”

Astrid watches herself collapse down into a sitting position knowing fully well that she is unharmed by the action but knowing she doesn’t want to feel the sting of Morrigan’s fragile body hitting the ground at anything more than a careful squat, so she just looks down while they think about this curse and about controlling her magic.

Their description of this mana eating curse makes her reminisce about Blue Raspberry, a creature that some might think of as a monster but that she’s become best friends with. Sure, they aren’t very worldly, and they’re certainly always hungry, but they can be taught, and they’re happy to learn. Though… Well, recently, she’s seen Blue become the insatiable monster that other oozes might be, and that thought is scary. She was very nearly swallowed up by them in that form, but the point is she wasn’t. Astrid is here, looking at herself from someone else’s eyes.

“I don’t s’pose ya’ve ever tried ta make friends with the mana eatin’ monster, huh?” she suggests, somewhat critically but somewhat lightheartedly. It’s worth asking, anyway. Despite what Morrigan thinks though, it is helpful. Regardless of if the curse is a monster or just how they imagine it, Astrid knows what actual insatiable hunger feels like. It’s a very real pain that she’s experienced time and time again in the past and only recently really been able to overcome. Maybe it is an entirely different thing, but the best way that she overcame it was to…

“...Release yer worries,” she says quietly, like a realization. Though, it comes without the context she has in her own mind, so Astrid quickly explains it to the best of her ability. “Um, it probably ain’t the same, but I’ve always been a hungry kid, ya know, I guess like this curse? Didn’t matter how much I ate, I was still hungry. An’... the only time it really settled was when I…stopped worryin’ about when me next meal would be, if…that makes sense.”

She looks down at Morrigan’s fingers fidgeting in front of her. “Rather than havin’ ta eat ever meal like I weren’t gonna see food again fer a few days, I could just… eat normal? Consistent, I guess is the word. Makes it a lot easier ta do a lot a’ thin’s, includin’ usin’ magic. Eatin' gives ya energy fer everythin', an' livin's the most important part a' that.” Morrigan’s spindly index finger and thumb wrap around the wrist of their opposite hand and touch in a circle with plenty of space to spare. “Ya ain’t got no meat on yer bones, no wonder ya can’t pull no magic outta yerself.”

Jokes aside, Astrid can recall a couple of instances where she was able to call upon… something inside herself to temporarily remove someone else’s abilities. It’s a power she’s not practiced, and it has only come out in times of desperation. What the source of it is, she’s not sure, perhaps something to do with her own supposed ‘curse,’ but maybe Morrigan’s unweaving, as they called it, is similar. She looks at the window and the wards shimmering in front of it. Maybe she could try that, but also…

Looking at herself, Morrigan trapped within her, looking like a frightened child because maybe that’s what they are both inside and out right now, she purses her lips. This could be their only opportunity to see what doing magic feels like. It might also mean that they become engrossed in it and never give her body back, but something tells her that won’t be the case. Being shorter has already been a pain for them.

“Magic,” she starts slowly, “at least the kind I do, comes from inside. That buzzin’ ya feel, ya force it ta the surface, or ya focus it in one spot. It’s like… flexing yer muscles in a specific way an’ feelin’ it spread like the warmth from cocoa ya drink on a cold day. It ain’t easy, took a lotta practice, an’ it weren’t somethin’ I ever imagined fer meself, but when it’s somethin’ that comes from inside, ya can’t be scared of it.” She takes a step back.

There’s an encouraging smile on Morrigan’s face as Astrid speaks. “Try it. Blowin’ yerself up ain’t as bad as it sounds after the first few times. Me body can take it, an’ even if it can’t somehow, I got potions an’ stuff fer healin’. If ya manage ta summon me hammer, that’ll heal too! I’d equate that ta… Callin’ on a friend.”

Present

So there it was. Morrigan and Astrid, having accidentally trapped themselves in one another’s bodies, and now, while seeking answers to their first problems in addition to their more pressing body-swap related issues. But rather than solutions, they’d merely stumbled into yet another problem, because of course nothing had gone right these past few weeks. Two people who hated each other stuck together due to circumstance, making the trek from Zeinav to Sol City in what could only be described as the most tense and uncompanionable silence in the history of silences. Even if they weren’t in one another’s bodies, what were they even supposed to talk about when they had absolutely nothing in common? The weather. The only hope keeping them going was that the Black Spire held the answers they sought, and the cure to their problems.

And now they were here. On the ceiling, and no closer to fixing anything than they’d been days ago.

Morrigan missed their face. They missed their body and their beautification routine and their clothes. Gods, they missed their clothes. Astrid Stormstone was not an especially frilly person, given that she was a young girl who preferred to stomp around in heavy awkward armor, which was much easier for Morrigan to carry with her strength. But they just felt heavy and awkward wearing her clothes, like a walking cannonball. Even their attempts to braid her hair with some of their own charms was clunky and awkward. More than ever they were determined to fix this mess.

Unfortunately, considering Morrigan and Astrid got along like a house on fire, they were stuck bickering and walking in verbal circles while trying to find a solution.

“Okay, okay, okay. So you got struck by a bolt of lightning and instead of dying, you just suddenly had magic? What the hell?” They hissed, though the vitriol was stale at this point - an old argument hashed out in circles. Morrigan thought Astrid had all the luck and a chip on her shoulder because of it, and Astrid thought Morrigan was a bastard for taking advantage of her dad. Mutual understanding was as far away as Frostgale was from the Crescent Isles. But they could at least shoot for mutual tolerance.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Avasha’s dead, the gods have abandoned us all. Did you ever consider you had your magic before all that and the lightning just kind of supercharged it? Besides, you cannot exactly call it a God’s blessing when you were the one to hone the strength and discipline of your spellwork - what?”

They did a double take at that last petulant part - a child’s dig in an attempt to seek… something Morrigan could not place because they did not have the emotional capacity to name it, but the accusation suddenly left them taken aback.

“What? I’m not a monster. Maybe I don’t like you, but Cantio does. I knew him before he adopted you, and you make him better. He’s actually grown a spine, if you can believe it. I don’t have to like you but it doesn’t mean I want you dead. What, do you think I’m some horrible leech demon that eats babies in my spare time?” They snapped. “Oh, I forgot. You do think I’m just some horrid selfish sociopath.”

Their ever-so-touching concern was undercut by Astrid suddenly poking at the pimples that had sprung up on their face in the past few days.

Morrigan screeched, getting on their tip-toes to smack her hands away from them. “Don’t touch them with your oily fingers! You’ll make them woooooorrrse! I told you to keep up with my skincare but you didn’t listen to me!”

Oh, if they had their glitter….

Yes, that would be their revenge. The minute Morrigan was back in their own body they were showering Astrid Stormstone in a torrent of it that she wouldn’t be able to wash off for weeks afterwards. Even if that meant sharing with Astrid the particulars of their curse. Information they hadn’t even given Izzy or Cantio of their own free will. Secrets only Kamille knew because she’d been the one to peep into their mind. Maybe someone with her experience in magic and the mage’s guild might have some answers.

Or maybe it was too much to expect a twelve-year-old to be sensible.

“Oh, of course! Make friends with it! Why didn’t I think of that!” They intoned sarcastically. “Let me just call it up on my scrying orb and ask it politely to let me learn magic!”

They had more insults that died on their lips as Astrid pressed on. Describing her life on the streets, not knowing where the next meal could come from. It wasn’t much of a surprise given what little they knew about her, but still… it was a different thing entirely to know that Astrid had gone through all this and still came out the other side of it a good and righteous person. That old companion envy, like a curling snake, slithered in the back of their gut.

They opened their mouth to say something, but the words died on their throat.

Instead, they huffed. “Well we can’t all be blessed with a hearty dwarven constitution and appetite! Besides, I have to maintain my slim, petite figure!”

The ribbing felt flat on their tongue.

“I suppose it’s kind of like that. I’ve often thought of it as a beast of envy. Other people weave the Formulae to their will - and when you see those threads, you grab hold of them and rip them apart until nothing is left but fragmented strings. That’s why I’ve taken to calling it what I have. You just have to stop worry about summoning anything and just kind of… let it loose.”

It was difficult for Morrigan to explain the concept to someone who’d never felt it in their life. Though perhaps Astrid Stormstone, who’d felt for so long a connection to the sky domain, might understand its absence now that she’d spent enough time in their body to understand the lack of connection to the world’s weavings. If she could figure that out, they might actually have a chance.

If she could learn the ways of the mana curse… and if Morrigan could learn how to cast spells.

They swallowed.

“You really want me to…?”

Morrigan wrinkled their nose.

“You’re not scared of what I’d do with it if I learned how to really harness it?”

Gods damn it, why were they looking for excuses not to try? Were they that scared of failure? Why wouldn’t they be, when every time they closed their eyes they remembered their parents’ tight smiles every time they failed to light a candle, unable to perform even the most simple of thaumaturgic incantations; when they could hear the gentle distant ‘don’t worry about it, child’, whispered with the disappointed gazes of people who’d hoped their child might be normal, only to learn their kid was nothing more than an empty shell?

No; Morrigan wouldn’t allow that to happen again.

At worst, they’d fail and Astrid would laugh at them for messing up and that would be that. Morrigan refused to let themselves feel that weak again.

“… Alright. I’ll try.”

Maybe they could level some kind of… lightning blast at the ward, just to see what would happen. They just had to focus. Focus on good feelings and warmth. Morrigan closed their eyes, trying to think of a time they’d ever felt that.

Walking through Zeinavian streets side by side with a familiar medic, one who smiled like the sun and carried its warmth in his very fingertips. Whose ring rested on Morrigan-now-Astrid’s finger, glimmering gold. They remembered Moonglade lights and being warmed to the chest, even bleeding out in the snow.

And that warmth in Morrigan’s chest grew, warm until it was blazing hot like molten gold in their ribs, until it seared like hot plasma. If that feeling wasn’t magic, what was? Morrigan pointed their finger upwards - or, downwards considering their orientation relative to gravity - and pulled themselves to their feet, emboldened by the buzzing sensation spreading through their body, doing their best to harness it. Pointing a finger to the sky, Morrigan screamed,

“Lightning!”

And something happened , alright. In one fraction of a second, a single instant, Morrigan felt alight, alive. They waited for the lightning; the wind came instead. An unknown force propelled Morrigan to the side with the speed of a crossbow bolt, as if they’d gotten hit by an unseen force.^[1] And Morrigan screamed, unable to stop themselves in any way as they flew threw the air in a blur…

And immediately smacked into the wall and the ward with a force that rattled their brains within their skull.

Morrigan collapsed to the ground, wheezing, winded.

“Ow.”

---

1. Bullet Dash - Astrid Stormstone

Astrid wouldn’t exactly describe the whole “having magic” thing as sudden. As she described it having been unlocked, that’s something much more accurate, she thinks. “Well, I didn’t really consider magic bein’ somethin’ I could do before I got struck by lightnin’,” she says. “Afterwards though, aye, makes sense given the last name an’ all. Still, ain’t a lotta dwarves keen on magic of any kind, so aye, I thought it were a gift fer a while.”

Given Morrigan’s circumstances, they could stand to see it that way too. A gift. Better than seeing part of themselves as a curse, something Astrid considered her horns for a long time before embracing them fully because it isn’t like she can get rid of them, and honestly, she likes them.

“I ain’t said yer a monster, I said ya don’t care,” Astrid says firmly, crossing Morrigan’s dainty arms and poking one hip out to the side. It isn't like they're the first person to not care much about her, and at this point, that doesn't really bother her. As long as Morrigan doesn't hurt Cantio again, she barely cares what they think of her.

While they go on about what they assume Astrid thinks of them, she rolls her eyes into the back of her skull. “Only part a’ that ya got right is me thinkin’ yer selfish, which, ya are usually. Barely thinkin’ about what ya can do fer others an’ always wonderin’ what others can do fer ya.” If she were to be really honest, Astrid would say that that’s primarily what makes them different. Well that and their general outlook on life too.

But she relents. “Guess ya were workin’ on that by helpin’ me before we got into this mess,” she admits in a murmur. Even if Morrigan’s decision to help Astrid could have been for selfish reasons, they did at least try to come up with something to try to help or point her in the right direction. They deserve some credit where it’s due. Then again, their selfishness and desperation definitely made it worse. Who knows what that stupid paw might need for them to switch back?

As she prods at the borrowed face in a dramatic way, Astrid snaps back, “I ain’t keepin’ up with yer skincare routine if ya refuse ta keep up with me armor care!” The girl immediately regrets jabbing one finger against the dimpled cloudy metal because Morrigan’s fingers can’t take the force, and it is painful. She keeps it there nevertheless, and the cuirass causes spacetime to ripple briefly around it. “I got that with me da right after he adopted me! If ya don’t take care of it, he’ll get upset!” It isn’t necessarily true that Cantio will get upset, but she will use Cantio’s friendship with Morrigan to her advantage if she can.

Things fall quiet while they talk about certain challenges and trying to overcome them, seeing them in similar ways, or at least describing the curse in some way that they could both understand. Astrid stands in thoughtful quiet, and she recalls what she experienced inside of Morrigan’s mind some weeks ago. The whole environment was Morrigan putting on a show, pretending to be something that they aren’t. Suddenly, her wish, whether she meant it as she said it or not, makes less sense to her. Morrigan may be a whole fellblood, but Morrigan doesn’t really know who they are without the lies and deceit, do they? They think they don’t know who they are without magic because of something Astrid doesn’t know about. No wonder they pretend to be a magician. That’s what they want to be, or at least, that’s what they think will make them into someone whole.

It makes sense now, at least with what context Astrid has.

“Aye, I want ya ta try,” she affirms with a nod. “If ya really learn ta harness it, then maybe that’ll help ya figure yerself out once we get our bodies back.” Maybe that will help them feel whole. Magic seems to be something that Morrigan thinks they need to be their whole self, but Astrid decided that no matter what her other half is, she is only herself, and she is loved for it, and that is what’s important.

While she steps back and watches, she can tell something is happening. She can see her hair standing on end as Morrigan manages something. The shout is unexpected, but hey, whatever works, she supposes. But there aren’t many sparks. In fact, the only sparks come from the ward meeting the half-dwarf’s body and blasting it back to the ground. Astrid cringes, knowing she’ll be feeling that later, but not knowing if Morrigan survived the impact.

A tiny squeak of pain escapes, and the tension in the room falls away. Astrid sighs in relief, then she grins. “Hey, ya did it! Always painful the first time! How’d it feel?? Besides smackin’ the wall, a’ course. But magic! Ya did it! Ya felt it!” A bit giddy, she shuffles over and squats over herself, prodding her own forehead. “No Formulae necessary, just feelin’!”

Morrigan rolled their eyes, an action that looked more fitting on a child’s face than it did their regular, grown, thirty year old self. Astrid Stormstone could believe what she wanted about them. It was true they didn’t like her, but they did - on a very abstract, conceptual level - care about her well-being in the sense that they didn’t want her to get hurt or mortally injured. And didn’t that count enough for caring about her safety? Was this not what empathy was? But try explaining that to a kid who still mostly saw the world in shades of black and white.

“Well of course I’m selfish. Everyone is. It’s every man for himself in this world - and the ones who say otherwise are just bound to get taken advantage of.” They murmured offhandedly, though they didn’t seem too committed to the words coming out of their mouth. Unbidden, the memory of their trip through the Ash Ruins with Shitakibo - their exploration of the Yudraehati temple remains and the trials they’d undergone to free the Phoenix trapped within. Uncomfortable truths had been contained within that cavern. Particularly, the realization that over the course of the past year, they’d slowly been changing to the point that somewhere along the line, their priorities had shifted. It was no longer just about them. It was about them, and the people that had somehow become more important than their own goals for fame and power.

A hard pill to swallow; and one that had left Morrigan with more questions than answers. They usually avoided looking inside themselves for this very reason, only shoving down realizations and self-reflection in a place where they didn’t have to acknowledge it. They killed their past and abandoned it like a forgotten, broken play toy. And yet, as it had been dredged up, Morrigan had not found it as… painful as it had once been. And the startling truth that there were some people, those who had shown kindness and true understanding in a way that was so sweet it chafed, that Morrigan had incidentally prioritized without even thinking about it; it left Morrigan wondering if they were broken in more ways than one.

That perhaps if they’d simply had friends in their youth…

Well. In some ways they probably wouldn’t be very different from Astrid Stormstone. Abandoned, but found again, and better for it.

They pushed those uncomfortable thoughts aside.

“Hey, look; I’ve been going on a lot of forcibly self-actualizing and self-cleansing journeys, okay? I’ve even put the scamming business behind me… kind of. Now it’s mostly just reserved for criminals. That’s progress!” They waved their hands in the air, as if - yes - they did truly expect a metal for achieving the bare minimum of not being a piece of human trash.

Any further self congratulations were dashed by Astrid Stormstone jabbing their finger into her own armor with more than enough force to break Morrigan’s dainty little hands. They winced, as if the phantom break had caused them pain, too. They took a step back, not wanting to accidentally react with Astrid Stormstone’s uncanny strength again and accidentally break something of their own. They needed those hands and that precious face to keep selling potions!

“Do I look like I know how to clean armor?” They sputtered, unable to really come up with a smarter counter to that argument, because in a rational manner, Astrid Stormstone was right. It was the “kind” and “respectful” thing to maintain Astrid Stormstone’s things, and they were about as familiar with armor as she was with facial creams and makeup, so there was no excuse there. But it was the principle of the matter; the principle being, I absolutely don’t want to spend my time polishing this hunk of metal strapped to my chest.

They paused when she brought up the Cantio card. They may have had a fondness for him, but they weren’t so blind as to miss that they were being played. Oh, you clever little son of a…

“If it’s an armor that you earned with your dear father, then isn’t that all the more reason to keep my grubby, inexperienced hands off of it?” They countered, voice affixed with a false sweetness that felt bitter on their tongue. The two of them had been rehashing this argument over the past few days crammed in the wagon, and Morrigan wasn’t about to yield now. Unfortunately, the both of them were horribly stubborn and petulant.

Bickering aside, they were both united by a common goal - getting out of this situation.

Morrigan worried their lower lip with their teeth while Astrid coached them through the finer points of casting spells. It was a child’s explanation, someone who was still grasping the finer points of it all. But that had once been how Morrigan learned alchemy, too. In the back of a circus tent with a stern woman who imparted no knowledge of recipes, but an understanding of the components and their properties. Morrigan had never been much for classical learning and techniques anyways.

“Right. Of course.” Morrigan breathed, their own voice - or, well, Astrid’s actually, but with their own accent - sounding distant in their ears. “It will be good practice for when I break this curse and start learning magic in earnest.”

Even though she hadn’t voiced it, Astrid wasn’t wrong. The whole persona that Morrigan had created for themselves was everything they thought they should be as a child. Boisterous, enigmatic, almost divine in their countenance and speech - powerful, and most of all, adored for all of it. Astrid didn’t know who she was, and in a way, neither did Morrigan. The Wizard of the Wastes was just a wish, an illusion that Morrigan was desperately trying to make real with every breath, every bone in their body.

Funny, how their mutual uncertainties had been the catalyst for this switch.

But Morrigan definitely wasn’t thinking about the curse right now. They were focusing on grasping that foreign thing, a sensation they’d never experienced in their life, with a hard-fought desperation, even if just to experience it once. To know what they’d been missing.

And then.

Something happened.

The pain in their - Astrid’s - skull was only secondary to the hesitant elation that they’d just done something they’d always thought to be impossible. They would have screamed if they could move - but instead, Morrigan was frozen still, unable to pull themselves up from the ground, unable to think. It had been so utterly electrifying and horrifying and alive.

Astrid Stormstone’s encouragement broke them out of their reverie. When she poked them, Morrigan pulled themselves into a sitting position, eyes stinging. They pried off one of Astrid’s gauntlets and pressed a hand to their cheek, startled to find it wet.

They turned to Astrid, who was so excited she’d managed to coach them through it successfully. Morrigan opened their mouth, a snarky reply like of course I did it, was there ever any doubt? I’m a magical genius! on their lips.

But in that moment, they found they couldn’t muster the words.

So they grabbed Astrid and pulled her into a hug, as non-bone crushing as they could muster.

It was a brief hug; they wiped at their face, desperate for her not to see the fact that they were currently holding on by a thin thread.

“Ew. Gross.” They said, to save face.

Something they’d spent thirty years trying and failing to do… something Kaivalya had practiced in their room, desperately trying to move pins and light candles with their mind, only to fall short, because they’d never been able to grasp the formula, something that ought to be so easy. There were only so many times one attempted before realizing their efforts were futile. But oh, Kaivalya had never stopped trying, desperate to see some sort of light of affection in the eyes of their father, hope in the eyes of their mother - that perhaps they’d not had a dud child after all.

Even Morrigan, in the deepest pits of their heart of hearts, had not fully given up reaching for that well of power that was not there, in their most desperate moments. When potions and the strength of their will had failed them, when Kvasir lay in the snow with no clear sign of what ailed him.

All attempts met in failure, and Morrigan had been left to wonder if it had been because they weren’t trying hard enough, weren’t smart enough, weren’t skilled enough. Even upon having a name for their addiction, there was still the question as to what horrible thing they’d done in a past life to earn such a horrible curse upon birth. It hadn’t just stripped them of magic. It had stripped them of life, natural vitality. They’d lived as a shell until they forced energy into their life, cast their past away. Morrigan thought that had been enough, because dead gods be damned, it had to be.

But they’d never truly understood that lack until today.

A man with his eyes closed didn’t know the light they were missing until they gazed upon the sun for the first time.

Too bad it would not last.

The thought was such a sobering disappointment. But the reality Morrigan had expected. They could not forget that even still, even though they were experiencing this for themselves, it still was not their magic to keep.

It was Astrid’s.

“Right. So… hmm.” For once in their damn life Morrigan didn’t seem to have any words. “I don’t suppose I could try to pierce through the barrier?” For all Morrigan hated their bitter rival they could not deny Astrid’s raw power. Whatever that lightning supercharged her with, it had turned her into a self-contained storm. They approached a window, tapping at the barrier, a thought brewing in their mind. If they could not turn off the enchantment powering the shield off, then perhaps it was simply a matter of flooding it with power until it turned off.

They were attempting to keep calm, focus on the task at hand, keep moving. But Morrigan’s heart was still pounding like a hoard of angry fae were repeatedly hitting it with hammers. They rubbed at their head where they’d hit the wall. It throbbed, a pain that Astrid Stormstone would feel when they turned back, but turnabout was fair play considering she’d jammed their finger.

They turned back to Astrid, an uncharacteristic frown on their face. She’d given them a gift, whether she knew it or not. She’d done something for them that no one had been able to do, ever, and they figured they owed her for that. The old Morrigan would have taken this for granted; but more than that, they didn’t want to spit in her face after all this. At least they could spare her the fate of having to deal with what they did.

Morrigan Moonweaver did not know the term ‘thank you’. But they could try, at least, to not be a complete spiteful dick.

“For what it’s worth, I… I don’t think you should try to tap into my curse.” She didn’t need to know what that misery and hunger felt like, not when she’d lived it in her past. “We can figure out a different solution. There is always another path, it’s just a matter of finding it.”

Morrigan admitting to selfishness doesn’t come as a surprise, but they could be slightly less flippant about the whole thing. There isn’t a lot she knows of Morrigan’s past that shaped them into the person that they are, but if they’re going to be better, that’s a conscious decision that they have to make, just like they had to decide to be an actual friend to Cantio. At least Morrigan seems to have some of the capacity to be a better person, but the fact that they don’t in most aspects of their life (as far as Astrid can tell anyway) only serves to prove that they don’t want to be.

Through a huff, Astrid says, “If everyone just thought a’ themselves, nothin’ good would ever happen ta no one. Like I said before” –When she invaded her dream, anyway.– “a bit a’ kindness goes a long way. Got me off the streets. Folks coulda tried ta take advantage a’ me, dragged me into some bad circles an’ treated me bad, but they didn’t. So nah, it ain’t ever man fer themselves. World would be long destroyed if that were the case.”

Finally, Astrid puts her finger on why Morrigan rubs her the wrong way (or one of the reasons at least) – they act very much like some of the entitled nobility she’s encountered in her short time. People who look down on others for not having as much. Except Morrigan wants more and will take what they can get from people who already have little. In some aspects, that’s even more scummy, isn’t it?

Astrid can’t help a snigger when Morrigan says the “forcibly self-actualizing” bit. She definitely played a part in that and doesn’t regret it one bit. She shrugs the fellblood’s shoulders and nods their head side to side. “Aye, I s’pose yer right about that. Ya know, if they’re actually criminals. I don’t mind folks that deserve it gettin’ some a’ their just desserts if they ain’t willin’ ta change their ways.” She only slightly lumps Morrigan in with that, but they’re not wrong; they’re making progress.

Looking them up and down, Astrid scrunches up their face. “Aye, ya look exactly like ya know how ta clean armor,” she says snidely. After all, Morrigan is in her body. And honestly, does she, well, her actual body, look like it knows what a skincare routine is? Sometimes she misses splotches of workshop grime before bed! “I offered ta show ya, but ya wouldn’t listen. So a’ course I wasn’t gonna listen ta yer skin routine.” Their numerous arguments about it really could have been solved by pausing and understanding each other, but tensions have been high.

“I’d polish it meself but yer fingers would’ve fallen off. Plus ya haven’t even taken off me armor.” Now that bit is her own fault. There’s a perfectly easy way to remove the armor, but out of pure pettiness, she’s insisted that sleeping in the armor is perfectly comfortable! For her it is, but for someone unused to it? Oh, she’s ready to feel how sleep deprived Morrigan has made her because at least she will be in her own body by that point, and Astrid can sleep just about anywhere without issue – a handy skill learned from living on the streets.

It is at least a relief that the two of them can be united and actually offer some sort of encouragement to one another and genuinely mean it. Morgstrid watches as Astrid’s body bursts across the room, gives Astrid a good bonk on the head, and then… elation. And then something even more unexpected. While she’s squatted down to prod Morrigan in her head, Astrid finds herself pulled into a sudden hug that feels like it could snap a man in half were Morrigan not trying to be careful.

“E-Ew??” she echoes, sputtering a laugh. “Yer the one that hugged me! Er, you! Whatever, this was yer idea!” Astrid sits back down, careful not to sit on Morrigan’s tail while she observes the emotions processing in her own face. She truly has no idea how hard Morrigan has tried to manifest something half as impressive as this, and it’s surprising that there isn’t more celebration of an attempt well made. When she was first learning magic, every little spark manifested was cause for celebration – each was a step taken forward. Every part of the initial spell had to be mastered before she could experiment and branch out because if she didn’t have a grasp of the basics, she could seriously get hurt.

It’s no different than her first attempts to make things in the workshop. Repeated attempts always taught something new, something better, until eventually, the muscle memory could produce good quality consistently. Magic is no different to her than learning to smith. They both take time and effort and a lot of focus, but… Well, she knew very little of the Formulae when she first started magic. Now that she’s a part of the Mage’s Guild, her grasp of magic has improved, and that’s helped her make some more interesting items with effects that couldn’t be generated without the Formulae. Precise measurements of materials and magic both.

Morrigan has just now, likely for the first time, found a tiny spark in the form of throwing themselves across the room and into a wall. For Astrid, the first bit was always the toughest, so to her, this is something to celebrate. With a smile uncharacteristically genuine for Morrigan’s face, Astrid reaches over and pats them on the back.

“Ya did good.”

With her attention turned back to the barrier, she looks at the flickering ward with a studious expression. “Well… Given it’s s’posed ta keep people in or out, the ward’s probably meant ta protect against magic an’ brute force both,” she says. Before getting up, she reaches over into her bag and pulls out a rolled up sheet of perfectly crisp parchment then goes over and takes a close look at the symbols. As they flash into view, a recreation of them appears on the parchment. Over the course of a few minutes, she has a decent map of the admittedly complex magical formula that makes up the barrier. Holding it up, she looks it over carefully.

“Aye, it’s well-made fer avoidin’ tamperin’ or breakin’ through,” she says. Then she looks over at Morrigan with a devious, plotting expression on Morrigan’s own face. “Don’t see nothin’ about drainin’ it though.” Sure, they warned her that it’s not a good idea to tap into the curse, but Astrid is also confident that she can at least try, and if she does tap in, she can at least find some understanding with the usually annoying Fellblood. Unless she dies in Morrigan’s body, it’s a win-win in her mind. So, rolling up the parchment and offering it to Morrigan, Astrid turns back to the barrier and interlocks Morrigan’s fingers, stretching them out before her in an attempt to crack the knuckles. It goes poorly and hurts more than anything. The real curse is Morrigan’s fragile body, she decides.

Thinking back to how Morrigan described it before, Astrid closes her eyes and thinks about finding the threads of magic in the air, in the barrier. She’s fought mage slayers, seen how they can cut off someone’s supply of magic, and she’s even done it on her own though never really understood how that works exactly. It’s something that happens in times of desperation, and in this moment, she doesn’t exactly feel desperate. Sure, she really wants to get back into her own body and doesn’t want to be trapped here, but neither of them are in mortal peril, so manifesting that kind of thing might not be the easiest thing right now.

Still… Morrigan described it as a hungry beast that will never be satisfied, and that… Well, that sounds like something that feeds on desperation. So with her eyes closed, Astrid searches herself for that feeling. Desperate hunger, fear, the desire to be worthy and loved; negative emotions that Astrid does her best to avoid thinking about because focusing on them brings her down and makes her think about times where life wasn’t easy or happy.

What was the worst time for that? It wasn’t the day her mother left. No, she was worried, but she wasn’t afraid. Her mother promised to be back, and more than anything Astrid was afraid that if she left the spot she was told to sit at, she’d be left behind or fussed at, so she sat there patiently through hunger pains and cold. Those feelings increased over time, and even her brief ventures to find food were ended quickly with fear that her mother would show up in the few moments she was away from that spot. Astrid shakes her head of those thoughts. More than anything, she was sad and lonely, not desperate and afraid.

What was a time she felt truly hopeless? Astrid’s thoughts wander until they arrive at a destination inside a sea beast, a time she and Blue were swallowed up with no promise of returning to the surface alive. In the same adventure, she nearly drowned in the ocean. That was truly a frightening experience, one full of desperation for air, so she holds on to that fear.

Then… she thinks about the time in the Pits where she and Vikram nearly died to the champion Ceena. Their lives were truly in danger, but some Hail Mary magic from the swordsman saved them both. But that moment led Vikram toward his death. The death in the temple, where no matter how hard Astrid begged and pleaded and fought the otherworldly entity for Vikram’s life, it was all ultimately hopeless. That was the first time she manifested the means to take away someone’s abilities briefly, and whatever power did that still did nothing but let them say goodbye before killing a good man on his own terms.

She can feel Morrigan’s body rattling as her own negative emotions well up within their flesh. Or is that something else? It’s so hard to tell. Astrid hates dwelling on the things that make her hurt. Hunger, fear, loneliness, helplessness. Are these the things that Morrigan can’t escape? A pit forms in their stomach, and she feels a pain in the abdomen that she hasn’t felt in months at least. Fingers twitch as the threads of magic shimmer in the darkness behind closed eyes, weaved into a tapestry of protective formulas. Astrid reaches out until it feels like grabbing tripwires that could explode at any moment.

Come on, curse beast, she urges. If this is what ya want then come take it! Eat yer fill so Morrigan can have a taste a’ what the world really has ta offer!

---

Wanted Poster