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Post by Morrigan Moonweaver on Mar 12, 2024 12:52:00 GMT -5
Some say madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. If you asked Morrigan, anyone who tried to spout philosophy at you was selling you something. And they would know, because the charlatan had used that very lie to sweet talk a couple of suckers to sell their home to take up some stock in their potion business and start renting an offshore property in the Crescent Isles for exorbitant prices. A curious thing, though, the follies of life were. Morrigan had spent their entire life cultivating a person that didn’t exist; chasing an impossible pipe dream. And yet, even knowing what they did now - their curse would never be cured, the power of the Unweaving had written in the stars for them from birth to death - they still found themselves clinging to sand slipping between their fingertips. A new lead. An artifact of great power, washed up somewhere along the coast. If nothing else, it would make for a nice little trinket to decorate the back of the wagon. Morrigan ought to have brought their entourage, and yet… they figured that it would not hurt to take a little journey on their own for once. The Unweaver secured to their hip, a stained-glass parasol clutched between dainty fingers to offer some protection from the sun, Morrigan traipsed along the sands, silk brocade trailing behind them in the wind. The very picture of a desert mirage, an impossible dream. With each step the bells secured to their wrists jingled and potion vials in their bag clinked together. Morrigan was never especially stealthy. With looks like these could you blame them? Glamour this bright ought not to be dimmed, and in a way, that was Morrigan’s gift to the world. They were certainly a sight for sore eyes as they scoured the beach, the ambient magic in the air a dull hum that made their skin tingle. [2] If there was anything powerful on this beach, the mana-cursed fellblood would be able to feel it - The hair on the back of their neck stood on end as a wave of pure power washed over them. Like a riptide it threatened to rip Morrigan off their feet; the sheer magnitude of it was impossible, a leaden weight pressing into their bones and stealing the very breath from their lungs - And it was everywhere. Morrigan gasped and glanced around them, searching for the origin of the sudden burst of power. When they accidentally swapped bodies with Astrid Stormstone, they’d experienced what it felt like to call upon the power of the heavens in their fingertips; it was nothing like this. Not in terms of magnitude, but because this aura was sick. The very nature of Morrigan’s being rejected the concept of magic, absorbed it and left behind nothing but stardust and the memory of scattered dreams. Never before had they encountered something that could devour them back. Quite put out and unnerved, Morrigan straightened, glancing around the beach for the source of the pesky problem.
1. Witcher Pitcher Tattoo Quest Name: Information Retrieval Chapter: Two Description: The information was right there, within reach of you, however it slipped right through as another party managed to nab it. Be it thieves looking to sell it, or cultist trying to figure it out themselves, they somehow got the jump on you. So your new mission is to hunt them down and get the information back. You can go about it however you desire, sneaking into their base while they sleep, or killing them all where they stand. What's important is you get the artifacts, clues or information back to us. Requirements: - Requires at least two people (you and one other, the other does not need to be interested in the guild) - You must make at least 6 post with each post being 150 words to complete the mission. - You must locate those who stole the information from you and get it back anyway you like. - Once you complete this mission you gain entrance into the mages guild.
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Post by Elvira, Wandering Cleric on Mar 15, 2024 18:26:23 GMT -5
Madness… that’s a good word. Perhaps the same word Elvira was shouting internally, trying to drown out the thousands, perhaps even millions of whispers filling her head to the point of insanity. She had felt something scratching at her brain moments before. A moment of trying to fight it ensued but alas, she wasn’t strong enough for the being that had reached out to wreak havoc on the plans of joining the Mage’s Guild.
Whatever it was had hit her with a madness spell and she become a frightened passenger to insanity. All she could do was watch as she - her body, currently a vessel of destruction - slayed the brave travelers she had picked up on the way. Merchants, healers, even a few knights. None stood chance to the destruction of a powerful cleric of Lunala who had lost her control over the magics she possessed. Every moment was torturous for the poor elf, seeing the final fears of those who had entrusted her, the knowledge that they stood no chance as her blade drove into their chest and her spells landed true.
She prayed internally that it was over, that she would be released from the prison in her own flesh and blood. That was not the case. Her vessel turned towards the horizon, spotting a colorful being - a fellblood - traveling through the desert with a cart. Perhaps a merchant, perhaps more. Regardless, the vessel stepped forward slowly, black robes flowing in the winds as it moves towards the sunset.
She felt a purity bolt charge, the crackling energy building up in her hand. Her body moved, taking a powerful step forward and, just as she would a spear, she threw it…
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Post by Morrigan Moonweaver on Mar 18, 2024 15:50:36 GMT -5
A woman.
Clad in robes of marbled ebony and ivory, swirled with delicate threads of spooled silver. A porcelain beauty, almost in her entirety - almost, if it weren’t for the blank stare glazed over her face, and the malice with which she raised her hand, holy light pouring forth from her fingertips as readily as flowing water. And then, with a mighty hurl, she threw the burst of light straight for them.
Morrigan twirled Unweaver with a yelp, slicing the spell to ribbons with the wicked curved blade and a dancer’s flourish.[1,2] Where the air once sang with the hymn of the arcane, an odd sort of silence prevailed… as if the choir had been brought to a halt and only the solemn echoes of their tune remained to bounce off the chapel’s hallowed roof. Nothing where something once existed. Whatever it was, this sensation which now clung to Morrigan, only one thing was certain; how well and utterly wrong it was.
Such was the mark of the mana cursed.
If she’d been awake to know the truth of their pitiable existence - if Morrigan even seemed to notice the very fabric of the universe rejected them for removing such powerful magyyks from existence with as little as a gesture - then neither acknowledged it. Morrigan merely straightened, lowering their blade, and furrowing their brow.
“Hey, what’s the big idea? You could have killed someone with that blast… you’re lucky I was the one to intercept, else this might have ended a lot worse!”
The woman merely stared at them.
And then she swung her sword.
Morrigan yelped and raised a gauntleted arm, the piece of ornate jewelry breaking apart at the impact.[3] A shame - they rather liked that piece - but better the glittery junk than their visage. Morrigan dove back, putting space between themselves and the kiss of her steel.
They had no idea why she was attacking them, but Morrigan Moonweaver was not keen on perishing so easily.
“Stay back!” They uttered one last time, in warning. “I shall have you know I am a skilled mage, and shall not hesitate to make use of my repertoire.” Another promise that fell on deaf ears, and Morrigan figured there would be no more talking. Oh, well. If she wanted to dance, they would dance.
She lunged again, and with the grace of a desert dancer they sidestepped, a hand in their pocket and with a spin, a face full of glitter that would have the woman coughing and reeling, struggling to draw in breath, much less speak.[4] As she was stunned, Morrigan juggled their blade with a vial of poison, tossing it in the air and slashing in a diagonal arc through the glass - slashing her chest and spraying her with acid all in one move.[5,6]
And yet, they couldn’t shake the strange feeling that the maiden was still… under grips of something truly maddening. They’d dispelled her magic but the aura of pure power hadn’t dissipated. They grinned, snapping their fingers together. “Let’s get rid of that pesky magic, shall we?”
And injured, poisoned, blood burning from the wounds that Morrigan wrought and the poison they’d inflicted, there was naught she could do as Morrigan pulled upon that feeling of wrongness once more, pushing it outwards - and all around them, the air grew dead, like the wasteland after an explosion… and all magic came to a stuttering halt.[7] 1. Deflecting Slice (Mage Slayer II) 2. Spell Eater 3. Gauntlets of Ginma (1/1 hit prevention used) 4. Pouch Sand (pocket glitter) 5. Parasite Poison 6. Spell Eater 7. Mark of the Mana Cursed
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Post by Elvira, Wandering Cleric on Mar 19, 2024 18:58:31 GMT -5
Trigger Warning!!! Vomit Those thirty seconds were a blur for Elvira. The way the spell got eaten, her holy blade crashing down on the woman’s arm, the woman’s blade slicing into her chest, causing excruciating pain. Her body began to crawl, still trying to fight until the last moment. Internally, she was fighting, screaming at it to stop. She had fought the spell away just enough for tears to form, streaming down her face. Suddenly, she was ripped back into her body. The fellblood’s spell had eaten the dark magics that had cursed her. She stared at the blood on her blade, the splatters on her robes. She felt sick. Really sick. So sick that the stomach-tightening anguish caused the contents of her stomach to flow back up and spew out. When she was done vomiting, she spit the last of it out of her mouth and sat back, hands shaking and eyes soaked with tears. Those intense blue eyes locked with the fellblood’s as she screamed with a shaky voice. “NUUTA SA!!!1 JUST… JUKETTE!2 I have failed every nuuta person laying in those sands! I have failed my family, and I have failed the gods! I cannot continue like this, I’m… I’m a monster. There is innocent blood on my hands, now. I-I… I heard these… these whispers. Thousands of whispers. Millions, even. Just… something dark took over. I-I tried to… I tried so hard to fight it. It took over and… Whoever you are, I beg that you help me slay whoever dared to curse me with that sickening magic. Those… those kuu’dattor3 cultists! Either way, blood needs to spill. Now.”
She was breathing heavily, fists clenched tight and usually-elegant hair a tangled mess. The tears still streamed down her face as she breathed heavily, clearly preparing to slay or be slain. She barely looked like an elf anymore. She looked like an animal that had survived a pack of predators. Behind those eyes, however, Morrigan would be able to see pure fear, anger, and remorse. It was obvious that she didn’t feel worthy any longer. Without waiting for an answer, Elvira shakily stood, holding her wounded chest and forcing herself to move towards the bodies. She attempted her ritual Last Rites, but collapsed back down on the first one. The pain was too great, the wound too grave. Now, all she could do was sit in the sand and cry, throwing an occasional frustrated punch into the dune. She was broken now. Everything she stood for was washed away by the dark magic of a cultist peering over a faraway dune and sniping her with a spell. She grit her teeth against the pain and cursed herself.
1: “Nuuta Sa” = “damnit” 2: “Jukette” = “f—k” 3: “Kuu’dattor” = “bastards”
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Post by Morrigan Moonweaver on Mar 21, 2024 7:46:18 GMT -5
Morrigan huffed, wiping a beat of sweat from their brow, smearing glitter and kohl at their eyes. They so did loathe fighting. And yet, this stranger had attacked with the ferocity of the damned; and all the mindless fury of one, too. If it weren’t for the healthiness of her countenance and the lack of rot, Morrigan would have truly mistaken her for a flesh-eating monster.
Then she collapsed to the ground, and Morrigan could only hope that she would not get back up.
They sheathed Unweaver and crossed their arms, watching her warily -
Like the SNAP of a rubber band the spell holding her in its grip broke; absorbed by Morrigan’s proximity to her. The light came back to her eyes and she breathed in, choked, and released the contents of her stomach to the sand. Tears streamed down the pitiful woman’s face like ichor.
Morrigan took a step back. Partially to prevent from getting a mess all over their sandals, and partially to give the woman space while she came to her senses. They… hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been under a curse the entire time? And they’d brought her to the brink of death because of it?
Oh, hell. This mess had just upgraded to a catastrophe.
Morrigan’s brows furrowed as the woman spoke - cursing existence in a language too old for them to understand. Calling herself a monster. Morrigan offered a hand to help her to her feet, which she ignored, moving towards the nearby corpses to… well, Morrigan wasn’t quite sure what her intentions were, given she doubled over in pain, still under the throes of agony from the damage Morrigan had done to her. They winced and approached her, traipsing lightly through the sand.
“Hey there, now. I’m not sure what happened, but you obviously weren’t in your right mind. When a criminal steals a blade to kill an innocent, you don’t blame the weapon. When a spell strikes a target, it is not the magic you blame, but the caster.”
They smirked and reached into their bag, tossing the woman a potion of brightly colored liquid in a round vial.[1]
“You’re not chasing down anyone like that, Madame. There. for your physical hurts. I’ve no miracle remedy for the emotional ones, but I see you’ve already got a plan in mind for taking care of that.”
They flipped their braid over their shoulder.
“Who am I? I am known around these parts as the great Wizard of the Wastes! Enchanter, diviner, storyteller, godslayer, sand scorpion, champion of Zeinav, creator of miracles and maker of elixirs most wonderful. But you can call me Morrigan Moonweaver.” Then, a little quieter, perhaps even sheepish, they continued; “You have my sincerest condolences for the damage I’ve done to you. I was not aware you were not of sound mind. But if it’s blood you want, it is blood I can assist with.”
Their smile twisted into a wicked grin, bone-white fangs pointing out of their lips. Where Elvira worried about morals and the lines drawn in the sand, Morrigan had no such qualms. A firecracker in every sense of the word; and right now, they found themselves in a situation that was shaping up to be quite interesting. 1. Kvasir’s Pride of Solaria Elixir given to Elvira
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Post by Elvira, Wandering Cleric on Mar 29, 2024 21:37:43 GMT -5
The potion lands next to her, burying itself slightly in the sand. She stares at it for a moment, the life slowly draining from her eyes, before grabbing it and downing it. Soon, her body glows with a pale light as her wounds form back together and close. After testing the strength of her body, she stands and frowns softly. A dark smoke starts to emerge from her hands, falling gracefully onto the sands beneath her and covering the bodies.
”May your passages be peaceful as you are guided by the welcoming warmth of celestial hands, my friends. I am sorry I failed to protect you.”
With this, she turns back to Morrigan. “I… I thank you, Morrigan. It may be to your surprise, but I know of you already. Fifteen years ago, you passed my father a rather… how should I say? A rather comedic fortune. I believe you told him, a large statured man of a knightly order, that he should become a famed dancer! The look of embarrassment when he realized you had robbed him blind still sits on my mind! It was actually one of our last outings before he had passed. His name was Aidynn Elendil, he named me Elvira.”
”As for your blade striking true against me, please worry not. There was naught a clue you could have discerned in the time you had been given. I forgive you, Moonweaver. Now, let’s find these kuu’datto before they harm anyone else, yeah? I think they are racing towards the north.”
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Post by Morrigan Moonweaver on Apr 3, 2024 8:02:55 GMT -5
Morrigan remained silent while the young woman finished up her funeral rites. They had never been religious themselves; the idiosyncrasies of worship were foreign to them. It was not their place to intervene while she did whatever she needed to to assure herself that their souls might find peace. Morrigan didn’t really care one way or another.
They’d never really held much space in their heart for the dead.
It was a bit of a surprise, though, to learn that the young lady did recognize their name, independent of their reputation as the Wizard of the Wastes. No, her knowledge was far more obscure than that - she remembered them from days they scarcely thought about, now.
Still, their gaze sharpened, eyes gleaming with a different kind of interest now. “Oh, you were a patron of the Dreamscape Bazaar? Ginma, it’s been so long since I’ve heard that name! I must have left… almost fifteen years ago now! You must have been one of my last customers.” Yes, when they were but a fledgeling scammer of eighteen years, they struck out on their own! But oh, before then, Morrigan possessed quite fond memories of their time in the circus under the strict Madam Medb’s tutelage. They’d told a plethora of bum card fortunes during their time as a fake diviner; so many that it was difficult to remember all of them…
Oh, but they did recognize that particular reading!
Morrigan snapped their fingers together in recognition, tail swishing behind them proudly.
“I do recall that day!” Morrigan laughed. “I remember the look on his face when I told him what the cards divined, as well. Now, would we consider that scamming him of all his coin… or would we consider that opening a career path he might not have otherwise considered?”
The first one. Definitely the first one.
They wiped a fake tear from their eye, as if the notion was too funny for them to bear. Always a flare for the dramatic, they had. Still. It was nice to meet someone who remembered them from a simpler time, and had gotten a laugh from their schemes rather than ire.
“Well. Regardless, it is wonderful to meet a fan of my work.” She’d never said she was a fan, but… “And a fan who needs my help, to boot! Worry not. I have a wagon parked just at the edge of this beach. I shall rely on you to track them down, come along!”
There was no time to waste; and given the way they took off through the sand, it was clear Morrigan wasn’t the kind of person who fancied standing still for long. They had no clue what these cultists wanted, or why they’d taken control of Miss Elvira, but they had promised their help.
A few minutes later they would come upon Morrigan’s wagon. A large, sparkly thing, covered in tarps and windchimes all meant to draw the eye - and the words MORRIGAN MOONWEAVER’S WAGON OF WONDERS emblazoned on the side in big letters didn’t help matters. The gaudiness of it all aside, it was their only chance to catch up with Elvira’s aggressors. Morrigan whisked the young elven woman inside and pulled themselves up to the front, grabbing Sparkle Blossom’s reins with a mischievous gleam in their eye.
“North we go!”
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