Harsh Zeinavian sun pounded upon the sands, a white-coated mirror that made heat linger in the air for far longer than it ought to. Oh, the woes of the desert. Even in the late of fall where seasons changed and death permeated the air while the world prepared to be reborn anew, Zeinav persisted… like a hangover after a night of debauchery. These lands were not for the faint of heart.

It was the one place in the world that Morrigan Moonweaver could consider home. Cruel and fickle mistress she was, but those who had been made within her arid dunes and empty planes came out hungrier - scavengers, beggars, thieves, gamblers, liars, devourers of mortal sin, all under Solaria’s blanket of depravity - a sun that lured you in with hallucinations of everything you’d ever dreamed of. Grandeur, respite, shade, lovers, fortune, water… all while you were robbed of the very air from your lungs. And oh, the allure beckoned. Pearly-white sands curled and shifted with promise under summer winds. How far were you willing to travel to find your Shangri La; were you willing to die trying?

Few desert-dwellers were as deplorable or wild-willed as the so-called Wizard of the Wastes. Born, made, and reforged within the White Sand Sea, a selfish monster born from a life of lack. Even as they outgrew all their ambition, navigating the desert sands within the comfort of their wagon was second nature at this point. The blood of wanderers and scalpers flowed within their veins. Even with a room in the Desert Rose Apothecary, a comfortable and stable life in Kvasir’s home, Morrigan never did feel so alive as when they were scouring the sands, flitting from oasis to oasis.

One had to learn how to endure the scorching heat to find the desert’s treasures that lay at the end of the journey.

Even Morrigan had a hard time believing in this rumor, though.

An oasis that shows you your deepest loves? That has to be some sort of trick!

Morrigan had heard of heat-sickness that showed you false bodies of water, or the illusion of shade. But never some sort of collective madness wherein one created an entire visage of a lover, or their most treasured family member, or their best friend. Of course, magic was a possibility. And that was precisely why the village folk had requested regional hero and local legend - Morrigan Moonweaver, Great Wizard of the Wastes, blah, blah, blah, plus some new titles including but not limited to Sunsplitter and Fae Insurrectant - to investigate it.

And let’s be real. Morrigan didn’t actually expect to find anything truly dangerous, so they had absolutely no qualms accepting the proposition for a little bit of delicious coin. If this was magical in nature then it was likely another fae circle and Morrigan would get away with just snipping some pesky plants, saving the day, and receiving praise and accolades for the bare minimum. With their powerful mana-leeching capabilities, Morrigan could handle any prospective risk that came their way!

Admittedly, their recent encounter with the fae queen had left them entirely overconfident regarding their abilities.

As far as massive ego went, it wasn’t the worst in the world. At least this bout of narcissism was rooted in something they actually did, even if it would come back to bite them in the ass all the same.

But consequences would come later. At present Morrigan was preoccupied with being rather lackadaisical about the task at hand as the Wagon of Wonders bumped up the sand dune, coming to a halt in front of the still body of water surrounded by idyllic palm trees. The empty horizon seemed to shudder as dust and sand settled, the colorful vehicle sticking out like a sore thumb. That, and…

“Oh, come on!”

Morrigan groaned as they peeked their head out the back of their wagon, finally spotting the great big splotchy thing that marked the otherwise unblemished sands. A nebulous, amorphous - well, calling it a shape wouldn’t be entirely accurate - that made their arms break out in gooseflesh and a shiver run down their spine.^[1]

There was never a time they felt emptied than when confronted with the unmistakable surge of powerful magic.

A distortion.

The charlatan’s nose wrinkled as they grabbed a pair of rose-colored spectacles and a glass of sweet cactus wine (it was five-o-clock somewhere in the world!) before disembarking from their wagon. One hand slipped the spectacles over their nose while they regarded what could only be described as a rift in reality.^[2]

“Is it too much to ask for an easy job where I get paid to do nothing?” They grumbled, irritably.

The rift itself seemed to reflect the oasis around it - like a mirror had been held in front of the water and doubled it over. If Morrigan squinted they thought they could see a bright crimson sun burning within, rays of light fragmented and folding within themselves over and over and over again. Just looking at it for too long made a headache build in the back of their temples. By all accounts it almost resembled a normal mirage, and yet, the longer and longer they stared at it, the more inconsistencies with reality they noticed, the more impossibilities, incongruent details that shouldn’t have existed, shouldn’t make sense -

Just like the distortions in the fae Queen’s realm.

“… You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Morrigan took a long swig of their cactus wine, already thoroughly irritated at this point. They’d hoped with the Queen’s death that all of this magical trickery bullshit would be over and done with. They should have been the only maestro of mayhem in these parts, damnit! Besides, visions of loved ones? What kind of stupid prank was that? It certainly wasn’t a funny or an entertaining one.

There wasn’t even a guarantee they could do anything about it. Morrigan didn’t have any loved ones. There was someone they loved, but they knew where his heart lay. And other than that… it wasn’t as if they’d put real effort to cultivating relationships their whole life. Up until quite recently they’d been more concerned with burning bridges rather than making them.

It was entirely possible that no cherished ones would be found at this oasis for Morrigan Moonweaver.

And if this distortion was anything like the one in the fae realm, Morrigan couldn’t really do anything to get in on their own. During that battle, they’d had the advantage of having enemies born naturally of the realm to take advantage of, but here, they didn’t have the raw magic that might be required to break through the distortion.

Of course, they could attempt to break it apart with their curse, or enter the magical rift anyways, but Morrigan had something a lot more practical in mind.

May as well sunbathe until their ‘loved ones’ showed up.

Mind settled, Morrigan shrugged off their silk overcoat and set it down on the sand like a blanket, making themselves comfortable. Their magic-induced headache was already abating with another sip of sweet wine.

Ah, this was the life. They may as well take advantage of the silent, empty property while the rift was still here driving people away. And there was no point taking care of it while they were still tense.

The problem would still be there after an afternoon catnap. They’d get to it eventually.

---

1. Witcher Pitcher Tattoo
2. Arcane Glasses

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: World of Wonder
Participants: Exactly Two
Location: One of the listed locations below
Post Requirements: 5 posts per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +2 Renown, 1 Mystical Archive Ticket
Description: At each location, where there once sat a beautiful ring of flowers, now sits a literal rip in space - a portal of raw magic that seems to be leaking into Charon. This portal is unstable and does not seem to connect directly to the Land of Wonder, but instead a small pocket of space, like a tunnel. The Crown is asking you to enter one of these portals and record what you find, while staying careful not to disturb anything there. The Crown is not interested in making enemies out of the Fae.

You are stepping into the unknown, but in order to protect the people of Charon, we must be aware of their potential. Scholars believe the Fae are here to stay, and if we are to be successful in integrating them, we must learn fast. Don't stay too long or get yourself into trouble, record what you find and come back home!

ZEINAV DESERT

A ripple in space lies near the Oasis and connects to a small pocket of the Land of Wonder. Once you step through the portal you will find yourself near a much smaller, empty Oasis, much like the one you left. Sand extends in every direction for what feels like forever, and the Oasis seems devoid of people at first. However, after spending only a few moments here, shadowy figures will slowly start to approach from the desert and drink at the water. These figures will take on the appearance and personality of important people from your past, such as family, friends, enemies or loved ones. The figures can be interacted with.

Sand isn’t Astrid’s favorite thing in the world. It’s coarse and gets everywhere, especially between every crack in her armor. As many layers as she tends to wear, the desert ends up being especially hot. At least she has the benefit of her armor locket, so she doesn’t have to wear her armor all the time, but it’s always handy when she needs it. Today is one of those days, so she dresses as light as possible while still being comfortable.

In times like these Astrid finds herself wishing she learned more wind magic to keep herself cool, but a few loose casts of ice magic tends to help. Besides, her hammers are both quite cold because of the runic magic within them. Thank Avasha because she’d probably suffocate otherwise. At least with the forge at home, she can step away or outside to get a breath of fresh air. The desert, however, is just heat forever and always until night hits.

Still, with the situation surrounding the fae queen’s appearance, it seems like the flower circles around Charon have shifted and changed, and not many people are itching to jump through a portal to a mystery location. Astrid, however, is not one of those people. She (presumably) has ways to get home.

The strange thing about the investigation so far is the rumors about this oasis showing someone their deepest loves or desires or something, and even more concerningly, they already have someone investigating: the infamous Wizard of the Wastes. Why is it always Morrigan? Actually, this could be good. Morrigan might finally have to admit they care deeply about some people. Oh yes, this could be good.

Somehow, Astrid isn’t all that surprised to find the so-called “wizard” napping near the empty oasis. At this point, she isn’t even exasperated. This kind of behavior is just expected out of the dumbass. Well, if they’re going to be lazy, she’s going to take advantage of it. With a little bit of magic, Astrid lifts herself into the air and lazily floats over Morrigan,^[1] her small form casting a shadow over their sleeping purple body. She props her chin in one hand and tries to decide exactly how she’s going to mess with them today. A bucket of water would be too obvious. Hmm…

Suddenly, a sly grin spreads across her face, and Astrid manifests her ice cold warhammer.^[2] Then with a gentle motion, she lowers it so the haft lays across their lap. Astrid knows exactly how weak Morrigan is after her experience in their body. A hammer as heavy as hers will trap them without much issue, she figures. After the ice-cold hammer with its haft-slash-lap bar is laid across Morrigan, Astrid reaches down and presses her finger into their nose.

“Some great adventurer you are, sleepin’ on the job,” she scolds.

---

1. Flight
2. Spellblade - Always There

Just five more minutes, Morrigan convinced themselves. Just a little longer under the sun and then I shall… get to work.

The funny thing about the sun was that it was so terribly warm and inviting, and who was Morrigan to deny her seductive pull? It was not long before they found themselves drifting away, their impromptu sunbathing becoming an impromptu catnap.

Could you blame them? Being a hero of the realm and all, they figured that they deserved a little R&R, so to speak. Besides, the sandy dunes were so comfortable, and with the enormous magical rift keeping tourists and locals away, they practically had their own private waterfront property in front of them.

And so they began to relax…

Sights and sounds and sensations eluded them. Morrigan was adrift, weightless,, formless. Sands melted around them as if they were dripping through an hourglass, a steady soft hissing sound filling their ears where the ground shifted beneath their awareness. Swirling, sinking, pulling downwards, pulling the earth into a yawning, cavernous mass that lay below. Morrigan could feel it - the hunger - gnawing in the pit of their stomach, black tendrils pulsating upwards, searching for a form to latch onto, to consume -

They closed their eyes and the scene changed, the hunger silenced. Emptiness was replaced with the sensation of uproarious laughter. Colors and flashing lights swirled around them in a maelstrom of mortal delights. The warmth, the constant motion, entropy driving it to grow bigger, brighter, grander. Home? No, it couldn’t be. It hadn’t been for a long time. Not since they tore it down –

”What the hell are you doing here?"

They whirled around, spotting a woefully familiar face in the crowd, fabric skirts bundled in wrinkled hands as she barreled straight towards them, a hatred unlike any other blazing in her eyes as she screamed, “You don’t belong here! Get out-!”

And then Madam Medb’s head elongated and morphed, turning into a horse-

Something solid and cold struck them like a block of frigid ice.

“I didn’t do it!”

Morrigan jolted awake, so rudely pulled from slumber. Their exit from dreamland was so graceless that for the briefest instant, they forgot where they’d been before drifting off. The fellblood glanced around wildly, expecting to see a prison cell or a handful of guards or even a crowd of vengeful money-grabbers who’s been angry enough that they were gullible enough to have fallen for another one of their crock of lies, or whatever.

What Morrigan found instead were sandy oasis beaches, a balmy desert afternoon, a tear in the fabric of spacetime, and something much worse than anything they’d listed above.

“Oh, it’s you.” Morrigan leaned back across their makeshift sash-turned blanket, settling back into the sand. What the hell was Astrid Stormstone doing here? Morrigan had already been hired for the job here by local officials, so unless they didn’t trust the caliber of the fellblood’s work (which was an absolutely reasonable assumption to make), there was no reason to send someone else to finish what they’d started – okay, well, were planning on starting –

Wait a minute.

Wasn’t this meant to be the oasis that showed you your loved ones?

“Oh, come on! Seriously? Astrid Stormstone, of all people?” Morrigan bemoaned. There was no way in the world of worlds that, out of the handful of people the charlatan could ever consider a friend, a confidante, a cherished one, the Hellion was here instead? They abruptly pulled themselves into a sitting position – or at least, they tried to, before the hammer obstructing their lap prevented them from doing so.

… Huh. So this was real.

Which meant maybe she was too.

Squinting, Morrigan leaned forward, putting the palm of her hand experimentally against of her face. Only when they found it was solid did Morrigan exhale. “Oh, thank Ginma you’re not an illusion.”

Said relief was short-lived when they realized the alternative meant Astrid was actually here in the flesh.

Oh, the humanity.

“Oi, I was going to take care of it! Eventually.” Morrigan crossed their arms over their chest, sticking their tongue out at her. “Getting my beauty sleep is part of my process. But if you don’t remove this glorified rock from my lap, I’ll never be able to actually take care of the problem. We’ll never know if I really could have been a hero now, hmm?”

Come to think of it, what was Astrid doing here? Last they checked, the city officials had hired the Wizard of the Wastes for the job, not some pint-sized little brat.

“And what are you doing here, tormenting some innocent fellblood rather than taking care of the problem?” They countered, as childish as ever. Still, there was something… different in its undercurrent. Loathe as Morrigan was to admit it, they’d fought side by side, risking their lives for one another. That changed someone. It changed how you looked at them.

Astrid Stormstone was a terror and a hothead and definitely shouldn’t be allowed to have as much power as she had access to. But she was also… a good kid. The world ate good kids alive and spit out bastards. At least that was what they’d always believed was the case, because that was what the world had done to them, and surely it would not be cruel enough to deprive them of the kindness it gave other people. It made them bitter. It made them take and take until the world had nothing left to give but its poison; the only thing they deserved.

Perhaps, for Astrid, things would be different.

When Morrigan bemoans her appearance and then consequently checks that she’s real by making an ill-thought attempt to touch her face, Astrid decides she has one of two options: slap their hand away, or lean into it to make it oh, so much worse. The latter is funnier. Astrid presses her face into Morrigan’s hand with a snarky smirk on her freckled face. “Awww, ya thought the weird magic oasis made me appear in front a’ ya? I didn’t know ya loved meeeee,” she taunts before propping her face in her own hand whilst floating in the air above them, so rudely obstructing the sun from reaching them.

She looks even less impressed by them calling her hammer a glorified rock. “Insult me all ya like, but me hammer’s a different story.” With her other hand, Astrid reaches down and puts a little more pressure on the haft laid across Morrigan’s lap to be at least vaguely threatening. “Fixin’ this wouldn’t make ya a hero. Ya technically already got that title fightin’ the fae queen, ya know.” Loathe as she is to admit it, Morrigan’s help was actually… Well, help. They earned the right to the title of hero probably more than any other title they claim to have. Still, she keeps a straight face as she says it matter-of-factly.

“I’m here ta check it out. Tormentin’ you is just a bonus,” Astrid says, sitting upright midair and leaning into Morrigan’s face with the same smug smirk from before. She presses their nose into their face again then drops to the ground beside them and effortlessly lifts the hammer over her shoulder. “But since I’m here, ya might as well get ta work investigatin' this portal with me, yeah? Or are ya scared ya might finally have ta admit ya care about folks when they appear inside fer ya?”