A lone booth sat in the middle of the Zeinavian marketplace, manned by a single fellblood seated behind the booth. Their wares - liquids in a cavalcade of colors all housed within crystal-clear bottles.

Gazing upon the elaborate visage of Morrigan Moonweaver, one might be persuaded to draw any manner of conclusions. A slight stature did not diminish their presence, or the space which they inhabited in a room. Fashionable - if not impractical - clothing. Their body, a delicate lavender inked with confounding designs and symbols that would appear mesmerizing and magical to the untrained eye. Each crafted portion, a brush stroke that made up the broad canvas. A story - though perhaps, the meaning, entirely different than the message they intended to share.

The point being. Maestro, fool, genius, court jester… strangers might be surprised to learn that Morrigan Moonweaver was actually quite the crack-shot when it came to alchemy.

Of course, this was partially because their potions had little value besides the comforts that the placebo effect offered. To put it simply: they were fake.

Snake oil was what paid the bills, after all. Manufacturing fake potions for cheap and marking up manufactured miracles for public consumption was the bread and butter that allowed Morrigan to pursue their true passions. Those whims changed as readily as the direction of the wind, but at least they were comfortable enough to do so. Besides, there was fun to be had in the thrill of the show, the chase of a smile of wonderment and the coin that followed. A lot of hard work went into being a confidence man! You had to choreograph the steps so that they appeared effortless as you glided across the stage.

And Morrigan was good at what they did. So much so that when the opportunity presented itself to join the elusive Golden Consortium, they jumped the opportunity! The seal of the chemist’s guild practically gave their potions the gold star standard in the eyes of the people! With the capitol’s endorsement, the people of Zeinav were basically putty in Morrigan’s hands. Reeling suckers in through the door was as easy as cake!

But you can’t keep this up forever, a traitorous voice taunted. Sooner or later the world is going to close in around you.

A delicate frown cracked the makeup-caked visage, fingers drumming against their thigh. The thought was… bitter in the back of their throat. They clicked their tongue as if to dispel it. The taste remained.

Difficult for it not to linger in the back of their mind, they supposed. Morrigan was hardly what one might describe as ‘consistent’ or ‘reliable’. A creature of habit, they were not. But they did always find old creature comforts in their craft, in playing games with their old friend fate to see who would come out with the spoils. The past few months had been turbulent. Joining a knighthood, slaying an ancient regent of the arcane, the trip to the oasis with Astrid - it left them with a building itch they couldn’t scratch. A restlessness.

A little niggling sensation telling them something wasn’t quite right.

They’d hoped that charming the coin out of some peasants would bring them back to some sense of normalcy. Thus far their enjoyment had been sorely lacking.

With every quiet stretch between clients their mind wandered to the adrenaline of their recent battle - the sting of blood in the back of their throat, desperation like liquid fire in their veins, crimson-painted smile while they wondered who would drop first - them, or the queen.

And then someone would approach the table and the illusion was shattered, and it was back to business as usual.

They’d never considered the possibility that perhaps they’d just… outgrown this venture.

It had happened before. They’d spent their adolescence in the circus before the Dreamscape Bazaar felt too small for them, and their bigger dreams took them elsewhere. When a fish grew too big for their pond, they had to swim upstream… or however the saying went. Such delusions of grandeur had led them here, to their false identity. Posing as a fake wizard had been fun, for a time. Fraught with risks and lies and deceit and near-misses with a lifetime of incarceration. Though after all the ups and downs, Morrigan never imagined they’d simply… grow bored with it all.

So what now?

Last time this happened Morrigan coped with change by finding evidence of the circus’s corruption and getting their old ringmaster arrested for money laundering and fraud before making off quick with the finder’s fee - the small lump sum that would count as the investment to their current fortune. You know. Normal stuff. The thing is, Morrigan knew exactly what they’d wanted to do when they set out to make a name for themselves.

The Wizard was a manifestation of the life they believed they deserved - a smoke and mirrors projection of something they could be if they merely believed hard enough. Lies were as powerful as the truth you put into them, after all. That innocent, naive, beautiful little waif had no idea of the curse that would prevent them from finding that lofty dream they’d clung to all those years.

Now, they had no idea, no plan, and no dream to chase.

And that prospect thrilled them.

A wicked smirk of pearly-white fangs stretched their cheeks. They were adrift in an ocean without a paddle, and it was exhilarating to see where the tide would take them.

But such musings were tomorrow’s problem. For now, they had stock to sell, and people to scam. If they were going to torch this venture on a whim they were going to need the funds to do so.

How did the saying go? Once more for old time’s sake?

Morrigan could play that game.

Pulling themselves to their feet, vigor renewed, they raised their voice to address the crowd over the clamor of voices and screaming vendors - other sharks in the water. “In need of miracle remedies? Master cures? Dragons burning your homes, or pesky fae tearing up your gardens? Have no fear! The solution is here!”

With their forked tail they tapped at the sign next to them:

MORRIGAN MOONWEAVER’S MIRACLE CURES!

The moniker Wizard of the Wastes was absent.

How strange it was being back in Zeinav. Could she call this a homecoming of sorts? No, not really. While the dry desert air and scorching sun were painfully familiar, they didn’t feel like home at all. But if this wasn’t it, then what was home to her? It certainly wasn’t the tribe she had left behind months ago, and neither was it Sol City, where she had spent most of her time since. But it wasn’t the verdant grasslands of King’s Valley, or the lush forests of Moonglade, either. So where was her home? Did she even have one? Probably not... The thought saddened her somehow, even though it had never really bothered her before.

Looking back, the only time she had truly felt save and comfortable had been that evening spent chatting away with Baird, or the day she had brewed potions for Beist. Oh! Or the many many nights spent curled up with Zeke next to her, just telling him about all her thoughts and feelings. The little lizard was currently perched on her shoulder and she gave his head a gentle stroke. He was certainly enjoying the desert heat a lot more than she was. A smile played around Mimi’s lips as she recalled the many happy memories of their time spent together. As long as he was by her side she didn’t need a physical home.

With the dark thoughts thus banished a little spring returned into her step as she roamed the sandy streets of the city, her reason for returning now once more at the forefront of her mind: alchemy! Or, more precisely, she had learn that a rare ingredient exclusively grew in the (slightly) colder months in the desert, and that only alchemists from Zeinav knew how to prepare the plant in a way that gave it potent healing properties, rather than acting as a poison. Apparently the secret was well guarded, but Mimi was determined to find those with the knowledge and convince them to teach her.

It was surprising for her to realise, that she actually believed she could accomplish this goal. When she first set out on her journey she’d had so little confidence, she had expected herself to stumble at every opportunity. And of course she had stumbled. A lot. But she always got back up again and continued on. If there was one thing she’d learnt on her journey it was that, with enough determination, she could accomplish anything she set her mind to. And determination was one thing she had plenty of.

Finally reaching the city’s High Market she began looking around. If she hoped to find clues on who might hold information on alchemical secrets, this market was her best chance to find them. The huge space at the heart of the city was as packed as ever. Stalls, tents, travelling merchants selling goods from their bulging backpacks, musicians and dancers, shoppers in beautiful flowing garbs and ragged street urchins all packed together side by side. Every inch of the square begged for the attention of potential customers; colourful displays, magically glowing signs, vendors crying out their wares and the mouth watering scents of different foods all mixed together to assault every one of Mimi’s senses at once.

She picked Zeke off her shoulder and placed him in his customary spot within her messy hair, worried that he might fall off and get lost in this mass of people. Her short height was both a curse and a blessing in a space like this. For one, she could quickly dart in and out of small spaces that weren’t even apparent to most people. On the other hand, most shoppers were not looking down when they moved within in dense crowd and often overlooked her. If she wasn’t fast enough in moving from one space to another, she frequently got jostled, stepped on, or even knocked over.

It was rather difficult to weave around the crowd while still searching the various shops for what she was looking for, but finally she found it! The sign boldly declared: “Morrigan Moonweaver’s miracle cures!” and the booth it was advertising was completely laden with bottles upon bottles filled with potions of varying colours. Jackpot. 

Mimi squeezed past several pairs of legs and was forcefully ejected from the crowd, coming to a stumbling halt and having to catch herself on the edge of the booth. The soft clinked of glass could be heard as her weight rattled the table, but luckily she didn’t hit the booth with enough force to actually knock anything over.

With the tabletop being at about chest height for her small stature, she could not see the wares at the back very well, but even those at the front made her eyes widen in wonder. She had never seen such a huge assortment of different potions in her life. Many of them had the distinctly red colouring typical for healing potions, but even those sported all manner of different shades, from translucent and bright, to the dark rich red of wine, to some that seemed to swirl within their bottles by their own volition. Apart from these, there were so many potions Mimi could not even begin to guess what their effects might be. From a single drop of blue liquid in a tiny vial, to a large flask of midnight black, that seemed to shimmer with the light of a thousand stars.
Oh yes, Mimi had absolutely come to the right place.