Guandao was in dire straits.

The Crescent Isles held a lot of value as a country dedicated to trade and other mercantile pursuits. Their position in the sea was precisely why Moonglade held so much value in their ally – plenty of natural resources that were impossible to get anywhere else, families of artisanal shipbuilders, ocean’s bounties as far as the eye could see. Easy to make a fortune there. Easy to suck it dry of is resources.

One could not blame the Isles for tugging against their tight leash.

Being from Zeinav City, Morrigan Moonweaver had no particular horse in this race. Because they liked to keep abreast of knowledge and little juicy tidbits that might be useful for them, they kept their ear to the ground. They knew all about the little riots, the insurrectors who fought against the crown and the government that would have them remain dogs to an uncaring ruler that sought to make them conform and erase all traces of their culture. And yes, they were even aware of the mounting pressure that the government was under, and the growing threat to their coffers.

But actually caring about their societal welfare? Hell would likely be frozen over before you got Morrigan to care about a cause that was just utterly unrelated to their own self interests.

The riots did pose an interesting idea, though.

All this money, just sitting there gathering dust; money that would either go to the hands of an uncaring emperor or that of his angry people. Money that would probably spark a civil war… which would not only be wasteful, but a bit of a bummer, wouldn’t you think? That entire storeroom, and a group of domestic terrorists with a vendetta. The perfect crime, the ideal scapegoat. Surely, they wouldn’t miss just a little skimmed off the top of their generous coin purse? Surely, they were so blinded by the glint of their silver and gold that it wouldn’t matter if a lovable – but ultimately harmless – little shit wound up pocketing some of that wealth to fund their own exploits?

This was, of course, serious government treason Morrgan was considering, but you take one look at them and tell me if they’ve ever taken a second out of their life to consider the ramifications of their actions.

What they did consider, of course, was the enormity of the scope of what they were thinking of undertaking. Morrigan needed solars – if they truly were going to pursue this impulsive, half-baked idea they’d come up with, their own fortune from years in the snake oil game just wasn’t going to cut it. Yet they were one adorable, dainty fellblood. Even as talented as they were without even a single drop of magic within their body, Morrigan didn’t much fancy the perils of attempting to rob a treasury on their own.

Hence, their most recent, genius idea.

See, there was a saying they had back in the circus. Teach a man to work, he would perform hard labor for the sum of his life to find satisfaction in his life. Teach a man to steal, and he’d simply take for the man who knew how to work with far less effort and far more pleasure.

So: why steal it yourself when you could cobble together a talented strike team to perform the deed, under the guise of a training simulation?

This was, perhaps, one of the most delicate balancing acts Morrigan had ever designed for themselves. This wasn’t lying to someone about their own products and services. This was finding fools who were naïve enough to believe when they were being sold something, yet competent enough to carry out tasks commanded to them, and break into a treasury and steal gold without knowing they were to be made thieves. Robbery was so boring and pedestrian. Pulling the greatest prank of all – turning others into unwilling accomplices – that was more befitting of their talents, with less risk of chipping a nail in the process.

They’d spent weeks putting out feelers, microtweaking what seemed like an acceptable cover story. Morrigan Moonweaver, genius alchemist, knight of the realms, and all that fell in between, was offering classes for prospective students who wished to learn cunning survival skills within an interactive training environment. Ideally, the suckers – students - would walk straight through the treasury and aid Morrigan in robbing them blind without knowing they’d ever been complicit in a crime. Then they’d just pin it on these raiders, and boom! The plan would go off without a hitch.

(Things with Morrigan rarely ever did.)

There was just one teensy-tiny flaw in the plan.

Only three people had shown up in response to Morrigan’s advertisement.

The fellblood blinked, as if trying to convince their eyes that the folks in front of them were merely hiding a bigger crowd behind. They’d hoped for six people, at the very least! What were they supposed to do with three measly little teens, and untrained ones at that?

Okay. Play it cool, Moonweaver. They could work with this. The real miracle was making princesses out of frogs, even when those frogs were uncoordinated and still learning to hop. They could commit the robbery of a century with these kids.

They clapped their hands together, trying to hide the sweat at their brow. “Alright! Are you kids excited for this masterclass? Be warned, this will be more hands on and exciting than any school you’ve ever attended.”

---

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: When the Wolf Cries
Participants: Two or more
Location: Crescent Isles
Post Requirements: 5 posts per person, 200 words per post
Reward: Ability to take on Part 2, +1 Renown
Description: Grand Chancellor Lao has become inundated with requests from the prosperous trading hub of Guandao City; supposedly, revolts and riots have broken out several times over the last month in and around the silver and gold warehouse sections of the city. The miners, smiths, and craftsman alike have all had grievances over this matter, all believing their livelihood has come into question. The Grand Chancellor has tasked various adventurers with discovering who may or may not be fomenting unrest in the city. All that has been asked of you is to locate one of the many people who have been the root of the riots. Question locals, investigate the riots, and get to the bottom of the disruptions. All signs so far point to the Royal Office of Treasure and Commerce itself, possibly over fear that the Gold and Silver industry is gaining too much power over the others. Your investigation will uncover that the Crown is causing this unrest due to fears of the growing economic strength of the Isles.

Luzien sighed heavily, his eyes staring into the distance without focus, contemplating every single choice he had made in his life that had led him to be standing here in front of this flamboyant fellblood. Why, oh why, did he always have to give in to his sister’s impulsive demands? Survival lessons? Pah! They had survived just fine on their own the past few years. He really didn’t see the point of taking lessons all of a sudden. And now that he got his first look of their supposed teacher, looking fanciful enough to step out onto a stage rather than survive the night in the wilderness he was completely sure that this was an utter waste of their time, if not an outright scam. 

But, unfortunately, logic did not apply to Helia’s impulsive decision making. The moment her eyes had caught sight of the large, flashy poster advertising this lesson in bold lettering and bright colours her mind had been set, and no argument he made could persuade her otherwise. Not even when he had pointed out that there was glitter on the poster. Glitter! For a survival lesson, dammit! And now they were stuck here with this glittery explosion of a teacher and... Luzien glanced over at the only other student with them in the room. A dark skinned, white haired young elven woman with scars and a fierce expression on her face. Heck, she looked more suitable to head this lesson than their teacher by a mile. Maybe they should suggest they’d swap roles. Oh! Or maybe the first part of this supposedly very practical lesson was to spot that their teacher was a fake and the real teacher was mingled among the crowd of students. Not that there was a crowd but... still that must be it!

He shared his thoughts with his sister through their telepathic link, expecting her to agree with his observations. Instead Helia just scoffs.
No way. You can tell the fellblood is the real deal by how fabulous they look even with all the shit going on around this area. I would kill to be this put together after a night of camping outside.
You can't be serious. being able to don nice clothes has nothing to do with survival and you should know that, considering we are kind of experts in that matter by now. Also, on that point: why are we taking this class again?
Hey, I thought you have a thing for fancy snobs as long as they're pretty. What’s your problem all of a sudden? Helia smirked, reminding her brother of their recent run in with Nieven and how he had totally had a crush on that airheaded elf.

Before their argument could devolve any further the fellblood addressed the class, asking if they’re excited for the lesson. Luzien bristles at being addressed as “kids” but decides against voicing his opinions out loud when he sees his sister nodding excitedly with a sparkle in her eyes. He guessed he could put up with this for a little longer, if it did really make her this happy. At the very least they’d have a funny story to tell after this disaster had played out.

As far as bad hiding spots went, this wasn’t the worst she’d ever picked. Whatever the gathering was for, she figured she could slip in, stay a while, and be gone once the angry merchants dropped their pitchforks. As far as bad ideas went, this was probably high on the list--if she ever bothered to make one.

Cunning survival skills with an interactive training environment? Sounds like a typical day in her life.

But the world was a lot bigger than her streets in Frost Gale. No matter how nimble her fingers were, how familiar she was with the twists and turns of her hometown, or how sharp her eye was for picking out the rich from the poor, Eva knew she wasn’t enough. She’d felt invincible back when she was hidden behind the familiar walls of home, surrounded by her shelter. But then the illusion shattered, and she started meeting new faces... And new challenges that brought different threats with them.

If she wanted to seek out her parents, she had to be better. That meant refining the things she thought she was already good at. Surviving a day in Frost Gale was different from surviving a rebellion. Escaping a guard’s blade wasn’t the same as picking a fight with a demon. Eva could be proud, but pride didn’t blind her to the fact that she wasn’t where she needed to be just yet.

Her eyes drifted down to her shadow, shrinking under the bright light, almost intimidated by the event ahead. Her shelter, her comfort, the key to her invisibility—besides blending in as the most forgettable person anyone could meet. Her instincts screamed to hide at the first sign of danger, but the more people she met, the more that old fire inside her started to stir.

I want to be stronger. I want to make a change. I want to find the answers to my identity. I can’t do it as I am now. I can’t be who I am.

Her survival up until now had been a game of luck. She knew every new day would bring more risks. If she kept hiding from time’s lessons, she wasn’t going to survive for long.

A child still held some power, whether through pity or compassion. But the older Eva got, the more obstacles she would face.

So. A class on survival. Whatever circumstances had led her here, she wasn’t about to pass it up. Her master was also a fellblood, a man of renown, his strength spoken of long before she met him. That’s what had driven her to demand he teach her the ways of the blade.

The one standing before her, though… didn’t look like the expert in stealth she’d expected. Or in battle, for that matter. Her one seeing eye lingered on them, sizing them up. The first thing Eva noticed was their outfit: loud, flamboyant, and shimmering like a jewel thief who’d forgotten to bring the thief part of the job description. It screamed look at me in a way that would get someone caught the second they tried sneaking into a treasury.

Their voice carried across the clearing like a town crier during a festival, all dramatic flair and unnecessary volume. Their posture was all wrong--no tension in their shoulders, no sharp glance scanning for danger. They stood like someone expecting the world to part for them, not like someone prepared to duck and roll if things went sideways.

As they gestured wildly during their introduction, Eva couldn’t help but notice their hands, delicate and manicured, not a callus or scar in sight. Definitely no sign they’d ever lifted a blade, or anything heavier than a quill, for that matter.

But looks could be deceiving. The confidence Morrigan exuded wasn’t the calculating, quiet kind Eva respected. It was reckless. Loud. Almost amusing, though there was no hint of amusement on her face as she listened to the introduction of this 'class.' The only other two people in the room seemed to be a disgruntled guy and a starry-eyed enthusiast.

Her gaze flicked over the tall, brooding figure of Luzien, who looked like he was one polite word away from bursting into flames of indignation. Eva could practically hear his internal monologue of complaints. The girl, on the other hand, was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes sparkling with wonder and defiance, a mix of someone who’d spent a lifetime being told no, only to live purely out of spite.

Eva had met dreamers before... The kind who’d charge into a dragon’s lair just for the aesthetic. The two seemed to complement each other perfectly: the brother, the brakes; the sister, the engine. Fuelled by pure chaos. Eva found herself oddly curious about how their day would turn out between the three of them making up an odd trio. And a shiny fellblood who seemed like they suited a stage better than a war zone.

She stretched her arms, eyeing Morrigan with a critical gaze, sizing them up. "You sure about that? You don’t exactly scream 'survival expert.' More like 'noble caught in a rainstorm.'"

It was almost a challenge, daring the teacher to prove themselves. Eva didn’t really need Morrigan to validate their role, but the thought entertained her, especially after catching an equally doubtful look from one of the only other three people in the room. It could be that the noble appearance the fellblood was projecting was just a ruse, after all, sometimes standing out was the best way to blend in. Still, she was curious to see what they would do in the face of such doubt and defiance. There might be a fun lesson in it, one Eva wouldn’t mind learning.

While the young dark elf was far from impressed, she couldn’t help the curiosity bubbling beneath her exterior. She’d survived just fine without a school up until now. But maybe, just maybe, she could learn how to do it with a little more style.

Admittedly, Morrigan did not look the sort who should ever be teaching that class. They liked to think of it as defying expectations. In reality they probably looked a bit of a jackass.

That in of itself was something that had helped them survive three decades of life acting as recklessly as they did. Better one see behind the mask and imagine a fool than spot a mastermind. Such a layer of protection afforded any confidence man some measure of forgiveness or even tolerance – an audience always loved watching a jester dance. Their teacher, the great Madam Medb, had equipped them with the ability to take on any visage that was needed of them at any given moment and any situation. Grand wizard, bard, circus freak, arrogant fool… people saw what they needed to see, and playing into such illusions suited Morrigan just fine.

While it was a worthwhile tool to aid them in getting out of scrapes, it was not inspiring much confidence in the students they’d accrued.

Not that they were inspiring much confidence in Morrigan. Just look at the state of them. A bunch of edgy teenagers, all elven based on their ears and their sharp features. All three looked like literal children, but for all Morrigan knew, they could be centuries older than the fellblood. Though based on the fact they’d all fallen for a shady poster advertising such a vague nothing of a promise, Morrigan could only assume they were young. But now that they were here, reality had clearly proven different than the dream, and Morrigan could read the second thoughts and doubts inscribed in their furrowed brows and set faces like an open book.

Oh, but the young woman – the girl with coal-black hair and an eager grin on her face, in stark contrast to her twin brother – she was clearly buying into it. Morrigan could work with that. Weak links and all.

Their meeting place likely didn’t help matters. Rather than some abandoned safehouse or storeroom, Morrigan had given students the address for a local teahouse. Some overpriced fancy place that was clearly constructed as a facsimile of local culture by Sol City natives. Rather than an authentic meal, this rich café was designed to provide a grand experience rather than an authentic one. It was a kitschy experience that no Crescent Islander would be caught dead in, and so it was filled only with rich tourists. That suited their purposes nicely… less chance of prying ears, and no guard presence. Not to mention they had spiced Zeinavian biscuits to die for, a plate of which were sitting half-eaten on the table.

Morrigan leaned forward and delicately plucked a cookie from the pile between two ring-clad fingers. They popped it in their mouth and settled back in their seat. Haughty. Arrogant. A king atop their throne, believing themselves to be invulnerable to insurgents wielding the knife. Fat and happy on their own success.

“Well? Don’t be shy, take what you wish. Otherwise these perfectly good biscuits will go to waste.”

They paused, hand hovering in the air halfway between their mouth and stealing another biscuit when a thought occurred to them. “Oh, they’re not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just a little pre-class snack.” What was the point of conning these kids into committing a robbery on their behalf if they couldn’t enjoy a little of the fine things that life had to offer?

No – Morrigan was not versed in survival in the way that their audience was They’d never known hunger save the deep-rooted desire to scrape for greatness that had been denied to them. Morrigan did know the streets, and they’d learned to flourish in their own way. By taking advantage of anything and everything they could get their hands on and throwing away every single scruple they might have had before.

Perhaps it wasn’t what they imagined, but these kids might learn a thing or two from their odd teacher. Not to fall for the flattering words and flashy posters designed by lavender fellbloods, for instance.

Finally, one of the kids – the one with the scarred eye and the darker skin, Morrigan honestly hadn’t learned their names yet if they’d even offered them – broke the silence. Daring to challenge their authority. She was absolutely right in doing so, but the audacity of poking holes in their lies made Morrigan’s smile twitch.

The fellblood took a long sip of their tea and set down the empty mug.

“That’s fair, that’s fair.” Morrigan offered in affixed placation. Better to give the appearance that they recognized and wanted to address these concerns in a professional manner, all to make themselves appear more legitimate. “Rest assured, I was not born into wealth. Everything you see upon my person – the glamor, the regality – it was acquired by my own two hands. I earned my spot at the table.”

Eva might be surprised to learn this was not exactly a lie. Kaivalya, poor little bastard they were, had only grown up knowing the minor comforts of traveling merchants. All they knew was that they wanted more. Building Morrigan Moonweaver from dirt took hard effort and years of skimping and scraping and learning the ways of the con.

Fingers dipped in silver danced across the table as Morrigan tapped out a melody. Even sitting still, they never once stopped moving – elegant card shark’s hands bore not the nicks and callouses of a knife, but alchemical burns covered in makeup, talons that were painted in such a pretty color to distract you from the poison that Morrigan had mixed into the polish.

These kids had learned to survive the way prey animals learned to hide from predators that lurked in the bushes. Morrigan thrived like a leech.

“My methods might be unconventional, but there are many ways to survive. What I intend to impart you with is a different kind of poison. How not just to live, but to thrive – how to take what you need from the world and make use of to climb out of any pit.”

They tilted their head, flashing the kids a lazy smile full of pearly-white teeth, perfect and poised, and utterly fake.

“It is only natural for a student to question the master, though. So if it will ease your worries t see my skills in action before we depart, then I will happily provide a demonstration.” Two fingers were raised, beckoning the kids in a universal gesture of ‘come at me’. Not just an unfounded provocation, but something that was utterly insane to ask for in the middle of a crowded café – if they thought it was initially a joke, they would all too quickly come to learn that Morrigan was entirely serious.

“Let’s see it. Show me what you’ve got.”