Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonlance or anything associated with it.
A/N: In the last few pages of the hard cover Dragons of a Vanished Moon it tells a little about the gods. Under Morgion I found something about the All-Saints War. It said that during the war he lost all that he prized and I got to thinking about what it could be. He still has power so it couldn't be that and this is what I came up with. I guess this could also explain the hatred between Morgion and Mishakal.
Scars
He looked down at his now scarred hands and then up at the woman standing before him. Surprise was evident on her face and she dropped to her knees before him. All he remembered was her touch as she said a word and then pain, searing pain so unbelievable that it felt like his skin was being ripped off. The truth wasn't far from what it had felt like. His skin was peeling away in clumps and falling to the floor around his feet. Like peeling paint he thought to himself. He brought one hand up to his face and almost put a finger through his cheek. Under his fingers he felt a thin layer of muscle and sinew. He jerked his had away from his face.
"How could you do this?"
"I don't know. Did you try to cast a spell when I touched you?" her voice was soft and awed. He hated her with all his being.
"I was shielding myself. Our powers shouldn't have mixed."
"My shield was down, both of us should have received the brunt of the power unless it was passed through touch."
"What attack was it?"
"Purification. It should have knocked you out and that's it. I can't do that to a person," she paused. "Not unless you were going to attack me with your power. Then the purification would have acted as a shield and bounced it back."
A look of what could have been considered horror came over Morgion's face and told Mishakal what he had meant to do to her. Anger flared inside her and she hissed, "Maybe you deserve this fate then. Better you than me," She snarled sent a surge of power at him and disappeared.
Morgion looked down at his hands again and reached inside of himself to heal the wounds. The skin over his hands healed back to the normal pale flesh and he brought his hands up to his face. It too was whole. He leaned his head forward and pushed his hair back out of his face. He sat in silence for a moment before deciding to get up but as he was about to push himself up he saw that the skin on his hands was starting to fall off. Panicked he pushed up the sleeves on one of his robes and saw that the skin there was falling off too.
'I'm never going to be able to cure it,' he though as he took some of his hair in his hand and watched it thin. The once shinny brown turned dull and scraggly. He closed his hand and pulled gently, strands of hair still clutched in his fist. Slowly he stood and looked around. Lowering his head he thought of his home and soon found himself at the front of his bronze tower. Looking up into the sky he silently made a vow to foil every move Mishakal made if it was the last thing he did. Reaching behind his head he slowly pulled the hood up to cover his face. Within the hood, unknown to him, his eyes slowly changed from their normal chocolate brown and shone red.
