Cormag splashed his freshly shaved face with warm water and sighed. He watched as Morana rummaged through the icebox behind him in the mirror’s reflection, painfully aware the night would not end as he had anticipated. The mage had undoubtedly hexed him or was a master con artist.

“Is that an icebox?” she called from the main room of his tiny flat.

Cormag aggressively turned off the faucet. “You know…”

“Your crystal needs recharging.” She said matter-of-factly.

He snatched a towel off the rack and dried his face as he stepped out of the bathroom.  “When a woman asks a guy to get a room with her, it usually means she’s looking to put out, not freeload.”

Morana drew a glowing blue rune on the darkened crystal and muttered an incantation. The crystal erupts into a brilliant pale blue light as fog wafts off it. Morana quickly drops the stone back into the chest and pulls out a turkey leg.

“Put out what? And I recharged the crystal for you.”

Morana takes a bite out of the drumstick and casually walks around Cormag’s quarters.

Cormag tosses the towel into a hamper. “By all means, help yourself…”

Morana runs her fingers over every surface as she examines the room.

Cormag shuts the lid to the icebox and takes a seat. “What did you do earlier? At the Autum’s Tint?”

Morana shrugged. “Whatever set you upon your path of self-loathing was akin to a shit flinging ape, infecting others with your ill countenance. To continue the metaphor, I got rid of the ape.”

 “huh…Thanks I guess.”

Morana frowned. “Giving someone else your demons is the most selfish, disgustin—”

“I didn’t even know I had demons!” A half-truth at best.

Morana silently scrutinized him for several moments before turning away to peer out the window. “I appreciate your hospitality none the less. I shall depart by tomorrow, in the meantime, if you could direct me to a hot bath it would be appreciated.”

The woman’s audacity continued to take Cormag by surprise, to so casually insult him and then make demands in the same breath, it was like she was a special kind of oblivious. If he was being kind.

 “Who the hell are you?”

Morana turned back to face him, a stoic look upon her face. “I am Morana, and I would very much like a hot bath.”

It was now that Cormag recognized that this woman had no social skills whatsoever. He smiled and pointed towards a door on the other side of the one room apartment. Without a word of thanks, she heads towards the bathroom, shedding her jacket, stockings and blouse along the way. Cormag craned his neck to catch a peek as she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

He was struck by the contrast of her pale white skin and jet-black hair. Her lacey undergarments seemed completely out of character, but still oddly fitting. Either she was trying to seduce him, or she just did not know any better. Students of the Academy had a reputation for being strange and out of touch.

Cormag idly tipped his half empty glass and offered a flirtatious, if not slightly inebriated, grin to no one in particular. “What do you do Morana? You come from Asketill right?”

 “Yes, and no.” She replied deadpanned. “Much of my training was done in the southern swamps.”

 “The swamps?” Cormag chuckled nervously. “What are you? A necromancer or something?”

Cormag felt his stomach leap into his throat. The rumors of the horrors that occurred in the swamps of Asketill were widespread.

 “Yes, I’m surprised someone such as yourself could make that connection.”

Cormag shuddered, choosing to ignore the slight. Mages he could handle, but this woman, she had spent at minimum ten years in the woods and bogs doing gods know what with corpses and spirits. She could not be much older than twenty, meaning her trials started at a delicate age. What could she have possibly hoped to accomplish as a necromancer? And what kind of parents would subject their daughter to such a life?

Cormag abruptly stood as he paced the room, contemplating the situation he found himself in with his new, albeit temporary, roommate.

 “If you are thinking of peeking,” Morana called out through the closed door, “keep in mind that several necromantic spells and summoning’s require the use of a human phallus. Sir knight.”

Cormag flinched, smiling apprehensively. Perhaps she was not as naïve as he had first assumed.

“Just call me Cormag. I haven’t been a knight for several years now.”

 “Yet still you wear the uniform? Is that not a sacrilegious act?”

In truth, Cormag had very little by way of clothing, he had sold his fine court clothing months ago to cover rent and drinking expenses, and all he had remaining was the vestment of a soldier. With a sigh, he leaned his back against the door frame, crossing his arms before him.

 “I’m not here to peek, I’d just like to ask some questions.”

Water splashes in the room, but otherwise, he gets no response.

“What brings you to Hallthor?”

“I’m on my way to Xanavene. Apparently, that’s where I was born.”

Cormag felt his blood run cold. Xanavene. If he never saw or heard of that gods forsaken country again, it would be too soon.

 “I started with a dream to see my parents, but I doubt they are even still alive.”

 “So why do you still want to go?”

There was a long pause before Morana replied. “I’ve come this far; I don’t want my efforts to go to waste.”

It was an honest, though unexpected answer. There was obviously more to the story than she let on, but the same could be said for Cormag.