“Xanavene is still a warzone. The new government has done little to bring order or stability outside of the capitol. “

The occupation forces are more interested in manning forts and pillaging resources to be worried about such trivialities as citizens welfare.

 “Why do you want to go to Xanavene, I want a real answer.”

The door opened, and Morana from out of the bathroom wrapped only in a slightly tattered towel. Cormag was annoyed to find himself speechless at the sight of her. He had not been so struck by a woman since….

Morana began to dry her hair with a face towel hanging by the sink. “Suffice it to say, I have demons of my own.”

Silence ensued as he waited in vain for her to elaborate further, and to take in more of her glistening, fresh from the bath form. She was not simply attractive, she was beautiful, the curves of her bodyline were like the hills of Aes Sidhe, perfect in their symmetry, the curve of her waist flowing into the roundness of her rump as if sculpted by a master artisan.

“Fair enough.” Cormag sighed, aware that his mouth was slightly agape.

Morana pouted, cocking out her hip as she impatiently tapped her foot. Cormag had been staring at her with a slack jawed expression for some time now.

 “You don’t strike me as a man easily taken in by lust for carnal pleasures.”

Cormag let a sly grin creep across his lips. “Oh? And what type of man do I strike you as?”

Morana paused to think.

“Your downfall came about in Sarevon. You need to both return and desperately stay away…an important part of you remains on some field of battle or another. It just remains to be seen if that part is of you, or someone else…”

Cormag stood trembling in stunned silence. This woman had either done her homework, or she had missed her calling as a psychic.

 “And how did you come to that conclusion?” If she wanted to play enigmatic games, then he would play.

 “I could see the guilt and regret you carried.” Morana said as she slipped back into the bathroom to get dressed. “I once carried it as well, so I know.”

Her tone and expression had taken a somber turn. The woman was constantly revealing greater depth with each moment they spent together.

“The rest was simple deduction. Thiudoricus led a failed campaign into Sarevon a few years back, roughly the same time you stopped being a knight I imagine.”

 “You are correct,” Cormag admitted begrudgingly as he chewed on his thumb, “something did happen in Sarevon. I do want to return, but fear what I may discover. Or won’t discover. I don’t even know what it is I expect to find when I do get there. If I ever decide to return.”

 “You’ll be going back sooner than you think Sir Cormag.” Morana stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in her academy garb. “I require a guide and escort.”

Cormag waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not a mercenary.”

 “I had no intention of paying you.” She retorted dryly.

The nerve of this woman never ceased to amaze him. She crossed the room to retrieve her guitar and took a seat by the window. Her melody was sorrowful, though not nearly as powerful as anything she played at the tavern.

“Do all necromancers play guitar?" he snapped, hoping to change the subject. "Or are you just special?”

Morana placed her finger to her chin as she thought, a gesture far too cute and innocent for one such as her. “hmm...most play use bells or woodwinds, though I wouldn't quite say I was special in that regard.”

Cormag frowned, he had more questions, but her answers shut down any attempts at conversation. It was more than a little frustrating.

 “I’ll take you to Merik pass, on the border of Xanavene and Thiudoricus, but no further. Dressed as we both are, we are likely to be killed at the border, let alone Sarevon.”

Morana continued to play her mournful song, ignoring him completely. In truth, there was only a small garrison of Thiudorican soldiers stationed at the border. The real problems lay in the nefarious characters and factions that had taken residence in the relative anarchy of Xanavene. All intelligence reports from the country reported there was no military presence outside of a one-hundred-mile radius surrounding the capitol. The rest of the kingdom was ruled by bandits, despots, and war lords.

Just as he considered reopening his inquiry about her reasons for going into that wretched land, he fell silent. Her ebony tresses shined in the enchanting candlelight. Her eyes glowed an other worldly blue, exuding both tranquility and an infinite sorrow. She was completely engrossed by her music, and so too, he was enthralled by her radiance and the melody.

Her song seemed to encapsulate the very essence of grief and sorrow, and he felt himself overcome by a flood of emotion and memories. As tears began to stream down his face, Morana abruptly hits a sour note, breaking the spell. The somber atmosphere crashes instantly, and he becomes all to aware of her intense stare.

Cormag surreptitiously wiped the tears from his eyes on the back of his sleeve, squirming under her stare. “What was that…that…song?”

Morana’s piercing gaze lingered on him for what felt like an eternity.  “It was not the song, but rather, it was the listener.”

The finality of her tone put an end to the prospect of dialogue. Morana quietly packed away her guitar and crawled under the covers. After several moments of ruminating over the events that had just transpired, Cormag turned out the lamp and blew out the candles, blanketing the apartment in pale green moonlight. By this point, he was too overcome with emotion and confusion to even attempt to protest her usurpation of his bed.

after several moments of disconcerting silence, he walked over to the window and placed his forehead against the cold glass. From his sixth-floor walkup, a great deal of Hallthor could be seen, including the light spattering of pedestrian traffic below. Mostly prostitutes and their clientele. Beyond, upon the steep slopes of Mount Fenrir, sat the palace, its majestic spires reaching up towards the heavens like the fangs of a wolf seeking to devour the moons.