Morana pulled her cloak tighter as a gust of wind whips her hair about her face. For the duration of their nearly week-long journey from Hallthor, they shared in awkward silences and a steady stream of complaints from the young necromancer who was ill prepared for such a journey. With each passing day, Cormag came to regret his decision to join this enigmatic young mage on her ill-conceived journey. He could be sure if it were her reticence or her incessant whining that would drive him mad first.

Morana sneezed and gripped the cloak tighter with wind blistered white knuckles. “Does this gods forsaken country have no other terrain besides tundra and mountains?”

Cormag adjusted his muffler with a sigh of resignation. “Not really.”

 Morana lifted her hand to keep the wind from wiping her hair about her face. “And who in their right mind decided to populate this overgrown quarry?”

Western Xanavene was more or less the same, rocky paths that gave way to wind scarred plains and tundra. A nation with more width than length, with the capitol being on its eastern shore several months journey away. Cormag found himself wishing for the silence, or a highwayman's ambush to end both of their misery.

 “Cormag.” Morana stated his name with an earnest gravity.

Cormag grunted, quickening his pace. “What now?”

 “I am going to become a powerful Sage, a master of the Necrotic arts. A summoner without peer.”

 “And?” He replied, glancing back across his shoulder.

 “When I do, I am going to level every hill, mountain and ungaily peak on the continent of Briternica, from Mount Atton to Mount Grail. Stone by bloody stone, I’ll use every corpse of every soul that ever walked this wretched land.”

The resolute tone and expression she wore gave cause for him to burst into laughter, much to Morana’s consternation.

“Why do you laugh?” Her face flushed bright red. “I don’t make idle threats!”

Cormag paused to wipe a tear from his eye, bursting into laughter once more upon catching Morana’s severe expression now tinted beet red.

“Pardon me travelers…”

Cormag drew his sword and positioned himself as a shield between Morana and the unknown visitor. The traveler, a young boy, no more than 16 or 17, held up his hands in surprise.

“Peace Sir knight! I am merely a traveler myself.”

Cormag made a hasty scan of the surroundings, they were on a rocky field littered with gullies and ravines, ample opportunities for highwaymen to lay in ambush. For his part, the young man did not bear the look of a bandit, though his youth perceived innocence could also serve as an effective ruse.

“Oh yeah? Then keep travelling friend.” Cormag’s gaze lingered on the bow slung across the boy’s shoulder. “And I’m no knight.”

Catching his gaze, the young man smiled and slowly unslung his bow, lowering it to the ground. He was a lanky child, dark of hair and eye, though fair of face, if not a mite too fair, and still growing into a man. He had a wild natural look that many fops and nobles often try to replicate in the salons of western Britanicia and Runandia. He was the type that Cormag felt a guttural revulsion towards. The waif was wrapped in patchwork trousers and hempen tunic a size too big, a refugee from the looks of it. How he escaped whatever bandit hideout of a town he had the misfortune of being born into was another matter entirely.

 “My apologies Sir. As I said, I am a mere traveler seeking to cross into Xanavene.”

Cormag scanned their surroundings once more before sheathing his sword. “Only thieves and outlaws seek to go into that lawless land. Keep moving kid.”

The boy’s eyes lit up and he took a step forward, abruptly stopping as Cormag’s sword inched its way from its scabbard once more.

 “If that is the case, which camp do the two of you fall under?” He gestured towards the looming mountains before them that held the pass into Xanavene. “For we travel the same, and only, path to that forsaken kingdom.”

“You misunderstand.” Cormag adjusted his gear and motioned for Morana to follow. “I meant you should keep moving in the other direction. There’s nothing left in Xanavene, count your blessings to have made it this far.”

“If there’s nothing there, why are you two in such a hurry then? Surely you aren’t a mercenary troop of two.”

Morana paused as she walked past and turned a steely gaze toward the young archer. “If you seek answers from us, you must first offer some of your own.”

The young man’s eyes widen as if he has seen her for the first time. He places a hand on his chest as if to still his beating heart, and stumbles back a step as she passes.

 “Ah! Beauty, grace, and wisdom beyond years.” He hastily picked up his bow and dashed after the pair. “I knew from first laying eyes upon you that you were the leader of this excursion. I am called Chauncy, though my friends and family call me Chance, on account of how many the gods have favored me with. I am humbly at your service.”

Cormag positioned himself between Morana and Chauncey, pushing the eager archer back a step with his forearm.

 “Tch. Good luck kid, no way she’ll fall for such dreck.”

Morana’s face burned red as she fiddled with the lace of her sleeves, as she shuffled along, a dopey grin on her face that read more as frightening than endearing.

“Beauty and grace, you say? Can you elaborate more on my qualities?”

Cormag gave her a look of revulsion and bewilderment. “Huh? You can’t tell me you’re that damn simple!”

Morana gave Cormag a not so playful tap on the shoulder. “It is not dreck to be of good taste and a keen eye, unlike some others I know. Our friend here has correctly ascertained our relationship as that of master and thrall.”

“Thrall? Who the hell—”

Chauncey took the opportunity to slip between the two and take Morana’s hand in his own. “I must ask however, what brings such a delicate flower such as yourself to so dreary a locale? Surely your radiance and cunning wit would be better suited in the halls of nobility or the parlors of kings?”

Morana nodded, ensorcelled with a sense of self-importance. “True, but I rather despise people, so the isolation suits me fine.”

Chauncy charming routine seemed to miss a beat with her eccentric response.

 “I…I see…”

Morana paused to turn back and see where her adoring fan had gone too.

Cormag none too gently pulled the rattled young man back to the other flank. “What about you boy? Why are you out here all by your lonesome?”

 “A sad tale indeed, for you see….”

Bored and annoyed that the topic of conversation had shifted away from her, Morana turned and began to walk the mountain pass with a disinterested wave of the hand.

“Well, best of luck to you.” she deadpanned.

 “Wait! Don’t you want to hear my sad tale?”

“Not particularly, no. Goodbye.”

Cormag chuckled and shook his head, offering the young archer a hearty slap on the back before trudging after Morana.

 “H-Hold on a second!” Chauncey called out breathlessly as he caught up to Morana.

 “Hmm?”

 “Can I at least tag along with you?”

 “No.” Cormag said with a tone of finality.

Morana rolled her eyes and tightened her cloak against the cold. “If that’s what you wanted, why not start with that request?”

Chauncy turned a pleading and confounded gaze to Cormag, who simply averted his gaze and quickened his pace.

“Uh…is that a yes or….?”

Morana shrugged and continued on her way. “If our destinations truly do lie on the same path, then I don’t see why you would need my permission one way or the other.”

“What an odd woman…”

 “You don’t know the half of it.” Cormag muttered under his breath.