The military presence in Merric Pass had been stepped up since the failed reclamation of Sarevon. A narrow canyon floor flanked by sheer granite cliffs that seemed to reach to the very heavens, the city had been built between, made up of narrow homes and store fronts stacked atop one another for the length of the pass. As the only viable land route from western Briternica to the east, the pass had always been busy and home to many different races and nationalities. In recent years, with the push by The Order of Dawn to conquer the lawless lands, the town had become a veritable city in its own rights, with a distinct cosmopolitan feel as the merchants and soldiers from across the continent set up permanent shops and homes.

Chauncey gazed up towards the narrow sliver of sky above them. “We should take some time to pick up supplies before hitting the buffer zone.”

Morana took a seat at a bench outside of a coffee house and removed her shoes. “The buffer zone? What’s that?”

“A two-hundred-mile-wide wasteland meant to deter invaders.” Cormag filled two mugs with water at cistern set up for travelers. “This pass is the only way into Xanavene, the rest of the county is bordered by ocean or impassible mountains. There will be no towns, fields, nothing.”

 “And it looks like you could use some thicker clothing.” Chauncey gratefully took a mug of water as Cormag began to fill another. “Anyway, how much money do you guys have?”

Cormag handed the mug to Morana, who took it with a mumbled thanks. “That’s none of your business—”

Morana pulled a wad of promissory notes and coins from her satchel before he could finish. “Some people left this in my guitar case after my performance.”

“That’s…impressive, but still pocket change.” Chauncey finished his water and pointed the cup towards Cormag. “What about you Sir Knight?”

“I’m not even getting paid for this much!” he snapped. “I’ll be damned if I sink my own funds into this dammed fool excursion. Besides, I got you to the pass, this is where we part ways.”

Morana brushed him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don’t mind him, he’s merely putting on airs.”

 “Don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here!”

Chauncey maneuvered himself next to Morana and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I think we can best use our time if we spilt up.”

 “Good idea,” Cormag jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “you can go fuck off somewhere else.”

 Chauncey recoiled in feigned surprise. “Oh, my good sir, I had no idea I was infringing up your romantic interests.”

“That’s not it!” Cormag snapped a bit too forcefully. “I mean…I just…”

Morana shrugged off Chauncey’s hand as she stood. “That’s a great idea, the two of you can go secure supplies, I will go find a tea house and get something warm to eat and drink.”

Chauncey’s appeared visibly deflated. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind…”

 “Instead of blowing your money on sweets, you should get a proper coat.” Cormag added, grateful for the change in topic.

Chauncey stepped forward with renewed vigor.  “As if you have an eye for such things, be a good soldier and handle logistics, I shall take the lady to get some proper winter attire.”

 “It’s summer though….” Morana rubbed her stomach. “And I’m hungry.”

Cormag shook his head and jabbed a finger at Chauncey. “It’s not about fashion! It’s about not freezing to death!”

“Why are you so protective of her anyway old man? She too young for you anyway!” Chauncey snapped back, swatting away Cormag’s jabbing finger.

“Old man?!” Cormag roared, his face burning red with anger and embarrassment. “I told you idiot, it’s not like that!”

“What are the two of you talking about?” Morana asked as she tugged on Chauncey’s sleeve. “Instead of yelling, you should go get me a pastry, and some tea.”

Chauncey reflexively snatched his arm free. “If its not like that, why are you getting so bent out of shape for then? Old man.”

Morana reached out and began to tug at Cormag’s sleeve. “Are you listening? Stop yelling and go get me something to eat!”

Cormag swatted away Morana’s grasping hands and pointed a finger directly into Chauncey’s face. “Listen you little shit, I am not the one you want to be fucking with. Stand. Down.”

“Or what?” despite his attempts at bravado, the tremor of fear was evident in Chauncey’s voice. “You’re gonna kill me?”

Cormag smiled menacingly. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Heeeyyyy!! Listen to mee!” Morana stamped her foot “I’M HUNGRYYYY!!!”

The furry of a winter gale emanating from the young necromancer nearly knocked them both off their feet, several patrons cried out in surprise, and the cistern of water exploded as the contents rapidly froze and expanded. Ice covered the ground at her feet and dusted the nearby outdoor seating, the flags and signs welcoming visitors to the café were frozen as if time had been frozen mid breeze. A flurry of snow fell gently around them as the gust subsided.

“What in D-Dusks n-name w-w-was that?” Chauncey stammered through chattering teeth, his wild hair blown back and frozen in place.

“Was that magic?” Cormag’s eyes were wide with terror. “How did you do that?”

During his time in the army, he had worked with mages before, and there was one constant that served as their greatest weakness: the need for complex sigils and glyphs, and the need for incantations. Magic of any kind could not be cast without one or both of these elements, yet she had seemingly done so with neither. Tears froze upon Cormag's face as the horrors of a lifetime of war flashed before his eyes. He fell to his knees, his body seemingly giving up on life, convinced he would soon die.

Morana's glacial eyes glowed like the embers of a will-o-wisp, and her skin sparkled like the virgin snow on a still moonlit night. Frost and snow adorned her hair like a garland purposefully and delicately placed upon the brow of a goddess. A bone chilling cold wafted from her, piercing all living things in her vicinity like the infinite void between the stars. A primordial terror gripped the hearts of all who gazed upon her. An older woman caught up in the storm collapsed, dead and cold before she hit the ground. the flowers of the florist adjacent the café wilted and and browned in mere moments.

Morana looked down to her hands with a look of genuine frustration. “Gods damnit! Not again! It never goes off when I want it to!”