Wind and cold ripped at Cassandra’s skin and clothes, her red mane quickly turning white in the growing blizzard. Snow threatened to swallow her as she moved closer to her team, many of whom were busy clearing it away from their immediate area. She knew what she’d be up against and still she decided to dress to impress. Beauty is pain.

The first of the group to acknowledge her was Drake, who spoke with an elegance that betrayed his years. He bowed, and Cassandra chuckled and returned the gesture. How strangely cordial of him. 

“. . . you trying to give your feet hell in those shoes?” Drake teased, his arms enveloped in flames and casting a warmth over the group. Cassandra welcomed the momentary escape from the chill, and she didn’t really mind a joke or two at her expense.

“They’re not as bad as you might think . . . maybe I’ll let you try them on later, you could do with some extra height,” she joked in a sultry voice.

Atlas welcomed her next, though it wasn’t much of a welcome. He gave a give quick reply with blood-stained teeth, then turned away to play with his knives . . . typical.

Then came the beast of the group, Mithias, who towered over her and had an almost alien look. She did take a moment to admire his dark locks, which were flying about almost as wildly as were her own.

Finally, there was Baron, a truly strange combination of mechanical limbs and eldritch tentacles. Cassandra felt uneasy around such a man, but she kept her discomfort hidden. This wasn’t the time for her to feel intimidated. If anything, it was her chance to [b]be[/b] intimidating.

“So, what is it that you bring to the table as far as ‘shedding blood’ goes?” he limped over in curiosity. 

How would she describe her talents? Would she simply label herself a witch and assume they were familiar enough with this world to know what she meant? Would she give them a display of power or pull out her trump card? And what of this threat that was approaching, how would she handle herself against something unknown? These questions raced through her mind as they stood there in the cold. She hadn’t cared about first impressions before, but never before had they mattered. Normally, she saw a client once, did what they needed, got paid, then went along her merry way never to see them again. This was different, she actually had to work with these people. She decided to take a chance.

“I’ll show you,” she responded, removing her Hawthorn wand from her side. She weaved a large circle into the snow, sigils and lettering of her family’s decorating the interior and exterior in beautifully symmetrical patterns. She spoke the chant:

[center][i]”Poison and Fire, Malice and Ire,
Speak, speak, speak thy name;

Womb of the Earth, to she who did sire,
Speak, speak, speak thy name;

If near be far, if far be near,
Speak, speak, speak thy name;

Charmed vessel get thee here,
Pit of Creation I call you by name.”[/i][/center]

Light emanated from the circle’s center, a small spark growing into a raging flame that formed as she incanted. Once she was finished, the flames had take shape. Where the magic circle once stood, a large, ornate, brass cauldron took its place. It seemed to ward away the snow that collected around it, creating a clear patch in its immediate area. Cassandra went over to the Pit and rubbed its side as if it were an obedient pet. A flame was lit in its belly in response, providing the group with even more heat and light.

Cassandra smiled and turned back to Baron. “This is what I had in mind.”