Ashgan
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All right, thanks for clearing it up. I'll make some slight edits to that paragraph eventually to make Jillian's perception of this spell more appropriate.
I figured if a spell was so risky and difficult to execute that it takes practically a superhuman to execute it, one might as well consider it "practically" impossible, even if, in theory, one knows that such a thing is feasible under the right conditions. Can change the wording though if I overestimated the cost of such a spell, up to Jack I suppose. Thanks for pointing it out.
Jillian sulked as she marched towards the pond and the elder dragon on dirty feet, not once deigning to look back. Her steps were determined and quick, uncaring of the weeds and grasses she unwittingly stomped into the ground. At one point on the way, she had to halt her single-minded advance to let out a painful cough, so violent it almost made her heave again, followed by a foul curse under her breath. She spat on the ground and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before resuming her journey, now less hasty and furiously.
She had gone too far, she thought, and now reaped the consequences of her exertion. Draining one’s reserves to their limit once was harsh enough an experience, one that made most mages wary of falling into the later phases of exhaustion again, but what Jillian had gone through trumped even that by a large margin; she had entered third phase twice in the span of less than twelve hours, enabled only by Gerald’s miraculous ability to replenish her quicker than should be naturally possible. Alas, the body is not as quickly replenished as the soul is, and with a body already as frail as hers, Jillian could consider herself very lucky that she would only suffer from painful coughs and what felt like she was about to catch a cold. Little did she suspect that the primal, nurturing energy of the Anaxim forest played their part more than luck did as far as her health was concerned.
Meanwhile, her approach, unsubtle as it had been, awoke the dormant dragon who slowly came to, certainly intrigued to learn who this woman was he was asked to rescue. In spite of his enormous size and fearsome appearance, it seemed that Jillian was either unafraid or simply ignorant to the danger that Renold posed, for she approached the creature almost casually. When the Green swung his head around to face her, she was standing by the lakeside between the water and the dragon’s flank, appearing a mere dwarf next to the majestic beast. Just as he was curious about the little red-haired woman, she too wanted to learn more about this dragon; ever since her encounter with Lailonsaire, she had felt oddly drawn towards their kind, as if feeling a kind of unusual kinship with them. Simply looking at Renold’s grand visage fascinated the witch, her viridian eyes eagerly studying every curvature and feature of the dragon’s face.
“Ah, you’re awake,” the Green remarked, his voice so deep and powerful that Jillian felt the vibrations of it in her body. In spite of the rumbling, earthen sound that his words made, she could not help but feel that there was an underlying harmony to them. Not quite a melody perhaps, but a rhythm and flow that was absent from a human’s words, one that she found pleasant to listen to, calming even. It helped to ease her mind of the distress that the insolent necromancer had caused her, and forget about her miserable condition at least for a moment.
As Renold spoke, he made an attempt at a smile, one which to most would have seemed friendly and warm, but to Jillian felt immediately off and empty. She knew this kind of smile well, the kind that one wears to obfuscate one’s true thoughts and feelings. Lords and ladies, magistrates and merchants, the rich and the famous; they all learned quickly to wear this smile as one would don a mask at a masquerade. Nobody should know that their lives are just as dirty as that of a peasant, if not worse; stained with sins, mired in worry and regret, weighed down by guilt. Smiles like Renold’s hid many ugly things, and Jillian had seen some of them, for she knew how to pry open sealed hearts. In this case, she did not have to guess what it was that stung Renold like a thorn – it was the demise of the dragon sisters, a tragedy that caused her grief as well, though doubtlessly not as much as it did to the Green. Thinking of it, she did not actually know his relation to Lailonsaire, and the other dragon that she had unfortunately not been able to witness. Were they his mates? Daughters? Distant relatives? Both he and Lailonsaire were Greens so, she assumed, it would not be unthinkable that they were related. No matter what kind of bond they shared, she could read the pain from his great yellow eyes like lines from a book.
“Well met, little one,” the elder dragon continued, not dwelling on his sorrow, “I am Renold. How-“
He suddenly interrupted his introduction, his eyes torn loose from the tiny witch to gaze leftwards, in the direction of Gerald. For a moment she wondered if that one had done something to catch the dragon’s attention so vividly, a suspicion that she believed almost confirmed when she began to sense magical energy emanating from the necromancer’s general direction. Wanting to see what was going on, she hushed past the great dragon’s side, stopping by his right paw to inquisitively peek past Renold’s enormous body. She was just in time to realize that it had, in fact, not been Gerald’s doing, but something else entirely, something far more powerful than even the seasoned necromancer. A blinding light spawned from nowhere, bathing the rocky meadow in its arcane luminance while a monotone noise seemed to penetrate everything. Shielding her eyes, Jillian had no idea what she was looking at; the only thing she knew for certain was that great magical energy was contained within this light. As for where this energy came from, and why, no answers were to be found yet.
Then, in a sudden twist of fate, the light instantly disappeared, only to be replaced by its polar opposite; a globe of immaculate darkness, so deep and hungering that it felt not only deeply unsettling, but also… familiar. A shiver ran down Jillian’s fragile spine as she thought about the darkness contained within Gerald’s own soul, the Withering. If she were to visualize what she had felt in their moment of spiritual unity, this would be it. This orb of devouring blackness was the perfect representation of what the Withering was. Instinctively, Jillian shuffled closer to Renold’s massive paw, putting a tiny hand on his wrist and feeling the rough surface of his ancient scales. Lacking the finer senses of a necromancer, Jillian could not feel the flow of energy from the orb out of it and back into it; she merely felt that energy was present, and in large quantities. With every second that she peered into the bottomless dark, she became more distressed, further until she thought she could no longer bear it and had to do something about it – scream, run, hide, or cast spells into the gaping maw of shadow. Alas, she did none of that, and was stumped when the black sphere vanished in the blink of an eye, as if it had never existed, along with the piercing noise that she had almost forgotten, and was only reminded of by its sudden absence.
It took a second or two for her to realize that, as certain as the arcane phenomenon was gone, something else was present that had previously not been. Where the spectacle had unfolded but a moment ago, there were now two persons! Before even inspecting the unexpected guests, Jillian came to a startling realization that filled her with awe and excitement: teleportation! She had just witnessed a spell of teleportation! It took an enormously powerful magus to successfully execute such a spell, not only because it required monstrous amounts of energy, but because so many things could go wrong in the process. Only very few individuals in Rodoria would be capable of such a feat; Jillian strongly doubted even Gerald could do such a thing. Yet here she was, a witness to the incredible miracles of magic once more - it seemed she was destined to encounter greater magics than her own ever since setting foot outside of Zerul. One thought echoed in her mind as if spoken aloud in a great cavern: I want this. I need this.
So awe-inspired was she by the events before her that she did not notice her mouth standing agape, and it took a while before she caught herself enough to actually look at those responsible for this most mesmerizing of magical displays. The first person to catch her eyes was Crone, a person aptly named as she would find out, as it was the most withered and ancient-looking person Jillian had ever seen. Wrapped in gray, woolen tatters, she knelt beside a wounded individual whose features she could only vaguely make out from this angle, as he lay in the swaying grass. She could not quite put her finger on it yet, but his features seemed familiar. Maybe one of the defenders from Gariel Downs, whom she had caught a glimpse of? She would find out soon, certainly.
Jillian knew not who these people were, unlike her companions who both exclaimed the woman’s name in unison:
“Crone!”
Crone? Jillian thought. Who goes by such a name? Her eyes narrowed down, focusing on the elderly woman. I guess it’s a descriptive name, but still… it’s awfully surreptitious. Someone who can teleport at will certainly has much to hide, I imagine. Just who are you, Crone?
The witch retracted her hand from Renold’s leg and cautiously approached the pair, still keeping a respectable distance to them.
She had gone too far, she thought, and now reaped the consequences of her exertion. Draining one’s reserves to their limit once was harsh enough an experience, one that made most mages wary of falling into the later phases of exhaustion again, but what Jillian had gone through trumped even that by a large margin; she had entered third phase twice in the span of less than twelve hours, enabled only by Gerald’s miraculous ability to replenish her quicker than should be naturally possible. Alas, the body is not as quickly replenished as the soul is, and with a body already as frail as hers, Jillian could consider herself very lucky that she would only suffer from painful coughs and what felt like she was about to catch a cold. Little did she suspect that the primal, nurturing energy of the Anaxim forest played their part more than luck did as far as her health was concerned.
Meanwhile, her approach, unsubtle as it had been, awoke the dormant dragon who slowly came to, certainly intrigued to learn who this woman was he was asked to rescue. In spite of his enormous size and fearsome appearance, it seemed that Jillian was either unafraid or simply ignorant to the danger that Renold posed, for she approached the creature almost casually. When the Green swung his head around to face her, she was standing by the lakeside between the water and the dragon’s flank, appearing a mere dwarf next to the majestic beast. Just as he was curious about the little red-haired woman, she too wanted to learn more about this dragon; ever since her encounter with Lailonsaire, she had felt oddly drawn towards their kind, as if feeling a kind of unusual kinship with them. Simply looking at Renold’s grand visage fascinated the witch, her viridian eyes eagerly studying every curvature and feature of the dragon’s face.
“Ah, you’re awake,” the Green remarked, his voice so deep and powerful that Jillian felt the vibrations of it in her body. In spite of the rumbling, earthen sound that his words made, she could not help but feel that there was an underlying harmony to them. Not quite a melody perhaps, but a rhythm and flow that was absent from a human’s words, one that she found pleasant to listen to, calming even. It helped to ease her mind of the distress that the insolent necromancer had caused her, and forget about her miserable condition at least for a moment.
As Renold spoke, he made an attempt at a smile, one which to most would have seemed friendly and warm, but to Jillian felt immediately off and empty. She knew this kind of smile well, the kind that one wears to obfuscate one’s true thoughts and feelings. Lords and ladies, magistrates and merchants, the rich and the famous; they all learned quickly to wear this smile as one would don a mask at a masquerade. Nobody should know that their lives are just as dirty as that of a peasant, if not worse; stained with sins, mired in worry and regret, weighed down by guilt. Smiles like Renold’s hid many ugly things, and Jillian had seen some of them, for she knew how to pry open sealed hearts. In this case, she did not have to guess what it was that stung Renold like a thorn – it was the demise of the dragon sisters, a tragedy that caused her grief as well, though doubtlessly not as much as it did to the Green. Thinking of it, she did not actually know his relation to Lailonsaire, and the other dragon that she had unfortunately not been able to witness. Were they his mates? Daughters? Distant relatives? Both he and Lailonsaire were Greens so, she assumed, it would not be unthinkable that they were related. No matter what kind of bond they shared, she could read the pain from his great yellow eyes like lines from a book.
“Well met, little one,” the elder dragon continued, not dwelling on his sorrow, “I am Renold. How-“
He suddenly interrupted his introduction, his eyes torn loose from the tiny witch to gaze leftwards, in the direction of Gerald. For a moment she wondered if that one had done something to catch the dragon’s attention so vividly, a suspicion that she believed almost confirmed when she began to sense magical energy emanating from the necromancer’s general direction. Wanting to see what was going on, she hushed past the great dragon’s side, stopping by his right paw to inquisitively peek past Renold’s enormous body. She was just in time to realize that it had, in fact, not been Gerald’s doing, but something else entirely, something far more powerful than even the seasoned necromancer. A blinding light spawned from nowhere, bathing the rocky meadow in its arcane luminance while a monotone noise seemed to penetrate everything. Shielding her eyes, Jillian had no idea what she was looking at; the only thing she knew for certain was that great magical energy was contained within this light. As for where this energy came from, and why, no answers were to be found yet.
Then, in a sudden twist of fate, the light instantly disappeared, only to be replaced by its polar opposite; a globe of immaculate darkness, so deep and hungering that it felt not only deeply unsettling, but also… familiar. A shiver ran down Jillian’s fragile spine as she thought about the darkness contained within Gerald’s own soul, the Withering. If she were to visualize what she had felt in their moment of spiritual unity, this would be it. This orb of devouring blackness was the perfect representation of what the Withering was. Instinctively, Jillian shuffled closer to Renold’s massive paw, putting a tiny hand on his wrist and feeling the rough surface of his ancient scales. Lacking the finer senses of a necromancer, Jillian could not feel the flow of energy from the orb out of it and back into it; she merely felt that energy was present, and in large quantities. With every second that she peered into the bottomless dark, she became more distressed, further until she thought she could no longer bear it and had to do something about it – scream, run, hide, or cast spells into the gaping maw of shadow. Alas, she did none of that, and was stumped when the black sphere vanished in the blink of an eye, as if it had never existed, along with the piercing noise that she had almost forgotten, and was only reminded of by its sudden absence.
It took a second or two for her to realize that, as certain as the arcane phenomenon was gone, something else was present that had previously not been. Where the spectacle had unfolded but a moment ago, there were now two persons! Before even inspecting the unexpected guests, Jillian came to a startling realization that filled her with awe and excitement: teleportation! She had just witnessed a spell of teleportation! It took an enormously powerful magus to successfully execute such a spell, not only because it required monstrous amounts of energy, but because so many things could go wrong in the process. Only very few individuals in Rodoria would be capable of such a feat; Jillian strongly doubted even Gerald could do such a thing. Yet here she was, a witness to the incredible miracles of magic once more - it seemed she was destined to encounter greater magics than her own ever since setting foot outside of Zerul. One thought echoed in her mind as if spoken aloud in a great cavern: I want this. I need this.
So awe-inspired was she by the events before her that she did not notice her mouth standing agape, and it took a while before she caught herself enough to actually look at those responsible for this most mesmerizing of magical displays. The first person to catch her eyes was Crone, a person aptly named as she would find out, as it was the most withered and ancient-looking person Jillian had ever seen. Wrapped in gray, woolen tatters, she knelt beside a wounded individual whose features she could only vaguely make out from this angle, as he lay in the swaying grass. She could not quite put her finger on it yet, but his features seemed familiar. Maybe one of the defenders from Gariel Downs, whom she had caught a glimpse of? She would find out soon, certainly.
Jillian knew not who these people were, unlike her companions who both exclaimed the woman’s name in unison:
“Crone!”
Crone? Jillian thought. Who goes by such a name? Her eyes narrowed down, focusing on the elderly woman. I guess it’s a descriptive name, but still… it’s awfully surreptitious. Someone who can teleport at will certainly has much to hide, I imagine. Just who are you, Crone?
The witch retracted her hand from Renold’s leg and cautiously approached the pair, still keeping a respectable distance to them.
Yo, sorry about that; didn't really get to much of anything this week. About the post, uh, I'll try to get something up reasonably soon, as in today or tomorrow morning. That said, I do not imagine Jillian is going to be directly interacting with either Crone or Salas right away, meaning that Ink / Sartorous (whichever you prefer?) can post on the assumption that those characters would be left undisturbed for as much time as a post roughly covers.
The change was subtle at first, Jillian noticed, how Gerald’s smile slowly vanished, how the light in his eyes gently died, how his limbs became frozen in motion. The sudden coldness that reigned in Gerald’s heart also chilled the air around him, and Jillian sensitively took in the frigidness; a small shiver ran down her spine and her smile left too.
Gerald?, her voice echoed in her mind, sounding lost and confused. What did I do wrong?
They had been playing thus far, passing arguments and accusations almost like an old couple might have had, but this was no game any longer. Gerald was sincere in his disappointment and apparent shock, and Jillian could not understand what had caused it. How could she, after all? The necromancer had argued moments ago that he needed not share the reasoning behind his intentions in order to make the latter clear, and that same philosophy held true, for he would certainly not tell the witch of his tragic fate, not yet, not now, and still she would have to suffer the repercussions thereof.
In this moment of petrified silence, Jillian felt as if she were a mere girl again, perhaps twelve of age, being caught doing something she was not supposed to. It was an uncomfortable, cold void within oneself, a feeling of dread that came from the expectation of dire consequences for actions that cannot be undone. Gripped by a very similar feeling, she stared at Gerald, waiting for… anything. Would he reprimand her? Explain himself? Would he beat her? Yell? Would he do nothing at all? It was impossible to tell, and it frightened her.
Eventually, Gerald abruptly stuffed his pendant back into his shirt, still eerily staring at the witch with an expression she could not interpret sufficiently, before simply getting up and leaving. That was all: he turned his back to her and left, saying no single word. It was the height of impoliteness, and Jillian could not even bring herself to feel upset about it, the entire situation felt too unreal and disturbing to worry about such trifle things. She stared after him for a while, until the voice in her mind left through her frail lips:
“Gerald?” she asked, confused and almost frightened. He did not respond, too caught up in his own mired thoughts. More, painfully long moments went by before Jillian’s voice was heard one more time, this time more vehemently and authoritative:
“Gerald!” she yelled firmly, abandoning the role of the lost child to assume that of the scornful mother. He, in turn, sat down by the flickering fire, taking his place amongst the dark shadows dancing all around it like outcast spirits who found companionship amongst themselves. Only then he elected to speak once more.
“I stole energy from the forest itself to restore us,” he admitted soberly, bearing little emotion or judgment in his words. He briefly summarized what said energy would entail for them before falling silent once more.
She did not want to just let it go and talk about something else, not after he had cut her so, but she also knew that the window had closed, and there was nothing to be bargained for at the time. You have a lot of skeletons in your little closet, necromancer, and I’ll tear them from it one by one if I have to, she ambitiously and bitterly thought while glaring in his direction. Although this new information which he divulged was also interesting in its own right, there was no room in her head for it right now. Playing the offended, Jillian took one last, large sip from her cup before setting it down and getting up, still wrapped in her blanket. Annoyingly she did so a little too quickly, and she felt momentarily so dizzy that she was afraid of falling, but was able to stay on her two feet for long enough to adjust after a bit of swaying.
“I’ll take a bath by the lake,” Jillian announced, her voice sounding offended and harsh, “and I suggest you do the same before we break camp.”
With that, she trotted off towards the lakeside where Elder Renold still lay, pulling her blanket over her shoulders.
Gerald?, her voice echoed in her mind, sounding lost and confused. What did I do wrong?
They had been playing thus far, passing arguments and accusations almost like an old couple might have had, but this was no game any longer. Gerald was sincere in his disappointment and apparent shock, and Jillian could not understand what had caused it. How could she, after all? The necromancer had argued moments ago that he needed not share the reasoning behind his intentions in order to make the latter clear, and that same philosophy held true, for he would certainly not tell the witch of his tragic fate, not yet, not now, and still she would have to suffer the repercussions thereof.
In this moment of petrified silence, Jillian felt as if she were a mere girl again, perhaps twelve of age, being caught doing something she was not supposed to. It was an uncomfortable, cold void within oneself, a feeling of dread that came from the expectation of dire consequences for actions that cannot be undone. Gripped by a very similar feeling, she stared at Gerald, waiting for… anything. Would he reprimand her? Explain himself? Would he beat her? Yell? Would he do nothing at all? It was impossible to tell, and it frightened her.
Eventually, Gerald abruptly stuffed his pendant back into his shirt, still eerily staring at the witch with an expression she could not interpret sufficiently, before simply getting up and leaving. That was all: he turned his back to her and left, saying no single word. It was the height of impoliteness, and Jillian could not even bring herself to feel upset about it, the entire situation felt too unreal and disturbing to worry about such trifle things. She stared after him for a while, until the voice in her mind left through her frail lips:
“Gerald?” she asked, confused and almost frightened. He did not respond, too caught up in his own mired thoughts. More, painfully long moments went by before Jillian’s voice was heard one more time, this time more vehemently and authoritative:
“Gerald!” she yelled firmly, abandoning the role of the lost child to assume that of the scornful mother. He, in turn, sat down by the flickering fire, taking his place amongst the dark shadows dancing all around it like outcast spirits who found companionship amongst themselves. Only then he elected to speak once more.
“I stole energy from the forest itself to restore us,” he admitted soberly, bearing little emotion or judgment in his words. He briefly summarized what said energy would entail for them before falling silent once more.
She did not want to just let it go and talk about something else, not after he had cut her so, but she also knew that the window had closed, and there was nothing to be bargained for at the time. You have a lot of skeletons in your little closet, necromancer, and I’ll tear them from it one by one if I have to, she ambitiously and bitterly thought while glaring in his direction. Although this new information which he divulged was also interesting in its own right, there was no room in her head for it right now. Playing the offended, Jillian took one last, large sip from her cup before setting it down and getting up, still wrapped in her blanket. Annoyingly she did so a little too quickly, and she felt momentarily so dizzy that she was afraid of falling, but was able to stay on her two feet for long enough to adjust after a bit of swaying.
“I’ll take a bath by the lake,” Jillian announced, her voice sounding offended and harsh, “and I suggest you do the same before we break camp.”
With that, she trotted off towards the lakeside where Elder Renold still lay, pulling her blanket over her shoulders.
“I do trust you,” Gerald admitted after a while of, according to Jillian, being busy with being pleased with himself. Of course he would say that, never in her life had Jillian been told by a man – or heard of men telling other women – that they do not trust her. In that sense, the answer was almost irrelevant, her question rhetoric in nature. Regardless, she could hold him accountable for deceiving her in the future, which was what mattered to her, no matter if he meant it or not. He went on to justify himself, how it would have been too dangerous during the battle (how?) and unnecessary before (why?). Furthermore, he demonstrated that he had been open about his intentions, and merely kept his reasons veiled in secrets. While Jillian could not deny this, she would personally consider the reasoning behind a given intention to be an integral part of the whole, something that Gerald obviously saw differently. So far, Gerald had done what she expected to see, which was to somehow explain himself and justify his actions in ways that she did not quite agree with, but then Gerald once again proved to be a little more ingenious and different from the men she had spoken to previously.
“Can you not believe in the credibility of my intentions without knowing the reason for them?” he asked her, almost deviously and still smirking, clearly aware of the weight of his words, ”Do you not trust me, Veldaine?”
That he would take her very words and turn them against her so hit her like a stab from a lance. A certain warmth welled up inside her, the kind of which precedes anger, but she was too surprised even for that. He had the gall to talk back at her like that! Vincent never had, always the yes-man. The little witch felt oddly enticed by this, and fell silent for a moment, enough time to lean back and lean on her left hand, still holding her cup with the other. As she did, a kind of grin appeared on her thin, colorless lips as well.
“Oh, Glass,” she began, delicately and almost seductively pronouncing Gerald’s surname and drawing it out, “how can I trust someone who does not even address me by my first name? There’s a gap between us, and you’re unwilling to close it. How can you expect me to?”
Her voice was soft and feminine, and her eyes danced between Gerald’s and the ground between them; she fully intended to play her part in this. There would be no better time to draw Gerald out of his closet than now, and he had set the bait for it himself, practically handed it to her. She was excited to see how the necromancer would react to this sudden shift in her demeanor.
“Can you not believe in the credibility of my intentions without knowing the reason for them?” he asked her, almost deviously and still smirking, clearly aware of the weight of his words, ”Do you not trust me, Veldaine?”
That he would take her very words and turn them against her so hit her like a stab from a lance. A certain warmth welled up inside her, the kind of which precedes anger, but she was too surprised even for that. He had the gall to talk back at her like that! Vincent never had, always the yes-man. The little witch felt oddly enticed by this, and fell silent for a moment, enough time to lean back and lean on her left hand, still holding her cup with the other. As she did, a kind of grin appeared on her thin, colorless lips as well.
“Oh, Glass,” she began, delicately and almost seductively pronouncing Gerald’s surname and drawing it out, “how can I trust someone who does not even address me by my first name? There’s a gap between us, and you’re unwilling to close it. How can you expect me to?”
Her voice was soft and feminine, and her eyes danced between Gerald’s and the ground between them; she fully intended to play her part in this. There would be no better time to draw Gerald out of his closet than now, and he had set the bait for it himself, practically handed it to her. She was excited to see how the necromancer would react to this sudden shift in her demeanor.
Posts sure a-happening today. It's madness!
Cautious, viridian eyes followed Gerald’s every movement; even though Jillian’s frame was sickly and emaciated, her gaze was as unyielding and vigilant as it had always been. What was he grinning for? It wasn’t the first time he had done this. Furthermore, with his hand reaching to his neck, she would have almost labeled him as being embarrassed, but that too was not it. He knew something she did not, and Jillian did not like that. Had he not spoken up when he did, she would have certainly urged him to.
“We will face Hazzergash again,” he agreed, strangely amused by this – perhaps he felt the same kind of exhilaration that she did? – and claimed that they had, in fact, always been ahead of the demon lord.
“Didn’t seem like it in Gariel Downs,” Jillian dismissively quipped back at him, even though she knew he would prove his point somehow. When the little crystal slipped out of his clothing, the woman’s inquisitive eyes widened with a mixture of surprise, relief and desire. She immediately knew what it was without him telling her.
The necklace! That son of a tarke had it all along! I’ve seen the stupid chain even, but never would I have guessed… he should have told me!
“Hazzergash won't get his hands on his Demon Prison because we took it with us,” Gerald told her, confirming what she already deducted. Apparently he was so pleased with himself that he could not withhold a chuckle – something she was certain was a rare sight for him. While she was glad that he had kept the prison safe, she was bitter about having been kept in the dark all the same. For the moment, Jillian said nothing, her eyes glued to the crystal and her lips glumly pressed together.
“What, you thought I was actually so conceited as to announce myself as most important simply because I am me?” he asked, further rubbing in the salt. Her eyes, laden with poison, met his.
“I won’t lie; yes, I did. I know a lot of people who would have done that, and I still think at least a part of you also did,” Jillian admitted, then let off a sigh to calm her nerves.
“Look, I’m relieved to see that not all is lost, but why did you not deign to tell me sooner? It would have been better if I had known your intentions; do you not trust me?”
Jillian shifted her position, sitting up completely and putting the cup in one hand while resting it on her lap. With her free hand, she brushed her messy hair behind her shoulders, making a grimace of disgust as she did. She knew she was catching a cold already, but it would not stop her from plunging into the nearby lake later. She already began fantasizing about washing off the dirt and sweat that she had accumulated in Anaxim. On that note, she wondered if Gerald had any intentions of cleaning himself. He certainly looked raggedy enough not to care too much about cleanliness, but he had proven already to be more than meets the eye on multiple occasions. At the very least he did not smell significantly worse than she did at the time; she could only hope it would stay like that.
“We will face Hazzergash again,” he agreed, strangely amused by this – perhaps he felt the same kind of exhilaration that she did? – and claimed that they had, in fact, always been ahead of the demon lord.
“Didn’t seem like it in Gariel Downs,” Jillian dismissively quipped back at him, even though she knew he would prove his point somehow. When the little crystal slipped out of his clothing, the woman’s inquisitive eyes widened with a mixture of surprise, relief and desire. She immediately knew what it was without him telling her.
The necklace! That son of a tarke had it all along! I’ve seen the stupid chain even, but never would I have guessed… he should have told me!
“Hazzergash won't get his hands on his Demon Prison because we took it with us,” Gerald told her, confirming what she already deducted. Apparently he was so pleased with himself that he could not withhold a chuckle – something she was certain was a rare sight for him. While she was glad that he had kept the prison safe, she was bitter about having been kept in the dark all the same. For the moment, Jillian said nothing, her eyes glued to the crystal and her lips glumly pressed together.
“What, you thought I was actually so conceited as to announce myself as most important simply because I am me?” he asked, further rubbing in the salt. Her eyes, laden with poison, met his.
“I won’t lie; yes, I did. I know a lot of people who would have done that, and I still think at least a part of you also did,” Jillian admitted, then let off a sigh to calm her nerves.
“Look, I’m relieved to see that not all is lost, but why did you not deign to tell me sooner? It would have been better if I had known your intentions; do you not trust me?”
Jillian shifted her position, sitting up completely and putting the cup in one hand while resting it on her lap. With her free hand, she brushed her messy hair behind her shoulders, making a grimace of disgust as she did. She knew she was catching a cold already, but it would not stop her from plunging into the nearby lake later. She already began fantasizing about washing off the dirt and sweat that she had accumulated in Anaxim. On that note, she wondered if Gerald had any intentions of cleaning himself. He certainly looked raggedy enough not to care too much about cleanliness, but he had proven already to be more than meets the eye on multiple occasions. At the very least he did not smell significantly worse than she did at the time; she could only hope it would stay like that.
I know we did bloody well! Tell me who didn’t, and how! Jillian retorted in thought, contending herself with sourly frowning at him. Though calm and detached, as she was used to his demeanor by now, Jillian interpreted his words and gestures as speaking of regret and bitterness. She knew his kind; he would be too proud, too concerned with efficiency to openly show his anger, but it was there, hidden inside of him like the Withering was. It was the reason he had assured her that they had done well – not only to let her know, but to reassure himself. They were both victims here.
She listened to his tale with great care, at some point electing to vacantly stare into her cup while reconstructing the events that he spoke of in her mind. It was difficult to imagine, by his account Kevalorn surpassed everything she knew. She had met powerful wizards before, but even they were in all likelihood dwarfed by the dragons, but Kevalorn… he apparently had the power to pluck the same dragons from the sky without a second thought. To think that he did so while being restrained in multiple ways, it was terrifying. How does one fight such an entity? Who or what can stop a being of such awesome might?
Gerald’s tale of the dragons’ fate was disheartening. For reasons beyond her understanding, she felt a strange kinship with the dragons, and even though she had never met the Red, she mourned his loss. Yet, to think that Lailonsaire might have been destroyed so easily made Jillian feel quite empty inside. She felt no urge to shed a tear, or to lament, but there was a sobering void inside her bosom that reminded her she should feel sorrow over the fact that this once magnificent – if arrogant – creature was in all likelihood no more. She would not be able to speak to her again, to quarrel with her in a way that felt so very human or to ride above the clouds.
Jillian’s eyes turned to Elder Renold when Gerald mentioned him. He was an impressive creature, his mere size was far more imposing than Lailonsaire’s had been; there was no doubt that his power was equally greater to match. His name was familiar, she recalled, as the Green had mentioned him fleetingly. She had been seeking his affection, was that not it? At least, in a way that dragons did. Was he mourning the loss of the sisters too? Did dragons feel the same way about the death of their kin as humans did? Jillian skeptically eyed Renold for a few moments longer before reverting her attention to the necromancer again.
“End the Withering? What about Kevalorn? We were trying to keep him from his demon prison, were we not? If he got his hands on it, there won’t be a point in curing a disease. We’ll all be butchered like the dragons were,” Jillian argued, speaking much less agitated than before. She energetically took a sip, paying little attention to the taste, before going on:
“Besides, don’t you want to get back at him? That troll-faced bastard has much to answer for and deserves to be put down for what he did – and could still do.”
That was a noble goal, wasn’t it? If she could prove victorious over Kevalorn, revealed to be none other than the demon lord Hazzergash himself, then there would be no doubt of Jillian’s might and expertise. Every duchy would hail her as not only a heroine, but a paragon amongst mages. Not long ago, all of this would have been but a mere pipe dream, but after today, Jillian felt like it was somehow all possible. She had done the improbable, even the impossible, and her dream seemed more in reach than ever before. As terrible as the day’s events had been, she began to see a silver lining around it all. What did not kill her would only make her stronger, and that is what she had always desired. As for Kevalorn… the matter between him and her had become personal since the day began. Her meeting with Brand had been a significant portent of things to come. She had defied him, just as he had defied his master. The world had gone up in flames, only she was spared. The significance of it all was elusive to her still, but since that moment, she felt as if under the gaze of Hazzergash, a gaze that she imagined would linger. Jillian waltzed with an open flame, and there would come a time when she would have to face the god of fire again, of that she was certain.
“He’s not going to disappear like a bad dream, Gerald. I understand you want to sever the grip that the Withering has on you, but I see Hazzergash in our future. We have to be a step ahead of him if we want to avert disaster like we could not today,” she explained to him, surprisingly spirited and serious. Whether it was merely her dream talking, or if her prediction held true, none could say, but one thing was for certain: Jillian’s flame burned on.
She listened to his tale with great care, at some point electing to vacantly stare into her cup while reconstructing the events that he spoke of in her mind. It was difficult to imagine, by his account Kevalorn surpassed everything she knew. She had met powerful wizards before, but even they were in all likelihood dwarfed by the dragons, but Kevalorn… he apparently had the power to pluck the same dragons from the sky without a second thought. To think that he did so while being restrained in multiple ways, it was terrifying. How does one fight such an entity? Who or what can stop a being of such awesome might?
Gerald’s tale of the dragons’ fate was disheartening. For reasons beyond her understanding, she felt a strange kinship with the dragons, and even though she had never met the Red, she mourned his loss. Yet, to think that Lailonsaire might have been destroyed so easily made Jillian feel quite empty inside. She felt no urge to shed a tear, or to lament, but there was a sobering void inside her bosom that reminded her she should feel sorrow over the fact that this once magnificent – if arrogant – creature was in all likelihood no more. She would not be able to speak to her again, to quarrel with her in a way that felt so very human or to ride above the clouds.
Jillian’s eyes turned to Elder Renold when Gerald mentioned him. He was an impressive creature, his mere size was far more imposing than Lailonsaire’s had been; there was no doubt that his power was equally greater to match. His name was familiar, she recalled, as the Green had mentioned him fleetingly. She had been seeking his affection, was that not it? At least, in a way that dragons did. Was he mourning the loss of the sisters too? Did dragons feel the same way about the death of their kin as humans did? Jillian skeptically eyed Renold for a few moments longer before reverting her attention to the necromancer again.
“End the Withering? What about Kevalorn? We were trying to keep him from his demon prison, were we not? If he got his hands on it, there won’t be a point in curing a disease. We’ll all be butchered like the dragons were,” Jillian argued, speaking much less agitated than before. She energetically took a sip, paying little attention to the taste, before going on:
“Besides, don’t you want to get back at him? That troll-faced bastard has much to answer for and deserves to be put down for what he did – and could still do.”
That was a noble goal, wasn’t it? If she could prove victorious over Kevalorn, revealed to be none other than the demon lord Hazzergash himself, then there would be no doubt of Jillian’s might and expertise. Every duchy would hail her as not only a heroine, but a paragon amongst mages. Not long ago, all of this would have been but a mere pipe dream, but after today, Jillian felt like it was somehow all possible. She had done the improbable, even the impossible, and her dream seemed more in reach than ever before. As terrible as the day’s events had been, she began to see a silver lining around it all. What did not kill her would only make her stronger, and that is what she had always desired. As for Kevalorn… the matter between him and her had become personal since the day began. Her meeting with Brand had been a significant portent of things to come. She had defied him, just as he had defied his master. The world had gone up in flames, only she was spared. The significance of it all was elusive to her still, but since that moment, she felt as if under the gaze of Hazzergash, a gaze that she imagined would linger. Jillian waltzed with an open flame, and there would come a time when she would have to face the god of fire again, of that she was certain.
“He’s not going to disappear like a bad dream, Gerald. I understand you want to sever the grip that the Withering has on you, but I see Hazzergash in our future. We have to be a step ahead of him if we want to avert disaster like we could not today,” she explained to him, surprisingly spirited and serious. Whether it was merely her dream talking, or if her prediction held true, none could say, but one thing was for certain: Jillian’s flame burned on.
All right, hey. So, first of all, sorry for taking so long; I had a decent amount of exam stress, and even though this post in reality did not take much effort, I simply didn't have the mind for it amongst everything. That said, I will be able to post in a more timely manner in the coming weeks (probably months) since the worst of it is mostly behind, and I should be able to dedicate more time to you people again. Hopefully I didn't worry and/or upset you too much Jack, I know I can be somewhat difficult to RP with as it turns out.
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