“He wants to be sure that he profits, even if we fail,” Gerald muttered to Jillian in a hushed tone under the curious and watchful gaze of the Grand Master. The witch did not reply, but her face contorted in a disapproving grimace. It was clear that Jillian did not value raw information as much as the greater demon before her, or indeed Gerald did, and so she gave up on further arguing her point. Perhaps her attitude was a result of growing up in a largely materialistic household, one that quite literally heaped piles of gold, if only to sell it again. Or perhaps it was due to her naturally reckless nature that favored impulsiveness and the taking of risks over careful premeditation and the gathering of information before acting. The latter at least showed itself very clearly in how she chose to exercise magic: with the most dangerous and volatile spells she could get her hands on, while foregoing the studious habit of keeping records in a magician’s tome.

The Grand Master confirmed that Gerald was right, and that he was unwilling to consider Jillian’s proposition. He also voiced his doubts as to Jillian’s confidence and commitment in the quest ahead, seeing how their chances of success were apparently quite slim – unlike her necromancer friend, who would go to the ends of the earth if it promised even a sliver of salvation, for even that was more than enough to be worth risking everything for. Of course, Jillian knew; Gerald was a cornered man with nothing to lose. He was already forced to bury his pregnant wife, had lost his home just like she had, and was now inflicted with a mortal disease that knew no cure. Yes, she would also risk everything if there was a chance to save herself, no matter how implausible it might be.

In the small pause that followed, a pair of viridian eyes cast a wary glance at the dark robed sorcerer, but only for a moment before a snap of the fingers forced Jillian to return her attention to the demon lord once more.

“I have an idea!” he exclaimed with great enthusiasm which, ironically, caused a very opposite reaction in the witch before he even voiced it. Somehow she knew that if he would deem something a good idea, she was not going to like it.

[i]Two weeks![/i] It was all Jillian could think of, arms crossed underneath her chest and nervously tapping her right foot on the ground. Preposterous! If the Withering was bound to a demon then chances of ‘curing’ the ailment were abysmal as it stood, but to accomplish such a feat in two weeks? Outright impossible. And the losing consequence? [i]Oh, by the Planes, really?[/i] She almost wanted to laugh in the demon’s face. Her soul? He could not have possibly named a more predictable prize for winning this bet of his. On a less amusing note, he seemed very insistent on acquiring Gerald’s staff of all things. Jillian took a brief peek to the side in hopes of catching a glimpse of the alleged artifact; up to this point she had failed to notice anything particularly interesting about it. In fact, if asked to remember what it looked like she would be unable to describe it at all. The Grand Master may or may not part with the information they wanted by the end of the day, but he most certainly told her very much about Gerald – far more than he would have shared with her to be sure.

“Terribly generous, yes,” Jillian affirmed with a hint of sarcasm in her poisonous tone, “but I’m not liking it. I have gambled before, and if the dice aren’t loaded on this one then I’m the duchess of Zerul. Two weeks to banish the Withering is ridiculous, and you know it too. You made it very clear that our chances of accomplishing this at all are close to none. If you think I’m willing to give you my soul for this, then you’re mistaken. And really, my soul? At least you made a creative request of Gerald. Besides, as a sorceress, you must know that it’s the most precious thing I have.”

“Ugh, Gerald,” she sighed as she turned to her companion, “I don’t know if this is going anywhere.”