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His reaction to being reminded of the way he had chosen to live his life clearly upset Jillian, probably in more ways than one, but ultimately it was unavoidable; he had grown too lax in his own policy not to allow himself to care about anyone, so pushing a person who had forged bonds with him in the fires of battle away was bound to be painful for both parts. Unlike before, though, Gerald did not try to predict her reaction, nor did he try to guess what she was thinking; doing so would entail understanding the person one analyzed, and right now he was intently trying to force the creation of a chasm as wide as possible between their souls. She sounded scared at first, he thought... then angry, and finally insulted.
If he was lucky, he thought sadly, this would be enough to sow bitterness towards him in her, ensuring that she herself would work to maintain distance between them. They had known each other only for a few hours, and even if they had shared a common destiny through a fierce battle in that time they were still little more than strangers to each other. She might come to hate him yet, as most people did; disgusted by his disregard for the lives of innocents, his usage of the forbidden arts, his thirst for power... all because of their inability to see the significance of his actions in the greater scheme of things. Sacrifice a village to protect a country, and seize power and skill so to use to protect reality; even if that power was obtained by sacrificing others, it could save many more if used right. Ever since he was exiled from Zerul, Gerald had only ever been the object of others' hatred... Dennis Remdal's hatred, the Zerulic's hatred, the villagers of Shrubnest's hatred, and even that of those adventurers that had come to him under the leadership of that foolish Nightwalker. But in the Anaxim Forest he had not been hated, but welcomed; the defenders of the forest had craved his power to aid in their desperate struggle, and Crone had wanted his ability for her plans. Could that have been the root of the problem? That he had let his heart warm to the feeling of being wanted, and thus accidentally letting go of his resolve?
Maybe Jillian would leave now; there was no reason for her to be here anymore, unless she wanted to help with his quest to end the Withering. Why did she seek him in the first place? To learn necromancy, was it? They were in Pelgaid now, just a short trip from Pelgaid City and the Land of Eternal Night. The Black Tribunal would surely be much more desirable teachers than him, and have far more resources at their disposal to use in the bestowal of knowledge.

Sighing to himself, ignoring the witch's suggestion for him to bathe, the warlock reached his right hand down beside the rock he was sitting on and quickly found Omni in the shadows, picking it off the ground and placing it in his lap. He had thought about destroying the staff many times, an artifact of Delian Gilmah as it was, but somehow he could not bring himself to do it... nor would he have had the necessary power to do so, for that matter. Powerful magic resided within it, infused from Delian herself long ago, and even if it was badly damaged the abilities of Omni would allow it to mend itself if it was supplied the magical energy to do so.
But now... Raising his gaze to stare over the rocks that surrounded them, Gerald's left hand went to his chest once more, clutching the form of the Demon Prison that rested there. A gentle warmth radiated from the crystal along with, he could tell with his great magical proficiency, a small but steady flow of demonic essence. The seal on this prison had deteriorated too much since its creation, which was what had allowed Hazzergash's soul to escape it in the first place. He had not yet dared to let his senses peer into the crystal itself too much, but even without doing that he could sense a truly monstrously huge amount of power locked deep within its confines. Part of Hazzergash's power was in this crystal... using the Withering, Gerald suspected that he could tap this power if he really wanted. Not that he was foolish enough to attempt such a thing; immortal energy was detrimental to a mortal soul, everyone knew that. Besides, drawing upon the demonic power within the crystal might accidentally weaken the seal enough to allow the rest of Hazzergash to escape, or at the very least let the Lord of Fire sense the location of it. The power was tempting, but ultimately too dangerous to use... for now.
Hazzergash... yes, they would have to face him again, in that Jillian was certainly correct; the Demon Prison would be needed in order to reseal him, after all, and Gerald was potentially the single being in existence best suited for trapping the demon back inside it. Who else could rip the soul from its vessel and convey it elsewhere but someone who had learned to wield the Withering itself as a weapon? And although Jillian and himself, and almost certainly the surviving Guardians of Anaxim, considered the Battle of Anaxim a loss on their part, Gerald very much doubted that Hazzergash would see it as a victory. He may have destroyed the Anaxim Forest, but he had lost nearly half of his Crusader's Guild doing so, yet had failed to retrieve the prison that contained his body and the remainder of his strength. On top of that he had been pushed to the point of having to act personally, using Hazzergash's power excessively to wipe out the defenders... and since Hazzergash was the aspect of rage, chances were that discovering that he had been tricked and that the crystal had already been taken away would send him into a fit of blind fury, unleashing even more of his power to vent his wrath. Immortal energy was harmful to mortals indeed, and Kevalorn would have to be an extraordinarily adapted host to have lasted this long as Hazzergash's vessel... but wielding demonic powers wantonly like that was liable to be an extreme strain on his body. If they were lucky Kevalorn may even die from Hazzergash's power, if he had not done so already.
Regardless of whether they would face Hazzergash in a new host next time or in Kevalorn, his power would be much more severely limited by then than it had been this time. A new host would doubtlessly be less compatible than Kevalorn had been, and Kevalorn would be on the verge of death after this ordeal. Next time, maybe they would stand a chance... assuming, of course, that he did not have the entirety of the Crusader's Guild surrounding him at the time. Maybe now was the time to attack him...?

While Gerald pondered these things, Jillian's approach seemed to stir the sleeping dragon, who let out a low-pitched croon as his head first tilted to the side, then the other, before he slowly opened his grand yellow eyes. He shifted his massive body around from side to side a little, restlessly, before he swung his head around to look at the woman directly.
"Ah, you're awake," Renold noted, his voice deep as the rumbling of the earth itself, but at the same time with an almost eerily melodious quality to it. He beamed her a friendly smile, but his eyes still betrayed the sadness that haunted his heart even now. Gerald observed it from the other side of the lake, secretly curious as to just how she would react to him. The first time he had ever seen her she had been on the back of a dragon - another Green, even - but Renold was in a different class altogether than the green dragon sister; even compared to the larger Red sister, the elder was colossal. "Well met, little one. I am Renold. How -"

Renold abruptly stopped himself in mid-sentence, his body suddenly going rigid and his eyes leaving Jillian and darting off to the side, staring at something off in the direction behind Gerald, to the left of the witch and the dragon. There was nothing to see there, but it only took a second for the necromancer to realize what had caught the Elder Green's attention, as he began sensing a gradually increasing eruption of magical energy there as well. More and more energy surged through the fabric of Reniam itself, and as it converged, a beautiful chiming noise began to reverberate in their bones and the rocks around them; indeed, even the surface of the lake could be seen trembling at the single drawn-out tone. Along with the noise arrived a light that rapidly increased its luminance to that of a blinding intensity, bathing the area in a magnificent radiance that seemed to contain all colors in existence at the same time.
Just when the shining brilliance of this visage seemed to reach its peak, it changed; the light drew back into itself, forming a black globe hovering just above the ground, so dark that it seemed as though it absorbed the all light around it, trying to swallow the world just as it had its own light. It was a deeply unsettling sight... like looking into Stupor itself, the orb gave off the impression of devouring everything while being nothing itself but an infinite darkness. Power also kept flowing from it and into it, as energy was displaced through space and time, fueling this spectacular magic...
And then it disappeared. The blackness dispersed in the blink of an eye, and the chiming noise vanished along with it. But where it had been were now two figures, one lying down and the other kneeling beside it. The one lying down was the man Gerald and Jillian had met briefly in the Anaxim Forest, who had made the wind his voice; Salas. The other...
Beside him kneeled a human woman who looked incomprehensibly ancient, her countenance as though made up solely by deep furrows and wrinkles, her frame even smaller and frailer than Gerald's own, but with eyes that brimmed with ages' worth of wisdom. Huddled in dusty-gray scarves and blankets, wearing a thick woolen dress, this woman certainly earned the name she had made herself known by. The name Renold and Gerald exclaimed in unison upon realizing it was her, the dragon with joy, the warlock with shock:
"Crone!"