Jillian winced for an instant when Crone so sharply negated her view of the battle's aftermath, just long enough to let a shiver run down her cold back. But was it because of the old woman, or due to her miserable condition? She did not know, but suspecting the former, she got even more annoyed, not wanting to feel threatened by this ancient hag, no matter how powerful she might be.

"Oh, come on! It's a bloody battle, people are going to die," Jillian shot back, sounding dismissive a little aggressive. As if she were in the mood for lectures right now! She would stand by that everyone important had made it, except perhaps Lailonsaire who, barring personal feelings, was still little more than another pawn on the board. Really, who cared if some forest dwellers got caught in the cross fire? They gave their lives protecting what they loved, they knew what they signed up for when they saw what was coming for them. If they truly had been inexpendable, then they would not have died - just how Gerald and herself had made it, or Crone for that matter. But as it stood, somebody had to die so that others could live, and the least important drew the shortest sticks.

Still, that was not all of it! Crone saw fit to continue explaining why Jillian's words were apparently inappropriate, or not doing the situation justice, as if any of it really mattered at this point. She had told what had transpired in concise form, her personal judgment of the outcome should not be relevant to the woman. Still, she at least made a better case for herself this time, Jillian noted, and decided not to dwell upon this any longer than necessary.

"Fine," she stubbornly muttered, shrugging uncaringly. What she wanted was not to discuss the battle or their feelings on the battle, no. She wanted to know more about this Crone, and not even so much about her, but about her power. It was that which drew Jillian in, like a moth to the flame. It seemed she was destined to meet mages of great power, and cursed to appease them to drink from their wisdom. One day, she dreamed. One day she would be the one that others will seek out, desperate to learn her dark secrets.

Only, when pressed for knowledge, the elderly magus entirely distanced herself, not just from Jillian, but reality itself it seemed. She merely elected to delegate the task of speaking to Renold - as if the old dragon was required to be her herald all of a sudden! - and stared at nothing in particular, seemingly lost in thought. With a brief pang of guilt, Jillian had to think of Vincent who also liked to do so, when she wasn't looking; or when he thought she wasn't. She never thought about what might have been going on in his head during those moments. Now was not the time, however, as the grand dragon took over speaking for the elder woman.

Keeps her name secret, sure, why not. Is the... oldest? Older than a dragon? Huh, well that was odd. Human too. Now, Jillian had heard of people living to venerable ages before, certainly, but this sounded downright unnatural. And she wielded all schools of magic? [i]All[/i]?! Surely he must be either exagerrating, or not know what he was talking about. A misunderstanding perhaps? This was preposterous! She had shown an aptitude for the arcane, as well as invoking the divine powers of Reina. That was two, and according to the dragon she was at the very least also adept at black magic. If she really was as old as he claimed, then she was willing to not only believe this, but also assume that she must have unlocked the greater mysteries of necromancy to remain alive in the first place, much like Delian Gilmah did for instance, only different, perhaps. That in itself was an impressive array of magical knowledge - to add onto that elemental magic, the art of the warden, and summoning was stupid. She refused to believe that until she would witness it. Not that it mattered (all that much) at the time. If she truly was a witch, then she was very likely to know things that Vincent and she did not, and that meant she had to probe that knowledge from her at any cost. She felt a certain antipathy for Crone, but had to put aside her feelings in favor of the "greater good" for the time being.

Jillian had been listening silently to what the dragon had to say, perhaps cocking her head questioningly at times or raising an eyebrow, little more. She was about to thank Renold for his exposition, but Crone saw fit to rejoin the conversation and cut any reply short with the statement that there was no need for Jillain to know more about Crone's persona. For some reason, the little witch picked this up as borderline threatening, but put it off as misinterpretation. Besides, she was right - there was no need for her to know anything about the old hag's background. She had no interest in it, only her power.

"True," Jillian affirmed neutrally, originally intending to speak her mind but ceasing to do so when she saw the old woman go about using her magic again for... whatever it was she was planning to do. The Zerulic instinctively withdrew and pulled a corner of her blanket over her mouth, as if trying to shield herself in a futile attempt. Fortunately for her, she was not beset by forces of destruction, but a more benevolent kind of energy that replenished not only her magical reserves, as she positiviely noted, but also appeared to cure her of her drowsiness and feeling of discomfort that typically precedes sickness. Jillian's heart was torn: naturally, she was inclined to feel happy, and she did, but a part of her began loathing the woman for being so powerful. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair! This part of her wanted to go back to the little girl she had been ten, fifteen years ago, to yell at this hag until she gave up her prize, or until someone's parents came and made it right for her. It seemed so pointless to go on doing what she had been doing so far, when people like this existed. She struggled to keep certain spells under control, and two or three of them were enough to almost render her unconscious. Crone, on the other hand, conjured what were almost miracles seemingly at will without batting an eyelash. She would never measure up to this in her lifetime, unless she too discovered the old woman's secret by some event of chance. Was there a chance, then? The witch's poison green eyes curiously stared at the elder as this one began to ask about the future plans of hers, Gerald and Salas. The latter, meanwhile, had risen to his feet, all but cured of the wounds he bore mere moments ago. The first thing he elected to do was to approach the others, heading for Jillian specifically. Her gaze betrayed mistrust and caution, and when he got dangerously close, she also took slow steps backwards, hoping he would stop in his tracks. Alas, he did not, and when he leaned in on her, she pressed her right hand against his chest to keep him at bay, her visage now visibly disgusted and aggravated. Salas made it a point to show and not tell her about his condition, and when she peered into his tongueless maw, she violently shoved him away from herself before exclamating a nausteated "Gross!".

Having put some distance between herself and Salas, she quietly glared at him while he returned his attention to Crone, deciding to be the first to answer her question with that unique voice of his that danced like sylphs on the evening wind. If what he said was true, then he had no stake in any of this, which Jillian found fitting in a way, as she could also not recall him having any sort of impact on the battle either. Indeed, he was just another pawn, she thought, one of those that Crone deemed so 'indispensable'. Jillian could not see why the old woman thought as she did; such views were more common amongst the naive city population, those that had been spared the horrors of war, and who lived in blissful ignorance of the harsh sacrifices that had to be made in order to achieve anything in this world. Mere weeks ago, she too might have been like that, but she learned quickly. Crone, strangely, seemed to hold onto her unworldly views in spite of what were allegedly centuries of experience. Surely she must have understood by now that if not even she, with all of her wisdom and power, could not save them, then there were no miracles to be had? Such was the domain of Spirits, gods and demons, unfortunately.

After explaining himself to the elderly forest guardian, Salas took shelter by a nearby tree, sitting down against it. Was his condition not healed as well as it appeared to be? Or was it just some leftover fatigue? Either way, Jillian appreciated the fact that he was at a reasonable distance once more and, feeling emboldened by that fact, she took the initiative next to answer.

"I'll be honest, Crone," Jillian began, emphasizing the word 'Crone' in particular, much like she dwelled on the name 'Glass', "I'm not here because I am some type of idealist. Don't get me wrong, I understand the threat that Hazzergash poses, and I'm as much against him as anyone here, but my interest is in learning magic. Originally I sought Gerald's necromancy, but, well... I am even more interested in learning what you know about black magic. We're amongst ourselves here, no reason to be hush-hush about all these oh so forbidden schools, yes?"

As she spoke, the witch stepped forward again until in arm's reach of Anaxim's eldest, speaking and walking with confidence. When faced with the hunched-over lady, Jillian was surprised to not be the shortest person in the gathering, for a change, even if they might have been somewhat similar if Crone were standing upright.