Perhaps fortunately for Gerald, his dismissive expression escaped Jillian's otherwise watchful gaze; surely, she would have begrudged him for it. As for Crone, she seemed mildly amused by the witch's plans and request. Yes, why wouldn't she be? In hindsight, it was quite brash of her to outright ask to be taught, having known the old woman for less than a matter of minutes. She was getting ahead of herself, but who could blame her? This Crone was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most powerful creature she had ever met. Perhaps even the most powerful creature in Rodoria? No, sad as it was, probably not even.

"I do not even know your name, yet you see fit to beseech my mastery of forbidden magic?" the ancient woman noted with a hint of both humor and surprise. She was right, and Jillian immediately felt regret and, in turn, mildly surprised by the fact that she had forgotten to introduce herself. Normally she would never have, but the situation had been anything but ordinary. Still, it was no way to behave for someone who insisted so strongly that others part with their own names.

Before Jillian could muster an apology and share her name, Crone continued, offering to indeed teach Jillian something - although not quite what she had imagined. Truth was, Jillian did not know what to imagine at all when the old woman spoke. Being taught about black magic itself? The path to mastery to walk by oneself? She would happily pick up on the offer, as the subject was intriguing in its own right, but the prospect of not learning any new spells was disappointing, to say the least. Still, perhaps when the time had come, she could tickle out this or that spell from the old woman, if she played her card right. That had to wait until then.

"You're right, I do yearn for magic. It's all I have left, I guess," Jillian replied, her voice betraying a tinge of disappointment, "Whatever it is you are willing to teach, I am willing to learn it. Thank you for sharing as much, at least. And lest I forget: My name is Jillian Veldaine, and I hail from Zerul," she did a short, courteous bow. "Or I once did. I'm sorry I forgot to introduce myself; I got ahead of myself."

After having dealt with both Jillian and Salas, the ancient woman turned to face the third in their midst, one who had yet to speak a single word: Gerald. Jillian, too, now turned to face him, her eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of him. Merely looking at him was enough to make her feel upset again, and it was as if she was merely waiting for him to make a mistake at this point so that she would have an excuse to lunge at him.

"And you, Gerald the Thrice Named?" Crone asked him nonchalantly. Thrice Named? Well, well, now. That little remark was almost a princely feast for Jillian with how much potential information it contained on the dark necromancer. Could it imply that Glass was not his real name? Or Gerald? Maybe both. It might even imply that whichever name he had before that was a fake as well. Why would he have to change his name so many times? Granted, he was a necromancer from Zerul, she understands the need to mask his identity in the city while still living there. She herself was quite lucky to have gotten away for as long as she did. Either way, she was sure to remember this, and ask him about it later. Yes, this knowledge would play out in her favor sooner or later. A small part of her wondered if Crone had said that in order to provide Jillian with a clue, or if she really meant it as an innocent title for someone she knew well.

"I expect no less," Gerald shot back at Crone, who offered to reward him with the location of someone who was learned on the subject of the Withering. How boundlessly rude of him! This time it was Jillian's turn to frown at him, her viridian eyes almost burning holes through the necromancer's face. Had he not pulled out the demon prison, they might have, but as soon as the red crystal tainted fresh air with its hellish glow, her gaze was drawn to it. It was natural to look at it, but for Jillian, it was almost an uncomfortable compulsion to stare at it, as if the demon lord himself commanded her to. The sight of it brought back shadows of memory, glimpses at the towering monstrosity from her fever dreams, as well as the unfortunate incident with Brand. And last but not least, the sight of Kevalorn, his mortal vessel. Jillian shivered for a moment, enough to tear her eyes from the crystal.

Crone refused to take it back. On the contrary, she seemed almost desperate for him to keep it, urging him to reconsider his quest. She had a point: if Gerald indeed succeeded in curing himself of the Withering, he would lose his ability to transfer souls and their energy between receptacles, an ability that had already proven to be massively useful. Not only could it be used to replenish a caster's reserves almost instantly, albeit at the cost of somebody's life, but as Crone pointed out, could also be used to seal the demon lord into his prison. There likely was nobody else in Rodoria who could do it this well. Of course, on the other hand, she could clearly understand Gerald's hesitation. He was dying, quickly. Every day that he lived was a blessing, and he had all reasons in the world to make haste and get rid of his disease before it was too late. Crone was asking of him to become a martyr, in a way. Jillian did not envy his position. Little did she know that he would put her in his shoes just then.

In a move that she would never have anticipated, he turned to her for help. "What do you think?" he asked her, almost beseeching her to make a choice for him. "Should I go?" He sounded oddly exhausted and worn, much more so than earlier. This nature was so very familiar to her, she could almost see Vincent in front of her when he spoke with a voice that sounded as if he had not slept in weeks, and were decades older than he was. Jillian wanted to be wicked towards him, but seeing her deceased lover in the necromancer, and feeling pity for his situation, she could not bring it over herself to coat her tongue with poison.

"I... I don't know, Gerald. I'd like to think that, if I were you, I'd do the selfless thing and take the fight to Hazzergash. But I might not. I might have done the selfish thing and save myself, and if your cure works for everyone, you would save a lot more than your own hide."

Jillian appeared evidently uncomfortable and uncertain of herself up to this point, feeling the weight of Gerald's decision on her shoulders. She stared at the ground for a while, in silence, before lifting her gaze again with renewed spirits.

"Wait, I have an idea, if you'd like," she exclaimed, clearly more lively than before, "We are fast, are we not? We have a dragon's speed. We even have teleportation! Can't we do both? I obviously don't know what the cure entails, but we could seek out this person and hopefully learn enough to devise an antidote to the Withering. We could prepare it, and with it in tow, we could then seek out Hazzergash. If we're quick enough, we can seal him before the Withering destroys you, and you can use the cure immediately after - or at any other point it threatens to consume you. It's better to be safe than sorry, and I'm sure there are alternatives to defeating the demon. He was first sealed before the Withering ever existed.

...How about that?"