[IMG]http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u79/SharpshooterJack/markerJaelnec_zps53b7aa37.png[/IMG]
[h3]The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest[/h3]
Although it admittedly still hurt where Angora had kicked him just a moment ago, the pain was nowhere near as intense as it had been immediately after the kick. As vulnerable as that particular spot was and as all-consuming the agony he had felt had been – enough so that there had been passing seconds in which he had been convinced that he was about to faint – cheap shots like that mercifully did not remain debilitatingly effective for long, and the pain dulled much more quickly than that of a more [I]lasting[/I] injury. At least he [I]hoped[/I] that this was not a lasting injury...
But regardless, any pain he was currently in or had previously been in were not the primary factors that made Jaelnec declare his desire to kill the woman, highly uncharacteristic as such an utterance was for him. It helped alleviate any hesitation he had towards being hostile to a woman, certainly, but the aura did much more to lower his tolerance and increase his aggression than the pain did. He was confused, inexplicably frightened, felt like he was starting to get a headache, and the consequence of it all was that he simply did not have enough mental constitution in reserve to calm his rage. This woman had attacked them, had kicked him in a region that was rather precious to him, had [I]admitted[/I] her intention to kill him and his friends, and – worst of all – she had hurt Thaler.
He did not exaggerate when he stated that he wanted to kill her; he was absolutely seething and had no patience left for her whatsoever. Had Iridiel and Domhnall not gotten in the way he would have impaled the frothing savage on his sword the [I]second[/I] he felt that he had recovered enough to move without collapsing or throwing up.
[I]Better than her?[/I] he grimly repeated Thaler’s words in his thoughts, staring at Angora and trying to resist the (somewhat disturbing and alien-feeling) urge to rip her throat out with his teeth. [I]She is a fiend, only better than Usha because she is at least honest about her intent to kill us. I want to kill her so bad, it’s like a fire in my blood... in my...[/I]
Slowly he turned his head to look at his right hand, which still clutched the ornate hilt of Roct with desperate tightness. The sword felt painfully hot to the touch.

At least Aemoten seemed to be back on his feet, if only out of necessity rather than because he had recovered enough to feel well. Somehow the outlander’s being there helped calm Jaelnec’s fury some and cooled his blood, allowing him enough clarity to at least take some deep breaths to try to keep himself under control. Aemoten was there to take over, be the leader, make the necessary decisions... and he was there to watch and see what Jaelnec did, and would witness anything the squire did to personally judge his actions.
With his aura-muddled mind he could not help but to wonder what would happen if he really did ignore Olan and potentially defy their leader, if he just stepped up and murdered Angora in cold blood right there on the ground; not even using his sword, he would draw his dagger and jump on top of her, cut her throat, pause for a moment to let what happened sink in for her, then jab the weapon into the temple of her skull. He would probably cry out in primal anger as he did it, shrugging off anyone trying to stop him... he was the strongest one there at the moment and he could kill her in an instant, none of them would be able to stop him. And what then? He would probably start crying once he realized what he had done and remorse overwhelmed him. Then Thaler would come over and hug him, showing her sympathy, telling him that it was all right...
He blinked his eyes and swallowed a mouthful of bile, feeling the last of his wrath evaporate at the simple realization that he would, indeed, regret it after having killed the woman. He would be more than a killer, less than a squire; indeed, he would be no more than a cold-blooded murderer.
[I]Better than her,[/I] he thought again, smiling softly this time. [I]Right now I don’t think I am, but I usually am and I want to be again. You’re right, Thaler.[/I]

“It’s hard to describe,” Jaelnec replied when Aemoten asked about the aura, lowering his voice the same as the foreigner did his. “I feel disoriented and imbalanced, like the ground his moving under my feet... and I keep expecting to get attacked from random directions.” He shook his head, hesitating a moment before admitting to the most shameful part of what the aura made him feel. “And I’m scared. It’s like a fear that I can’t entirely ignore, but I’m not sure what I’m afraid of.” He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“I don’t know,” was Olan’s answer when Aemoten inquired as to whether Angora was possessed, throwing his arms wide in bewilderment. “It’s not a demon or an angel, I can tell that much, but... it’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like it [I]is[/I] her, but it’s also [I]in[/I] her. Like... a parasite, maybe.”
Olan then turned to Iridiel, listened to her instructions and turned to Angora, switching to true words as he addressed her. “This woman is going to try to make you better,” he told her, indicating Iridiel, “but she says it might hurt. You need to stay still and try to keep calm... we are going to hold you down, too, so you don’t hurt yourself. Do you understand?”