[IMG]https://picload.org/image/rpocagri/markerjaelnec.png[/IMG]
[h3]The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in the southwest[/h3]
Interestingly, continuing to listen to Angora made the rage her words had previously awakened in him flow out of Jaelnec, draining from his body as though it had been an actual physical liquid occupying the shell of his body. He felt calm now, yes, and ceased to feel a [I]desire[/I] to punch the immoral woman, but it was far from a pleasant calm that was left in the wake of his anger. It left him cold inside, feeling empty and indifferent toward her. He did not want to punch her, no, but he was also filled with an awareness that he could punch her, or worse, and would feel no remorse for doing so. That he could choose to ignore her if she needed his help.
It was a highly disturbing feeling, completely new to the young nightwalker and evoked memories in him of how Freagon expressed his displeasure; coldly, calmly and cruelly. He had never been able to understand how someone could face the things the one-eyed knight had without ever succumbing to one’s emotions, but feeling this... he felt like he understood a tiny bit better. It was not self-control, courage or strength. It was simply coldness.

“Your private life is yours, and mine is mine,” she said, arguing that he had no right to meddle in her affairs, but the argument made little sense to him. His private life was his, she said? In essence this was probably correct; it was his choice to forego most of what people referred to as “private life” and instead dedicate himself to things greater than himself, to serve, protect and champion the weak and innocent. But her? Her “private life” had a very real and observable negative effect on others in that she stole, hurt and killed. The squire had killed and would kill again, yes, but those who had fallen to his blade were people like Angora; people who set themselves above others and were willing to sacrifice things that did not belong to them for the sake of their own fortune. People who were selfish, sadistic, greedy... [I]evil[/I].
He helped, she hurt. They were on different sides of alignment, whether that be referred to as “good and evil” or “selflessness and selfishness”, but he could not accept her feeble attempts at justifying her actions.
But he would not kill someone who was not hostile to him or his friends, and they could not simply let her go and possibly revert back to the state they had found her in, so she had to come with them. Once they got to Zerul City... well, what then? Hand her over to the Ducal Guard and tell them... what? “This woman is guilty of many heinous crimes, but there’s an entity in her that has and may again drive her into an insane murder-spree. She’s your problem now.” What would they even do with her? Prison? Who knew if the anti-magic seals in place on the Zerulic special-built cells even worked against the powers of the entity inhabiting her? No. Would they sentence her to death? Even more unlikely; Zerul was a duchy built around the pursuit of magic and knowledge, and the likelihood of them simply disposing of such an unusual magical phenomenon as this was practically nonexistent. But then again, maybe the Zerulic mages could find a way to remove the entity. Cure her.
But the Black Sword – or whatever its true name was – had almost certainly been forged and enchanted by Klorr, possibly the most skilled artisan and enchanter in Reniam and an immensely skilled magus. Judging by the way Angora described the Black Sword affecting the penin transporting it, odds were overwhelmingly in favor of Klorr having condemned the artifact to oblivion because even he had been unable to contain the entity, let alone remove it. Could they really place their hopes in the Zerulic mages succeeding where even Klorr had failed?
No. He could not in good conscience hand her over to Zerul and leave her to a life as a magical test-subject, especially with such low chances of them being able to help her. He wished Aemoten was here to make the decision for him... but hopefully he would decide when he rejoined their group. Jaelnec only had to shoulder the burden of responsibility until then.

He sighed, shaking his head in quiet indecision and indifference. Angora had outright refused to comply with any of the things he had asked of her, but he could simply not produce the investment to grow annoyed with this. He did, however, still feel the craving to touch Roct and let her soothing influence wash over him, and that craving was only made stronger by looking at Angora affectionately handling the dark blade that seemed almost like a counterpart to his own white one.
Blinking in surprise, he abruptly realized that [I]he[/I] wanted the Black Sword, that he was fantasizing about taking it from Angora and claiming it for himself. And he doubted that he, if he got his hands on it, would want to part with it either. He also recalled how Roct had reacted to touching the blade, and privately decided that it was probably for the best if the sword stayed in Angora’s possession.
“Fine,” he said, responding to everything that had passed with just one word. What else was he supposed to do? The alternative to simply complying with Angora was to either let her go, which was out of the question, capture and tie her up, or kill her. She would be in the way and dangerous as a captive, and they would have no way to get rid of her, and if they killed her... well, obsidite was practically indestructible, so it was not like they could just destroy the Black Sword. They [I]could[/I] just hide it somewhere, but would they be able to leave it like that? Would he be able to resist the temptation of taking it for himself?
It was not worth the risk.
“I suppose it isn’t important in the end, you know?” Olan supplied after a brief silence. “The Withering doesn’t care who you are or what you do. And that’s our objective, right? Getting rid of the Withering?”
Jaelnec looked up, surprised once again. There was some truth to the old man’s words... maybe the day would come when Angora could redeem herself, if by no other means then by saving countless more than she had killed simply by helping them end the Withering. Or maybe she would die trying, and gain forgiveness through her sacrifice.
He nodded his head. “Yes. We all have a common enemy in the Withering.”