Roy's prone form lurched and jolted up in cold sweat. His heart was hammering inside of his chest and his lungs took shallow breaths, while his body trembled. To the outside observer, it seems that the musketeer was having a panic attack. He quickly scans the immediate area of the apparitions and illusions that had tormented him hours back. There were none left and he was alone in that musty decrepit stable. He rests his face into his palms and thought deeply to himself. [color=orange]'I know that the curse is getting worse...but this was completely different.'[/color] He lifts his head to look at his hands. A number of black veins had appeared at his finger tips, but they were less than an inch long and he still retained his lively skin color. [color=orange]'If the mages in Briston were correct, I would have at least a half year until...until the curse took me. Though judging by this and the intensity of the illusions, I would say I barely have a month and a half left.'[/color] His memory unintentionally goes back to the illusion of his grotesque double.

He shakes away the thought and starts to stand; he had wasted enough time worrying about the curse rather than searching the ruins for a cure. He then notices the small piece of parchment paper near his person and picks it up. There drawn is a detailed image of a rose...drawn in browned blood. The writing below the drawing caught his attention. It had simply stated "COME." Roy glares at the note before crumpling it up and tossing it aside. Someone was taunting him...may the divines have mercy on the man for he will not.

Roy is now heading near the ruins proper.