Dark Jack

The Prophecy

I want to write more, both an IC post for the companions' scene and a bit more elaborate OOC post on this, but my hands hurt pretty badly today. My fingers won't move right... writing is difficult. Bad weather must be on the way... maybe.

There were a few things that I thought I wanted to address immediately, though, the first one being that the "extreme moral opposites" I refer to doesn't include dead spirits; these are indeed just as varied in the growth of their Seeds of Good and Evil as living mortals, and can be anywhere on the spectrum depending on their own perception of their actions and other's opinion of those (there are even some who live by such twisted personal morals, and are surrounded by people who share similar morals, who end up not fitting into the spectrum at all; these share the fate of certain other unfortunate souls and achieve an afterlife in the Spirit Realm rather than the Upper or Lower Planes). The extreme opposites are not the dead spirits, but the immortals: gods, angels and demons. When a dead spirit desires to cease to exist, practically committing suicide, they become immortals, and thus the immortal faction they join benefits from it. That is what I meant.
And yeah, I meant other versions of afterlife outside of the world of the Prophecy... though even within the Prophecy, there are a few other options, usually specific to the worship of some particular deities.

And I agree; I have mentioned this before, but I certainly would prefer to keep living, regardless of the alternatives. I want to live forever if possible, which is why research in means to achieve longevity fascinates me. They already have drugs that can literally reverse aging in rats; I am hopeful that I'll find a way to stay alive indefinitely before dying. (I write "I'll" because I am not naïve enough to think that longevity, even if a means to obtain it is found, would be easily acquired by any means. If everyone lived forever, that'd be a problem. So I consider it my own job to find a way to earn that longevity once it becomes obtainable.)

The Prophecy

Well, my original plan was for me writing the post where Crone teleported herself and Salas in - which I did - , then Ashgan would post once, then I would post again and have Crone heal Salas and things would just develop naturally from there... but I didn't really count on a week passing after that first post with Crone and Salas without a response from Ashgan. You're welcome to write a post now if you want, sartorous, if you want to go with the explanation of Salas simply being immobilized by his injuries (whatever those may be), but I'm not too keen on posting again for the same scene immediately after I posted for it once. That's like replying to myself... Optimally it would be Ashgan's turn, but in lack thereof, you can post.
Speaking of which, how are things Ashgan? Any ETA on a post that we can plan according to?

And yeah, I imagine reunions in an afterlife in the Planes can be rather awkward, if not downright unpleasant at times... not even considering the various other versions of afterlife that can be found elsewhere. What is worse is the fact that in the Planes, the extreme opposite moralities actually capitalize on the potential pain of dead spirits seperated from their loved ones, or the equal or worse pain of reunion; there are few times that one is more willing to escape themselves and discard their memories than when their memories and feelings become burdens, so clearly at that point throwing it all away and becoming an angel or a demon is pretty attractive... not that people usually last long enough as dead spirits in the Lower Plane to experience that kind of regret, but hey, there are always those few exceptions.

The Prophecy

Well, for one thing, while the barracks is elongated, the doorway is situated on one of the narrow ends of the building, not the broader length of it, so the view he would receive would encompass pretty much the entire length of the interior. For another... nah, I'm not going to explain that one, actually; let's just say that in this case, seeing clearly despite significant difference in light-levels is not so improbable. It would far from let him see the entire building interior - just the lower floor in itself would be out of his field of view altogether and easily reachable - but coupled with the fact that Aemoten abruptly just came out there and immediately engaged him after an extensive stare-off with Jaelnec and Etakar, it's enough to be a pretty significant hint that something has not gone as planned.
The rune mage has turned slightly more in Aemoten and Etakar's direction (I got the impression they were going the same way? Otherwise it would just be Etakar's direction) than the door.

The Prophecy

Incorrect, for once; there were indeed sixteen guards at the post initially, but since the companions arrived there some of them have left on patrol. When Aemoten asked the lieutenant how many guardsmen were at the barracks immediately after they had fled back inside after the crows attacked, he explained that there were ten guardsmen left at the barracks: seven halberdiers, one rune mage (the sergeant), one arcane mage (the corporal) and one elementalist (himself). With two halberdiers dead and the rune mage outside, seven guards remain. Including Olan and Beatrice, that's nine.

You're right about RPG acting up recently... It's not been quite as bad for me as you describe it, for some reason, but I've had some lag and the occasional report that the site was down.

The Prophecy

His reaction to being reminded of the way he had chosen to live his life clearly upset Jillian, probably in more ways than one, but ultimately it was unavoidable; he had grown too lax in his own policy not to allow himself to care about anyone, so pushing a person who had forged bonds with him in the fires of battle away was bound to be painful for both parts. Unlike before, though, Gerald did not try to predict her reaction, nor did he try to guess what she was thinking; doing so would entail understanding the person one analyzed, and right now he was intently trying to force the creation of a chasm as wide as possible between their souls. She sounded scared at first, he thought... then angry, and finally insulted.
If he was lucky, he thought sadly, this would be enough to sow bitterness towards him in her, ensuring that she herself would work to maintain distance between them. They had known each other only for a few hours, and even if they had shared a common destiny through a fierce battle in that time they were still little more than strangers to each other. She might come to hate him yet, as most people did; disgusted by his disregard for the lives of innocents, his usage of the forbidden arts, his thirst for power... all because of their inability to see the significance of his actions in the greater scheme of things. Sacrifice a village to protect a country, and seize power and skill so to use to protect reality; even if that power was obtained by sacrificing others, it could save many more if used right. Ever since he was exiled from Zerul, Gerald had only ever been the object of others' hatred... Dennis Remdal's hatred, the Zerulic's hatred, the villagers of Shrubnest's hatred, and even that of those adventurers that had come to him under the leadership of that foolish Nightwalker. But in the Anaxim Forest he had not been hated, but welcomed; the defenders of the forest had craved his power to aid in their desperate struggle, and Crone had wanted his ability for her plans. Could that have been the root of the problem? That he had let his heart warm to the feeling of being wanted, and thus accidentally letting go of his resolve?
Maybe Jillian would leave now; there was no reason for her to be here anymore, unless she wanted to help with his quest to end the Withering. Why did she seek him in the first place? To learn necromancy, was it? They were in Pelgaid now, just a short trip from Pelgaid City and the Land of Eternal Night. The Black Tribunal would surely be much more desirable teachers than him, and have far more resources at their disposal to use in the bestowal of knowledge.

Sighing to himself, ignoring the witch's suggestion for him to bathe, the warlock reached his right hand down beside the rock he was sitting on and quickly found Omni in the shadows, picking it off the ground and placing it in his lap. He had thought about destroying the staff many times, an artifact of Delian Gilmah as it was, but somehow he could not bring himself to do it... nor would he have had the necessary power to do so, for that matter. Powerful magic resided within it, infused from Delian herself long ago, and even if it was badly damaged the abilities of Omni would allow it to mend itself if it was supplied the magical energy to do so.
But now... Raising his gaze to stare over the rocks that surrounded them, Gerald's left hand went to his chest once more, clutching the form of the Demon Prison that rested there. A gentle warmth radiated from the crystal along with, he could tell with his great magical proficiency, a small but steady flow of demonic essence. The seal on this prison had deteriorated too much since its creation, which was what had allowed Hazzergash's soul to escape it in the first place. He had not yet dared to let his senses peer into the crystal itself too much, but even without doing that he could sense a truly monstrously huge amount of power locked deep within its confines. Part of Hazzergash's power was in this crystal... using the Withering, Gerald suspected that he could tap this power if he really wanted. Not that he was foolish enough to attempt such a thing; immortal energy was detrimental to a mortal soul, everyone knew that. Besides, drawing upon the demonic power within the crystal might accidentally weaken the seal enough to allow the rest of Hazzergash to escape, or at the very least let the Lord of Fire sense the location of it. The power was tempting, but ultimately too dangerous to use... for now.
Hazzergash... yes, they would have to face him again, in that Jillian was certainly correct; the Demon Prison would be needed in order to reseal him, after all, and Gerald was potentially the single being in existence best suited for trapping the demon back inside it. Who else could rip the soul from its vessel and convey it elsewhere but someone who had learned to wield the Withering itself as a weapon? And although Jillian and himself, and almost certainly the surviving Guardians of Anaxim, considered the Battle of Anaxim a loss on their part, Gerald very much doubted that Hazzergash would see it as a victory. He may have destroyed the Anaxim Forest, but he had lost nearly half of his Crusader's Guild doing so, yet had failed to retrieve the prison that contained his body and the remainder of his strength. On top of that he had been pushed to the point of having to act personally, using Hazzergash's power excessively to wipe out the defenders... and since Hazzergash was the aspect of rage, chances were that discovering that he had been tricked and that the crystal had already been taken away would send him into a fit of blind fury, unleashing even more of his power to vent his wrath. Immortal energy was harmful to mortals indeed, and Kevalorn would have to be an extraordinarily adapted host to have lasted this long as Hazzergash's vessel... but wielding demonic powers wantonly like that was liable to be an extreme strain on his body. If they were lucky Kevalorn may even die from Hazzergash's power, if he had not done so already.
Regardless of whether they would face Hazzergash in a new host next time or in Kevalorn, his power would be much more severely limited by then than it had been this time. A new host would doubtlessly be less compatible than Kevalorn had been, and Kevalorn would be on the verge of death after this ordeal. Next time, maybe they would stand a chance... assuming, of course, that he did not have the entirety of the Crusader's Guild surrounding him at the time. Maybe now was the time to attack him...?

While Gerald pondered these things, Jillian's approach seemed to stir the sleeping dragon, who let out a low-pitched croon as his head first tilted to the side, then the other, before he slowly opened his grand yellow eyes. He shifted his massive body around from side to side a little, restlessly, before he swung his head around to look at the woman directly.
"Ah, you're awake," Renold noted, his voice deep as the rumbling of the earth itself, but at the same time with an almost eerily melodious quality to it. He beamed her a friendly smile, but his eyes still betrayed the sadness that haunted his heart even now. Gerald observed it from the other side of the lake, secretly curious as to just how she would react to him. The first time he had ever seen her she had been on the back of a dragon - another Green, even - but Renold was in a different class altogether than the green dragon sister; even compared to the larger Red sister, the elder was colossal. "Well met, little one. I am Renold. How -"

Renold abruptly stopped himself in mid-sentence, his body suddenly going rigid and his eyes leaving Jillian and darting off to the side, staring at something off in the direction behind Gerald, to the left of the witch and the dragon. There was nothing to see there, but it only took a second for the necromancer to realize what had caught the Elder Green's attention, as he began sensing a gradually increasing eruption of magical energy there as well. More and more energy surged through the fabric of Reniam itself, and as it converged, a beautiful chiming noise began to reverberate in their bones and the rocks around them; indeed, even the surface of the lake could be seen trembling at the single drawn-out tone. Along with the noise arrived a light that rapidly increased its luminance to that of a blinding intensity, bathing the area in a magnificent radiance that seemed to contain all colors in existence at the same time.
Just when the shining brilliance of this visage seemed to reach its peak, it changed; the light drew back into itself, forming a black globe hovering just above the ground, so dark that it seemed as though it absorbed the all light around it, trying to swallow the world just as it had its own light. It was a deeply unsettling sight... like looking into Stupor itself, the orb gave off the impression of devouring everything while being nothing itself but an infinite darkness. Power also kept flowing from it and into it, as energy was displaced through space and time, fueling this spectacular magic...
And then it disappeared. The blackness dispersed in the blink of an eye, and the chiming noise vanished along with it. But where it had been were now two figures, one lying down and the other kneeling beside it. The one lying down was the man Gerald and Jillian had met briefly in the Anaxim Forest, who had made the wind his voice; Salas. The other...
Beside him kneeled a human woman who looked incomprehensibly ancient, her countenance as though made up solely by deep furrows and wrinkles, her frame even smaller and frailer than Gerald's own, but with eyes that brimmed with ages' worth of wisdom. Huddled in dusty-gray scarves and blankets, wearing a thick woolen dress, this woman certainly earned the name she had made herself known by. The name Renold and Gerald exclaimed in unison upon realizing it was her, the dragon with joy, the warlock with shock:
"Crone!"

The Prophecy

Sorry about my OOC-silence... Circumstances had me going to and from my computer a lot and generally not leaving me much time to stay there, so I decided to spend the time I had writing IC posts as Gerald. Did I mention that I'm excited for that part of the story to start back up? I'll mention it again: I'm very happy that it did. I really like Gerald, and his part of the story is quite promising at the moment... though I'll have to deal with Jillian and him apparently sticking with Renold for the moment, and soon Crone as well, for a little while. With those two nearby, the characters would be completely pointless.

Your garden does sound like I'd approve of it greatly, Shien; just hearing it described (or reading it, as it were) like that made me a tad envious, to be honest. And as to the companions' debatable successes, I was seeing things from a broader perspective, so to speak... eh, not sure that I can adequately explain what I mean. I guess some of them would be Pyrrhic victories at best (though the same could be argued about the Battle of Anaxim, since the forest and everything in it was destroyed but they succeeded in keeping the prison away from Hazzergash)... meh, I guess it's just in my head that the lost Battle of Anaxim was more thrilling, somehow. It's annoying, by the way... because now that you mentioned it I do remember having stated such a thing as that things could only have gone worse if everyone had gotten killed, but I cannot for the life of me recall the context in which I said it. The last great fight... hmm...
And it would be helpful if you could write a post having Aemoten arrive in front of the barracks; I was actually struggling with the prospect of having to go into drag through explaining how the guards and Olan moved and complied with his instructions, all while writing another passage about Jaelnec and the rune mage glaring impotently at one another...

And sartorous, I will include the reintroduction of Salas into the IC in my next post on the Jillian/Gerald side of things, though we can say that he was still conscious and just immobilized as Shien suggested... I just wanted to avoid a short but potentially tedious bit about Crone and Salas finding each other and such, but that can also be achieved by simply leaving that part skipped and implied. Regardless, I'll have Crone bring Salas there and heal him soon.

EDIT: Oh, I just remembered a little something I did one evening a few days ago, when I was trying to determine for myself just how important the lieutenant actually is in the grand scheme of things. I ended up having to compare his position to his command chain, and then ended up comparing it to the lines of command and various rankings from other areas of Rodoria. This is what I ended up with:

Ranks

As you can probably guess the vertical placement of the titles and where lines connect them aren't random; generally those that are higher on the chart have more authority than those who are lower on the chart, but will always be primarily bound to those connected to their own chain of command; in other words, if someone from the Rodorian army received conflicting orders from the marshal and admiral, the marshal's orders would overrule the other's because, while they would both be that person's superiors, the soldier would would be the marshal's subordinate.
Not sure if it makes sense at all, really, and I know I left out a lot, but it was just something I made really quick while I was thinking. The "special forces" referred to herein would include people like the woman fighting Ixion and Morgan at the moment; agents that report to the dukes directly.

The Prophecy

Playing a game like this, a game of arguments and counter-arguments, turning her own logic against her, Gerald had anticipated various possibilities for her next move as any chess-player would have. He was confident in his superiority in a duel on reason such as this, fencing with words as more brutish men did with swords; he was an intelligent man, after all, and a scholar to boot, whereas she was an impulsive and emotional kind of person. After this he expected Jillian to become angry with him, maybe drawing away from him and resorting to sullen silence, maybe rebuking him for his insolence or thrusting some hasty and unfinished counter-point back at him.
The use of his own last name was noticed, but not particularly reacted to; it was a game he was quickly becoming used to, since this woman apparently took extreme offence to his unwillingness to use her first name. It was nothing new and something that could be predicted and generally disregarded. However...

Gerald's smile vanished as Jillian spoke, and his expression turned suddenly blank and impassive. His left hand remained raised as though frozen in place as he simply stared at her in silence for several seconds, his gaze void of any intensity... only, perhaps, betraying a tiny bit of disappointment. His right hand first lowered, then fell down his side entirely, hanging there limply. Finally, after about ten seconds of pregnant silence, the man - without taking his eyes off Jillian - stuffed the crystal pendant back inside his robe, then stood up before he finally turned away and walked back towards where he had been sitting earlier.
How could she trust him when he refused to use her first name, indeed? That was why he did it, just as she had deduced herself; to keep others at a distance, to isolate himself and detach his fate from that of others. To be able to do what needed to be done for the good of Reniam, no matter what he had to sacrifice. He had forgotten that, had started to get attached to this girl... she did him a favor by reminding him that there were more important things than the two of them. Then why did it hurt so much? Was it this painful because he had to draw away from her again, after having let himself get a little closer? After having said he trusted her? After having risked himself to save her?
But he was accustomed to being alone by now. It was better if she did not trust him... that meant that she was more liable to survive if he ever had to actually betray her. And even if he could manage to force himself to be indifferent about most things about her, if he had to, he still wanted her to live. That one thing he could not change, yet he renewed his resolve that he would not allow that desire to lead him astray; it was painful, but necessary. His path was one of darkness, loneliness and unhappiness, he had known that from the start... but that did nothing to ease its burden.
One day, my love, he thought mournfully, one day I will bring you back, and we will live together forever in as good a world as I can keep it. I will make us immortal, and this world will be ours. I will see your smile for eternity... for such a thing, I must be willing to sacrifice everything. I must.

"I stole energy from the forest itself to restore us," he told her once he was back at their fire, blankly changing the subject. "I had nowhere else to take it from. It seems that its energy makes us heal faster, but weakens our magic. It will wear off."

The Prophecy

Gerald's smile widened slightly at Jillian's confession that she really had thought him selfish enough to be willing to sacrfice anything to save himself. Of course she had thought that; that was part of the plan, after all, that anyone uninitiated in the change of whereabouts of the Demon Prison would simply think that the obviously sinister outsider and necromancer was just trying to save his own skin. Ah, and an excellent plan it had been; with Hazzergash's foul energy having seeped from the crystal over the millennia and tainted the heart of the forest to the point of total corruption, that area would radiate Hazzergash's evil much more strongly than the actual prison itself, which by its very nature contained the demon's essence as much as possible. Combine that with the fact that the Anaxim Forest was so thoroughly permeated with ambient magical energy that it was difficult to sense much of anything, and Hazzergash could have been standing mere feet from Gerald without ever realizing that the thing he sought was within easy reach. There had been more to the plan, of course, but the way things turned out it had never become relevant.
It was not that the warlock was not a selfish man; he was, and he was aware of the fact. How could he be otherwise, when his personal goals involved immortality and supreme power? All beings were selfish at their core, but there were things in the Planes important enough that even the self had to take lower priority. What was the point of surviving, after all, if the world one inhabited became a living nightmare? Why live if life became impossible? Preserving Reniam itself was Gerald's foremost objective, since failing that would remove the value from all others. It was simple logic.

Pleased as he was with having been able to predict Jillian's actions and reactions thus far, however, he was slightly surprised at her first question after the revelation of this secret he had carried against his chest. Her immediate thought at this was to question why he had not told her? He was a little disappointed at that. This woman really was a prideful one, to prioritize the degree of trust she held with him over more obviously interesting things, such as how he had come into possession of Hazzergash's Demon Prison in the first place. That was what he would have asked, but then again, he was by far the more rational of the two.
He did pause a moment upon her asking, thinking, before he decided on an answer. "I do trust you," he finally stated. "That is why I show you now. Before the battle I had no reason to, and during it, mentioning the subject was too dangerous. As for my intentions, I did tell you about them; if it looked like we were losing, we'd flee. Whatever happened I had to stay alive. We had to reach Kevalorn. I told you all these things; I only abstained from specifying the reason for them."
He met her viridian gaze with his amber one, a gleam in his eye and a light smirk on his lip. "Can you not believe in the credibility of my intentions without knowing the reason for them? Do you not trust me, Veldaine?"

The Prophecy

Well, at least it seemed that Jillian was recovering from her ordeal relatively well, probably hastened in the process by her fury as much as by the curiously regenerative natural energy he had infused her with. Gerald could not help but to feel morbidly amused by how the witch apparently wanted the three of them to turn back and face Kevalorn immediately rather than take a little while to regain their strength, all while at the same time stressing how the demonic Lord of Fire was capable of butchering them as easily as he had the dragon sisters. Emphasizing the danger of an action and encouraging it almost in the same breath. She must know that it would be downright suicidal for just the three of them to assault Kevalorn, especially in their current condition. True, this would probably be the time he was the most vulnerable, with nearly the entire force of crusaders escorting him having perished during the Battle of Anaxim, but that also meant that he would be the most cautious right now; their chances of being able to reach him were practically nonexistent without some kind of distraction... which would likely mean the death of the said distraction. He needed Renold for his search for a way to end the Withering, and Gerald himself was too important... did Jillian realize that she was the prime candidate for sacrifice if they were to undertake the task she would have them go on?
She was right in most regards, though, especially about him wanting to free himself from the Withering. Useful and unique as the abilities controlling it gave him were, even the contained Withering would ultimately kill him. Granted that the woman did not know the full horrid truth of what happened to those who died from the plague, she must still realize that the Withering was ultimately much more dangerous than even an unleashed demon lord; one could hide from a demon. Never from the Withering.

It was when Jillian spoke of having to be a step ahead of Hazzergash that Gerald could no longer contain himself and actually broke into a wicked grin, chuckling darkly as his left hand went to the side of his neck, as if to rub it.
"We will face Hazzergash again, there can be no doubt of that," he said, still smirking with amusement. "But luckily we've been a step ahead of him since the very beginning."
As he spoke his left hand rubbed down the side of his neck, then slipped down the collar of his robe and hooked his thumb around his silver necklace. Pulling his hand up and out from his clothes he drew the chain with it, gradually revealing the piece of jewelry while he felt the pendant moving up his chest towards his collar, until it was finally revealed as well, dangling between his neck and upheld left hand. It was a splinter of crystal, about the length of one of his fingers and looking small and fragile, but glowing with a faint inner light in fiery red.
"Hazzergash won't get his hands on his Demon Prison because we took it with us. It has been with me the whole time." He chuckled again, gleeful at the fact that another of their plans had worked out just as intended; if they lost the battle he was supposed to keep the prison away from Hazzergash. It was a failsafe, and a necessary one, it seemed. "What, you thought I was actually so conceited as to announce myself as most important simply because I am me?"
Ah yes, there were few things Gerald enjoyed more than outsmarting his enemies.

The Prophecy

"I will," Gerald replied to her calmly, his voice its usual penetrating hiss that seemed too easy to hear compared to the volume with which was spoken, and slowly patted the air with his right hand. Once again this was about the reaction he had expected, and one that was similar to though less restrained than his own immediately after their escape. After it had seemed like they were safe once again and the necromancer had time to think about anything other than his own survival, he had been furious as well, outraged even. He was still angry even now, but he knew that it served no purpose to rage over the injustice of what had occurred. 'Time Is Absolute', the Fourth Law of Magic said, and there was a cruel truth to that; what had happened, happened. It was unfair, considering how hard they had tried and how much they had sacrificed, but nevertheless it could never be undone.
"We did well..." he assured her after his promise that he would explain, and he actually meant that. He was fairly sure that his strategic decisions had been sound, the situation taken into consideration, and he had accomplished not one, but several magical feats that had never been attempted before, successfully. Even if they lost in the end he could still take pride in the fact that he had achieved within just a handful of minutes what an entire Plane of magi had been incapable of for millennia. And Jillian... she was wild, fierce, unpredictable, impulsive, reckless, but she undeniably possessed some significant innate magical power. She had been careless and flamboyant about it, but she had followed his instructions and accomplished what the combined forces of the Anaxim Forest could not.
"We did well," he repeated, more softly this time, and sighed. "The plan worked just as it was supposed to; after you annihilated the wyverns and cleared the sky, the dragon sisters came and decimated the crusader forces. Their army was practically defeated, but..." He shook his head regretfully. "Even in the chaos, no one managed to reach Kevalorn. Too many of the others had died, and no one was strong or quick enough to get to him. And then..." He made a single quick wave with his hand, a simple turn of the wrist. "Even limited by a mortal vessel and still being partially sealed, Hazzergash's power was unreal. He picked both of the sisters out of the sky in an instant, and then eradicated the defenders that remained... it looked so easy, as if he wasn't even trying." He remembered that Jillian had arrived with one of the dragons, and decided that he had better explain their fates a little better. "By the looks of it there is little doubt that the Red was killed by Kevalorn's attack... the Green managed to protect herself with a barrier, first, but it was shattered; I don't know if it was enough to save her life."
Gerald nodded in the direction of the sleeping Elder Green on the opposite side of their lake. "When it became clear that the tide could not be turned back in our favor Renold over there came to save me, and I had him save you too. He carried us here and has agreed to help me find a way to end the Withering."

Hesitantly the warlock decided to stop his explanation there; he had left some things out of his recounting of events - quite significant things, even - but he had already answered several questions that Jillian had not yet asked, and opted to let her arrive at those questions herself, rather than just pelting her with all the answers immediately. She had just been comatose from magical exhaustion and had just a minute ago mistaken him for someone else; she would need time to process what he had just said, or none of it would really sink in. Luckily now, unlike any other time since Gerald had met the girl on the battle-ready Gariel Downs, time was something they had, not that they sorely lacked. They would need to move on, but for now the night was theirs, peaceful and undisturbed, void of urgency and danger.
It was now that questions would have their due answers and important decisions would be made. It was just a matter of what information he should volunteer, and which he should wait for her to request... He should probably tell her that her magic was greatly weakened right now, even if her magical reserves were fully restored. But not just yet. In time.