Mas Bagus

Duplicitous Ruins in the Land of Twilight

When Vesmemir inquired, Verdant looked alert still; serpent tails, scales, and all. The scholar was partially used to it, but to see it up close still gave him quite a trepidation.

"Uh, sorry bossman. A bit high-strung. The curator... find offense at Jazdia's existence."

Another pause, Verdant intently turning to look at Jazdia in a gesture that asked for elaboration should the elf felt like it. The elf did not avert her gaze; her eyes were empty, utterly unblinking in that moment. The slow, graceful decline of her chin was a silent, definite signal that she would mind.

And Verdant understood it clearly.

"And we find offense at the ensuing murder attempt! Hence, we should leave. As fast as possible, yes yes, please and thank you."

****

When Vesemir was about to open his mouth, Rezello walked forth. After handing the enchanted artifact that belonged to Verdant and lastly to Miwa, he then spoke.

“While I agree it would be most sensible to leave as soon as possible, there is still the matter of the necromancer’s ritual chamber. Knowing what occurred there, I still intend to look into it,”

The masked knight paused, turning to Miwa.

“That is, if you still intend to attempt a purification.” After all, he wouldn’t have any idea how to deal with curses and other such dark magics if he was on his own - whatever cursed magic it was that had sealed his mask to his face was already more than he knew how to deal with.

"Thank you, Rezello. I shall protect you and anyone who wishes to investigate the room. But I refuse to help someone who was so eager to kill one of our own, even resorting to treachery. Let us take a similar approach to this situation as Arcan himself does.... The room was defiled by the necromancer due to his negligence. It is his problem to deal with, not ours." Miwa said.

"I am willing, at least to try and disrupt whatever curses and magics are in that room so they won't be able to be used by the necromancer. But I refuse to purify it. I have no good will to give to Arcan after what he did." Miwa completed.

"I am sorry for everything you saw and had to hear, Vesemir... But we have to leave the gallery as soon as possible." Miwa said, finally turning to the confused Vesemir, before glancing towards Verdant with a nod, agreeing with her previous words.

"It seems Arcan is not so good of a host as we previously thought..." Miwa said before briefly explaining exactly what had happened regarding Jazdia and how Arcan could not be trusted.

"No need to be sorry, dear Miwa. Please continue."

At first, Vesemir was skeptical, but did not say anything and let Miwa explain uninterrupted. After all, Arcan had been quite welcoming during their arrival. Being enraged randomly was not something he would expect from his type.

When the moment Miwa explained about the curse and Lythiel. The scholar's face gradually darkened. He eyed the painting, his lips pursed, while his mind raced to remember every bit of knowledge he had about the affair most of his kin had forgotten. Lythiel, the Snow Terror, Serensiel's protégé. Was that kind of imprisonment even possible? Was revenancy---a phenomenon bordering on the apocryphal---something that could be imposed upon an unwilling soul?

Miwa had finished retelling, but Vesemir was still deep in his thoughts until he finally spoke.

"You know. Had someone else say this to me, I'd laugh in their face and call them a complete charlatan." he paused, stepping aside to let Eblana bustle over Miwa and Jazdia. Particularly to the latter.

The scholar sighed. The feeling of responsibility was now setting in and felt heavier than Theriadore's book in his arm. An enthusiastic scholar in him was beaming inside; after all, this was an intriguing finding, dubious as it may be, he might even be tempted to ask Arcan himself.

But then it would be unethical. They were discussing someone else's misfortune here, and his heart would prefer that Arcan was wrong. For this matter, Vesemir decided to side with his conscience.

"And I think I'd still laugh, even in Arcan's face," he continued, slightly muttering. Jazdia was looking at him with a smile clearly forced. And he replied in kind. Vesemir knew how shaken Jazdia was behind her uncanny poise. Oh, he knew. Just like artifacts and archeological intricacies, people too had patterns, and he had centuries worth of experience recognizing, to see it through dust and soils, through every mask, and feigned demeanor. What he did not know was how serious the news was, or how much the truth was in Arcan's words. He decided not to find out, not now at least.

"There will be times to discuss it later," said Vesemir solemnly, almost to himself, before shifting his gaze to Rezello. He knew his story. The tragedy of Scheel was a phenomenon discussed quite frequently among academics, but still unresolved to this day. It would be a huge disservice to leave the vault just like that, while a precious clue was just a room next door.

"Now, regarding the dark room earlier. I am fine with the plan to leave the vault now. Mr Elc had suggested it earlier. But, friends! Let me say this again, if you feel you need to, you do it, and I, Eblana, Mr Elc, and Stepan would help. If you don't want to, you are allowed to. I will not compel anyone on the optionals. So, should we go now? Not purifying, just walk in and have a look. Any objections?"

@13org@Valkon@A5G@Randomness

****

Under the ample lighting of that special chamber, Eblana Lacquamarine squinted her eyes. She had dragged a chair from the reading desk and asked Jazdia to sit on it, which the ranger complied with, albeit a bit reluctantly.

Currently, she was examining her neck, which, according to Miwa's account, was subjected to Arcan's sudden attack and strangulation. Leaning closer, there were definitely bruises, not much, but still indisputable evidence of an attack.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked softly.

Jazdia nodded. "Not too bad..."

"Any shortness of breath? dizzynes?"

The ranger shook her head.

No smile was coming from her serene visage, and Eblana did not entertain her understatement. "I still have the salve. I will apply it to you, hold still."

The tale about Jazdia's condition was still heavy in the air. Goodness gracious, by the sound of it. Pretty unbelievable, honestly. But she did not fail to notice a quiver in Vesemir's voice when he stated his opinion. And just like him, Eblana too felt now was simply not the time to speak much about it.

But she wished she could hug Jazdia.

"Are you hurt too, Miss Miwa?" She asked with the same gentleness. True to Miwa's words. If Arcan resorted to a direct physical attack, then the vault was not safe.

But was it justified? If her boss Vesemir did not know, what hope did a younger Elf like herself have of understanding?"

What Are You Listening To?

Duplicitous Ruins in the Land of Twilight

@Randomness@13org

"Enough! Despite everything that you said, you have failed to reply to anything I said with arguments of significant substance other than outbursts of anger and arrogance! Even if you kill Jazdia, there is nothing preventing Lythiel to find another vessel. And when she finds it, it most certainly won't conveniently wander to your doorstep to let you know of it's existence!" Miwa said in an angry tone, looking directly at Arcan, almost too close to comfort.

"I believe there is not much else to be said, is there? We have reached an impasse, Arcan. What will you do? Will you simply try to kill Jazdia once we leave your precious gallery and forsake your duty by ignoring the fact that Lythiel remains a threat? Or will you uphold your duty both to Theriadore himself and to the Theriadore gallery by assisting us in finding a way to deal with Jazdia's curse in exchange of our help with dealing with the two threats you failed to contain, both Lythiel and the necromancer?" Miwa said, her grasp on her weapon becoming tighter as she gave Arcan an ultimatum.

"Think wisely about your choice and know that should you decide to face us, neither one of us will leave unscathed... And unlike you, we have no reason to wait for you to try to strike us down once we leave the gallery. After all... Wasn't you that said 'my problem is right in front of me. Why should I ponder about the wicked intricacies that the monster is plotting if I can end it now?'" Miwa finished, looking directly at Arcan as she used his own words against him.

Arcan was somewhat smarted by the audacity, yet no shadow was moving, nor air changing. In the presence of the entire party, the ancient Djinn adjusted his anger to accommodate a more professional demeanor. After all, he had made his choice.

Calmly, he tugged the cuff of his suit and fixed his eyeglasses. His external control had been perfected for millennia, so when he looked again at the rebellious act Miwa displayed, he was both convinced yet tired.

“That’s enough, dear. As much as I would love for an ancient djinn to follow us on our endeavors, his duty is to this vault.”

Arcan searched for whoever said that. Finally, a sensible statement after all this... pathetic standoff. He saw one of the party members, a gorgeous woman with tanned skin. who casually stepped up and positioned herself between him and Miwa. The curator gave her a nod of acknowledgement and respect before addressing the matter at hand.

"Let me tell you what I will do. To maintain the status quo as long as everyone here is willing to uphold it." He declared, setting up hard boundaries by eyeing everyone present before shifting back to Miwa.

"And to give you additional information. Consider this a token of apology for my rudeness earlier." A pause ensued as he took one last unfriendly look at Jazdia.

"Your friend has less than a month," he continued, his tone was icily clinical. "In three weeks, she will start to lose her sanity, there will be no her, no memories, and no name. Then, after that period of limbo, she dies, withered like Thealeone. But it will be a nobler death. You can, of course, let her stay here, let me monitor her. But what we do not know is what happened after she died. The soul..." He clenched his fist, reeling back an intense emotion, and that restraint was summarily tested again by Jazdia.

"No deal," the ranger said, now standing by herself, the mask of indifference was donned and fastened with iron. Her blade sheathed, and she breathed deeply. Sorrow lingered in her eyes, visible only to those who look closer. Her own death and soul, talked and trivialized like a cheap thing. Yet here she was, exhausted, yet enduring. "I will not just sit idly and fade. I will fight it to the bitter end."

Arcan considered a vicious barb, but plain dismissal was apparently more apt and cruel.

"Pointless suffering. But you have made your choice."

The curator looked at Miwa again, his expression remained hardened. "Priestess Shirakawa Miwa. You heard what your friend has decided; hence, I shall be forthright. You will leave my Master's Vault in peace, with a sincere prayer from me that you will turn back to the West. I will take one last effort to search for any knowledge that might help your friend, although I am certain it shall be a futile endeavor. Whether my effort begets hope or despair, I will find you, and the Creator is my witness, hope next time we meet, it will not be on the path leading to Ostianor."

Arcan finally started walking toward the door, but barely two steps, Vesemir stopped him. The elven scholar was genuinely confused, but utterly failed to read the room.

"Wait, curator Arcan. Help me understand. What was going on?!

"I will not repeat myself," rumbled the ancient djinn. "Since some of you are willing to risk life and suffer to protect the fallen, I figured transparency should be a virtue in your group."

Another step closer to the door, then Fia called.

“I suggest we clear out that contaminated room as a sign of good will. Let Arcan reclaim that section of the vault. In exchange, we leave here peacefully, and promise not to return. At least until the time in which that curse is no longer affecting our dear Jazdia. Be it cleansed or death. Does that sound amiable, dear Arcan?”

Arcan neither dismissed nor agreed. He simply stood there for a moment. Briefly regarded Rezello, eyeing Verdant in her not-so-pleasing form, and then his gaze fell to Vesemir, Eblana, Stepan, Fia, and the last two who had given him so much trouble. No, trouble was a way too mild; it was a crisis, a cataclysmic one, and he was forced to downplay it for now.

"You have a lot to think about. I will leave you to it."

Then, as swiftly as the cold air regulating in that room, he disappeared.

****

Vesemir needed a moment before he could finally gather his words and ask. "So... what was that again?"

Mr Elc. could only close his eyes and shake his head. Eblana shot him a glare. Stepan was as clueless but couldn't say anything.
Jazdia let silence be her answer for now, but soon enough, she would weave words that understate the grimness of her own fate.

Duplicitous Ruins in the Land of Twilight

@Randomness

“Hmm, yes.”

“And we might just there, darling. I cannot think of anyone else except Arcan who would be able to display enough power to shake the entire vault. Something definitely has him agitated. I hope those dears are able pacify him, one way or another.”

Vesemir silently prayed that Via was right. The upheaval paused as they walked through that dimly lit corridor, but the ominous feeling in the air persisted, like a chill in the calm before the storm.

They finally arrived when Arcan was almost finished. The Ancient Djinn towered before Miwa like a teacher having a fiery debate with a student, but it was actually Jazdia who seemed to be getting the punishment.

"I have done my part, as promised. Now it is clear to you what you are dealing with. Do what you want with that knowledge."

Words spoken, vibrating with unmistakable authority. Vesemir was momentarily daunted by it, yet mightily intrigued by its arcanness. He stood there, watching what seemed to be a harsh lecturing reaching its conclusion. Or maybe not, considering Jazdia and Miwa were facing him directly. The ranger held her blade, something that, in Mr. Elc's words, was a rare thing. Verdant and Rezello were also assuming a combat pose, making the situation even more tense.

What pushed this usually feisty and childish youkai to the brink of ferality? What does Arcan mean by that? Too much to process, yet silence was too overwhelming. What was actually going on? He intended to ask, but the sheer intimidation everyone radiated was immense. It was gradually defusing, but still rendered him speechless.

Duplicitous Ruins in the Land of Twilight

"Well, look at that." She said, not even hiding the venom in her words. The elder djinn hadn't been an endearing host. In fact, all this was breaking the unsaid rules of hospitality and such a knife cuts both ways. The itch to knock him down a peg wasn't something Verdant resisted. "It came back to haunt you at the least opportune moment."

A feral grin split her visage like a gaping scar, filled with too many needle-sharp teeth for a human. Posture low and muscles tense, Verdant was more a serpent ready to spring than the little glutton that was her usual mask.

"None here are yours to claim, old thing." She hissed harshly, scales sprouting across her face and the back of her arm, spreading down until a sinuous tail grew behind. "She'll not be a sacrifice to pay for your mistake."

Standing in front of sheathed weapons, and envenomed words belonged to... people who refused to hear, Arcan the Ancient Djinn replied to the obstinacy with a hardened stance. No weapon was drawn from his end, but he stepped forward, again phasing through the desk, and glared at the party. For the moment, all the light in the room was rapidly diminished by his own shadow, and the air remained tigled with thick hostility.

He was too focused on that snake youkai in front of him, and that allowed Miwa to edge out of the periphery and reach Jazdia.

"How much time do we have until the curse corrodes Jazdia's soul and Lythiel is finally released?"

The Miko said, drawing his full attention. His anger was like a flame in open winter, tempered by his own rule; he stood there unmoving, tense and slightly undecided. Too late to do anything physical.

"You are already late." He answered icily.

"No curse is unbreakable. Just because you don't know a way to break it, doesn't mean it's impossible. Even if we aren't successful in breaking it, there are other options. If we could find something powerful enough to cause an interference with the curse or with the link between the curse and Lythiel herself, it could be possible to more easily dispel the curse or to, perhaps, transfer it to another thing." Miwa said, still thinking about different ways to deal with the situation.

At those long-winded words, Arcan tried to suppress a bitter snide. "I don't know it, yes, but with the basis of vast knowledge I possess. This pitiful doubt of yours, however, stemmed from how little knowledge you have. There is no cure."

"In the end, killing an innocent person, even if it seems justifiable for you... Wouldn't that make you closer to Lythiel? Whom, even in her twisted ways, thought it was justifiable to cruelly attack even her own childhood friends? Your master, Theriadore, was a scholar. Where most people would see an impossible obstacle, he likely saw it as a challenge to surpass." Miwa said, looking at the crystal that Theriadore created to imprison Lythiel.

"Besides... If Lythiel was able to curse someone while being imprisoned, killing Jazdia wouldn't prevent her from doing it again, would it? The very fact you were able to meet Jazdia and detect this curse was extremely lucky. If you didn't, you would never have known Lythiel was plotting her escape." Miwa continued.

Arcan was silent, not because he ran out of words, but rather because he had too much to pick that in the interstice of his anger, he somewhat flinched in perplexity.

"I will not call a person who made a deal with evil an innocent. And do not mention her name in the same line with my master," Arcan thrummed low. He stared back, rigid with rage tightly leashed, yet in his words, there was a layer of unmistakable dread.

" Still naive, I see! I will tell you the scale of destruction Lythiel was capable of. The day, that day! When she finally returned 30 years after the courthouse massacre. We had prepared, but that wasn't enough. The brightest minds in Varenheim, and only a handful survived the battle. The land withered with elven blood that day, and black flames came alive and swarmed the battlefield. Djinn and elves, not many could stand her attacks.
One by one, she culled our strongest warriors and mages like snapping branches, turning some into dried husk of corpses in a few blinks of an eye, and fed on their lives as her unholy black fires emerged from their crumbling carcass.

He paused to look at Jazdia, inhaling a breath to feed the wrath that was already burning deep. Now the terrible memory was in a process of manifesting, right in front of him.

"We did not seek to find knowledge to tamper with such dangerous power. We seek a way to end it! And bless the Creator! Her power was not as enduring as her wrath. After many lives lost, my master managed to subdue her; chaining her with spells and entombing her in crystal. We did not kill her because we know her power was attained by breaking the sacred law of life and death; a very tight and unusual imprisonment was the only choice. Now I ask you---Yes, we are very lucky to know this. But now with all the stakes laid bare. Can you live with knowing you helped set that monster loose? My concern was not just for my own safety, but very likely for anything in this world you held dear."

Silence again for a while. Arcan let every word hang in the air. His shadow retreated. Jazdia had risen from her position, helped by Miwa, and he could only watch in grinding restraint.

"Then tell me, Curator Arcan." Jazdia finally said, staring darkly at the ancient Djinn. A blade gleamed in her left hand, while her right arm held Miwa's for support. "Fifty Years I have mastered her power. For seventeen centuries, Lythiel endured all that metaphysical torment your Master had condemned her to. Tell me then, why did she have to wait another 50 years? Why didn't she take me that day, when I was wounded and dying?"

Arcan's gaze fixated on her with enmity ready to be unleashed. But her words stirred something inside him, a loathsome thing he refused to acknowledge, yet so undisputed. He maintained a cruel distance between them by ignoring the question.

"You don't know, do you?" She pressed again. "There is a gap in that vast knowledge you are so proud of."

"I do not care, and I don't need to know." He replied coldly "My problem is right in front of me. Why should I ponder about the wicked intricacies that the monster is plotting with you if I can end it now?"

Jazdia tightened her grip on her blade, her words rigid with unyielding resolve.

"Then know that I will not go quietly. I am the master of my own fate, not you, not even Lythiel."

"Oh, you will fight for it?" Sneered the elder djinn contemptuously. "And then what? You don't know anything but fighting it blindly, do you? Such arrogance! No wonder Lythiel chose you---a perfect vessel, body and soul, cursed with the same sin." He paused to assess the surroundings. Every spear, blade, and poison, and provocation. All calculated, and his conclusion was a temporary de-escalation that did not necessarily make his agitation die down.

"I will not fight you. Not here, not with your friends in the way. No, I refuse to sully this gallery with your short-sighted rebellion."

"In one way or another, we will find a way to deal with this problem once and for all. Will you aid us?" Miwa said, extended her hand towards Arcan, waiting for his reply.

The curator shifted his attention to the Miko. After all those warnings and no heedings, his face was stern in disappointment, and her reach for peace was ignored. "I have done my part, as promised. Now it is clear to you what you are dealing with. Do what you want with that knowledge."

What Are You Listening To?

Duplicitous Ruins in the Land of Twilight

“Displaced?” Fia questioned, but did not expect an answer, "I assure you, dear Eblana and I were on our best behaviour." Given how convenient it was for everything else to be moved around, it felt odd if Fia and Eblana’s shopping spree would have caused the commotion. No, to Fia, the enraged atmosphere was from something else. The curator was the obvious choice. Vesemir was probably on to something about that. Since Arcan was no where near the curatorium nor the workshop, it had to have been something else to draw his ire. “No, darling, nothing of the sort. But dear Arcan lead Jazdia away towards another part of the vault. A library or archive of sorts would be my guess given her request. Just out the door, and farther down the hall is where I last saw them.”

Vesemir listened, but gave it a momentary pause to assess the surroundings. The vibration was still felt, and the uneasiness in the air was far from being dissipated; yet it seemed the crescendo had passed...

Mr Elc reached out a hand to help Eblana stand up again, a few friendly words spoken to calm the healer. "I can carry you if you want." He said, still supporting Eblana, but his eyes looked at the ceiling that occasionally shuddered like the belly of a nervous beast.

One would think someone with a rugged exterior like Stepan would have a handful of things to fear, but there he was unsteadily exiting the workshop with sword already on hand.

"What the hell was that, boss? Monster I---we can kill, but a collapsing vault?! Better get the heck outta here!"

"Shush!" Vesemir glared at him with an impatient frown. "Sheathe your sword, Master Stepan! If there is an evil in this vault, that would be from the outside!"

The commotion was starting to dissolve, but suddenly escalated again after a moment passed.

"...I have a bad feeling about this." He whispered, eyes met Fia with silent agreement. Another rumbling prompted a decisive plan: to find Arcan and Jazdia.

"Keep your weapon sheathed, and don't run," Vesemir said as he began walking briskly out of the gallery room, followed by Mr Elc and the others. He stopper for amoment. An abivalent, but quite specific question emerged from him like a long-held breath. "Miss Fia, as someone who studies Djinn, I am sure you'd know when an ancient being like Arcan felt we have overstayed our welcome, right?"

*****

"Curator. Arcan. You are cracking the vault. Contain yourself, before your anger force our hand."

"CURATOR ARCAN! PLEASE CONTROL YOURSELF!!"

When Verdant's bottled toxin touched him, the ancient's lock on Jazdia intensified. Making an enemy out of lesser djinn was tolerable price he could gladly afford. But it became another difficult matter when Miwa stepped forth, meddling in something she had no deep understanding of. The involvement of another actor---the masked knight--- made the situation even more difficult. Arcan finally yielded, but not before using his invisible power to gently but firmly push the youkai away from him---the power could be described like a pair of flexible wings made of air Arcan could command like it was part of his own body.

"Neither one of us have any idea what is happening, Curator Arcan. It would be best to use words to explain instead of violence, wouldn't it? I urge you to calm down and explain what exactly made you act like this. Who exactly is this thing that is responsible for Jazdia's curse?"

And with that, the towering curator let Jazdia fall on her knees. The ranger was mentally shocked, one hand easing the pain in her neck. She sat there in despair, while Arcan turned to Miwa, but not before restoring the toppled chair back to its proper place.

"Where do we start? Let me begin with the fact that your 'friend' here somehow has Lythiel's soul signature in her." Arcan's word, while less vibrating, still has that incandescent tone that made his demeanor resemble a tensed executor. He only spared Jazdia a sharp, hostile glance before panning his gaze on the other three. And then to speak about the ranger again as if she was an animal that needed to be put down.

"Like a disease, it weakens her from inside, eroding her own soul. Such a foolish endeavor. There is no cure for that! I spared her for now because you were my guests, but I implore you not to interfere. Lythiel had marked her, and a small violence to end her life right here, right now would be a small price to prevent a great evil from returning." He paused to refocus his gaze on Miwa. "You, Shirakawa Miwa, as a priest of your people, should have known that it is the only logical option."

Duplicitous Ruins in the Land of Twilight

...How about you, dear Elbana? Come join me. Maybe we can find a lovely piece of jewelry to compliment your beauty. It would at least help you get your mind off the spontaneous intimacy.”

Eblana was reluctant, but she followed Fia anyway. The sorceress was right. After that snit with Akari, the elf needed something to distract herself, and a tour would be good indeed.

The duo arrived at the exhibition room. Eblana was a bit disappointed; most of the items displayed were enchanted weapons---all were made by elves and mankind alike. It seemed Theriadore had some deep interest in any warfare craft across two cultures. Not sure if the interest was part of his diplomacy or personal preference.

Fia being Fia, the sorceress managed to locate the display where most trinkets were stored. They were displayed in a rather different case. There were six of them: two brooches, two ornate jewels, and two polished gems with no color; all presented on top of dark-green fabric and encased inside a glass protective case like any other.

“After all, there is a chance we can walk away with something worthwhile, ourselves.”

A bit worried, yet still intrigued by the prospect, Eblana approached the particular display. "Are you sure that's okay, Miss Fia?"

Her slender finger touched the glass. It was a shame that the items didn't come with any didactic labels, making Fia's temptation to take one of them for keeping sound even more lucrative.

As the healer daydreamed about that slightly mischievous enticement, the floor trembled, and the air in front of them grew heavy with intimidating forces. The elven healer fell to her knees, hands closing her ears as the malicious sound circled in that exhibition room.

When the sound and vibration subsided, Vesemir, followed by Mr Elc, bolted out of the workshop. "What's going on?!" He gasped. "Have you two displaced something from its place? Where is the Curator?"

@Randomness

Do Seasoned RPers like low requirement games?

Casual enough to keep momentum, yet deep enough to give every post meaning.

...Is probably my go-to motto both as GM and player. I stay in Casual simply because it's more crowded, so yeah, if you ask if there is a market for your style, I can say there is. But the 'low advanced' term kinda puzzles me somehow. What does that mean?

Duplicitous Ruins in the Land of Twilight

"When you stumble, lost and at your last gasp, a help can make a world's difference."
"But you will need to be wary of whose hand should be grasped, yes? Salvation and ruin are sometimes hard to distinguish."
"Do you trust Theriadore's legacy?"

Jazdia exhaled a breath, trusting was an irrelevant thing to ask right now. They had chosen to enter Theriadore's vault, planning to extract information from his books. Arcan offered a shortcut, perhaps what she needed. Just like what Verdant said, she was stumbling in pain that was crippling her slowly; she was lost, and nearly on her last gasp.

"No need to hurry, Jazdia. Just let us know if you are ready."

"Should we hope to really fight this curse, any information we might get about it will help, no matter how small it might be. Hope is the last to die, after all, isn't it?"

Miwa said, and her smile was assuring, comforting, erasing all doubts, and somehow making her question why doubt was there in the first place. She looked at the curator's indifferent look, but did not fail to see the flicker of impatience.

Jazdia held his hand and let whatever secret she had about this condition lie bare; she had nothing to lose, only to gain.

When Arcan's gloved hand touched Jazdia's, the Curator's brow furrowed, and he stared at her for a few moments, tightening the grasp on her hand until discomfort set in. The curator himself looked as if he was having a seizure, but all hid under that controlled posture. Then, he took a slow, menacing step forward, straightened himself, and fixed his gaze on her with a livid stare.

"What...have you done?" He said, his jaw clenched.

Jazdia had done many things in her 75 years of living in this world, and she could immediately point out which event in her life this question pointed toward. But she was unable to explain it, the betrayal, her beloved's death, the contract she vaguely remembered; all was irrelevant in search of a cure.

But for the ancient being in front of her, it was not just 'irrelevant' details. Her silence and reluctance seemed to escalate something in him, an expression of restrained rage that roused Jazdia's vigilance.

"You... do you have any idea what kind of evil you were playing with?"

"Playing?" Instead of answering, she questioned back, defiantly. No, it was not a game! It was survival, and and the power she exchanged was a salvation to avenge the fallen. Her soft expression grew more stern as she looked back at the ancient curator. "Curator Arcan, I'd appreciate it if we just focus on finding the cure---"

The curator suddenly yanked her hand up and slammed her against the wall behind her, phasing through the desk and the toppled chair in the process. His semi-ethereal forearm pinned her by the neck.

"You!" he snarled. "Pitiful, stupid elf! You meddled with powers the wise of old wouldn’t even speak of! What did she promise you? Power? Life? Did you know the price of it all?!"

Jazdia's first instinct as a ranger was to yank a blade from her quiver and stab the assailant, but the force that held her pressed with irresistible strength; it was like a densely concentrated air that pushed with a great force, and at that moment, she gazed into Arcan's blue eyes, both simmering with rage burning above fear belonged to a distant memories.

"C-curator..." she managed, trying to wheeze her words out. "I am not--- your enemy!"

"You will!" he snapped spitefully."There is no cure for you! You will die, and she will take you! Your body, your memories! Not even a soul will be left! There will be no more you!"

His hateful speech vibrated the very walls and structure of this vault. The shelves tremble, the decor swayed, and the lamp flickered. It faintly echoed to many corners, filling the air with fury almost tangible.

@13org@Valkon@A5G