This is.. wrong, Claire thinks as she stalks behind Angor's form, eyes boring holes into his back as they traversed deeper into the tunnel. She should be fighting him, or at the very least leaving, not following like a duckling to learn whatever foul magic he and his master conjured. It left a bad taste in her mouth, similar to whenever she used the black magic contained within the Shadowstaff. A part of her detested how little protest she put up, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she hadn't a choice in the matter any more. Fate was not as fickle as it seemed – and hers was determined.

Angor Rot served as a teacher and a jailer, then. A guiding hand into the dark path she would tread as well as the executioner's deliverance if she went astray. Dread pooled at the pit of her stomach and she hugged the staff closer to her as they walked. The sound of her footfalls and his near silent ones was the only thing that echoed and she was getting quite sick of it. So, clearing her throat, she voiced a question.

"Have.. you ever killed one of her disciples before?"

At first, Claire thought he hadn't heard her. He remained walking ahead, not even giving her the courtesy of slowing down or glancing over his shoulder. Eventually, a response rumbled out. She supposed this was his conversational tone, if such a thing existed for Rot. " – Yes. Many. Half of which have been on her orders. The other.. hm, self-defence."

The teen couldn't fight the small smile. Maybe she found a bit of a hope spot in the fact that not all of the disciples had been sycophants or fanatics, but perhaps like her – bullied into the position, unwilling and unwanted.. and that they had hated Rot as much as she had. She gained more confidence to pry, if the troll's mood was pleasant enough that he would actually answer her without the rhetoric's or ridicule.

"What were they like.. ? Who were they?"

"You would be long dead before I even finished the first century worth of names." he told, finally now tilting his head to throw a glance over his shoulder, appraising her with burning, orange eyes. She met his gaze briefly, always challenging, before jogging up a little to fall into step beside him instead of behind. He scoffed under his breath, but made no comment on it.

"But I suppose I shall feed your curiosity. The disciples before you were anyone. Shopkeepers. Tribe leaders. Feral children. Whatever may benefit le Fay at the time. They do all share one trait with you, however, in that you are all insufferable."

"Have there always been just one at a time?" she asks, unaware of Skathe-Hrun's inky bark bleaching back to white, until it retracted into it's hilt. She blinked, staring at the staff. Was she really that comfortable in Angor's presence? In any case, she clipped the hilt back to her belt, though kept her hands ready at her sides in case of a sudden attack.

"Not always." he muses and Claire struggled to discern the tone in his voice. It drifted between the familiar gravel of scraping stone and a more smoother reverence. Like a hum of thought between each word – or absentmindedness. "I despise teaching in groups. It stifles learning, having too much conflicting, amateur magic in the air."

"What about other wizards or witches? Is le Fay the only living one?"

"Human magicians are a dying breed." he notes in what she could only assume was agreement. His lips twisted into a fanged smirk that always sent a shiver up Claire's spine in it's raw cruelty. "You are gifted with so much power, so much potential – and yet your fleshy bodies are too weak to sustain it. It's pitiful. Morgan le Fay is no more alive than I am – nothing more than a husk of her former self, living on borrowed time and magic. But, she continues to exist, if nothing more than out of spite to Myrddin."

Angor Rot halted in a small chamber. Claire followed suit, confused, as she looked around. She hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings as they travelled, though something told her she wasn't underneath Arcadia anymore. Where, exactly, she couldn't tell. The troll seemed satisfied over something, and wandered towards the pile of rocks that formed a perfect perch for him to recline against and oversee the rest of the room.

"Bring forth your weapon, little huntress." he begins and she complies, retrieving the hilt from her belt and summoning the staff with nothing more than a passing thought. She readies herself, preparing for combat, though when Angor made no move for his dagger, she figured that perhaps it was not a battle he would be training her with.

"Skathe-Hrun has been the focus of Morgan le Fay for generations, bequeathed to her head acolytes to shepherd the rest into her shadow. Usually it would take you decades to ascend to such a rank, to be worthy to hold the staff, let alone misuse it as you do. But times have changed."

The troll continues and Claire finds herself oddly memorized – beyond that of mere curiosity or sacrifice to learn for the greater good. "You must think of it as extension of yourself. A part of you. Welcome it into your soul – do not fight against it's suggestions. Power cannot flow if there is an obstruction of will."

"Are you suggesting that I allow myself to get corrupted?" she interjected suddenly, having hung on his words, she was frightened by what he asked of her. His smirk twitched, gaze vastly unfeeling.

"Letting the power dominate you is corruption, but if you seize it, wield it and make it bend to your will, that is control." Words of disagreement bounced on the tip of her tongue, but she did not voice them, even as Angor gestured above them, to the low-powered lights affixed to the walls. Somehow, she doubted the person who offered his flesh and soul for power was the right person to teach her, and she hated that it took only until now to think that.

"Devour the light," he instructs.

Swallowing thickly, Claire raised the staff high, prongs pointed at the fixture. She exhaled slowly, letting her thoughts turn sour and bitter to fuel the dark magic. It flickered at first, casting eerie snap shots of shadows to dance across the wall until the light dimmed and diminished. She repeated the action for all of the lights until the chamber was drenched in darkness – save for the bright glow of his eyes.

She blinked rapidly, trying to let her eyes adjust to the lack of light before Rot's next instruction, but it seemed he was all too eager to continue on with the lesson.

"Now, create a portal to transport us both into the forest. One that does not require either of us to move." Although Claire was effectively blind, he had perfect vision in the dark and could see the way her face twisted up in confusion. The troll added; "The staff is your focus. Make it do what you will it to."

The teen adjusted her grip, both hands wrapped around the metal engraved hilt. She tried to think of a way to envision transporting them both into the nondescript area of Arcadia's forest. Usually she thought of a gateway or an open door from one place to another, but that proved to do nothing but have the portal magic sit idle in the prongs of the staff. She cleared her mind, refocused, and tried again.

Her mind turned to Rot's words, about allowing the artefact into her soul. She didn't know quite what he meant by that, but she often ignored the low-hum of barely audible whispers on her mind, like a constant chatter in her ears that always seemed just out of her reach of hearing. She tried not to let the overwhelming sense of dread and pooling fear swallow her whole and drown her in a sea of sadness and sorrow.

This time, she let herself be open to it's suggestion. She gave in and listened.

She drew in a sharp intake of air as her mind was barraged by what felt like hundreds of voices speaking at once – the staff quivering in her hands, purple light sparking out from the prongs. Some dispersed into nothingness, whereas others remained, curling around her, circling at her feet. She steadied herself, lest she lost her grip and tried to listen to what they were saying. It wasn't English, that much she could be certain.

Claire could feel that, whatever was being spoken, the tone carried such a great undercurrent of misery and grief that it felt like a weight rested on her heart. She had never faced such pensive melancholia that depressed her and threatened to shake up her will. With it, however, came the power – the fuel, to feed the staff, like a perpetual cycle. The lights grew until there was enough to form a circle around her feet, bathing the entire chamber in a purple hue.

A shroud of shadows emerged from the tip of the staff, unlike anything she'd seen before. It was more grey than black, but just as consuming as it swept across the chamber and engulfed both her and Angor Rot. Her vision was blinded and she felt a great tug made at her spine. When the vertigo stopped, she found herself collapsed on the forest floor, gasping for breath and reeling from the dizziness. It was a jarring juxtaposition, from the acrid stench of rotten eggs and moist atmosphere to fresh, open air and soft warmth from the lazy evening.

"Good," she vaguely heard Angor Rot, somewhere above her. Her palms pressed heavily into the grass, before slowly rolling to her knees, palming her hair back behind her ear. His blurry claw came into view and she scrutinized it, before slowly accepting the helping hand. The second her fingertips touched the stone skin, she was hauled to her feet and left to balance herself. " – Better than I expected. You might as well have brought the entire chamber with us."

"What?" She glanced behind him, blinking owlishly at the sight of the debris from the tunnels. The dizziness had not subsided and she leaned heavily on the white bark of the Shadowstaff. Everything felt like it was spinning, for some reason. Her throat was dry, her legs felt numb and weak.

"You're crying." Claire froze, head slowly angling up to catch sight of Angor's face, which held a mystifying look. He seemed so much further away than she thought – or maybe she had slipped down from the staff? Either way, she shakily rose a hand to touch at her wet cheeks before roughly wiping at her eyes. Her stomach churned violently, but she forced herself to ignore it.

"The staff.." she slurred. ".. When I let it.. speak..? When I listened, it – God, I've never heard such.. sufferingand sorrow. It was like a thousand voices crying at once." She paused. Her stomach quavered to the point that she could not resist it any longer.

"Oh." she said dumbly. "I'm going to be sick."

Whilst she didn't expect him to hold her hair back, Angor had the courtesy to look away as she retched her guts out in the grass.

Angor Rot had decided that they had done enough today, on the account of her 'weak fleshbag body.' Always a way with words, she thought grizzly, slugging herself towards the canals of their suburb. Even if moving was the last thing she wanted to do, but the thought of using the staff again and travelling through a portal would upset her already delicate tummy. She had the foresight to pack a bottle of water in her bag, so at least she cleansed her palette.

Sinking to the nearby bench and practically melting against the wooden slats, she gingerly eased her phone out of her pocket to check on Tobias. He'd sent two texts, with an hour between (had it really been so long?) to inform her that Blinky had plans.. just not the right plan to spring Jim out of the Darklands. And that if he had to read another troll book without translation he was going to go crazy. She smiled fondly and sent a quick message that she'd be on her way.

Ten minutes into her walk, her phone pinged. She checked the notification to see it was from Toby.

'How did the showdown with Rot go?' it read. A long frustrated groan escaped her lips as she typed her reply, hoping that with every heavy button press, it truly conveyed her strain.

'Wasn't a showdown TP. Training and it was a success. Learning wise – I feel like death health-wise.'

There was a much longer interval between the next message, to the point she was descending the stone steps into the canal when Tobias responded: 'Spoke with the Blinkser – he says chocolate energizes you after using dark magic. Chocolate, ginseng, vanilla, rosewater and.. strawberries. Yum.'

The last thing she wanted right now was to eat. Her stomach turned even at the thought of it and she stored her phone away in exchange for the key to Trollmarket.

The fluorescent lighting of the market's charged crystals did not soothe her pounding headache in the slightest, tension throbbing in her temple as she squinted and forced her way past throngs of milling trolls. Most of the residents had become known to her face, but even still some were still apprehensive about a human amongst them, especially without their Trollhunter. She made it to Blinky's library as fast as she could.

The sight of the four-armed troll buried nose-deep into three books and one larger codex on supported on the table was a common one. Tobias lying on the ground, sprawled at the feet of the stone statue of AAARRRRGGHH! less so. He was surrounded by several books, all of which seemingly read if she guessed their state of disarray.

Claire cleared her throat to announce her presence. " – Any luck?"

"Ah, Miss Claire," Two of Blinky's six eyes spared her a glance before returning to his book, his single free arm gesturing to the stone wall that was littered with chalk drawings. The plans, she assumed. All of which were fiercely annotated or crossed out all together. "As Tobias no doubt already informed you, I surely have no shortage of plans – but the correct one, to spring young Master Jim from his dark prison, is yet to be decided."

"On the plus side," Tobias' voice rang out from under the cover of a tome. "The Amulet of Merlin hasn't called for anyone, so, we know Jimbo's.. alive, at least. I've been sending him some snacks through the fetch."

"Speaking of snacks!" announced Blinky, hand outstretching to nab the chocolate bar from Tobias' hands before he could send it into the fetch. He made a noise of protest, though quietened when he handed it to Claire. " – You must keep up your strength, my dear girl. If you truly are set on this.. path and you believe you can control it, then you must ensure that you are always in top condition. Do not fall to it's influence."

She could feel her throat tighten involuntarily at the prospect of eating, even as she peeled back the wrapper. He seemed to sense her reluctance, so he added. "Trust me, Miss Claire, you will feel better. More so than if you simply recovered without the nutrients."

Claire took a bite, though instead of rejecting it like she thought her body would, she found herself quite ravenous. The chocolate bar was eaten rather quickly and as Blinky predicted, she did feel better. Her headache cleared bit by bit and she could feel her mood lift enough that she noticed it. Discarding the wrapper in her pocket, she clasped her hands together.

"Thanks, I, uh, needed that." she murmured. "Do you have any history books about Killahead? Like, it's origin and creation. Maybe there's a way we can open it without a Trollhunter. Or maybe even on the amulet or Merlin itself."

"A few Trollish ones, yes." Blinky lowered the books he was reading, tagging the corners as he drifted deeper into the bowels of the library, scouring the shelves, voice sounding distant and absentminded as his mind worked. "All of which I have read three times now and have gotten nowhere with, but I do believe a fresh pair of eyes often sees details often overlooked.."

He collected two, stacking them on his bottom left arm, pausing to stop at a shelf closer to the entrance. " – But for the Amulet..? A few mentions in the brief recapitulation.. my brother documented many things, but scarcely did he have chance to study the amulet. A shame, as he mentored the great Deya herself."

A pause, his hand rubbing his stony chin in thought as he adds; "Perhaps Morgan le Fay's spellbook might have made mention of it, if not just to study her former mentor's magics and contraptions, but, alas, we do not have access to that book any more."

"I can ask Angor Rot," Claire pitched in. "I think he stole it from me when we discovered the spell we needed. He either has it, or he gave it back to Strickler."

"Either option does not seem favourable." the troll grumbled, tugging a tome from one shelf to add to the pile on his arm. Both he and the teen girl remained unaware to Tobias' wide eyes and slack jaw, nor stammering attempts to grab their attention. " – I abhor the idea of you associating with that troll, let alone asking him questions, Miss Claire. No doubt he will lie, regardless."

"Uhh... guys?"

"Despite what you think, Blinky, I believe he actually has some kind.. of like, code of honour. It's a hunter thing. He seems to respect certain rules that go beyond that of the ring's control over him." she intercepted. The room at this point had begun to tint in a nice, blue glow. "If it's in his best interest.. he'll tell the truth."

"Guys!"

Claire and Blinky snapped towards Tobias, only to catch sight of the amulet floating in mid air, it's metal clock hands making a full revolution before shooting off – and pinning itself to the chest of AAARRRRGGHH!