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Devilish winds of the accursed night whipped at Simon Belmont's cloak as he hiked his weary and curse-stricken body up to Deborah Cliff, clutching in his hand an orb with a striking red hue that pierced the darkness. It had taken him a day, at least, to arrive here in the Jam Wasteland on foot and by ferryman from Jova, and days were increasingly becoming a luxury for Simon. It was a tome from Brahm's Mansion that lead him on this detour, that lead him to relinquish the most precious resource of all. Time.
'WAIT FOR A SOUL WITH A RED CRYSTAL ON DEBORAH CLIFF.'
The sentence was seared into Simon's mind as though his and Transylvania's continued existence depended on it. Unlike gossip from townsfolk, the clues to Dracula's riddle he unearthed in the mansions possessing the evil one's body parts had yet to fail him thus far. Simon stopped to heave labored breaths, a telltale sign of his weakening constitution from the curse put upon him 7 years ago. It slowly ate away at not simply his body, but his mind. A truly horrible fate he wouldn't so much as think to wish upon anyone. Once resuming his journey after those few required moments of rest, bloodshot eyes noticed a rocky dead end before them. They drifted ever upwards to see that this was a nigh unscalable cliff. Deborah Cliff no doubt. Perhaps in his prime he could climb it, but certainly not now. Now was the time to wait.
Simon glanced down at the crimson crystal still resting in his palm, then held it aloft. Declaring his presence with the item to the soul spoken of in the text. A minute passed, then two. Then three. Alas, he was met with nothing but the whistling of the wind and the distant howl of night creatures, leaving him to return his limb to his side. But he couldn't give up hope. These tomes, they always spoke truth. Truth sometimes obscured in riddle, but truth nonetheless. Simon grit his teeth and let out a snarl in frustration as the possibility of being deceived and forced to waste precious time entered his mind. God grant him strength... God grant him patience...
That was it. Perhaps that was where the solution lay, with God. Asking above for guidance, for strength, for anything... Simon Belmont brought himself to his knees in prayer and shut his eyes, the Red Crystal betwixt praying hands. The winds whipped into a noticeably frightful frenzy, threatening to throw Simon's cloak from him. But he remained devoutly still. Said winds swirled into a violent tornado, inching towards Simon. His lids were tightly shut, fighting the human instinct to flee and placing his faith in the divine. Soon enough his form was engulfed in the storm which carried him off to parts unknown...