Castle Praenunthius

"I wish not to harm a hair on your pretty little head!" She proclaimed, her hand gestures moving upon an airy silhouette of a child. "But, I must. The fruit yielded of the corrupted, they must all perish. If I am not worthy to feel the love of another, then no one will!And the very spores of these men shall too, die."Fingers moving about in a slashing manner, she destroyed the very image she had conceived of the shadows and a play of light upon the floor.

Candie then rose in an unusual pose, her forefinger in a point as if to condemn Sheaman. "Can you find it within you to love me? Or, are you just another of the lot that looks upon me, appauled by who I am now?" She had addressed him with such a stipulation that if he had responded wrongly, if would appear that this would frenzy the woman more.

She could almost feel the lapping fires that were enkindled of a hellish spark itself, upon her form. A terrible shriek came from her, her mouth widening in a most painful manner that her bottom jaw became unhinged, like a snake preparing to feast upon its captured prey.
The revealing of the blade had gone unnoticed, but her talons seemed to drip with a putrescent substance, the lifeblood within her.
 
Sheaman speared the book on top of the dresser, as he drove the remaning tip of the blade, which was not inside the book, into the wood of the dresser. He looked at her as she formed different silhoutes with her shadow, which was casted by the light of the moon coming through the broken window. Still holding the the knife, he aimed the blade at her, much like she pointed her finger at him. "I would be able to love you, for am I not the one who offered to help you?"

He held himself still and quiet, unsure if his awnser to this pop quiz would be accepted or if his life was threading to come an end. In a quick movement of the hand he turned the blade downwards, and dropped it on the floor, making it puncture. He exposed his hand and opened it for her, adding the words "If you feel obliged to kill the one person that hasn't betrayed you nor tried to drive a spear in your body, then I reqeust you to do it now, and stop this masqaurade." He knew what he was doing, and he was playing a dangerous gambling game. He made her chose directly. He was tired and careless, and at the same time he was trying to keep her sane.
 
She let out a hiss, her heard jerking in such a way so that she could better track his movements. Her right arm raised in an arc, a pentad of ungodly talons aimed his way. The slightest twitch of her finger muscles would prove deadly, even if she had not the intent to cause harm to him. She could suffer a cramping of those muscles, or feel a random twinge of pain. "What do you suppose then? That this enightenment shouldn't change anything?"

Then, she seemed lost to her contemplation. "But then why would your very flesh and blood cast you aside to perish?There seems to be something more insidious beneath such a placid surface. You should delve further into these murky waters..but you may not like the truth that is presented to you when they ripple with clarity." She seemed to speak in riddles, and was uncertain of the context of her words herself. But, he was abandoned as a defenseless youth.

If it were some desperate act to spare him of the horrors of the revolt, he would only be relieved of death to succumb to it another way. There had to be more than met the eye, but what was it? Only time would tell, for now. "Who was the Shaman anyway?" (What was he?) Her mind echoed the real inquiry.
 
His glare didn't change, as he stared at her. He still held himself still as he grew more nervous than before. "Yes. I'm still me and you're still you." He reacted coldy. "I am curious as to what holds my past, but I've seen misfortune in curiousity and in clinging to a past way too often to know that you shouldn't always give in to it." He pulled his hand back and leaned it down on the bed as he turned a bit more towards her.

She seemed to speak giberish, though he still was able to tell what she was trying to say. He clenched the sheets of the bed and groaned, as she continued to speak like this for a moment. Such foolisness. Why was she getting so worked up? What was wrong with her? "How do you want me to figure out my past anyhow?!" He snapped. "I don't know squat and I wouldn't even know where to start! And when I finally get an awnser as to 'why was I left there?', then what? Why do you care so much about this?" Most of the worst passed his lips in a deep and angered tone. He started to lose grip on himself. "What do you want from me!?"
 
"I...I have to make ...some ...preparations.."She rambled loosely, her tone hollow. The gawky movements had collected into a rather comical genuflection, as she had eyed the doorway a moment prior to her bizarre actions. Instead, she seemed to drift toward the opposite side of the room, peering out into the darkness which had engulfed the forest. "I know not what waits for you, for -us.-" She thought of him, his aimless meanderings that could lead him closer to a certain death.

She had begun to piece together a scheme, that once his feet would fall to the other side of the circumference of her property, she would follow him. "Are you hurt?" A moment of lucidity brought her to the conclusion that she had indeed harmed him in some aspect, and her head hung as if she were a scolded child. "I shall make a curative if any sort of-" Her attention upon him severed by the luminescence of the night sky being obscured by fog. "What if he were to meet up with the Lycans he spoke of?" She hadn't realized her folly in announcing her fears in his presence, she had appeared to be lost in a world of wonder. "The...Lycans."
 
His eyes kept following her with every gracefull, or rather, not so gracefull movement she made. All the while he waited. She seemed to have lost all of her social skills, in the time that she was alone. Not only that, her sanity seemed to have been exhausted by it, and caused her to have a sense of insanity around her. In normal cases, this wouldn't be too bad, but in her case, with her....'ability' this was dangerous. However, she seemed to care. "No one knows what awaits their fate. That's life." He said in a rather cold voice, even though the words he spoke were not as much so.

Exhausted, much like her insanity, Sheaman dropped himself on the bed, having trouble to pull up his legs upon the bed. The bed was hard and painfull, but more comforting than the floor. The pillow seemed the same way. It felt like much anything in this house: Old, cold and hard. She probably didn't notice as much. Heck, he didn't even know if she slept. He sighed a breath of air and closed his eyes, covering his view in a void filled with blackness. "Go to sleep." He tried. Not only for her sake, but also for his. He also wanted to know if she actually slept. "There's no need for you to help me much more. I'm fine. For your own sake, go to sleep. If you don't, you'll start becoming insane. More and more. And in the worst case you start halucinating, like I have experienced. I'm still having trouble getting over the whole imagenary dragon problem." He said, with a rather sadistic smile on the end. He was tired, and just wanted to sleep, but he had his doubts that he would get a good night rest today.
 
The woman known as Candrichnine in her former life offered a lingering glance his way as his body came in union with the bed. She couldn't speak, wouldn't allow herself to potentially send him running off into the night, to become any more frightened of her than the fears he harbored already. She thought back to the moment she awoke, her lower body pinned down by a large wooden beam. She felt the breath inflating her lungs, her brilliant green eyes fluttering open to behold the disaster caused by the chemical misshap. Her frail form had possessed such strength to remove the obstacles, and she rose slowly, a rainbow of liquids oozing down the planks of wood that were left standing.

There were no mirrors in her lab, no reflective surfaces of which she could inspect any damage she received. She would be unknowing then, and it would be her bliss. Until she looked upon her hands. Her own blood admixed with a syrupy emulsion, the flesh and bone of her hands dissolving into a sticky material which then hardened into the horribly long talons that caused for her to become maladroit and disabled, not the woman with a graceful step she once was. She viewed her reflection the the small shards of fractured window pane that littered the floor. The transparent mask which was forever adhered to her face had allowed one to look upon the inadequately hidden visage beneath.

Compared to those of corpses in various stages of decomposition, one would find the company of the dead less unsettling, less nauseating to look upon. She sent a kick toward the things which were an obscenity to her gaze, her ghastly image crumbling underfoot as she stomped the glass that shone in the moonlight. Candie felt as if even the orb which had alit the sky in a silver radiance was mocking her. "I..don't sleep." She would reveal the secret in a growling tone.
 
He had already closed his eyes and felt himself gone in the darkness that he had come to known as his mind. It wouldn't be long before figurines would start to appear here, and before long, a whole puppet show would unravel itself. However, he wasn't given that pleasure just yet. She revealed a rather interesting thing. "You can't sleep?" He asked, but before she could bother herself more about the qeustion, he wisely added. "No need to awnser." With a soft and unhearable sight, did he turn around. In slow movements, as if nearly dead, did he move himself upwards, and leaned on his arm, to keep himself up. His eyes by now had been opened, and viewed Candie standing in front of the broken window, as the light passed behind her, giving her an omnious look. He yawned and put his hand in front of his mouth, giving him some time to think about what words to speak next.

"That is queit unfortunate, however, not suprising. You wouldn't be the first that go not the enlightment of sleeping. However, this does serve a problem since, no matter how much I'd like to fight it, I'm human, and I need sleep or I won't function well. It is qeuite alarming to know that you're up and about, moving all around while I'm asleep near. Once again, in a old man's way, he pushed himself furhter up and sat on the bed now, getting out of his merged position, and looked at her. Though it was hard to read, he was sleepy. His eyes didn't show anything of it though, or exactly the opposite, they always did, which served a problem not being able to observe whetever he was tired. "However, giving the circumstances, I will just have to trust you, and I will. If anything does happen to me on your account....Well, this partnership will have ended." As he let himself drop back on his back, with his head on the pillow, he mumbled something softly "Not that there is much partnership with a human candy cane."

Once more, did the curtains fall before his eyes, and did he greet the welcoming darkness. However, somehow, something bothered him. In that darkness he could still see a vision. It was off her.... "If you wanna spend your time usefull, you could try to read the book I brought. I'm talking about the second one. Not your cursed one. It contains possibly usefull wisdom. It's on the dresser if you'd like it."
 
Candie would remain by the solitary window, watching him in silence as he drifted off to slumber. When she heard the signal that he was in the stage of deep sleep, the orchestra of snores had made in her an unsuccessful attempt at holding back a giggle. She would gaze upon the book like it was as unappealing as a basket full of rotting apples, and quick steps would bring her out of the room, and down the stairs. She would busy herself with a few menial tasks, and then fully vacate the Castle.

The moonlight washed over her, the glinting upon her crystallized form resembled diamonds risen to the sunlight. Candie Cayne began to sway, her steps careful choreographed into an old style of dance. Her movements resembling a wistful terpsechorean, this would lead her into the forest. She imagined Sheaman taking her hand, moving with her in rythym to the musics of her past. She could recall her favored tune, the one which would play at the Palace ball. Thoughts of Sheaman brought her dancing to a halt. He was to leave soon, and she must use this time to brace herself to venture out into the public.

She assumed the role of a woman most abhorred, interacting with each candy entombed person as if they were her neighboring residents of Pryhollow. She took up the crackling fabric of her skirts as she would genuflect, greeting them all indivdually. "Tis very nice to see you again, it has been too long." She would utter, her mind working so that she could relive what was to be the most frequently used response of them. She gasped, having cast herself into a sea of pain, which threatened to drag her under the turbulent tides.

Falling backward, she brandished an arm as if to shield her face. The witch then rose in an eruption of anger, slashing and hacking at her own handiwork. It released an uncomparable stench into the stagnant night air, broken bits of hardened sugar that contained the prizes of one's anatomy falling every which way. She stood amidst her destruction, appalled at the sight of liquified flesh seeping out of the wounded icons, and took off into the engulfing darkness.
 
Drip, drip, drip, a waterdrop slowly falling down, every single time chased by another one, slowly dropping themselves and merging with a pool full of their own. It was a peacefull river, and slowly more visible, became the flora and fauna surrounding and in it. However, the peace seemed to leave and make way for a multiple waves and shocks, and the fish swam away. A woman in cloth, hidding her face behind a cape which covered most of her body. She wasn't recognisable. She walked away from the river, away from a child, who was crying and laid upon the bed-side of the river, in the water. Being just high enough, it was enable to breath, so that it could cry more, but was undable to get away from the cloth that bound him. When the woman got out of the sight, a new face appeared. And old man, with a little beard, and odd hat. It seemed to suit the ornament filled dress he was wearing and earrings which seemed to be tooth. The guy slowly approached, and suddenly noticed the baby, where upon he pulled it out of the water and held it in his arms. Holding the unconcious baby, he slowly started going back the way he came in the fastest pace he could. All that as a shadow was watching him. A shadow of a hooded woman. A hooded woman with a grin and hands...like talons. After that, a strong scent of sweetness could be smelled.

Within a flash, a light appeared before Sheaman's eyes. He breathed heavily as he blinked once more, only turning the blurry vision he had into a clear image of the room he had slept in. It was still dark, but since it was brigher than the light which passed trough his eye lids, which were nothing more than visions. With a sigh, he sat up upon his bed and noticed how his forehead was all sweaty. He remembered the last part of his dream, but the first part seemed to have been worse considering all the sweat. He wiped it away. He sat on the side of the bed and rubbed his hands over his face, as he tried to wake, but couldn't, finding himself even more shocked by his dream since he started thinking about it. It was a proposterous idea, but dreams were never to reveal truth, but only fantasy. With that conclusion he got up slowly, and stumbled his way to the damaged window, peering out, but as he got closer, he suddenly noticed that one part of his dream was not fake: The scent. It was that sweet scent, which seemed to have gotten stronger. However, not only that, it also got worse, and the smelled seemed to have mixed, with something else, and it smelled way worse than before, nearly making him throw up the first moment he smelled it. He swallowed and closed his nose as he tried to avoid doing so and looked outside. The world was still dark, and there were no moon or clouds to be seen, but no hints of sun light either, so he guess it was almost morning. He coughed, and figured that he couldn't sleep with this stenc anymore and gave up on that, and stumbled back, to sit on his bed.

He looked at the book besides his bed and chuckled softly. There were 2 books to be exact. The one was an biological book about hands and the other the linage book, which Candy got worked up about. "I guess she didn't look at it anymore." He said shaking his head softly, picking it up himself and the first thing what came to mind were qeustions. Why did he bother picking this book up? Was he really going to help her? Why? He got up and looked at his coat, which had falled on the ground after he had put it on the bed, and slept in it. He picked it up shortly and threw it back on the bed, as he looked outside. "Guess it's time to go today." He said...not happy, nor sad about it, but just plain.
 
Candie's erratic movements soon took her out of the forest, and she was standing upon the same clearing she could overlook the town formerly known as Pryhollow. In the same precise spot, somehow, although there would be no way to discern the area because it was an ever changing earth. She could see twinkling from the distance. Could it have been the flickering flames of torches, or a a more modernized form of light since she last resided there? The cloak was pulled about her tautly, and she took a few steps ahead. This action hadn't brought damnation upon her thus far, so she took the brazen steps which would lead her to the gates.

The broken hinges of squealed as she pushed through, to enter the community. The hood large enough to conceal everything about the altered structure of her visage, the top most portion of fabric resting flatly upon her crown. Each swing of the fickle pendulum which was time itself brought dawn that much nearer to peering over the horizon, and it also would drive deeper the wedge between Sheaman and her, as he would wake shortly and then depart for his own ventures. Since her thoughts would continue without becoming lost in the void of sleep, she couldn't linger about the Castle and count the seconds away, as they felt so painful to her.

"What a hideous witch!" Piped the voice of a small girl. Candie's cover would have been blown if she had simply skequered her, rending her interior on the exterior. Then, she realized it wasn't her she had spoke of. The black and white clad youth was holding a marionette doll, a green faced hag straddling a broom. The wooden figurine even possessed the warty probiscus of those in fairy tales. "Doesn't she look horrible? Father carved 'er out of a lil bit of wood." Candie took a step back, as the child continued to wield it in her direction. She heard her breath come out in panicked spurts, and vacated the area quickly. "I suppose she doesn't like witches." Groondi said with a shrug.
 
Fairly certain that the stenc wasn't about to leave, he took his coat, put it on and left the room quickly, closing the door behind him. It was to hardly any avail, since the hallway he stood was filled with deluted version of that horrid odour. It was an impleasent sensation, having to taste a smoothie made out of sugar and human flesh. However, there was no escape and so he was bothered to just bear with it, in the hopes that he would get entrained. Holding back another impulsive gag, he shook his head, as if trying to clear the way of this distracting scent.

He stumbled across the hallway as if still sleep walking and soon found himself holding the railing of the stairs, where upon he descended down. Catious, yet curious, he looked around himself, only to find out that he had lost the presence of Candie Cayne. Looking around, he decided to leave the fower, to go to a door, which seemed to lead downwards even more. Slowly he pushed it open and called for her. "Candie?" He asked tiredly, still having trouble waking up, as ussual. "Are you there?" He continued, but soon found himself with no response. He didn't even need to swallow his pride, when he gave up. Once again, he stood still, thiking. This time his mind had asked his heart why he still hadn't simply just left yet, where upon the heart awnsered....with nothing more than beats....since a heart can't speak or communicate....And seeing how he couldn't find an flaw in that logic, he simply decided to listen to himself for once and headed back to the foyer to find himself back to the front door. And like a spirit, he left the house again.

In his mind, the road was longer, but that is what ussual happens. Minds process things slower and therefore things always seem to last longer. Or so he has be taught to think. Whetever or not this logic was sound and proof stil remained a qeustion, but atleast it explained things. But even on the short road, he was left with a lot of different emotions. Digust was one of them as he nearly walked against a half decomposated sugar statue, and had to walk around it only to find that the back of his head was dropped, giving him a clear view on the...'mind' of that sweet person. Once again he had to withold himself not to gag, as he continued. Also, he felt relief. Relief from the stench of all that sugar, as slowly every step, the forest regained it's naturely, lively beauty. He also felt something different. He couldn't place his finger on it though. It felt like he got up after petting a kitten....However, he couldn't really link kitten's to this situation at all and was left in a dazzle, as he, still lost in his mind, entered the village which was nearby.
 
She ambulated toward the tavern, keeping out a watchful eye for any sign of Groondi and her absurd little puppet. It was well a constructed piece for kindling as far as Candie was concerned. Taking the back alleyway was never a notion of good judgement, thieves and other sinister things loved to lurk there. She was ambushed by three figures, the men gathered about her as to block off any chance of escaping. "So what do we have here?" One of them asked in a whisper that could send a chill up one's spine. "We shall see." Another responded, taking a quick step nearer to her.

"I hope this one has something worthwhile on her, instead of the riff raff all the others had." Spoke the youngest of the trio, brandishing a small blade which was coated in a lethal poison. She took a step in turn, a smirk upon lips which were hidden from view. "Perhaps we shall inspect her and then take her to the Procurer." The youngest continued, prodding at the air just before Candie's bosom with the tip of his dagger. "If we don't keep her for ourselves." The witch shrank away, her back connecting with the wall.

"Nowhere for you to go, Miss. Now cooperate with us, and no harm shall come to you." She convulsed with laughter then, and pulled away the hood as if to allow them a peek at her disfigured face. Her talons were exposed in a slashing motion, striking the hand which held a weapon to her. The toxins had begun to take him over, curdling the blood as it was carried throughout his body. His flesh was transformed into a rather brittle armor of sugar, and she descended upon the other two, before they could shake themselves free of the horror which immobilized them.
 
Slowly he pushed open the door to society and blended himself into the crowd of people walking there, and from that point onwards he turned into one of them. The crowd. Just another possible customer for shopkeepers, and just another possible victim for assault. He didn't want to stay long and he wasn't.The idea originally was ot move on to the next city as quick as possible and hope for him to find that place in just enough time that he's able to say goodbye to the sun in a tavern. He hadn't much hopes for that happening, but it'd be nice for a change. Instead, reality kicked in and his fate was far worse than just a simple journey.

It wasn't too crowded and everyone was able to walk pretty freely, but it still felt like a busy day. There were lots of people, but much like him there was one that he noted specifically. Somone that walked his direction. It was the child from before. The one he 'met' in the bar. The one that walked the surface of earth like a pest, in the dark. His eyes focused on the boy as he noticed him passing his left-hand side. The kid didn't look up but rather looked down as if in shame, but maybe he was trying to blend into the rest of the people. And at that faithfull moment, he passed. It was as time had stopped, in this.....non-sugary hell, hard to define any better than that horribly silent place Candie lived at. He could see it, aside from him the kid. He had a grin on his face as he passed along, but tried to hide it as he held his head down. However, on his right-hand side he could see something too. Like a shade, just passing by quickly.However, he felt something too. Something touch his hands lightly, even if they were covered in the cloth of his coat.
He was being robbed by the 2 boys from before, and their goal were the knives.

Out of a bad reaction, he suddenly pulled himself to the left, trying to catch the boy who robbed him, however, the moment he let his eyes wander from the other, he too had succesfully stolen his blade. With their treasure in hand, the 2 took each of their own special stolen valued set, away from him, so that he could not catch them. Before he even understood completely what happened, both his knives had been taken, and by the time he had turned around they were already starting to blend with the rest of the blur, he liked to call the crowd. He took a sprint for it, but by the time that he started pushing some of the blurs away from his sight, he had already lost his target.
 
(Who is the Procurer?)She wondered, having reaped the benefits of her destruction. She hadn't given them the chance to elaborate on the subject, nor did she give herself the opportunity to inquire. Positioning the scarlet hood so that it would hide her mangled features, her footsteps receded from the alley. The tavern was brought to life with the ever flowing Mead on tap, and she wished not to become a part of this group, having taken a seat at the furthest table from all the commotion. "Our wines and teas may be bitter, but they'll grow on you in time." Claimed the barmaid, as she approached with an empty serving tray.

Candie's gaze shifted from her to the window, where she saw an illusion of herself upon the reflective pane. A draft of frigid air came toward her left side, tousling some of the fringe of her cloak. Several men were gathered before the fireplace, a chatter with incoherent speech. "I suppose I'll have some peppermint tea." Candie decided upon a drink, as the wench exhibited signs of becoming a little impatient with her lack of ordering.

"Thank you for choosing Iemoowa's Imbibements!" She clucked cheerily as she walked away. (Much has changed, I see.) Candie thought, unable to recall such a place since being a citizen of this town. The very code of attire had went through its transitions, as well. The dress which was draped upon her own form would be considered antique. The entity of modernization had the town in its thrall, and Candie felt herself as a foreigner upon strange, new land. The tea smelled as if she inhaling the sour stink of vinegar. "Why so acerbic?" She asked, disgusted by liquid she was offered, ignorant to the fact that she was the cause of the outlawing of the substance which would sweeten the food and drink. "Candie Cayne." Her posture became stiff at the mention of her name, however it would go unnoticed by the barmaid's preying gaze upon the new arrivals.

"She is a foul witch of legend. She...uh..we must adhere to the laws decreed of generations past." She focused upon the group of merry women who spotted vacancies at the largest table, seemingly unable to share enough of her attention as to devote herself to answering Candie. It wasn't until she saw a disturbing sight from the most outer reaches of her peripheral vision, that she disregarded the customers. It was a single red and white streaked claw summoned from the folds of fabric which had covered it up to that point.

"You wear the same laquer as she!"The woman whispered, leaning in so that her words would be better heard against the various clamoring around them. "You should banish that mark before someone sees you! The Lawmen burn women for less than that!"
 
"Blasted!" He growled as his weapons, one of the few things that still was dear to him, were stolen of him. By those scumbag kids nontheless. Nearly grinding his teeth, he pushed away some of the people in front of him, rudely making his way through the crowd, untill he found himself a place free from the crowd. The moment he stepped out into a small alyway, the same moment he was given time to think. Leaning against the wall, he relaxed his thoughts and sighed. He wanted to pass the city as quickly as possible, which would grant him the satisfaction of reaching the next city within the day, before night. But on the other hand, he couldn't leave without his weapons...or any of the sorts. Better safe than sorry.Good thing that they payed him half up front. It allowed him to afford one loss. Looking at the busy street, he gave it a tired look and turned himself down the alyway.

With a bit of asking and a lot of searching and walking, he managed to guide himself trought the suburban maze which they called village. He nestled himself trough all kinds of small pathways, just so he could avoid the crowd. It was not as if he feared crowds, but it rather made him feel uncomfortable and nervous. It was an inbred fear, which he assumed to have been caused by being chased by his home village. Turning around the corner, he was pleasently met by the shop he was looking for: Wilbert's weapon work. A ridiculious name, but atleast it made the place easy to remember. He entered, and filled the empthy space which was the store. The store was filled with some closed cabinets and class, which contained weapons, and some hang on the wall, though there seemed to be a lot of empthy spaces. No one was in, which caused him to ask: "Hello? Anyone out there?" His voice ran trough the store, not loud, but still audible. From a door around the back, a couple of seconds later, a man appeared. He didn't seem....like a blacksmith. On the contrary. He was clean, tied up, and looked rather fancy. "You're....Wilbert?" The man chuckled as he placed a rag on the counter and stood in front of him, looking up to him being smaller. "Hehe no. Wilbert was my father. He died a couple of months ago. We have kept the name in honour of him. Also, it's easier to remember than 'Dorbeck's weapon work'. Anyhow, what do you need?". Sheaman listened to the story, but didn't seem intreseted at the least. If he hadn't learnt to not bother a blacksmith, he would've done interupted him. "My weaopns were stolen and I need new ones. Daggers."

The man who called himself Dorbeck straigtened his back to look around the store, and doubtfully he responded. "You...can have a look around, but I doubt we have any daggers. This is all we got. Most of it were remains of what my father made, and the rest is still being made. I'm not as good as my father you see." He said with an unexpected smile. Why would he be happy about that. "Great..." Sheaman mumbled to himself dissapointed. Carrying a bigger weapon would be harder to hide. Hiding his weaons had proven usefull to him in multiple situations and so he rather had smaller weapons. He looked up to see Dorbeck and was awefully suprised to see that Dorbeck's mouth was still moving. Apparently he had rambled some story, while Sheaman got absent in his thought. Midway the story, he interupted rudly. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'm looking for something small, but I seem to have ran out of luck again." He said as he turned around. Dorbeck jumped up catiously as he looked at him. "Wait! I have something small. It's my father's. I wanted to save it as memento, but I guess I can get something else for that." He said joyfully as he walked around to the back again. Sheaman waited, leaning against the counter, being given a minute, before the man came back.
 
This caused Candie to rise from the booth slowly, her gaze never wavering from the petite, swarthy woman. "I would respect you to quell your tongue about the matter, in the company of others." The barmaid swallowed hard. "I have other business to attend to." She spoke abruptly, seeking to further herself away from this strange, scarlet hooded visitor.

"Do not turn from me." Candie growled, an overpowering, sugary fragrance expelled upon her breath. "Please, release me!" Her voice emitted shakily, and she tried to wrench her arm free of the sticky matter which bled upon it. Where was it coming from? The Bartender patched up the leaky roof, she thought. It was different though, the texture resembling rehydrated old blood, which smelled strongly of licorice. The woman known as Fa'vaiir looked about in horror, but the scream would never form within her throat. Talons delved into the depths of flesh, piercing all which stood in their way.

Candie left the crime scene quickly, without alerting a wandering eye to her presence. The screaming would erupt from Iemoowa's the moment Candie stepped out of town, the crier's bell adding a musical note to the sounds of chaos around him. "Death at Iemoowa's Imbibments! Barmaid slain on duty! Bartender seeking another wench at Iemoowa's!" The boy's voice would cut through all the commotion, some became repulsed at the advertisement which was tagged to the end.
 
"Gloves? I asked for a weapon." Sheaman asked confused and agivated as he saw the man return with cloth gloves in the palms of his hand. Dorbeck didn't seem to understand his irritation and just chuckled. "Haha I've heard that a lot. Look man, I'm not stupid. I know what a weapon is, and though this may not seem like a weapon, that's exactly what makes it a perfect weapon!" With enthuisiasm, he placed the 'weapons' on the counter. Sheaman immidiatly noticed why he spoke of them as weapons. Razor sharp little 'claws' of iron were at the tip of each finger of the glove. They were hard to notice from far, but up close they were easily spotted. "It's a perfectly hidden weapon, and it'll catch anyone of gaurd who doesn't know of it. It's also made so that it does not obstruct as much and it'll give a nice and clean cut. Wilbert invented it himself. Told me that he was gonna sell it to an assassin, but they laughed at him for the idea." Sheaman picked up the gloves as the guy continued the story once again, and he catiously put the gloves around his hand, immidiatly feeling the comfort of it. It was the right size and the material felt tight, but yet still good. It made him feel even more animalistic having claws. "I can see why..." He mubmled again, continuing in his normal tone. "Is this honestly the only small weapon you have?" "Sorry mate. I can't really get you anything else right now." Dorbeck said shaking his head, though it seemed weird like that since even now he was still smiling. "It'll cost you 10 gold." "10 gold?!" "Yup! It's a memento after all!" Suddenly, his grin seemed more sadistic than antyhing, and he finally realised this guy was not a blacksmith, but a born salesman. With a lot of trouble, Sheaman placed his last pieces of money on the counter and pulled on the gloves, glaring at him. "If I die because of the blasted weapons, I'm gonna haunt you, I swear." "Won't happen" Dorbeck said confident. Sheaman stormed of, feeling even more animalstic now, but safer with weapons on. Atleast it was highly unlikely they'd steal this from him.

He stepped out, and continued his way down the main street heading for the exit of the town. His visit here had been nothing more than a pain in the ass, but atleast he was given the relievement, finally...Or so he had hoped. Of course, he was obstructed, or rather, distracted by the screaming of a boy. He looked to his side to see the bar he previously went in to, the day before. Iemoowa's Imbibments it was called...apparently. Not that he remembered, but the sign was easy to read. He knew that his curiousty would come and be a bother again, and it proved to be true. Much to his own will, he walked towards the bar, trying to look inside.
 
Cloaked in what seemed to be spilled blood transshaped into a wearable garment, Candie Cayne had fled toward the freedom of the vast clearing, hearing the Crier's words echoing into the night. Acting out in poor judgment only moments ago had left her trembling, but without remorse for committing such a heinous crime. She thought of Sheamen, and his reaction to it all if he had ever discovered it in some way. It was rather obvious that she had killed the woman, and the other pusillanimous purloiners she had encountered, as her signature was placed upon their flesh in the form of a sweet tasting crystallization of sugars.

Would he despise her for her misdeeds? She couldn't bear such harsh judgment cast upon her, his meek voice spewing accusations and her becoming the object of his condemning stare. Raising her hands before her bosom, she gazed upon the drying remnants of sanguine fluids which coated her talons. Would she have to brandish them again against a foe, against Sheamen? She decided not to pursue him now, and meditate upon her shame. Who was Candrichnine Cayne? She had no reminiscence of the name, but somehow it seemed to fit her like a glove. Was this woman something other than the murderous character she had become?

Wilbert's Weapon Work. It was definately not an artistic name, but it seemed to summarize the purpose of such a store. Candie thought of encroaching upon the town once again, taking several fearful steps toward the gate. A few men had past the threshold simultaneously as she, but none had glimpsed in her direction. They seemed rather chipper, the trio carrying on the tail end of their conversation which seemed full of boasting.

"I've got the daggers off'a him! The Boss will reward me for sure." Spoke one, smile beaming. "Yer always tryin' to be his favorite, but you're too young and inexperienced and end up looking foolish." Added another, his face heavily scarred with what appeared to be tracks left by a run in with a blade wielder. "I'm just happy he didn't give us much trouble." The third responded, finally looking back to the woman that entered the gate. "Do ya think?" He whispered, nudging the nearest comrade with an elbow. "We could come back later, for now I think we should quicken our pace. The Boss is quite impatient when it comes to carrying out his orders."
 
Sheaman didn't had to go far in- Correction, he didn't even need to go IN. The smell...that horrible disgusting sweet smell that lingers around the death of those who have fallen victim to a pair of specially delivered claws. He wouldn't forget that smell any time soon. It took him only one sniff on the air for him to remember who's always ahead of this smell, like a bad omen. Did that black cat really walk out this day, and brought misfortune to others using her claws? It was as if a story developed itself in his head. Worst case scenario, best case scenario, and everything inbetween. Of course he was never going to know for sure if he didn't atleast take a look at the carcass of this unwilling hunter. A quick gave him all the information that he needed, and he immidiatly verified the carcass' owner. "What is she doing here?..." He mumbled to himself, as his head spinned to take a look over the street, seeing if he could find the black cat he was looking for. He expected to easily find this black cat in the gray blob of people, but there was not the slightest hint, aside from the one who did meet her. "What did you say sir?" The announcing boy in front of the tavern asked, as he looked up at him. "Ah..I said, do you know what happened?" "No, it's almost like no one saw what happened. But they did saw a hooded person leave. They expected it to that person. But this is the first this ever happened. It'll be fine. They'll clean it up! So do you wanna take over that job?" The boy seemed eager to get someone else to fill in this spot. "N-no kid. I know I look beautifull enough to be a barmaid, but I'm not looking for a job." Sheaman responded with a bit of sarcasm. "Then could you please get out of the way?" The kid replied rudely, where upon Sheaman responded with a tap on his head and the warning. "Watch your tongue kid, or soon that'll seize to stop moving." And with that sinister warning, he brought it upon himself to head back. As he blended himself in the crowd again, he stopped, midway, bumping into people at first, untill they realised he was standing still and started to avoid him, like they'd do to a bench or lamp. In the meanwhile, he was just standing there, lost in though, once again debating with himself on the current affairs. A sever fight between his brain telling him to leave and make the next city before night, and his...concious, telling him to chase after her. He never felt like he had a concious, but on some special moments, like a solar eclips, he sometimes felt it. That feeling. And it always bothrered him. Because it was too strong to resist. Suddenly, he headed out towards the castle again.
 
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