Blackfeather Woods Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you amongst cocktails.

Coincidentally or not, his life had aligned so well with his sister's — Cicero had soon fallen back to old habbits, raiding his poison stashes for whatever he could spare. Sheogorath had upkept them poorly so he had gathered some before winter would fall upon them. Cicero had otherwisely stayed away from Potema and the brood, but he had tried to spend as much time as he could with his @Damien — whether his brother wanted to or not — and most of his time was spent in a haze, in pain, in a pain that felt good. @Relmyna had tried to take care of him and it was likely because of her that he wasn't already dead now. She had noted he was no longer Sheogorath, but she did not seem to care; perhaps because her own life was laced with indecision and uncertainty where her path would lead, where she should take it, and therefore she stayed simply here because she had nothing else left after the atrocities that Sheogorath had made her commit.

So much time was lost and Cicero had nothing more than a mere few flashbacks and whatever others told him he had done to remind him of the beast's actions. His actions, he reminded himself while he chewed on some weeds and knew that it would not be long before he would be plagued by stomach aches and headaches and the will to vomit. In a pleasant haze of pain Cicero wandered through the forest, not even realising he was headed for the sister he had tried his best to stay away from that time.