Blackfeather Woods I send a pestilence, a plague

The boy quickly lost interest, but there was one word that drew him right back in. Sheogorath grinned as the boy repeated the word, testing it upon his tongue, curious to know more about it. Time would tell if it would draw him in like it had Cicero before he even knew the name they carried to the rest of the world. "Poisons, yes. Your mother never told you about that?" He tut-tutted; to know how to heal someone with herbs, it was invaluable to know how to damage someone with them too. And at the very least it was good to know what the wrong choice of herb might do.

"Your mother mostly dabbles in herbs that heal, but I work mostly with those that hurt and maim, cause hallucinations and unthinkable pains." He looked at the boy's face, watching him closely to make sure he knew and understood what Sheogorath spoke of; and to see if there was any spark of interest there.