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"Oh? Let's see them hang us, shaman boy. We haven't so much as touched the stuff, Abigail and I!" A laugh wracked Wesley's small body as he gave a theatrical shrug, still managing to keep that macabre rhythm going. Those green eyes remained trained on the druid whose eyes were flitting carefully between him and his sister, waiting for the young teen to drop his guard and let the bloodshed begin. Oh, yes, mother always did like the coy ones. Took them in for a day, just for the novelty, then threw them out into the streets again when their rebellious nature proved to be too unruly for her already unstable mind! Whether they were alive or not was never a terribly important concern, as the river that ran behind their house had served to carry the bodies away.

"Candy? I do like candy, but the voices shan't lie to us. They're a part of us, after all!" Abigail's childish giggles were muffled quickly by the insinuation of lying, but her voice didn't turn cold like her brother's- rather, they remained light, if not slightly curious. This boy had such weird trains of thought, if he didn't listen to the voices in his head! Goodness, how did he cope? With no twin to talk to on the outside and no voice to talk to on the inside, how did he ever keep from feeling so terribly lonely that he would off himself in the middle of the night? Mother had told them that only unspeakable loneliness lay beyond the realm of hearing, after all.

And what was there to hear, if not the voices?

"And... you can't hear our voices, can you? Don't you have your own to listen to? We can listen to our voices just fine, can't we, brother?" Her head tilted at his offer, but she didn't even ponder the thought of accepting his help... or the bait that he had laid out for them. For Abigail, it was a simple matter of truth and fact- there was no need to weigh options, no threat from being told that her voices might be misinterpreted. The voice even now whispered to her, its voice growing louder with every step she took as she smiled sweetly at the druid boy who just didn't understand the gift their Mother gave them.

He's perfect. Will you toy with him more? The voice whispering to her mind wasn't malicious, so far as she could tell- a warm sense of familiarity smothered any fear or paranoia that children would normally feel, when being spoken to like this. Then again, had others been able to hear the voice, the most common reaction might have been to reach for their weapons or run for the hills, depending on the level of superstition that had steeped into their hearts and souls. A wispy veil seemed to settle in her mind as that voice cradled her very essence- her very mind and sanity ensnared in an encompassing delusion that tainted her existence.

Mother always told us to play with our toys! We'll be patient. He'll let us collect him, soon, just as soon as he gets all riled up! A mental laugh, and the wisp withdrew.

All that had taken place in just an instant, her eyes looking veiled and distracted for just a split second before returning to their ecstatic luster.

"Of course, sister! Don't listen to him. He should be sleeping... just like mother. What poppycock, to think our Voices lie!" Grasping the switchblade tight in his hand, Wesley found himself trembling from the mere insinuation. The Voices... what did he know of the Voices? The Voices that guided their every move, the Voices that their mother had so carefully bestowed upon them as she hung from the gallows! Even as that rope bit into her neck and her feet swung free when the rope extended to its fullest, her wide, twitching eyes had sought them out. She'd made her will known in that one instant- the two would carry out her task, listen to the Voices she imparted on them and continue to please her, even after her deep sleep!

With a wordless yell, Wesley made the first move.

A dash forward, a lunge towards the defensive druid's belly, and Wesley felt the knife rush through the air, aiming for the sensitive flesh that lay beneath those folds of fabric.

Do it! Do it! Kill him, take his eyes!

There was the sound of a faltering rhythm.

The widening of eyes as Abigail's uncomprehending stare and lurching step broke the otherwise serene rhythm that the two of them had created. Wesley's sudden attack had broken the synchronization between them, however temporarily, leaving his twin staring wide-eyed and shocked as she nearly let the basket drop from her hands.

The sudden severing left her feeling a chill she'd never experienced before, and she found herself unable to move, save the twitching of her uncertain lips.

"It... It's not time yet, Wesley! What are you doing? Brother, brother...?"

"My name is Bartre...I am a warrior from the Western Isles in Elibe...I mean no harm to you, and I came to see how I can help...I can easily use an axe, yet I can use a bow, if needed." Moving behind them for sometime, despite what Tristai had said...he knew he would come in handy somehow.

Kersigor scoffed. Hell no he'd go to the quarantine. "I'm not gonna go there, so I don't need a guide."

He stood there, as if he were seeing something else happening in the scene. Something only he could see. His eyes turned glassy, but then pooled with rage. "I told you once, I ain't goin'!" His voice turned into a yell, he popped his neck, and gripped his axe. His idea of what was going on was much more violent than what actually was going on, though it seemed that Aran was standing there, Kersigor thought he was trying to bring him into a full nelson.

His axe was wicked, and it seemed to laugh in his face. Kersigor ignored it, and swung it at Aran. It broke both of Kersigor's arms, and kept going with the momentum, and made an strong impact on his side, stopping halfway through his spine. He was in complete shock, having his arms broken and his axe turning on him, that he dropped to the ground with the remaining momentum, causing the axe to make its way through the rest of his body.

Kersigor had passed before he hit the ground. Blood smeared on the pavement, and air seemed to come out of his mouth.

"But you-" Aran was cut off, literally almost as Kersigor took out a huge axe. "We don't need to do this, calm down!" Aran yelled right before Kersigor swung his axe....

But it did not even touch Aran. In fact, it had turned on him and killed him! Broke his arms and cleaved right through him.

Aran just stood there dumbfounded, looking at this new corpse. "What do you think we should do about this?" Aran asked to Leon.

"Got it" Aran said to Leon. He looked at the corpse one more time.. Not the prettiest sight as Aran shivered himself.

Rei chuckled as he saw Abigail's further shock. She seemed quite out of commission, at least for long enough. Wesley's furious barks shook her, though, his rummaging through that pungent basket filled with frantic, clumsy actions. The Druid could not help but pity the poor girl as she screeched and quivered in desperation. As old as these children were, they'd never lost their tempo like this? Astounding, to say the least.

Already, Wesley was on the offensive once more, now rushing Rei with a broken bottle. He saw the child reeling as the knife impacted, he surely couldn't do it again. Like a baton, Rei spun the staff in a circle in front of him, shoving the assailant's arm to the side. This made the hand with the rock all too predictable, the attack missing after a simple sidestep.

Wesley's desperate cries for Abigail went unanswered, the boy reacting as if his entire world was shattered in an instant. But, his body, though shuddering, began to distance itself from the Druid. The tears in his eyes, the shouts of monster, they served only to reunite the pair, their hand motions going back into synchronization.

"We've got to stop him. We've got to... for Mother!"

Rei's muscles tensed up, his arms held the staff in front of him defensively. The pair was rebuilding their stance, and soon a joint attack would come. If that happened, he was done for. He had to think fast, he had to do something, or he'd be dead. If he could just distract one of them...

"Stop me?" The Druid cackled, trying his hardest to daunt the children into submission. "One of your Voices were wrong already, children! It will happen again!" Still, the staff was held, as more of a weapon than a magical device. He refused to use it, at least on these two. On true enemies, yes, but not on misguided children. "And when it does, what if something happens to one of you?" He channeled a pittance of magical energy into the staff, simply causing the gem at the top to glow, like some sort of fire warding away the insects. "What if you have to live the rest of your lives in that shock you were in moments ago?" Like any sibling, especially a twin, one would be considerably distraught should something happen to their companion. And if a brief lapse in timing did that to them, would the death of one of them drive the other insane?

Moving along, Bartre noticed the horse stop, and he drew up his swordreaver, keeping an eye on where his halberd and silver axe, as well as his iron bow, so that in case he needed more strength he could get those out...yet when they started to move, he could smell what had caused them to stop. "Oh dear...for the love of god why did that stench have to be here?"