Julius was conducting his usual patrol about Castle Town-- now that he had an All Night Mask, he was awake for... Well, forever! Now that he had appropriate time to do all of his adventuring and daring exploits, there wasn't much of a good reason to be sleeping. Other than the mere fact that sometimes, all he wanted to do was sleep. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But it would have been ideal, if not for a fifth encounter with It. The Twister. He rambled on about 'masks' and 'faces', but Julius already knew what he was going to wager. That blade... The blade his hands had touched, and now would touch once more. He wasn't talking about just any old blade -- he was talking about his blade, the blade that he had forged and poured so many hours of work and dedication into. What was once already twisted, would soon become so again... But at what price? The ever-present Twister smiled with his faceless face. He wove his hand over thin air, unveiling a deck of plain playing cards. "Thirteen rupees." He knew what he had meant. Julius unbuckled his sword's sheathe, and laid it atop the table. He then gave The Twister what was rightfully his. Thirteen of his rupees. It's not like he would miss them much, but... If the effect proved to be malignant in any way, shape, or form, he would simply alter it back. Or could he? He had no idea; that was The Twister's choice.
"Ah, you again." This time the Twister appeared as a small red-haired Hylian lass, slouched behind a desk. "Not even a hello?" With a shrug, the entity sat up, the cards following suit as they shuffled in the air, eventually revealing three: a mountain, a broken bone and his own face. Julius' sight soon blackened as a sinister giggle filled his ears. Oh, the blade would be his indeed. Slowly, a sensation crept up on Julius, starting in his fingertips and slowly spreading to the rest of his left arm. It started as warmth, but soon grew hotter and hotter until it became an unbearable, searing heat. Roaring flames licked the flesh off his bones. And then the hammer fell, wielded by his own hand. Bones shattered into a million pieces, smashed against the anvil as Julius hammered away at his own arm. Begging for mercy, Julius wrenched what was left of his arm away from the forge, what he realised was his forge, at home. Seeking relief from the burning pain, he stuck his hand into a bucket of icy water, only to howl in pain as even the water seemed to burn him. He pulled the mangled mess of flesh and splintered bone from the water, watching in horror as the water did not drip off, but instead slowly started to creep upwards. In a span of two seconds, the water had rushed up, replacing what had once been skin and bone into a blade of shimmering ice, not quite unlike what his sword had been before. Weakened and sickened by what he had just witnessed, Julius sank to the floor of his forge, breathing ragged and shallow as his eyes drifted shut. But when the Captain returned to his senses, he would find his arm whole and hale again, save for a vague blue tinge in his fingertips, as if frost had started to claim it. He knew that when he would next find himself in battle, he could transform his left arm into a blade of ice by focusing on it, as well as having a vague idea of being able to add other materials as if it had still been a weapon. That is, if he dared to stick his arm into the forge once more... 'If you no longer desire my boon, burn your arm in Blue Fire until the flesh turns black...'
