Completed By Any Other Name

[Inoadar]

OOC - continues from here.

48th of Spring, 513

Inoadar left The Spot with his envelope. Unlike his last job, there had been no indication of any hurry, so he'd taken his time to finish his ale and make small talk with the barmaids. A few tavern games, a few wagers, a few wins and a few losses later, he'd called it a night. He'd downplayed the wins and fussed over the losses, so his claim that he had no more mizas to blow that night was received with the sort of laughs one gets from those that believe because they have been there.

In fact, he'd broken pretty much even, which was, to a casual gambler like himself, a successful evening's entertainment. He'd had fun, and still had the same wad he'd started with. And a task...meet a man along the north edge of the lake, near the Kelvic Research Institute.

Mostly, the instructions outlined an exchange of code phrases for he and his contact to establish their identity to each other. Inoadar wondered if such confirmation was truly necessary, given the low likelihood of there being anyone else skulking about such a locale. But, then again, what did he really know about it? Perhaps the place was under virtual siege by a host of unlikely citizens with no legitimate cause to be anywhere nearby.

He suppressed his sarcasm and stopped by his room at Tarsin's to grab a few things. He paused a moment as his eyes strayed to the chain shirt he'd stashed away there. He had yet to wear the thing under any sort of "test" conditions. He'd looted it off a dead deserter. One of three, in fact. They'd come upon his camp and thought to rob and kill him. He had, instead, poisoned and robbed them. Ultimately, the bodies were savaged by marauding wolves, who were themselves weakened by the poison and ended up as bounty money.

What had stood out in Inoadar's memory was how the torso of the chain-wearer was untouched. He supposed it was natural for an animal to avoid having to chew through chain if it was not necessary, but it was a pack. A lot of mouths to feed.

At any rate, he'd noticed how little damage it had sustained before the poison had taken effect and he had kept it. The mysterious details of this job led to think it may be in his best interest to bolster his defenses with such a fundamental item of armor. It wasn't as though he was being given official clearance to enter the KRI facility by the Black Sun. Nor what the exact job was.

He was to go "near" the facility, and meet an "unnamed individual" who would guide him to "the subject", by a back entrance. It sounded very unofficial and unsanctioned. And that made him feel expendable. The money was good though.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar went into the shop the next morning only to inform Marcus that he'd be gone for a few days. Marcus didn't seem to be too eager to ask where he was going. The last time they'd gone on a "nature walk" to search for toxin sources in the wild, Marcus had come back with a rash. Inoadar kept suggesting that the source of the rash was usually much more virulent and that he'd gotten off lucky, which didn't really help.

The next time he'd asked his boss where he was off to, Inoadar had said he'd tell him when "they" got there. Marcus had begged out, citing a number of janitorial tasks he had yet to complete and Inoadar had let him off the hook. They had an understanding now. Besides, this gave Marcus more time to search for information on his boss' suspected traitorous activities.

Often, Inoadar would leave it very vague as to when he would return, hoping to throw some pause into these searches. He had no proof that Marcus was under any such instructions, but he had his suspicions. In the meantime, he had a job to do and he wanted to get to shore before mid day. He had never been to the Kelvic Research Institute, but his understanding was that it was on the north shore of the lake. It would be several days to reach it by foot.

He thought about trying to stow away on some barge making a run to the Institute, but it would be the greatest luck for there to just happen to be one leaving this very morning. He had never collected information on such things, for all he knew, he'd spend more time waiting than it would take to walk. No, he was going to have to get a horse at the stables at the Southern Trading Post.

As he rode the ferry to the shore, he thought about the prospect of getting a horse. He grimaced at the thought that he had no idea of the value of horseflesh. And where would he keep it? He supposed the stables had accommodations for...well...stabling. He made a face. 'Of course they would!' He shook his head at his own stupidity. The only real question was whether it was worth it, getting and keeping a horse. He didn't really know how to ride. He'd had some rudimentary lessons as a youngster back in Nyka, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.

But he had to admit, he was sick of walking the lake shore any time he came over scouting for herbs, bugs and aquatics for his research at the shop. He'd gotten lucky a time or two and hitched along with a merchant, at reasonable cost, but he could never count on that. Here was a situation where he HAD to be able to know that he could get somewhere in a hurry, and he didn't have the means to do it. And there would be other times as well...Yes...it was time to buy a horse...And a saddle...and tack...and pay for stabling...and feed...

Luckily, his finances had been working out pretty well these days, not in the least because of jobs like this one, that he'd picked up at The Spot. He arrived at the Lakeside Stables at about the tenth bell and waited only a brief time while a servant went to fetch the man in charge. The man was dressed as a Captain and all appearances indicated that he truly was. Guards at the post took orders from him and brought him reports during the course of his exchange with Inoadar.

Inoadar was fortunate to have made friends among the guards here previously, courtesy of a few well-conceived bribes, for they put in a good word for him, and backed up his claim to need the crossbow he carried when he left town. They verified his occupation and smoothed out the questions that normally dominated anyone's pass through the post, coming or going.

[Inoadar]

He was given a walking exam of the available mounts. He admitted to limited experience riding horses and it turned out the owner of the Stables had a mischievous sense of humor, for he set him up first with one of the Impure Ravok Bloodbanes. Inoadar thought he was being shown a good deal since the cost was not as much as some of the others, while the animal itself was quite spirited.

'Spirited' may have been an understatement. 'Aggressive' may have been an understatement. Inoadar came to think 'Insane' may have been about right as he was thrown a third time, this time being spared a grim trampling only by the quick reaction of the accompanying trainer. The owner, a genuine captain of the guard at the post, had a good laugh at Inoadar's expense.

"Okay, I guess you were telling the truth about having no experience with horses." he taunted as he returned the prancing 'Demonspawn' to its stall. "Let me show you a Zavian. This is one that was actually used as a training mount for new riders, children mostly. It should be about your speed." He gave a sidelong wink as Inoadar rolled his eyes, knowing he deserved it. In the end, he paid 100 mizas for the Zavian, and an additional 21 for a riding saddle, pad, bit , bridle and a large set of saddlebags.

He set up an arrangement to pay 60 mizas for stabling. This was more than the asking price of 45, but included up to 20lbs of feed per day and the promise to send prompt notification to the shop if there were any complications. The horses kept stabled were usually exercised once a day to some extent. Inoadar was promised priority for his mount, which he named "Handy".

His job instructions indicated he should travel by night, so he spent the next several bells reacquainting himself with the practice of riding. By the time he felt that he should be on his way, he had gotten comfortable with a trot. He set out around the west side of the lake. He would camp the night and practice more tomorrow. He figured he would meet the contact tomorrow night without any hurry.

It was starting to get dark after a few more bells, so Inoadar stopped and made a camp. Ha had no tent, but he had a bedroll and a shovel for digging a quick fire pit. Handy seemed fine with the feed provided by the Stables. It had probably gotten used to it in its time there. It also seemed perfectly satisfied with the lake water. He didn't think the concern about night travel would matter until he got near the facility, so he built a decent fire and rolled up to sleep, thinking also that Handy would be useful as a night watch.

[Inoadar]

The combined alarms of Handy's anxious whinnying and the distant howling of wolves awoke Inoadar to approaching danger. He grabbed his backpack and removed the three vials of oil he kept on hand. This was for lamps and was not made to ignite explosively, but it would ignite impressively enough to daunt a predator that had other options.

He tore several pages from his research notebook and soaked them from one of the vials. He took some small dry branches and soaked them as well. He cut and unraveled several lengths of thread from one of his shirts and tied them to the ends of these branches, setting them out in a perimeter and laying the connecting threads straight back into the center of his camp.

He started cuts in one of his extra cloaks and tore long strips to also lay a line of oil along. The oil could not just be poured on the ground and be expected to stay atop the soil in sufficient concentration to be effective. He laid the oily strips in a semi-circle just inside the positions of the oily clumps of parchment, the soaked branches set to be pulled inward to connect the ignited cloth strips to the clumps of parchment. There was one he held back to use for igniting the initial perimeter. He hammered a small but stout stick into the dirt beyond the cloth line and ran one long last thread around it so both ends would reach his spot inside the camp, then he tied one end to one last dry branch and lit the branch up at the far end.

He put small clumps of dirt over the threads where the strips of cloth passed over them. Not to hide them, but to protect them from burning through before he used them. This small fire break would not prevent the branches from being pulled to give the burning cloth its avenue to reach the oily parchment. There was also a small criss-cross network of oiled cloth strips extending from the parchment heaps.

He set the now-empty glass vials that had contained the oil on top of the parchment and waited with his crossbow cocked and notched with a bolt. He wished he'd have brought a half dozen of his glass-bulb bolts and a few vials of acid from the shop, but 'wishes are wasted on reality', as his father used to say.

Handy's increasing panic gave Inoadar a good idea of how close the wolves were coming and he felt bad for the horse when it began rearing in terror as golden orbs of malice and hunger began circling the perimeter of the campfire light. With his back to the lake, Inoadar was not immediately concerned about the classic wolf pack flanking tactic. He had only seven bolts for his crossbow and his plans for their use did not include firing at shadows.

He crouched, laying the burning brand down on the ground, without taking his eyes off the glowing orbs passing back and forth with the natural hesitation all predators feel towards fire. He felt around, quickly finding the thread he was looking for. He pulled it steadily and watched with a grin of anticipation as the thread pulled around the improvised spindle he'd pounded into the dirt beyond the oil-soaked cloth strips. Pulling his end of the thread brought the burning brand into inevitable contact with the oily cloth and with a somewhat disappointing 'whoooof', a line of fire formed along the cloth strips right at the wolves' feet.

[Inoadar]

A pair of yelps erupted from the suddenly retreating shadows. One of the beasts jumped forward briefly, the flames having risen at its back paws. It looked at Inoadar with a ferocity sufficient to attack, but the pack mentality overrode the impulse and it turned with a snarl and jumped back over the low line of flame.

Inoadar, still crouched, reached for a nearby thread and pulled it as the wolf stepped right on the corresponding oil-soaked parchment. The branch at the far end was pulled into the flame, which traveled quickly along the oil on it to ignite the pile of oily crumpled parchment sheets. The few drops of oil now on the paw of the wolf ignited as well, bringing a howl and a brief burst of pandemonium.

Reveling in his good luck, Inoadar chuckled, "Thank you, Lord Rhysol." He caught himself, feeling an odd need to qualify his remark. 'Why do I bother? Why would a god that I have only ever been at odds with do me a favor?' He asked himself. But this only compounded his annoyance with himself. 'Why do I even care? It's not as though He gives a shyke what I do.'

The distraction continued however, as, once again, his puzzlement over why he had not been arrested by now raised its head. He was sure Marcus must have found something in his records, or the Ebonstryfe in his ledger book. Or any of his contacts being caught and giving him up to lessen their punishment. He had been convinced for some time that he was under surveillance.

Angrily, he shook this off, focusing again on the wolves. He had his crossbow to his shoulder, and though the fire often lit their outlines against the dark, it also scribed phantoms on his own retinas.

The wolves passed back and forth and he responded by pulling the threads to ignite the other two piles of oily parchments. He fired the crossbow three times at wolves that held still long enough for him to line up a good shot. The first was a clean miss, but the fire lit the path of the bolt and he saw that he was pulling it down as he pulled the trigger. He adjusted on the second shot and would have hit, but the wolf moved suddenly as if it knew, and the bolt flew past.

His earlier luck returned though, as the errant bolt struck the glass vial that had grown red-hot atop one the fires. It still had a coating of oil inside, which ignited as it shattered, sending small flaming shards of glass among the wolves. Howls and yelps met his ears as several of the wolves lurched about in pain and sudden fear, one even catching fire along its back. It rolled to extinguish itself. It got the third crossbow bolt in its side and its rolling abruptly ceased with a sharp yelp.

One that stood briefly in one spot to swipe at its glass-shrapneled face with its paw got the fourth crossbow bolt in the front left side of its chest and dropped, thrashing and twitching. It rose again with difficulty, its front left leg hanging painfully, and staggered off on its remaining three legs.

Inoadar lined up a careful shot on a second vial in a second fire, but missed to the right. The wolves were still milling about, but were clearly losing confidence in this fight. Inoadar's sixth shot burst the second vial and a bloom of fire spread flaming glass among them again.

This was enough for them and they retreated into the darkness to lick their wounds. A single harsh laugh escaped Inoadar's lips as he pumped his fist "Thank You, Lord Rhysol!" he shouted, this time not caring about the inconsistency of his attitude towards the god of chaos. He wondered if the wounded pack member would serve as dinner for the rest, given their failure to bring this human and his horse down.

The thought suddenly concerned him as he realized he no longer heard Handy neighing in fear, and remembered hearing splashing a few moments earlier. He turned and saw his horse making its way from the shore and turning to the north. Inoadar slapped his forehead. It hadn't occurred to him that his horse would be every bit as frightened of the fire as the wolves. Already being in terror of the pack, it had been too much for the gentle animal and it had fled in the only safe direction.

Inoadar dropped the crossbow, for which he had only one remaining bolt, and charged into the water, diving forward to start after him. It occurred to him shortly thereafter that he was still wearing his chain shirt.

[Inoadar]

He was in the midst of grabbing a deep breath and turning around to head back before the weight of the chain shirt dragged him down beyond recovery, when he realized that it was NOT dragging him down at all. He idled to tread water for a moment. It was no worse than leather armor. In fact, it was better, because it was not nearly as bulky and restrictive to his movements as wet leather would be.

He kicked off and returned to heading off Handy, thinking the shirt must be a magecrafted item. He did not think it was imbued with actual buoyancy. But he would be willing to bet it was meant to be exceptionally lightweight. Of course, this meant he would need to fully dry and hopefully oil it to prevent it rusting.

Handy couldn't just stop swimming and wait for Inoadar, but it did, finally, head back to shore. It had been running parallel to it up until then and Inoadar cursed himself for not having thought to simply follow along the shore, but the wolves would have become an immediate threat again if he had. He calmed Handy down and they headed back to camp, staying close to the water in case the wolves returned.

The campfire was still burning, so he changed and set the clothes to dry by the fire, spending a few chimes to focus on drying the chain shirt. He didn't have the right kind of oil with him, but drying it out would be the main concern. Dawn was near enough by then to warrant simply breaking camp and continuing on his way.

He recalled his instructions mentioning travel by night, but he did not believe anyone intended that he should stay hunkered down all day. The follow-up instructions mentioned meeting a man just east of the KRI. He suspected that this was where the night travel came into it. No one would go the long way around the east side of the lake to come to the Institute. So it stood to reason that someone wanting to meet someone east of the facility would have to pass by it to do so. That was surely where the need to stay out of sight became an issue.

Following this assumption served its purpose when he crested a hill and saw the facility spread out below him. It was larger than he expected, not due to the size or number of buildings, but the extensive series of kennels and fenced-in runs and grazing areas. There were docks as well. Some were obviously for unloading supplies, as evidenced by the small cranes, ramps and carts. One appeared to be for personnel only. It was a little out of the way, no doubt only being used when new researchers were rotated in or out.

Right now, a number of workers were going around lighting lanterns to illuminate the grounds. Inoadar guessed they were magecrafted lanterns judging by their surprisingly bright glare. There were also a number of squads of guards patrolling with dogs. Inoadar wondered idly if these were true dogs or Kelvic servants. He supposed, as far as getting into the place undetected, it didn't make a great deal of difference. He cut a wide berth around to the far side of the Institute and headed aimlessly in a generally eastbound direction.

As expected, near a copse of trees, a shadow detached itself from the night and approached him. "Well, well...A man that wastes no time. I like that. I didn't expect anyone for another couple o' days."

[Inoadar]

Handy pranced nervously as the shadow resolved into a man. Inoadar hesitated a moment. The phrase was supposed to have been 'I didn't expect anyone for two days.'

He fixed a suspicious glare on the man and responded, with emphasis on the altered word, "A couple o' days wasted is a couple o' days gained by your enemies." He pulled a dagger from his belt, fiddling with it in a seemingly idle fashion. "This is not a situation for improvisation, friend. Maybe I should begin my interrogation with you."

The man cocked his head, his face still hidden beneath the brim of his hat. "A stickler for details as well. Yeah, you'll do just fine." The man made as though his misspoken code phrase had been deliberate.

Inoadar shrugged and slid off the side of his saddle. He approached the man, extending what appeared to be a message scroll box with a leather shoulder strap. He held one end toward the man. "I was told to deliver these changes to your instructions before you brief me."

The man adopted a puzzled pose, but reached to take hold of the proffered item. "What changes? This is my op." he asked as he pulled the item instinctively. It gave easily, but not because Inoadar had released it. It was a Tamo Dagger, a twin blade dagger set designed to have the blades fit into each others' handles, the handles usually engraved with ornamental designs. Inoadar's was designed to resemble a messenger's scroll case. As the victim believed he was pulling the message box to himself, all he was truly doing was unsheathing a foot-long blade that he would find poised at chest level by a man less than an arm's length away. He also would be holding a blade, but he wouldn't know it until it was far too late.

Such was the case now, although Inoadar did not plunge the blade into the man's chest. He stepped in to grab the arm holding the opposite blade and wrench it out of any useful position while whipping the one he held against the man's throat. "Now you listen to me, pal," he hissed as Handy once again grew nervous with the sense of hostility. "This is just to let you know that you're dealing with a man that knows what the petch he's doing. I have explicit instructions. They give an exact exchange of code phrases. You didn't get yours right. That concerns me. I don't slip up. I don't like slip ups or people who slip up. And I sure as Dira's Dungeons don't like working for people who slip up. Now give me the details, get them right, and don't leave anything out...Now let go of my other blade so I don't have to kill you."

The man complied, waiting for the threat to subside before making any other move. Then he gave a low whistle. "Damn...You may just get her to talk after all." The subtle odor of sweat thickened the air. "Okay, here's the deal. They are trying a new glyph-triggered analgesic to make messengers able to resist pain. I'm talking about Kelvics used as messengers. Bird types mostly. During the last campaign, they had a number of them shot down, stunned with 'game arrows' and put to the question. You are only here to test its effectiveness. You just need to get her to say her name. Her real name."

"What? Am I just supposed to torture her and see if she talks?" The man nodded and began to open his mouth. Inoadar held up his hand. This was too easy. "Are you telling me the Institute couldn't just have a few Black Sun inquisitors come and pull her fingernails out or something?"

"It's already been done. But now they want new faces and new techniques. Something about having the same people that designed the drug doing the testing. 'Acquired Affinity' they called it. They want unknown elements. Unpredictable approaches."

Inoadar frowned. This was strange, but not completely beyond reason. He had always imagined that the researchers at this place were probably a bit odd. He shrugged, "Alright, let's go."

[Inoadar]

The man led them to a far removed, back gate. The smell of sewage grew with each step until Inoadar could not help but make a face. "Where in the world are you taking me? Why don't we go in the front?" He tried to sound just curious, not suspicious.

"The smell covers our arrival. You think a place like this doesn't have a high level of scent detection? We want this to be play-acted as realistically as possible." The response was mildly reproachful. Inoadar said nothing, opting to seem taken in. He nonchalantly slid his hand in his pocket and slipped his fist into his knuckleduster. This was all wrong. If he was just going to torture her, what difference whether she knew he was an outsider or not?

He was surprised to see the man pull out a key for the padlock. It appeared that the man either worked here now or HAD worked here in the past. It did nothing to assuage his suspicions. The gate opened onto a sunken, stone walkway that passed between several rows of kennels, most of them only holding bags and crates of supplies. The smell of excrement was overpowering and Inoadar had to admit the likelihood of their escaping detection by coming in this way.

The walk rose steadily and they came to a very unused looking door in the shadowed back of a building. The windows looked opaque with dust and grime. "Okay, I have to pick this lock. There isn't any key for it." The man said as he pulled out a set of pins and wedges and started working on the lock. Inoadar kept watch as he waited for what should have been only a few chimes.

After about ten, he saw a shadow in the distance that heralded a patrol team making its rounds. He patted the man on the shoulder and warned him in a low voice, knowing that whispers actually carry much further than low register speech. They both dropped into the darker part of the shadow, trusting to the smell to cover their presence.

Waiting a few more chimes for the patrol to pass without incident, Inoadar turned to the man, his voice impatient, "What the petch is wrong? can't you pick this damn lock?"

"Hey, if you think you can do it, you go right ahead." He slid aside with a look of relief on his face. Alarms went off in Inoadar's head as he realized he'd have to forgo the use of the knuckleduster to take over picking the lock. He stepped in as though he had no idea of what was coming. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt immediately that the tools were properly set. There was no reason the lock wasn't sprung, except the man behind him hadn't applied the final pressure on the last pin. A slight whisking sound was the final warning and Inoadar rolled to the side, where he'd noticed a short length of two-by-four bracing wood.

The swung sap missed the back of his head, instead impacting on his shoulder. It hurt, but was hardly debilitating. Inoadar kicked at his assailants knee, doing no real damage, but upsetting the man's balance as he danced back to avoid injury. Inoadar tucked and leaped forward, not to get to his feet, but to bring him in range to slam the impromptu club up into the man's crotch.

He croaked a gasp and gurgled a moan as he tried to maintain a defensive posture. Inoadar stood and made a grand gesture of cocking the club back for an overhand swing. Instead he jabbed the man with his left, just below the ribcage. As he double over, Inoadar brought the prepared club stroke down on the back of his head. The man dropped like a hundred-and-eighty-pound bag of feed and lay still.

Inoadar was not sure what to make of the man, He was obviously not a well-trained fighter. He had some keys to the place, but not all. And he wanted in, but not to be seen in the process. It seemed likely that he had worked here before, but no longer. Clearly there was something he'd left here that he wanted to retrieve.

Spitefully determined to find out what it was, regardless of the fact that it may well be nothing he was interested in. Inoadar finished picking the lock. He opened the door. He had a sudden thought and stepped back to rifle the man's pockets and liberate him from his keys. On a whim, he tried a few in the lock he had just picked. The third one worked.

He turned a sour look at the unconscious figure. "Bastard..." he muttered and stepped inside.

[Inoadar]

There was a darkened polished stone hallway in front of him, doors facing each other on both sides in symmetrical fashion. It seemed the first set accounted for only half the space as the next set, the pattern repeating itself for the length of the hall. Inoadar noticed two things immediately. The first was that the door for the narrower space was only reinforced wood, whereas the other sets were of metal. The second thing was that, of all the doors he could see, only the second metal door on the left had light showing beneath it.

'That's gotta be it.' he thought to himself as he approached it, keys in hand. It had a plaque that read simply "G. A. - 4". He paused, stepped back to the wooden door he'd just passed and saw that it had a "4" on it as well. He looked through his keys, not finding any numbers or indicators of any kind on them. In fact, they looked crudely manufactured. 'Probably copies, formed from clay pressings.' he reasoned silently. ALL the keys had this look, now that he examined them.

On a whim, he tried them in the wooden door. One of them fit. It was a storeroom. He relocked it and went to the metal door with "G. A. - 4" on it. He tried the same key in that lock. It slid in with some trouble and, with a bit of jiggling, got it to unlock. He figured that the storeroom was intended to service this room in particular, though he had no idea what "G. A." stood for.

Something caught his attention and he pressed his ear to the door. There was a moment of silence and then he heard a woman's voice, trembling somewhat, with eagerness or fear he could not tell. "Harvek? Is that you?" His eyes narrowed, Harvek must be the name of the man he left unconscious at the back door. 'This wing of the facility...all dark and locked up...this woman, waiting anxiously for man trying to sneak in...myself targeted to be found unconscious at the back door...He was going to sneak her out, and I was going to be the patsy!'

The scowl intensified as he pushed the door open, to find a reasonably attractive woman chained to a wall with an obvious Kelvic collar around her neck. her expression flashed through a series of emotions as his scowl remained unchanged. Hope, shock, fear and resignation confirmed the scenario Inoadar had just grasped.

Fury steeled his heart to the romantic overtones of the plot. HE was targeted to take the fall! That changed everything. He would not have cared otherwise. He might even have helped! 'After all, it would have been chaos and betrayal, wouldn't it?' he railed inside with bitter sarcasm.

"No..." he sneered with vicious sadism as he looked at the quailing girl, "Not Harvek. Someone HE intended to use to cover his ass! Someone much worse!" He slowly stalked an arc around the girl, whose eyes shimmered with tears of fear and anticipation of pain. "I'm to be paid fifty gold to get you to talk, girl. To tell me your name. And I enjoy this kind of work, do not doubt it. I'll be dreaming of your screams as I lay with some whore tonight. Do me proud girl, give me a show." He caressed a dagger with sadistic appreciation as trembling whimpers escaped the girl's lips.

[Inoadar]

"NO, PLEASE! You don't need to do this. My name is Selaya! I don't know what this business of fifty gold is about." Her voice quavered convincingly.

Inoadar leaned in, his finger to his lips, but no compassion in his eyes. "Shhhh...The fifty gold was to lure some poor sap, like me, into being his fall guy. But I don't like being lured." He brandished the blade with relish, stroking her pale smooth skin with the flat of the tip, the point still on the verge of breaking the surface.

She shuddered and turned to look forward, away from Inoadar and the blade both. A steely resolve straightening her posture. "We'll pay you double, for the gods' sake! One hundred gold, just let me go...let US go, and you can make your getaway. If you stay to...to...do your job...they might come back and then we ALL lose!"

"There is no gold!" Inoadar snapped, "I went through his pockets. He doesn't even have the fifty he originally promised, let alone one hundred." He moved around the other side as he spoke and propped the tip of the blade against her shoulder with only enough pressure to hold the weight of the weapon in place.

She reached to scratch her shoulder where the blade was. Intrigued, Inoadar pulled it away before she touched it, taking note that she only treated the discomfort like a bug bite. He came back around and propped the blade the same way on her thigh and began to spin the blade enough to bring a slow build up of scraped skin. The girl began to whimper piteously and her knuckles turned white with her grip. She grit her teeth, her face reddening as sweat broke on her brow. She shuddered another plea for him to stop and turned her face away from the blade as though she could not bear to see it.

Inoadar complied. He'd seen this act before. She had a high resistance to pain, but was smart enough to know how to fake being broken so her false information would be believed. Unfortunately for her, Inoadar knew this technique as well. It was a perfect compliment for anyone with a high tolerance for pain. "So...'Selaya'...is this your first name or your last name?" he asked with an air of nonchalance.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed. She recovered quickly, but remained on guard. "What? What are...First name?" She feigned sudden understanding. "Oh, no you see, we Kelvics don't have family names here. Selaya is my only name"

Inoadar paced confidently, his eyes never meeting hers as he replaced the dagger and pulled out a small vial. "Well, I'll tell you what, Selaya..." he said the name mockingly. "I don't believe you, but I've come to think pain is not the approach to use to get you to talk."

A hint of anger replaced fear in her voice. it only served to convince Inoadar of his suspicion. "What difference does it make? You already know what's going on. Harvek was going to break me out and we were going to run away together. You don't need to break me! The fifty gold will be paid to you. The Hundred gold!" she corrected herself, "Just bring my name back to...whoever you're supposed to and you'll get your money. THAT must be why Harvek doesn't have it on him. You must be getting paid by someone else!"

Inoadar grinned maliciously without looking at her, his eyes all on the vial which he held in view with near reverence. "You're grasping at straws, sweetheart. Yet you're remarkably close to the truth." Now he spun to face her, his eyes burning holes through her story "How would you, a prisoner born, raised and locked away here your whole life, know anything about how things work out there?"

Her face transformed, it was if it closed up. There was a new expression on it. A defiance that dared him to waste his time trying to learn more. His smile reveled in the challenge. "You're hiding something, honey. Something big. Something worth a lot more than fifty petching gold." he gazed with loving respect at the vial in his hand for a moment and then turned back to look at her, the smile fading, becoming a look of merciless determination. "And I'm going to find out what it is. And you're going to tell me. In fact, you're going to beg me to let you."