[Ino Vations] Drawn by Poison

[Irriari]

Spring Day 77, 513 AV Dusk, Ino Vations Shop

Irriari had planned to spend the last few day time hours crafting poisons and checking her poisoncrafting kit for missing reagents. However, as soon as she started unpacking her bag, the zith knew that she didn’t have the patience for the task at hand. Last time she had attempted to work through the jitteriness, she found herself breaking more bottles than she cleaned. The owner of the Black Tar had mumbled something about another shop opening in Ravok and stealing his business. After a bit of prodding, the owner had pointed her in the direction of the shop. He had also mentioned something about hoping that she scared the new owner to death. Chuckling, Irriari had walked out of the shop, eager to find another person to discuss poisoncrafting with.

Ino Vations was a neat store, with precisely labelled bottles of poison. The zith stared at the bottles as she walked around, hoping to glean something from the coloring and thickness of the mixtures. Her inability to read was bothering her more as of late, and made reading her book on philtering nearly impossible. In addition to the poisons the shop contained a variety of accessories and tools that were displayed on a wooden table. The majority were made for the human anatomy, though some looked like they could be adapted to the zith fighting style. After perusing the majority of the store in silence, she turned her attention to the human shopkeeper. The human was skinny and carried a cane. The zith sneered at the obvious sign of weakness and wondered what had happened to his leg. His dark clothes fit his build well, and after her first glance, the zith was relatively sure that he wasn’t concealing any weapons underneath them. Until he moved, however, it would be difficult to see the outline of a thinner blade. She spoke, knowing that if she stared much longer, the human would likely get uneasy at her presence. Human or not, she had few acquaintances in Ravok, and it would be foolish to anger one that was so well versed in poison.

“Hello. I’m Irriari. I have an interest in poisons, and I was happy to see your shop, though the owner of the Black Tar didn’t seem too pleased.”

[Inoadar]

Initially, Inoadar was glad of the counter that separated him from the feral-looking human hybrid stalking his customer area. His recognition of the figure as a member of the Zith race may have come sooner if he had not just had a life-altering encounter involving the Kelvic Research Institute.

Truth be told, he simply had not met any Zith up close before and thought this to be some poorly disguised Kelvic freak, come for some sort of retribution, though how they could have found out what he'd done so soon puzzled him. It was only her mention of the "Black Tar" that brought his reasoning back around to the realm of logic. There was no connection to his alchemist semi-rival involved in his recent escapade at the KRI.

"Well..." he began, his eyes narrowing. Taking in the various aspects of this creature in front of him, he saw the wings as a detriment in close quarters such as the confines of the shop. It would serve best to establish his lack of fear right here, right now. "Knowing that I went to some effort to appease him, I must confess to some confusion whether you mean that the owner of The Black Tar was none too pleased with MY arrival in town, or YOUR arrival in his shop."

Inoadar did not hesitate to level his insult at the Zith. Its sneer was all-too familiar to him. Many a fool that had underestimated him had worn the same kind. Wiry strength was unencumbered by the bulk that huge muscle mass presented. Let some fool bear hug him! His Nettle Cloak would make him regret it. He'd also found, through experience, that the lower level poisons that simply attacked muscle mass caused a muscle-bound 'He-man' far more pain than it did himself.

Of course, his time spent with the masochistic Second Edict of Nyka, had raised his threshold of pain to extreme levels. But it was time to back the attitude off to 'customer-service' levels again. Subtly repositioning his cane to a two-handed "action" grip, he continued. "Now, if we are done posturing for dominance, I would be happy to be of service to you. What exactly are you looking for?"

[Irriari]

Irriari watched the mannerisms of the shopkeeper as he started to speak. He hardly seemed afraid by her presence, and she was surprised at how scathing his reaction was. She was only being friendly. Perhaps humans didn’t appreciate knowledge of their competitors and enemies. If this man was going to take the information she had provided and use it to insult her, the zith had no issue responding in the same tone. There were too many overconfident humans in Ravok. They flaunted their mizas as if the gold rimmed coins meant something.

“I’ve been a patron of the Black Tar for many seasons. In fact, the shop seems far better equipped than this one. I can see why the shop keeper disliked you. You’re stupidly bold for a human. Do you think that there bottled poisons can protect you? Or do you think you can damage someone with that stick? I don’t need to compete with you, human- I could kill you where you stand.”

Irriari smiled and stretched her arms forward slightly, hoping that the human was foolish enough to attack her. It had been weeks since she had gotten to hurt something that wasn’t an animal, and knocking this human down a few notches would appease her lust for violence and blood. While Ino Vations hardly had the number of items the Black Tar boasted, Irriari was still interested in the reagents that were used to create the poisons she saw on the tabletops.

“I’m not looking for anything in particular- which tends to happen when one can’t read your stupid human scribbles. I was simply curious if this store offered anything new. I philter and create my own poisons, but there are many reagents I can’t gather in the wild lands. I simply came to look.”

[Inoadar]

Inoadar laughed derisively, "Ahh, I see. So my competitor dislikes me because I'm so stupid. Odd that a businessman would prefer a crafty rival, rather than one he could easily outmaneuver. Of course he's better equipped...in alchemical products. If that is what you are looking for, then I suggest you take your business back there. But try not to knock any of his superior products of his shelves while you flap your wings. And I hope you flap them more gracefully than you do your lips!"

It seemed likely that the creature was either going to storm out or attack. He kind of regretted having slapped that last remark on the end of his response. But that bit about "stupid human" this, "stupid human" that, and the blatant threats left no other avenue to his way of thinking. He glared as he raised his cane to hook it behind his neck. It was already loaded, of course. He gave it a subtle twist, trying, as always, to keep it from being noticed that the crook end twisted less than the hand on the shaft turned. He felt a slight "give" behind his neck as the lock in the cane came free.

If the Zith attacked him, he would slip the freed end to his lips and shoot a dart of Blue Whinnis into her hide. He'd only have to defend himself for a chime or so until the weakness took effect, followed shortly by unconsciousness. He had on his Nettle Cloak, and the crook end of his cane was the haft of a foot-long stiletto. It could get ugly...Just the way he liked it.

But he would give her a conversational out as well, just in case she really wanted to buy something. Win or lose, he didn't really want his shop torn up. "If you're going to come in here and insult me and threaten me, don't expect courtesy as a reply. I seriously doubt you're even a citizen!"

[Irriari]

OOCBring it on, fleshbag <3

Each word that the human spoke enraged Irriari more. Her breathing quickened after his quip about her wings, and she relished the familiar feeling of the blood sight overtaking her vision. The shop was now tinged with reddish tones and her own breathing was loud in her ears. Enraged, the zith snarled at the pathetic human in front of her.

Irriari's furred skin rippled as the human moved his cane behind his neck. If he was truly injured as the cane had led her to believe, he would not have been able to move it so far back without stumbling. The position would be nigh impossible to hold for long, and every second that his hands were out of sight made the zith more leery.

She ignored his jab at her citizenry status. Zith were not to be tied down by human laws and customs. So long as she had her wings, she would reside where she pleased. Only a human would care about something so pointless.

Irriari moved towards the human, heedless of the countertop that blocked her path. Her wings unfurled slightly as she moved, aiding her jump onto the counter. She landed awkwardly, her foot sinking into the rubbish that littered the countertop. Ignoring the surge of pain in her foot, the zith pushed off from the counter with her wings tight against her back, moving downwards to rend the humans chest with her claws.

[Inoadar]

OOCSay your prayers, furball

Inoadar stepped back to give room and time as he pointed the blowgun portion of his cane at the winged figure. He was not confident that hitting the wings would suffice. He didn't know enough about these creatures to know if there was widespread blood flow through the membranes and knew it would be a long shot to hit one of the appendages within. It would have to be a body shot.

There was a clatter of debris on the floor as the Zith lit, off-balance, on the counter. Inoadar took his last step and lined up the cane tube with the sleekly furry torso. There was no doubt about the success. His last step, however, came down on a jar or vial of some sort and his foot rolled as he hissed the dart at the winged figure outlined by the counter window.

He did not see if the dart struck home as he gave himself to an acrobatic back roll. Coming to his feet, he put a certain pressure on his heel to release the blades in the toes of his boots. As the Zith came on, he stepped forward, tossing his blowgun aside, reorienting his grip on the cane/stiletto and kicking at the creature with his bladed toe and laughing with the anticipation of a good fight.

[Irriari]

OOCSome poisoner I am, never actually using my poison. I think I deserve this, but I still don't like it
Realization flooded her mind far too late as Irriari felt the slight twinge of the dart striking her torso. The sensation of the needle was reminiscent of the hissing insects that plagued her hunts and hide in the Sea of Grass. The icy feeling that surrounded her wound mimicked no creature she had ever found. Nauseated by the realization, Irriari screamed. The bastard human had poisoned her. Memories of her fight with Vanator rushed back, and she wished that this fight would end similarly. Today, Irriari had failed to coat her nails in poison, and she knew that her foolish mistake could forfeit her life.

She lunged at the human, cursing his pathetic weapon in zithanese. It should have occurred to her far sooner than his ornate cane was a trick. Only a human would carry around such a ridiculous weapon. Irriari ignored the painful truth- she had fallen for his trap. She allowed herself to drown in in the flow of the battle, embracing the pain as she would a long lost love. Few humans understood the nature of pain like the zith. Pain is an awakening. Every surge of adrenaline and agony coursing through her nerve endings was a joyous cry of life, begging to be embraced by a predator who had the power to use it.

Her claws hit home as the man regained his balance. She ripped at the skin she found on his chest, claiming the tattered clothing and bloody strips as her prize. A sharp pain struck her calf and the zith howled in anger, while she forced herself to kick outward with her damaged leg. It would likely miss, but if she wanted any chance at living, Irriari knew she would have to use everything she could. To remain motionless was to accept death. The zith pivoted to the left, seeking the flesh at the junction of the mans neck and shoulder. The tendons underneath were close to the skin and rarely protected. A quick glance at his chest confirmed her earlier strike. He wasn't bleeding nearly enough, and the zith could feel her limbs moving slower as the poison spread through her bloodstream. Grim realization attempted to cut through the fury of the blood sight, but she pushed it down underneath the surface and readied herself for the next trick the human would surely use.

[Inoadar]

Her strength surprised him as she batted his kick down. Luck was with him, however, as the extended blade struck her lower leg. Any hindrance to an enemy's mobility was a boon worthy of thanks to the gods. He spun with the movement, regaining his balance as he spun to brace his back against his desk.

Only then did he realize that his chest had been scored by her claws. The pain gave him focus. His grin blazed with malice equal to that gleaming in his eyes. His right hand found a drawer handle to give him an axis for balance as he swung his stiletto, with his left, across in anticipation of her closing on him. It was not a slashing weapon, but he would return the favor of a tear across her skin, if he could.

He realized his mistake as his over-extended backhand slash left his torso wide open. She had seen it coming and had spun the other way. She was already moving in for a throat strike before he could even halt the momentum. Adrenaline surged in the form of a feral battle cry as the lock broke on the drawer he was holding. With no better option, he swung it at her as she slashed in for his throat.

The papers in the drawer whooshed like a flock of doves as he felt the drawer partially intercept her strike. He was momentarily blinded by fluttering papers as he felt an odd pull on the drawer he was holding. It threatened to pull him off balance, so he released it to see, through a brief gap in the obscuring veil of paper, that her nails had impaled the bottom of the drawer.

He launched himself at her, grabbing the drawer with both hands and twisting it, hoping to snap off her claws or wrench her wrist. She was already slightly limping. If he could disable one of her attacking arms, he would stand a decent chance of surviving long enough to see her fall victim to the poison.

[Irriari]

OOCOww

Blood flowed out of the open slit on her calf onto the wooden floor. The zith favored her other leg as much as possible, but it was nearly impossible to do so in such a fight. Each movement to the side caused the wound to flare with pain, reminding her of its presence far too much for her liking. Gritting her teeth, Irriari embraced the pain once more and focused on her target. Each movement seemed ten times as sluggish as the last. The battle was becoming comedic, due only to the effects of the poison that was steadily sapping her strength.

The humans cry shocked her- the zith didn't know humans could be so fierce. His battle cry was louder and more passionate than the noises that the harlots made when she pinned them to the bed and bit them. Still, that was hardly saying much. Before the zith could attempt to attack him again, the air was showered with a rain of paper, blocking the majority of her vision as she reached for his throat. She felt her claws connect and smiled. Soon after, she realized that she had gouged wood instead of flesh, and snarled in anger. What kind of fighter used paper as a self defense mechanism? It was beyond absurd and the zith wanted nothing more than to make him pay for his idiotic style of fighting. As she attempted to yank her fingers free from the splintered wood, the human twisted it. Eyes wide, Irriari rolled her entire body with the momentum of the drawer. Her shoulder collided into the side of the wooden desk and scraped down the side with a loud thud. Irriari wrenched her hand free, heedless of the splinters that tore the skin on her fingertips. Her own cry of anger resounded through the shop as she pushed herself to her feet. With her last ounce of strength, the zith lept towards the humans chest, rending him across the stomach with her claws before she collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

[Inoadar]

Having expected resistance to twisting the drawer, the sudden give, coupled with the slick pieces of paper on the floor, brought Inoadar's feet out from under him. His feet danced and his arms windmilled frantically as he came down hard on his back, his head rebounding off the stone.

There was an odd twin source of thuds and scrapes, one of them sounding like it came from his desk. The room spun and for a moment he forgot what was so urgent, only that it WAS urgent. Instinct took over and he rolled and tucked and sprang to his feet. There was blood in a trail from his desk to his feet and he now felt a disturbing wet warmth coming from his neck. The drawer hadn't been entirely effective, apparently.

He knew he'd stood too fast as the walls became difficult to tell from the floor. A shriek of pure fury ripped him back to awareness and he spun to see the beast leaping at him, claws extended for a disemboweling blow. He did the one thing he thought would be unexpected and might just cause her to mistime her stroke. He stepped into the attack.

He held no weapons now and was too tired and off balance to raise an effective kick or block, and too close to punch. There was really only one part of his body in position to deliver a blow of any kind. He'd seen such blows delivered in The Pits on those occasions when he'd been tasked to rig fights with debilitating poisons. He slammed his head into hers as he felt fire explode across his abdomen.

But he didn't hit quite right. There was a sickening hollow tone to the impact and it felt as though a lance had transfixed his brain. He staggered back, completely unaware that his opponent had now fallen at his feet. The room spun again, and this time, the floor truly became the wall and some sort of unnatural gravity hurled him face first into it.

Now it seemed he was on the ceiling, only everything else that should be on the floor was there with him. The room rolled over again in a nauseating wave of dizziness and it felt as though the whole building lifted and flew, spinning, into blackness.