15th day of Summer, 513
The atmosphere was so much like the shop, he had difficulty suppressing the urge to treat the other students like wayward shop assistants and "stay the petch out of (his) way". The smells of a multitude of different sources of toxins was a pervasive potpourri of corruption and debilitating aromas. The earthy, woodsy smell of roots, the rank, tide pool marine rot stench of aquatics, The pungent, dry-rot of mushrooms and fungus, a smell he was only recently starting to familiarize himself with. There was also the more fragrant arboreal and vine families. Some of these even boasted lovely aromatic flowers. The kind that will kill you.
There was also his new interest in the arachnid-based family, called "Araneida". It was certainly no surprise to find that spiders were a source of toxins for poisoncrafting. The same as any that used stingers or venom to catch prey. The logic of researching this likely source had not been all that intellectually captivating.
What had really caught his interest was the eye-witness experience of seeing a man virtually clawing his own face off in a demented frenzy, insisting that worms were burrowing into his brain. He had gotten a sample of that poison and determined it's source was some sort of swamp spider. The web, to be exact. He had formulated amusing scenarios of convincing these toxin-delirious victims to cut their own throats to "save" themselves. He chuckled to himself at the thought.
There were even rumors abounding that there was a species that dosed their victims with a hallucinogenic anesthetic, to render the victim unconscious and dreaming sweet dreams, while it then laid eggs in their stomach. Inoadar could hardly believe in such a deliciously diabolical system of procreation. Yes, spiders had suddenly become beautiful to him. Too bad the dream-spawning variety was only found on some distant island. Maybe someday...
Unfortunately for him, the few arachnid test subjects he'd brought to the lab to investigate had all been failures. The Master had directed him to read the chapter on swamp spiders: 'It's Not The Water, It's What's IN It'. Inoadar felt increasingly foolish as he completed the text. There was a significant difference in the chemicals found in the waters of a simple, clean pool, like the location he had collected his spiders, and the stagnant, percolating cesspool brewing pots of a swamp.
The Master had shown a brief burst of enthusiasm when he'd mentioned having collected the little critters on an unintended trip to the Glistening Geyser. It had waned when Inoadar had admitted that he and his companion had accomplished nothing more than to escape with their lives, with no samples.
The Master had joked about how valuable Inoadar might have been had he died there and had his body brought back for mutagenic research. Inoadar grinned and mentioned that his horse HAD died there, and in a ghastly twisted condition, and the two men had largely echoed each other with comments about "bringing back a sample." Inoadar promised to do so at his first convenience. 'This time, I'm going to kill that mutant spider.' he promised silently to himself.