Completed A Blight Future (Wrenmae)

[Inoadar]

4th day of Summer, 513

Inoadar wondered if he'd let his pride get the best of him. A new poisoners kit was not that much. But he'd held out for a whole season. He still had most of his original kit, and what he still possessed of it worked fine. But without the central component, the pressure chamber, it was limited. It was only because he had been lucky enough to have amassed a fair stock of those items that required pressurized processing ahead of time, that he'd been able to get by, making the lower-priced toxins to maintain economical balance. The cheap stuff always turned over quickly, and the pressurized products had a longer shelf life.

But it had finally caught up to him and he'd had to go out the last several days and obtain a new set. The upside was that he now had a number of extra attachments, alembics, burners and spinners, pipettes and tubing and stoppers with releases and grommets and slide samplers. Not to mention simple beakers and vials. But there was no replacement for his "sparkler" a device he'd crafted after a model he'd seen during his stay in Sunberth. It was just a hand cranked friction generator that created static electricity.

He didn't relish the chore of visiting a blacksmith, just to purchase two small wheels of copper and a few nails. Or a clothier for a few samples of silk and felt. Or the lumbermen for the hand-sized blocks of wood. Or the engineers to get two or three feet of wire. The smaller the amount, the higher the mark-up. Much better if he could just find where that damned woman had fenced the stuff.

Luck was with him as he located it at "Odds and Ends". The owner, Gloria, obviously didn't know what it was or what it did, but that didn't stop her from charging him an outrageous twenty gold mizas to get it back. She may not have known what it was, but she knew it was unique. And the wound on his leg was killing him from all the walking.

But while he'd been out, he'd bit the bolt and purchased a magnifying glass at "Tine's Exotic Goods" for another hundred. It was his understanding that the prohibitively expensive 'Elaborate' kits came with one, but a purchase of THAT magnitude was a long way off. He needed to finish paying off the shop first at least.

And a visit to "Black Tar" had been timely as well. A new stock of texts on toxins had come in from somewhere. With the courses he was taking at the Institute of Higher Learning, the issues on Fungal and Arachnid-based was a godsend. He was not allowed to remove books from the library there. Now he didn't have to. For the cost of yet another hundred mizas.

There was one other thing as well. A man. A stranger, as far as he knew. But he fit the description of a man he'd been hearing about around town. Scouting out several aspects of Ravokian life, business, trade, housing. He wouldn't have thought too much about it, but he'd now seen this man at virtually every place he'd been in the process of recouping his equipment.

Now that he knew the "rival poison crafter" story behind the theft of his gear was a ruse, he felt an odd sort of kinship with this man. Did he have an interest in poisons? Did he already have some knowledge? Was it knowledge in fields Inoadar did not? Would he be interested in an exchange of lore? He pondered all this as he headed back to the shop.

[Wrenmae]

His name was Inoadar. Owner of the store INOvations, no doubt a clever nod to his own nomenclature, he was reputed as a man knowledgeable in the ways of tinctures, draughts, and other...less conventional drugs. Since coming to Ravok, Wrenmae had done his best to absorb most of the culture as an observer before directly intervening. It was hard, playing the silent part. After Zeltiva, there was a taste of self importance and grandeur on his tongue that he simply could not get out of his mouth.

This silence, this obscurity...it was as virulent as a plague consuming his waking hours. Wrenmae was a man no longer at ease living in the shadow of anonymity. Granted, his own identity was something of a farce now. He couldn't very well go about proclaiming his status as a plague carrier...no easier than he could go to Zeltiva and reveal forthright how he had betrayed Trente and faked his own demise.

No, what he sought was a deeper purpose, something to spend his time on. Already he'd done what his god had asked of him. Vayt was off somewhere, reveling in the chaotic misery he'd sown in Zeltiva. Perhaps even Rhysol could take a personal amount of enjoyment in the masquerade he'd played. Villain under the guise of a hero. At once cursing and blessing the population while they stared, fish-eyed, and none became the wiser.

Of late he had been consumed with the idea of Vayt. It had almost been a year since they'd last spoke and the mage was growing restless. That restlessness had driven him to seek out the dark purview of his god...a purview he'd never really embraced before.

Poison.

The nature of his mark allowed him to transmit a poison in the form of a disease and yet he'd never taken the time to learn how to craft such a dangerous tool of mayhem. A few pointed curiosities and a few lost mizas found him a name...Inoadar. Not the most trusted name in the industry by Ravok's standards...actually fairly new.

But the point wasn't in a well grounded grandmaster, but rather someone seeking something as well. The fast rise to power and the idea of competition lay a rather fertile breeding pool for ambition. Ambition, as it often did, required tending.

More often, however, ambition required opportunity.

The mage followed the poisoner back to his shop, but only vaguely. Slipping in and out of alleys, engaging in polite but terse conversation, always throwing off the scent that he was deliberately making his way to Inoadar.

So he waited a full bell before pushing into INOvations.

He tied his long black hair behind him, pushing the skin around the scars on his face to fade how fresh they were...only two seasons of age since they were inflicted, and brought black hair sprouting from above his lips and chin. He was wearing a disguise, but moreso, a new skin. It was nearly impossible for him to return to how he'd been before...he hadn't the knowledge. He couldn't remember.

So this dark haired and disheveled man was his face for now.

His name and identity while in Ravok.

Idly his eyes flicked around the room, drinking in the prices, the product. No doubt the man would want to see some coin before ascertaining the promise of a customer, and so the mage took off and lay his backpack down on the table, reaching inside to retrieve his coinpurse.

Through the opening, his maladicted armadillo hide, shark jaw, and horse bone spilled and with quiet curses, he pushed them back into the confines of his pack. Most of them were useless anyways, minor effects for too great a cost. Only the starfish was of use to him, its regenerative properties more than helpful during his skirmishes.

The rest were sentimental...momentary failures disguised as successes...his grisly mark on the world.

To Inoadar, he offered a half smile, gesturing out to the product.

"What do you sell here, exactly," he asked with a raised eyebrow, "Potions? Tonics?"

[Inoadar]

Inoadar made an effort not to do a double take when the man walked in. It was him. The man he'd seen here and there for the last couple of days. Inoadar was impressed. He'd thought himself enabled of his usual superior level of skill as he'd picked up the man's presence in so many of his haunts. But he had not detected this man tailing him back. And he'd even been looking specifically for that very thing! He had thought there was a chance this man was scouting him out.

Ten or twenty days ago, he'd have been worried that it was some agent of the Black Sun, working in concert with his assistant at the shop, looking to set him up for some outrageous accusation. But he'd worked that out. There was still the chance it was yet another agent of the Nykan "League of Morons", come to drag him back for their self-perpetuating notions of vengeance. Every fool they sent was just one more dead idiot to avenge. No, this man had already displayed more skill then the collective skill of every Nykan he'd ever met. 'And what's more, he's getting out his coin ahead of time!...Good man!'

As he did so, there were brief displays of odd contents, body parts of some sort. Animals he suspected. After some of his tests on anatomical tendencies of certain reactive agents and vulnerabilities of certain tissues, he'd seen plenty of human body parts. With a suppressed smirk, he reasoned that if any of those items were originally of wolf origin, he'd have recognized them immediately. He had an intimate familiarity with the anatomy of wolves. And he had the savaged lower leg to prove it... The other scars did not inhibit his movement and were now sources of pride.

He found himself intrigued. He had already convinced himself that this man was a probably a poisoner himself. The presence of these odd novelties may indicate knowledge in areas of toxin sources he did not as yet possess. The cost of another season at the IHL was not a real concern, but there was a unique satisfaction in finding a source where none was anticipated.

Inoadar reined in his enthusiasm. He didn't really know what sort of man this was. It was time to adopt that professionally guarded appraising demeanor reserved for new customers. The man asked a general question about what he sold and Inoadar's assessment waned somewhat. 'Doesn't this man recognize any of the names of any of these mixtures? Maybe they have different names for this stuff where he comes from.'

"'Exactly'?" Inoadar repeated. "Well, from a certain angle, yes you could call them that. Some of these..." he leaned through the customer cut-out window to gesture to a shelf unit on his left, "...work on the same principle as 'tonics', embellishing bodily systems to generate their own modifications. Where those..." now he gestured to racks on the right, "...could fall in to the category of 'potions', seeing as they give temporary boost outside of the parameters of the body's own abilities."

He leaned back, folding his arms. "However, the effects of these products are not beneficial to the recipient. So they are classified as 'poisons', though I have a number of antidotes and antitoxins as well." He stepped around to come through the doorway separating the customer area from the lab and waved to a pegboard apparatus on the wall, displaying a number of implements. "I also have accessories for delivery, storing and concealment. And I have been known to perform special services for people who prefer a professional touch to the risks inherent in the trials-and-errors of the amateur. So, was there a specific interest I could help you with?"

[Wrenmae]

In a former life, a certain storyteller had sought out a man with some knowledge in potions and poisons. That man was to help him create some startling performance enhancers for his storytelling. Interested in the process, the boy had stayed to watch the old man at his work.

As the ingredients were ground and mixed together, the old man had looked at him, through him even, and tugged at his wispy beard. "You have the eyes of a murderer," He'd said, "The kind that grows to not regret. I know those eyes, I see them when I look at myself."

Before the boy could explain his innocence, the old man took his hand and held it over the bowl where the ingredients had been mixed. "Poison," he said, "Is about knowing how to dose. Medicine and Poison are the same things, really. Both are the study of the body...what heals it, what breaks it. It may surprise you to know that many medicines are poisons in other forms. Shows that there can be too much of a good thing, and that in improper hands..." He'd smiled then, incompletely with missing teeth like voids into the back of his throat, "Even a doctor can be an assassin."


Wrenmae remembered the story now, watching Inoadar as he spoke. His eyes only lifted briefly to look at the wares the poisoner pointed out to him. At least the fellow had the decency to call it that. Others masqueraded as kindly medicine men, smiling to the women and their children all while offering others the means to kill them off...should they so desire.

What was a poison crafter but a blacksmith by a different name? They beat impurities from iron, forged blades to be used to murder...these men beat impurities from ingredients, forged them together, and made a sword of a different type.

Subtle, classy.

No wonder Vayt liked them.

"Yes," Wren said, blinking from his momentary jaunt through his memories, "I..." He paused. Would a man be so likely to teach another his own craft? If he feared competition, most likely not. He'd have to be careful how he asked for that kind of knowledge.

"I represent a certain man who has found himself scrutinized by some rather dangerous people. Having better things to do than train himself to handle such situations he's hired other men to fight his fights for him." Pushing back his cloak, Wrenmae showed Inoadar the glittering dagger and rapier there before letting it fall around him again. "Were this the only details of the matter, I would have no reason to visit you." Rolling his eyes, he turned and rested his elbows on the counter, looking back toward the door. "Unfortunatly, this man has learned to fear other methods of elimination...including that of your craft."

He chuckled darkly, "A man must drink and eat, after all." Turning back, he drummed his fingers along the top of the table, "That man has sent me to learn the creation and antidote behind as many poisons as you feel comfortable teaching. He assures me you will be paid for your time." With the last of his words, a pulse of hypnotic pride followed. He was chosen HIM, of all of Ravok to teach this well spoken killer in the art of poisoning...and payment was sure to follow. It was only an emotional pulse, enough to put him on the hook. More detailed manipulations shouldn't be required, but Wrenmae wasn't about to let this one wriggle free.

"What do you say, Inoadar?" He asked with a smile, "May I call you teacher for a time?"

[Inoadar]

Rapture!

At first, Inoadar had thought himself mistaken about the man being a rival poisoner and had come to view him as only a common mercenary. And his account of himself seemed to speak of nothing more. His demeanor was equal parts confidence and competence, and his gear was certainly a cut above normal. But he thought a professional would give more attention to his appearance before broaching the subject of an alliance, for the proposed exchange of information in the place of goods certainly suggested it.

Before the man finished outlining his intent, Inoadar was already going to advise him not to get his hopes too high when seeking partnerships in Ravok. That being himself newly come into the fold of Great Rhysol, any such connection would need to be in line with his will, as well as any mortal is capable of understanding it...

Rapture!

With the last echo of the last word still ringing in Inoadar's ears, it seemed to herald that very understanding. Pride surged through him. It's source plain. Even as Inoadar's initial actions had caught up to him, meriting death as a subversive, he had come to realize his path was WITH Rhysol, not opposing him. Feeling distraught that he would never be allowed to prove this, the axe had NOT fallen. The representative of the Black Sun had spoken of how Inoadar had impressed them. His various acts, though counter to Rhysol's will, had shown sufficient creativity and talent to merit a dismissal of the charges, providing he turn his talents to the side of that God that showed appreciation for them.

Rhysol had been proud of him! And now the timing of this man's arrival was clear evidence. It was not that he believed this to be an avatar of the Great Lord himself. But right on the heels of his miraculous reprieve from torture and execution, he had now been singled out to aid in the spread of the very knowledge he gave as his contribution to his new patron god's will in the world.

He almost laughed when the man asked him 'What do you say?' and 'May I call you teacher?'...Almost...

Every facet of control was taxed as Inoadar held himself back from dropping to his knees in thanks. It would not be proper to make a mewling, groveling spectacle of himself in the face of a great man, come to him for assistance. Every second that he forced himself to pause, as if needing to consider the proposal before agreeing, was an asphyxiation of his spirit.

"Well, my assistant HAS moved on, so I am rather busy, but I'm certain we can come to some sort of arrangement."

[Wrenmae]

Muscles were a telling thing. In his time abroad Mizahar, Wrenmae had been subject to the contortions of such silent facial tells. In Zeltiva, he'd seen it on the face of those he menaced, the sorrow in Weylin's eyes before she died...in Alvadas there was mirth even behind the stoic guise of a joyless fisherman who took something from the tale he'd told.

Inoadar was not so forthcoming in voice as he was in his face. His eyes glittered, his muscles strained beneath pale skin and a vein pulsed in his neck. Excitement, rage, something powerful was at work within the man that could have moved metaphorical mountains should they be within his path. At first, Wrenmae worried he had overdone his hypnotic suggestion, but as he'd learned...hypnotism only encouraged and changed, but it did not completely control. The man had taken that suggestion and leeched to it, suckling the djed Wrenmae willingly fed him and transformed it into conviction.

He could not miss the sly implication in the poisoner's tone when he answered and a warm smile crossed the murderer's face.

"Splendid," he said to Inoadar, "Then allow me to volunteer my own services. I may not be adept at mixing and creating, but it certainly isn't beyond me to organize and place." He held up his hands, turning them slowly and then placing them on the counter, "It may not be ideal, but your approval of my request invites my humble gratitude. I do, of course, have other obligations to my charge...when he arrives, but till then I will serve in what capacity I can."

He took a deep breath, removing his hands from the table and rubbing them together. "I would, however, like to ask you a question before we begin. My employer has...talents that he would prefer not be well known. You see, in Sunberth, certain professions and powers are seen as a danger worthy of death. With the Ebonstryfe so thick here, I would like to know in order to assure my charge...is magic illegal here?"

[Inoadar]

Inoadar knew well of what this man spoke. He had endured temporary residence in Sunberth while he tutored himself in the aquatic forms of toxin. Almost exclusively glandular in nature, they required a far more specific class of equipment if one wished to keep his source alive for more than a few milkings. In some cases, the spiny needles could serve as the tips for darts. He had many such.

He also had many such memories as were triggered by this man's words. Sunberth, the City of Mob Rule. He had embraced the lynching of quailing men, wailing their innocence in vain, a number of times. He did not know whether they were guilty, nor did he care. But he knew that if he spoke of restraint, the mob's eyes would narrow in upon him next. There prevailed an attitude of 'every man for himself' there like nowhere else. Yet they could unite in common purpose to bring ruin on any man or group of men that they believed was garnering too much individual power or influence.

Inoadar, of course, had always seen it coming. The victims he had taken part in ruining had been far too obvious in their associations, bringing all to destruction with them. These object lessons had taught him well though as he set up his connections in Ravok. But now this man had caught on to him. He supposed HIS time in Sunberth had likewise schooled him in subtlety. But he knew that magic was not held in such superstitious dread here as it was in Sunberth. The one concession being, of course, that when you achieved a measure of skill worthy of respect, that skill was expected to be turned to the furthering of the Lord Rhysol's will, as it should be.

"I am well aware of the atmosphere of Sunberth, my friend, and found it to be a great living text in learning how to keep information hidden. I washed the blood of many an object lesson from my hands. I can be trusted to keep my mouth shut. But I must make one clarification..." Here his eyes narrowed, and this was quickly to be perceived as the one way in which such influence as Wrenmae currently wielded over him might be broken.

"If this information serves to stand contrary to Rhysol's will, then you may be equally assured that I will betray it." He leveled a penetrating look at the man before him for a moment. All at once, he relaxed back into the agreeable mien he had demonstrated up to this point. "That being said, I will say that magic of a level to be insignificant will be largely ignored, regardless of whom it serves. Once it comes to serve a competent master, though, a variety of approaches may be taken toward the wielder, depending on the strength of the man's convictions and the flexibility of his beliefs. But in the end, it will amount to the same, compliance or death."

Inoadar warmed to his subject. "I will give myself as a lesson in the glory of my Lord's magnanimity. I served only myself in the beginning and often found myself at odds with the Ebonstryfe, even slaying a few members, a crime clearly worthy of immediate execution. Yet as I progressed in skill and creativity, I also began to see the error of my resistance. And so, when the Black Sun caught up to me, I was amazed to find that His will was that I should be allowed to turn my talents to his designs, which was my great desire by then anyway. Instead of killing me out of hand, which would have been just, he recognized my potential and dismissed my transgressions in favor of the contributions I could make."

"If this gives you concern that you must spend bells on your knees in reverence, put that out of your worries. I have yet to be asked to perform a single job for his service, nor do I attend services at the Temple, I say only that magic spent in efforts directly opposed to his will shall be punished. If this is an obstacle to you and your contractor's agenda, then I would advise you to leave Ravok at once. Otherwise..." He leaned forward, smiling in genuine love of negotiation, "...are you proposing that I teach you what I know in exchange for a position as assistant shopkeeper? Because I will say in all honesty that I will not feel that you ought also to be paid in mizas in that case."

[Wrenmae]

"Such dedication," Wrenmae mused, drawing circles with his finger over the top the shopfront, "I would not seek to put you into such a compromising position. I assure you my employer and by extension, myself, have no wish to tip the balance in this wonderful city by use of magic."

He followed Inoadar's eyes widen slightly with the recognition.

"Yes," Wrenmae admitted, "I am a mage of some means...certainly not my most marketable trade." He smiled and reached into his pack, pulling out some of his maladicted items and leaving them on the table. "Maladiction. I am a bone mage, of sorts. Any remains of poisonous or venomous creatures you find will be of use to me. I craft, you see, taking the latent talents of animals and sometimes...more sentient creatures, and making them into fetishes that can be used." Quickly he pushed the items back into his bag with a stern glare, "Not that I would allow you to try any of these. I keep many for sentimental value, although their effects are...annoying sometimes if not detrimental. No less, I want to tell you only because I would consider crafting you something an adequate trade for services should they be required in excess of what I'm asking."

Shrugging, he pushed the pack off the table.

"If we are trading lessons for shopkeeping, I will consider that adequate. Of course, my job as a bodyguard will come first and foremost when the time comes. Till then shall we trade a day or two of work for a single lesson? I can...of course, be of more service than a simple shopkeeper should the situation demand it."

He smiled, sending another subtle rise of emotion through his aura into Inoadars. Joy, triumph, ambition. And without realizing it, he felt it as well. A smile breaking out completely over his face as he considered his smooth handling of the situation, and what he could do with a poisoner at his side...

[Wrenmae]

"Such dedication," Wrenmae mused, drawing circles with his finger over the top the shopfront, "I would not seek to put you into such a compromising position. I assure you my employer and by extension, myself, have no wish to tip the balance in this wonderful city by use of magic."

He followed Inoadar's eyes widen slightly with the recognition.

"Yes," Wrenmae admitted, "I am a mage of some means...certainly not my most marketable trade." He smiled and reached into his pack, pulling out some of his maladicted items and leaving them on the table. "Maladiction. I am a bone mage, of sorts. Any remains of poisonous or venomous creatures you find will be of use to me. I craft, you see, taking the latent talents of animals and sometimes...more sentient creatures, and making them into fetishes that can be used." Quickly he pushed the items back into his bag with a stern glare, "Not that I would allow you to try any of these. I keep many for sentimental value, although their effects are...annoying sometimes if not detrimental. No less, I want to tell you only because I would consider crafting you something an adequate trade for services should they be required in excess of what I'm asking."

Shrugging, he pushed the pack off the table.

"If we are trading lessons for shopkeeping, I will consider that adequate. Of course, my job as a bodyguard will come first and foremost when the time comes. Till then shall we trade a day or two of work for a single lesson? I can...of course, be of more service than a simple shopkeeper should the situation demand it."

He smiled, sending another subtle rise of emotion through his aura into Inoadars. Joy, triumph, ambition. And without realizing it, he felt it as well. A smile breaking out completely over his face as he considered his smooth handling of the situation, and what he could do with a poisoner at his side...

[Inoadar]

Inoadar's eyes gleamed. This had such promise. Why, the very fact that this man understood the necessity to withhold his artifacts spoke of good shop sense that Inoadar would not have to repeat incessantly. A careless touch of a magic item held easily as much risk as the careless handling of poison crafting components.

And now he spoke of the possibility of crafting him a personal item?...Or the more mundane shopkeeping help...It was not so easy a choice as some young adventurer might think. Yes the magic item held an allure that could not be duplicated by any amount of free work. But the freedom to up and leave, at a moments notice, to track down herbs, enzymes, new tools and components, reagents, books, odd-jobs for extra funds, what have you, was the less glamorous, but more often useful reward the more experienced man sought.

Still...

"It is a difficult decision given my inexperience with such craft as you mention. What sorts of benefits are to be found from the items you are able to craft? I apologize if this opens a litany of vague possibilities upon which you could spend all night, and only brush the surface. If that is the case, we can wait on that. I am more inclined to accept the routine value of an assistant for a number of reasons. But I need to gauge the potential value of the one offer against the definite value of the other.

"It is entirely possible that I will come across such samples as you mention. Let's say that, for now, I ask just that you tend my shop with me, and if such notable remains should arise, we will discuss the other angle further. If this is acceptable, then I would ask if you have obtained housing, because I am prepared to have you start immediately."

Oh yes, the sooner, the better. This was a no-lose situation, and life offered few or none of those to most people.