A Spoonful of Felony

by **Inoadar** on March 20th, 2013, 7:48 am

56th of Spring, 513, AV

It was a trend in the poison crafting trade that Inoadar realized he should have anticipated. The slow rate of business in the light of day. The upswing once the sun went down. He had removed the bell from the door. More than one customer had jerked as if struck and fled the shop as if the Syliran knights were after them at the sudden sound.

He supposed it was nature's way of culling good customers from bad, nervous from confident, guilty from practical. There was little disguise as to the nature of the work he did, and the availability of the products. If it was considered criminal, he'd have been long since arrested or exiled.

Sure, he maintained a facade of it being 'antidotes' he manufactured, but that was just for appearances, a cover story to allow gazes to turn the other way without fault being leveled against anyone. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone. More than one customer had displayed all the earmarks of being Black Sun or Ebonstryfe officials. His services, products and advice were for sale to any and all. He played no favorites.

He assumed the government wanted him in place for their own convenience and overlooked the likelihood that enemies of the ruling faction also made use of his business, 'Ino Vations'. Lately, he had taken to keeping false records on the premises, though. This was mostly to prevent his contacts from coming under the harsh light of exposure. Some had associates that were "out-of-favor" with Black Sun and their soldiers. Their continued trade was too valuable to Inoadar to risk disruption.

For this reason, and others, he kept his real ledgers at his rented room at Tarsin's Boarding House, under a name which bore no resemblance or connection to any person, place or thing he'd ever had any contact with, past present or anticipated future. He practiced counter-surveillance whenever he came or went from either place.

Today was no different from any other. The daylight waned and business picked up. Some wanting acids, 'For their etching artistry, of course, not to apply to a lock, or a vital machine part in a rival's shop.' Some wanting weapon tarnish, 'To touch up the black iron railing on their property. Certainly not to cut the glare on a knife blade intended for murder!' Listening cones, 'For detecting heartbeats, not eavesdropping on a rival's crucial business conference!'

Inoadar had long since learned to restrain his disdainful laughter. No sense tipping these customers off about how transparent their intentions were. 'Let them keep their illusions of innocence, their delusions of secrecy.' One or two he'd noted as possible targets of future blackmail. 'Never hurts to have a backup source of income.'

So it was with some refreshing departure from the usual games that a man entered the shop and announced that he needed a good system of poison delivery for an upcoming meeting.

by **Inoadar** on March 26th, 2013, 4:22 am

"How many will be attending and how many are to be affected?" Inoadar asked, pulling out a notepad.

"Two out of four." The man responded freely.

"Lethal?" Inoadar did not look up immediately. After a pause, he did though, to find the man pondering his answer.

"...N-no, I don't think so. I haven't decided whether it would be better to just kill them outright, or to inflict some sort of derangement on them to take advantage of."

Inoadar cast a shrewd grin at the man, "So, rather than eliminate the competition, you bend them into assets. Get them to agree to something that gives you control."

"Yes, exactly." the man responded eagerly. His face sagged slowly, "But I'm not sure what part of the deal to alter to accomplish this." his brow furrowed with concentration as he paced slowly.

Inoadar eyed the man, trying to gauge the degree of greed or power mongering that was motivating him. It was a very risky thing to try to exert control over unwilling victims, much harder than simply killing them. He cleared his throat, "May I ask what is the disposition of the other person you wish not to afflict?"

The customer's hesitation was clarified further by a slight blush. 'A woman...it HAS to be a woman.' Inoadar thought to himself, waiting for confirmation.

"She..." the man began as Inoadar mentally tallied a point in his favor. "She's his daughter." the man said, sagging with a defeated look.

"I see..." Inoadar's voice held a hint amusement lacking in mercy. "So, you want her, but 'Daddy' doesn't like you. And I would guess that the only reason he's tolerating you is at her insistence." he felt triumph as the blush of anger grew on the customer's face with each remark.

"This is going to be my only chance!" the man suddenly blurted, "I need to figure out a way to influence him...and her." he sank back inwardly, plainly embarrassed by his outburst.

"With poison?" Inoadar asked, trying to sound incredulous, but knowing exactly where he was going with this. "I hate to talk someone OUT of a purchase, but do you think she's going to appreciate your poisoning her father? Unless she...maybe...doesn't care for him either?"

"But that's the whole point! I need a way to do it so she doesn't know." he cried, practically begging.

Inoadar took on a look of taxed patience, "Sir, you've got to realize. If four people sit down to eat and two of them suddenly sicken and die, or become stricken with bizarre symptoms of strange afflictions, Everyone is going to know it's poison. In fact, all you will accomplish is making your girl as much a suspect as you. Poison works best when there's no way to trace its introduction to its victim.

"Now, maybe you think you can avoid an investigation somehow, get rid of the bodies, burn them or spirit them out of town. But most likely you'll have to involve her in the plot. Is she going to go along with that?"

"No..." the man practically whispered, "...she loves her father." his head hung in gloomy surrender.

"But if she doesn't know of your involvement, then you don't give a rat's ass if the old bastard croaks, correct?" Inoadar's voice was sharp as a dagger.

The young man looked up, his eyes suddenly bright with unexpected hope, his avarice making his voice husky, a sheath for Inoadar's dagger. "Correct. Not a petching damn."

Inoadar smiled with all the warmth of a winter grave as he turned to step back into the back room. "Then for 350 gold mizas, I can solve all your problems."

by **Inoadar** on April 1st, 2013, 2:21 am

The young man waited anxiously at the counter as Inoadar rifled through a pair of cabinets. He returned with 3 vials and a tiny bag, along with appeared to be wooden spoons. He set them down on the counter, but in such a way as to block them from being picked up. "Before I tally this up, is it safe to assume the fourth member is a current business partner of some sort? The second person you want affected, or perhaps his wife?"

The young man scowled, "Partner. His wife is dead. The guy has been bad-mouthing me to the old man for a year now. Calling me 'careless, untrustworthy and indecisive'. I hate him and so does Carlina. I'd like to see him dead as well, but I'm not sure. I may need his experience to keep things on an even keel during the transition."

'A name! Carlina.' Inoadar crowed to himself in triumph, nodding as if agreeing with his logic. But inside he was agreeing with the business partner's assessment of the young man. 'Careless, untrustworthy and indecisive, indeed.' he sneered to himself. Inoadar had no qualms about the immorality of the proposition, he just didn't like the way this kid came in, brimming with confidence, and then proceeded to second-guess every aspect of his own intent.

But he had no stake in it. His products were not illegal. it was not his obligation to monitor what was done with them once they were purchased. If the kid got caught, then the murder attempt, successful or not, was illegal and he would most likely hang. If it remained a mystery, then it would stand as an object lesson to all to be more careful who you share a meal with.

However, one of the hazards of the trade was the possibility of repercussions by an intended victim. But most Ravokians understood that Inoadar's part was not personal. It was one of the things he liked about this town. Plus, there would be plenty of people that would not WANT his services to suddenly become unavailable, and would take steps to prevent such an occurrence. This included both the Black Sun and the Ebonstryfe.

His brief reverie was broken by the young man's question of what all was before him. Inoadar separated one vial from the other two, "Bloodroot'. You put this in everyone's food. It's weakening effects will compound the effects of THIS..." He held up the tiny bag of powder. "Dark Reaving'. Give this only to the old man. This has a powerful weakening effect. The two together will stop the old man's heart."

"But why do WE take the 'Bloodrot' too?" the young man asked.

"Appearances!" Inoadar replied immediately. He knew this kid would not grasp the subtleties of murder by poison. "You must not look like you escaped all hazard or you will be the immediate suspect. Both you and your girlfriend MUST appear to have been targets as well...and it's blood ROOT, not 'rot."

"Aaaah..." the kid sighed, comprehension dawning on him. "But what are these for?" he asked indicating the other two vials and the spoons.

Inoadar held up the vials, "These are antitoxins for the Dark Reaving. You may need them depending on how things go. Their function is obvious. The detail is here..." Inoadar turned the spoon over, there was a pair of small holes drilled in the base. "Come back tomorrow if you wish and I will prepare them for you. Otherwise, you put the dosage of the Dark Reaving in the inside, it is hollow, and then seal this opening with wax. During dinner, when the opportunity presents itself, you swap this spoon with this regular one and let the hot food be stirred. This will melt the wax, allowing the poison into the food.

"You then stall a bit for the old man to eat a few bites. When he reacts to the poison, you will have legitimate cause not to eat any yourself. You jump up, knock your girlfriend's plate away, for her safety, of course. You make your angry accusation of poison at the business partner. He will already be feeling confused by the Bloodroot, which you and your girlfriend will also have ingested. Don't worry, it is not lethal, but it WILL strip any suspicion off of you by reason of the fact that you WILL have been poisoned as well.

"If you have a chance, dump one of these vials into his drink. it will add suspicion on him by making it look as if he KNEW Dark Reaving was going to be used. It's presence in a drink is easy enough to detect with the right chemicals if you have reason to check on it. And you will."

by **Inoadar** on April 3rd, 2013, 2:14 am

The young man puzzled a moment, "Why do I need the antitoxins, then?" He looked down as he asked and Inoadar heard the subtle clinking of mizas.

'Ivak's Ass! The fool is counting his change! Right in front of someone he's doing business with!' Inoadar locked his expression to keep from rolling his eyes at the kid's ineptitude. The assessment of the youngster, made by the unnamed business partner, took a giant leap into legitimacy.

"A precaution. Let's say the old man takes longer than expected to feel the effects. That would actually be a good thing, since he'd eat more of it. But then you are going to have a harder time preventing your lady friend from taking a bite or two without looking suspicious." He maintained the eye contact, waiting for some sign that the young man grasped his meaning.

The young man looked alarmed as though this had not occurred to him. Inoadar continued after letting the kid stew in his anxiety a moment. "There will be lots of confusion. You ought to be able to slip a gulp of the antitoxin down her throat." Inoadar looked directly at the young man, his face harsh. "I know this may sound sinister, but I can NOT stress strongly enough how important it is for you and the girl to be as 'victimized' as possible."

The young man looked perplexed for a moment. His jaw suddenly popped open, as did his eyes. "Are you saying I should TRY to let her get poisoned?" Horror and villainy blanched his face. He took an apprehensive step back, his head shaking perceptively.

Inoadar let him stew in that thought for a moment as well, enjoying the visions he imagined were running through the kid's mind. "Did I SAY that? Get a grip, lad. All I'm saying is that IF she gets poisoned, you have the antitoxin, AND the knowledge that every gag and spasm she suffers just goes to guarantee that your accusation against the business partner is believed."

The young man waxed indignant. "I don't care! I am NOT going to let her get poisoned, no matter how much it may help me accuse Mr. Barton!"

It was all Inoadar could do not to jump up and cheer, 'YES! Barton! Perfect!' He knew who it was now. He no longer needed to go bribing, spying and interrogating into the night to find out which business was going to be hit by sudden changes. He played the irrepressible grin of malice into a smile of appreciation for true love. "I understand, son. I guess it's just been too long since I loved a woman to realize how dreadful a thought that must be to someone like you." He let a note of wistful regret sigh through his words.

The young man looked troubled now. "Well...what if the waiter is still there? What if he goes to help Carlina if she eats some of the poison? How can I give her the antitoxin without him seeing it? Where should I keep the antitoxin so it-..." Inoadar could see a barrage of questions coming and nipped it right off.

He held up his hand. "Stop...Look, I can't possibly predict every conceivable contingency that could occur. Even if I tried, trying to remember an hundred different plans would screw up every one of them. You have the antitoxin. Whatever goes wrong, you WILL have time to react. Believe me, you'll look back on all this worry and laugh. And if you don't need it, hang on to it. I'll buy it back from you."

The young man brightened considerably at this last bit of news. Inoadar hid his disgust. This fool had no business in business. Counting change in front of someone he's doing business with, dropping important names for free! Worrying about this, worrying about that. Second-guessing everything. He'd probably be afraid to go through with it anyway. But that didn't matter, he'd have the stuff on him.

After he left, Inoadar made a very clear entry in his new ledger. One that would be easy to read, to identify the exact items sold, date and time of night, plus the fact that the customer withheld his name. 'That was truly the only intelligent thing the kid did. But in this case, it will work against him.' He chuckled at the irony, closed his ledger, tucked in under his arm and informed his assistant that he would be gone for a while.

by **Inoadar** on April 6th, 2013, 9:14 pm

Inoadar wended his way to a fairly unnoticed shop called Maven's Thread. It was a store that specialized in clothing. There was everything from newly tailored clothes fresh from 'Azure Reflections' to used ensembles from dirt-poor vendors on the docks. Occasionally, you could find cast-off extras from 'The Defiled Blade'. Nothing like chain or plate, but perhaps a random item of studded or buckskin leather or armor-bolstered cloth.

Uniform items were frequently available and such items were exactly what Inoadar was looking for. He found a brocaded, leather messenger's tunic, complete with a vague insignia and bronzed epaulets. Together with a pair of fine, gray woolen breeches, black messenger-style shoes and a black cap, he was the image of an official courier. He decided finally on a satin sash, not just for the traditional military-decorative look, but also to partially obscure the insignia on the jacket, since the insignia on the cap did not match.

He gave the clerk a total of 20 gold mizas for the items. The actual total was only 17 and 8 silver. The extra 2 and 2 was for the vendor to remember an older, blond, heavier-set man as the customer. He then returned to his room at Tarsin's to apply some padding to his frame, bleach to his eyebrows, and a blond wig from his newly acquired disguise kit. The jacket was a bit tight now, but that's what he wanted. As he critiqued his appearance, making slight adjustments to the disposition of the padding, he wondered how long it had been since his eyebrows had been their natural color. Bleached or dyed, day in and day it, out seemed.

It would have been suspicious to bear such armament as a crossbow here in town, but his military dagger, newly looted from a deserter, would draw no notice. He belted that on and, as the final touch, draped his Tamo daggers over his other shoulder, giving a crossed bandolier look against the sash, and further obscuring the insignia on the tunic.

Tamo daggers were always a matched set, where the blades were set into wide hilts that accommodated the opposite blades as sheaths, so they could be sheathed together, to resemble a single length of wood or leather. Often they were decorated with any number of symbols, military, mystic or familial sigils, or simple decorative fringes of linings.

In Inoadar's case, it was all about disguise. When sheathed, the twin hilts resembled a message case for carrying scrolls, complete with carved tooling to resemble stitching and a cap at one end. There were heavy, snapped rivets at each end, with rings that looked permanent, to allow the wide leather strap for shoulder toting. These were able to be unsnapped to allow the strap to be wielded as an impromptu whip, something Inoadar had done more than once.

He gave himself one last go-over. 'Nothing suspicious here.' he mused, 'Just a simple messenger bearing a correspondence for Mr. Barton.' He turned and left his room, hitting the street with a dose of Pillowsap and a lucrative purpose.

by **Inoadar** on April 9th, 2013, 5:37 am

The young man had chosen to leave the dosing spoon for Inoadar to prepare. This meant that he was not concerned about coming to Ino Vations two days in a row. So he probably lived or worked across town, probably both. He would not be coming until the evening again. Inoadar spent the morning in the Noble District.

It was not that difficult to narrow down the likely few possibilities of where Mr. Barton lived. As a "messenger", most support personnel to the rich and influential were willing to give helpful directions. They did not know the nature of the message case strapped over his shoulder.

Eventually, he arrived at a gated estate, a guard booth enjoying a secure view of the approach from behind the barred gate. Two men manned it, the boredom likely to make them hope for trouble. 'Well...' he thought, with a deep breath, 'These guards will either make this easy or painful.'

"Excuse me, sirs, I have a message for Mr. Barton." Inoadar called, patting the case hanging from his shoulder. He DID have a written message for the man, but it was rolled and tied in his pack.

"Who's it from?" the nearest guard growled back, as though it was stupid of this messenger not to have freely offered this detail.

Inoadar acted surprised at the question. "I have no instructions to impart that information, sir. This is a message for Mr. Barton, not you." his voice grew slightly contemptuous on the last word.

The second guard lifted his head in annoyance as the first guard rose to his feet. "And I have no instructions to let strangers pass these gates, or to relay every stupid offer from every struggling businessman looking to ride Mr. Barton's coattails to wealth. Now if you let me see the message, I can decide if it's worth the Master's time."

"My client instructed me to see it delivered directly to Mr. Barton's hands, no one else." Inoadar's indignation was entirely feigned. He was glad these monkeys were going to make an issue of it. He too, enjoyed a bit of trouble from time to time.

"Well then I think your client can just settle for arranging an interview with Mr. Barton. I think he's got some free time sometime this Summer." The second guard punctuated the first guard's sneering tone with a rough chuckle.

"But it may be too late by then!" Inoadar said in an alarmed tone, as though he thought the guard had been serious about the time frame.

The second guard opted to pipe in now. "Well that's yer client's problem, bub, not mine." the two men laughed in agreement.

"Well, I guess that's true," Inoadar said pointedly, "Your problem is obviously the fact that you two are as lazy as you are stupid. I have no doubt my client will mention this obstinance when he sees Mr. Barton this Summer." He sneered the last two words with withering sarcasm.

The guard's jaw dropped momentarily, but rebounded into a angry grimace. "Why you little shyke! Give me that message before I kick your petching ass!" He stomped up to the gate, worked the latch angrily and threw the near side of the barrier open.

Inoadar started, as though realizing he had gone too far. He backpedaled a pace from the gate and whipped the "message case" from over his shoulder, as though fearfully eager to cooperate now. "Okay, okay, take it easy! I'm sorry, I was out of line. Here, take it." he said, waving it up at chest level, his other hand up as though to ward off a blow.

The guard, somewhat mollified by Inoadar's apparent show of contrition, snatched at the object and pulled it free. For a vital pair of seconds, he was completely unaware that all he had done was pull the sheath free of a blade held poised at chest level only three inches from the gap between his mail shirt and his helm.

With precision borne of much practice, measurement and adjustments, Inoadar whipped his wrist to flip the leather strap over the man's head as he leaned in with the man's own movement, to grab the arm holding the other blade. He pushed up on the arm, before the guard realized what was happening, to give the strap enough slack for him to switch his hand back and bring the blade point to the man's throat. This also took up the slack, so that if the man brought the hand down holding the other Tamo, the pulley effect of the strap around the back of his head would pull the blade Inoadar held into his throat.

His eyes widened in alarm as Inoadar leaned in with a sadistic hiss. "Anything...Any move, tough guy, and I'll slice your brains out through your throat. You got it?...HUH?" he snapped in emphasis as he scratched the man's neck with the tip of the blade, letting the dose of Pillowsap ease into the wound.

The guard's face blanched, "yeah, yeah...okay...what do you want from me?"

"YOU I want to just back up back into your booth, and YOU -" he said, flashing his gaze at the frozen second guard, " - Go get your petching Master!"

by **Inoadar** on April 10th, 2013, 5:09 am

Inoadar walked the first guard slowly back to the booth, subconsciously counting off the seconds. In a little more than a single chime, the guard's eyes rolled back and he slumped to the bench, asleep. Inoadar took the scrolled note and closed the man's hand around it. He then disappeared quickly through the still-open gate.

He ducked into some shadows and pulled off the tunic and breeches, changing into his usual dark everyday clothes. He took out his sighting lens and watched as a group came from the manor house, the central figure clearly being in authority. Inoadar was not close enough to hear anyone call him by the name "Barton", but the scroll that had been clearly marked with that name was handed directly to him.

Inoadar grinned in anticipation as he watched the man's face go through the expected emotional pattern as he read the note. Curiosity, confusion, realization, anger, reassessment, calculation and guarded caution. The retinue around him displayed understandable curiosity, but Mr. Barton dismissed them, distractedly at first, then insistently, angrily.

They left him alone at the gate. He slowly paced, looking around to make sure he was unaccompanied. Then he came to the gate and stood looking out. Inoadar felt the man's eyes pass over him, but the shadows kept him concealed. On an impulse, he stepped out of the shadows. Mr. Barton's face swung immediately to him and their eyes locked.

Time stood still for a moment. Then Mr. Barton nodded once, turned and walked back to the house. Inoadar stood for a moment more, then he too, turned and retraced his steps back to the shop. The young man would be by later to pick up the prepared spoons and it was now imperative that they be ready.

Two days later, there was news of a young man being caught red handed trying to poison the owners of a successful business in town. The elderly owner had been poisoned and had died. The partner had been mere seconds from eating the same food, but had had a severe attack of hay fever and had sneezed into the plate, by the time it had been replaced, the older man was already dying. His future son-in-law was caught with all the paraphernalia of poisoning, including antidotes for himself and his fiance, the owner's daughter. She insisted that she had no knowledge of the man's intent, decrying it as a hideous betrayal and swore to see the young man hang.

The chef corroborated the accusation by giving an account of the young man's odd behavior in the kitchen prior to the incident. The young man tried to misdirect the blame to vague accomplices, but other than the perfectly legal sale of chemicals for the purpose of vermin control, there was no connection to anyone else.

Inoadar grinned at the gossip. He now had an influential business owner that owed him a large favor. Perhaps he would visit him sometime...

by **Cataclysm** on April 17th, 2013, 5:57 am

Inoadar :

Subtract 20 miza's from your ledger. Looking forward to see what comes after this thread.

Safety comes in the oddest forms

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.