Completed Ordeal's a Deal

[Inoadar]

OOC continued from here.

11th of Summer, 513

Inoadar was just finishing up arranging the shelves for the night. His earlier discussion with Amolina had been quite enjoyable. He knew she had been greatly intimidated by his threats. Rhysol clearly did not begrudge him his pleasure at her expense. And even though her mission on his behalf forbade him carrying them out, it had been wonderful to see her eyes grow panicked.

She couldn't know that he had now converted to Rhysol's camp. She had clearly thought he was oblivious to her identity. Probably thought he was a drunken idiot all the time. She had not been wrong, initially. But his recovery had been much faster than she'd anticipated and he'd seen her quite clearly committing the act for which he'd sworn vengeance. He had seen, as she was desperately making her case, that she'd realized her mistake.

But her case had been valid, now that he HAD converted, he could see how it was all tied together. She had been bidden to steal Inoadar's ledger and offered it up to the Black Sun. They had made use of the contacts within, but also seen the evidence of Inoadar's creativity and resourcefulness. Instead of arresting him, they had offered him welcome into the fold. He had accepted and given them access to a high level Rising Dawn leader. Success all around.

But Amolina got poisoned in the process. And she had apparently been suffering far longer than any of the items that had been spilled would account for. Inoadar felt certain there was some other type of affliction involved, but had agreed to give her an antidote in exchange for the favor of acquiring some personal body item from the mage Clyde Sullins.

He and Inoadar were at odds, in spite of setting aside their animosity for the higher cause. Inoadar didn't necessarily want to kill the man, he was a useful member of Rhysol's forces. But he didn't trust him. Inoadar himself was NOT an official member, which put him at risk of falling victim to some angry whim of the volatile mage. So he wanted an edge against the man in the form of a signature poison designed specifically to target him. For that, he needed personal matter. Hair, nails, blood, something along that line.

He did not really think the antidote would help. The poisons she had contacted were not strong enough to affect her so harshly. But he would go through he motions. Such low level antidotes were easily and cheaply crafted. "Besides," he thought with a smirk, "It's probably all in her head anyway."

[Inoadar]

'Or maybe not...' his thoughts stung him with the discovery of a vial out of place. He had intended to only have the cheap stuff on display in the front room. And he had deliberately used containers that were of questionable seal. The purpose was to only risk theft to the inexpensive items, and to have immediate punishment inflicted on those that did the theft. After all, there were posted warnings about having "...qualified shop personnel handle the products before purchase.".

He had known for some time that this was what had befallen Amolina. But the effects of what she'd spilled on herself should have long since worn off. But now a new wrinkle had presented itself. He had gotten some labels confused. He had been expecting to find all his more expensive "Dark Reaving" on a certain section of shelf, but one of them was "Dark Tongue", a basic, simple and inexpensive item.

Now things came clear, he had accidentally had a vial of "Dark Reaving" among the items on display that she had spilled. He could only assume she'd gotten it smeared on her hand. It was an ingestion-type poison and was quite potent. And it would account for all the symptoms she was complaining about, except perhaps for the nightmares and related psychoses. But over a period of time, with a potent toxin being constantly reinforced by repeated ingestion, who knows how it could get inside someone's mind. They might consider them selves cursed or insane.

This also had a decidedly negative impact on the arrangement he'd just made with her. He did not make "Dark Reaving" and had no idea what process, on what material, would be required to affect an antidote for it. The thought of sacrificing yet another vial of the expensive poison, in addition to the one she'd spilled, just to have a starting point for antidote discovery gave him a pain.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar knew that he had an antiTOXIN for "Dark Reaving" but an antitoxin was not the same. Antitoxins only prevented further damage from a poison. If you just happened to take it before you got poisoned, it would work as an antidote, but if you were already suffering, it would not relieve it. Naturally, the temptation to give Amolina the lesser product crossed his mind. But if he was going to cheat her, he might as well give her lake water. No, he'd given his word, and despite his cruelty, his contempt and his desire to make her pay for stealing his ledger, he was a man of his word. And he truly wanted a sample of Clyde Sullins' "substance".

Now, of course, if she failed to acquire the desired sample, or tried to pass off a fake, then he would give her lake water. He'd give her enough to boil her in it. But for now, he fetched the vial of poison and the antitoxin from his shelves. He set aside the antitoxin for now. "Dark Reaving", being an ingestion-type poison, would be catalyzed by acid in the stomach, so he also got one of his vials of acid. 'Damn! This is really adding up!' he cursed silently.

He took some water and mixed it with the acid to dilute it so the toxin would not react too quickly. Then he put a few drops of the diluted acid into one the tubes in his "spinner". He took a sponge pellet and stuck a long pin in it. This was a small enough pellet to fit down the tube so that fluid could be soaked up out of the tube without dumping it out. He made sure he had a small square of very thin rubber handy. He lit one his brightest lamps and placed it nearby. He was ready.

He took a small sample of the gray, mildew-scented powder, about a half dose' worth and sprinkled it into the vial, watching for a color change, a process similar to a philterer's chromatography, except without the use of paper or papyrus. The acid turned gray overall, but there were bluish bubbles that blended in and were lost in the gray. Inoadar slid the spinner and got in a crouch to line up his eye level with the liquid in the tube and started cranking the handle. The compound gear ratio built up speed quickly and the tube and liquid was soon a blur. At first just a gray blur, but it soon developed a blue layer on top. So the blue layer was lighter than the gray.

Inoadar grabbed the pin with the sponge pellet on it and got himself in position. He couldn't just stop the spinning or the sudden break in centrifugal force would mix the ingredients again. But he also had very little time to absorb the blue liquid alone before it started to mix again. It took him a couple tries to get the exact rate of deceleration, position and movement down for the quickest insertion of the sponge, but he got it and the sponge quickly absorbed the blue liquid. The sponge did not begin to break up, so it stood to reason that this was the discharge, rather than the acid. This meant that this blue liquid would be the toxic agent.

He took the thin rubber square and held it so he could squeeze the liquid out of the sponge onto a glass plate without getting it on his skin. He got about seven or eight drops' worth from the sponge before he felt there was no more he could squeeze out. Then he popped it in his mouth. He did not swallow it, of course, but he sucked it and waited to see what he felt. His speculation that the blue liquid was the toxin was just that, and needed to be confirmed. He felt no burning on his tongue so he'd been right about the gray liquid containing the acid, but in about a chime, he began to feel sick and weak. He figured he'd taken only about five to ten percent's worth of a dose and he got a new appreciation for the potency of this compound. He needed to go lie down.

[Inoadar]

'No, I can lie down after I figure this out.' he decided. In spite of the weak feeling, his mental faculties were unaffected. He could not stop now. He had compounds in flux, half processed blends ready for experimentation. He would be a disgrace to his calling to stop now, just because he ingested a mild discomfort from a fraction of a single dose. Was he less a man than that whore, Amolina?

He separated several more samples and began blending them with various inhibiting enzymes, to find which one would affect the toxin. There was no point in putting the antitoxin in to see that reaction. It was surely just an acid neutralizer, an alkali of some sort. The antidote would be of a different character entirely. It should allow digestion of non toxic substances like whatever food the poison was secreted in, without allowing the poison itself to be catalyzed by the stomach acid. Something to change the nature of the acid itself.

For this reason, it was important to keep samples of the powder back for this step. To see what would prevent the blue toxin from being released in the first place. Then, assuming he found chemicals that could accomplish both tasks separately, it would follow to see what they had in common. He worked for a long time, taking a number of notes of combinations and color changes and still resorting to final tests on himself. He was the only test subject he trusted to give an accurate account of the effects with the details he needed.

By the time he was too sick to continue, he had established that the toxin was based on some sort of debilitating by-product of actual animal flesh. But there were also the presence of factors found in corpses. 'Dead flesh? Of course there is poison of a sort in rancid meat.' he thought, dissatisfied. 'But this is far beyond germ and food poisoning elements. It takes much, much more to affect a man than the mere pinch needed of THIS compound.'

He had heard tell of poisons made of the actual flesh of undead creatures. He had no idea how you got one of Uldr's minions to give up a sample. 'If you killed it to get a sample, was it still considered "undead" flesh? Would it still work?' It had only been eight or ten days since he had met that Nuit at the docks for his last job at The Spot. In fact, he still had to take care of Dirk. 'The fool that thought he would blackmail an assassin.' he chuckled. That was no mental distraction to him though. He already knew what he was going to do about that.

'But the Nuit...' He had no illusions that the man would give up a sample for him to work with, even if he could find him. But he wondered, as he lay back in his chair, if the body the Nuit's wife had abandoned had some quality to it now that acted to circumvent whatever property the undead flesh had about it that generated the toxin. He didn't think the Nuit would have any objection to him procuring a sample of THAT flesh.

[Inoadar]

But how to find him? For a moment, he considered returning to The Spot and asking Mr. Adams, the owner and bartender, if there was any way to get that information from him. He dismissed that thought immediately. Those jobs were hush-hush, especially one that involved murder, and there was no way the man would ever admit to having access to the names of any contractors. Most likely, he would greatly resent anyone who committed such a transgression as even asking. Inoadar's side career there would be over.

So he went back to the area where he had met with the Nuit to hash out the details of the job and asked a few people if they had seen anyone matching the description he gave them. But his description was too common and generic to be conclusive. He had to give the Nuit points for an effective nondescript look. Some people even pointed out targets they thought Inoadar was asking about, but it was never him. He took a moment to scout out surveillance nests to spy out the area later, but he was less than enthused about his likelihood of success.

One of the people, just a kid really, asked him if the man he was looking for had been accompanied by anyone. Inoadar distractedly answered no, saying there was a wife, but he didn't know what she looked like...It came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. 'The Wife! Yes I DO know what she looks like! I got the petching body she's wearing right now!' The specifics of the body he was contracted to procure for the Nuit had matched one of the girls at The House of Immortal Pleasures. A courtesan named Sharine. He thanked the kid with two gold mizas and made an effort not to run to the nearest ravosala platform.

He thought about going back to the brothel, even though Sharine would never be found there again. He doubted very seriously that the Nuit's wife would be trying to hook up with any of Sharine's old customers there, but it would be useful to know who they were. They would be people he could ask if they'd seen her around town. They would recognize her. And by recognizing her, they would identify the Nuit's wife, and by finding her, he would find her old body.

The problem was Dirk, a worker/bouncer there. He had helped Inoadar spirit the body of Sharine away while Ino was in disguise. But then he'd initiated a blackmail scheme on him. Ino had no worries abut that, he would sort that out soon enough, but right now, Dirk could be big complication. No, it was best he stay away until he made Dirk's body available for some needy Nuit like he had Sharine's.

He waited at the platform, juggling strategies until one the ravosalamen come by. He had an understanding with the boatmen in Ravok. Which was to say he paid them a 30 gold bribe every season for certain "courtesies". He mentioned the name and description of Sharine as a runaway whore that had faked her death, and that he was contracted to bring her back to The House. He asked the boatman if he and his fellows could keep their special eyes and ears open for any news of her appearance. Then he instructed the man to guide him to the ferries out of town.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar arrived at the ferries that would take people to the Southern Trade Post. He knew the odds of being here for the exact departure the Nuit may or may not be taking were very long. He looked around, but saw no one matching either his description or "Sharine's". It was between ferry runs and people were largely idle, including the guards.

He walked up to a pair of them, an air of boredom predominating their behavior. "How long for the next one?" he asked casually. They looked at each other hoping the other would go to the immense trouble of answering.

"Gonna be a bell or more, sir. May as well make yourself comfortable." One of them responded, the words framing a yawn.

Inoadar let slip a smirk, "I'd be more comfortable at The House of Immortal Pleasures. Too bad they didn't put the place here at THIS end of the Docks."

"Naw, they'd never keep anyone on duty if they did that." One of them said, with a snicker.

"They'd save a lot of mizas though." the other one piped in.

The guards shared a laugh. Several crude jokes were forthcoming, Inoadar adding his share. They began to compare notes on which women there were the most fun, the most wild, the cleanest, the angriest, the newest, and of course, the cheapest.

He steered the conversation to descriptions of women, their bodies and their attire. It was obvious these two had spent both time and mizas there. He offered a description of a woman, "Oh, about five and a half feet, I guess, a hundred twenty with blonde hair and blue eyes. Had high, cat-like cheeks." The guards were gazing at their imagined models in their minds. "Liked a light brown, brushed leather skirt and strap sandals halfway up her thighs. Liked me to unwrap the straps with my teeth."

"I'll bet YOU liked it too!" one of the guards snorted and they both burst into laughter. Inoadar paused a moment and joined in, nodding and shrugging his agreement.

The first guard suddenly grew attentive to the topic. "Hey, that sounds like Sharine!" The other guard's eyes widened in surprised agreement, apparently surprised that it hadn't occurred to him first.

Inoadar made a face, "No, it couldn't be. I was there just the other day and I heard them saying she had died from some sickness or poison." He started to laugh at some grim irony. "They couldn't decide which story to let out. They didn't want to touch on the poisoning and the contracts they take there, but they sure as Nikki's nethers didn't want to mention "diseases" in THAT place."

They all chuckled at the difficult position it must have put the spin doctors in at the time. But the second guard waved it all off. "It doesn't matter anyway. She's not dead. I don't care what they say."

Inoadar was all ears, but made the effort to hide it. The first guard snorted in response. "Bah! Whatta you know. You haven't been there in at least five days."

The second guard, younger than the first, got slightly red-faced and defensive. "I didn't say I saw here there! You know I had escort duty in the Noble District. It was there. I saw her go in the neighbor's house with some old guy. She must charge extra for house calls."

Inoadar stayed quiet, not wanting to look like he was fishing for information. By the time the guards had exhausted all insults related to whoring and house calls, Inoadar had a good description of the house where "Sharine" was apparently staying. He came up with an excuse to put off his ferry trip until later and bid the two guards goodbye. He caught the next ravosala to the Noble District.

[Inoadar]

It was starting to get late and Inoadar felt he'd made considerable progress. He didn't want to be seen loitering around the streets of the Noble District casing homes like a burglar. Amolina was not due back with her part of the bargain for two more days and he couldn't just up and ignore his new assistant, Wrenmae.

It was not a formal agreement, with documents and signatures, but having him watching the shop was the very reason he'd been able to spend the last several bells pursuing this matter. He did NOT want Wrenmae finding out that he was primarily engaged in getting an edge on Clyde Sullins. They had all been in on a largely secret effort involving an artifact connected to the Rising Dawn, and he wanted no peripheral concerns lending distrust to any other relationships besides his own and Clyde's.

He caught a ravosala back to the docks, telling the boatman that he'd gained information allowing him to narrow the search to the Noble District. When he explained that the woman was apparently living there with an older man, the ravosalaman chuckled. "It sounds like a very progressive marriage."

He returned to the shop with some materials he picked up from his room at Tarsin's. He made an effort to really focus his mind against a strange compulsion he felt to volunteer information to Wrenmae for no definable reason. 'Rhysol does not want loose-lipped followers. He already knows your secrets. Make him proud by NOT boasting of your insights.' he told himself over and over as he made his way to the shop.

He spent the rest of the night working with Wrenmae on the fundamentals of poisoning. The man was not ready to work with any actual toxic materials, in his estimation. This was more a regimen of dry-run tests to get him familiar with the signs of completed stages of various processes. It was standard procedure. There were materials that mimicked the results of truly toxic substances when heated or catalyzed in various ways. He was clearly making progress though. Perhaps in a few more days he'd begin real work.

He went to bed determined to get a hold on either "Sharine" or her husband the next day. That would leave him one day to work on the antidote.

[Inoadar]

The boatman piloting the ravosala to the Noble District the next morning had no news of Sharine or the Nuit. Inoadar didn't really think they would yet, but it had been worth a shot. He had stopped by Jester's Corner and picked up an fair piece of glass costume jewelry for 10 gold mizas. He put a gray-haired wig on from his disguise kit and applied putty to his hands and face to mimic wrinkled skin.

He didn't bother with the fake stooped-back look. The way his ankle was bothering him, his limp was quite sincere by the time he reached the boundary of the Noble District, his cane legitimately employed. He went from house to house, going through a routine of having found an expensive necklace and asking the guards to bring the lady of the manor to inspect it to see if it was hers.

The guards wouldn't know jewelry and Inoadar would play suspicious, refusing to let them take it inside the manor for fear they'd steal it. But they'd get a glimpse of what would look to them like a valuable bit of jewelry. The women would know it to be fake though. Knowing it was false gave him confidence that none of the fashion-conscious, prestige-obsessed women would try to take it without proof. He figured none of the women would be caught dead with it. He smirked at the unintentional play on words. The Nuit woman in Sharine's body would be caught "dead" in it.

It took ten houses, but 'Sharine' did finally emerge. Inoadar recognized the approaching body at once. He made no attempt to deceive her as to his agenda and even went so far as to apologize for the deception to the guards. For her part, she actually extended her appreciation for making her aware of a tactic for bringing a woman out of the house and said with regret that she had no idea what had become of the body, because her husband had dumped it in the lake. Her sincerity was touching.

Inoadar sagged with defeat. He had nothing. He thanked 'Sharine' for the information. He knew he'd never find the body now. Even if she gave him the exact location, and he tracked the current by floating a leaf on the water, he had no idea if the current changed below the surface, or how fast the body sank, or if the garbage eater fish in the lake had devoured the flesh already. Not to mention he was not some kind of expert swimmer that could dive to the bottom of the huge lake to find a body and bring it up anyway.

No, it was over. He would simply have to buy an antidote for Dark Reaving to keep his end of the bargain. He had an antitoxin, but he'd promised an antidote. He grew disgusted with himself. If he'd been paying more attention when he made his bargain with Amolina, he'd have let her know that there was no way he was going to make such an expensive promise over a task he wasn't immediately concerned with.

Amolina may be in a big hurry, but he was not. She had no one but herself to blame for her suffering and didn't give a damn about that. She'd lied, betrayed and stolen from him. The fact that it had turned out well in the long run was beside the point! SHE hadn't known things were going to work. For all SHE knew, he'd have ended up executed as a traitor. But that also was beside the point. He'd given his word and he HAD to keep it. He hadn't used vague wording designed to excuse misinterpretation. He'd made direct promises based on her cooperation and she'd cooperated. Now, if she was not a devotee of Rhysol, or if he was ordered by the Black Sun to betray his word, he'd be delighted to oblige.

AND it would save him the 200 mizas it was going to cost him for the antidote.

Gods, he hated her...

[Inoadar]

His leg was sore, and it had started leaking "fluid". He was disgusted. He didn't expect it to be all pink and healthy or anything, but he thought it ought to have successfully scabbed by now. At the least it shouldn't be infected and weeping. He'd spared himself no pain in the scrubbing and scraping of it. The boiling water and the cutting away of the irrevocably damaged flesh ought to have been sufficient to lay the groundwork for full recovery.

He slowed his pace. There was no hurry now anyway. He rested frequently as he made his way back to the Ravosala platform. No doubt he'd just miss it and have to wait for the next one. He smirked at the irony that his "hidden" weapon, his heirloom cane/blowgun/stiletto, was now having to serve in its facade capacity as an actual cane. In a sense though, he knew this would only make his disguise more effective. In fact, it wouldn't even BE a disguise now.

He got to the platform, after several pauses, and found he'd missed the boat by a wide enough margin that he wouldn't have to wait that long for the next one. He heard a clatter back the way he came and saw a cart being pulled. A passenger cart, being pulled by a pair of men dressed in the attire of well-off slaves.

"STOP! Stop, There he is!" The voice was immediately familiar. Inoadar turned slowly, favoring his leg, to see "Sharine" approaching in a rush. "Thank goodness you weren't in a hurry to get back to the docks! I should have simply hated to have to go all that way when you were just here."

Inoadar stifled the comment about how much more he hated struggling along with a maimed leg and a cane than she could possibly know while riding in a cart. Instead he ventured, "I...uh...guess it's just my lucky day. I'm sorry, but what brings you here after me?"

She laughed lightly. "It is INDEED your lucky day. My husband returned just after you left. if he had been as long as he'd said he expected to be, you'd have been long gone. THEN where would we be?" she didn't seem to realize that she had not yet gotten to the point.

Inoadar's looks and gestures indicated a hope of further information as he responded, "and...just where...exactly...ARE we, then, if I may ask."

She seemed to come to herself just then, slapping her forehead, "Oh! Where IS my brain today. And you probably still feeling all let down and everything, and here I sit, still babbling." Inoadar fixed his mouth in a forced smile, rotating his wrist in the classic "keep going" gesture.

"Well, silly us, we didn't know anything! I had just assumed my husband had dumped the body..." Inoadar was fully focused now, his heart racing, waiting on her next word. But still she bantered on uselessly, "I should have known he wouldn't have gone to the trouble, the old 'Lazy Bones'. You know the only reason he got me this ring..." she proudly displayed a truly magnificent stone in a brilliantly artistic setting, "...was because the trade market was a further mile away! Well, of course in THAT case I didn't mind. But all too often I'm forced to wear second-hand accessories because the old stick-in-the-mud can't find the energy to walk the extra few blocks..."

Inoadar was torn between kissing her and strangling her. Eventually she paused in a manner that allowed a change of subject, and he jumped on the opportunity. "Well, where exactly IS the body, if he didn't dump it?"

Once again, she chided herself for her flighty lack of focus and, after reiterating her husbands many flaws, giving numerous examples of them, she described the narrow alley, blocked by crates and barrels, that had been a full TWO BLOCKS closer than the lake. She even went so far as to offer Inoadar a ride, both to procure the body AND to take it back to the shop.

Regardless of the nonstop barrage of girl talk, he decided it was his lucky day after all.

[Inoadar]

He plied the woman for details about what it is to be a Nuit. He encouraged her belief that the woman he needed the antidote for was his fiance. She bought into that in a second, her romantic inclination driving her desire to help. Her claim that a body, once inhabited and discarded, could not be reclaimed, gave him an idea. Her additional claim that the intact brain was the only organ truly vital to Nuit existence within the body, gave further clarification to his "medicinal" approach.

She said Nuits do not eat, so the stomach and intestines would be of no pertinence. Likewise the liver and kidneys. Nor did their secondary role in disease and toxin resistance, at least as far as the better poisons went, the ones that affected more than simply muscle tissue and caused pain. She also pointed out that they do not need to breathe, though they will, in order to speak. So the lungs are irrelevant as well. Other, less focal organs or systems had some pertinence, but the only really crucial organ was the brain itself.

Inoadar thought about these things as they rode. If the brain alone was the primary requirement for the Nuit to inhabit the body, then there must be some connection to why they could not RE-inhabit one. He could not believe it was the mystic ichor. That was supposedly what made people into Nuits. At least that was what "Sharine" had said. He knew that Dark Reaving poison was made in some way from some parts of undead creatures. It stood to reason that something that made a body unable to be inhabited by the undead Nuit must have an element that countered this.

She dropped him off at the shop, wishing him well and sincerely hoping she had enabled him to save his love. Inoadar winced at the blatant lie, but rationalized that being honest would only ruin the feeling the woman had that she had done a good deed in the interest of romance. 'Why ruin that for her just to be honest.' he told himself, 'what she doesn't know won't spoil her delight.'

So now he set about cutting the body up. It was largely dried out and had had the blood drained from it long ago as part of the Nuit need to eliminate unnecessary parts that could rot and lead to infection. He separated various parts, not in the sense of arms and legs, but more in functional sense: skin from bone, muscle from sinew, eyeballs from brains, etc...

He began cutting each of these into samples for different processes to try. Some he would boil, some he would burn, some he would disolve in acid, some he would squeeze, some he would boil or burn and THEN squeeze. Some would have the flesh be the target, some the smoke, some the water, some would be treated with enzymes, proteins or catalysts, some the ash, some boiled then burned, then disolved. It went on and on.

The sooner he started the better...