Inoadar
Inoadar sighed. He was never going to get anywhere in this town. He'd been hard pressed to keep himself out of chains the very first day he'd arrived. Only his quick thinking had saved him. The guard at the gate had already had his mailed gauntlet on the hilt of his sword at the sight of some of Inoadar's wares. It was just his luck he'd get the one guard that knew a vial of stinging floater venom when he saw it!
His claim that he was a crafter of antidotes and needed samples to work back from kept him out of the dungeon, but he was forced to watch as the guard poured his life savings, in the form of various high-priced toxins, out on the muddy ground. And he'd had to thank the man for his leniency!
Poisons had been perfectly legal in Sunberth. But he'd been set up as the fall guy on an assassination. Fortunately, he'd been wily enough to recognize the repercussions before they quite caught up to him. It would be quite some time before he'd return to that shyke hole. And then it would only be to slit a handful of throats.
And Zeltiva had been where he'd learned about the aquatic toxins that had put him on the spot at the gate here. He'd amassed a decent stock there and set had out to find a new place to make a name for himself. And now he was back to square one. He'd make this world pay. If there was a single god or goddess he respected, he'd swear on his or her name that he'd make this world pay! But a pox upon them, they'd done him no good yet.
He had gotten used to the crowding within the citadel in the last ten or twelve days. Sunberth was also crowded, but at least there was a sky to look up at, a feeling of openness in at least one direction. Life as a pickpocket was fairly lucrative. The crowding gave him an excuse to bump into people. His stash of Pillowsap poison had been invaluable. The guard had not made him slide the heels from his boots, so it had remained untouched.
The routine was nearly foolproof. A selected target, a jab on the shoulder, an exclamation about receiving a shock to explain the sudden pain, a remark of concern over the target's sudden appearance of illness, a helpful assist to a bench and the quick stripping of jewelry, gold and whatever else was easily concealable from the sleeping victim.
But it was bound to end. The fateful two words: "THAT'S HIM!" He knew better than to look back. Like any cautious man of the street, he assumed any shouts of outrage were directed at him. Now the crowd served him. A quick duck of the head, as though checking a stain on his pants as he kept moving forward, ducking around corners, looking for bright bits of loose apparel to lift and throw on. A bit of dust or chalk to rub into his hair to add some gray. A quick inside tuck to the ends of his pants legs to look like shorts, combing his hair back and puffing out his cheeks to make his face look suddenly fatter. In moments he was a chubby, laughably unfashionable old man in shorts, not a slim thug in dark clothes.
Though he'd passed them the first time with no incident, he could not count on being so lucky the next time. He returned to the 'Golden Dragon', where a room was half the cost of the 'White Swan', to collect his meager "earnings" and leave this miserable place. The ladies were eager for affordable bribes to keep quiet as well. But when he got there that night, he saw one of these girls talking to a guard, whose eyes narrowed dangerously when he and Inoadar locked eyes.
The moment the man took to say something to the lady was all the head start Inoadar needed to lose the man around a corner. The crowd was thinning now though at this late bell. Inoadar was looking for a place to duck out of sight. He heard the clanging of smithing hammers in the near distance. He got to the door of Sultros Blades, but waited to time his opening of the door with a pause in the hammering.
The rhythm of ringing steel was just what he needed. Three peals and a pause, three peals and a pause. Three peals and he burst in the door, throwing it quickly shut behind him. His focus was all on sounds beyond the closed door rather than the view of the inside of the smith's shop. He suddenly realized that the rhythm had stopped. A woman was looking at him curiously. His eyes were slightly dazzled by the reds and yellow glows of fire and hot metal to make out her features to any degree, but she was definitely a woman. Oh yes, definitely a woman!
He smiled, trying to calm his breathing. "Don't stop on my account, miss. I'm just looking to buy a knife." He thought if she stopped working and turned around, he'd bar the door so the place would appear closed.
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