Solo Fronds or Foes

[Inoadar]

67 Fall, 512 AV

Inoadar went around the other side of Lake Ravok this time. He had been around the east side when he found the Rogue Vine from which he had pressed Greenblood Oil. He had made some small effort to find the ferns that he understood had a degree of solvent quality to them, to wash clean the sap which had contained the ingredient from which the oil had been distilled.

He had not had any luck finding such ferns, so now he opted for the west side. Reaching the west side was a much quicker trip, as Ravok's location on the water was markedly southwest of the center of the lake. While he walked, he absentmindedly cut gently into the underside of a wooden spoon. He'd been kicking an idea around and the dull hiking time was a good time to work on it.

He slowly, stroke by stroke, eased a groove into the wooden spoon. Then he twisted the crook on his cane to unlock it from the straight shaft. He pulled the two parts apart, but did not pull the plug from the low end of the staff, which would have freed the shaft for its covert use as a blowgun. He slipped that into one of his long inner pockets. The pocket was not properly sized for it, but it held it in place well enough while he went to work with the other portion of the cane.

The crook was not just the grip for his cane, it was also the handle for a stiletto that lay within the hollowed shaft of the blowgun when the two parts were locked together to function, in disguise, as a standard cane. The crook itself was filled with lead as well, to give it a secondary use as a sap, making the the thing a weapon in either direction he swung it. But for now, all he wanted was the pointed stiletto blade. He slipped it into the groove he had cut into the spoon and used the crook as a ratchet to cause the point to spin like a drill into the wood. When he was satisfied with the tube drilled into the wood, he reassembled his cane and set it aside while he built a small fire.

On one of his excursions outside the city, he had been made to wait for clearance. He hid his annoyance beneath a facade of 'appreciation for the thankless job' the guards at the Southern Trading Post do to benefit the 'ungrateful wretches that make life difficult for the rest of us.' He was no more sincere than they were impressed, but he had long learned that 'flattery can replace bribery when applied long term'. And this was not the first time he had plied their innate gullibility with silver-lined words.

While he waited, he established a rapport with Calidane, the meat merchant at The Bazaar. He mentioned the difficulty he had in locating a shop which produced or sold Traveler's Stock, the concentrated paste-like base for some truly hearty soup, or stew, depending on how much water you added. This man agreed to try his hand at it. He charged near twice the amount Inoadar remembered paying for it in Sunberth, but 5 gm for ten meal's worth was not outlandish, considering the convenience.

Now, weeks later, Inoadar had little left and was thinking it was time to press the man for a second supply. He filled his pot with water right from the lake, thinking that, if the claims that you could drink it were not true, boiling it should purify it anyway. First though, he put a small pat of wax in a spoon and held it over the fire. In the short moment it took to melt, he heard the unmistakable sounds of the none-too-stealthy approach of two...no, three men, Two from one side, one from the other. His back was to the lake, and running forward would simply make him a shot-in-the-back target for all three of them.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar cursed under his breath as the necessities quickly cleared in his mind. He brought one of his four-dose "tiny bags" off the shelf, knowing he needed an ingestion style poison to test his spoon delivery system. But he had only planned to use a fraction of a single dose to test it. Now he grimaced at the fact that he was going to be using up a full 200 gm 4-dose unit to extricate himself from these approaching thugs.

He quickly shook the contents of the tiny bag out onto the back of the spoon, using his fingertips to keep the fringe specks from falling off and being lost. He packed what would fit into the hole and let the rest lie in the groove he'd cut into the back of the wooden spoon. Then he took the small metal spoon and let the melted wax stream slowly out over the top of the groove. The wax would hold the powder in the groove in place, and what was in the groove would hold the powder in the hole in place.

He set it on the ground beside him and feigned complete ignorance of the three figures stepping into view from around the lake shore foliage. He picked up a second wooden spoon, identical to the "waxed" one, and leaned in, dumping the last of his Traveler's Stock from the tin into the pot with the heating water. He was just beginning to stir it with the non-modified spoon when a gruff voice rose from the shadows.

"Whatcha got there, brother? You're not the kind to hoard a meal all to hizself when there's starvin' men lookin' to reward a man for his generosity, are ye?" A man whose face showed no sign of having ever displayed mercy flickered into sight by the firelight. Behind him, a man with a crossbow slipped into view, his hold on it indicating having just HAD it trained on Inoadar, but letting it drop in overconfidence.

From the other side a voice hissed, "If you're needing any... vegetables... chopped, I can help you." The tell-tale "snick-a-snack" of knives scraping on each other left no doubt about the disposition of the third man. They all laughed cruelly as they sat themselves down, hemming Inoadar in. The man sheathed his knives and leaned towards the pot. "So what you got cookin', sonny?"

Inoadar knew his ability to amuse these men would be the key. He needed to be defiant, but resigned to his fate. He needed to act like he held to a desperate hope that these men would be satisfied just to rob him. He would act like he hoped he might convince them to let him join their group. It would not serve to act so simple minded that he did not even realize he was in danger.

He looked at the three men in turn and grimaced. "Uhh...it sort of looks like I'm preparing a condemned man's last meal." He let a hint of a tremor into his voice.

They laughed, the first man taking the lead again. "Now, why would you go and be sayin' a thing like that? Do you be thinkin' we be condemned men?" His face glared in the fire light as he reached across himself to put his hand on his sword hilt. His expression lightened and he looked at his fellows with a wink. "Maybe we just got separated from our unit, didja ever think o' that?"

Inoadar tried to sound like he was hoping to find a common thread to get these men to bond with him. "Oh, you're in the army? My father was in the army. He wanted me to join, but they wouldn't take me." He shook his head, as though he was hoping to get sympathy.

"Yeah, they only take MEN" the man with the crossbow spat, bringing a chorus of laughs at Inoadar's expense.

The man with the crossbow set it down and started going through Inoadar's bags. Inoadar made no protest, letting it look like he knew damn well that they meant to rob him. The first man looked at him with a grim smile, "Well you may not be a man, but at least you're not a whiner." without taking his eyes off Inoadar, or his hand off his sword hilt he asked the other, "Anything interesting? Anything valuable?"

The crossbow man stopped suddenly and pulled out the rolled up sheath of poison vials. "Well, well, well... whatta' we got here?"

[Inoadar]

The first man pulled Inoadar close, a violent twitch in his eye as he growled through bared teeth, "Is that whatcha had in mind for us, brother? Is that what yer cookin' up there?" he nodded at the pot over the fire.

This was not exactly how Inoadar had intended to work the situation, but realized it was perfect, he feigned surrender and pleaded tearfully. "Well, you're going to kill me aren't you? How can you blame me. I didn't do anything to you! Why kill me? I was minding my own business. Take them too, they're worth some mizas. Please don't kill me. If you hadn't come into my camp with your knives and bows, I wouldn't have been afraid. Please..."

The man backhanded him and Inoadar fell back, covering his head with his hands and whimpering, all the while listening for the sounds of weapons drawing. He knew the men with blades had them sheathed, and the man with the crossbow was going through his bags. "I didn't have time to put anything in the food yet anyway." he sniffled.

The man with the knives leaned in close from the other side. "And just how are we supposed to believe you, eh? Are you willing to take a bite of that swill so we'll know for sure?"

'Gotcha!' Inoadar thought to himself as he pretended a blubbering willingness, asking if they would let him go if he cooperated. The man with the knives winked and promised he'd see to it personally. Then he grabbed the spoon from the bowl and forced two hot bites of stew into Inoadar's mouth.

He gasped and shrieked that it was hot, panting and crying in pain. He made a good visual fuss as he pulled the spoon from the man's hand in his act and dropped it as he rolled in exaggerated suffering. He picked up the rigged spoon in its place, breathing hard and looking with wide fearful eyes, and dropped it in the iron pot, stirring it and trying to coax confirmation from the men that they would let him go now.

"Not until we've et, sonny" hissed the man with the knives as he he spooned himself a good helping of stew into a tin he carried with him.

"Don't take it ALL, ya shifty eyed bastard!" blustered the crossbow man, shoveling half of what was left into his own bowl.

The first man simply grabbed the hot iron pot with a cloth wrapped hand and ate the rest of the stew, his eyes focusing his ill intent on Inoadar. For his part, Inoadar acted the part of the desperately hopeful, but doomed, wretch, pleading with fate to keep its unlikely promise of rescue. "It's okay, right? You said you'd let me go, right? Right?"

The first man patted his stomach and belched. The others laughing crudely. Inoadar was aware the the man with the knives had started eating first. He moved in his direction, making as though he thought he could trick them into leaving a gap for him to burst through and escape. The man with the knives rose, somewhat unsteadily to his feet and pulled one of his knives, A wavy bladed variety Inoadar knew to be called a "Kris" knife.

"Sure, sonny." he said evilly, but with a heavier breath than sounded natural, as though just standing up had been an effort. "I'll let you go. Isn't that right boys." he called, sweat starting to bead on his forehead, panting with seeming exertion. He started to sway on his feet.

"That's right..." the first man said, his voice becoming thick. "Let him go...to an early grave!" he tried to laugh, but it turned quickly into a wheezing cough. He saw the knife man's weaving stance and his brow furrowed. "Jodek? What's wrong with you? You sick."

Inoadar suddenly dropped his act and simply grabbed the wrist of Jodek, the knife wielder, twisting it painfully as the man gasped and let go. "Thank you." Inoadar said with mock politeness, as he held the spoon up, letting the man see the twin grooves in the underside of the spoon. "The wax that holds the poison in place... melts ...in hot stew." He grinned viciously as he sank the man's knife into the man's own chest, using it as a handle to spin the man around him, so he was between him and the two other men.

"There's nothing wrong with him that isn't about to become wrong with both of you sorry slobs in about ten seconds as well." His voice promised death, his eyes promised suffering.

[Inoadar]

He pushed the dying body of the knife wielder onto the crossbow as the man reached for it. There was a muffled 'thwock' sound as the bolt released into the corpse. He spun and stepped towards the first man, who was struggling to draw his sword and kicked the bulk of the campfire onto him, activating his boot blades in the same motion. The man shrieked and exhausted himself patting and rolling to put out the fire.

The man whose crossbow was now inaccessible, backed away, wide eyed, in a pathetic hands and heels type crab-walk. The weakness of the 'Dark Reaving' poison preventing him from even getting his butt off the ground. "Not a man, am I?" Inoadar taunted, his eyes straying to the suggested seam of the man's trousers. "Well, guess what? Neither are you!" He sneered as he slammed the blade-tipped toes of his right boot into that same spot.

The man's mouth babbled silently, only emitting a gasping wheeze as he buckled over, grabbing his crotch. Inoadar took the time to look over his shoulder and check on the last man, before turning back and kicking the same boot into the side of the man's head. "Nighty-night." he hissed.

He leaned down and grabbed the collar of the dead knife wielder, yanking him up off the crossbow. He rifled quickly through the second man's bags and found the quiver. He'd never owned a crossbow, but it was not hard to figure it out. As he slipped his foot into the brace for the required leverage to pull the cable back, he spoke in a pleasant conversational voice to the last man, who had managed to get to his feet and started to run.

The poison was in full bloom now and the man's steps grew more and more stiff and clumsy as exhaustion stole all coordination from him. "Time for a bit of target practice, don't you think?" Inoadar called merrily after him.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar dropped a quarrel in the groove and leveled the crossbow at the thugs retreating back. It bucked more than he expected and the quarrel shot high and possibly to the left. It was a gray sky and so were the shafts and fletchings.

He dropped the front of the weapon and, again, braced the muzzle with his foot while he set the cable. He jogged after the man for a few moments as he rolled the quarrel in his hand, stopped loaded and aimed, taking care to anticipate the misdirection of his last shot.

This time it fired straight. Straight into the ground to the right of the man. He cursed himself his overcompensation. He was beginning to consider running the man down and simply slitting his throat when he heard something that made him think twice. It was the sound of wolves, howling from the direction the man was running towards.

He chuckled to himself at the thought of the hopeless despair of the his would-be killer, now torn between a pack of wolves and a pitiless victim-turned-avenger. He turned and darted back to the campsite, figuring the time the wolves would take to savage that poor wretch would give him time enough to loot the other two bodies fully.

He stripped the men of the few items of leather armor and one mail shirt!, leaving boots and pants, no telling what rashes or worse you might pick up. He tossed their packs and bags by the shore, along with the knives and the crossbow and quiver, He was going to gather up the coats to go through pockets, but the sound of the one man screaming had stopped and the sound of the snarling was growing closer. It was not as though the wolves would eat the clothes anyway.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar quickly twisted his cane into its two parts and rolled back into the water on his back, pushing himself off from the shore to drift. He tracked the depth with one foot and let himself sink as he slid the blowgun portion of his cane into his mouth to use as an impromptu snorkel. His knees were on the bottom, so he could stand up to bring his eyes above the water level and gauge the scene to see when it would be safe to come ashore again. He was not shocked or appalled by the devouring savagery of the wolves upon the corpses of the stripped men.

In short order, the poison resting now in the veins of the men passed on to the wolves and they began to twitch and whimper. There was sudden terrible snarl and the great dire wolf appeared, knocking the subordinate pack members, that had not yet eaten, away from the human bodies. The ones that HAD eaten of the humans began to stagger and stumble, curling up in pain and whimpering pitifully. The dire wolf sniffed at the bodies and then at the ground. It began to turn Inoadar's way and he slipped his head underneath as the wolf lifted its nose high to follow a scent in the air that was clearly leading to where he now knelt below the surface.

He did not know if the blowgun tube, protruding sightly above the water, had attracted the dire wolf's interest, but he rested his hands on his knife hilts and waited tensely for canine bodies to splash in and dog-paddle their way towards him. He was pretty sure that wolves were unlikely to go after something in water that would be over their head, but he was ready, just in case.

It did not happen and Inoadar stayed submerged for a good five or six chimes before, very slowly, lifting his head just far enough to see. He saw the bodies of four or five wolves, with their throats torn out, littering the scene, but there was no other sign of the wolf pack. It appeared the dire wolf decided to "cleanse" its pack of the poisoned members before departing.

Inoadar decided to stay safe and half floated, half walked towards shore at a point where some marine grass would conceal his landing. Something caught his eye and he turned around to take a closer look at one the chutes of grass rising from the lake. It was not 'grass' at all! it was a fern, the fronds spreading laterally from the center stem, resting just on or below the surface. Inoadar smiled and plucked a half dozen samples from the lake bed and stepped ashore.

He retrieved the bags and packs, weapons and armor pieces, and rolled them in one of the filthy cloaks. he then set to cutting the tails from the dead wolves In case there was a bounty. Now he went through the pockets, finding a leather pouch with a small number of mizas in it. The additional mizas he gathered form the others he placed in here also. One of the men had an army packet. Nothing like strategies or troop placements, just a QM receipt and a weekly duty agenda from a few weeks before, along with an identity card and unit number.

"Deserters!" he sneered with contempt, "serves you right for being fool enough to join in the first place." He tied up his loot, hoisting it over his shoulder, and figured his estimated gains against the 200gm loss of the Dark Reaving poison bag. He'd lose money, no question, but if these ferns were usable as a counter poison, that would make up for it. At least his spoon delivery system had tested successfully.

[Inoadar]

He came to the Southern Trading Post and the guard came up to him holding the same notice they had showed him the last time he had left and returned. Inoadar anticipated hearing that, once again, the guards were sorry to say that circumstances in town required a more thorough search and verification session.

It was morning now and the crossbow he was carrying was more impressive in the light than he had expected it to be. The guard seemed to agree with this assessment. "Hey, that crossbow is better than mine! Where'd you get it?"

They locked eyes and an immediate understanding was reached. Inoadar allowed a puzzled look to cross his face. "Better than yours? How can that be? This IS yours! You were holding mine while I examined this fine weapon, and then there was some commotion and I guess we both lost track of whose crossbows we were holding. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking and just sort of walked off with it. I'm terribly sorry, it won't happen again."

He traded weapons with the guard, who hefted the weapon appreciatively, testing its pull and balance with obvious satisfaction. He looked up and nodded to Inoadar. "Well, I see no reason for an upstanding citizen, who clearly supports the efforts of his city's guard, to have to deal with these needless delays. What was your name again?"

"Parnell. Nolan Parnell. I work with herbal medicines and often have to leave to obtain wild herbs and such things. By the way, is there a bounty of wolves? I will say, your crossbow there DID come in handy!" he winked.

"Oh yeah, I remember you now. You do antidotes for poisons as well." the guard paused in thought. "Hmmm...I'm not sure if there is a current bounty on wolves, but you can always check with the C.R.O., they should have that information. And I'll try to spare you the shakedown here when you come and go from now on."

They shook hands and Inoadar thanked him and passed on to the docks to await the ferry into the city. He was quite pleased with this turn of events. He was sorry to have had to substitute this worn out old crossbow for the top-notch specimen he had looted from the deserter, but the good graces of the guards at the docks was worth far more.

He hoped to expand on this good reputation when he reached the C.R.O. He walked in to ask about bounties and when he was called, he also handed over the deserter's papers, detailing where the savaged bodies could be found and mentioning that the wolves' tails were obtained at the bloody scene.

The clerk snapped them up and told Inoadar to wait. He went into a back room, and Inoadar could hear drawers sliding open and shut and papers being shuffled. The clerk returned with a satisfied expression and handed a small pouch to Inoadar that had a nice metallic "clink" to it. "Your papers check out, sir. In addition to being deserters, one of those men was wanted for crimes in town. What was your name?"

Inoadar gave the same name and mentioned that the guards at the Trading Post would verify his entry that morning. The man asked if he had any Identifying papers and Inoadar admitted sheepishly that he was not yet a citizen. The clerk inhaled sharply and advised Inoadar to be registered as soon as possible. Inoadar stalled noticeably and mentioned that he had heard some disturbing rumors of people going in to be registered and failing and then being harassed as "undesirables" after that. The man snorted in derision, citing such nonsense as ridiculous and offered to provide an official endorsement when he chose to register. Inoadar thanked him and said he'd strongly consider it.

When Inoadar got to his shop, he found that, when pressed, the ferns did spill a great deal of liquid, and when it was boiled down, it did serve to dissolve the sap he had kept to test it. He had to boil down quite a bit to get a strong enough concentration to actually provide an antidote to the Greenblood Oil's effects. He made a note of this information in his book and went to bed, the thoughts of registering for citizenship, and the benefits of success and the dangers of failure, keeping him awake long into the night.

[Verilian]

. . Thread Award . . Inoadar +1 Carving +1 Wilderness Survival +2 Rhetoric +1 Acting +1 Subterfuge +1 Dagger*Or Kris, if you prefer +2 Unarmed Combat +1 Crossbow +1 Swimming +1 Herbalism +1 Poison You Question My Logic? : XP explanation goes here. Lores: Poison Spoon Delivery System, Makeshift Snorkel Loot: Half-Dozen ferns, 1 Suit of Leather Armor (Value 10gm), 1 filthy cloak, 2 daggers, 1 light crossbow and quiver with 7 bolts, 20gm, 1 Suit of Chainmail Armor*See the notes below, 200gm (for all the bounties and mizas looted) Notes: In the dark of night, burdened by the rest of the gear Inoadar carried, it would be hard to notice the subtle difference in the chainmail. It would not be until he returned home to examine his findings that he might notice something strange. The chainmail appeared no different than any other suit of armor Inoadar had seen. However, when he held it, he might notice one difference. It was light.. nearly as light as the leather armor, if not just as light. It appeared to be made from plain steel, but weighed as little as leather. Notice As per the request of the Founders, threads cannot be graded unless your CS is up to date. This means you need to add threads to your thread list when you make new threads, keep your skills up to date, ledger, living expenses, ect. If you aren't up to date, you'll get a PM from me before i grade your thread. If you are up to date, disregard this notice.