“I’m telling you, the man’s potions are too powerful.”
Said a circumspect middle man, hoping to idle by to a vaguely memorable dry haired youth.
Probably already paid just to pass on the information, a healthy slice of coin when he insinuated that he himself had killed the codger.
Connor had retrospective conceited notions towards the man and had already gone over his head and picked up the job from someone else, secondary confirmation was always appreciated that he hadn’t lost himself the plot.
Tossing a glance back at the chap, Connor reimagined the life the potion seller had carefully made for himself.
Reputation preceding the notion that he himself was a vagabond living on the scraps that other higher-ups would toss himself, Connor loved modestly on a healthy diet of peas and plenty of porridge.
Being a stout individual never helped him much, almost distant faint notions of overwhelming cataclysm haunt him into almost going through a full breakdown daily.
But the crime keeps his head above water, and a mouth full of daggers; a grin on his face, his mind off the work of bettering himself.
What rotten luck would he have if he didn’t have either the chance to do otherwise or the whim?
Where there’s coin there’s avarice.
Where there’s gold there’s greed.
Nothing nicer than having what ever one could need.
Connor gave a whistle as life was not exactly very bad, many people didn’t quite believe they had made his acquaintance.
This for the most part, was very true.
People tended to avoid him on natural instinct, Connor always exhaled sharply then held his breath when coming into close proximity of any other person.
Holding his breath was just a medium for concentration for him, it calmed him and stilled his nerves.
People also couldn’t smell the liquor on his breath from yesterday either, which when being social, was nice.
Hygiene was important, Connor had drank a cup of coffee and washed his face and hair, given a moderately scathing look to his reflection and received a hollow response from his letter box.
All was well.

Upon entering the potion sellers fine establishment Connor swept his gaze for a medium for which to deliver something positively lethal.
Conspicuous means of killing a man were not incredibly affordable and opportunities were scarce, at least the first time Connor walked through his store pretending to be a customer looking for honey.
“If you’re looking to make a balm for healing, you will need some rosemary, lavender and lettuce leaves…”
He trailed off meandering, sounding every very little bit as informative as Connor imagined he might.
The store keep seemed competent but far from omnipotent, he himself had a sweet fragrance smeared across his wrist and was now going through a bouquet of colognes for men.
People sure were trusting close to the capital, braver rogues that had courage would; in their wisdom or seeking a death wish of a big payday, assail the richer folk of Clove, with varying success.
Second-floor thieves were handsomely rewarded with unlocked windows and a plethora of things to steal.
Jewellery was often displayed in front of their dressing tables and the nobles were a cornucopia of loot almost too hard to not plunder.
Connor’s thoughts trailed off after the man started going through a number of dry applicants that would help alleviate the chafe one experienced from horse riding.
Something snagged his attention and when his eye passed by a number of vaguely dark coloured bottles, Connor saw an opportunity.
Taking out a once malleable thumbnail of gold, Connor passed a tarnished looking coin to the man.
“How might I clean the gold on this?”
The potion seller looked plainly down at the glinting sovereignty of the King Of Clover printed on the back of a vaguely royal looking currency token, slightly unimpressed by the request as it was considered a very selfish practise to actually spend money on cleaning your money.
Not frowned upon, in fact a lot of the royals quite literally laundered their money this way, polishing it into resplendent examples of their hygiene.
Sickening.
The part of this that was of interest to Connor was, that although lots of things could clean gold, there were a few solvents that were incredibly subtle on the human palette that were perfectly reasonable to ask for over the counter.
Connor could name half a dozen off the top of his head that would incapacitate a full-grown man through metallurgy.
One of which was the root of mandragora which the shopkeeper offhandedly offered; not suspecting the murderous intent harbouring the heart of his customers heart, the substance was lethal when administered with mint, wormwood and the shaved bark dust of a silky oak.
Things Connor had prepared prior to entering and having brought all of these things albeit for the mandragora, which was the subtle reason for needing to visit the store.
The potion seller frequently drew water from a small tavern called Poker and Pork to put into his potives, he himself was drinking a cup of tea.
Milk would hide the poisonous concoction that Connor had prepared.
After having ingratiated himself further into his company by volunteering conversation, the potion keeper scolded many men about the power of his potions and few save himself would be such a repository of such refined techniques of potion making.
Connor listened interestedly, waiting for an opportunity to slip the watcher into his tea, it was sweetened with red berries, a certain type of wildflower and refined golden treacle.
Offering to make the next cup of tea for him, so as to see if he would be impressed by the temperance of his technique Connor beckoned him to drink with feigned ignorance and no chagrin.
After having steeped the volatile combination of liquor into his glass, Connor selected a brand of scotch he usually couldn’t usually afford off the shelf over the potion sellers shoulder.
While the man choked on his own vomit and blood, Connor poured himself a couple of fingers of whisky and left swim gold coins on the bench he was standing at.
The other customers were either unaware or too shocked to confidently assess what had just happened, but it seemed that one of his potions had been too powerful for even him.
Connor switched the labels on half a dozen vials in the confusion, pocketing a number of medicinal purposed draughts that would ease the guilt he would have normally felt after having constituted the end of another’s life.
The guards were too busy interviewing every other somebody that seemed to have a clue as to what happened for them to notice Connor’s stern exit.
A gout of flame bellowed heartily behind him as the potion seller cast a spell as he collapsed in his death grasp further helped Connor inconspicuously avoid the guards that pushed him out of the way as they approached the store’s vicinity.
Walking down the road to a vendor, Connor ordered a loaf of bread, two fish fillets and a dozen eggs.
Dinner would be soon, and his employer had given him a shopping list to drop off your that included these items.
Connor made a small fortune off selling the potions he stole from the potion seller, he was right; that guy, his potions were too powerful, and the black market greedily accepted the potions for fast and good real money.
That was nice.

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{Exit}