Kino Vanden yawned and rubbed the back of her neck. She had fallen asleep at her makeshift workbench again. Sunlight poured in through the dusty window, illuminating the fruits of last night's labor. Wyrdroot, extract of rhinin ore and yerba leaves had been meticulously added, one by one, to the vibrant, honey-colored arnica petals she had picked and ground up the previous day. Diluted with spring water, the concoction was a potent anti-arthritic. A dozen bottles of it glistened amber in the mid-morning sunlight.
Once she had rearranged her workspace into some semblance of tidiness and donned the robes which rounded out her carefully chosen "plague doctor" ensemble, she left the room she was lodging in and locked the door behind her. Her outlandish yet distinctly recognizable countenance would draw curious customers to the streetside shop she would set up, and Darken Vei's large demographic of elderly people would ensure that her anti-arthritis potions would sell like hotcakes. "Everybody's gotta make a living, somehow."
As she walked out of the inn, wares in hand, something felt off. It was... it was her left leg. It felt too light. She knelt down to check the straps wrapped around her breeches and found a gap in the row of everglass phials which lined the outside of her left thigh. "Fuck." That was where she kept the adrenalite brews. Adrenalite brew was damned expensive, and now she was short a bottle. She knew she had it when she took inventory yesterday morning...