"That one, you might want to be careful with that. It doesn't like people..."
"A potion? "
Rustcaller Toxin is not a tool of assassination, but instead a weapon of random terror.
A brace of sleep-related poisons.
..The inn was filled with the sounds of leather creaking and seams bursting, as muscles swelled and grew dramatically. Then came shouts of fury and rage as the mob began charging outside, into what would be a very bloody night.
Destroyer of Dynasties, Killer of Kings, Bane of Broods, Curse of the Ruling Elite!
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...