.... I have searched for that little one. That monster of my pockets, that smaller-than-life creature who enjoys picking up my left over food that I 'accidentally' leave behind at my campsite. Yes, I have put out the fire, stomped it out with foot and flooded it with the remaining wine that I have, but that little piece of meat is neatly left for him.
For days now I have been poisoning that meat. I have taken the last few mouth fulls necessary to sustain me, and I have very dexterously cut a small slit where I let the smallest amount of poison slip into it's juicy cracks.
Soon my little friend will be very weak, and much distracted. The pains shall fill his head, his back, his legs, and in the hustle and bustle at hand, when he slips up, and it is easier for me to see and hear him, I shall use my new sword to test a very smooth shave on his neck.
Yes, soon my advantage will be complete and only his deity himself will decide if he lives or dies at my hand. Mine has already said it is ok.