Night had fallen in RhyDin's WestEnd; and while night was usually a time of private words and refreshing sleep, lately this area of the city had become a hotbed of violence and fear.

Isuelt was waiting for the rest of her partners to take up the mantle in their grid of the WestEnd. Scorp had gone to rustle up Phin, Reeni, and Mirage, though she was almost certain that the Don Mega would try to buy each of the lovely ladies a drink. Isuelt just hoped that Scorp wouldn't be too roughed up. She smirked as she leaned against the cool brick wall of one of the Blood's holdings buildings and took in the welcomed salty breeze off the ocean.

Her eyes had closed momentarily and Isuelt was able to lose herself in thoughts of happier times past and yet to come. Thick lashes opened once more as she thought she heard a rustling not too far away. Her dark eyes looked to her left, watching the moon's shadows play tricks on her eyes.

A few blinks against the moonlight's slicing shadow over the coach and Isuelt's gaze was regulated. Hearing the old woman, she smiled. After all, it hadn't been that long since she herself had been a part of the Zomorago Caravan. In fact, the old woman did somewhat remind her of Felicita DeRomiano, a distant relative of her husband's. She was always trying to brush up on her fortune telling charades by accosting the members of the caravan. Isuelt had never minded, she rather liked Felicita. And perhaps it was her nostalgic mood that helped her push off the wall and start for the coach.

"Fortunes, huh?" Isuelt's smirk fell easily into place. "Gypsies are not common place around here nowadays. And I should know." She paused and looked the coach over, it wasn't flashy but it was spirited in all the right places. The Scathachian looked back to the old woman, "Agatha, is it' How much for a fortune?"

Isuelt chuckled warmly at the old woman. It never failed to amaze her how a gypsy, not to mention any run-of-the-mill charlatan, could be so totally in character when money was at stake.

Three gold was a tawdry price for entertainment these days. It didn't take Isuelt long to procure the payment and stretch her long arm to hand it to Agatha. "Alright, you've piqued my interest old woman. Tell me...what does my future stand to bring me?" She started up the stairs into Agatha's "office."

She had her fortune told a thousand times, some reads were true, while others were little more than entertainment. Felicita had always found it amusing to predict on Isuelt's love life over and over again, usually talking of her marriage to Merry. But their happily ever after was not to be. And no where had Felicita spoken of the rogue that would eventually capture her attention and her complete affection in Metro.

Let's see how Madam Agatha would do.

"Sit there nice and close and Agatha will tell you all about yourself...."

This should be fun, Isuelt thought to herself. With some careful movement, the Scathachian shifted the blades at her hips and settled into the chair Madam Agatha allotted her. All the years of putting up with Felicita's ramblings and "practice" hadn't left her jaded; instead she found herself missing the ritual. This reading would be a nice way to pass the time and an enjoyable diversion.

"Yes....your name is Isuelt DeRomiano and you lead a temple here in Rhy'Din....a temple to Scathach...Oh my....you've had troubles with a dark and terrible force that has been plaguing this fair city...."

And like a good gypsy, Agatha had done her research before the act. Or so it would seem. Still, Isuelt was softly impressed by the light show. Things have changed since her days with the Zomoraga caravan. Of course, mages charged less and less for parlor tricks such as this. However, Isuelt was entertained, that smile staying on her lips as she nodded. "I see you've been paying attention around here. And a note about that, ma'am: Be careful around here. These parts aren't particularly safe around here, eh?" Her public service message done for the time being, she sat back in the velvet chair and nodded her apologies for interrupting Madam Agatha. "Anything else?" Isuelt liked this old woman, and besides, who was she to deny a gypsy fortune teller from making a wage?

As Agatha spouted her rendition of doom and gloom, Isuelt couldn't help but slide into a frown. While fortune tellers were mostly slanted toward the catastrophic or the jubilant school of thought, it still did no good to hear the sorts of things that Agatha chose to say. It was true, she could have been just projecting the feelings of most people in RhyDin with the chaos of the WestEnd reigning; but something about "many people close to her dying over the next year" sat sourly with the Scathachian.

It hadn't been so long ago when Isuelt wept on her knees before the statue of Scathach in the Sanctuary's Temple, pleading with her Patroness to spare her and her Sisters as they prepared to battle with whatever haunted the WestEnd. And it was still a fear that was very much present in her mind: that she would be responsible for the deaths of those she cared about.

The knock at the door didn't quite make Isuelt jump, but it did startle her loose from her thoughts. As Madam Agatha got up to attend to whatever it was that her coachman needed and left the Judge alone in the small space, curiosity began to get the better of her. She stood up slowly, minding her blades didn't knock anything over, and took a step toward a shelf where she poked about, looking at the box where her money had been placed, studying the small bed and almost rooting about any other nooks and crannies. Not truly snooping, but definitely not minding her own business.

Oh, who was she kidding...she was snooping.

As Isuelt continued to snoop, she realized that things in Madam Agatha's coach were not quite right. Not too much in the way of money or goods. And what was more curious for the Scathachian was that the incense burner had gone cold. Now, while technically Isuelt was not a gypsy, she often referred to herself as one. Being "adopted" by a caravan was far more involved than people could imagine. Even after more than ten years on her own, several things still stuck with her about the ways of the gypsy. The one cardinal rule of fortune telling, whether it was a show or a divine experience, was that incense was instrumental in ritual; no self-respecting gypsy would let their incense run out, let alone go cold.

Isuelt's brow lowered as her fingers lingered on the cold censer. It was about that time that she finally was able to recognize a second smell in the small coach. The wrinkles in her forehead deepening, Isuelt glanced to the door. Madame Agatha was still not back, nor could she be heard. Another rule broken by a so-called gypsy: leaving money unattended for so long. As the Judge made her way around the table and intended her steps to take her for the door, her boot tip nudged something. Looking down, she realized that there was a parcel or bundle beneath the table. "Charlatan," she mused as she stooped to uncover what she supposed would be "magic" behind Madam Agatha's light show. Instead, what she found was Madam Agatha.

Her breath was pressed from her lungs as swiftly as if she had been struck on the back. Tanned hands holding up the tablecloth fidgeted as she squatted there in shock. The small and elderly woman who had just minutes before been reading her fortune of doom and gloom now lay crumpled in a pitiful heap atop a pool of blood beneath the very table they had been sitting at. Isuelt reached out to touch the woman's face. Human, still warm, but with the most disturbing expression frozen on her aged cheeks.

"This is....so..." a thought pierced her consciousness, and the Scathachian stood up quickly, not bothering to cover up poor Madam Agatha. "Another f*cking setup...DAMMIT!" Isuelt bolted only two steps to reach the door and flung the door open. What was there, staring back at her was all too familiar. Five members of the City Watch ("Watch the city crumble to crap and do nothing about it", as Isuelt was fond of saying) trying on their best glowering expressions as they stood with their weapons ready.

Because of the momentum behind her already, Isuelt jumped from the coach's door, leaving the door swinging widely open on its hinges. The first Watchman could hardly contain his shock and revulsion as he saw the nearly disemboweled body of an old woman laying in a collapsed pile on the floor. He turned a sharp glance to the Scathachian and leveled a crossbow at her as his partners took their turns gaping at the murder scene. Isuelt simply sighed heavily, letting her shoulders sag and her eyes shut as she knew she was in for yet another wrongful legal runaround.

"How could you? You sicko, she was just an old woman. Scath-, Scay-, Scathlesbian or whatever the hell you are, you've gone too far this time!" the lead Watchman threatened as he backed Isuelt up against the coach with the bolt aimed at her chest.

Isuelt's hands were up in front of her, her voice never wavering, "Look, I don't expect you to believe anything I'm about to say. But I didn't do this. Check the body, check my blade! There's nothing on it! It's clean! I found her like this..." she started to pull her weapons from their scabbards, but halted. The crossbow bolt had company, the points of three blades were shoved into her face. Again, Isuelt backed herself up hard against the coach and her hands were offered up in defense. "All right...all right..." The Watchmen were all aflutter, busying themselves with cuffs and relieving Isuelt of her weapons.

The trump card had been laid at her feet yet again. Whoever that woman or man or thing was that invited her in for a fortune's reading played a good game. Too good of a game.

Isuelt had been left on her own long enough. Scorp knew that she liked to scope things out by herself and retain a certain sense of the lone wolf when she was hunting. All well and good, but they were supposed to all be combining eyes and ears on this assignment, so it was time to round up the team.

Scorp and the other female warriors assigned with him headed off in Issy's last known direction and then simply followed the audible sounds of shouting in the streets. He knew this much: where there was a volatile fray, his Issy was usually not too far behind.

When Scorp rounded the corner and spied Issy backed up against the gaudy gypsy wagon by several armed city watchmen, his thuglike temper flared like napalm and his brawler instincts took over immediately...well, most of them did.

The Big Man's self control was always top priority, but he did not like what he was seeing at all. Had this been Metro, he would have certainly drawn his sidearm and shot these men in their backs right where they stood. No questions, no drawn out debates, and certainly no compromises. Pop. Pop. Pop. Done deal.

The only thing he hated worse than pushy lawmen in his business was someone giving Issy a hard time. Her life was rocky enough without these self-righteous morons yelling at her while waving their punkass weapons in her face. Sure they were "just doing their job", but let them do it elsewhere and on someone else's time. Scorp was never much of a fan of the law in any form. Hah. There was old irony again.

He closed the distance between them in a hasty manner and sharply gripped one of the men by their right shoulder. After spinning him around so that the man's weapon could be harshly swiped from his nervous hand, Big Sexxxy got in his face with some very irate words.

"What the f**k do you think you are doing"! Do you know who this is" Do you have any minute clue who you are trying to arrest...again?""!!"

Scorp made sure to keep this watchman between himself and the others as they spun around to seemingly face a new foe. If they were going to get cute and try to take a shot, then the bastards would have a hell of time not hitting their own boy. Scorp held the smaller man firmly; ebony leather gloves gripping the man's uniform vest very tightly.

If he had to hoist the watchman higher to deflect a head shot, then no problem. The Big Man was not above using this guard as a shield if that's what it took. His Metro style meant nWo houserules. Which of course meant NO rules.

Scorp was visibly irate and he definitely looked the part. Sure, he wasn't going to do any serious damage, at least he wasn't planning on it, but these clueless watchmen wouldn't figure that out right away. In any event it would give Issy some time needed for her to react.

The Don Mega again shouted, "She's Isuelt DeRomiano of the Scathachian Sanctuary. You do remember the Scathachian priestesses right!" Can't miss "em. A bunch of gorgeous ass-kicking warrior women who are pledging themselves to keep your dilapidated city safe from the droves of psychotic inbreds! Just what in the hell do you marks think you are doing to her"!"

Chapter 37 Street Games

Delphinea's quick, long strides carried her just behind Scorpion Wraitharan. Her sandals made no sound on the city streets, there was only an occasional jingle from the golden bracelets on her ankles. She too had heard raised voices, one of them unmistakably Illea's. The group was geared up for a night of flushing out undesirables, and it looked like they were going to get a good solid start.

The look of sheer confusion on her face was obvious, even in the light of a few street lamps and the moon. How could these bumbling fools think that Illea had anything at all to do with something so ghastly. The very notion that so-called 'city guards' had put their hands on Illea once was enough to send Phin to the city by the hand of Lenai, the High Priestess back on the Island. And now to think that they were about to make the same mistake? Phin thought it was no wonder that this city was in such dire straights. Its law keepers were little more than inept children looking for the closest person to blame for a broken toy.

"You gentlemen had better find more than a little evidence in that coach before you lay your hands on a Daughter of Scathach again!" her voice followed up Mr. Wraitharan's. She maneuvered out from behind him and around to Illea's other side, her arms were folded as she stared down a very wide eyed member of the Night Watch. Her voice lowered, as if only for him, "Yes, that means you."

Seeing the formidable crowd that was gathering ready to defend the Scathachian, the watchmen began to back down. After all, it wasn't bullying if you got your ass kicked.

The Captain stepped down from the carriage and shook his heads to his men, "Her blades are clean and there are no bloody weapons inside. Besides," he looked way up at Scorpion, then took note of the muscular Delphinea, and Jewell Ravenlock whose powers were not unknown to this group. "Besides, if she was going to move a body with that much blood loss, she'd have it all over her. Or at least, there'd be a blood-soaked rag inside that she used to clean up." He sighed heavily as he gave the order to have the City Coroner summoned, and have two men stand guard outside the coach. "Ms. DeRomiano, you're free to go. But understand this..." he tried his best to be intimidating, which was almost laughable considering the company he was surrounded with, "We know what you lot are trying to do, and we just hope you get on it sooner. And don't think for one instant that we aren't going to keep our eyes on you!"

Isuelt inhaled smoothly as she retook her weapons and moved to stand with Scorpion, Jewell and Delphinea, "Both eyes, huh' Those the same eyes you all have been using to try and stop the violence in this city so far?" Scorpion grabbed her hand as to tell her to not push her luck. She got the message and simply added, "I'll keep that in mind, Captain. Good night."

She turned to Phin and winked, then she brightened a smile for Jewell. "So, shall we get back to business?" The night was still young and there would be many more occurrences for them to check out. However, tonight's incident would settle into a nice cozy spot in her memory, whether she wanted it to or not.