It had been weeks since her dismissal from the Scathachian Order, and Isuelt had taken solace in an old habit or two. Namely, running away from her problems and alcohol. What money she had, she had spent on a liquid diet and being holed up in a shabby inn about three days ride from Rhydin. However, the time was coming rapidly that she’d have to seriously consider what she was going to do for funds. As a Scathachian, she’d always had room and board, as well as a literal army at her command. But now, she was without an army, without food or shelter and without a salary of any kind. During her time apart from the Scathachians, during her stay in Metro, she had worked as a hired killer (a fact that she hid well, and a job she’d rather not go back to). Isuelt’s marketable skills were not exactly something that would fit neatly onto a resumé. Through her blurry, haze-like stupor, she sulked in a booth at the tavern downstairs from her room, staring at the empty space opposite her.
What had she done" What had become of her life" Had she been so blind to the consequences of her actions that she was left here" Alone and broke, nursing a pre-hangover.
She’d made some pretty shitty choices before, but this one just about took the cake. In her time since her exile, she’d thought a lot about her Sisters and how they were fairing on their journey. She hoped that they had made it home, back to the Island, by now. She hoped that they had an Island at all. Isuelt couldn’t help but think of how she had wronged the Scathachians and prayed to Scathach and any god who would listen, that the age-old warriors be spared from the wrath of Bhaal and his followers, from Renna.
Isuelt sighed heavily and even she could smell the whiskey on her breath. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the cushioned booth and silently cursed herself and her selfishness. She was neck deep in her self-loathing and this time, she deserved it. She had gotten distracted, by a number of things, and had lost her focus. She had taken her eyes off the Scathachian Sisterhood and it had been put in danger because of it. Her brow wrinkled, her eyes still closed, she felt the slow acidic burn of guilt boring through her very soul.
“You’re not dead…you’d better not be. You haven’t paid for that bottle yet.” The sour-faced barmaid was standing over Isuelt as she opened her eyes.
“No,” she managed to utter out past her dry lips. “No…here.” She reached into the pouch at her waist and meekly slid her last few coins to the woman.
Without a thank you, the barmaid scooped up the money and turned around.
Isuelt sighed and looked down at the table, at the last tenth of whiskey left in her bottle. The only thing she had of value at present. Should she swallow her pride and go back to Rhydin" No one there knew the details of what had transpired, though eventually, she knew that it would come out. Should she return to Metro' At least there she had Scorp; if he would still have her. There was no telling who’d she’d find in his bed. And was it even her business anymore" Should she simply go back to what she did best' Killing people for money. It was a surefire way to make a living. But she had put all that behind her…hadn’t she"
This was it. This was the crossroads of her life. And she wasn’t staring in any particular direction; she was simply staring at the near-empty whiskey bottle wishing she could drown in it.
What had she done" What had become of her life" Had she been so blind to the consequences of her actions that she was left here" Alone and broke, nursing a pre-hangover.
She’d made some pretty shitty choices before, but this one just about took the cake. In her time since her exile, she’d thought a lot about her Sisters and how they were fairing on their journey. She hoped that they had made it home, back to the Island, by now. She hoped that they had an Island at all. Isuelt couldn’t help but think of how she had wronged the Scathachians and prayed to Scathach and any god who would listen, that the age-old warriors be spared from the wrath of Bhaal and his followers, from Renna.
Isuelt sighed heavily and even she could smell the whiskey on her breath. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the cushioned booth and silently cursed herself and her selfishness. She was neck deep in her self-loathing and this time, she deserved it. She had gotten distracted, by a number of things, and had lost her focus. She had taken her eyes off the Scathachian Sisterhood and it had been put in danger because of it. Her brow wrinkled, her eyes still closed, she felt the slow acidic burn of guilt boring through her very soul.
“You’re not dead…you’d better not be. You haven’t paid for that bottle yet.” The sour-faced barmaid was standing over Isuelt as she opened her eyes.
“No,” she managed to utter out past her dry lips. “No…here.” She reached into the pouch at her waist and meekly slid her last few coins to the woman.
Without a thank you, the barmaid scooped up the money and turned around.
Isuelt sighed and looked down at the table, at the last tenth of whiskey left in her bottle. The only thing she had of value at present. Should she swallow her pride and go back to Rhydin" No one there knew the details of what had transpired, though eventually, she knew that it would come out. Should she return to Metro' At least there she had Scorp; if he would still have her. There was no telling who’d she’d find in his bed. And was it even her business anymore" Should she simply go back to what she did best' Killing people for money. It was a surefire way to make a living. But she had put all that behind her…hadn’t she"
This was it. This was the crossroads of her life. And she wasn’t staring in any particular direction; she was simply staring at the near-empty whiskey bottle wishing she could drown in it.