There were a lot of people in Rhydin who questioned Isuelt, or more exactly, her methods. She had acquaintances and strangers alike who asked how she wasn't lonely or why she didn't actively seek out company or what she actually did up on those rooftops all night long anyway (there were a couple of folks whom she'd overheard betting on if she just slept up there and nothing more). Even two of her Sisters approached her and voiced their concern over what they considered "unhealthy behavior," her solitude and her "brooding ways." The truth was that it was easier to be alone. It was far less complicated. There was nothing to explain to someone who wouldn't understand, no reason to constantly make up excuses for why she wasn't where she said she would be.
Lying wasn't really her thing, she'd never had respect for those that used their tongues only for twisting the truth. But truth could be a tricky and slippery slope; especially when it is buried as deeply as Isuelt liked to bury her secrets. So, in essence, her solitude was not a comment on her dislike for other people, but rather an admission of guilt for her own short comings. Most of the other Scathachians, both here in Rydin and those back home on the Island, knew that the moody Isuelt was best left to her own devices. They found it easier that way. For Isuelt naturally was hard on those around her and especially stringent on those whom she determined had earned the title of "friend." However, she was never hard on anyone like she was hard on herself.
There was no moon tonight to speak of, no silvery beam to shine in her eyes to distract her from her thoughts. Even so, Isuelt blinked heavily and sighed as she rubbed her right eye and continued to stare down on the streets of Old Temple. Her reverie had been sullen as of late and she was starting to feel it weigh on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The breeze coming in from the east shifted the braid at her back only slightly, leaving behind a soft salted fragrance that was far more pleasant this far inland. The Judge sighed once again and decided she would call it a night. Her thighs tightened against the leather of her pants as she stood tall, cutting a mean silhouette against the dim lamps along the roofline. She would have nothing to report to Lieutenant Cullen this night; the district was quiet, she thought to herself, almost forlornly as she took to the adjacent rooftop which housed the stairs. By the time she reached the street level, she had nearly put herself deeper into her sour mood by silently bemoaning the fact that she wouldn't have any adventures tonight.
It was right about then that she caught something out of the corner of her eye...
Blinking only once, Isuelt began to turn her head toward what she thought was a flash of light. She never got a chance to see the object, not really. But she felt it. It happened so quickly. Strong fingers encased in leather gripped at her throat, the iron-like arm extending from there had encircled her arms and torso in a near-excrutiating bear hug. There was that blade that she had seen briefly suddenly pressing on her throat, held taught and steady and she was pulled back against a tall, solid man whose other hand was already at her waist. Isuelt's shock was more than measured as his fingers beat hers to her weapons. A touch of pressure just below her bellybutton and Isuelt heard her swords, belt and all, clang to the ground. She was just about to ponder how in the world he was able to undo her belt so quickly when she heard a voice licking at her ear in a familiar low rumble.
"Getting a little slow on the draw, aren't you Iz?" His lips brushed just behind her lobe. "This place has made you soft..."
Lying wasn't really her thing, she'd never had respect for those that used their tongues only for twisting the truth. But truth could be a tricky and slippery slope; especially when it is buried as deeply as Isuelt liked to bury her secrets. So, in essence, her solitude was not a comment on her dislike for other people, but rather an admission of guilt for her own short comings. Most of the other Scathachians, both here in Rydin and those back home on the Island, knew that the moody Isuelt was best left to her own devices. They found it easier that way. For Isuelt naturally was hard on those around her and especially stringent on those whom she determined had earned the title of "friend." However, she was never hard on anyone like she was hard on herself.
There was no moon tonight to speak of, no silvery beam to shine in her eyes to distract her from her thoughts. Even so, Isuelt blinked heavily and sighed as she rubbed her right eye and continued to stare down on the streets of Old Temple. Her reverie had been sullen as of late and she was starting to feel it weigh on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The breeze coming in from the east shifted the braid at her back only slightly, leaving behind a soft salted fragrance that was far more pleasant this far inland. The Judge sighed once again and decided she would call it a night. Her thighs tightened against the leather of her pants as she stood tall, cutting a mean silhouette against the dim lamps along the roofline. She would have nothing to report to Lieutenant Cullen this night; the district was quiet, she thought to herself, almost forlornly as she took to the adjacent rooftop which housed the stairs. By the time she reached the street level, she had nearly put herself deeper into her sour mood by silently bemoaning the fact that she wouldn't have any adventures tonight.
It was right about then that she caught something out of the corner of her eye...
Blinking only once, Isuelt began to turn her head toward what she thought was a flash of light. She never got a chance to see the object, not really. But she felt it. It happened so quickly. Strong fingers encased in leather gripped at her throat, the iron-like arm extending from there had encircled her arms and torso in a near-excrutiating bear hug. There was that blade that she had seen briefly suddenly pressing on her throat, held taught and steady and she was pulled back against a tall, solid man whose other hand was already at her waist. Isuelt's shock was more than measured as his fingers beat hers to her weapons. A touch of pressure just below her bellybutton and Isuelt heard her swords, belt and all, clang to the ground. She was just about to ponder how in the world he was able to undo her belt so quickly when she heard a voice licking at her ear in a familiar low rumble.
"Getting a little slow on the draw, aren't you Iz?" His lips brushed just behind her lobe. "This place has made you soft..."