Word had reached her ears. There was a grizzled seaman skulking around the dockside, looking to unload a compass that didn't work to settle some gambling debts. Delphinea had picked up the intelligence during a patrol. Apparently there was a scuffle in one of the gambling halls down by pier 16 that bled out into the street. When the hulking Judge had arrived to sort out the disturbance, she found the man in question had fled. He was described as drunk, disorderly and raving mad. He had come into port only a short while before and had immediately sought out drink and cards. Clearly intoxicated, he ran up a quick debt in a poker game in the back room of The Siren's Call tavern. When he tried to pay his gambling losses with a compass, the sailor-savvy crowd claimed that it didn't work. The compass did not point true north, but instead whirled around and simply pointed south-south east. Irate, the debtors demanded real payment; while the drunken seaman went on raving that it was a compass of great worth.

Isuelt stood across the street from The Siren's Call, assessing it: dark wood, rusted window frames, uneven porch steps, and dirty walls she could see from across the way. Grem and Race knew of the place, she had spoken to them of what she had found out. Grem had ventured to check things out and see if he could find anything further on the gambling sailor who never did manage to unload his ill-functioning compass. She wondered if he had gathered any more information, or if any one else had. She wasn't sure if she would meet any of her allies, or enemies for that matter, inside. There was one way to find out.

Her long legs started the short journey across the street to the gaming tavern, looking to get in on a game of poker...

As the tall Scathachian entered the central parlor, for lack of a better term in a dive bar such as this, she had to take more than a few moments to adjust her senses to what she found. Not only was the light more than lacking, but the odor that hit her nostrils was a shrill vibration away from any normal level of sweat, salt and day-old meat. She was dressed in a simple black pair of cotton pants, which were gathered just above her knee-high black boots. And, of course, her crimson sash was left at home for this trip to The Siren's Call, leaving her midsection to sport only the deep brown weapons belt of her double blades and the black sleeveless top that she sported this late summer afternoon.

Once Isuelt's eyes had stopped watering and she was able to breathe at a nearly consistent rate, she ventured further into the room. Deep wood paneling and nautical novelty pieces hung around the parlor would have given the bar a quaint atmosphere were it not for the dust and oil that seemed to give the room's boundaries something of a slick sheen.

She didn't readily recognize anyone, which was what she wanted. If she was going to try and edge her way into whatever gambling games this place had going on in the back room, she didn't want defenses up. Isuelt paused in her slow jaunt through the room to lean against the bar to order a whiskey. At least this was a bright spot: the malt blend was actually not bad at all.

Her espresso gaze once more traveled over the darkened corners hiding all manner of citizens. The Judge stuttered over one table's lone occupant. She could have sworn she recognized him....As she swallowed briefly, she was able to pinpoint the Headmaster of Ravensheart Academy. Odd place for someone like him...

Pushing off from the bar, she headed over to his table to waver her stance to see if the recognition was mutual.

Her left eyebrow fish-hooked toward her hairline for an instant as the empty chair was kicked out at her. A smooth glance to Briarius helped to develop her theory that perhaps he was here for a bit of covert business as well.

Licking her lips, she lowered herself into the chair, careful to maneuver her blades as she sat. The Scathachian kept her whiskey-stained voice down to a muted gravel-scraped tone as she spoke, "Oh, I uh...manage every once in a while to find myself in an establishment such as this." She chuckled for a moment then leaned back in the chair, arms folding over her chest. "Especially if the card game is hot." She nodded toward the warped door that was heavy with uneven stain across its grain. Isuelt had found out that most of the serious heavy betting in poker and dice games and such happened in the back rooms of The Siren's Call.

For a moment, she thought about having a partner, whether unknowing or not, to stage her ante in the games of the back room. A darkened glance to the door; she didn't know if any of her team were joining her inside. They might be waiting in the alleyway to see how the night ended up. It wasn't really a sting right now, it was more of an information gathering. She was curious to see if that old sailor had indeed been through here with that compass that "didn't work."

"Care for a game?" She flicked her attention back to Briarius. Unceremonious yes, but then most spur of the moment ideas often were.

Her lips, if only for a moment, swept to the right as she exhaled an almost silent chuckle. Perhaps she had misjudged Briarius all these years. Of course, her trust of magic had never been what one might call solid. The Scathachian, while assuming the role of priestess, never trusted anything she couldn't touch. Steel, leather, blood: those were tangible objects and were "real" to her. Isuelt had often wondered, especially now that she found herself living in Rhydin for a significant amount of time, where it was that she had begun to mistrust anything of magic arts. She supposed it was in part from her mother's dislike of the subject, paired with the time spent with her husband traveling with his gypsy caravan so many years ago.

Regardless, the Headmaster of Ravensheart Academy was here to play the role of wingman in this little game of show and tell. She nodded her dark head to Briarius and moved toward the thick door to the back rooms. No guard stood watch, in a place like The Siren's Call, the patrons and gamblers themselves could act as guards as they looked up at the creak of the door's hinge. It looked like a rouges gallery of the Dockside's most wanted; Isuelt could nearly smell the crimes coming off of these characters like the tangeable smoke that hung in the air. She was not intimidated, nor was Briarius at her side, she guessed. Still, the collective bravado in the room made her pause and reflect on her plan.

What was her plan' She hadn't worked it out exactly, this had begun as more of an information gathering exercise. But, the truth was that any one of these men in the back room fit the description of that drunken and grizzled sailor, looking for a way to pay back a gambling debt. She was most certainly in the right place.

Her long legs stretched her strides once more to bring her further into the room. She had to remind herself that they were staring at her not because she wore her crimson sash, or came bearing the blade of Scathach's justice. They were staring at her because she was a woman. And she knew just how to use that to her advantage, just as every woman did. A cursory glance to Briarius as she took the lead, figuring him to follow in his own way, then she turned her leaning grin toward the table before her, "Care to let a lady into your game, gents?" She let her swagger punctuate her question as she headed toward the tables and sat down at an empty seat. Those deep espresso eyes lingered on each of the grimy and well-oiled faces gathered.

There were a few indistinct gutteral noises as she did so, though two of the men at the table were focused on Isuelt as if her body ended at her shoulders. "Game's a bit harsh for a lady," came the deep voice from the one holding the cards, shuffling them lightly as he turned a sharp glare upon both Isuelt and then offering a matching expression to Briarius. "Or anyone else who ain't used to a real man's hand."

"Oh, really?" Her dark brow flickered into a hook.

"Five stud. You either got balls or you ain't."

Isuelt held the dealer's gaze for a moment before she reached to the pouch at her waist. The soft leather sac hit the table with a heavy, jingling thud. "That enough balls for ya?" The other men at the table shifted in their seats, nearly salivating at the prospect of taking such a handsome sum from the foolhearty woman. A few of them looked to Briarius, thinking he would do the same. The men were already counting the rounds of rum that could be bought with the money of the newcomers.

"I didn't come in here to tickle your buoys, gentlemen. I came to win some money." She gave that a moment to let the gruff tone of her voice wear on them before she spat out, "Deal."

Both eyebrows lifted as she looked to the table top. There were two large emeralds staring back at her. And for an instant, her past came rolling back to her; how easily could she swipe the jewels and high-tail it out of some back exit' A long blink and she shook her head, bringing the Scathachian back to the present. She joined the men in peering up at Briarius.

"...or are you all content to play with girls?"

Isuelt's expression changed slightly; an arched brow, parted lips through which her toyed with the corner of her mouth. She leaned toward the table, an elbow catching the edge, as one of the men piped up.

"I got no problem with girls. Especially those who bring pretty jewels to play with." This was met with a rousing round of deep laughter from his cronies. His name, as they would learn was Rhiald, and he ran the gaming out of this back room. He gestured to the last empty seat for Briarius, "Sit down, your highness. Now, deal Prescott before I change my mind and run these two through just for kicks."

The one who presumably was Prescott, finished shuffling and began to deal as he added, "Antes in, no watchin'." Isuelt emptied her pouch and matched the bets being added to the center of the well-worn table. "Jeweled Jim over there is good for four rounds." Prescott nodded toward the smaller of the two emeralds.

Five cards were dealt to each player, but the men only lifted the first card to peek. Isuelt followed their lead, unsure about how this lot approached their game. So, with four cards left face down, she looked at her first card: eight of hearts. A quick flick of her espresso gaze to Briarius, then she heard money hitting the table. Rhiald opened the bid with a few coins, then looked to Isuelt. She matched his bet and the round continued to Briarius, who was passed over, since his emerald was sitting in the middle of the table, winking at them all.

Rhiald then picked up and looked at his second card. The big man thought for a minute, then continued his same bet until Prescott raised him. The game continued for another few rounds, bidding, raising, folding, until one of them, who went by the name of Cinder, barked through his gray-streaked beard, "As long as these two have money and not some asinine watch..."

This caught the Scathachian's attention, her lashes lifted as the banter continued. Possibly, the information on the Compass was falling right into her lap...

The ears of the magess' quasit familiar perked up as it listened to the conversation from the shelf it was hiding in. Allowing itself a soft, chittering laugh, it leaned in for a better listen of the discussion while ensuring that it still remained concealed by the items cluttering the shelf. At last, the conversation was turning toward one that held its mistress' interest and the reason for it being sent here. Now it could learn what it could for her and her colleagues....

The quasit familiar chittered another soft laugh as the compass was finally mentioned. It peered carefully around a large, dusty pot down at the gamblers, eagerly anticipating the moment that the bauble revealed itself from the old man's pockets. As soon as the object was revealed, it would be time to act. The creature knew its orders from its mistress and it would obey them without fail.

The Scathachian kept mum and kept her dark eyes on her cards. It occurred to her that she was holding a straight flush. Spades. Swords, if she were playing with her husband's people. He had been dead for almost fifteen years, but she had not forgotten his ways. She inhaled a slow, smooth breath and tossed in a few more coins, raising the table by twenty.

"Haunted anything is rubbish," she finally added to the conversation. "Why anyone or anything would choose to stick around this hell hole is beyond me." She put her cards face down and lifted her gaze to peer around the table, until she looked to Briarius. "That's why you'll always be taken like a sucker for that rot you try to peddle, thinking it's actually worth something." She scoffed, wondering if she was steering the group closer or further from gaining the compass. "You'd eat something like that up. Never could understand that."

It was a volley, and she was unsure what Briarius would make of it. At least she had given him some time to think, since the rest of the eyes at the table were focused on her. Candy made some sort of snorting noise and Cinder threw his cards down in disgust as the bet moved to him. Rhiald, however, remained quiet; his eyes skating over the Judge.

"It's been my experience that the skeptics are the ones who've the most to lose from such a thing." Rhiald's voice rumbled around his mirth. Apparently, Isuelt deduced, he thought he had quite the hand as well. His arrogance was clear in both the conversation and his counter-raise. "What's the matter, girlie" Pot getting too steep for you? Or is it that you're afraid of ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night?"

There was a beat, a pregnant pause, as Isuelt's expertly trained stare lifted to bore a hole through Rhiald. An obvious unease settled about the room, though Briarius could most likely tell that these men were coming into line, right where the pair wanted them. Their tongues were loosening, their confidence would naturally steer them wrong. The Headmaster and the Judge were counting on it.

"What's a-matter, Rhiald" Afraid to jump into fire with a woman?" She met his raise and lifted her brows toward him. "I ain't afraid of any ghosts and I sure as hell ain't afraid of you. Drop 'em." Cinder might have folded, but Briarius and Candy were still in. Isuelt knew that if there was a compass hanging around, it wouldn't be long before it made an appearance. The money on the table was heaping up and jewels and (presumably) stolen jewelry were starting to make their entrances on the pile. If she could keep them in the game long enough for them to start throwing in other items, and if she were lucky enough, she'd see that fabled silver compass tossed onto the pile.

Rhiald nearly roared with laughter as he laid his cards on the table, "Full boat, little lady. Aces over knaves." Right then, Isuelt knew that her luck could possibly be wearing thin. For Rhiald flopped three aces down along two jacks, when only three hands ago, he had had a pair of aces...and the deck hadn't been shuffled yet. Clearly he was cheating, though his cronies said nothing. Instead, there was a murmur of approval for his hand. The other hands were tossed in, not able to match up to Rhiald's tainted full house.

"Nice cards," she stalled. Rhiald's grizzled laughter began as he reached for the pot, "But that's mine." Her long fingers spread her cards upon the table. Spades, ten through six. As perfect as you please. "But you can deal, how's that?" While Rhiald looked disbelievingly at Isuelt's cards, Candy started to snicker until he was elbowed hard in the ribs by Cinder. "Ghost must have misinformed you about my cards, old man."

A sharp sigh and Rhiald's almost claw-like hands grabbed her cards and looked at them. "Damned woman, cuny's is bad luck." He spat out as he took the rest of the cards and threw them at Briarius to shuffle. "Don't know why I let you sit down in the first place."

Isuelt kept quiet. She knew that she needed to keep the game moving. And it wasn't as if she had been winning all the hands; quite the contrary. She lifted those chocolate-hued eyes to the Headmaster as he began to deal. How long could they keep this up" How long before they could see what they'd come for" At least they had verbal confirmation that they were in the right neighborhood. That was something, wasn't it?

Isuelt's deep brown eyes simply stared at Briarius. He was smooth, that was for sure. She had no idea what we was speaking in his foreign tongue, but she was secretly glad he was on her side. Or at least, she hoped he was. Magic was something that this Scathachian had never liked. Not since she was a small girl and a traveling magician had made her doll disappear. She had never trusted anyone who didn't put their own trust in steal and iron and the physical world. If she couldn't see it or touch it, she didn't trust it.

The Judge however, had a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she had seen Briarius's affect on Candy. As the bet moved to her, she folded and elicited a scoff from Rhiald at her left.

"Whassa matter, girlie" Too much man for you to handle?" Cinder's tone left little to the imagination as he groped her with his eyes. Of course, he was referring to his own grouping of cards, though it was his other hand that had disappeared below the table. Isuelt simply sighed and rolled her head to the side, her neck cracking lightly.

For the moment, Cinder had his comrades chuckling as they took the moment to refill their drinks from the bottle on the table. Briarius, as luck would have it, won the hand and the cards were being shuffled by Candy for the next round. Nervously shuffled to boot.

As the men prepared their antes, and Candy began to deal a fresh hand, it was Cinder that pushed on in his earlier behavior. His ruddy palm had left his own lap and was now seeking out Isuelt's. Cinder's tar-stained fingers brushed against her knee beneath the table. At first, the Scathachian did not react, but as his fingers never apologized for the brush, but instead began to seek out her thigh, she simply turned her head and looked squarely into Cinder's pock-marked face. The man's gap-toothed grin was left to nearly split the bottom half of his face as he waggled his brows at her. Another sigh from the Scathachian was all that Cinder could produce.

Again, his fingers traveled and tickled their way past the midpoint of her thigh. Isuelt's dark espresso gaze snapped to Cinder and she narrowed her lashes as he chuckled quietly. His cards were still on the table, his other hand having disappeared into his lap once again. Betting was coming around to him and his attention wasn't on the game, but on the prize he was reaching for. Even the light shake of Isuelt's head at him didn't dissuade the knave. Instead, he hungrily licked his lips and made a grab high inside of her thigh. By now, the others were aware of what was going on, even though she had done her best to keep it quiet. Isuelt's fingers were lightly gripping her cards: a pair of threes, an eight, a jack and an ace. Her voice was as cold as the grave as she uttered quietly to Cinder, "Take your hand off of me. Or you're going to lose it." Her tone was not threatening so much as it was matter-of-fact.

From what transpired next, one could deduce that Cinder, instead of removing his hand from Isuelt's lap, only lewdly prodded further. It happened nearly in the blink of an eye. The noise from Isuelt's chair being kicked backwards and skidding to a halt mingled with the scrape of Cinder's chair against the floor. The Scathachian's iron-like grip seized Cinder's trespassing hand and planted it firmly on the table top. A dagger from nearly thin air, was plucked and poised above Cinder's palm; her muscled arm ready to strike. She gave him a fraction of a second to plead, beg, apologize...anything. The same amount of time that she gave the rest of the men in the room to catch up to what exactly had just happened.

"F*ck you, bitch!" This was the last thing Cinder offered in a voice that wasn't pitched with wails. The sharpened blade struck like an asp, sufficiently stapling the rogue's hand to the table beneath it. With the hilt of the dagger sticking straight up toward the ceiling, Cinder howled and jumped up, hopping in place. Rhiald remained seated, but snarled at Isuelt. And for some odd reason, Candy cackled like he'd seen the funniest thing in a decade.

"Keep your f*cking hands in your own lap, you sick son of a bit—" The Scathachian halted her words as she saw a triangular white corner of a playing card peeking out from underneath Cinder's sleeve. "W'the f*ck?" She grabbed at it and pulled not one, but two aces from the heavy fabric of his jacket sleeve. "You cheating bastard!" Suddenly, it was as if the cheating was worse than the groping.

"God damnit, Cinder," Rhiald muttered. "What the hell are you doing" Again?" He threw in his cards and began to reach for Cinder's pile of money. "What did I tell you about that?"

Candy's eyes flew wide as he, too, went for a "fair share" of Cinder's winnings.

"This how you run a game?" Isuelt's cold glare was turned on Rhiald as Cinder's impaled hand was forgotten by all but Cinder, who was now sitting and whimpering as he struggled to remove the dagger buried deeply in the middle of his palm and the table beyond.

"Ah, ain't nothin' we don't usually see, lass. Sit down and stop acting like you're so offended." A flicked brow at her and he gathered up the cards and began to shuffle.

Isuelt's gaze ticked to Briarius as she sat down. Candy was divvying up Cinder's winnings, leaving the groping assailant with nothing. Pity must have struck dim-witted Candy, however. For he reached deeply into his coat pocket and tossed a trinket across the table to his friend. "Here ya go, Cin. Don't say I never left ya with nothin'!" The circular golden compass skidded to a spinning halt just in front of Cinder, who had finally managed to pull Isuelt's dagger from his hand and free himself from the table.

"I don't want your stinkin' haunted watch, or whatever that hell that thing is!" His pride hurt perhaps more deeply than his own flesh, Cinder cradled his hand and spat at Isuelt after he yelled at Candy.

Isuelt, however, was paying no mind to the spittle that overshot her nose. Instead, she was staring at the compass as it slowly spun in place on the table. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. It was as much as she could do to snap her attention to Briarius.

Would it really be this easy"

As soon as the compass appeared and the shades of drowned sailors started appearing throughout the room, spreading discord and panic, the quasit familiar knew now that the opportunity was ripe for the taking. The tiny demon flew out from its hiding space and swooped down to snatch the compass while the mage conversed with the woman. That was when the struggle would truly begin.

Briarius would try to strike the quasit with spells, and perhaps if it was a normal demon of its type, the spells probably would have worked. But it was not a normal demon of its type, it was a familiar of a very powerful magess and thus its resistance to magic was far stronger than expected. Eventually Briarius would recognize this fact and try another strategy, so the quasit needed to work quickly and fluttered its wings rapidly as it made a beeline toward the door.

It then learned that the door was warded and cursed its frustration in Abyssal.

It could not afford to fail its mistress in this task, so the quasit flew around the room for a moment and then darted behind a toppled chair from one of the panicked gamblers. It was then that the quasit used its invisibility to cause it and the compass it carried to wink out from visible sight. It moved slowly away from the chair, relying on the nondetection spell that its mistress had cast on it earlier to avoid being spotted by Briarius, but now that the mage knew it was here, the chances of it remaining hidden by invisibility were not good.

And so the quasit's anxiety grew.

**************

A block away, Dracina Hemdagg, awaited for the quasit's arrival as her empathic link with her familiar suddenly expressed a victorious sense of excitement. With confidence, she smoothed out her emerald green dress and composed herself as she would need to be ready to cast a spell to determine if this compass really was the compass. She looked back to her armored guards, both vampires sired by herself, and told them to prepare the coach for leaving this derelict road.

Unfortunately she gave that order too soon as suddenly the empathic link with her familiar was communicating frustration and even anxiety. Something or someone was interfering with her familiar's task. Muttering an elvish curse, she knew that something was wrong at the Siren's Call. She turned and strode toward the coach, telling the vampire guards to belay her previous order.

She opened the coach door and reached into the seating where she withdrew a pair of gems. Immediately she crushed them and in mere seconds, she was clad head to toe in pitch-black armor and held the even darker sword, Deathbringer. Her next words were a cold hiss.

"Come, my childer, we have meddling fools to deal with," she said before darting down the road with alarming speed.

"Close your eyes!"

As she closed her eyes, Briarius moved towards her while producing a small vial of a fatty substance. He chanted as he moved to her and rubbed the substance on her eyes.

"Open them and you can see what took the compass!"

Isuelt could now see invisible things and could not see Briarius' illusions. Briarius turned and shut the door after the last fleeing gambler with a word. His magicks now barred the room from any exit or entry mundane or magickal.

Once the quasit familiar realized that the nondetection spell was failing to reinforce its invisibility, it knew it had to defend itself and the compass. Just as the Schathachian came running at it, the tiny demon began to change shape and grow in size while the compass seemed to meld into its flesh. Before Isuelt could register it, she was now staring down the eyes and open maw of a wolf.

The changed beast leaped at her, fangs and claws bared for battle. Unfortunately it would retain all the defenses natural to its demonic nature and status as a familiar, susceptible only to blows from cold iron. Its teeth gnashed for her throat as its heavy paws with extended claws slammed into her.

If it was a fight these interlopers wanted, it thought, it was a fight they would get!

**************

Meanwhile, outside the Siren's Call, Dracina arrived with her two vampiric guards in tow. Taking note of the commotion both within and without as people scurried away, screaming things about ghosts, the Countess narrowed her eyes as she cast another spell. Watching the building carefully, the aura came to register in her vision and it confirmed her suspicions. There was another spellcaster here; it was the only thing that could explain why her quasit familiar could not make its escape.

Acting quickly, Dracina bestowed the spells of haste and greater mage armor to herself and to her two guards. To her guards' weapons, she granted the power of a magic weapon. With these support spells cast, she turned to face the Siren's Call and sped forward with even greater supernatural speed and channeled a spell through Deathbringer, causing it to elicit a deafening bell sound as she slammed it into the front wall of the building that shattered the wood into splinters, clearing a path for her and her guards.

Glancing around, she gauged the source of the aura of magic to be originating from a back room. Clearly it was a place set away for gambling, and she could feel the empathic fury of her familiar come from within. Confidently, ignoring the panicked patrons still within, she strode toward the door, eyes glaring through her helm's visor. She noted a powerful abjuration spell in effect around the room, clearly a ward of some sort.

Finally, she decided to deliver an ultimatum.

"I'm giving you ten minutes to surrender, interlopers," she said coldly, and loudly enough for those within to hear. "You have no hope to win. That...?"then she considered the possibility of a Scathachian being involved and tailored her words to tone down suspicion?"...that magical item could be dangerous in inexperienced hands. So you have the opportunity to give it up. Either way, I will be coming in there and don't think your wards will be strong enough to keep me out. I'm willing to risk even a disjunction spell if I must, and any wizard worth her salt knows that has a chance of destroying the magical item you're keeping from me."

Nevertheless, Dracina was confident that if this indeed was the Compass of Scathach, that it would be strong enough to withstand a disjunction spell. Nevertheless, if it didn't, destroying an artifact was risky business"even dangerous"but at the moment, it was a risk she was willing to consider.

Daring to believe her eyes, Isuelt shrank back as her beloved compass seemed to dissolve into the growing darkness before her. The shape of the creature took on the unmistakable shape of a menacingly mawed wolf. Her breath came quicker now as she reacted to the deathly lunge made at her throat. The priestess threw herself backwards as she turned away, her body landing in a push-up stance, parallel to the ground. Isuelt deftly rolled to her side then and as she squatted and stood momentarily out of the direct path of the wolf. Both of her revered holy blades were now drawn; and it was in times like this when she gripped the hilts tightly and offered up an instantaneous prayer of gratitude for Scathach's blessing on her steel.

Her own low growl was rumbling past her lips even before she made her counterstrike. The Scathachian warrior, having narrowly escaped the razored jaws of the beast who had usurped the relic, sent her blades slashing toward the snout and jaw of the phantom wolf. As is this priestess's usual, her vision clouded over in a surreal film of red. Battle sent Isuelt a warming sensation throughout her form, which only subsided as she plunged herself deeper into the heat of war.

The voices behind her, a female's and Briarius's began to melt into the background as her scrimmage with the wolf took her attention. The growling and grunting from both of them rose into a pitched crescendo, punctuated by the singing steel in the priestess's hands. Her dark eyes were ever aware as they kept searching for some sign of her compass as she continued to dance with the lupine.

After establishing a rhythm with her opponent, Isuelt glanced over her shoulder at Briarius. Her frustration with the way her outing had gone was gripping her just below her gut. Rage plunged up through her body and surged from her muscles as she looked back to the wolf, and letting loose a roar of her own as she lunged forward toward it, looking to end him and find her relic. For her Sisters needed it so.

"Not so fast."

Briarius uttered an ancient word of power as he approached the familiar that caused the quasit to freeze where it was and drop the compass to the ground.

The little demon couldn't move and knew it was helpless to the warrior woman and archmage that were so dangerously close.

The gnashing maw of the beast before her struck a pause. And even with her backside along the proverbial wall, the practiced warrior knew enough to take the opportunity before her. A solid and sturdy swipe with her right blade, her most dominate strike, rendered the wolf into a dream-like state where he eventually fizzled into a sparkling symphony of nothingness. Though his obliteration into darkness was more to do with what Dracina and Briarius were concocting, still the Scathachian chalked it up as a victory.

Scrambling to a position with some semblance of a priestess's dignity; also known as getting up off the floor. She could hear the arcane tongues of Briarius and of Dracina both and it was more than obvious what was going on. The two spell weavers were beginning a battle of sorts. A few of their words crept to her ears and before she could turn fully toward them, the Scathachian saw a glimmer of light on the dusty floorboards. The Compass.

In the dimly clouded light of the dingy back room of The Siren's Call, the golden metal of what she believed was her Scathachian relic was vibrating...and moving...right toward the outstretched hand of that woman.

"No," Isuelt's whisper was more of an exhale than an actual vocalization. Her fingers quickly reached to her right boot, and pinched the release of the dagger held there in the shaft. Flinging the blade toward the dagger, it landed just in front of the golden relic, sticking deeply into the floorboards with a jostling reverberation that sent the compass on a ricocheted path.

Isuelt did not know the full capabilities of the woman who was after the compass. But, for that matter, she did not know the full capabilities of Briarius either. Her reverent hope was that he could keep her occupied long enough for Isuelt to grab hold of the compass and see if it truly was what she had been searching for. The compass was spinning at an odd angle, away from both Dracina and Briarius, her dagger being enough to sent it on an alternate route for the time being. And this Scathachian would waste no more time. Her boots kicked off against the floor as she hurried to try and grab hold of the compass. If she could only reach the skidding relic before the other two, she knew that nothing short of killing her would see her letting it go!

The vampiress' eyes grew wild as she witnessed the other wizard disappear into the plume of smoke. If he just did what she thought he'd did, her fury would know no bounds. But still, there was the small (albeit unlikely) chance that he was still here. Wasting not a further moment, she called upon the arcane energies at her disposal once again, her incantations filling the room. In moments they were answered by strong gusts of wind that dispersed the smoke from view.

Only now would both she and the Scathachian still present see if Briarius had fled like the coward that she suspected him of being.

Briarius's plan had worked. He was gone, and so was the Compass. But perhaps that was what he had intended all along. A sick feeling came over Isuelt's insides, even as the violent gust of wind from Dracina's magical rage swept through the room and dispersed even the last wisp of smoke.

What had she done" Where had he gone with her Compass" What were his plans for this relic that alone would show the holder the secreted route to the Island of Shadow?

She had failed. The Scathachian warrior stood, panting, in the midst of the dingy back card room of The Siren's Call. Isuelt felt as if she would scream, or faint, or rip herself to shreds. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears and it was all she could do not to cut out her own heart as she lifted her weary eyes to the woman who stood across the room from her.

Dracina's long form was strong and resolute, and her penetrating gaze was nearly unbearable. Isuelt's blades were unsheathed and in her hands. She had no idea of what this woman was truly capable of; and frankly, she was ready for just about anything.

Once more her thoughts dabbled in the rhetoric she often spouted; about hating magic. If she couldn't see it, touch it or understand it, to Isuelt it was evil. Steel, leather, bone and blood. Those things were real and those things she could relate to. Now, standing opposite an obvious magic weaver, the Scathachian began to sweat. She knew when she was out of her element. Her dark eyes toggled only briefly around the room; she gauged where she was, where Dracina was, where the door was.

This was going to get interesting rather quickly. And the warrior knew that in a matter of moments, her life could simply be over. If today was the day for her journey to end, she was not happy about it. She felt she had let her Sisters down, her Goddess down. And going out on that sort of note sat rather sourly with this Scathachian. Isuelt resolved, therefore, to go out swinging...perhaps literally. Whatever this magic weaver was ready to throw, she would do her best to deflect it and live to fight another day.

A terrible rage shot through her as her suspicion was confirmed. The other mage was gone and he had the compass as well. Her wild eyes narrowed and turned toward the Scathachian that remained. If looks could kill, Isuelt would have been a smoldering cinder at that point. A dark, malicious smile spread across her lips, its menacing nature enhanced by the black, macabre, steel helm that concealed most of her features.

"Well, well, it looks as though your ally has betrayed you," she said coldly. "Like the coward that he is, he's abandoned you to my mercy."

Dracina's quasit familiar chittered with laughter as it flew over to land on its mistress' shoulder. Immediately she sheathed her obsidian blade, its fell power being laid to rest for the moment. She retrieved a leather glove from a pouch on her belt and began evoking her arcane powers once more through wild, precise somatic gestures and incantations. Eventually the glove glowed with power and the air around Isuelt crackled with energy.

Suddenly a massive hand of energy manifested, and grasped the Scathachian tightly, holding her in place. Dracina's malicious smile widened to a Cheshire grin before erupting into hysterical laughter. That laughter would rattle Isuelt to the bone as it was the laughter of a madwoman.

Then, Dracina turned to leave Isuelt to wrestle with the giant energy hand, exiting the room. After reaching the front of the Siren's Call, Dracina turned back to face the room. Confident that Isuelt was still struggling with the grasping hand, she retrieved a small piece of guano from her spell component pouch and began calling upon the arcane energies again. It would do well to dispose of the Scathachian now while she still held that opportunity, and this spell would be most effective in ensuring that.

As the guano was consumed by the spell, she pointed to the gambling room and a bead of flame erupted from her fingertip and sped toward it. Upon reaching the threshold of the door, a point arbitrarily decided by Dracina upon casting, the bead exploded into a massive ball of flame, consuming everything in its radius.

As the gambling room burned, Dracina left the tavern. Her next task would be to track down Briarius and the Compass of Scathach?if indeed it was Scathach's compass.

The plains-woman wandered the urban streets, still slightly unnerved by how close everyone and everything was in one single spot. While she understood that some viewed cities as bastions of mutual support and defense, Sorandra felt the nomadic ways of her people were far superior. After all, why supply the enemy with a permanent target to plot over when one could keep those enemies plotting as you moved around? It was unfortunately wisdom that had not been observed by her own Scathachian temple. One day she would see her Sisters avenged.

She was on her way to check up on Illea on her search for the Compass of Scathach and to provide any assistance if needed. The word around the Sanctuary was that she had gone to the Siren's Call to investigate the rumors of a broken compass there and had involved aid from someone outside of the Scathachian Sisterhood. Her skin had prickled at those words, not fully trusting anyone here who had not pledged themselves to the way of Scathach.

It was as Sorandra strode along the street to to Siren's Call that she began to smell smoke. Her nostrils flared and her eyes widened before she quickened her pace. Rounding the corner, she saw her worst fears confirmed. The Siren's Call was aflame! Just as she was about to dash across the way to investigate the scene a horse-drawn carriage, unusually driverless, nearly ran her down. Taking note of this odd sight, she resumed her way to the burning building.

People were everywhere outside, screaming about ghosts and sorcerers and monsters, but nowhere did she see Illea. She asked around and was told the dark-haired woman and her elven companion had never come out. Concern gripping her heart, she wrapped one of her furs over her nose and mouth and began searching for water. To her fortune, there was a drinking trough for horses nearby and she immediately lifted it and poured the water onto herself. With that, she charged into the building and began her search for Illea.

Sorandra did not see any sign of her Sister in the commons, but there was a room in back where the fire was the most concentrated. Calling Illea's name, she received no response. There was a burning beam blocking the doorway into that room and with all of her might, she began kicking it away. Eventually it broke and allowed her passage.

It was when she entered that room that she saw Illea, seemingly being crushed by a giant hand formed from energy. As the hand was continuously licked with flame, it seemed to grow dimmer, as though damaged by the fire. Recognizing such dark sorcery from the vile shamans of the Hirgaad, she immediately unsheathed her twin blades and began slicing at the hand. It did not fight back, merely holding Illea there. Meanwhile, the flames tried to lick at her wet flesh, but the moisture guarded her well for the time being.

Eventually there was a resounding pop and the giant hand ceased to exist. Sorandra sheathed her blades and scooped up an unconscious Illea into her arms, briefly checking her Sister's neck for a pulse. It was there, but only barely and the Scathachian plains-woman looked around for a means of escape from this deathtrap. Burning debris was falling everywhere and the way to the commons had been blocked again. The only other way out was....

The back door! Feeling to uncomfortable heat begin to singe her through her rapidly evaporating covering of water, she ran for that door, ramming against it with all of her might. Eventually it burst open, and not too late either as behind her, somewhere in another room, an explosion took place and the flames grew in intensity. Keeping her body between Illea and the fire, she leaped out into the alley in a rolling somersault and landed several yards from the tavern's back walls.

She looked down at Illea briefly, noting a few minor burns, but nothing too severe. Quietly she whispered the fellow Scathachian's name, touching her cheek, but again received no response. Illea was out.

Mustering the reserves of her strength, Sorandra lifted Illea again and carried her off to the Sanctuary.

When the elven man looked back up to her, she had readjusted Illea to lean securely against her and she had one of her blades out and pointed at his throat. Sorandra's gaze was one filled with fury and it was clear that if the mage did not choose his words or actions wisely, she'd likely kill him where he stood. This man had just admitted that it was his fault that Illea had been left in this situation which gave her all the more reason to despise and distrust him.

"Speak and act carefully, sorcerer," she said, the venom of her seething rage coating her words. "What happened in there" Why did you leave Illea" And last of all, give me a reason why I should even trust you?"

The sword didn't waver. It remained firmly inches from Briarius' throat. She wanted answers and she wanted them now.

The cool air and fresh breeze, even if it was in the back of The Siren's Call, must have done her good. Not to mention the fact that the pressure that had threatened to crush her into nothing but juice and pulp had ceased. In through her nostrils, a breath was drawn. It staggered at first, but then sensed that it was unencumbered and deepened. Isuelt's grateful lungs filled with life-sustaining air and her lashes did a bit more than simply flutter: they parted with a shot. Another gulping intake of oxygen through her nose and the Scathachian sat bolt upright, only marginally aware of two others with her. She took a few moments to get her bearings; no, she was no longer being engulfed by fist and flame, she was outside with quiet voices around her, speaking in a hurried manner. She could see Briarius holding some small bottle out, and...and Sorandra, one of the newest Scathachian Sisters to arrive in Rhydin, beside her.

"What's...happened?" Isuelt cleared her throat and shook her head lightly, sending espresso tresses tumbling free from their leather tie back. She felt like she needed a drink...and a shower. Another deeper breath and she tried to stand, Isuelt felt Sorandra's strong arms around her midsection and on her left arm as she supported her. She blew out her inhale, it wasn't the best choice however; there was a dull throb followed by a stabbing pain in her side as she did so. She nodded her head as she felt Sorandra's gentle inquisition as to her status.

It was then that Isuelt recollected all that had happened. Perhaps the blood had fully regained its pathway system to her brain. Those deep chocolate eyes fixated sharply on Briarius. "Where's the Compass?" Her voice, while it did not yet possess all of the strength it normally did, was full well edged with her usual graveled grit as it rolled past her tongue.

Briarius relaxed greatly once he knew Isuelt was not in danger of being lost.

"I can only offer my apologies. I had to act quickly to keep your Compass safe. By the way it is resonating in my realm, I can tell that it is an artifact of my cousin Scathach...at least a deity that is of the same realm. I will gladly take you to my realm of Noledor and use the Compass' power to transport you to the place it will guide you and keep you safe. However, I am asking a lot for you to trust me. I know that is difficult for you both. All I can rely on is my own reputation. Lady Isuelt, am I known to be a man of evil, deceit, and trickery or one of honor and righteousness?"

He gestured to the vial on the ground.

"The choice is yours, you can trust me or not. I am at your mercy."

The mage kneeled and folded his hands atop his head making it impossible to make a gesture without getting cut down first. He really was prone to their decision.

"If you cannot go with me to my realm, the best alternative would be to give you The Compass at your Sanctuary. If you believe it can withstand an attack from all entities who see it."

His gaze was level and calm.

"Long has it been my purpose to locate and retrieve powerful artifacts to keep them safe and out of control of evil. You will not sway me from this task. Not even with a sword to my throat will my adherence to duty falter. So, perhaps we can discuss this like civilized beings and not reduce it to violence? Although I wish to keep The Compass safe from those who would misuse it, it is clear that there are others who serve this purpose as well and by conflicting with them, I may cause the ire of my cousin...and she is not one I like to upset."

He offered a small smirk.

After the two left, Briarius made certain a simple memory charm was cast to make the sisters and himself forgotten. With that, he vanished.