Soured by her troubles on the road as of late, the Scathachian pressed ever on, though it was with an even darker disposition than she normally sported. Isuelt was sick of being hit on, flirted with, winked at and generally being gawked over. It seemed the nastier she behaved toward her would-be suitors, the more they multiplied. She hated them, she hated them all. And she hated herself for doing whatever it was that she was doing to bring this attention to herself. She was not the type who sauntered into a new place, full of giggles and lashes. She was, in fact, the antithesis of such banal behavior. Isuelt had traveled far and wide, and it amazed her that no matter where she went, those buxom maidens with their lilting laughs and fretful feminine woes were in every corner of the known world.
What was more, she pondered the very real possibility of an arc in her temper. There were several incidents as of late that were weighing heavily on her mind. After Renna's little experiment with the Rage Virus, Isuelt had had moments when her abilities outweighed her conscience. Most recently, the Name Keeper of the Temple of the Divine Mother when Jewell was at stake. She had beheaded and eviscerated him, with orders to have his body left outside the city and unburied. Most recently, three nights ago, she had murdered a highwayman after he had killed her mare and would have done a number of things to Isuelt, had she let him. Both men had it coming, as she would have said if she had been brought before a tribunal or the like. But there was no one who would bring her to justice for these killings, was there" With the highwayman, there were no witnesses, and with the Name Keeper"well, there were just the Knights of St. Aldwin, Lirssa, Rand and the young witch, Mallory. And all of them were witness to the entire event. Not one of them would dare have turned her in after what they saw that night; after Kal seemingly killed Jewell. Though Lieutenant Cullen had caught wind of something that had happened that night at the Sanctuary nightclub, he had been wise enough to leave it alone and stop pursuing Isuelt as a suspect in the headless body case. At least, for now.
Her brain hurt. She couldn't bear to keep thinking about these events anymore today. She noticed a town on the horizon and hurried her pace. Something about being around a lot of people might help to keep her mind off of things, at lest for a little while. When she arrived at the town, the first place she looked for was a tavern, preferably with an inn attached where she could partake in a meal and get some rest. It wasn't too difficult to find, The Devil's Flask Inn was right in the middle of town. As Isuelt tethered the highwayman's horse, which she had taken since she had to burry her own mare, she shook her head at the name of the inn. "Nothing says good omens like drinking with the devil?" She sighed and looked the establishment over as she headed through the front door.
The place was crowded enough, which she actually liked. It meant that most people there wouldn't notice one extra person trying to eat in peace while blending into the background. She made her way toward a smaller table set up near the wall close to what appeared to be a few dart boards. After making eye contact with the curvy barmaid, the pretty little blonde headed over. "Get ya something hot' Or do ya need coolin" off, lass?"
Isuelt lifted her chin to the waitress, "Uh"just some bread and whatever is warm in the kettle. Thank you."
"Sure thing, miss." There was a swish of the barmaid's skirts.
"Oh," Isuelt called out to her, "And a whisky. Neat."
The buxom blonde smiled and nodded once to the Scathachian before she disappeared through what Isuelt assumed was this town's crowd of regulars. However, shortly before her food arrived, a friendly game of darts started up between a few of the room's more masculine patrons. Only, instead of darts, this lot were yucking it up with daggers. No wonder the target boards looked so devastated. Isuelt could only shake her head at the luck she was having on this so-called vacation; and how, with the mix of alcohol, testosterone and weapons, her table choice had gone from placid to perilous.
Still, she thanked the waitress for her meal and drink and tried her best not to seem too unnerved. Isuelt had not yet gotten through half of the stale bread and lukewarm broth, when she was approached once more by the barmaid carrying a tankard of the house's specialty.
"I didn't order this," far be it from Isuelt to refuse a drink, but she was a stranger in a strange land.
"'Course ya didn't, honey. It's from Caleb over there," the blonde gestured vaguely to a big man sitting at an oddly looking small table with a few daggers in it. Or perhaps it was the man's size that created the optical illusion. He and his mates had been some of the men tossing knives at the poor targets. Though Caleb was no longer participating, it seemed he was looking for a new sport.
Blowing a stray lock of hair from her face, the barmaid continued, "He's always in here, and only occasionally buys a girl a drink. You should be flattered, ya know."
Isuelt rolled her dark eyes; flattered was the last thing she was. "I don't want it," she pushed the tankard back toward the blonde. But the woman simply shrugged and walked away, leaving the tankard where it stood, on the table.
She stared at the full drink and let out a heavy sigh. She knew that whether she touched it or not, it would only be a matter of time before the hulking man wandered over here to introduce himself and his ....talents. Suddenly losing her appetite, Isuelt leaned back from the table and shook her head, muttering under her breath, "I'm getting too old for this?"
As if on cue, Isuelt pushed the cold remnants of her meal from her, and good old Caleb made his move. The tall man stood near the table, as if awaiting her to acknowledge his presence. So, of course, Isuelt inhaled a slow and patient breath while taking in the intimate wood grain pattern of the table. She figured he wouldn't go away so easily, and he obliged her with an answer to her unvoiced hypothesis.
"Good eve, my lady," throwing in a bow, no less.
The Scathachian's eyes swept up toward the man, her face was the very portrait of annoyance. "I'm not your lady, I don't want the drink, and I'm not interested in screwing you." Clearly she was tired; tired of the scenario, or tired of traveling. It was probably both.
Straightening, Caleb looked down on the auburn-haired woman. If it was at all possible for a man of his stature to look emotionally wounded, he did.
"Look," the tiniest pinprick of guilt seeped into Isuelt's conscience, "I'm just a traveler, passing through." After a pause, she added, "And I'm married." Lie or not, usually that did the trick.
"Then I shall trouble you no further," and a hasty retreat was in order for poor old Caleb. Isuelt sighed and decided that it was indeed time to call it a night. Once the barmaid came back to the table, Isuelt paid for her dinner and procured a room, then gratefully made the trek up the stairs. All she wanted was a quiet night to herself, but Isuelt rarely got what she truly wanted.
She didn't even remember getting into bed, really. The old adage of "falling asleep before your head hit the pillow" was making itself felt. Isuelt craved sleep. Not the sleep you get on an average night, but the refreshing total relaxation that comes to us only when we are very young. Isuelt was, in fact, quite far from being very young. She had recently taken to counting the gray hairs at her temples. And though they were still relatively few, there were enough of them for her to notice.
So, when the Scathachian woke with a start, she next felt the agonizing annoyance of once more being robbed of her sought-after eight hours. She was still laying still, letting her eyes become accustomed to the dark. She wasn't sure at first what had woke her, but she knew that something didn't feel right. She could almost feel someone else in the room, almost hear the breathing out of rhythm with her own. Isuelt's fingers curled around the dagger she kept under her pillow as she endeavored to still herself and listen.
It happened so quickly, it was like the world tilted all at once. She distinctly heard a sharp movement only a split second before her ankle was grabbed. Isuelt felt herself yanked with an incredible strength down the length of the bed. She tried to turn her head, and in doing so, follow the movement with her entire body. All she managed to do, however, was get a glimpse of a dark figure hovering above her. Her knuckles were white in the dark as they wrapped around her dagger. Letting out a grunt as her arm heaved the blade in a forward slash, the point of the knife sliced across skin and muscle.
She heard the muffled torment of her aggressor as his arm played foil to Isuelt's dagger. Straightaway, she turned her body to face him, aiming to get a better shot. Before she could focus on her target, a searing pain ripped through her shoulder. The Scathachian cried out, knowing the burn of a blade well. Isuelt gritted her teeth and continued to bore her vision through the darkness. She finally viewed the outline of the man, one arm was rising. She knew too well what was at the end of the upraised arm, she knew she might only have a moment to act. Without renewing her grip on her dagger, she twistingly lunged it forward.
Isuelt felt the softness of the abdomen give way under the blade; and when the subtle sound of a sucking of breath was heard from the man, she knew she had hit her mark. Keeping her strong hand on the blade, and bringing its mate to join it at the hilt, she forced the dagger upward until she felt the edge grate into bone, and twisted the weapon once again. There was a rush of warmth over her body as the man began to bleed over her. Yet, he was far from spent. Another stab at her shoulder from his weapon sent a white-hot pain through her arm. Then, the weight of him collapsed on her, forcing the air from her lungs. Arching her back amid her injuries, she managed to push the big man off and to the side.
Isuelt's breath now came in ragged gasps, as she tried to distance herself from the pain in her shoulder. She rolled over on her side, her body wallowing in the blood-slickened bed sheets. She knew the man beside her was still alive, she could hear him breathing and trying to move. However, he was having a much rougher time of it than she was.
She made a decision then to leave. She didn't need the proprietor of the Inn, nor the town's lawman coming down on her and adding to the suspicions that Lieutenant Cullen back in Rhydin already had about her. Slowly, she dragged herself from the bed and moved to the washbasin. She quickly cleaned and wrapped her shoulder as best she could in the dim room. Gingerly then, she got dressed and strapped on her boots first, weapons second. Isuelt's pulse was still raging as she finished preparing; she glanced at the hulking man on the bed. He was still producing shallow gurgling sounds, he wasn't dead yet.
"Stupid son of a bitch?" came forth the whiskey-stained voice. Isuelt pressed her lips together and slipped out of the room, locking it behind her. She stooped cautiously and slid the key under the door. Gripping the threshold with one gloved hand, she eased herself up and stared at the door for a moment longer than she probably should have. Isuelt lost herself in thought until a creak from the bed on the other side of the door shook her from her pensive stint. She sighed deeply and turned to quickly and silently move down the hallway, over the steps and out the door. She knew how to be nearly undetectable when she had to be?years of practice, you know.
Isuelt knew that, in thanks to Renna, her body would heal on its own and with relatively little complication. She pressed on, eager to see what the next stop of her "vacation' would bring her. She silently chuckled to herself as she mounted her horse and urged her out of town.
"Some vacation?" she murmured to herself amid the galloping strides of her mare. "And people wonder why I don't take them?"
Again, mercifully resurrected from the Catacombs and edited.
