Sheryl Resendei was never one to fail at anything. Although she could expound the full meaning of the word and most probably bore the average listener to tears over the origins of its derivatives, she truly didn't know what it felt like to fail. That is, if you asked anyone else. To Sheryl herself, however, failure was something that was always nipping at her heels, always hanging over head, always gnawing at her insides. She saw herself as a failure because she often looked at herself through the eyes of her mother. Now, Sheryl's mother wasn't an ordinary woman. Sheryl's mother was Lenai of the Island of Shadow, reigning High Priestess of the Scathachian Nation. And Lenai found it utterly shameful that her only biological daughter (begotten from a youthful night soaked in sweet talk from a man whom she never saw again) was not more of a warrior. True, Sheryl had followed the teachings and dogma of Scathach and had received the training of a Scathachian. But this curly blonde-headed soul was gentle and soft and she preferred to toil in the Scathachian Archives rather than run out in search of a battle. To Sheryl, the restoration of ancient Scathachian documents and hours of study in languages, mathematics, science and history was what she genuinely craved. And her mother thought it a travesty.

Sheryl had come to Rhydin in search of adventure, yes. But she had also traveled to this great city, far from the Island of Shadow, to search for the key to her mother's respect. If she could aid Isuelt and her Sisters in their trials with Temple Bhaal, then perhaps Lenai would not be so ashamed of her only daughter. Perhaps, if Sheryl were to find a way to prove her worth as a warrior, her mother would find her worthy of her Scathachian name: Rhiannon.

Isuelt, Laufeia, Derinoe and Athena were the elder priestesses while the Scathachians were staying in the city of Rhydin; and they were all but drowned in the search for ancient relics, planning against Temple Bhaal and the various other atrocities that plagued the Old Temple district and Rhydin in general. Sheryl, however, was relegated from her duties to oversee an investigation of a murder and home invasion. As she waited patiently to be admitted to the Watch officer's office, she chewed her bottom lip and looked over the minute report of the incident in the local paper.


A Dragon's Gate resident, Yolanda Metzger(53), was found dead in her home late Thursday evening after her husband, returned home from work. The only items reported missing was the family's hidden savings and a portrait of their adult children.

The Watch has not issued a statement as of yet other than to say they are waiting until the Rhydin Medical Examiner has had a chance to file her own report. It was overheard by the reporting Watch officer to the Captain on scene that the murder weapon was a soup ladle.


Sheryl made a face. "A soup ladle? What in the world is wrong with this city? Who uses a soup ladle to kill someone?" The rest of her line of questioning to the air would have to wait, as she heard the clearing of a throat and looked up to find Captain standing by his open door.

"Yes sir." The young warrior stood hastily and hurried toward the Watch Captain. "My name is Sheryl Resendei. I'll be working with you on the case--"

"I know who you are. And why you're here, too." His clipped fashion was due more to his overworked schedule rather than an annoyed persona. At least, that was what Sheryl hoped. "Come on in and I'll get you up to speed. Sit down," he gestured to a spot on the couch in his office after he shut the door. Sheryl moved to wedge herself on the end of the couch that was free of boxes and files. Her wide blue-gray eyes lingered over a clear plastic bag in one of the open boxes which held a curious looking instrument that looked like a heavy serving fork with tines at both ends. At first, she thought it was covered with mud, but then thought differently about the rusty brownish-red hue on the instrument. As the Captain began, Sheryl moved a bit further away from the box with the evidence bag. "We've got a victim: female, 53, apparent cause of death is asphyxiation." He was reading off of the coroner's report and paused the look up at Sheryl. "Aren't you a little young?"

There it was again. She could feel failure licking at her ear.

"Actually, I'm quite mature for my age. I'm sure you'll find that to be true as you understand my Scathachian training and my expertise for these little puzzles that you and your comrades like to call crimes here in this city that is in such dire need of aid that they would call upon the mighty Scathachian Nation to solve their problems." It was a bodacious retort, however, Sheryl put her full weight behind it as her soft blue-gray eyes flashed with a marked brilliance. Never tell someone what they can't do, it will only spur them on more.

"Alright, alright. No need to get so testy. Just an observation. That's my job, right?" He patronized her with a smile, the sort one might give a rebellious child.

"Your job is to keep this city safe, Captain. And, with all due respect, if you did your job, I wouldn't be here." Although Isuelt DeRomiano had been her teacher in dual blades, and for a short while at that, Sheryl was able to summon a dead on impression of Isuelt's signature morose glare.

The Watch Captain studied her for a moment more, and must have liked what he saw since he continued, "Anyway, the coroner found skin fragments at the scene matching that of a man who's been missing for, oh about 20 years."

"So, seems someone is back." Sheryl's mental wheels were already spinning, an exhilarating feeling that she loved. "And I thought it was reported that the weapon of choice was a kitchen utensil?"

"Soup ladle."

"Yes."

"Well, the cause of death was asphyxiation....with a soup ladle."

Sheryl's expression screwed itself into surprise as her mind tried to picture the gruesome act of a man shoving such an oddly shaped instrument so far down a woman's throat to actually have it cut off her air supply.

The Captain continued as he flipped a few more pages and sat down at his desk, finally setting the file down, "Nothing of value was taken from the home of the victim except the family hidden savings, which included a vault combination,? and a photo of her children."

"A photo?" Sheryl's naturally inquisitive mind grasped the one item that seemed the most out of place. "Does this man who's been missing for the better part of two decades have any ties to the victim? Perhaps we should start there. That is, if you haven't already established a lack of connection between the suspect and the woman." Perhaps she was baiting the Captain. Perhaps she was simply jumping into the puzzle. In any event, she didn't wait for the Watchman to even take a breath before she continued, "I'd also like to see that and any other file you might have on the victim, the crime patterns for the neighborhood and the missing mystery man. And Captain? I'm looking forward to helping you with this. I won't let you down."

Those were almost the same words she had vowed to her mother as she left the Island of Shadow for the city of Rhydin. Time would tell if Sheryl kept her promises. To the Watch Captain. To her mother.