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Date Posted: 21:59:35 11/04/01 Sun
Author: Tristan
Subject: Which end is the pointy end of the sword?
In reply to: Rowan and Laurel 's message, "Making a mess" on 21:52:38 11/04/01 Sun

Tristan ignored whatever Jeremy was saying as another wave of nausea suddenly washed over him. What the hell was in that damned steak? he thought, gritting his teeth and curling up into a ball on the floor, hugging his stomach with both arms. A second later, he heard Jeremy leave, but he was still in too much pain to be pleased. Eventually, the burning sensation passed again, and he straightened somewhat, opening his eyes ever so slightly.

“Tell me exactly how you feel.”

If he hadn’t been feeling so tired and under the weather, Tristan would have struck out at the voice beside him. It took several seconds for reason to return to his clouded mind and allow him to recognize Eremis, who knelt next to him and stared at him expectantly. “If I know your symptoms,” the healer continued, “I'll have a better idea of how to treat them.”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, too quietly, the words barely reaching his own ears. He sucked in a breath and tried to focus on Eremis’ face. “I just feel bad all of a sudden. I think it must have…must have been….”

He trailed off, groaning as his stomach cramped again and digging the heels of his thumbs into his closed as eyes until the pain passed. When it did, it left him feeling dizzy and lightheaded, as though he were feverish. A sudden loud crash from outside made him jerk his head toward the door, causing his vision to swim like crazy.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, standing quickly, though he grabbed on to Eremis so he wouldn’t fall back down in the process. Though he was nearly assaulted with an intense feeling of vertigo as he opened the door and hurried down the hallway, he still managed to remain upright and unsheathe his sword, his eyes doing their damnedest to remain focused on the end of the hallway, leading into the dining room he’d recently vacated. The sounds and sights of battle made him only quicken his pace.

“Stay behind me!” he shouted, almost losing his balance completely as he looked over his shoulder at Eremis, who was more than happy to remain where he was, out of harm’s way. Tristan stumbled into the main room just in time to see the huge chandelier come crashing down from the ceiling, a zombie screaming horribly as its body was crushed beneath it. His mind was really too dazed to comprehend why a screaming zombie should be unusual, but it latched on very quickly to the concept of the zombies being their newest enemies.

With a snarl, he rushed the first zombie, which didn’t even notice him until it was too late, its dying eyes still focused on Tia and Jeremy who were just beginning to regain their feet. Tristan rocked back on his heels as his sword bit into the zombie’s side, the force of the blow nearly taking him off his own feet. He wiped at the sweat that had gathered on his brow as he yanked the blade free from the now dead creature, shivering a little as he surveyed the scene before him. The place was in shambles. The table was starting to catch fire, zombies (real zombies) were milling about in utter confusion, while the imposters and the mortals fought hand to hand, sword to sword, in various mini-battles about the room.

Tristan barely held his own against two more opponents, relying mostly on instinct to guide his hand as he sliced through the chest of the first zombie and the neck of the second, the unusual sight of blood pouring forth from both mortal wounds finally registering as odd in his brain. His eyes made out Corum lying on the ground unconscious, and he started toward him, intent on offering protection, but he almost tripped and fell in the process. He groaned as another feeling of nausea caused his stomach to cramp again, doubling over until it passed.

He felt twice as faint as he had before as he straightened and stared about with bleary eyes. Corum was just too damned far away. Finally, he caught sight of Marz, who was much closer, or maybe he just willed him to be closer. Whatever the case, he somehow managed to stagger toward him, grabbing him by the shoulder just as his friend was about to grab the attention of another zombie.

“You’re hurt,” he said, gazing wearily at the stab wound in Marz’s back. It was a stupid statement, as the injury was clearly obvious and probably quite painful, but those were the only words that would come out of his mouth right now. He shivered again, his eyes flitting sidewise to catch sight of yet another zombie coming forward to attack. His arms felt too heavy and his tongue too thick, though, so he simply watched the thing approach.

Whatever the hell it was I ate, he was distantly aware of thinking, It’s a good thing I threw it up before it could really start affecting me.

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