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Date Posted: 00:39:54 03/05/02 Tue
Author: Laurel and Tristan
Subject: I hate spiders.
In reply to: Erlic Eastlore 's message, "Deep down" on 20:06:06 03/04/02 Mon

When they came to the wide underground cavern housing the wer-spiders, Laurel took one reflexive step back in disgust. Someone grunted as she tripped on something, and she whirled around to see that she had backed in Argus and stepped on his foot. The silly man had followed her like a guard dog (or maybe a puppy was more like it) and absolutely refused to let her out of his sights. It was very odd.

She patted him on the shoulder, muttering an apology despite her vague annoyance by his stifling presence. Men tended to do either of two things when they began to fancy you: try to impress you or protect you. She had yet to decide on which was more irritating. Argus, however, was fortunate in that he was quite handsome and had rather a cute accent. She supposed he could be forgiven, so long as he stayed clean-shaven.

She listened to the plan Erlic began laying out, immediately moving to grab her own bow. One of the many advantages of being a druid was hardly ever missing a target when aiming at a live victim—so if the man wanted a long distance weapon, well, he sure as hell…ah, make that heck…was going to get one in her! Proudly, she marched over toward Val and knelt down next to the healer, waiting for Erlic to fire his diversionary shot before smiling at both men.

“Any room for a lady?” she asked, notching one of the specially made rotating arrows Erlic had once bought at a bazaar for her that she’d finally mastered. She spotted the first wer-spider emerging from the crumbling building; took calm, careful aim; whispered just the mere hint of spell to her weapon; and shot. Within seconds, the creature fell dead to the earth, the shaft sticking straight out from between its two humanoid eyes.

Methodically, she withdrew a second arrow and began firing in earnest, as the rest scurried forward, brandishing their own weapons, to play their parts in the surprise attack.

~*~*~*~*~

Tristan had stared at the cavern housing the numerous, man-eating breeding spiders, his expression one of complete and utter fear and loathing. Now, he stared at the wer-spiders with the same look on his face, cursing all the gods that could possibly exist in this world for throwing this upon him. He’d looked at Ravin like the man was mad when it was suggested that he or the genie could “take care” of the spiders in the other room. Absolutely, positively, one hundred percent out of the question. Changing to form required actually stepping into the spider-filled cavern, and if he weren’t eaten alive in the first five seconds, he would surely die as his heart began pounding so hard it literally flew right out of his chest.

He was feeling the same way now. He heard Isobel mutter that he could do “much damage” here, the woman’s belief in him raising his spirits even against his will. Yes, he had to admit, he was pretty intimidating in his true form. He was definitely one fierce-ass dragon, as Marz would say. The glowing sense of pride left him when he thought about once again changing in the open, in front of all these people, with everyone counting on him to do his job. The pressure was just…immense. No, he couldn’t do it. They were asking too much, they really were. Everyone would just have to find another dragon willing to take them up on it.

He was still sulking silently when Erlic began handing out orders to their various companions. “Tristan,” he added, turning to focus his cold expression on him, “If you can fire as many as possible, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Okay,” Tristan replied without thinking. He started, aghast at his quick, unthinking agreement, wondering just what the hell had come over him. Flame them? he found himself thinking, his eyes already starting to turn an excited red. Hell, I’ll do more than flame them. I’ll rip their fat human heads of their spidery bodies with my bare teeth and spit the pieces back at their feet!

Wow, that was kinda gross. He actually started to smile. Tristan, the dragon, the real honest to gods dragon, to the rescue! Yes, he thought, he could see it now. Spider freaks running in all directions, desperately trying to escape his mighty wrath. He saw himself playing with them, lighting only half on fire while swiping at the rest, one by one, with his claws, pinching off their spindly little legs until they had to crawl on their bellies to keep going.

“Yeah!” he muttered, watching as Erlic knelt down and positioned his first arrow. “I can do it. I’m gonna do it!” He balled his hands up into fists and watched as the arrow soared into the air before plummeting into a stalactite, causing the structure to come crashing into a building.

That was his cue. Now was the time to make his move. Just walk right on out there and do his thing. Any second now. Okay…shit—why was he still standing here? Afraid of the spiders? he mocked himself, heedless of the sweat that began prickling onto his skin. Afraid of the big, nasty, hairy, slimy…

“All right, Marz and everyone else will laugh at you if you don’t go now!” he lied to himself, gritting his teeth together until they started to hurt.

It worked. He walked calmly forward, chin high and teeth still bared. Arrows rained down from behind him, already impaling a few of the spider people. The creatures let out shrill, metallic cries as they died, hurting his ears and making him wince. The other fighters fanned out, weapons already drawn, ready to do damage, but Tristan kept walking, his long strides taking him directly to the mass of now alerted charging, maddened spiders. Those who retained their human torsos had their swords whipped out, their gaping mouths open as the white spittle trailed from their stretched lips. Expressionless black eyes gazed out of their sockets, making them a conveniently faceless enemy, undeserving of any mercy whatsoever.

He changed when they were almost upon him, causing the whole mass to stumble briefly at the sudden shifting appearance of a large, black dragon. Tristan was aware of how dangerous it was to fight while so close to his mortal friends; he could easily crush or flame a friend as well as a foe without even realizing it. Caution, however, was a sentiment reserved for his human frame alone; as a dragon he act purely on instinct.

He opened his mouth and flamed a huge mass of spiders, their ugly limbs curling up with smoke and ashy fire as they fell onto their backs and died on impact. A good many scampered out of the way, some continuing toward him, others dodging him completely to engage less aggressive enemies. Tristan swiped as many of these as he could, raking them with his razor-sharp claws, biting their heads off as he’d promised himself, and yes, spitting them out, if only because they tasted like three day old dog shit covered with mold and rotting flesh.

He didn’t even notice how the others were faring. The enemy poured out from within buildings and even holes in the wall, scuttling on the ground, along the walls, and on the ceiling like the vermin they were. Several pulled that trick on him, dropping from the fifty foot wall from above to land on his back, plunging their puny little swords into his skin and causing him great pain as he whipped his head about and tried to drag them off with his teeth. Several began firing arrows at him, which told him immediately that he needed to change form again, because he was far too big and out in the open right now to successfully dodge each shaft. But his anger only grew with each painful stab and cut, and he roared, his voice echoing deafeningly through the walls of the underground caverns and tunnels, while his tail lashed out behind him and his claws dug into the stony earth.

Searing pain in his right hind leg as one arrow buried itself into his flesh; another flash of agony as a stinging bolt ripped into his left shoulder. He was now so angry he practically forgot that he’d ever been a human at all, and he rocked back on his haunches, determined to kill every single foe with his bare teeth and claws and flame before he allowed himself to stop and rest, and tend to his injuries.

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