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Date Posted: 16:56:02 03/02/02 Sat
Author: Tristan
Subject: Rest? Who needs it
In reply to: Isobel 's message, "Taking it easy" on 20:05:40 03/01/02 Fri

Tristan immediately knew something was wrong with Marz’s left shoulder when he walked leisurely toward him, a crooked grin on his face. It was almost as though he could feel the ache himself, and he actually reached up to touch his own left arm reflexively, hissing in pain when he remembered his burnt palms. He nodded somewhat stupidly when it was suggested they pay a visit to Val, though he perked up quickly when he realized the healer could also help heal Marz’s shoulder.

They paused on the way to help a still gaping Argus to his feet, Marz cheekily remarking to the guy about Tristan’s dragon form. He caught himself blushing and stared automatically at the ground, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. “C’mon,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around Marz’s good one and tugging, careful to keep his hand from rubbing against anything. He hated being noticed by others with an almost fiery intensity, but praise from Marz was like music for him, a healing song of a thousand kisses pressed against his ears.

When they got to the healer, Tristan was momentarily annoyed that the man should take care of him first when Marz was obviously hurting so badly. He nodded when he was reassured of a fast recovery, the burns not truly severe, despite the little jolts of pain they kept shooting out. He’d burned himself as a kid any number of times, and rarely was he ever seriously injured by his own flame. Frowning a bit distastefully, he flexed his bandaged hands, his only thought on how soon he could use his sword again.

As soon as he saw Val turn to Marz, Tristan reached out and took his hand, the pain only a slight sting now. Marz obviously wasn’t too keen on biting down on the rag, but he didn’t have to do it for long, since the healer acted quickly and methodically, resetting the shoulder in the blink of an eye. It was Tristan who accidentally bit his tongue when Marz suddenly squeezed the life out of his hand as the intense pain shot up his now properly readjusted arm and shoulder.

He cursed silently and had to force himself to remove his hand calmly instead of yanking it back the way he wanted to. When he heard the healer bring his attention back to Rowan, telling him he ought to wait a good fifteen minutes to rest for some reason or other, Tristan glanced at the opening by the altar. He didn’t want to wait fifteen minutes to find out what was down there. Even though he thought it might still be kind of hard to hold his sword properly, he was still capable of fighting with his bare hands should anything untoward follow in the spiders’ wake.

Confidence in his fighting abilities was really the only type of confidence Tristan possessed, but he had enough to make up for all the other lapses in self-esteem. Hell, he’d just fought off a whole herd of giant spiders without being remotely afraid, so that had to say something about how great he was! (Of course, when he was in dragon form, he really found it difficult to be scared of anything. He conveniently chose to forget his initial reaction to seeing the oversized arachnids pouring out of the their underground lair.)

“Let’s go take a look,” he said, plucking anxiously at Marz’s sleeve. They made their way toward the stairway leading directly below ground, Tristan wrinkling his nose at the nasty odor seeping upward—spider shit, he guessed. Why else would it smell like something was rotting down there?

He glanced to his right and saw Ravin sitting on the altar, looking a bit bored. The thief was obviously waiting to explore the underground spider lair, but was considerate—and clever—enough to know better than to enter alone. He had his usual flask of ale in one hand, and an interesting sort of glowstick thing in the other.

Because Tristan wasn’t anything close to considerate or clever, (well, he thought so, but it wasn’t likely that anyone would ever inform him otherwise), he decided to just head straight in all by himself—that is, all by himself, meaning him and Marz, naturally. Without asking, he grabbed the glowstick from Ravin’s hand and took the first couple of steps downward.

“Just borrowing it,” he muttered, missing the chuckle Ravin gave him, before pulling out another from his pack. Out of habit, he placed one hand over his sword hilt, wishing he could hold on to Marz with the other, but alas, he was holding the glowstick with that hand. Gods, it smelled awful! Tristan was in the process of forcing down another gag when something suddenly stopped them both cold.

"Baaaack…"

They waited silently for a few seconds before Tristan finally did grab a hold of Marz, wincing as his tight grip sent a stinging sensation through his palm. “Did you hear that?” he asked, rather stupidly, too, since they’d both stopped at the same time. Before Marz could answer, the strange sound echoed from out the dark depths again.

"Gooo baaaack…"

It was like…like a hundred voices sighing at once, a vague, wispy cacophony of sorrow. Ghosts, he thought, shuddering slightly. Couldn’t be anything else, he was sure of it.

"Danger, mortals…Danger! Go baaaack… Go… BACK!"

The last word seemed to leap up and strike them in the face, pounding in their ears and in their minds with frightening intensity. A horrific white face materialized in front of them, its skeletal lips stretched back in utmost terror, before it faded into smoky nothingness again.

“Okay, let’s go back!” Tristan said, grabbing Marz and dragging him up the steps to ground level again. When they got to the top, he backed up even more, his eyes remaining on the inky depths below. “What the hell was that?” he muttered into Marz’s ear, not quite so anxious to go exploring now. His curiosity was even more piqued than ever, however, but as always, his deep-thinking habits would prevent him from charging back down without some sort of plan or idea about what was down there.

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