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Date Posted: 00:39:48 02/13/02 Wed
Author: Tristan
Subject: Don't you mean rescue?
In reply to: Erlic & Valhorek 's message, "Search party" on 20:29:48 02/12/02 Tue

Tristan almost breathed a sigh of relief when they ascended the stairs to the second floor of the west tower, only to discover a roomful of praying Sharm. Fighting the Wall monster and killing the beast he and Marz encountered on the way here had both helped to ease his distress at not being able to do anything about Eremis. But he knew instinctively how much better it would feel to kill a living, breathing, thinking person like these Sharm, and he seized the opportunity without once questioning the morality of his actions.

In his mind, he imagined the bald-headed defenseless men to be armed mercenaries in that Tegol Denair’s employment. This one here was one of the ones who had beaten Eremis and tried to subdue him; this other one was the beast from Ravin’s vision who’d been attempting to molest the young healer. He moved from man to man, slitting their throats in his silent fervor, easily blocking their defenses and ignoring their insults or cries of fear and innocence.

In all, he killed four, and when he finished with that one, he hissed to see that all the others were finally down as well. Briefly, he considered killing the ones who were merely unconscious, but Ravin and the others seemed determined to move on, to continue the search for Corum. Tristan shook his head, trying to draw himself out of his illusion. But the light still burned furiously in his eyes as he followed the others back out the door, all of them turning toward the third and final floor.

He took to pacing, several feet behind the others, while Ravin and Erlic diligently checked each room they encountered before entering. His sudden impatience confused him; normally, he was the very definition of patience, the cool hunter waiting for the right time to strike. Although he was generally emotional and even a little unstable in social situations, he was usually capable of collecting himself when the situation took a dangerous turn for the worst.

There was another brief scuffle behind one of the other doors, once again temporarily sating his hunger for mortal blood. When it was over, he found himself running the tip of his finger down his sword and licking the blood off the tip, closing his eyes while trying to come to terms with his instinctive fury. It was unlike him to unleash his dragonic side like this, and he closed his eyes briefly, momentarily gritting his teeth with self-hatred. A second later, he reopened them and wiped the blade down properly, tossing the bloodied cloth on the floor before turning swiftly to follow the others.

The last door finally brought them to what they sought. Tristan waited outside Corum’s cell, biting his lip nervously until the healer pronounced him all right, except for a few hits to the head. He left Corum to be tended, turning toward the person in the cell Erlic was addressing. He was shocked to discover the cell’s occupant to be nothing but an unarmed, naked woman! She was curiously hairless—on more than just her head, too, he noticed, blushing slightly—but other than that seemed fairly normal, save for the gauntness of her figure.

“If we free you, will you keep quiet?” Erlic was asking. Tristan stared at the man in surprise. Look, he wasn’t exactly the compassionate sort, okay, but this was a little absurd. Erlic was afraid of an unarmed girl? So what if she cried out for help? It would be nothing to subdue her with a quick knock to the head. The thought of her actually being dangerous to them was really too laughable for him to even contemplate.

“You’re such a damned hard-ass sometimes,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at Erlic. Quickly, he searched around for a sizeable piece of rubble, which wasn’t hard to find in a place like this. Before anyone could protest, he slammed the rock as hard as he could against the rusted lock on the cell door, pounding it into the metal only three times before the lock finally broke into pieces and crumbled to the floor.

“Here,” he said, tugging the laces of his cloak as he removed it and draped it around her thin shoulders. His eyes were still cold though, and his voice was quiet, almost emotionless. He backed out of the cell again, ignoring the annoyed looks of some of the others.

“I don’t give a shit if that woke the whole city up,” he said, moving to stand beside Marz. Rather reflexively, he gripped his hand, still holding his sword in the other hand. “I rather hope it does.”

“I feel so cold inside,” he said mentally to Marz, his eyes now slightly unfocused. He wasn’t sure whether it was a warning or a cry for help. Maybe neither. Probably both.

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