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Date Posted: 19:16:17 01/03/02 Thu
Author: Tristan and Laurel
Subject: Mants in your pants
In reply to: Isobel and Barry 's message, "Defending the line" on 14:45:13 01/03/02 Thu

To say that Tristan was shocked when Marz suddenly kissed him would have been an understatement. It wasn’t some peasly little peck, either; it was more of a knock-your-boots-off-leave-you-panting-for-more type kiss. He swallowed nervously and watched him leave, beginning to feel of two minds about this new possessiveness thing. Part of him was still feeling a bit dazzled, but the other part was just as embarrassed as usual. Anyway, Marz had never really done that before, and he wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t as upset about it as he thought he ought to be.

He had nothing to carry, of course, so he simply followed in Marz’s wake, growling at the quickly averted eyes that met his. Justin held his gaze the longest, the mercenary’s face looking even uglier than usual as he looked on with some measure of disgust. Tristan tapped the side of his sword with one hand and returned the man’s glare, but fortunately, no further conflict ensued. He remembered that Justin, like Dalo, didn’t have much fondness for Marz. But Dalo’s concern about keeping him away from Marz had supposedly been for his own benefit, so it really made no sense that Justin should be upset, too, since the man probably wasn’t just looking out for him the way the beastmaster had been. He decided not to think about it too much, though, since too much thinking tended to get him into trouble sometimes.

After a couple hours of traveling in the semi-arid desert, Marz was beginning to tell on Tristan’s nerves as well. He willingly unsheathed his sword the first three times Marz called out a warning, but the fourth, fifth, and sixth times, he only shot him an irritated glance. From then on he simply ignored him, although he was seething inside again thinking about Erlic and his stupid chakras. This must be another one of those side effects, like the possession thing. Marz’s paranoia was beginning to wear hard on the nerves of the rest of the group, and he noticed some continued to look warily about at every call he made.

Every now and then, Marz would also utter, almost incoherently, “That’s mine,” as if reaffirming it to himself. Exactly what he was reaffirming, Tristan hadn’t a clue, but it was more than a little disturbing. Sometimes he saw him fingering something in his pocket, sometimes his sword, but occasionally he would give a sidelong glance in Tristan’s direction. Tristan tried to pretend it made him feel warmly appreciated, but the truth it was just damned unsettling.

When Marz called out for the umpteenth time that he’d spotted something, Tristan sighed and glanced at Ravin. The man had left his post at the lead and stopped to say something to Erlic, whose attention remained focused on Marz. Tristan was about to tell them they had nothing to worry about, that Marz was just a little knocked in the head right now, and that he himself would have been more than likely able to sense any eminent danger. He could usually smell it, anyway, as most creatures gave off some manner of scent, both magical and non-magical. Believe it or not, humans gave off one of the worst, particularly dirty humans who’d been tromping through the desert looking to ambush any unsuspecting travelers.

Needless to say, he was as surprised as all the others when the strange looking beasts suddenly reared out of the ground around them. Initially, there was only one, and it shot out like a giant scuttling beetle toward Alakbar, waving two short swords clutched in its spindly front legs. But not soon afterward, several others poured forth from their underground lairs, their blank human faces giving them the eerie semblance of an intelligence they didn’t likely possess.

Two things automatically leapt into Tristan’s head as he whipped his sword free from its sheath. One was to transform, but as he hesitated (as usual), he realized the combat was too closely packed, and he might end up hurting one of his companions. The second was to help Marz, but before he could even turn in the right direction, one of the so-called mant creatures burst forth from the sandy soil not five feet away from him, waving its two swords threateningly in the air. Tristan deflected its strikes automatically, dancing back a few feet before he could find his rhythm and go on the offensive. Fighting against an opponent who used two swords was nothing new to him; he’d been trained that way—but fighting an opponent whose reach was somewhere between his chest and his knees was surprisingly difficult!

He managed to dodge most of the creature’s sword sweeps, although a couple caught him around the waist, one biting through his shirt and into his skin. The mant swung too hard immediately afterward, though, and Tristan stepped quickly sidewise, allowing him to swing his own sword into the neck of the beast and send its head rolling neatly off its shoulders.

He paused to wipe the sweat from his face, dancing out of the way again just in time as the monster’s flailing body moved about in its death throws, the two swords still waving in the air. Tristan tossed it one more contemptuous glance before turning quickly—whereupon he bumped accidentally into Isobel, who had just finished off her own giant ant.

“All right?” he asked without thinking, glancing at her hip, which had a tear in it much deeper than his waist. That’s when he remembered the rip in his shirt…or rather, Marz’s shirt. “Oh no,” he groaned, “He’s gonna kill me…”

He fingered the tear a bit, staring morosely at the hole and the new blood stains before looking back up at Isobel. “I never thanked you for saving Marz,” he added, surprised by what he was actually saying. “Last night…from that thing in the lake. Well…thanks.”

He gave her a half-hearted salute with his sword and even smiled a bit. Then a roar to his left made him whirl around, and once again he had to fend off another one of the mants before it managed to finish off him.

~*~*~*~*~

The first thing Laurel did when Marz’s warning proved to be genuine this time was pull Tia quickly away. Unfortunately, just as she was backing away from the first beast, a second, third and fourth burst from behind. She spun, still gripping Tia’s arm with one hand, and stared in alarm at the multitude of creatures now surrounding them. As luck would have it, she spotted a large rock several yards away, one that jutted out of the ground a good five feet upward or so.

“Come on,” she called, dragging the girl after her as she raced toward the outcropping. One of the creatures scuttled toward them, but Laurel quickly reached over and yanked one of Tia’s knives from her belt, hurling it with deadly accuracy into the face of her foe. The thing screamed horribly, but she paid it no head, rushing around it and finally coming to the rock.

“Sorry about the knife,” she said, trying to help Tia up. “Now, climb!” She couldn’t exactly lift her, but she did manage to guide her feet so she could scramble her way up. Laurel wasted no time in following her, then sitting back on her heels and nocking an arrow to her bow.

With a hissing thwang, the arrows flew rapidly threw the air, slicing into her enemies with the same accuracy she had thrown the dagger with. She only missed once, if you could call it missing, since the point rammed into the beast’s thorax instead of its neck. It screeched and kicked violently about, only to be sliced down by Rowan’s swords, who was fighting next to Ravin. The thief was tossing his knives with his own deadly results, and Rowan stood by to cut down any who managed to get through. The creatures were many in number, but certainly not the best of fighters, and so far, no one seemed to be having any undo difficulties combating them—yet.

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