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Date Posted: 14:04:00 01/12/02 Sat
Author: Tristan
Subject: Told you so
In reply to: Barry 's message, "Clobberin' what???" on 03:20:27 01/12/02 Sat

Tristan thought that trudging off into the late afternoon gloom to find a stream was probably one of the dumbest things the three of them had done in a long while. Of course, exploring ancient ruins surrounded by chanting priests while two of them had slight concussions had been a good one, too. Oh, yeah, and maybe signing up for guard duty to a caravan in a foreign country that they weren’t even supposed to be in hadn’t been such a good idea, either. Not to mention stepping through a magical mirror one right after the other that proceeded to zip them thousands of miles away from home before they could so much as blink an eye.

Fortunately, he’d learned his lesson by now. Resistance was simply futile. Any protestations on his part fell on innocently deaf ears, as Marz and Corum seemed to both think they’d donned eternal suits of invincibility. So far, the theory had proven mostly correct, although this was mainly due to Marz sustaining and later recovering from injuries that would have killed a normal person. He seemed to think little of the fact that someone might (and did) worry incessantly over the numerous times he’d been seriously hurt.

But hell, Tristan liked a good adventure as much as anybody. He just considered some things to be a little bit more stupid than others. So sue him for thinking that trooping off into the scraggly desert wilderness where several assassins were likely waiting, just to rinse off a skull on a stick, was a bad idea. But was he going to open his mouth and say something about it? No way. Hey, he hadn’t managed to stay friends with these two by exercising his good sense, right? He’d learned to keep the voice of reason reasonably at bay, at least.

Things weren’t looking too bad at first. Tristan sat down on the warm rock next to Marz, closing his eyes as the late afternoon sun beat down on his face. Where had his spirit of adventure been all these years, anyway? Right here, all along, he thought, smiling contentedly. He felt Marz lean up against him, and he shifted his arm to wrap around his friend’s waist. He was probably being just too prissy, again. Nothing out here they couldn’t handle. Just look at them, taking their ease and basking in the sun like the confident warriors they were.

"We got company," Marz suddenly whispered into his head. Beside him, Tristan tensed as well, his eyes snapping open as he regarded their surroundings warily. Corum was still dunking Yorik underwater, chattering happily to the skull about how clean he looked, and how he shouldn’t let himself feel bad about Barry’s cool rejection.

Abruptly, the peaceful moment was destroyed. From the corner of his eye, Tristan saw a couple of darts whiz past, just as Marz shoved him from behind, sending him stumbling to his knees. As Corum quickly responded to his friend’s warning, ducking underwater, Tristan spied another dart, this one embedding itself into a tree directly behind where Corum had been standing. Marz, he saw, had taken off directly for their attacker, and was currently trying to snuff out the flames from his pants, the result of an exploding nearby dart.

Quickly, Tristan rolled and ducked behind the rock they had just been sitting on, where he remained crouched for a second or two. “I knew it,” he muttered to himself. “But would they have listened if I told them this would happen?” When the flying bolts stopped for a while, he lifted his head and peered into the distance, his eyes narrowing at the very slight shift of movement behind another such rock several yards away. He was just about to make a run for it when he heard Corum suddenly shout out for Barry to come and aid them. The skull was there in no time, dumping his usual load of creepy crawlies on the figure behind the rock.

Both Tristan and Corum took the opportunity to dart forward. Tristan, however, decided the distance would be too great, and that their attacker would regain his composure far too soon. He ducked behind a clump of scrawny trees and overgrown cacti, watching as Corum continued past. Before he could warn him away, it was too late. Corum got off an impressive body slam, thanks to Yorik, and a couple punches before the black-cloaked assassin rolled him onto his back. Now in clear view, the man swiftly whipped out a dagger, and was slowly trying to press it against his opponent’s throat.

“Shit!” Tristan muttered, stepping quickly from his own cover and advancing toward them at a run. He heard Corum yell for his help, urging him on faster. He paused in horror as he saw a giant cobra fall from the air, presumably from Barry’s waiting mouth, and he felt all the blood drain from his face. But as the assassin began to react to the new friend he was now sharing his pants with, Tristan reacted too, almost instinctively.

He leapt onto the rock in front of the struggling pair, his eyes blazing red with barely suppressed excitement. While the assassin beat frantically at his leg, Corum twisted to deliver a good kick, shoving the man away from him a bit. Tristan came down from the rock to land on him like some silent jungle cat, his teeth baring ever so slightly as he rammed his sword through their attacker’s chest. As if possessed, the man continued to fight, muttering something in garbled Nerombian as he flicked out another dagger and sliced at Tristan, cutting him fairly deeply in the arm. A low growl came from the dragon’s throat as he punched the man in the face, then wrenched the dagger free from his hand and slit his throat with it.

He remained where he was, crouched over his fallen enemy and watching until the light slowly died from his eyes. Then he remembered the snake, making his heart quell somewhat, and he backed quickly away. Or rather tried to back away. Instead, he tripped on his own feet, catching himself with his left hand as he stumbled to the sandy dirt. He felt slightly dizzy, and wondered why things kept going out of focus.

He swallowed and glanced at Corum. “Okay?” he asked, confused at the weariness he heard in his own voice. He thought Corum nodded, so he looked around, trying to find Marz. “Marz,” he muttered, unable to even make a question out of the weary inquiry. He felt himself starting to grow faint, and he immediately began to chastise himself for still being afraid of snakes. Something made him reach up and touch his neck, though, where he’d felt a slight stinging sensation earlier. He pulled out the tiny dart and stared dumbly at it, before his eyes finally shut and he toppled forward unconscious.

The assassin, who knew he’d hit him in the initial attack, had been momentarily shocked to see a third attacker come from above. But of course he had no way of knowing that the third youth wasn’t quite what he seemed. The sleeping poison obviously wasn’t made to bring down dragons, although it might give them a nice long catnap if one were lucky!

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