|
"Yep. That about does it. I hope others like him won't get thrown our way anytime soon!"
Winking at Nina and slapping Vanelee's back vigorously, Dreggan began collecting his needles and searching the fallen orc's bodies for any valuables. While he did so, he retrieved a needle that looked different. It was slightly barbed and bore a strange inscription. It apparently struck an orc that was coming towards the party from the rear. Dreggan didn't remember taking him down... his eyes were wide and the needle was lodged in the middle of his right temple. The pain he felt would have been great, like an increasing migraine that feels like your brain is on fire until the internal hemorraging took its toll.
Fingering the needle suspiciously, he looked around to see if its owner was still about. "Obviously, he or she won't be here anymore," thought the thief. "No self-respecting assassin would." But who was the owner? One of the Poison Fist toying with him by watching his back? Or perhaps a member of another guild? If so, why? Dreggan didn't care for this sudden wave of doubt overcoming him. It overshadowed the sense of accomplishment he felt after besting the horde with his companions. Speaking to himself, he concluded with a chuckle:
"Well, whoever mystery man is, he sure knows how to aim."
With that, he tossed the needle aside and rejoined the rest of the group.
"Well, if you guys don't mind, I suggest we high-tail it to higher ground before scavenger roll in, unless Matt wants to bury each and every orc out here..."
__________________
A plan is just a list of things that don't happen.
|