|
In the
catacombs . . . falling . . . in pitch black . . .
Driskoll's
hands flew out blindly as he sped down the chute, but he found no
handholds, nothing to slow his descent.
Suddenly,
even the incline was gone, and Driskoll and Kellach were free falling.
They took the only logical course of action available in such
circumstances.
They
screamed.
"AAAHHH! . .
. ," yelled Driskoll.
"AAAHHH! . .
. ," yelled Kellach.
". . . OW!"
they yelled together.
The free
fall had only lasted another ten feet or so. They had finally hit
bottom.
Driskoll
groaned and tried to sit up.
"Are you all
right?" Kellach asked from somewhere quite near in the darkness. His
voice sounded strained.
"I think
so," Driskoll replied. "Something cushioned my fall a little."
"Yeah, that
was me." The older boy gave him a shove. "Would you mind getting off
now?"
"Oh, I'm
sorry! Are you okay, Kellach?" A rattling sound emerged from beneath
them as Driskoll moved aside.
"Just
bruises, but--"
"I should
have known!" a deep voice snarled beside them.
The boys
jumped.
"Who's
there?" asked Driskoll, his voice quavering.
"Don't play
innocent with me, runt," the voice said. "I still owe you a beating
anyway."
Another deep
voice joined in. "Who is that, Thrash?"
"Quiet, Lunk,"
the half-orc replied before turning his attention back to the brothers.
"You twerps made a big mistake, following me like this."
"If we'd
been following you," said Kellach, "we'd have avoided this trap."
"Ugh!" said
Driskoll before Thrash could answer. "What is that stench? It smells
like death itself crawled in here to die."
From the
blackness, a disembodied voice hissed, "It did." |
