Tavros: Snares

The trail grew harder to follow as it climbed out of the marshland grasses and into the hills, but Olvern kept them oriented. Judging from the way the grasses had been pressed down into the mud, this wasn't any sort of regular path; it was just the way the raiders had come, walking directly overland. 

After a time they turned into a cut between two hills. There were paths here, spreading out from the cut to follow the edges of the grass or disappear into it. The passage through the cut showed unmistakable signs of use, but it was slow going; the way was scattered with gravel and small stones, and looked as if became a stream at the slightest hint of rain. On the far side, the trail led them through a small copse of trees. Olvern led the way, and the paladins followed. 

They were well into the trees and Tavros was wondering how much further they might have to go when Olvern stopped and said, "Shit." 

Then the ground swept up from beneath them, scattering leaves and tumbling them all together. Tavros tried to draw his sword, but the net closed around them and they were caught. 

"Be still," hissed Olvern. "Be silent." 

They waited. Finally Tarric said: "All my blood is rushing to my head." 

Anica answered: "That is not what I wanted to hear with you pressed up against me like this."

"I just meant I was upside down," said Tarric, but then he chuckled. 

"Oh, good," said Tavros quietly, working at the netting with his claws. "So it's not an awkward sex joke, it's an awkward foreplay joke. Much better." A strand parted. 

"Quiet," Olvern said again.

Tavros was still working at the net, but he didn't answer. He could feel the others moving around, but his back was to them and he couldn't move well enough to change that. Likely they were trying to draw daggers or find some way to get loose.

Something stung his cheek and he looked down. 

Below him, off to one side of the trail, was a goblin. It was holding a stick, or... some sort of tube? It raised the tube to its face, sighted, and then puffed a breath of air. 

A second dart embedded itself in the chainmail coif that separated his helmet from the rest of his armor. It scraped against his scales but didn't penetrate. Behind him, his companions fell still. Damn it. He had no doubt that the darts were poisoned, and the only reason he hadn't succumbed was that between his heavy armor and his scaly skin, the goblins hadn't managed to apply it. 

"Well," said a voice, "surely that one could use a rest as well." 

Tavros heard a brief recitation; then darkness closed over him.