After the warning at the entrance to the desert, they'd all been alert, but that hadn't prevented a group of four scorpions from surprising them, rising from the sand nearly underfoot. The party had immediately spread out, each of them facing a single opponent. The fight had seemed to be going well, until one of the scorpions darted up to Eight...hesitated, tail wavering back and forth...and sank its stinger deep into his body.
Eight had fallen without a sound, a look of blank surprise on his face.
The things were damnably hard to kill, even lacking the metallic shells of their northern cousins. And fast, so fast; Angelo wanted to heal Yangus and Jessica, but didn't have even a moment to spare from fighting.
The scorpion skittered forward, tail raised. Angelo circled; it turned, struck, too fast to block with sword or shield, too fast to dodge.
He was surprised by how little it hurt.
His right hand automatically reached for the wound as he hit the ground, came away covered in blood.
He couldn't push himself back up, couldn't cast a healing spell. Couldn't breathe.
The last thing he saw was the sky, baked blue-white by the desert sun.
