[Hubris, as it turns out, is ever the downfall of the Belmont line.
There had been some coaching on that bit of wisdom, he's sure of it. Some bookish nonsense Trevor had completely ignored because there was no way in hell or on Earth that it would ever apply to him. Surely. He wasn't fool enough to meet the same fate as his forebears, would never get caught with his proverbial pants down. He needn't heed wisdom meant for some novice when he was so far beyond its teaching already.
Unless, of course, it was something he had no way of predicting. He doesn't know magic like Adrian and Sypha know it; he practically has a complete mental catalogue of Monsters, The Undead, and How to Kill Them All, but how to recognize a perimeter spell? How to avoid tripping the alarm? That is the manner of thing he never learned, bull in a china shop as he tends to be. Perhaps it was just luck that he managed to kill everything he might have triggered before, but--
He must have been close. Close enough that numerous forged creatures came to meet him when he triggered their master's perimeter. The first two were the largest. They were no easy marks, and when they fell, they seemed to alert a horde of cronies to their location. And some of them oozed luminescence from their jowls, which was alarming enough that Trevor paid them more attention as he fought. They drove him to the edge of the forest, and just when he thought he'd whittled them down--
Bitten. Right in the forearm, just before Trevor took off its head. The effect seized him immediately, like a hammer to the head. He swayed, then he fell, and he'd never been more aggravated to be right.]
Poison. [Trevor mumbled to himself.] Perfect.
[The stench hits Adrian's canid nose like a brick wall of rot, sickly sweet and slow decay. He finds Trevor still and cold near the signpost of an ill-used path, pulse weak and breath shallow, rattling in his throat with each inhale.
no subject
There had been some coaching on that bit of wisdom, he's sure of it. Some bookish nonsense Trevor had completely ignored because there was no way in hell or on Earth that it would ever apply to him. Surely. He wasn't fool enough to meet the same fate as his forebears, would never get caught with his proverbial pants down. He needn't heed wisdom meant for some novice when he was so far beyond its teaching already.
Unless, of course, it was something he had no way of predicting. He doesn't know magic like Adrian and Sypha know it; he practically has a complete mental catalogue of Monsters, The Undead, and How to Kill Them All, but how to recognize a perimeter spell? How to avoid tripping the alarm? That is the manner of thing he never learned, bull in a china shop as he tends to be. Perhaps it was just luck that he managed to kill everything he might have triggered before, but--
He must have been close. Close enough that numerous forged creatures came to meet him when he triggered their master's perimeter. The first two were the largest. They were no easy marks, and when they fell, they seemed to alert a horde of cronies to their location. And some of them oozed luminescence from their jowls, which was alarming enough that Trevor paid them more attention as he fought. They drove him to the edge of the forest, and just when he thought he'd whittled them down--
Bitten. Right in the forearm, just before Trevor took off its head. The effect seized him immediately, like a hammer to the head. He swayed, then he fell, and he'd never been more aggravated to be right.]
Poison. [Trevor mumbled to himself.] Perfect.
[The stench hits Adrian's canid nose like a brick wall of rot, sickly sweet and slow decay. He finds Trevor still and cold near the signpost of an ill-used path, pulse weak and breath shallow, rattling in his throat with each inhale.
Overall, not Trevor's most successful hunt.]