Another hole patched!
He was in a perfect position to attack, too: he started off to one side, out of the blast zone of the door and the line of fire. And he didn’t have a knife, either; this guy’s weapon of choice was a blowpipe. Only works at short range, but he had that, didn’t he? His buddies had cleared a path.
We keep forgetting this about cultists. They have a list about things they care about, and ‘staying alive’ is on there, but it’s nowhere near the top. When a cult wants somebody assassinated, a lot of times they can do it just out of sheer and literal bloody-mindedness.
But I digress, to quote the classics. Third Bastard had me dead to rights; I could feel time slow down as I turned to face him, too slow to shoot him before the dart left the pipe. The dart was foul, too, all bone and glass fragments, and its tip was coated with a green liquid that I knew was poisonous. I remember a horrible buzzing silence surrounding me as I looked at my death, and there was nothing I could do.
I tried shooting at the dart anyway, because why not? But my hand and brain betrayed me; instead of shooting, I managed to lose the gun completely. I didn’t even just drop it; I flung it across the room. I also remember having just enough time to feel embarrassed…
…before the gun collided with the dart, sending it tumbling across the room, and away from my precious, precious hide.