Though Fletcher had felt the fight to have been a dangerous one, he had been overcome by how fun horsing around with the Gith had been.  It was a game to him.  And when you win games, you feel good about yourself.  Fletcher was doing just that when a gith appeared behind the Drow wizard and cut him down like a pig made for slaughtering.  It happened so suddenly that Fletcher couldn't even begin mouthing off the words, "Oh, what the fuuuuuuuuuuck" before the wizard hit the dirt.<br/><br/>Fletcher glanced around, wondering if anyone had seen what he had seen.  Then, he said,<br/><br/>"Why does the black guy always have to die first?"  Fletcher seemed genuinely peeved at the stereotype, and then eyed the disappearing gnome.   "You better hope they're not following dramatic modus operandi, gnome.  Otherwise, you'll be next!"  He couldn't insinuate that Tara or the really mean cleric were sluts-- they seemed too classy for it.  And they didn't tolerate sass, Fletcher thought.  Gnomes were always good for sass.<br/><br/>"I know he just died or whatever, but...  well, we can't just leave his stuff there, can we?"