Lucky at cards!

Bodush drew a a deep breath from the mouthpiece of the water pipe as he leant back against the silk cushions, his eyes adjusting to the dark, smoke-filled room. It was good to be back in Seawell, he thought as he let his gaze linger on the dancer undulating in front of the crowd. Her muscular, simian arms moved as her gold-plated talons weaved patterns of reflected torchlight, her olive-green skin glistening with scented oils. Bodush smiled as he watched her throw back her head, seemingly lost in the seductive music, her ragged spiky hair bobbing slightly with the movement. He lazily waved her over, opening up his full purse. As she leant in closer to him, he got a better look at her face. The spiral mother-of-pearl inlays along her tusks glistened as her face sneered into an almost human sneer. Still, she would not be a beauty by orc standards. Her features were too soft, too weak. She would just be another tribeswoman out there in the wilds. Here, on the other hand, she was a sensation. Pretty enough for a young merchant to take an interest, dangerous enough to be bragged about later…

Bodush reached into his purse and got out a few platinum pieces, he for one, had been entertained. He almost did not see the blade that she had hidden between her flowing silks before it was too late.

Her bestial howl pierced through the music, human words failing her as she roared out her anger in broken orcish. “Pup-killer, Elf-friend, Backstabber!” Bodush jumped aside, his lips already forming words of power as glowing bolts of pure force flew towards the dancer.

Her broken body fell to the ground. Bodush looked down, smiling calmly as he spoke the last words she would ever hear, inaudible to the panicked crowd even if they had been able to speak orcish.

Bodush straightened himself up and threw a few coins at the man behind the bar on his way out by way of apology for the mess he had made.

Looking at the note from Szandor, he realised he would have to make his way to Febril immediately.