not liking the reaction of the figure on the rooftop, seeming to have been able to see me as well as I could see him, I carefully draw the bolt back in the crossbow, readying it .. waiting, the sudden smell of lavendar carried on a wisp of air peculiar, nostrils flaring as I attempt to gather in the smell, identify it, inhale it .. senses alerted and heightened as I continue to wait, looking cautiously around, watching, listening ... the instinct of the hunt in me
before you stands a young orc or is it a half-orc .. nah anything that ugly has to be all orc ... doesn't it?