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Above a shabby
hovel there is a dark and cluttered space, littered with the plundered
booty from an Orc Captain's Campaigns. Mildew rotten pouches filled with
silver coins, stamped with the visages of long dead kings, lie safe in
heavy chests. A golden hilted knife is tangled with a string of pearls.
In a corner there is a scarred and rotten desk, its corners spotted with
the wax drippings from an evil smelling candle. On the desk is a book lying
open and radiating light. The corpse of an Orc Shaman lies limp in a corner.
"It is a book
that tells the future," the Shaman had said. "Your own future, perhaps."
The warm light from the
pages reflects in the Captain's eyes, mixing with avarice in the cold stare.
The pictures writhe with a life of their own. |
