Perlos walked out into the night air, somewhat unsteadily after having drowned his sorrows once again in the wine. He glanced at the Orcs and sneered -- even in his intoxicated state, he still could barely bring himself to stand them.
Wandering out a little further, he sat down upon the cold rock that covered the surrounding landscape. 'I can still keep watch over the prisoner from here,' he convinced himself, 'and perhaps keep a closer eye on the Orc. I know they're up to something, I can smell it in the air as easily as I can smell their stomach-churning breath.'
He took out his knife from his belt and looked at it glinting in the moonlight before idly using it to clean out under his fingernails. The night was growing cool, and his breath looked like smoke curling up from a dragon's nostrils. He curled up tighter, bringing his knees up to his chest to conserve heat, since he knew he could not stand to enter the caves again just yet.
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