Vance declines

“Not a chance, Orc,” Vance grumbled, his neck flaming crimson as he yanked his trousers up faster than a hoisted storm sail.

He buckled his belt in record time and scrambled out of the cabin to a chorus of relentless catcalls. Baelog nearly fell off his barrel laughing, roaring, “Look at ‘im! Folds like a paper map at the first sight of a proper weapon!”

Uthul just chuckled, casually sweeping Vance’s coins into her pile. She didn’t bother getting dressed; her heavy green length sat right on the wood while she leaned back with a bored, triumphant grin.

“Cowards, the lot of you,” Uthul purred, golden eyes scanning the suddenly very quiet crew. “Not one brave soul left on this tub?”

Then her gaze drifted straight into the shadowy corner where I stood. Her grin turned wicked, pointing a thick, clawed finger directly at me.

“What about you, Your Highness?” Uthul’s voice boomed over the hold. “You’ve been lurking in the dark for an hour nursing that awful wine. Time to see if royal gold buys better cards - unless, of course, you’re just as soft as the boatswain.”

Every head in the hold snapped toward my corner causing my throat to go dry as bone!