The large man walked out of the cave, inhaling more smoke into his lungs. Beams of warm light flashed past his eyes, illuminating the scar on his cheek that he received years ago, during one of his many raids. His cloak flapped in the wind as he stopped, breathing out enough smoke to paint the air white for second. He looked at the small numbers he had left—the bandits that were working with him for the time being.
He could feel it in the air, he could taste it.
The scent of magic.
Raw magic that emanated from somewhere.
But where?
He felt it. A prickling sensation on the back of his neck, a sense of being watched. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, as he looked at the surrounding woods. The rustle of leaves, the snapping of twigs - all of it told him that someone, or something, was hiding in plain sight.
