The situation was slightly different in the "inner" territory, where the shamans and the leader with their retinue, the best warriors and servants lived, but exactly what "slightly". A little lighter, because of torches and fires, less youth, and relatively clean. Besides, after Rung and his demonstrative demonstration of "witchcraft", both quite concrete with the throwing of bones and hidden from the "naked" eye of magical whirlwinds, I subconsciously expected something similar from the local sorcerer and his student, but... No matter how much I look at the shaman's kneading over the "protective" amulets hanging on the posts around the tents and representing reasonable skulls with Gruumsh symbols on their foreheads, I never noticed anything. Except that, on the very edge of visibility, it seemed to be something elusively shimmering, but with the same success, it could be just a gleam of the torch, reflected in the polished bone. In short, I was beginning to be tormented by vague suspicions
Sometime later
Now I'm beginning to guess why the old orc sent me here, or rather, I have a theory. Apparently, the shaman Ravshayev just didn't want to marry this charlatan and his assistant, because I've never seen anything but seizure dances of the mushroomed orc in a few days of studying the camp. And all these dances with tambourines of magic hesitation caused less than Runga's spit. Literally. From here there are two options. Or this shit, wrapped in amulets, is actually immensely cool, long time ago I was spotted and now it just subtly mocks me and lures me, which sounds crazy, because such a friend would have packed and dissected me, or ... he is really almost a quack, not capable of anything more serious than "whispering" cuts and healing diarrhea with bone powder. And the second option seemed much more real to me.
But at first I thought I'd do something about it, disguise myself as an "allowed" orc in the closed territory of the orc, or in general, fearing hidden surprises and amulets to start to master mountaineering and climbing the wall. As a result, I just slipped under the nose at the "watchful" sentinels and stayed away from the honorary members of the tribe for a couple of minutes and quietly reached the shaman's tent.
It was not difficult for his teacher to finish his pupil and get his fangs into his neck, except for the taste and aromatic qualities of his neck, which created a strong impression that this Orcus hadn't washed in principle for twenty years, painstakingly strengthening its "natural armor". I was not afraid that somebody would enter the most important moment - firstly, such impudence could be afforded only by the leader and the nearest orcs, and secondly - the observation of the camp allowed me to imagine with what frequency the shaman performs the rituals dedicated to Groumshu and to show up a couple of hours before the next ritual action. I doubt that any of the locals would have dared to interrupt the preparation of their "religious leader" for "prayer" without an extremely good reason.
Having quietly finished the diabellery (no different from the previous one, or the magic component does not play a special role in the process, or the orc was unusually insignificant), I separated the heads of shamans from the bodies and wrapped them in a piece of cloth, by the way, quite good, most likely - a gift from the "client". Having thought a little bit, a few things, obviously not of orcish origin, went after the heads. The trophies looked good, anyway, and I suspect they were of some value.
With the leader it turned out even easier, from the shamanic plague to the tent of the local king was a hand away, and therefore I simply passed on the acceleration from one structure to another and repeated the procedure of "decapitation", unless it was necessary to destroy the guards, however, the acceleration helped and here. Having finished with elimination of the "order" and witnesses (some I became bloodthirsty, but ... no moral torments in this regard it was not possible to test something), a little bit "went around" in a dwelling of the former head of a tribe - anything especially valuable, unfortunately, I have not found. Except for one good-looking dagger and a bag of coins of various sizes. After I had pulled up the bag on my shoulder, which had already started to get wet with blood, I hurried to leave the camp just as I had come - quietly and imperceptibly. I had to hand over the "order" to Rung, but first I had to rest a couple of hours and move the loot...