Torn an' A-Frayed

[Sadok]

I’ll be all alone when y’leave;
Wi’ me torn robes o’shadow-weave;
Nothin’ t’trust in or believe;
‘Cept me torn robes o’shadow-weave;

These torn ol’ robes I’ll have to mend;
Me last copper on thread I’ll spend;
The days grow dark, alone I’ll fend;
Sweet torn robes, me only true friend;

Hardly a tailor, have t’be rough;
Sowin’ tight this half-ripped cuff;
Th’ stitching needs work, sure enough;
These ol’ robes are made t’be tough;

Needle an’ spool, fare-well I bid;
O’ nicks an’ tears these robes be rid;
An’ other-type flaws subtly hid;
These robes don’t feel like y’once did;

I run me fingers down the sleeve;
An’ pray fer some kind o’reprieve;
Me heart be broke an’ I must grieve;
Wi’ me torn robes o’shadow-weave.


((The product of some late-night creative writing. A poem about (amongst other things) Sadok's hand-tailored shadoweave robes, purchased following his training in the Undercity and ruined in the climactic battle of the May 2011 Barrens campaign, shortly before his Oath of Blood. Having once considered the sleek dark robes part of his identity, Sadok has kept the tattered scraps to this day.))

[Vashnarz]

((Very nice Sadok. Always love reading your poems. I guess your a poet and you did know it Keep them coming and I'll add my own little something just below))

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The outline of a female orc rises from the furs and peers down at the orc beside her. She smiles to herself and pulls her leathers up and stands up moving over to some crates and peers through them taking the frayed cloth robes before looking back at the orc.

"This be this least I can do fer yer after the way I have been" she mumbles quietly

The female orc walks out of the camp she whistles sharply in the night and a large white Wolf runs to her side and she climbs up onto the back and rides out in the darkness a smirk under her mask with what she is planning.

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((this was a few nights ago Vashnarz left the camp. Some may have seen her leave but you would not know why.))