Sheep's Clothing

[Sadok]

((I'm really loving the deluge of stories we're getting on the Campfire forum as of late. Please keep them coming! Here's one of my own: a snippet into Sadok's warped thought-process largely prompted by Koz's exquisite story and Morg's ascendancy! Also, puns.))

Sheep’s Clothing

Clenched fists. Clenched jaw.

The brooding orc let out a low snarl as he stared at the tavern’s interior wall. It was a rich knotted wood smoothly finished, with assorted symbols of good fortune carved near the orthogonal intersections of each panel. Good fortune indeed, the orc mused bitterly. He had been out-maneuvered and out-thought through poor fortune. For all his patience and discipline, when the opportunity rose he had been soundly beaten to the punch. The orc bit his lip sourly, rocking slowly forward and backwards. He had been bested.

But he had also been blindsided. She knew first. She had time to plan. How much time? Minutes, hours, days? The orc let out a pensive sigh. It mattered not. By the time he knew, her machinations were long since enacted. It had been too late, even for an orc of his caliber. To try and turn the tide, to alter the stars’ course, to reverse time itself... these would be as likely as his own efforts. Patience and discipline would be needed again. He had been out-maneuvered, out-thought... out-numbered? Duskstalker knew first. He told her first. No doubt he will be rewarded for his discretion. And there would be others in this cabal, of course. She had asked Orphanmaker to remain behind also. How many othersâ€"

“Greetings, traveler. Your face betrays a great worry. What troubles you, friend?”

The elderly pandaren smiled earnestly at the orc, his large hands clasping gently before his rotund abdomen. The startled orc blinked once, quickly emerging from his bitter reverie. Beady irises darted cautiously about the room before falling upon the interloper. Eyes narrowed. “Y’wha?” the orc intoned belligerently, his hoarse voice cracking.

The pandaren stammered hesitantly. “I-I-I... am sorry. I merely wished to ask if there was... something wrong.” The elder frowned, his hirsute face wrinkling up. Avoiding the orc’s piercing glare, his own rheumatic eyes sunk ruefully to the floor. Exhaling weakly, the elder gave a short and apologetic bow.

The orc’s scrutinizing eyes remained firmly on the pandaren. A slow, wry smirk formed on his lips, exposing a crooked and discolored fang. “Somethin’ wrong... somethin’ wrong,” the orc croaked, chewing over the words. “Wha’, be tha’ yer name? Well! Well met, Sum Ting Wong. I be Sadok Sharptongue, pleas’d t’meet y’.” The orc cackled gutturally, his demeanor seeming less foul. The cackle concluded, his knifelike eyes returned to the trembling pandaren before him. The elder whimpered slightly. “You are mistaken, friend. My name isâ€"”

The orc interrupted. “Nobody cares about yer name. It were a joke; p’raps y’ain’t clever ‘nough t’get it. Grom knows pandaren need panderin’ t’wi’em... how y’say it... naïveté.” The orc paused briefly, looking outside the tavern to the slowly setting sun. “Feck me sideways wi’an ogre cudgel, y’be naïve an’ it be nigh eve,” the orc remarked, smirking smugly at his own wordplay. “Why ain’t y’laughin’?” The elder let out a timid, nervous laugh, slowly beginning to speak. “You are... funny orc. Iâ€"” The orc interrupted again. “Y’damned right. Be almost as witty as I be ‘andsome. Now get the feck out o’me face, ursine. I ‘ave internal monologuin’ t’do.”

The pandaren frowned indignantly, starting to speak again but stopping himself. “If it is your wish, I... will not trouble you any-more,” he tonelessly spoke. “Feckin’ right it be me wish. Make like an illusionist an’ disappear.” The elder wearily turned on his feet, letting out a broken sigh and departing. The orc watched the pandaren descend the stairs slowly and leave the tavern. He was alone again. Good. Where was he? Ah, yes.

She said his capture must have been some error, that he wouldn’t usually begin to conceive of turning down orders. The orc muttered inanely under his breath, stroking the rusted pommel of his spellblade, carved in the form of a drake. He didn’t know why the Chieftain had been interred, but he knew the Kor’kron had a reputation for obstinacy. Even if innocent, Feraleye would not be disgorged from Orgrimmar’s bowels, save for when the time of execution had come.

Hellscream’s reforged Horde had brought victory and fervor back to the orcish race, but all things have a price. Difference was diffidence to the Warchief, and lack of faith in his master-plan would be punished accordingly. This was harsh but fair, the orc surmised â€" the Alliance’s greatest weapon against the Horde was division and mistrust, and these could not be tolerated if the Horde was to triumph in this war to end all wars. Feraleye was an unfortunate loss, but to take arms against the Horde would amount to treason. The tribe would sign its own death-warrant.

The orc snarled fiercely. He was not going to be sacrificed upon an altar of abstract principle for the sake of some moral victory. He had played the meek sheep when a ravening worg’s appetite and ambition lay within. He had joked and smirked when his reputation had been slandered and his principles mocked. No. Feraleye might live, Feraleye might die. Feralheart might reign, Feralheart might fall. The tribe might unite, the tribe might implode. Sadok Sharptoâ€" no, Slitherblade would stand tall when all was said and done.

His fists relaxed. His jaw loosened. Soon.

[Therak]

Poor Sadok, everyone is ganging up on him!

[Kozgugore]

(( That's quite the thickening of a plot. Interesting to read indeed! o;< ))

[Lars]

((Awesome story Sadok. Make's me wish Muz was alive so Sadok had even more people to butt head against!
...
Even if I think the butt heads would be more litteral from Muz's side...

Still, have you thrusted that slitheringblade anywhere lately?))

[Okiba]

((Seems krogon mistook sadok for a different piece on the chess board! good read and very enlightening!))

[Mozrogg]

(( No more poking fun at the bear in chains eh? ))