I see that orc sitting there. His rancid stink filling the air.
And as I sneak behind him so, dodging, weaving to and fro.
Whip at ready, task at hand. See him there, behind I stand.
I lash with whip, around his throat. And grin with glee, as I garrote.

Well, thanks for reading my silly little poem.
-Eion

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Mayan, in the year 361 AF.