Walking with four legs is a pain. Trust me. Just trying to get back to the road to Goldshire took all my concentration, and half the time I landed a face-plant right in the dirt. Thank god no one saw me; I musta' looked like a walking cotton ball just back from a frat party. When I actually got to the road things became easier, in the sense that when I fell, instead of cushioning dirt to protect my head, packed mud and bricks were at the end of my fall, making me unable to reasonably make any decisions. Thank god again. I would have given up and just laid there, a fuzzy speed bump for passing wagons.
What took me two minutes to travel that morning was instantly turned into an intense thirty minute balancing extravaganza. I took all the extra time to mentally curse mages and murlocs, for ever and ever. If I had seen one that day, uncoordinated or not, I would have become Hellsheep The Vicious and bit the living crap out of his ankles. Legends would be passed on of Hellsheep to all those who visit Elwynn. Man, I could become a freakin' tourist attraction before the day was up.
I got outside of Goldshire, finally. Unfortunately, I doubt anyone has ever had the same predicament, so I didn't have a friggin' clue what I was gonna do. I spent a couple of minutes tripping and bleating at random hoping to get some attention, sometimes barreling into people and knocking them down. After I got quite a few people pissed, I decided to try good ol' Marshall Dugan for help.
After telling me that I needed to collect murloc fins, and warning me of the upcoming invasion, I will say I had a little rage. I may be a sarcastic, cynical being, but I've learned how to correctly vent my anger in a correct and acceptable fashion.
I got him right under the shinguard, where the boot comes up a little short. Let the teeth marks there be a testament to all quadruped herbivores everywhere when I say, guys, I feel your pain. The following scene resulted in Stormwind guards chasing me, swords drawn, yelling "Demon sheep!" over and over. Since my walking abilities were a little under par, I settled for hopping alternately with my front and back legs. First person to call that "prancing" will wake up tomorrow next to a conveniently placed dead spider.
I lost em' in a passing flock of sheep. Anyone who could have picked me out of that crowd needs to find some type of companionship, your species or otherwise, now. No one should ever be able to differentiate between two completely white sheep and live. I laid low for a bit, and tried my hand at grazing. The first few mouthfuls were okay, I guess. I remember wishing for a steak.
Heading back to Goldshire, with the completely oblivious Marshall standing guard, was not a problem. The guards weren't going to slay every sheep that wandered into a town, I'm sure someone cares about them. A lot of people were going into the inn, so I followed. No one found it odd that a sheep just walked into the inn. God I hate this place.
Everyone in the inn was heading upstairs. I was going to head that way too, until I saw someone heading for the back room. He was dressed in a dark cloak, held a dark staff, and was just essentially a dark person, besides the fact of being lighter-skinned then a…sheep. Common sense dictated not to head anywhere near that guy, for any reason, but unfortunately for all of us, no one in that damn town has common sense. The butcher from the cutting room in the back came up. If you saw a live sheep in an inn, standing around the common room, one would not assume that would be the evening meal, mainly for the reason it is still breathing. The butcher took one look at all the people, then a look behind him, presumably into the cutting room, and picked me up from the ground, and before I could bleat a protest, had me in the back room. Try not to analyze that sentence; it will give you nightmares if misinterpreted.
I decided halfway through my flight that I was not going to go quietly. I majestically left his arms (after biting the crap out of his arms) and fell straight down the stairs that led to the cellar. Imagine a snowball rolling down a hill, gaining momentum. Now imagine that snowball being very confused and bleating. Then take a break, because some things should never have been imagined in the first place.
Remember good old Dark n' Spooky? Yeah, he was there. He was also a warlock too, apparently. First thing he did, quick as a cat, was to curse me. Now I was confused, scared, cursed, pissed, frustrated, and above all, sheeped. If you told me the highlight of my day was learning to walk straight, I would have laughed in your face. I dunno what curse he cast, 'cept for some reason all my bleating was discombobulated. It sounded like I was speaking through a straw packed full of mud, underwater with a rope around my throat and cotton balls in my esophagus. Not the loveliest sound.
The butcher took one look at Spookums and, like any sane being would, left. Maybe they're not all as dumb as I thought they were.
Well, here I was, in a dark cellar with Tall, Dark, and Scary. Typical cellar. No happiness in cellars, nope. Rats and cobwebs, the best decorations to remind you of everything that has ever made you jolt upright in bed at two in the morning. Anyway, he didn't instantly kill me, which is good, but looked at me curiously, which is bad. I've already had a bad day with magic, thanks. I'll be fine without it for quite a while.
"I wonder…" he said. Perfect. Don't freakin' explain yourself or anything, dude. Just let the sheep have a panic attack on the floor, don't mind him.
"Damnit" I expressed.
I don't know why this shocked him. I mean, to him he must have only heard bleating, right? Or my lovely throat noise, whatever curse that was.
"What's wrong?" he asked curiously. Great. I get the bozo who thinks he can talk to sheep.
"You try being a damn sheep" I said, uselessly. I to this day, don't even know why I said it.
But oh boy was he excited. Hell if I know why.
"What's wrong with being a sheep?" he asked.
My turn to lose my mind. I recapped the entire day, trying to explain what was going on. First I'm a sheep, and I wander across someone who talks to sheep. Maybe that Rat Kabob had gotten to me.
I responded the only way I knew.
Meaning, of course, I passed out. Who wants to deal with all that at once?