Killing.

The look of surprise on the guards face when the kodos arrived at the gate and my ice lance pierced his heart.

Murder.

The begging woman, trying in vain to get me to kill her after her husband fell to someone’s axe. The ice lance pierced her skull quickly.

Plunder.

The munitions, the food, the medicine. Their guardians destroyed, their creators possibly as well. Loaded up on the kodos and marched towards the next target.

Vengeance.

The lone paladin who tried to stop us from taking the ship. His bravery cut short by an axe wound to the face. He lay dying at our feet, my stomach sick.

Lying.

Seeing Calithos there, judging me, looking at the paladin. I tell my allies he is a medic, come to save the paladin’s life. They accept my lie and let him be. One life, maybe two spared.

Regret.

I cannot tolerate the look in Cal’s eyes. I cannot tolerate the satisfaction I see in the faces of those around me. I feel claustrophobic on the ship. I cannot throw up, or I would waste the sacrifice of the gnome flesh I took. I cannot waste it.

Drinking.

We return to Orgimmar or to our homes, victorious. I do not go home. I find a bottle. That is my home. Another of our kind comes in the bar and I cannot face him sober. I speak in insults until he leaves.

Love.

I cannot speak about my love, not at this time. How can he love me? How can he love this? I cannot love myself, much less him. I am a monster and I cannot face him. I cannot face anyone with a conscious.

Death.

I find myself in the Plaguelands, I am still drunk and I do not know how I got here. Sigmah’s ghouls bar my way to the crypt. I cannot enter and cannot see the Marksman. I need to get him out. He needs to go home. Did Calithos deliver my hastily whispered message to the Lightbringer? I do not know.

Sorrow.

Tonight will be the same, yet different. Keeping my mind together will be the hardest part.