Faint.

Gharb was standing on the edge of the steep not far from Halaa. The Horde forces were gathering around it, preparing for the attack. Gharb was serious and silent - that was a rare state in public but a very common one for his loneliness that was ruling his life.

There should be a description of the world surrounding Gharb... something like a magnificent, enchanting sky, fresh, tender Nagrad air. Light emanating from the sky luminaries, reflecting in the lake of the deep valley of Halaa. Quiet, barely audible rustle of Gharb's cloak and his armor, moving by his slow and calm breathing. Though it's not important. Gharb loved the nature, loved to contemplate it and live with it like a wild beast. But this moment his gaze was directed to the inside - to the soul of the rogue and killer, lover and scoundrel. Keen stare was looking for an answeres in the firm web of personality, spinned of loyality, pain, irony and will.

There's... something missing in here... - he muttered, frowned and sighed heavily.

He has entered the Portal to punish those that hurted him by defiling that thrilling place and Gharb has succeeded in this purpose. Each day he was killing and getting a sincere satisfaction, joy. He was always killing in a different way - sometimes slowly, enjoying the very last, farewell agony of the victim, or quickly and viciously - getting slightly drunk of the warm blood scent. Thought this was bringing only a momentary feeling of joy. In the evening when he wasn't hunting or doing somewhat important tasks for the Horde... he was very different. Just like now - broken and thoughtful without any irony or smile, the state he has never shown to anybody.

This moment there was no usual Pirate Hat on his head - he had put it off, his long muddled hair were streaming in the wind. Eyes, that were looking into the void, shifted and slowly focused on the Pirate Hat he was grasping. Rogue grinned darkly. Then he frowned slightly and roughly took out of his puch the Hood. Bloodfang Hood. He examined it and felt exactly the same power he felt when he touched it for the first time. The Hood was amplifying his skills greatly at the same time providing the best defence that is possible for a killer - privacy. It was granting an unique, sharp sight and hiding the face, emotions. Once Gharb told Heresy that he didn't want to wear it because he's not used to handle such powers...

Nevertheless he was using the Hood from time to time. To hide the emotions and face... eyes. In Orgrimmar - of the strangers, in the fight - of the unwanted opponent. Hiding the weakness was important but not something Gharb liked doing. Sometimes the Hood helped.

Gharb coldly stared at the artifact and then at his Hat.

What a fucking ugly hat... - he swung his arm and threw the headpiece into the valley, watching it slowly falling, disappearing from his sight. He felt something ached within, not willing to let the possession go, but he gritted teeth and hissed.

I decide what is power and control and what is not...

Then he put on his Pirate Hat and looked around. Distant sounds of bombimg Halaa with the wyverns, piercing screams of wounded fighters echoing in the valley... there was a war. Even here in beautiful Nagrand. The Horde raid was surrounding Halaa, preparing for the ground assault. Above Gharb flew another Horde raid - wyverns riders were going to counterattack allies and strike Talaar. On one of the wyverns he noticed Heresy.

He was calm and cold, he made not a single gesture, his sight wasn't showing any emotion, his lips were still. Just somewhere inside he felt a heart ached. Just once, silently, but keenly enough to lose the balance. He gritted his teeth and tried to think of nothing.

He remembered the moment of counting gold. He had just 6 silver left. Then he put the package adressed to Heresy in the mailbox. He knew that her old worn items were much better than his and most of the availible ones but the time will come... besides, woman... she needs her own choice that somebody makes for her. Gharb grinned faintly and asked a friend to lend him some money, to hire a Netherstorm wyvern. There was a simple note attached to the package, asking Heresy to reply nothing and give nothing in return.

Then he remembered how he missed her face that was almost always covered by the Hood. He remembered how rarely he sees her and same moment remembered that he hears her even more rarely.

He took out his hearthstone and realised that nobody has spoken to him for months. Alliance was communicating to him more than the Horde did.

Rogue shifted eyes and gazed into the void. And tried once again to think of nothing.

He wanted to fall into the abyss or fall asleep to never wake up. All of a sudden he felt himself miserable, useless and rotten.

I am ill... i need a cure...

With a frown he turned around and moved to Halaa. He wanted to kill someone. Anyone.