He was gone. The suit of armor that I always kept for last to clean in the crypts of Stormwind - it was gone. I fainted, but without losing conciousness, and my legs gave way to me falling to the floor. As the room began to spin the candles that lit the bottom floor of the crypts started to burn to the last remains of their wick and wax.
I met a pirate in a bar in Shattrath City. He told me that he’d been plundering and looting only the “finest booty” that he could lay his eyes on. He told me that although he was a rogue, he liked to see all things as belonging to the Light, including myself. I couldn’t control myself and I realized I would have a drink of what he was drinking.
As I took that first sip, there was another sip. Soon I was completely drunk. The rogue then began asking me about how I grew up, and I skipped the whole immortal highborne warlock of the burning crusade for the horde. I told him about the darkness that’s always following me, but I didn’t mention what happened to the people it killed.
Then, the charming rogue, insisted that I show him where I grew up. He held my hand and we walked through the portal to Stormwind. I don’t even want to remember the disgust on the faces of Stormwind’s people for what I had become, their shining beacon of hope that the Light would perfectly make its will done. Instead I was in their eyes, now a mistake. At least for this moment.
Yet when we got to the cathedral of Stormwind I realized the rogue was no longer behind me. Somewhere in our walk through Stormwind he had insisted that I “walk a straight line” and show him how drunk I am. Instead, I walked all the way to Stormwind out of some hubris or egotistical pride about how I can handle my alcohol.
So my higher senses came back to me for a moment and I walked back down the bottom of the crypts so I could spit on Horrigan’s tomb. In place of a walk in the dark with the Light to guide me… Most, if not all, of the candles were lit. They had been lit for some time, and I was able to find my way back down to where I first met the thing that follows me everywhere.
As I finished recalling the events that lead me looking to the ceiling of God’s grave, I started to fall asleep in that place where it all started with that thing that is nothing but “a Hallow’s End dress for a ghost…”. Yet in my final moment of clarity before the amount of alcohol took its toll on me I prayer that the Light would forgive me for my mistakes.
“You are not perfect, Muhammadah. You know better. The Light is perfect. Your prayers are answered.”, said the all too familiar voice as he put me to sleep.
The dark visage of an abyss of a human man sat down on the stone table where once sat the armor of John Horrigan, and he watched over Muhammadah.
