A day of slaughter. Genocide of the tiefling people that reside in the druids grove as well with the druids within it. You found it utterly fulfilling, and hearing the drow leaders praise (as deluded as it was) made it all the better. Goblins weren't the most refined company to keep, but you felt the buzz of victory all around camp that night.

Gale felt less than victorious. In fact, he felt sick with himself. He had never imagined abusing the weave for such evil—stooping so low as to kill defenseless refugees for some made up God. The thought of Mystra's perception of him now was the cherry on top of his dread, embarrassment a hearty addition to every other emotion he was currently suffering from.

As you approached to celebrate your success with the man you'd taken a mutual interest with, he avoid your gaze. Now standing only a foot away, you didn't get the change to speak, Gale immediately beginning to berate your actions.

"You disgust me. I cannot believe I was foolish enough yet again to think a stranger a good leader." He degraded, although you could tell this went deeper than the usual regrets. You two had shared special moments together before this. He hated to admit that he'd grown rather smitten, especially now with you in front of him; blood still stained your cheeks and hair, features he'd previously fondly dreamed about. With a deep breath and even deeper frown, he voiced what he believed to be his final decision.

"I must leave. Worm or not, I cannot stand being around someone with morals as lowly as yours."