It is ritual before battle.

“Ah will see da ‘lliance pay fo’ wha’ they done.”

A tiny, green-haired Troll priest, in robes too large, with staff too tall. I know her to cast spells of venom as often as healing. Her accent is thick: I am one of few who can mimic it.

“I will see the Dwarves pay for their desecration of the Earth Mother.”

A burly Tauren warrior. His shield and sword have saved me more than once. His voice is deep and proud despite the bloody words.

“I will ssssee the living of Lordaeron regret it.”

A lithe Forsaken rogue, in dusty brown leathers. He sharpens his blade menacingly, methodically. He hisses the words, spitting them through half-rotten gums as if they anger him.

 “I will see the Draenei corrupted with my power once more.”

A barely-clothed Orc warlock, with venom in her tone. Her imp sits next to her, picking at its toenails. She does not like me, and I am not fond of her.

I say nothing, focusing on waxing my spare bowstring.

“What about you?” the warrior asks.

Testing, I flex the wood of my bow. It won’t be good much longer, but I stretch the bowstring and loop it around the ends once more.

“Alenei?”

I look up, stopping the movement of my hands mid-knot.

“Yes?” I ask.

 “Wha’ joo fightin’ fo’?”

I answer without pause.

“I will see them bleed.”