Daimd did not believe in fate or destiny or any sort of higher powers, to speak of. He believed, sometimes, in the best of moods, that his ancestors probably did spend some of their infinite afterlife watching him, though he did strongly suspect that he was boring and tame for their tastes. Magically dispatching your enemies was far less messy and entertaining than gutting them through with a sword, and he had no magical deceased relatives to admire his finesse.

Still, from time to time, he had to wonder.

Fleeting decisions change lives. Phrases like “I will pay my debt to you” meaning “I will stay by you until I see fit to leave”, and cooking daily for two rather than one. Stepping forward when there was no perceptible reward or gain for doing so. Learning to accept the constant presence of another person by your side.

Fate had no hand in his life, and destiny did not exist. But he had to wonder.

Daimd was happy to consider himself an orc of few vices. He couldn't recall the last time he'd envied someone else, since he hardly took notice of anyone's life outside his own, and he certainly lacked whatever defined one as avaricious, given that he rarely wanted more than what he already had. Similarly, gluttony was not a factor in his life; he ate what he had, when he was hungry, and not otherwise. In these senses, he would describe himself as satisfied.

The others were less straight-forward, but he shifted them around in his mind, not too set upon by any one in particular. He considered himself prideful in that he was pleased with himself, but not so much that he considered himself vastly better than any one of his neighbours. He was simply the only Daimd in the world, and the best one of that, in particular. Nothing spectacular. Nothing self-indulgent.

Wrath, too, was a familiar cousin, but not a close relative--surely that was something he experienced only with good reason. His life was, all told, free of excesses.

But he supposed, with a rough grin, that maybe he was too generous with himself. If it was sloth to linger hours away beneath the blanket with an arm around his lover, and if it was lust to want him fiercely, any time the slightest opportunity presented itself... But, he thought as he pulled the redheaded blood elf nearer to him and pressed his face into that fantastic hair, that hardly felt like vice.