With the ritual completed, finally he can shift his attention to other matters at hand. With Gortash leading a few of the cultists on a merry little chase - and now being a trio of Bhaalists lighter than they had been before - there has to be some kind of acknowledgement. His father is actively trying to grow his pool of worshippers, and yet it seems ill-fitting to punish murder.

Perhaps he's feeling more kind than his new pet deserves, the fact he doesn't yank down the man's trousers and take his first fill of pleasure from him in full view of their onlookers a blessing for the new initiate. Though he is keen to ensure Gortash knows his place.

He finally stands, yanking the smaller man up off the altar by the back of his collar - scruffing him once more - and then unceremoniously shoving him out into the open space. There's nothing reverent about leaving him sprawled upon it and, if Gortash is paying attention, perhaps he can understand that under no circumstance should he climb upon it again unless directed there.

Gortash is also no longer shaded by type of privacy gained from being covered by such a large body. Instead he's free of a heavy hand anchoring him down, but that puts him in the dead centre of everybody's attention, adrift without any mooring at all. Dozens of eyes are on him, waiting.

"Strip," he says, monosyllabic and yet that word is full of all the power that he wields.