A barely perceptible nod not even a breath after the incorrect response, and the cultist holding the dagger behind Gortash leaps forward. That cruel blade is semi-careful as a hand grips hard into the back of his dark hair, the first slices into his clothes nicking the skin at his back enough that it would hurt. That it draws red lines so close to spilling over, and slashing of the garments keeping him modest is almost frenzied.

"Do not destroy him," comes the dark instruction from the bhaalspawn as his eyes drink in the sight of a man forced to comply whether he wishes to or not. And this is only the start of the lessons he intends to teach the former Baneite.

There's enough hunger brimming in his stare that it adds to the grim nature of this all. He wants Gortash naked, not only because it's a deterrent to bolting but also because what other purpose is the man to serve beyond being available to fuck any time he desires? Every flap of fabric sliced from his frame echoes into the cavernous space, silence everywhere else. The cultists watching. Waiting. Bearing witness to this indecency and relishing it.