Satisfaction floods his system as he watches on, every new piece of exposed skin a delight that sets ablaze his desire for carnal violence. He intends to visit it all upon the smaller man, helpless in the face of his new life, his new reality. Wherever the man is transported in his mind's eye, as he is parted with the last shreds of luxury, the Dark Urge takes note.
He doesn't understand it fully yet, but he sees something there to leverage. To use in order to cow this man in ways that he should be. The cultist finally releases those dark tresses once every inch of skin is exposed, put on display like a cheap piece of meat ready for ravishing.
There is nowhere to hide here aside from the long shadows that don't truly conceal, especially for those among their number who have darkvision. The Dark Urge is one of them, his eyes getting a full show of the fruits of his Father's gift to him, originally from Bane.
The urge to tear that flesh apart is just as intense as he can feel his hunger to claim his spoils intimately. And he intends to do that, but the desire to share with these worshippers doesn't figure into his appetite today. He intends to sate it alone.
"Come, Gortash. Time to service your new master."
He turns on his heel, rounds the altar and moves towards his chambers, the stairs jaggedly jutting down beneath the giant skull effigy of his Father, decorated down the centre with the flowing blood of their sacrifices. The sentiment is clear. One last chance for Gortash to obey without needing to be forced. The alternative is left for the man to imagine himself.
no subject
He doesn't understand it fully yet, but he sees something there to leverage. To use in order to cow this man in ways that he should be. The cultist finally releases those dark tresses once every inch of skin is exposed, put on display like a cheap piece of meat ready for ravishing.
There is nowhere to hide here aside from the long shadows that don't truly conceal, especially for those among their number who have darkvision. The Dark Urge is one of them, his eyes getting a full show of the fruits of his Father's gift to him, originally from Bane.
The urge to tear that flesh apart is just as intense as he can feel his hunger to claim his spoils intimately. And he intends to do that, but the desire to share with these worshippers doesn't figure into his appetite today. He intends to sate it alone.
"Come, Gortash. Time to service your new master."
He turns on his heel, rounds the altar and moves towards his chambers, the stairs jaggedly jutting down beneath the giant skull effigy of his Father, decorated down the centre with the flowing blood of their sacrifices. The sentiment is clear. One last chance for Gortash to obey without needing to be forced. The alternative is left for the man to imagine himself.