Gortash has certainly heard a few rumors. Those persisted even when he was a child. And there had been that narrow escape, back then. Just before...that night. And he'd been so relieved to find his way home afterward--
He shakes his head to clear it, and it's not a well-hidden gesture. One more sign there is probably a good deal weighing on his mind than just the moment.
But it was a long time before he heard those rumors again, not until he was back in Baldur's Gate again, but he armed himself well, and they rarely targeted the organizations that ran underground. It wasn't impossible, but more often when the signs of their passing appeared it would be out of the blue to remind the more normal people that the horrors still existed.
And by the time he served the Black Hand and began to move up politically, it was the sort of thing to put out of mind as just a thing that made the imaginings more frightening and provocative to the layperson. When the meetings began, it became a matter that was not his business if it did not have to do with the work they were doing. Or perhaps, because of that understanding, the rumors became things not to think about because it all meant he did not apply.
The Dark Urge points to a spot in front of him and despite the ritual moments ago it feels...inappropriately close. Because of the state he was in. Because of the injuries they now both sported. Because the air was thick with dread? Anticipation? Certainty of what was to come.
He picks his way to the place he's directed to. His eyes stay on him in a way that isn't his usual -- everything else in the room feels like too much. But if it is not the Dark Urge's eyes, it is his mouth as it moves, his hands.
And then he speaks, and at his given name being spoken, his cheeks bloom with their first sign of life besides then exhaustion that nearly took him when he fled.
His eyes move to an outer wall. He almost doesn't answer; he's not certain if he should, but the threat of making this worse for himself looses -- albeit quietly -- the first answer that came to mind, exactly as it formed in his head: "...I didn't think you weren't looking."
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He shakes his head to clear it, and it's not a well-hidden gesture. One more sign there is probably a good deal weighing on his mind than just the moment.
But it was a long time before he heard those rumors again, not until he was back in Baldur's Gate again, but he armed himself well, and they rarely targeted the organizations that ran underground. It wasn't impossible, but more often when the signs of their passing appeared it would be out of the blue to remind the more normal people that the horrors still existed.
And by the time he served the Black Hand and began to move up politically, it was the sort of thing to put out of mind as just a thing that made the imaginings more frightening and provocative to the layperson. When the meetings began, it became a matter that was not his business if it did not have to do with the work they were doing. Or perhaps, because of that understanding, the rumors became things not to think about because it all meant he did not apply.
The Dark Urge points to a spot in front of him and despite the ritual moments ago it feels...inappropriately close. Because of the state he was in. Because of the injuries they now both sported. Because the air was thick with dread? Anticipation? Certainty of what was to come.
He picks his way to the place he's directed to. His eyes stay on him in a way that isn't his usual -- everything else in the room feels like too much. But if it is not the Dark Urge's eyes, it is his mouth as it moves, his hands.
And then he speaks, and at his given name being spoken, his cheeks bloom with their first sign of life besides then exhaustion that nearly took him when he fled.
His eyes move to an outer wall. He almost doesn't answer; he's not certain if he should, but the threat of making this worse for himself looses -- albeit quietly -- the first answer that came to mind, exactly as it formed in his head: "...I didn't think you weren't looking."