Whether the man senses it or not, the Dark Urge keeps at his back, a threat looming from behind. The choice has an intended purpose, to keep the human on edge. But, despite everything, a glimmer of what he can only acknowledge as vicious approval threads its way into his thoughts. He isn't surprised, Gortash is the Chosen of Bane for a reason, and that he is able to nakedly stand in the presence of Bhaalspawn and express himself in this manner is fascinating.
Truthfully he's seen more lethal men say far less, piss trickling down their leg purely out of fear. The thought is always there to punish, to rain down violence without a second to temper that immediate behaviour. Instead, he leans in, his lips barely a hairs breadth from the curve of Gortash's ear, even though he continues to keep clear of actually touching.
To share what he knows should slice into Gortash just as deeply as any blade could, but perhaps there is a part of him that is bestowing a reward for still possessing the wherewithal to speak this way. Toys aren't fun if they break immediately.
"You are what Bane chose to surrender to pay his debt to my Father. He offered you up like a lamb to the slaughter." He pauses there, eyes dropping to the hollow of Gortash's throat from where he's able to see over his shoulder. He can see his pulse, the way it's still very much present despite standing nakedly in the middle of Bhaal's favourite child's bedroom. By all rights, he should be dead.
There's enough to go on in the other man's explanation for him to draw a few conclusions of his own. That Gortash was completely loyal to his god was something not to be sniffed at. It made the lack of his being told ahead of time extremely suspicious, though not all that surprising.
"The god that has forsaken you assumes that you will meet a violent end here in the Temple of Bhaal. But my Father is wise to the God of Tyranny's games. If Bane wants a new Chosen, he will have to wait for your ultimate demise. And I do not intend to let that happen anytime soon."
From another mouth it could sound almost protective. A sincere expression of worrying for somebody's wellbeing. But just as always, this is nothing more than the gods trying to outdo each other and a devoted son serving his Father devoutly.
A finger finally connects to Gortash's spine, starting at his lower back and drawing a line up to his neck as though slicing open his spinal cord. It's firm but not painful, a curiosity rather than a punishment. Soon enough he moves that hand to one of the man's shoulders, pressing down in a way that doesn't so much request he gets to his knees rather than demands it.
no subject
Truthfully he's seen more lethal men say far less, piss trickling down their leg purely out of fear. The thought is always there to punish, to rain down violence without a second to temper that immediate behaviour. Instead, he leans in, his lips barely a hairs breadth from the curve of Gortash's ear, even though he continues to keep clear of actually touching.
To share what he knows should slice into Gortash just as deeply as any blade could, but perhaps there is a part of him that is bestowing a reward for still possessing the wherewithal to speak this way. Toys aren't fun if they break immediately.
"You are what Bane chose to surrender to pay his debt to my Father. He offered you up like a lamb to the slaughter." He pauses there, eyes dropping to the hollow of Gortash's throat from where he's able to see over his shoulder. He can see his pulse, the way it's still very much present despite standing nakedly in the middle of Bhaal's favourite child's bedroom. By all rights, he should be dead.
There's enough to go on in the other man's explanation for him to draw a few conclusions of his own. That Gortash was completely loyal to his god was something not to be sniffed at. It made the lack of his being told ahead of time extremely suspicious, though not all that surprising.
"The god that has forsaken you assumes that you will meet a violent end here in the Temple of Bhaal. But my Father is wise to the God of Tyranny's games. If Bane wants a new Chosen, he will have to wait for your ultimate demise. And I do not intend to let that happen anytime soon."
From another mouth it could sound almost protective. A sincere expression of worrying for somebody's wellbeing. But just as always, this is nothing more than the gods trying to outdo each other and a devoted son serving his Father devoutly.
A finger finally connects to Gortash's spine, starting at his lower back and drawing a line up to his neck as though slicing open his spinal cord. It's firm but not painful, a curiosity rather than a punishment. Soon enough he moves that hand to one of the man's shoulders, pressing down in a way that doesn't so much request he gets to his knees rather than demands it.