Enver Gortash (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
closeyourfist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
blueprints_bloodstains2024-08-23 02:59 pm
closeyourfist) wrote in blueprints_bloodstains2024-08-23 02:59 pm
A Foolish Aspiration - The Coronation
A kind of anticipation had been plaguing Enver Gortash's nerves since Orin came to him earlier in the day and left him with unexpected news but also a dire warning.
Unexpected news placed it too casually. But it had to be, else he would not know what to do with himself in the moment and then nothing would move forward. No one would tolerate that, not the restless elder brain ready to shatter her confines, not his god who even now he felt a disapproving unease from, a band of caution wrapping about his mind and warning him to remain on course. Of course his pursuits would lead him to investigate, to use new windfalls to his advantage.
But what he was not to do was waste his time or resources on some idle dream that had been agreed was better put away.
For the good of the mission as it was, but for his own good as well. There is no time for grief -- he already agreed to that. And if he allows himself some silly fancy over incomplete information now? He is just opening himself up to it again, and far too close to the eve of his conquest. When he needs most to be focused on the plot.
But the Dark Urge is alive and even as Enver prepares for the ceremony that will dub him Baldur's Gate's first Archduke, the largest step so far to seeing the great plot come to fruition? All he wants is to see him or see proof that Orin was mistaken. That need only ramps up when he receives messages confirming that a certain group has been sighted.
And then they were nearly here. And then it was suddenly very clear they would be arriving at the same time as the coronation -- which could bode ill. Orin had said the Dark Urge did not have his memories, and he had slain Ketheric Thorm. There was no reason to assume she had been wrong. He might very well have a fight on his hands.
But he just wanted to see him. He needed to.
So when new guests entered the Receiving Hall, for a moment all the air was gone from his lungs. But he did not fail in his duties. He would not allow so much as a hair to slip out of place as he begged his public indulgence while he welcomed an old friend.
His pulse was hammering even as he walked with the gait of something serene an certain.
Unexpected news placed it too casually. But it had to be, else he would not know what to do with himself in the moment and then nothing would move forward. No one would tolerate that, not the restless elder brain ready to shatter her confines, not his god who even now he felt a disapproving unease from, a band of caution wrapping about his mind and warning him to remain on course. Of course his pursuits would lead him to investigate, to use new windfalls to his advantage.
But what he was not to do was waste his time or resources on some idle dream that had been agreed was better put away.
For the good of the mission as it was, but for his own good as well. There is no time for grief -- he already agreed to that. And if he allows himself some silly fancy over incomplete information now? He is just opening himself up to it again, and far too close to the eve of his conquest. When he needs most to be focused on the plot.
But the Dark Urge is alive and even as Enver prepares for the ceremony that will dub him Baldur's Gate's first Archduke, the largest step so far to seeing the great plot come to fruition? All he wants is to see him or see proof that Orin was mistaken. That need only ramps up when he receives messages confirming that a certain group has been sighted.
And then they were nearly here. And then it was suddenly very clear they would be arriving at the same time as the coronation -- which could bode ill. Orin had said the Dark Urge did not have his memories, and he had slain Ketheric Thorm. There was no reason to assume she had been wrong. He might very well have a fight on his hands.
But he just wanted to see him. He needed to.
So when new guests entered the Receiving Hall, for a moment all the air was gone from his lungs. But he did not fail in his duties. He would not allow so much as a hair to slip out of place as he begged his public indulgence while he welcomed an old friend.
His pulse was hammering even as he walked with the gait of something serene an certain.