The clawed fingers of the devil's free hand snap. The sound echoes in the chamber resoundingly like a vibration conducting on bone in the water.
Enver Gortash appears in an instant and nearly blunders into the table. The sudden change in lighting, scenery, even the quality of the air sets him visibly panicking for a second, and when he flails fresh droplets of crimson spatter from his gauntleted fingers.
But whatever quarry had his fury before, it dies with them wherever he's just been plucked from. His eyes are over-dry, sunken and heavy with too many waking hours kept company by tears. Beneath the finery of his robes an angry mark is visible, red and welted but not quite breaking the skin.
At first his stance draws lower into almost a crouch, uncertain but more fortified as his gaze casts about wildly to orient itself.
"Now now, Enver. This is no way to present yourself to welcome guests."
A finger raises, and with it so does his posture seem to straighten. His breath catches, and he visibly forces it to quiet. And then his eyes finally lock with who is standing there.
And now he cannot breathe at all.
It's a trick. He's finally gone mad.
"Asked and provided: more than hot air. One intact netherstone. I would not expect a signature without as much, of course."
no subject
The clawed fingers of the devil's free hand snap. The sound echoes in the chamber resoundingly like a vibration conducting on bone in the water.
Enver Gortash appears in an instant and nearly blunders into the table. The sudden change in lighting, scenery, even the quality of the air sets him visibly panicking for a second, and when he flails fresh droplets of crimson spatter from his gauntleted fingers.
But whatever quarry had his fury before, it dies with them wherever he's just been plucked from. His eyes are over-dry, sunken and heavy with too many waking hours kept company by tears. Beneath the finery of his robes an angry mark is visible, red and welted but not quite breaking the skin.
At first his stance draws lower into almost a crouch, uncertain but more fortified as his gaze casts about wildly to orient itself.
"Now now, Enver. This is no way to present yourself to welcome guests."
A finger raises, and with it so does his posture seem to straighten. His breath catches, and he visibly forces it to quiet. And then his eyes finally lock with who is standing there.
And now he cannot breathe at all.
It's a trick. He's finally gone mad.
"Asked and provided: more than hot air. One intact netherstone. I would not expect a signature without as much, of course."