Probably another thing notable, based on that: it could be attributed to whatever potions or spells his companions threw at him, but he's not black and blue.
Truthfully, Enver hadn't thought of it until this exact moment. And he's taken several falls. He's been grabbed, punched, and far worse tonight. Some of those might show evidence of their passing later if he doesn't drink a potion, but not yet. He shakes his head, uncertain what to make of it, but seeing his own hand against the Dark Urge's is another once-again reminder that he has indeed changed.
"It's all right." He would let him do it, even if he could have felt the marks coming already. Reminders. "I'm --" He's not, all right. None of this is, save that it's over. "I've been watched over well."
It's not a lie. His borrowed companions are heroes of legend; it would be stupid to think they could not pull their weight. To the point of getting in the way at times, when it comes to the broad side of a barn that was the larger one.
"And you were."
They all seemed to make it back, which should not have surprised him seeing as how even when this group had just been made up of whispers and rumors, word that any of them fell never came with. But that is still a powerful despair to be fighting back against, and the former archduke could only fear the worst in spite of himself. Pain he wasn't allowed to feel, now present because it could only be put away before, now mingled with fear that it would ambush him a third time, and now there was nothing to hold it back.
Gortash felt it coming upon him and did the only thing he could, which was fall into him and hide once it had hold of him. It was the wrong time to him. This wasn't a safe or private place to fall apart, but there was nothing left to keep it bolstered. All he can do his close his eyes against the man's chest and let it release itself.
So words and thought fail him for a span of forever, every sound forces its way out of him with staggering force, fear and anguish and relief all together and too-long locked away somewhere within, refusing to be denied.
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Truthfully, Enver hadn't thought of it until this exact moment. And he's taken several falls. He's been grabbed, punched, and far worse tonight. Some of those might show evidence of their passing later if he doesn't drink a potion, but not yet. He shakes his head, uncertain what to make of it, but seeing his own hand against the Dark Urge's is another once-again reminder that he has indeed changed.
"It's all right." He would let him do it, even if he could have felt the marks coming already. Reminders. "I'm --" He's not, all right. None of this is, save that it's over. "I've been watched over well."
It's not a lie. His borrowed companions are heroes of legend; it would be stupid to think they could not pull their weight. To the point of getting in the way at times, when it comes to the broad side of a barn that was the larger one.
"And you were."
They all seemed to make it back, which should not have surprised him seeing as how even when this group had just been made up of whispers and rumors, word that any of them fell never came with. But that is still a powerful despair to be fighting back against, and the former archduke could only fear the worst in spite of himself. Pain he wasn't allowed to feel, now present because it could only be put away before, now mingled with fear that it would ambush him a third time, and now there was nothing to hold it back.
Gortash felt it coming upon him and did the only thing he could, which was fall into him and hide once it had hold of him. It was the wrong time to him. This wasn't a safe or private place to fall apart, but there was nothing left to keep it bolstered. All he can do his close his eyes against the man's chest and let it release itself.
So words and thought fail him for a span of forever, every sound forces its way out of him with staggering force, fear and anguish and relief all together and too-long locked away somewhere within, refusing to be denied.