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_bloodstains2024-08-24 11:30 am
closeyourfist) wrote in blueprints_bloodstains2024-08-24 11:30 am
Toppling from Cauldron to Blaze
Orin's stone has been obtained.
Enver Gortash is just coming into the floor of his office when the voice touches his mind. Familiar, though heavier. Closer. Like breath he can feel on the back of his neck.
Anticipation. He feels it himself, the sudden rush and thrill of the dawning thought that there were no steps but the last at this point. Soon the Dark Urge and the rest of the rogue True Souls would return and they would journey to the Underground to finish this. The Elder Brain would at least be back under heel.
The Absolute Plot, at last, would move confidently forward.
His men from the temple stand at the ready for orders. Better to get them posted in the city, just as soon as it was certain it was time.
There is no remaining trace of Bhaal's living flesh.
The Archduke halts mid-step.
Bane does not speak needlessly or without thought. His Chosen knows to heed his words and their clear intent.
Hear me. This changes nothing. The plan continues with or without Myrkul and Bhaal's hands to help guide it.
And he feels something like a hand closing around his mind. Not enough to hurt, but a clear sign it could. A warning reminder.
He responds immediately, with no waver in his voice because that is what that silent command requires. "This changes nothing." The Dark Urge is dead. And he feels the band around his chest tighten. He draws in a resolute breath. Because he will take in air. He will not show what presence in his mind and in the very air around him does not want to see. "The plan continues."
He was always going to be gone. Cruel to have deluded himself into thinking otherwise.
Feel that, and be done. There is more to do, imminently.
The disciples go about their duties at his back as he continues to cross the chamber. He doesn't notice when they actually fall. Neither of them do.
When they bring the stones, take them or bring the rogues along. It is time to assume your rightful place.
And that voice bleeds into every tendril of sensation, washing over those places that hurt like something caustic, refusing to soothe but unwilling to be what is chased away. Bane feels more present, like a firm hand on his shoulder. A presence in the doorway of his mind.
Prepared to see the end.
Reminding him, perhaps, that he rules alone today. As he should. But he never was, truly.
Footsteps bring him toward the back of the chamber. Some of the traps arm themselves.
He doesn't notice them immediately switch off.
The Black Hand is telling Enver now, because what would have happened if those people came to him and he knew only then that the battle with Orin had cut their numbers down? Rude. An attempt to compromise him. But he is prepared.
Feel what you must now. Then never again. You promised yourself this once already.
He doesn't realize until it's too late that the person he senses nearing him is not, in fact, one of his footmen.
Black. The feeling of fingers that were bearing down bleedingly hard, pried away.
Enver Gortash is just coming into the floor of his office when the voice touches his mind. Familiar, though heavier. Closer. Like breath he can feel on the back of his neck.
Anticipation. He feels it himself, the sudden rush and thrill of the dawning thought that there were no steps but the last at this point. Soon the Dark Urge and the rest of the rogue True Souls would return and they would journey to the Underground to finish this. The Elder Brain would at least be back under heel.
The Absolute Plot, at last, would move confidently forward.
His men from the temple stand at the ready for orders. Better to get them posted in the city, just as soon as it was certain it was time.
There is no remaining trace of Bhaal's living flesh.
The Archduke halts mid-step.
Bane does not speak needlessly or without thought. His Chosen knows to heed his words and their clear intent.
Hear me. This changes nothing. The plan continues with or without Myrkul and Bhaal's hands to help guide it.
And he feels something like a hand closing around his mind. Not enough to hurt, but a clear sign it could. A warning reminder.
He responds immediately, with no waver in his voice because that is what that silent command requires. "This changes nothing." The Dark Urge is dead. And he feels the band around his chest tighten. He draws in a resolute breath. Because he will take in air. He will not show what presence in his mind and in the very air around him does not want to see. "The plan continues."
He was always going to be gone. Cruel to have deluded himself into thinking otherwise.
Feel that, and be done. There is more to do, imminently.
The disciples go about their duties at his back as he continues to cross the chamber. He doesn't notice when they actually fall. Neither of them do.
When they bring the stones, take them or bring the rogues along. It is time to assume your rightful place.
And that voice bleeds into every tendril of sensation, washing over those places that hurt like something caustic, refusing to soothe but unwilling to be what is chased away. Bane feels more present, like a firm hand on his shoulder. A presence in the doorway of his mind.
Prepared to see the end.
Reminding him, perhaps, that he rules alone today. As he should. But he never was, truly.
Footsteps bring him toward the back of the chamber. Some of the traps arm themselves.
He doesn't notice them immediately switch off.
The Black Hand is telling Enver now, because what would have happened if those people came to him and he knew only then that the battle with Orin had cut their numbers down? Rude. An attempt to compromise him. But he is prepared.
Feel what you must now. Then never again. You promised yourself this once already.
He doesn't realize until it's too late that the person he senses nearing him is not, in fact, one of his footmen.
Black. The feeling of fingers that were bearing down bleedingly hard, pried away.
no subject
It feels like the second that he is reminded that he must be tired, his body finally recognizes how much it as been through in the last day. Even if it is technically a new body, his mind and memory was strong enough to carry the exhaustion he was already saddled with into it, compounded with the stress that was coming back from death and nearly dying again while running and fighting nonstop for what felt like hours.
And it is only as they make their way in that direction that the less-important details finally begin to come through. Amid memories of a similar quiet night they spent, with the Dark Urge gently ushering him to bed. There is now also where they are. He hasn't slept on a bedroll since he was a teenager. Even when he was traveling before, there were inns. Cots.
And then, "...Do you sleep?" A slow blink as he looks down at his hands. "Do I, now?" What a strange question to find himself asking, but he feels heavy as he thinks that there was no way that trancing was going to have any sort of impact.
no subject
Eventually his brain offers a last ditch attempt at thought processing as he pulls the tent flap aside. Waiting for Enver to retire inside, he thinks through the question.
"Did I not used to?" He asks as he's eventually following the human into the tent, careful not to bump into him even in this low light. It occurs to him afterwards that this must be new for Enver, being able to see this well without much in the way of light to see by.
no subject
For a moment he considers whether there should be less but his fingers stop. Still uncertain how he appears, really, and not wanting to think about that right now.
"I'm not certain; you really only stayed with me once, and you may very well have been awake the whole night." His head tilts as he watches him, curious. It seems like a lot right now, to ask if he remembers.
no subject
The thought still occurs regardless and for a moment he looks slightly perturbed before forcing himself to move on. What happened with Alfira had been while he'd been filled up with Bhaal's unholy blood. He doesn't feel the same now, but his thoughts do still plague him in ways that are disturbing.
"Tomorrow perhaps you can tell me what you remember?" He's taking up a lot of space in the tent though he crams himself right up at one edge to give Enver as much leftover space as possible. He's too tired to think on much more than just getting comfortable and surrendering to sleep.
no subject
Getting settled becomes a series of tasks, just sort of blindly followed with little thought behind it, which is in itself almost comforting. The space is limited, but the man with him might be overthinking it, as much as one can when they are half awake. It's not unusual that he thinks this way: he is not a small man.
As it is, in the moments it takes for both of them to be gone, where they end up is where they remain, almost motionless until well after the dawn. Enver remains close despite the knowledge of what Kael is, or was, and it is a testament to what he believes he understands of the man that he would be willing to be not only unconscious in his presence, but in contact with him.
When slowly consciousness begins to climb its way back into his body, he feels no aches from the rougher surface, or from sharing that space. Memory returns before panic at his surroundings has a chance to set in. There is still this hum of anxiety eventually, because new -- uncertainty -- no plans. But his eyes are open and he's sitting up, and he's there.
It might be a dream.