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Each moment before with and after Gortash came with a prayer—a prayer to Father. Far too many bargains that they should be allowed to let Gortash stand last, that the world should end with them. Father cared little as long as his work was doled out, but a weak pitiful wish to sustain a life was not fitting for his perfect Spawn.
They oft had wondered of Bane and his Chosen. The two of them served a power that looks most unfavorably upon the soft hearted, those too eager to share. They wonder how Bane crowds his thoughts for the childish notion of sharing The Crown further than the alliance truly needed.
They knew their whispers of ruling together were heard, heard and remembered.
But they knew their uses remained, that their Lords would let them be if the end was to be the same.
“Enver.” Urge calls to him.
“Why—if it isn’t my favorite…why the visit? Has the Temple of Bhaal displeased you?” A smile falls on his mouth.
“No. Nothing of the sort. I wish to discuss the long term.” Urge walks into the office and slinks to his side. Their hand following along his back, to his shoulder. A filthy display, apart of them thinks.
“I’m sure your faith in my plan hasn’t wavered. What could you want to talk about? I keep my word, Ketheric will do nothing that puts his precious daughter at risk…could it be that pesky Orin of yours?” He taps his gilded fingers on his desk with a hum.
“Nothing so short-sighted. Once we have Toril in our hands…you know of what I need to do. Our Lords make this clear our alliance is shallow, that we all have our own accords to follow. You may break yours, but I have no intention to fail my Father. I wanted to know just one thing, Enver…”
Gortash is quiet, unusual for a man of his bluster. His fingers still themselves as if to give full attention.
“How do you want me to kill you?” They finally ask.
It’s a few moments of silence between them again. Urge’s hand absentmindedly slips to Gortash’s neck—gentle and caressing. How I wish to wring it til I hear that last dying groan, their mind whispers.
“Your Father’s grip is as strong as it was. I suppose I cannot fault you. Fathers have a way of consuming the mind, don’t they?“
“Answer me, Enver Gortash.” Their voice firm, he feels their hand tremble before they remove it. They grip it into a tight fist. Tighter and tighter til it stays itself.
“The decision isn’t mine, I’d believe. What right does an offering to your father get?” Gortash’s bitter tone gleams through his wry smile. Urge can’t tell where it comes from. A bitter sense that being Bane’s Chosen will not save him, or that he cannot get Urge loosened from the grip of Bhaal on his own.
“Apart of me is so sickened when I see you that I want to rip your spine from your body and drink from the marrow in hopes it satisfies the clawing hunger within me. I do not think you would prefer that end. Hence why I deigned to ask.” They try not to tremble and shake at the mere thought of how beautiful they could make his body.
Gortash leans back into his chair, extending a hand out for them to take. They place their hand onto his and he closes his fingers around their trembling hand.
“I’m aware a Bhaalist is unused to pallid signs of affection so I’ll just say this—I’d prefer we kill each other. Any way you can decide. Perhaps a shared spear through our chests? Maybe we tour our ruled lands and find the highest of peaks to fall from which our bodies will crack and break when we land? Maybe a more delicate end for us after the gore and viscera…a quiet poisoned drink at the end of our world.” His voice is softened, though convincing as he always is. A warmth missing from his practiced platitudes oozed from his words. So saccharine it was.
Their hand steadies in his. For once in their fetid life they feel a sense of ease and certainty. Yes…certainty. They will only allow themself to die with Gortash. Love in its purest form for a Bhaalist is to meet their end with their beloved, as the eyes of Father Bhaal watches on and accepts the mingling of your blood and bone as his.
“Thank you.” Urge says. Almost a whisper. They hold his hand tight. Gortash brings their hand to his lips in a devoted kiss.
“We will see this through, as I’ve always assured.”