Edict of Dat Ass

I think one of the things that I love so much with Enver and Dirge with this iteration is that, objectively, on face value, before they meet they are two absolutely terrifying and awful people.

They have both done horrifying, terrible things. They both have very few scruples, if any, about what they are and are not willing to do, particularly in any 'ends justify the means' scenario. They literally meet because Dirge has been sent to kill a patriar for disrespecting her father and Enver was there working on his 'seduction for power and wealth' angle. The only reason he doesn't die is because he's good at talking himself out of things and convinces her that he's someone worth knowing.

[ She decides she needs to figure out more about him to see if he's a threat to her father and his plans, to know if she can kill him or if she needs to find out more first, eliminate other threats, and then kill him. ]

It's about the way you would expect two absolutely horrendous people to meet and become associates of necessity.

[ Enver needs to at the least buy time so he isn't killed on the spot, and Dirge needs to know if he's an isolated threat or how far the spider web goes. ]

Now, you would assume, when they meet, they would also, quite decidedly, make each other all the worse by one Bad enabling and 'Yes And-ing' another Bad about every terrible, wicked idea that either one of them can imagine.

Which they do on one level, at least in the beginning because they cook up this plan together about the Elder Brain and the Crown and the tadpoles, the Absolute religious hoax, and everything they need set into motion to really Sell It--murder and mayhem in the streets, distrust of outsiders, and an army of cultists marching for the city.

But, over the course of knowing each other, they also??? make each other better??? in other ways???

Enver helps Dirge to find herself, to help her realize she's more than just an instrument of death and obliteration. He quite literally helps her find her voice, her ability to express her thoughts, opinions, desires, and needs, which is why her language in the 'Prayer for Forgiveness' is so similar to his own, honestly. She listened to him and then she would parrot things she had heard him say but in regards to whatever she wanted to express, and slowly she began to speak for herself, but always with a bit of a slant from his influence. He shows her patience and understanding and compassion--where almost no one ever showed him as much--while she is figuring herself out, and it means the world to her for reasons she can't even begin to explain.

What's more, both with this matter and in many other ways, he shows her that she has value beyond her ability to Kill Something Really Well. He values her opinions. He values her expertise in her fields. He values her.

She says that he is her heart, because she didn't have one before him.

And Dirge, of all people, shows Enver absolute and unwavering loyalty and devotion. Gives him ONE person that he knows would never betray him. Who respects him exactly as he is, even if/when the pretenses and performances are set aside. Who he doesn't have to seduce or flatter or charm to have in his corner. Someone who has never INTENTIONALLY or KNOWINGLY hurt him and is absolutely beside herself the times that she has. Who does everything she possibly can to prevent it or at least mitigate the damage--from managing her bloodlust to getting him charmed rings and trinkets she finds that protect from certain types of damage to giving him a cane with a hidden blade in it so that he has another way to protect himself from her or others.

Even if she doesn't speak and has difficulty expressing herself when first they meet, it's evident to Enver that she's simply been neglected in some regards, but not that she's any less intelligent.

In fact, he says that she is his equal, which is something he's never felt like he had prior to her.

And, over time, they both end up stumbling and fumbling their way through learning what it is to love and be loved, truly, unconditionally, beyond explanation or words--without wax, as Enver is fond of saying [ even though the saying confuses the hell out of Dirge for the longest time until he explains the origin of the phrase; please do imagine his amusement when she begins to sign letters to him 'without knives, Dirge' ].

At the end of the day, against all odds and expectations, even if not in every regard, they are both better for knowing each other, for loving each other.

I also think, from Dirge's standpoint, that whatever her 'Prayer for Forgiveness' might say to the contrary, when it would reach the tipping point and it was time to make a decision, even if the tadpole matter never happened, the path she chose the moment she chose Enver would always lead to her death because she would always defy Bhaal and refuse to become his Slayer, refuse to end the world.

After all, she finally had someone that she couldn't bear to lose.

As much as it pained her whenever her urges overtook her and she caused him harm, the idea of killing him becomes intolerable, inconceivable. She would have destroyed anyone and anything to protect him.

Including herself.

Now, was she on a path to Redemption, prior to the tadpoles? I don't think that I'd call it that.

But a path to Defiance? Absolutely.

And then she is Embarrass. 😂

She has also gotten STARTLED by her own tail in a similar instance and jumped three feet in the air.

This is what only Enver ever witnesses, because she's not ever going to be drowsy enough around literally anyone else to be so vulnerable. 😂

The bulk of his time within the city's limits was spent at Martez' Poultices & Potions, his presence rather an unalarming thing after so long. It was a coincidence that he so happened to be within the shop right in that moment, but not a terribly surprising one.

Even so far to the north, guests to the city were common enough, but seldom someone with such intent in their posture. He had sensed the ambience of the establishment shift just by the newcomer's entrance, but the lich hadn't registered what he'd said until the patrons began to whisper.

Ah... of course.

Eyes flicked between Martez and Tareque, the shopkeeper giving the lich a near pleading expression. His eyes rolled in begrudging agreement. "Fine," he muttered, all of them instantly coming to the incorrect conclusions.

Confusion muted Enver, black eyes widening as the so-called lich simply walked past him without a pause. He wasn't one to let his tongue rest for long so he followed after to talk at him about how one does not simply Walk Past Enver Gortash...

"Forgive me the assumption." He grouses, "I suppose I had lofty ideals. Need I remind you, you need me alive every bit as I need you, Spawn." He sets about to get this fixed, finding his way back to his workbench and lowering himself down. Pain was something he dealt with every goddamn day of his life, and he would be fucked if he let it get to him now. He seethed through it, anger radiating off him in waves. "I do hope you're proud of yourself."

"I expected no less. I have a devil of a lawyer who will have it prepared by tomorrow evening, at latest. I am hoping this is a start to a very, very lucrative arrangement." There's a beat - it almost went smoother than anticipated and that was hardly something he accounted for, but sometimes miracles happen in sturdy drow packages.

" Look at me, My Dearest. "

You told her she could do anything and, for you, all she wanted to do... was be kind.

" I tolerated Orin. But I liked you. "

" I think... I always liked you, too. "

Still with such pretty words! And to offer both his assistance and his arm—as though she were some great lady with fine clothing and finer manners rather than a rough and tumble outlander in full armor…

There's just the slightest pause before she removes her gauntlets, tucking them into her belt ere she settles one strong hand upon his arm… only for him to settle his other hand over hers and she flushes a bit once more, a warm smile appearing as she watches him, oblivious for the moment, to the other people around them and the sudden ease of their path.'

"I have not yet had the chance to meet him, no. I have only just arrived in the city," Thraeya says in answer to his question.

"All that I know of the man is what I have heard from my friends."

There follows a little laugh, soft and quiet, before she continues.

"Ah, the curse of being a visionary. Rest assured that while his reputation may precede him, he is in fact one of the greatest minds I have met. His grasp of the arcane is second to none in this city, and should you have any trouble making his acquaintance once there, I would be more than happy to facilitate a meeting." That says nothing to the fact that most rumors were in fact true and the wizard was a right bastard, but Enver didn't care about something as trivial as personality when it came to his friends. He cared about connection, and being dear friends with the one who runs Sorcerous Sundries, and in turn Ramazinth's Tower was quite the connection.

He asks her for a moment more and she acquiesces, settling again onto the bench and patiently watching with no shortage of the interest she professed to have in the project.

When at last he seems to complete the work and offers the explanation--and the project--to her, she hesitates to take it, if only because it looks so delicate and she is, well, not.

With only the briefest, uncertain glance from it to Enver and back again, she takes the little clockwork creature, bringing it up to more closely examine it, lips pursed and brow furrowed.

With the next bit of information and instruction, however, she carefully--carefully--lifts the wing... to turn the wind up key. One, two, three times.

Then looks between it and Enver once more.

How easily she moves with him, never once separating from him in the slightest as he does not prompt her to do so.

The moment she is solidly on his lap, her legs wrap around him and her arms settle about his shoulders once more, clinging, pressing flush to him, even her tail wrapping around him.

Yes... Yes, this is good. More contact. More soft reassurances.

She presses several still fraught kisses to his exposed collarbone, to his neck, and then, for a time, she settles once more as she had been, still and silent but for the occasional sharp breath [ or sniffle ].

She seeks no more. Only this.

Only him.

His embrace, his voice, his words, his comfort.

Him.

He would never hurt her. He has her. He won't ever let her go again.

Those simple facts repeat in her head over and over, as though a mantra. She focuses on these things and on those she had tried to focus on before and slowly, so slowly, her breathing and her pulse begin to find their natural rhythm again, her hold on him ever so slightly loosening.

"... Sorry," she says after several more moments pass, her voice rough and still somewhat strained, tired. "I am... sorry, My Heart."

Her own endearment for him falls without hesitation, without pause, without reservation, as she nuzzles against him, eyes still closed.

"For so much... For everything. I was... I was careless, and I am sorry."

First, she flinches and now she apologizes. As if Orin had been her own fault, and not an oversight he made. He had allowed his person to disappear, allowed her to be tortured, made to forget, discarded like a broken toy. He allowed those things to happen because he didn't factor Orin In. He didn't factor the chaos she would bring. He was a fool, and she was apologizing to him.

It made him seethe, anger and hatred nearly bubble to the surface but he swallows it back, back down to his belly where it burned. Not towards any singular person - not even Orin - but at the world as a whole, and the so called gods that ruled it. He would see to it they would pay, all of them, for their transgressions.

His love did not need anger or brimstone at this moment, however, and he does his best to shove it down, fueling that spite that ran him. He turns his head and presses a kiss to the crown of her head, one that she was nuzzling against him so fervently. "Never you mind that. It doesn't matter that it happened, my dearest one. Not that could have happened." Would have, had Jergal not finally risen off his bony ass to fix what had happened. "All that matters is that you are here, now, in my arms, and I yours. All has been set right, and you are safe. Nothing, not even the Gods, can change that."

There's a certain thrill she gets--when he takes her hand, when he says once more his plans for the loathsome creatures.

How she brightens further still at his promises! [ At his term of endearment for her, as foreign and strange as it seems to her ears! ]

Yes. He will take everything that they do not deserve except their lives--and then she will take that from them at the last. She will put an end to their miserable existences only after they have watched everything else they held of such high importance be stripped away and given to someone better-suited to such gifts as their births and their stations had afforded them.

The very things that he had worked and scraped and strived to obtain though his own efforts, his own brilliant, clever mind.

They will make far lovelier sacrifices than ever they were people.

"Somewhere more suitable," she confirms with the slightest smile and a look to her eyes that might be considered fond, soft even.

"To be alone with... only us... yes?"

Cause our man escaped the House of Hope at 18 and went straight back to Baldur’s Gate, started leading the cult of Bane and quickly became friends (or more) with the Chosen of Bhaal, so, like, he definitely could have killed or tortured his parents. They were literally right there, no protection, hadn’t moved or changed situation at all. For YEARS. Gortash is just seething at them for actual decades, doing nothing, with a whole Bhaalspawn hanging out next to him going “Uhh you ok there buddy? I can kill your parents nbd, get their bodies to you tonight. Torture em if you can wait to tomorrow.”

And Gortash just, “No, death isn’t enough. I must physically puppeteer them into saying they love me and what a perfect son I am.”

Durge: “… Ok. Uh. A little weird but who the fuck am I to judge.”

Gortash getting his hands on his first two tadpoles and going “Oh boy oh boy, time to give myself the WORST therapy.”

It isn't the first time that Raphael has heard the sounds of a scuffle or a disagreement within these walls. The debtors can be tiresome at the best of times, and the others who call home the House of Hope, well, the less he need see them the better—with the exception of a very select few who know well that, mood withstanding, they are always welcome.

They, however, are seldom ones for quarrels. Well, at least, one of them isn't while the other could be tempted by her own mood… and the presence in her head.

Yet, neither would knowingly enter into such a violent disagreement with what sounds very much like a child.

Briefly, he considers resuming his path. After all, when a person finds themselves here, of all places, there is always a reason and usually a damned good one.

………

He does not continue on his way but, rather, he turns his step toward the commotion, all the while calling it mere curiosity.

When he reaches the scene before him, it is just in time to see an all too still form on the floor begin to stir once more and then to push to his feet in defiance.

A child indeed. The sight brings a furrow to Raphael's brow for reasons he will not—or perhaps cannot—acknowledge.

There is a familiarity that drags his rage up from the depths of him and his eyes dangerously flash. It is too close. It is too familiar. It is too much.

The Dungeon Master jerks upright, straightening, when Raphael's words cut through the air. The tone was lost on the hellbeast, and he replies, eyes glued on the disrespectful little shit between them.

"This 'un here, I caught him messin' round with the machinery. Claims he fixed it, but I reckon he was the one who Broked it in the first place."

"I didn't break shit, I didn't -- it just needed a few adjustments and it started Right back up, it wasn't even jammed up that bad, even a Ao damned Lemure could'ahv done it, but I suppose that's too sophisticated for HIM."