@quaintnecromancer

high pain tolerance starters

Thrice cursed assassins. They got bolder with every attempt. Gortash was considering sleeping with an eye permanently open; it seemed that he couldn't trust even his own guards or his Steel Watch to stand ground when he needed them. How they got so close was a miracle - or Orin happened again. It wouldn't be the first, nor the last time.

At least Jett intervened after Enver decapitated one of the three bloodthirsty killers. The one who dared to stab a dagger in his flesh, right under his left collarbone. The wretched man aimed for his heart, but he miscalculated just how sharp and quick Enver was, even if he was awakened - from yet another nightmare - rudely.

Groaning at the comment, he half rolled his eyes before he stared up at the Dark Urge. Snarky remarks sneaked on his tongue, but he wasn't in the mood to utter them now. Jett wanted to kill him, too. It seemed the entire city wanted him dead - at least those who had two brain cells.

"I have no idea what you're talking about", he snapped back then, the pain sharp under his collarbone as he moved to sit down. The blade didn't hit anything vital; it was just in a very bad position. And yes. The dagger was still sticking out of him. His blood looked too dark in the dim light of the torches as it started to stain the plain white shirt he had been sleeping in. "I'm fine."

Apart from the dagger and not being able to have proper rest in months, he didn't lie. His lips twisted in disdain - he knew he'd need to remove the damned blade, and before he did that, he'd need healing potions, which were in his study at the moment.

(Jett @quaintnecromancer to Callisto & Alaois @ofangelsanddemigods )

The Dark Knight trilogy sentence starters

Enver had one of the worst days of that tenday, and he wasn't on the same wavelength where Jett was coming from. Failure, to him, was just that: failure. Hindrance. It made him positively mad. His plans were stalled, and it was his fault. He hated failures in general, but when it was him who was responsible for it... it was a thousand times worse.

"Do you know what I think?" He didn't even wait for an answer. "That's bullshit." Oh yes. There was also a good amount of wine in his system. "All this", he mimicked a deeper voice, "what doesn't kill me makes me stronger", Gortash snorted, "bullshit. All of it."

Crush @quaintnecromancer

Enver didn't do anything in particular. In fact, he was lost in his own train of thoughts. He sat at the dining table with Jett; leisurely leaning back in the lavish chair, Gortash idly moved the crystal goblet in his hand, occasionally watching how the wine danced around in it. His golden nails clinked the glass from time to time, just as he glanced up at his company from time to time as well.

But he wasn't really present.

He was thinking of all that happened and all that would happen in the near future; his plans and past and hopes and nightmares. A chaotic mess he wanted to sort out at some point.

When I break free, I'll deal with it. When I make a name for myself, I'll deal with it. When I become lord, I'll deal with it.

When this, when that, when whatever. That time when he'll be able to stop and deal with his traumas - that time would never come.

Jett's quiet words roused him from his grim mood. Quite quickly, at that. Enver's dark eyes shifted back up to look at the other again; the features of the other man pulling at his heartstrings, playing a song he drowned in his own brutal he'd never look at me that way reasoning.

It did not take long for the guards to size the man - resembling someone he knew ages ago a tad too closely. Dropping out of a portal all of a sudden didn't sit well with anyone who was present in Gortash's throne room, and even he found it hard to believe he saw what he was seeing.

His first demand was that how dared he return after all this time. Because even if he was, deep inside, pleased to see that the Dark Urge was alive, it's been quite a while since he'd been gone, and Enver desperately needed an ally like him in the past few years. Most found their alliance odd, but Enver, personally, liked the Dark Urge. He was much more fun to have around than Orin who threatened to gut him at every damned second they met.

As he stared down at the man, forced down on his knees in front of him, Enver tutted at the other's answer. A doppelgänger? A lost twin? Perhaps this was Orin in disguise to mock him again?! Gortash's patience rapidly thinned to the breadth of a single strand of hair. He was tired, so tired of games.

@quaintnecromancer