#rotblooded

"Oh, don't tease me like that, sweetheart." Lovell bats his lashes at the other man, knowing full well that he was not teasing in the slightest. "The least you could do is get a few cuts in before you go in for the main event. Allow me to savor the pain."

Of course, he'd seen the work this one did on the battlefield. Ripping, tearing, the eagerness. He wonders if he can tame this one. Get him to slow down, to truly savor the agony he inflicted... to allow Lovell to inflict agony of his own. What a conquest that would be. Thankfully, he was a patient man... and a rather fearless one.

Both of his brows rise at the proclamation. A curious thing to mention. What the bhaalspawn does in his spare time is often not Gortash's business, except it seems that today this information is pertinent enough to be brought up.

Of course, the lordling-to-be wonders why. He takes a sip from his chalice, attention lingering on the painting before him.

"I don't care that you did it, no. So long as it does not prove to interfere with our plans, you can do as you like. As long as your blade remains away from those that we need." There is a sharp look that accompanies the words.

"Though, I do think we have differing views of what constitutes as beautiful." He had to admit, the girls death had benefitted someone. A tragic end, a life full of hope cut short. He knew someone would crave that sort of tragedy. He wonders if the other noticed a certain instrument was missing, that had belonged to the girl. Along with a certain Raven usually at the elfs side

This one, one his own was a walking tragedy, wasn't he? His queen would certainly not be without her trinkets and souls with this one in their midst.

Hells-- He feels the breath being ripped out of him as his back hits the ground, the sorcerer on top of him with impressive speed. Within hardly a second he can feel the cold of the blade against his throat, no armor to protect any part of him this time.

"Zareth--" The name comes out strained but scolding, silver eyes shooting daggers up at him. He wasn't afraid, not just yet. Restrain him as he may, he still had several spells that he only needed his voice to cast.

"Calm yourself, you need me." Well, that may be a bit of a stretch, but he would grasp for any straws that he needed. It would be a shame to lose such a strong asset because he had to kill him.

The Sharran grimaces, intentionally flicking some of the blood off himself and onto the other. "Must you insist on making such a mess every time?" He disliked being dirty, which was funny considering where he'd been living the last century. Though it was also funny to think that rats were regarded as one of the cleanest animals out there.

Without another words he quickly casts Prestidigitation on himself, the blood vanishing from his hair and armor.

Yet no attention at all was given to the corpse of the poor harper. It wasn't like he cared at all about that part--