Miss Liar

And so, when Director Enver Gortash arrives to his study he is welcomed by sight of several piles of neatly stacked letters, diligently sorted by one of his banites in several stacks based on what to expect in them, one is larger than usual… His acolytes have gotten quite accurate and effective in determining content of letters addressed to him just by the sender and style of envelope and quality of paper…. There is of course pile where he can expect business deals next there is invitation to banquets, of course one is dedicated to threats, then some less official business deals, naturally also answers to his own threats, dealings taken in his Dark Lord’s name and, finally, pointless friendly chatter that is putting emphasis on the fact that someone’s daughter is in the right age to be asked for hand in marriage.

To be honest, the first time one of the men he was doing business with introduced him to his daughter and put emphasis on the fact she is unmarried, Gortash felt quite flattered. If he remembers correctly that man was not even one of city patriars, just a wealthy merchant but nonetheless it was quite a surprise and quite a compliment back then, to be considered a good match. And back then he might even consider it, not yet completely immune to the novelty of flattery and being taken seriously and so on. But he grew out of that and so he as well grew quite immune to all the more or less subtle suggestions whose daughter he should take in marriage.

But with every year both his political influence as well as business ventures grow and so do the offers and so each spring he dreads how much time he will waste once again with writing polite enough declines.

But back to the present and his office, because the several stacks of neatly placed envelopes are not the only thing waiting for him in his study. Among many other more interesting things there is also standing a menacing dragonborn, a bhaalspawn, the Dark Urge of Bhaal, the Chosen of Bhaal and – skipping a few more titles one might introduce them as – Gortash’s close ally.

“You have been proposed to marriage… or so I think,” they casually remark as they put down his private letter they have been reading.

“I asked you not to read my correspondence.”

“And I asked you to not keep me waiting. It seems we are both disappointed,” they answer matter of factly and shoot him a grin, that could be either a threat or a mockery. Since they grew past the childish attempt to intimidate him, Gortash assumes it is a latter.

“If you wish not to wait, you need to schedule a meeting a tenthday in advance so I can actually make a time in my schedule,” Gortash suggests as he has many times before. Same as many times before he has his doubts his suggestion will be taken into account next time.

He takes a seat behind his table and reaches for a letter from the first pile, an official looking one, issued by one of the Dukes and therefore placed on top. Probably some new concerns regarding the Foundry. He really hopes it is Grand Duke Portyr this time, he is much easier to deal with than Duke Ravengard.

Gortash is still reading through the first line when a dagger is stabbed into the paper in front of him. He does not flinch nor he worries for his table as it has been performatively stabbed in an attempt to get his attention enough times that it lost it effectiveness. It would be pointless getting a new unstabbed one.

“You are the one who wanted to talk to me,” a threatening growl escapes from the mouth full of sharp teeth in close proximity to his face and this too is way too common an occurrence to faze him.

“Yes. Five days ago, or so.”

“I was busy.”

“I assumed that much. No need for apologies.” Unless the dagger in front of him can be counted as an apology he knows he will get none. He tilts the letter because it is easier than trying to pry it out.

“So, what did you want me for?” On his fourth attempt to get through the polite greetings the Dark Urge picks up their dagger with ease and if Gortash bothered to raise his eyes up maybe he would see them spin in in the air and throw it up before they put it back at their belt. They accuse him of pointless theatrics but they are really no better in that regard.

“I wanted to ask for your assistance in getting rid of one troublesome element. In case you had free time. Which you did not. So, no reason to worry about it, I took care of it myself.

The truth is Enver Gortash of course did not need any help from his ally dealing with some disagreeable smuggler who dared to suggest Gortash is not paying him fair price and that unless he gives him better price, he will take promised goods elsewhere. (He of course is a man open to negotiating but there is a fragile line between friendly negotiation and extortion sometimes and some people are simply too stupid to not cross it.) However, it was a convenient excuse to see his ally, because it would be silly to request their presence simply because Gortash enjoys their company.

“So, nothing else?” the Dark Urge inquires. And Gortash lets the silence settle as he wonders if there is any other excuse, any even very minor thing he could consult them about.

“I’m afraid not. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

As has been stated, the thing is Enver Gortash is really quite happy to see and spend his time with his bhaalist ally. Unfortunately, at the same time he is also worried by the amount of paperwork awaiting him.

And so Gortash expects the conversation to be over and so he forces himself to once more look at the current matter at hand, trying to ignore both the Dark Urge as well as all the mostly unopened envelopes which will not get sorted by themselves. He expects now to hear his ally leaving or maybe not even that because they can be quite at that, appearing and disappearing without warning.

But just when he is almost certain that today they were simply extra quiet in their departure, just when he gets ready to focus his full attention of sheet of paper in front of him, they speak again… and so it appears they have not moved at all.

“Why aren’t you married, Gortash?”

Simple question with many possible simple answers. But the truthful one would be quite lengthy. And he is not exactly great at being honest.

“Are you jealous? Or interested?”

He tries to wave them off, but they laugh, amused by what was his dismissal.

“No. On both accounts.”

“Then why do you care?” Gortash deflects the question and instead of calling him out the Dark Urge seems to give it some genuine considerations as if they surprised themselves too by asking.

“I do not. But I have fun trying to understand you. And you seem like someone who would enjoy the charade of marriage. You could gain something from it I think…”

Gortash cannot help himself but chuckle. It pleases him to learn that the Dark Urge has taken interest in studying him and his patterns, his way of thinking, in the same way he often tries to make sense of what is going on in their head and what are their motivations. Indeed, what a fascinating assessment they made. He could gain something from it. Well, yes, they are not wrong…

“I have considered it,” for their honesty he supposes he might as well give him an honest answer, “A marriage, I mean. There certainly are things and a status a might gain by taking a wife. But the risks seemed to outweigh the possible benefits. What a complicated and troublesome matter marriage can be indeed…”

“What risks?” For reasons unknown to him they do seem to be rather fixated on the topic and this answer does not satisfy them.

“Well, where do I even start-…”

“Is it because of me?”

Gortash bothers to turn his head to them. And they are still standing unreasonably close as they are not that good at understanding simple concepts such as personal space. They give him curious look, expression hard for him to decipher. And Gortash raises his brows and cannot help but smile because what a bold statement. He can always appreciate the bluntness of his bhaalist ally.

“Because I am supposed to be afraid for my potential spouse’s well-being because… what, you might be jealous?”

They frown and growl in response. “I am not jealous. Don’t think of yourself as having that much importance in my life.”

“Well believe it or not, but the same can be said for you,” they tilt their head, a cute little gesture they are possibly not even aware of, they always do that when they are focused on trying to understand Gortash and his motivations.

“So- “

“So, would I get wed was it not for you?” Gortash poses the question they were hinting at. They nod and he makes a theatrical pause.

“No, you do not really play that much part in it, if you forgive me for that. Yes of course, the risks of my potential spouse running into you would be unfortunate. But… not because of jealousy but because of business we deal together. Because how could I just casually introduce my faith to someone simple Upper City girl who might in the end be still more loyal to the family she came from than to me? Family who would never stop acting as if I owed them some debt, family she could run back to and tattle about anything she would find concerning. Which there might be few things…

“Putting mine and yours faiths aside and questions that might arise if she ever runs into you, I have lots not exactly legal operations running and even in those that are more visible I sometimes have to put to use some means that could be frowned upon. It would be too risky getting her involved and too bothersome trying to keep it away from her. And what an easy target a liability she could become for my competitors.

“Oh, also not to mention that it would be so much harder to impress married wives bored with their patriarch husbands. It is so simple if they are proposed by a desired and popular bachelor with no ties. It would reflect much more poorly on them if they started an affair with a married man.”

He could go on, or elaborate in more details but Gortash knows that despite how clueless to straight out obtuse the Dark Urge sometimes plays to be just to annoy him, they are smart and cunning creature. He has painted vivid enough picture.

“You do really overthink everything to the smallest details…” the Dark Urge sighs and rolls their eyes and Gortash smiles and the scion of Bhaal, the Murder incarnate that should have no feeling but unfortunately, they seem to display some. And if Gortash didn’t know any better he would almost say there is not only amusement but also fondness in the expression with which they are beholding him right now.

“Well, it got me quite far so why stop now.”

“You are quite fascinating and entertaining to watch, Gortash.”

“I am flattered, especially since I know how rarely you find entertaining things which you are not about to kill.”

They are both getting awfully sappy and sincere and so Gortash offers them the low hanging fruit and invites them to comment how maybe they are about to kill him or that they would actually find his corpse even more fun or something along those lines because they tend to be unoriginal like that.

But they apparently are really set on surprising him today as they for once ignore the well-known and overplayed script and decide not to threaten his life for once.

“So will you now send me away so you can get back to your oh-so-important work?” they lean closer, a clear invitation.

The rules he holds himself to on the outsides, in his study and office and in his warehouses and factory do not apply to him here. Gortash makes sure to keep all his paperwork and plans and tools in order in his daily life. Not a thing is allowed to be amiss, all neatly ordered. Unless he is here. Because here he allows himself just a bit of chaos. There is still an order in the way he keeps things on his worktable, but said order would seem like chaos to anyone but him. There are all his tools and useless metal scraps and plans he wants to try out on his own on a small scale before he decides to do something grander and more ambitious with them scattered all around. And he knows exactly where everything is. He really does. But he probably could not explain his system here, his thoughts to anyone else to save his life.

It is all just a little pointless indulgence he allowed himself, a sacrilegious waste of time he affords himself to keep himself sane when the pressure is too high. A place he can come to a play with his machines. Put them together and disassemble them and put them back together in better ways. He wishes he could do the same thing with his own terribly mortal and fragile flesh and bones, to take it all apart and put back together but better.

Machines can break, yes, but so can the body. And it is so easy to exchange faulty parts of mechanical instruments. Again and again as many times as it is needed. Not only changing old for new but making sure the new is an improvement, better stronger. Because when you break a body though it can be fixed it will never serve as well as before. He knows, as he of course tried. Breaking and crushing the body and spirit of slaves and then sending the best clerics to try to fix them. Their results were always lacking. Disappointing. No matter the cleric's faith and skills, the flesh just has its limits.

The body is aging and there is no stopping it. So little time in human lifespan to achieve the greatness he desires, he deserves. Bodies of mortal creatures are so imperfect and faulty. It seemed to clear to him that the future is in technology. And he chases the future as much as he is running from his past.

He puts his cloak away; he puts on his gloves on and then he takes them off again to do more precise work with his skilled fingers. To anyone else the work he does he might seem complicated and complex, but it really is not. Not to him. Gortash lets his mind rest, he lets all his plans of grandeur take a back seat as his hands are toying with tools as he is creating for once something very real and tangible. Let’s perfect his creation. Let’s make a new great weapon for him to wield. Let’s create a useful tool. Let’s create something useless and completely self-indulgent.

There are so many things he would like to create indeed, if only he had time. It would be silly; it would be a waste of all his other talents if he dedicated all his attention to his mechanical crafts. But he believes if he set his mind to it, if there were not much more pressing and important matters, he could figure it out. The way to improve the faulty human condition of the flesh.

Yes, that is what it all is about, the eternal question of the flesh and the machine. Oh, how many things he tried already and how many things has to try still. He dedicated so much time to thinking how to connect the two. The tissues and muscles and meat of the body with the cold metal of the apparatus. Infernal engines, the technologies of hells showed a great promise but finding a suitable host was not such an easy task and even after successful implantation of some parts it proved to be too unstable. The perfect technological progress failed by the limits of the damned limits of the corporeality.

But he keeps learning from his mistakes and the answer seems more and more clear to him. The key is to include less confusing and complicated flesh and more of the machine in his equations. If only there was a way to extract the soul from its faulty meaty vessel and implant it in a carefully crafted and perfected engine.

For every year lived his body needed more outside stimulation, it was getting tired much faster, it was getting weaker, it could handle much less. It was inconvenient. It was annoying. It is what he is experiencing right now. He already came here worn and tired after a long day. He should have headed straight for the bed really, but the call of his little workshop was too strong. Just one thing to test. Just two things to put into practice. Just these three things that were haunting his mind and that he kept thinking of during the meeting of Parliament of Peers.

There is always just one more thing…

And so one moment Gortash is fully focused on his work and then it starts getting blurry and he tries to blink the heaviness of his eyes away because night is still young and his morning schedule tomorrow is quite free and so there is no reason he should not go on. He refuses to ignore the pleas of the imperfect physicality of his body; he can do better; he can push through; he can use the time more wisely than to waste it on resting.

Or so he believes so he orders to his flesh. But its stupid imperfect design declines to listen to his orders.

And so, one moment he is perfectly fine, he really is and the next one…

…

Everything is dark. It is not a comforting embrace of the Dark Lord’s domain, it is just nothing darkness, chaotic and disorienting. In one moment, his mind and goals are clear, the next he can no longer push through and all goes black.

The state of bare of blank emptiness. Brilliant mind betrayed by the body, put into unconscious state of nothing for what could be seconds, for what could be minutes for what could be hours.

When he opens his eyes and is awaited by sight of two pools of blood staring back at him. The terrifying creature of nightmare is standing upon him in his defenceless state. Their blades are ready, their expression unreadable. And there is nothing that could sooth his worries quicker.

He closes his eyes again. When the state of alert passes the sluggish tiredness returns. His limbs are heavy and he is ready to fall back into an unconscious state of mind again. But before he manages to do so the creature speaks-

“Ah, so you are not yet…”

He would laugh if he had energy to do so.

“Good,” they continue, “I would take a great offense if you decided to die on your accord before I get the chance to kill you.”

“No,” he says with a raspy voice, “I do not plan to die today if I have any say in it.”

“You never have any say in it when I am present.”

As ridiculous as it may seem, nothing can put Gortash at ease as quickly as the casual threat of death. Though that would not be exact as he takes great offence at casual threats of death lest they are made by that one specific person. If they can be called that.

He blinks. Once and then twice and then a few more times as he is trying to set his mind straight. This must be yet another fault at his flesh, a hallucination. But there are sharp claws pressing into him with a sense of urgency and so unwillingly he decides to open his eyes once more and they are still there. Watching him ever so intently. There is judgement on their face. Judgement mixed with some other emotions, that he is too tired to decipher.

“Yes, yes, my apologies. Lest I can find a way to connect this endeavour of mine to our plan, I suppose I should set it aside and focus more on- “ Gortash tries to sit up, to get more equal footing but he finds their claws pressing him down. Making sure he is pinned to bed and cannot get out.

A bed? Last time he remembers he was in his workplace, why does it appear he is in his bedchambers now, how did he get here? This is wrong and he should feel more unease about it. His body should know better than to welcome the soft embrace of the cushion underneath him.

“No. You should focus on resting.”

“I do not need to rest,” Gortash wants to say with a commanding voice as he pushes them aside with their silly concern. But he lacks the strength to do so and really those words sound more like the cry of a petulant child the way he mumbles them.

“Next time I will find you collapsed I will assume you gave up living and your death is free for me to claim.”

There is a dangerous edge to the words spoken by the Dark Urge. They try to mean it; they try to convey to him how serious they are. Alas, Gortash knows an empty threat when he hears one. But it would be impolite to straight out call them out on it like that.

“If I did not know any better, I would think that you are worried about me…” he smirks and the Dark Urge rolls his eyes. Or at least Gortash thinks they did as it is so hard to keep his own open and his mind is really barely working right now.

“Go rest, my tyrant.”

“I am not used to taking orders…”

“Then take it as a suggestion. Then…” they say and they say some more words but his eyes are somehow closed again and he can no longer force himself to listen to what they have to say.