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    Summary

    “I can scarcely imagine what your followers would say if they saw you now. Their fearless leader: murder incarnate herself. Helpless, shaking, aching — simply begging for my touch,” he drawls, crouching briefly to grab the blade among his forgotten tools, slicing through the remaining fabric that covers you with swift precision.

    “I have never begged you for anything, Gortash,” you snap, trying your utmost to defy him despite the precarious position he has you held in.

    He looks up at you with a curious stare, his eyebrow raised as he considers your words for a moment. “You know what? You’re right — or at least, not in so many words. Perhaps we can rectify that.”


    You interrupt Gortash as he works on a Steel Watcher prototype, just in time for you to help with testing the construct's capabilities.

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