Work Text:
It was meant to take him just a few minutes. Who knows maybe today will be the day he will make his breakthrough with his Steal Watch guard design. And yes, he might have borrowed the initial idea from the Gondian’s plans but he greatly improved it, it was his work, his design now! All he needs to figure out now is how to make them fully automatic, how to make them do exactly what he wants without needing a human input for every little task. He is no closer to finding the answer than when he began, when he starts wondering how come that the streetlights are so unusually bright. Then he realizes that in those few moments spent overviewing a few little details on the new Steel Watch prototype, the sun has begun to rise.
There is something so treacherous about summer nights. It takes so long before the darkness of the evening bothers to arrive, giving one fake illusion of still having so much time to achieve all their daily goals, as it surely cannot be so late yet. And then it takes only one blink of an eye and worshippers of Lathander are already up and welcoming another day that has been brought so damn early.
He yawns, then he spits out a few curses towards the Morninglord, then he sighs and then yawns again. Another bright new day in the great city of Baldur’s Gate has sneaked up on him before he even got a chance to say his goodbyes to the previous one. He gets up from his work table, ignoring the mess left behind. So many scattered notes, new design drafts he will have to redo later because of smeared ink and spilled droplets of wine on them. Problems he will sort out later.
It would be probably wise to let his steps lead him towards his bed, to fall into an embrace of his silk sheets and soft cushions, to fully use those few painfully short hours he can afford to rest before another busy day will demand his attention. However, it would also be wise to get there much sooner, it would also be wise not to spend the entire night bent over the desk in his study, it would also be wise to grant himself a break more often. So many ‘wise’ decisions he has already missed on, what is one more then? And so he heads towards the balcony instead.
He expects a cold morning breeze to welcome him but it is already quite warm. Since he is in the comforts of his own house he lacks his usual fanciful attire, he is just in a simple black shirt and pants. He leans against the marble railing, at least that one is pleasantly cold.
His residence is located in the southwest parts of Upper City. It was the only place that he could afford and was allowed to move in a few years back when he finally gained enough favour of patriars of this city to be deemed worthy to live among them. His position is much better now of course, if he wanted, he could move further from the edge now, buy himself a grander mansion next to all the esteemed Lords and Ladies as it is now not matter of decades nor years, merely months till he will join their ranks.
Lord Enver Gortash – he likes the sound of it. To have a proper title and all the respect that automatically comes with it. A lesser man could consider it his goal, a lifelong dream finally achieved. But Enver Gortash is not a man like that. He cannot afford to be, considering his alignment. And so the title of a Lord is only yet another stepping stone on his journey to the top. Maybe he will be named Duke next. And more. His ambition, his demands, know no ends.
But no need to dwell on his inevitable success awaiting him. He knows patience too. He stretches, suddenly acutely aware of all his stiff muscles. His back hurts from crouching over the table all night, his hand all numb from all notes and sketches. As he looks down on the city from his balcony, he unhappily concludes he needs to consider trying to follow a healthier lifestyle, he is not the youngest anymore.
The view from here has always been something he has enjoyed even though it was yet another reason why anyone with proper breeding and lineage would find this place unacceptable. His balcony offers him a fine view to all the least desirable places of Baldur’s Gate – the Lower City. The place he came from, the place he happily left behind and that he can now look down on not only metaphorically but also literally. As the sun is emerging from behind Dusthawk hill the place is for few moments basking in golden aura. From up here, from a safe distance, the Lower City almost seems charming. Bathing in the first morning sunlight, there is nothing to disturb the panorama such as foul smell of piss, fish guts, unwashed bodies and rotten food. Here he cannot hear desperate pleas of beggars, nor screams of starving children, nor fights regular in every household, nor calls of annoying street merchants trying to sell their worthless trinkets. Home sweet home. He does not miss it even a bit.
Getting the upper hand in his childbirth place was a child’s play compared to the challenge that the Upper City is. Here it is different. The game has gotten more complex, more elaborate. Exhibition of raw power impresses no one here, to succeed and gain favour of nobility requires a much more subtle approach, all his charm and wits. But he loves a good challenge. In the end every rich arsehole born with a title is still just a human, just a person. All the well tested tricks in need of a new fancier coat still work the same.
First sugar then a whip. An age old tactic that never fails him, luring his prey in a trap and when they realise they have been played it is already too late. He smiles, reminiscing on the excitement of his beginnings of dealing with all the most prominent and important people of the city. First came the bribes, great for testing the waters. They show weakness. Those who can be tempted by a sweet promise can also be easily intimidated by threats. Those who can be bribed can be blackmailed as well. But making allies, business partners, building connections, that all was just a start.
What can be done on a smaller scale can work on a greater one as well. He is still far from being done but he sees his path to success now much clearer than ever. All he has to do is create a problem, then persuade everyone that only he is the one holding the solution to it, play a part of a hero saving them from manufactured threat so they will all willingly submit over a promise of solution and salvation. That is how he will conquer the entire city of Baldur's Gate first, how he will slowly take over the Sword Coast… and why stop there one day all of Faerûn will bow down to him, lying by his feet praising and celebrating and when they realise he tricked them all, it will already be too late and there will be no escape from his tyrannical rule.
He has no doubts that every single pathetic soul will obediently submit to him and to his rule, worship him as their savior, as their ruler, as their tyrant. If he sets his mind on something, no one has the right to deny him. He will do whatever it takes to make them all submit to him one way or another. There is nothing stopping him. There is no one that can stand in his way, no one that can resist.
Well almost.
There is only one person he is worried about. They are also the only living being worthy to be considered to be his equal. The Dark urge, that is the closest to a name they have, what he can call them. They are a curious creature, immensely fascinating and impossible to figure out. Murder incarnate, a vicious beast of nightmares, yet they are so cunning and so sharp.
And what a refreshing feeling that is indeed, to finally, after all those years, find someone who can match both his ruthlessness and his wits. One might say it is because of his divine lineage but Gortash would argue it is despite it. He could not care less what they are, who they are, he could not care less about their title and their heritage means nothing to him. He does not care for Bhaal’s divine blood any more than he cares about any blue blood running through the veins of any of the Gate’s patriars. After all he himself refuses to be defined by his past ties so why should they?
But as refreshing as it is to have someone to match him, to truly see him and appreciate him, never judging him for who he is… He cannot help himself but crave for their submission as well. What a poor Banite he would be If he did not afterall. Despite all his sweet promises and words of reassurance he wishes to control them, to tame the untamable. To gently put a leash around their throat when they are not paying attention, distract them with sweet words and promises as he tightens it up till they do not even notice when he is tugging moving them around making them follow his orders and wishes without even noticing something like that is happening.
Of course, one might suggest that there is no need to look for ways to control the Dark Urge as they happen to be allies. And the thing is Gortash is not really planning to betray their alliance.
At least not for now.
He has done his research and he would like to believe that his desire for power has not blinded him completely. He has noticed a pattern, he is aware where the alliance of the Dead Three has always failed. Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul themselves, as well as any followers of theirs, trying to recreate their original alliance, were always shaking one hand on cooperation while the other was already sharpening the knife to be stabbed to their allies back. How can one fully focus on accomplishing agreed upon plans, when half of the mind is already thinking how to best outsmart temporary allies? And so in theory Enver Gortash is really not against their triumvirate, after all they all desire different things for their Gods, their goals are different and can coexist, as far as he is aware. As long as everyone is being completely honest what they imagine their endgame to be.
However Enver Gortash is also not a fool. He did not get to be where he is right now by being self-delusional. No matter what the Dark Urge says, what promises and swears they give him, they would have to be a complete idiot to trust him. And that one they are not.
The same goes for Gortahs as well of course. Just because he would even genuinely like to put all his trust in them, does not mean he can. Because will the bloodshed and slaughter offered be ever enough to satisfy his bhaalspawn ally? Can their urge be sated sufficiently in their planned conquest or will they require more and more till the entirety of Toril lies dead by their feet, Gortash included? They never said so, but in every nod, every agreement they give him, when Gortash again and again tries to get the assurance their visions are matching, there seems to be something not spoken aloud.
He does not blame them for it of course. How could he? They both are just a dutiful servant of their Lords, are they not? There is only so much of an agenda a Banite and a Bhaalist can share. And so Gortash has to consider that there might come time the Dark Urge will betray him and he refuses to be caught off guard and unprepared. He is already thinking about how to deal with them, if it is required, while also doing his best to prevent such an occurrence from ever happening, looking for a way to make the bhaalspawn to as well bend to all his whims and wishes by any means available.
Of course should a moment such as that ever come to be, it still lays probably far away in the future. Probably. Gortash knows well enough that some plans can drag slowly at snail pace for years, while others spiral quickly out of control with no time for planning. And so he plans in advance. There are so many possible ways the future may come to be and he wants to be ready for every single option.
While he is deep in his thoughts, the gold illusion the Lower City is bathing in slowly disappears, as the sun keeps rising, turning the viewed offer to him to its regular shades of gray, reminding him that the time keeps passing. Time, his real greatest enemy, always winning, forever undefeated. No point in wasting an early morning in pointless daydreams. He should try to rest at least for a moment of two before he can return back to his busy schedule.
Alas, he should attend to his uninvited guest first.
The dreadful nightmare haunting his mind in these morning hours has decided to stop by personally, or so it seems. Gortash senses them watching him even before they speak. And as always he wonders if it is because they allow their presence to be known to him or if it is something he managed to pick up on after the years of their alliance. He suspects it is the former but he wishes it to be the latter.
“What's going through our soon to be lord's head?” the Dark Urge asks, slowly approaching him from behind. Leisure pace of a predator having their prey cornered. Gortash is no prey of theirs though and so he does not bother to turn around.
How to tame you . He does not say as such an answer would not be appreciated. “What’s not going through my head would be a question much easier to answer,” he laughs instead, “I've had a busy night and I've been on my way to bed.“
“You have any other nights?” his assassin points out, amused. They are standing directly behind him now. And there used to be a time when Gortash would feel unease under such a condition, when the unnatural bhaalspawn’s aura of murder would affect even him and it would take a lot of self-control to look as relaxed as he feels now. Because he no longer feels threatened by them, he cannot bring himself to feel the fear in their presence anymore, on the contrary… Is he a fool for that?
“Fair point, my dear. I suppose if you ever want me to rest, you will have to see to it yourself. Make staying in bed with you worthwhile and I might do so.”
“What a tempting idea. I might hold you up to your words,” they put their head on his shoulder in a familiar gesture. Everything about them seems to be sharp, intended to hurt, their chin covered in sharp-edged spikes too, “Unfortunately my nights tend to be busy as well.”
Since they are talking about busy nights… “My lovely assassin, I swear that if I find even a droplet of blood on my clothing…”
“Yes? What will you do?” Gortash feels muscles in their jaw tighten as they grin.
“Make you pay for a new one of course.” He tenderly strokes the backside of their neck, sensitive scales hidden under the bone-like crown od horns. As if he is looking for the leash he put on them, as if he is checking it is still present and holding firmly, that it is not coming away lose
“And here I was getting excited to see the tyrant in all his glorious wrath,” they sigh and lift their head up. Gortash turns towards them. He is met with two pools of blood studying him back. Most of the people freeze as they meet their eyes, seeing them as just a mindless bloodthirsty beast of the legend. Gortash as well does not feel fully comfortable under their gaze right now - for completely different reasons though. Because he knows what a sharp and clever mind hides behind them. Sometimes it feels like they can see right through him, read what is going in his mind.
The Dark Urge is the only living person that understands him and it scares him as much as it thrills him.
“My glorious murder incarnate, my dread heart, it isn’t my right to judge you for being covered in blood, is it?” he reaches his hand to caress their cheek, meeting their scales which appear to be always slightly chilly.
“As I suppose I cannot judge you from trying to order what I shall and shall not do.” they lean into his touch.
“Oh please, polite request of being mindful where the blood of your victims falls can hardly be called that.” The Dark Urge snorts and what a humorous mood they seem to be in tonight. With no doubt a piles of corpses getting cold is the reason for their good mood tonight.
Gortash grabs their chin and pulls them into a kiss. A slow and gentle one, a one that lovers would share, one that goes against both of their natures. They submit to him and reciprocate, mindful of their sharp teeth as their tongues meet, as their bodies press for a few moments closer together. And for a second Gortash feels to have them fully under his control, an illusion that is a greater bliss than any kiss could provide.
He pulls away first too, desiring to have complete control over the moment and smiles.
“Come. I have quite a busy day awaiting me but I haven't had breakfast yet. It can be your dinner,” Gortash turns away, heading back inside his residence. Gently tugging their nonexistent leash, expecting them to follow. And they do.
“As you say my lord, my tyrant,” they say, their tone mostly polite only slightly mocking. Good enough for now. It would sound wrong to hear those words coming from them in sincerity anyway. It would feel wrong to force them into submission. And yet… Yet he cannot really help it and stop himself from trying as if there was a leash that could truly hold them…