#dirgeforthedead

[banefulbenevolence]

dirgeforthedead asked:

"I can't tell if you're being silly or serious."

Black eyes narrow a bit as he looks at his companion, as lovely as she is, with no shortage of consternation. "I said what I said, and I meant it. No. More. Silverware. At. My. Table. If eating with your hands is good enough for you, my sweet, then it's good enough for the patriars we sup with."

[banefulbenevolence]

dirgeforthedead asked:

"I'm free now, and I'm never going back."

How quickly he closes the distance between them, and how tenderly he takes her face in his hands. Calloused, rough, but always so gentle with her, like she was a china doll. "Perish the thought, Darling. Your blood doesn't control who you are, no more than mine does me. You're so much *more* than your father's spawn. No one will reduce you to that, not as long as I'm here. On that you have my word."

[banefulbenevolence]

@thishouseofhope sent:

🚑 "Would it be so terrible to consider the notion that perhaps--just perhaps--yourself and bhaalspawn are not meant to exist within the same space?"

It was a close call. even Enver would admit. A careless moment on his behalf and suddenly a bhaalspawn is wrist deep in your guts, and not in the enjoyable way. Once she had come back to her senses, he managed to talk her through setting up a sigil. The items, where she could fetch them, and he busied himself with holding pressure and trying not to let the fade to black be the end of Enver Gortash. But his dearest Dirge pulled through and the yawning portal to home hell was opened. He didn't wait for her, he simply chucked himself through and wound up bleeding out on Raphael's nice marble. A flurry of activity and movement later and Enver was relaxing in the healing baths, the hole in his gut no longer a threat. "Nonsense. I won't hear a word of it. She was not to blame for this, it was an error on my part."

[shadovan]

' each of us has a beast roaming beneath our skin, roaring to get out... some simply... less figuratively than others... '

@dirgeforthedead spouting facts.

Oh... That was... Yes, that was something the lich could relate to. Every day was a constant battle against the more malicious and selfish urges that pried at him. Lichdom didn't come with the sensation of guilt. When there were no emotional consequences to restrain him, it was like constantly yanking on a leash around his own neck, bridling himself.

"How right you are," he agreed after a moment of thought, then set his focus on his company. "You understand this well, I should guess. Which are you, pray tell? The simple or the complicated?"

Now they'd piqued his interest. And the interest of a lich was often eternal.

[shadovan]

🥖 [ Look... The Urges made her do it. At least it was bread and not a knife... ? ]

Send 🥖 to throw a baguette at my character @dirgeforthedead chose bread violence

Oh no. The carb-yielding assaults had begun again! The lich's arms raised as he blocked the baguette. Pain didn't effect him like a living form, but that didn't meant it was a comfortable sensation to be pelted with crusty bread.

"Well, at yeast you were merciful about it."

[banefulbenevolence]

@dirgeforthedead sent:

🚑🔪

Pain and Gortash were old bedfellows and this certainly wasn't the first time he had felt something this excruciating. His hand catches her wrist, holding it tight to keep her from twisting.

This wasn't his Dirge, this was a half-mad Bhaalspawn. She'd happily continue to stab him. "If... we're feeling frisky, dearest one, there are other ways to solve that..." He was reeling, but he didn't want the weakness to show, to let her smell blood in the proverbial water. A gut wound wasn't ideal, hell getting stabbed in general wasn't idea but thems the breaks when your girlfriend is a murdercat. "Re-really need you to come back to me, love." A hiss of pain seethes through his teeth and he forces calm, even breaths in and out, all the while holding the knife - and his guts - in.

[banefulbenevolence]

dirgeforthedead asked:

"i don't like busybodies."

"No, it seems not." He steps back as the pool of blood slowly makes its way to his feet. It's not the first time his darling had done something rash, he knows she didn't *mean* to.... or tells himself that, at least. "Well, before she becomes any more stiff, we ought to dispose of her, hm? Come now, darling, before rigor mortis sets in."