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Carnage brings equilibrium.
Certainty of death balances every other quality present in existence.
Doubts melt away within the boundaries of clean purpose.
Feed the fear, bring the end.
Sustained movement carries her through the broken labyrinth of back alleys to the cemetery and then to the bustling display of the city proper. Leaving stiffening bodies in alcoves and ditches, the uninterrupted wave of her kills doesn´t tire her arm out yet.
Nothing strenuous in the method. She is in utter control of her flesh; the intent and limbs synchronized.
Vito barely notices their faces. Who and how matters not when the ultimate factor is always how many. Her body count is staggering and praiseworthy. Her charges, zealous acolytes of the Temple settle on the city like persistent dust.
She should be proud.
She came this far.
Pride has its merits but in conclusion no practical benefits.
A vendor of flowers has found respite in a side street after the day´s work, sitting down to tie the laces on the shoe which had slipped. Singing a jolly tune under her breath she becomes aware too late when the basket with her wares overturns. Blue orchids spill on the floor.
Whisper born from the shadow which wasn´t there before cripples her with terror before the imminent blade could. „Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee…“
She spots the figure step out of the archway and as she jumps to her feet in blind panic, her heel is betrayed by the scattered flowers. She slides straight to the last embrace of her short, forgettable life. Curved dagger rips her throat apart.
„… none… escape Bhaal.“
Vito lets the body collapse and crumple, slowly framed by oozing blood like an unfinished portrait. She picks up one dark bloom as she walks by. Without further thought she entwines it into her hair, humming a jolly tune the flowergirl sang a while ago.
The day is done.
*
Lord Enver Gortash resides in his opulent office, sipping a newly imported variant of black tea when the magical barrier on his balcony simmers.
He doesn´t deem it worthwhile to turn around.
The opening door makes minimal sound and the sunset drips inside along with the familiar shadow. The man smirks. A barely noticeable waft of blood arrives with her like a perfume.
„I suppose you can´t just use the front gate like any other citizen.“
„No.“ Her voice skips over the room, leaving his neck tingling.
„I should build a special entrance just for you. Something like a cat flap maybe.“
She snorts.
„Do you like cats?“ She asks suddenly.
„Cats are… impressive.“
He raises eyes from the correspondence to glance at her emerging from the gloom, following her movement. Light disinterested fingers trail his furniture. He observes a flower in her hair, so uncommon for her usually unadorned visage.
„Often focused and single-minded when the goal is worthy, excellent hunters. Great manipulators even. But to their detriment, also easily distracted by a simple ball of yarn. Everyone can fall into a trap if the trap is designed exclusively for them. Unfortunately, cats are no exception.“
The Bhaalspawn ignores him, plopping in his favorite chair without an invitation, proceeding to clean her blade with a soft cloth. The small bag of holding she always wears on her hip contains many practical effects and he commends her for such prudence.
Enver puts the quill down and rests his chin on intertwined fingers.
„I heard chilling reports from the city. Fists are panicking over the possibility of various serial killers on the loose. I suspect you were successful in your pursuits?“
„Very much so. Even Orin would stop sulking if she saw. I was positively artistic today.“ She twirls the blue orchid unwittingly and reaches into her bag for a vial of oil to finish the care for her weapon.
„Thank you.“
„What for? Isn´t it what I always do?“
„For your proficiency. Admirable.“
„Wasting your flattery on the obvious, Gortash? Store it up for the highborn ladies and the snobs at the Council.“ The twitch in the corner of her mouth reveals a hint of delight.
„You like it. There can be an advantage gained from accepting a compliment sometimes.“
„Don´t push it.“ Sharp teeth glimmer in a careful glee.
„We leave for Moonrise Towers soon.“ Enver taps at the letter before him. „Our general sent a humble note.“
„Counting the days, aren´t you?“
„We will have to retrieve one body on the way but that doesn´t pose a problem, does it?“
„A body?“
„His daughter´s body specifically.“
„Sentimental. But you are right, not a problem. I think we cooked much larger fish in good old days.“
They share a smile bordering on warmth.
Vito stands up and hovers aimlessly before placing the dark orchid on his desk. With her index finger she slowly pushes the now radiant, night-infused blossom in front of him.
„I expect that cat flap next time.“ She says with a grin. „But knowing you, a ball of yarn is probably more your forte.“
He makes no comment, only holds her gaze for a significant while.
When the assassin silently leaves the way she came, Lord Gortash catches himself still smiling.
*
The Temple is rustling with joyous news, almost veiling the howling from the depths. She walks hastily, passing by the fresh recruits and elder priesthood who scrape before her, both bowing in somber adoration or suffocating envy. Sceleritas Fel trots behind her, mumbling her praises until she turns to him and orders him to hold silence until the next day else she tears the worthless limbs from his repugnant torso. That one always works. The Fiend teeters with uncontrollable pleasure at her harsh words and hops away to find his own entertainment.
Vito spies Orin before the changeling sees her and surprises her at the staircase to the personal chambers.
„Were you busy today, Orin, dear? How many?“ She asks sharply as the Deathstalker mantle falls from her shoulders.
„Ah, my devious slaughter kin. The gruesome beauty of your deeds caressed my ears today.“ The clouded eyes and clouded brain, indeed. And as expected, at least blasted woman has no words of impertinent criticism. Vito measures her up impatiently.
„How many, Sister?“ She repeats with freezing emphasis.
Orin squirms. Alas. She never learns. „A child.“
„One? One and on top of that a child?“
„A child of the Lord. I left him a sweet gift of the head on the bedroom table to sing lullabies to at night. You aren´t squeamish about the smallest creatures carved up, Sibling mine. Are you?“
„Orin.“ Vito makes sure the sheer disappointment injures her Sister´s unending delusion. „We need the numbers. Quantity over quality. Children of the patriars for the later days, remember? For the last days of the design to enhance the panic in earnest. We need to employ patience until I return from Moonrise.“
„Will you take me? Oh, Sibling, my cruelest kin, will you take me with you to the shadowlair?“
The appeal in the degenerate face is surprisingly genuine. Vito wouldn´t trust Orin with her hand but Gortash lately taught her to apply more sugar than punches. The Bhaalspawn prefers to maintain the balance between the two. To keep the least loyal underling close should be wise and if she decides differently –
She can use a promise now without upholding it later after all.
Vito grips Orin´s shoulder, clammy skin writhing under the touch. „I will think about it.“ Scorching energy of her corrosive magic keeps ever so slowly burning through the shifting flesh. A reminder, an ultimatum. The Sister dressed in gore hisses between her teeth but withstands the punishment. Nothing else is expected. Vito is almost proud of her.
„During next week you will bring me the numbers. You will offer as many souls to our Sire as you can and you will do so quickly and precisely. Are we understood? Go.“
„Yes. Yes, my wicked sla-…“ The words are swallowed as Vito pushes her away and without another look heads down for her chambers.
*
Her mind wanders.
How much time since the first letter from the Chosen of Bane with the polite convincing invitation? And how long does the reflection of her blade show her his face?
For too long it seems when she can´t even bring herself to omit a visit to his residence after the day of good work.
There is a certain layer of loneliness Vito would never admit. No clawing at it is able to remove it. She shouldn´t feel alone, her Father created her as an image of his perfection after all. Do gods ever get lonely? Vito doubts it. Their worshippers fill any kind of void which may arise. Her own void pulsates at the edges at the thought of her associate. That man´s boundless ambition is nothing short of intoxicating. Like a hound on the trail he hunts down any benefit, any secret option. His greed is bottomless, his ideas inexhaustible.
The Hall of Wonders a few years ago was a success. The two of them fell into the rhythm very easily. Both were eager to keep the heist fast and entertaining. Nothing like being bored on a job. His handy crossbow and clever hand-grenades, her magic and blade, they could waltz in and out in unison. The trust was paramount. No tests during the heist, no deceit between them, they had agreed. Vito didn´t try to kill him once. The cooperation itself served as a sufficient test as they raided the Gondian Hall and made away with the torture racks and one set of Bhaalist remains.
She bathed and she suddenly feels too clean, less herself. As if the grime and mire of death were the only correct vestments she should be able to bear on her body.
She tosses and turns on her hard cold bed. Her fists tighten and sleep is more of an enemy than a shelter. Truth be told, she was never too skilled at resting. Enver Gortash isn´t either. She doesn´t know when and whether he manages to sleep. His ambition must be the fuel for his endurance but the gears always turning take a visible toll on him. The irrepressible visions of his friendly smile cut up by her hand cause warmth set deep in her belly. But so does the adamant memory of the deep aroma of his skin and the underlying rich scent of his blood which she never fails to register… She grunts in irritation and sits up.
Despite what Sceleritas whispers about her to anybody who cares to listen, Vito doesn´t use corpses for gratification. She killed an especially handsome half-elf once, when she was much younger. She stalked him for hours, then lured him to the cemetery. When he leaned in for an expected kiss, one stab straight to the heart was all it took to deprive him of any future.
She sat there beside him afterwards and watched him as the nightfall swamped the burial chamber. And when the darkness took over completely, she climbed on the catafalque and embraced the dead youth. The girl she was back then undressed and curled up next to his body, silent and still, the last specks of heat soon extinguished.
She thought of her foster parents, buried ages ago. Her stomach turned and the draft of cold made her shudder and when the butler scurried inside, searching for her, he praised her wit and ingenuity, glorifying the pliant nature of the fresh dead in opposite to the difficulties of the breathing conquests.
She tried living men and women, of course, in the bouts of madness in the beginning of her journey. As a recently awakened Bhaalspawn Vito couldn´t find the correct way to release her needs. Even if she always murdered the ones she had shared a bed with after the act, the desire bubbled up more. When she arrived in Baldur´s Gate and took control of the Temple, she invited to bed a few members of the Church, hoping for consonance resulting from shared beliefs. Fulfillment didn´t come and Vito no longer tried nor cared. She concluded then that her bodily urges are only meant to be satisfied by death alone.
She told only one other person about the night spent at the catafalque, embracing the dead young man. Two years ago, was it? Enver and her drank some stolen Elverquisst and the conversation turned quite daft.
Vito admitted to the haunting feeling similar to sadness as ordinary people describe it. The foreign surge of it happened while remembering that one night of peace and the sense of unity she felt wrapped in the arms of a corpse.
Enver only nodded and said there´s no shame in her tale. Don´t they all strive for unity in one way or another? Isn´t whole their plan based on the concept of the ultimate concord after all?
To bring her mischievous smile back he shared the small accounts of his victories, the web of seductions across the city and they laughed at the habits of an easy prey. And when they stopped laughing, Vito told him about the people who had raised her for a while and how they had ended up. And after that there was a silence and after the silence dissolved he told her...
No sleep for the leader of the Temple tonight, it seems.
Vito shouts: „Sceleritas! Chop chop!“
The Fiend immediately sprouts from some corner: „For the chopping, chopping and slicing and shearing and tasting, your butler is here, Mistress.“
„We are going to visit a den of thieves. Are you hungry?“
„Hunger is a friend to a butcher.“
„Yes, yes, bring me my cloak and gloves. Nobody stays hungry tonight.“
*
The Bhaalspawn is, against all odds, my equal despite the fact that she is prone to the occasional fits of madness. It goes with her heritage, naturally. Still Vito proved reliable.
How horrific, how abominably resourceful she is. Both in strategizing and working in the field. I watch her dance through the crowd of falling bodies and can´t help but feel a little anxious about losing her out of my sight. Cold and collected while doing what she does best, plunging into the bloodshed but doesn´t linger. To bring ruin with such clarity is a gift indeed.
Occasionally petty and vicious, she doesn´t take kindly to orders and reacts perplexed and confused if met with kindness. Most people are fools who fall for honey even if it drips from a whip. Vito is akin to an animal of nightly habits who not only notices the whip behind the sweetness but attempts to take the reins of power. A true leader of her acolytes, she is feared precisely because –
During our years of cooperation I surmised that the best way to proceed with her is honesty. More or less. She detects the lies and I found out that I no longer have the need to pretend to entice her.
Her schemes helped with
Her ideas of widespread control
She enticed me.
If bowing wasn´t the antithesis to my path, I would bow to her. I would kneel before her like a supplicant. Heretical thoughts aside, the plain comfort of her presence is a rare blessing. If there was anyone I´d trust with a knife at my throat it would be her and believe me, that happened a few times. I suspect her trying to kill me used to be her favorite pastime in those early days. Testing me, taunting me. Just as I tested her. But there seems to be lack of need for that recently. We used to bicker much more, though rarely needlessly, not so much as to spoil my satisfaction with our dealings. Now our rapport seems exquisitely clean and straightforward. With the exceptions when she suddenly gets... softer somehow. How much softer, I wonder. Soft enough to respond to
She wouldn´t imperil our plan of course.
Enver traces his words with sharp fingertips and immediately feeds them to fire. He exhales and drowns the poor lie with wine. It began as a convenience and curiosity only. He was entertained later. Now he wants –
He didn´t exaggerate when he wrote about bowing to her. Truth is that is the least he would do if his nature didn´t command him otherwise. Her scent of fresh blood never really leaves his senses. Sometimes standing beside her, fighting alongside her, debating with her envelops him in an inescapable haze, underlined by the admiration.
Above all, he is a practical man and such yearnings distract him.
When all is said and done, the thrones of the ever-reaching empire will be rightfully theirs. She will sit by his side.
And she will get there in one piece.
He recalls the way she looked at him in the vault of Mephistopheles. Grinning like a loon, infernal gore drying to crust up to her elbows, smudging a bit on her forehead as she swept away the stray hair, turning to him with a cheerful: „Everything all right back there, Banite? Too fast for you, am I?“
He never felt such a kinship as that day when they emerged victorious after traipsing through Hells. So daring they were.
He recalls that one time when the need for torture arose and he pretended to be a tad squeamish about the time investment and quality of the answers they could possibly get. And she took it in her competent hands. The halfling in question didn´t even scream that long. Vito looked at Enver, shrugging: „Had to be done. Better do it quickly. Don´t worry, we are all good at something. I do mine and you do yours.“
„We complement each other rather nicely. Never would have guessed.“ He admitted, pleasantly surprised.
„Don´t get too comfortable.“ She winked. And he didn´t know whether she was joking.
There had been a brief rough patch in the beginning, after the Hall of Wonders and a few smaller successful projects they underwent to collect a potent trove of artifacts before taking on the Vault.
He overstepped. Twice, actually. First, carelessly ordering her to cause disappearance of one of the black market weapon merchants who had tirelessly opposed Gortash´s consolidating monopoly. He received unpleasant news about a few of his own shipments and wasn´t in his right mind.
He barely lifted his gaze from the columns of numbers, considering the discussion closed. But Vito opposed him. Maybe it was the tone of voice he used or the perceived disregard for her agreed position.
„Don´t mistake me for your personal assassin.“ Her words reeked of chilling disgust.
„Sorry? Wasn´t that what you´re supposed to be?“ He threw back.
„I´m not one of your assets, Gortash.“ She stood there without intention to move and her eyes grew ever darker, liquid pools of questionable opacity.
They measured each other up for an instant. Enver attempted to push through to her with pure willpower and Vito clenched her jaw, shadows rising to whirl around her.
He stood up from his desk and crossed his arms. „Come on, grind those teeth at me once more.“
Trying to get a reaction for whatever reason, she went for a low blow. „You wouldn´t want these teeth anywhere close. You should have asked nicely. I am not your servant, Mister Flymm.“
She didn´t know back then, not the full extent. He told her much later, over the Elverquisst, during one of the rare nights of talking without plotting their heists. What propelled him to share something so intimate he couldn´t have guessed. But when she only asked whether he wishes them killed, he felt grateful. He refused because he had something much better planned for his traitorous, weak slimebags of a family. Vito made a solemn promise then that once when they accumulate enough power, they will take care of the devil. To slaughter a devil in his own domain, she positively salivated at the idea. And Enver noted a tiny flash inside his mind, a little something with semblance to true joy. Joy of any kind was a rare occurrence. Hatred and spite suited him perfectly most of the times.
But when she had used his discarded name years before this event, to scorn him, she had no knowledge yet.
Still, he lost control for a second there and grabbed her ignoring her hand immediately reaching for the blade. He smashed her against the wall while her teeth indeed snapped at him. He squeezed the soft throat and the whiff of her sickly sweet scent attacked his nose. Her mouth was too close. She licked her lips and – laughed.
He regained composure quickly, steady words spilling into her mocking face, articulating each one precisely: „You don´t even mean it, Vito. These moods of yours are of no benefit to anyone. I will consider it a slip of a hand this one time. You know damn well that I never considered you my subordinate. I asked for assistance in your area of expertise. Would you be so kind and get it done? Please. I know you are just playing, testing me, hmm? Is that it? What if you rather don´t?“
„What if I rather do? What will you do?“ Her breathing was strained, face flushed, her pulse underneath his fingers racing, tip of her dagger threateningly resting against his diaphragm. She likes this. Of course she likes it. She is Bhaal´s daughter, where is the surprise in this? And to that only one answer was correct.
He grasped the blade directed at his aorta and pushed it aside, paying no mind to the deep cut he acquired. Then he pressed lips to her ear and whispered with vicious glee: „Ignoring attention seekers is the greatest punishment, I hear. Now, go deal with the merchant, please.“
He tapped her cheek, smiled at her, returned to the desk and as good as his word proceeded to ignore her for the next two days.
*
As he turns from her, she bites down on her lower lip so hard she feels blood seeping to her mouth. She should plunge the blade deep into his neck and twist it until his head falls off. She should carve him up to little ribbons of skin. Magic at her fingertips prickles and cracks, she almost feels the burning flesh. Strike him down, burn him from the inside. She stands in the corner where he so uncharacteristically violently pushed her and watches him, sucking on her broken lip. There he is, smug bastard, calm and collected, applying a healing poultice on his cut palm and returning to writing of his cursed letters.
She cools down.
It is the last time she riles him this way. She got her answer as to his character.
„I´m sorry.“ she mutters.
He doesn´t react if he even heard her.
*
After that, two days of silence later, he profoundly apologizes and repeatedly assures her of her equal standing. He means it. He always meant it. Vito doesn´t jab at him as much again. Enver is glad of it. He wouldn´t like to use the ignorance card too often as Vito´s absence deprives him of one of the few things which bring him particular form of pleasure.
He is aware of her more peculiar habits. The eating and sleeping ones especially. He knows she barely ever sleeps and attributes it to her distinct origin. Something they have in common, the persisting insomnia. More time for action doesn´t hurt. Enver accepts the state of things as an economical advantage and when his organism protests, he consumes sleeping draughts for a fast restoration.
That repulsive „butler“ of hers often hovers around. She seems to truly enjoy the company of the toad. Bhaalists are volatile, difficult to work with, many are plain stupid and Enver holds nothing more than lukewarm contempt for most of them. Vito is ironically enough single-minded, organized. So what if she has a vice or two? It only makes her all the more interesting. He doesn´t judge her small deviations and doesn´t consider them disgusting.
When she had divulged her memory of the young man in the burial chamber, he was surprised – not surprised at something of that sort happening but at the fact she decided to tell him of all people. He always suspected that a person like her would be hard to satisfy and now it occurred to him that maybe the opposite is true. Maybe the key to her needs is rather on the nose.
He observes her behavior, putting together the whole picture for further use. Slowly, feeding on the details.
The way she twiddles with objects to employ restless fingers.
The small smiles and smirks when she finds something he said amusing. Visiting him during odd hours just to check on him and then vanish into the night. The little snacks she brings him from her roaming around the city not unlike a cat, still honing its memory of wilderness, tossing a dead bird at their master´s feet. At least Vito doesn´t bring dead birds. She brings marzipan, high quality alcohol, cherries in cream, small cakes, rich meats.
So much curiosity and … life … in someone so deeply promised to death.
The savage lip-biting which is as he surmised a sign of confusion, frustration – although he admits the idea of her teeth tearing into his flesh, even if it was a result of frustration, unfortunately arouses him. He never quite acquired the taste for mindless carnage but the elegance and effectiveness she approaches it with entrances him against his will. Her violent nature is pure and rooted in constancy. Integrity. Enver appreciates integrity in all things. Even her random insanities are mostly purposeful. Not like her tasteless changeling Sister who lurks in her shadow reveling in grandiose acts of slaughter.
Sometimes they fight – to keep their senses sharp, to understand weaknesses of the other, to learn how to work around them and balance deficiencies. To achieve the best possible synergy.
Only it is not an exercise, there is no pretending, they give it all. Her shadow-twined tricks and storm-blessed magic against his Bane-granted powers and his own inventiveness. He savors the rush which inevitably arrives when her cold skin comes to contact with his. He doesn´t want to think about it but he wishes at times he could just bury himself in her body, consume her. Somehow. In what capacity, he is not quite certain. Wouldn´t fucking her cheapen the bond they have built? Would it enhance it? Would she even tolerate something like that, avoidant creature that she is?
If she wished for violence, he would give her every bit. What more, if she wished for tenderness, he would shelter her, he would…
She is the one to Crown the Brain after all.
Enver doesn´t really endorse concept of friendship. The sort where truth is the foundation. But if he ever had a real friend in this treasonous world it would be her.
Yes, she will murder her way through to the top alongside him and he will be there to catch her in case she starts losing ground. He despises malfunction in his machines but he is willing to try to mend any malfunction she may experience. With violence or kindness, whatever would be required.
*
Moonrise Towers remind her of a tomb. The sounds are muffled, the air still and stale.
The decay should please her. She only finds the place dull and its current inhabitants base. There are other things occupying her mind.
Evening before the raid on the illithid colony, after the alignment with Ketheric Thorm and every possible preparation of their troops and scouts before the following attack, Vito appears in Enver´s temporary quarters as is her habit.
Both feel the oppressive heaviness of the Curse surrounding the fortress but the classic thrill before another adventure, before the next important step of their precisely planned path wins as usual.
They don´t drink tonight, to remain clear-headed for tomorrow.
„Do you regret sometimes?“ She asks.
„No.“ He answers. Too quickly, too carelessly. „Regret ties us to the past.“ His voice drops ever so subtly. „After you deal with the remnants of the past, there is nothing left to regret. Do you sometimes think about the individuals you kill?“
„No.“ She answers truthfully. „There is no place for pity. Their deaths had divine purpose and their souls serve as a source of power. It is an honor, a fulfillment, not a sentence. What about the ones who remain alive? The ones you intend to rule over.“
„We intend.“ He corrects her.
„Yes, my esteemed Tyrant, we. So what about them?“ She rolls her eyes and sits back in her chair.
„People? We release them from the weight of freedom, relieve them of responsibility, while removing strife, creating peaceful, clockwork universe under our wise command.“ He seems so content. So convinced of the clarity of his vision.
„Yes.“
„You are exceptionally pensive today, dear.“
Vito lets her thoughts crumble.
„I never asked. Might as well ask now, before our big quest. Why do you work with me?“ Enver´s eyebrows contort in wariness but she continues: „If we are the only people left alive… the only ones living with free will intact anyway… what will stop you from turning against me in the end?“
„That is a peculiar topic you raise and so suddenly.“
„Isn´t it in Bane´s nature to share the power when it suits him only to cast his associates down as his servants when the alliance suits him no longer?“
„And you are concerned that when the plan is finalized and the city of Baldur´s Gate firmly secured as the base for the following invasions across the realms... I will turn on you and force you to serve under me? Or even make you my thrall, that´s what you´re afraid of?“
„Not afraid, no. Weighing every possibility.“
„I admit, it is sensible course of reasoning. It further validates your importance and, fairly, proves you are not mindless and foolish. But I must also insist – leave such thoughts behind. You were the one who made this all possible. I will share with you everything just like I promised. I have nothing to gain from betrayal.“
It was crude of her to ask, to possibly injure the alliance, to disrupt stability on the eve before the battle, yes, but it was a chance to get an out. If she could somehow prove he also plans to betray her? Wouldn´t it be much easier in the end? Or was it a childish grasping born out of panic and potential loss? Is this what Sharrans feel before they submit to their tedious patron? Is this a symptom of insanity, growing inside her as a gift from her Father who must have seen how distracted she becomes the longer this man is near?
She feels her eyes filling with shadows again, darkness thickening to create the familiar haze, the suffocating veil from which only tendrils of blood lead out and her mind twists and –
Enver reaches across the table and places his hand on top of hers. She freezes.
Don´t.
His hand is heavy and warm and she just stares at it, suppressing murderous need to draw her weapon and pin their linked hands to the table. Pain would break whatever this is, pain would liberate. Liberate her from obligation and him from delusion.
„We are good together.“ He utters, voice unusually hoarse.
She continues to stare as his thumb strokes slow circles against the back of her hand and something in the depth of her being fractures.
„If this is the fucking ball of yarn, I swear I´ll tear your guts out and eat your crippled heart, Gortash.“
„That is certainly an image. I believe you will. But you won´t have to.“
They laugh, cautiously. Tension doesn´t dissolve yet, it hangs over them heavier than the Curse outside. Vito can´t escape the thought that they have somehow created their own curse. Not here in this room, but already years ago when their colliding realities met and instead of a breaking point they chained each other to this pact of convenience. The unspoken oath and unspoken hurt they could do without.
So who is mindless and foolish now?
As she stands up to leave, he joins her at the door and after a blink of an eye of consideration he puts his arm around her in one smooth movement and presses a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Vito tenses again.
Don´t.
She doesn´t push him away. She doesn´t return the embrace either. He must sense how stiff she went because he remains holding her, undemanding, leaving one arm down, creating an option for her to exit the situation.
„I appreciate you, my exquisite assassin.“ He murmurs into the mess of her hair.
His words afflict her no less than a plague would. His firm forearm lingering around her shoulders stings like acid. The herbal scent of his soap and softness of his simple black linen shirt he chose instead of his usual garish attire make her wanna vomit. Too close. His heart beats too close. She digs her nails into her palms so viciously the blood colors them in a moment. Too close. Too much. She wants to –
„Good night.“ She says silently, detaches herself from the embrace and vanishes into the derelict passageways.
*
When they descended to the colony, she didn´t expect to be challenged again so soon.
The Brain.
The accord.
The reminder, cruelty unparalleled, it called her motives when they connected and she felt – nothing. For a long moment there she felt absolutely nothing. There was peace and clarity in such a state of mind. She didn´t wish it to end. Her foster parents, the murderous spree over Faerun, coming into her own, leading the cult in Baldur´s Gate, knowledge and certainty of her identity… how many people know who they are?
They question endlessly, pondering purpose of their lives, striving for the meaning, creating new meanings over and over, discarding them and so on until they die, useless, pitiful deaths. Useless unless their souls sustain something larger than they ever were.
Not her.
There is an advantage in knowing exactly who you are, why you were made, how you were made and what is your ultimate goal and meaning of your existence.
There is also a hindrance. The veil protecting you from ever truly using your free will. You are cursed with certainty, molded by predetermination and in recognizing this she understood she is in no better position than the Elder Brain itself – burdened with the Crown of Karsus the same as she herself was burdened with the essence of Bhaal and the inevitability of her shackles.
And here as she Crowned the Elder Brain and forced it under the domination of the Netherstones, even this alien unfathomable entity confirmed her identity, commending her on her firmly set route.
She would laugh and she laughed often before. She didn´t doubt before, didn´t have reason to doubt. And now her present falls apart easier than all the transient lives which passed through her cruel fingers.
When she awakens from the trance, it is Enver Gortash holding her, smiling at her, congratulating her… them. The clock is ticking. The sound in her mind grows louder.
*
Enver prepares for departure. Vito decided to remain until Ketheric´s army gathers in full strength. She sits in the armchair in his provisional chamber and watches him pack the weaponry. He will leave through the portal later that day. The victory made him evidently overjoyed for a moment. Then his mood returned to the calm and easy disposition he often professes.
As if he was convinced nothing can stand in his way.
So confident in expectation that everything would ever go as he wishes. Who wouldn´t kneel before him?
She almost hurts for him. She almost hungers for the possibility to fall on her knees before him and ask for forgiveness. The dagger in her hand pricks the center of her palm as she turns the words in her head. But he is talking again, breaking through her crimson fog:
„After you have your business here in order, you will join me back in the Gate soon, correct? We will need you and your associates to apply some more pressure among the citizens before Thorm marches. You did so well-“
„Stop.“ Frost.
„Will you explain what exactly is it I should be stopping?“ Amusement.
„Talking. Talking my ear off.“ Derangement.
„My apologies, if there is something bothering you, you should enlighten me before snapping.“ Confusion. Irritation.
„This… this thing you do. These platitudes. This acceptance, this smoothness. You are too close.“
Something furiously warm blinds her. Traitorous messengers of weakness. Tears?
Vito doesn´t know how but she is standing. She leaps. Her eyes are bound in darkness, pulsating, tearing, rending, shredding.
Her blade presses to Enver´s throat, rage in her chest threatening to pull at the strings which hold her sanity together.
And he does nothing.
The fool does nothing and slowly raises his hands up, smiling at her with that accomodating glint in his eyes.
He says: „I´m here.“ Just like that. Here.
Vito´s teeth clench, crushing like a prison, holding all the poison back. Inside.
She used to enjoy bathing her mind in Bhaal´s poison, drink up the goblet of hateful creed and do so lightly.
Dancing bones, ha, how fun it all used to be.
The Temple seems more stifling now than she would like to admit. They listen to her, obey her but the void is not enough lately. She would like to herd them all to the centre and set them ablaze with the storm slithering in her veins. The dissonance hurts.
She thinks about him too much.
At first she considered the need akin to her thirst for a good kill.
She couldn´t deny there was a prominent part of bloodlust in what she felt when he put a hand on her shoulder. When he praised her. When he … was. It was like a waking dream, the urge to slice him up, butcher him when at the same time she found herself seeking his warmth, dust-filled joy from drawing out his smile.
But I like what I do. She reminds herself.
I love what I do. But I also love-
Tell him.
It is only a word, a word for mortals, word for theatrics and Vito despises pretending. Oh, Enver relishes it, masks over masks over masks but there is nothing underneath the face he willingly shows her. He is bare to her and her mind squirms and squeezes around the filth of her guilt. Because she can´t truly pay him back in the same currency of honesty.
Her arm weakens under the weight of his gaze. She reaches to him, closes the distance between their faces. A defiant sound escapes her, frustration boiled down while he just waits, expectant, terribly patient.
Nervous, Vito sucks on her own lips, bruising herself before bruising him. He always faintly smells of metal and work oils and parchment and ink. The civilized scents, the arbiters of civilization he builds and which she knows must be torn down one day. Overwhelmed by the sound of his breathing she bites. That´s all she can ever do. He builds, she destroys, as is the preamble of the mantle of their Overlords. He hisses but she feels him smile as she draws the blood. He tastes like everything she ever wanted. He bites her back ever so swiftly and not a bit playfully. They can play no longer if they ever truly did.
Vito tries to recoil, in the face of tangible desire which can´t be sealed in so much blood.
He pushes against the bite, against the knife, the curved blade sinks dangerously into his skin but he doesn´t flinch. He forces the Bhaalspawn to her knees, lithe slight of a hand softly brushing her knuckles, asking for permission, closing on her cold fingers.
„Vito.“ Her chosen name spoken with tenderness never heard in the halls of their respectful home bases.
He moves to release the blade from her grip and she lets him, wishing against all the screaming instincts that he could release her too. From the grip of her purpose. From the essence locked in the seemingly unbreakable bond with her identity. Release her from the old form which started to restrain and obstruct her when he became the part of the machine which was their deal.
Vito feels mutilated by the future, ominous in its exigency.
After her murderous grip was broken, her blade is in Enver´s skillful hand. He handles it with such care Vito almost tears up again at the sight. The dagger is a part of her and watching it being kept by his fingers weakens her. Almost as if he was touching her and she hates herself for even considering it.
Enver notices her blank hungry stare and carefully reaches to her hip gently returning the sharp steel body to its scabbard home.
„Thank you.“ She whispers.
He joins her on the stone-cold floor, kneeling in front of her. His voice steals the poison, takes her apart and builds her anew:
„Come back to me.“
She raises her eyes to him. He is the only real thing in this room.
„Just us. Nobody else matters. You made this possible and the place on the top waits for us. I know you adore darkness, my dearest, but the darkness will always be there, waiting for you.
Waiting for your decision to return when you choose. You can step out of it for a while and join me here. Come back to me.Take the piece of it with you as you always do, shelter in it, wrap yourself in the fragments of it if you prefer. Unravel anytime you crave a different tone, a different shade. You don´t betray anything by not living entwined constantly within the same shadows.“
„But I do! I do betray.“ Rot slipping between her teeth.
„Trust me, you do not.“
He doesn´t understand her meaning.
*
Enver says „Trust me.“
He does understand her meaning.
She is different now. He can´t assess what level of danger she poses for him yet.
The Bhaalist beliefs must be naturally deeply rooted with the esteemed leader of the cult. By default, being what she is.Though he does not possess the knowledge of details, he suspects that his dear ally has more insidious happenings planned for after the power is solidified. Bhaal is not known for being frugal in his conquests.
Enver counts on every option. But he sees Vito clearly struggles. That makes for an interesting conundrum. She struggled for a while now.
If she just told him, he would give her a choice. A choice to postpone any conceptions of madness she is so consumed by if not stop it completely.
It would be a danger to her, he reckons. Bhaal wouldn´t let his prized offspring turn from their purpose without devising the cruelest of fates for them. Could Bane´s power shelter someone like her? Impossible.
He is willing to try. To fix. He knows how to fix things. He is willing to try. Until there is nothing left to repair in her. Until she is not there anymore. Only then he would let her go. But not before.
*
Vito breathes in sharply when Enver repeats: „Trust me. I trust you.“ and his disturbingly warm palm rests on her cheek, intruding on her savage dissonance.
His thumb breaks the subtle trickle of tears. Why so accepting in face of her obvious, damning weakness?
Vito is a stranger to caress. So is he, she knows that. When he lowers his face to her, she flinches. His breath catches, uncertain, frozen as she tastes his scent and makes a decision. She offers him her lips in silent understanding. He receives the offer with utmost caution and respect this time.
The kiss is careful and slow, loaded with restraint but powered by longing, trembling at the end of the line until the line breaks and the restraint is dissolved by the urgency of closeness.
She feels his fingers coil in her hair, the warmth on her nape as he holds her, she moans into the kiss like a starving spectre, leans into his embrace, falls into him shattered by the need. He responds in kind, tearing her away from the void and inevitability of the crimson skies, claiming her mind completely just for a while.
She accepts the unspoken invitation, slides her hands up his chest, her nails rip into his flesh to make sure he´s truly there. Enver smiles quite joyfully at the pain she causes even in her most tender moments. Her fingers are rough, demanding, unaccustomed to much more than a weapon but his admiring acceptance eases the tension, melts her as he presses his mouth against her pulse, eliciting shiver.
Vito pushes herself on top of him, toppling them on the ground, he lets out a small laugh and encircles her waist with his arms. Protective or possessive gesture? It doesn´t matter. Probably both.
For a moment, yes, for a cruel moment of freedom Vito recognizes the absence of void. The muddied waters of familiar darkness she resides in do part. Her kingdom of bones, the blood her crowning grace under the blessing of her Father – it all means nothing in this blazing need.
Enver holds her tightly, whispers to her:
„You, my glorious nightmare.“
She props herself against his chest, looks down at him in awe, into his darkest eyes of wonder and she recognizes that she much more prefers this kind of shadow.
*
There are multiple sorts of darkness. Some are more … vital than others.
Enver watches her, the burning gaze suddenly seeping from her usually winter-clad countenance. Her grip on him is telling him all he needs to know.
He takes a hold of her, flips them over with ease, pulls her under him, covers her with his body, observing her reactions ever so precisely. Those fly down the whole spectrum, confusion appears, followed by a fleeting indication of resistance, the sudden response when she presses against him. She wraps her legs around his hips, her thighs squeezing.
He can´t deny he wants her. He wants her so much his resolve threatens to break. But the control is everything to him and he refuses to submit to base urges so easily.
If it was just the primal desire, physical pull, it would be insignificant, wouldn´t it? Enver Gortash is not one to succumb to corporeal lusts for lust alone – that is a province of weak-minded, weeds to be conquered and discarded.
But Bane help him this is so much more.
She is a ridge in his wasteland. Sharp rift to his even wall.
Tell her.
His mind never completely abandons his schemes, in the background of his consciousness he still calculates, collecting mental notes. Mapping her raging face Enver tries to detect her intentions while battling to identify his own motives. Is it just the manifestation of his intrinsic necessity to dominate each and every living being he encounters? The natural requisite surging ever more when the target´s power is tangible, not only nominal like those noble fools in the Gate? This one, the flesh and gore of a bloodthirsty deity, the perfect child of its creed but still a mortal. Still a person. A person whose abyssal pupils widen when he touches her skin.
Is it all much more simple?
Your crippled heart, she said. But isn´t she the one who crippled it even more while he didn´t pay attention?
He brushes her lightly trembling lips with his knuckles – and she grits her teeth. It is a split second, a tick, but hard not to notice.
„Scared?“
„Of you?“ she scoffs.
„No, not me. Of yourself.“
She has a sharp retort curled on her tongue, prepared to spit it at him – but she doesn´t.
Unaccustomed to touch not used as a tool, he caresses her face again, fingertips of his gauntlet tangling in disheveled hair. She feels warmer now.
„Are you all right, Vito?“ He barely recognizes his own voice, low and laced with unknown care.
„I don´t know. Are you?“
He kisses her again. She opens her mouth for him to take, to seal, to compromise. His lip still bleeds and she licks at it automatically. His hands slide down her body, touching her, reminding her.
She grabs his face and her words are urgent, desperate: „You have to stand by my side, Enver. Whatever happens in the next months or years even, you will have to trust me and stand by me. Promise me.“
No hesitation as he swears: „I promise you.“
*
They both lie.
The unlikely comfort is its own reward.
*
The awe keeps them in each other´s arms for a short while. They share this tight embrace, while the aching darkness leaves Vito and Enver´s mind already conspires about the yet untaken roads he could walk to find the method to help him keep her. Keep her whole and close to him.
The moment passes but the echo remains, deeply settled in them.
They glance about, returning to the present and smile. No other words are spared.
When the time comes for Enver to leave Moonrise Towers, he sees Vito at the gate, she looks a bit worse for wear, deep dark circles bloomed under her eyes and he thinks to himself how beautiful, how gruesome a creature and how wonderful the future before them. She only offers him her hand and he kisses her knuckles in the imitation of a true Lord and they both laugh.
„Come back to me soon.“ He says.
She nods.
*
Enver Gortash knows now about the fissures and cracks in Bhaalspawn´s resolve. Whatever her plan is, he has to be two steps ahead. To have her by his side in earnest by any means, for her to become a partner with the identical goals. No secrets. To convince her to postpone any ludicrous Bhaalist plan she may be following.
The look in her face burnt him to the core. There was no falsehood in the way she touched him and how she received his close proximity. Unexpected and beyond the raw lust. There it was, the will to be his. The foundation for the unadulterated surrender and his relief couldn´t be greater.
Wouldn´t Bane approve of him subjugating the Chosen of his rival?
The justification works well enough.
The dark orchid in the vase on his table thrives, almost black now. In the certain light the petals show a slight tinge of crimson.
He smiles to himself. How often does it happen to align one´s personal desires with those of his god so perfectly?
Vito, my dearest. My glorious nightmare.
He will tell her when she returns from Moonrise Towers. One of these days. His. Could be. Must be.
*
Vito kneels in front of the engraved symbol of her Sire. The skull mocks her. The votive candles she lit glow in the obscurity of the solitary place as a sea of fire. She places her hands into the flames, scorching her palms with self-inflicted penance, stench of roasted meat hitting her nostrils but she knows it is not enough. She should eviscerate herself, throw herself on the altar of blood and terror. The dreams she was sent lately – oh, they plague her in rare moments of sleep.
And for all our talk of power and glory, Enver, aren´t we just slaves to our gods in the end? She presses her forehead against the cold, rough-hewn stone and pleads silently. Her breath echoes in the cavernous hall.
Father, forgive me. Nothing changed, I remain dedicated. Devoted to the design as I ever was. Aren´t you proud of me carrying your will so well? I must and will go on with your wishes. Our… my wishes. The Chosen of Bane is a useful tool, his brilliance helps move our needs forward faster. Even if he suspects foul-play on my part, he won´t renounce the agreement. He is too self-assured for that, too convinced that he can and will predict any progression of events. I almost pity his selective blindness. His lust for me will become a leash to drag him to my side. To become a partner with identical goals. As the world burns in raw demise and extinction of every living soul on Toril, I will sacrifice him as promised. Then I will lay myself in the belly of the corpse of this world and return my life to you.
Vito stands up, knees bruised, elbows raw, palms blistering and prays to be strong enough when that day comes because for the first time she can´t fully trust herself. She can only go through with the plan, cold and unwavering, paragon of efficiency. But as she takes her weapon, the blade still shows her his face and she thinks about the way his fingers grasped first the bone-crusted hilt, then her alone. How her skin yielded to him and how it felt to be wanted fervently by a personage so worthy. She has to think.
She furiously sheathes her dagger and heads out of the fortress, to quell the ever burning thirst. To find something to kill. To harvest.
Carnage brings equilibrium.
*
Only it didn´t.
Back from her wandering, at the joyfully grim Moonrise Towers Vito oversees the preparations and gathering of the army. She can return to Baldur´s Gate now, no point in her lingering when Thorm has his minions firmly under his fist and is evidently willing to assist them but she is stalling. Revered and feared by the twisted races of Ketheric´s followers she devours ancient tomes found around the keep, engages in the matches in the fighting pits and roams the surrounding lands where the Shadow Curse is not too thick and the lanterns help navigate through the apparent wasteland still full of hidden artifacts.
When I come back –
Maybe writing a letter will put her mind at ease. She watches the swirling shadows of the Curse shrouding the stronghold. The balcony shows her the everlasting night and her nails scratch into the edge of the granite railing at the thought, the similarity. Her Father´s eternal night will have different quality, less serene, blazing and echoing with dying cries.
I just hope you will understand one day, my dear. You will be by my side then.
To perish together is the most precious of gifts. But it doesn´t have to be now. We can have your empire first.
Quill in her fingers flies of its own. So much that she wants to describe to him. So much to explain. He will understand. He must.
I almost miss you.
We will have your empire first. Our empire.
Vito contemplates it all, satisfied with the thought process which led her to a correct loophole.
The light steps entering her chambers rouse her from reverie and tint her ideas with a drop of annoyance. She doesn´t even turn from her writing. Ignoring the attention seekers, isn´t it right?
„Sibling.“
„Not now, Orin. I have to-“
I have to tell him.
The sudden blow shatters her vision.
Piercing pain of the impact, short-lived agony and...
Darkness.
Darkness devours her.
It wasn´t content waiting for her after all.