mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

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Usually, he would’ve yanked his hand away a long, long time ago. Hells, he would have pushed the man into the chasm behind them for touching him, Netherstone be damned.
"Eavesdropping, hm?" Gortash lifts his other hand then and pulls a chunk of something out of Tav’s hair before grimacing and flicking it away. "You always did look best covered in gore."
He loves us like this. Look at him, he thirsts for us, for our art.
The Urge is insistent, and Tav tries his best to push it away from him. He actually needs to be somewhat focused right now.
It’s almost comical, really. Their blood-splattered ragtag group in front of the Chosen of Bane who either knows Tav very, very well and is just godawful at reading the room or - surprisingly the more plausible answer - is fucking with them all heavily. Maybe this is all part of their big scheme. It probably is.
The absolute absurdity of the situation makes Tav laugh.
"And I"m glad to see that you haven’t lost your strange sense of humor either, though I would appreciate it if you let me in on your joke."
With great effort, Tav pulls himself together. "What- do I know you?"
Gortash chuckles and places the hand that was in Tav’s hair on his waist instead, and that’s just entirely uncalled for. Tav swats it away, he won’t let himself be groped in a damn Mindflayer Colony. Even he has his limits.
Still, Gortash’s hand leaves behind a tingling feeling that spreads through Tav’s body, concentrating around the spot on his wrist where the man still has a hold on him.
At that, Gortash’s cheerful expression morphs into one of utter shock. The Baneite has the gall to look offended, even. As if he hadn’t just put his hands on Tav like he owned him.
"Surely you jest. I had different plans for our reunion." A smirk forces itself back onto his face at the second part.
Why in all hells does Tav feel a coil of heat in his body at that? Why does it feel like bantering with an old friend?
"Well, this is awkward," Astarion helpfully supplies. Shadowheart glares daggers at him which only makes him chuckle and then clear his throat - maybe he’s remembered that this is, in fact, Lord Gortash, and they are after his Netherstone as well. A pretty purple thing glinting in its golden setting on the dark-haired man"s hand.
Every time Tav had thought that he’d finally seen it all on their journey, something had happened that proved him wrong. But this conversation might just take the number one spot on the list.
Gale crosses his arms. "Uh, Tav? Is there a reason you kept the fact that the Chosen of Bane is your... acquaintance from us?" He sounds disgruntled, which Tav really can’t blame him for.
This must look bad. The problem is that it doesn’t feel wrong. At all.
"I don’t know him," Tav mumbles as he looks back into dark eyes. His gaze wanders over the man’s nose, down to his mouth, and stops at an old scar on his chin. He swears he can feel it beneath his tongue, can taste it- "I don’t think."
"It is very evident that you’re not thinking a lot right now," Gale says flatly.
Gortash lets go of his wrist, and that’s when it starts to feel all wrong. Tav craves to feel those talons digging into it again, until they dig up what’s buried deep within his memories. There is something, he just knows.
Tav feels pure frustration. "I lost my memories when I was abducted on a Mindflayer ship," he starts, because he might as well tell his story once more "But I think I was here before that. In a pod, I mean." The memory of the shattered pod they"d found flashes inside his mind.
The man - gods damn Lord Gortash - rubs his chin in thought. "I see. Do you remember anything at all?"
Tav ruminates for what feels like hours, searching through sinister thoughts and the memories he's made since the Nautiloid. There is more to it, he is sure of it, but it eludes him. The more he thinks, the more it slips out of his grasp.
"Nothing. Not since the Nautiloid," he answers, crossing his arms. The defensive stance doesn’t feel right in front of Gortash, doesn’t feel natural at all.
"Could you please just tell me what is going on here?" Tav exclaims then, his impatience getting the better of him. "Are you absolutely certain you know me?"
"Oh, you really haven’t lost your humor." Gortash’s laugh is entirely too loud for the room they’re in, but it’s warm and familiar and so, so irritating. "I know you very well, dearest. We share so much history."
Dearest. The name makes something click into place this time.
"We are- were allies. Friends, one might even say."
Tav’s waist burns with the memory of strong hands wrapping themselves around it and slipping beneath his shirt, gentle fingers and sharp talons caressing him. His breath shortens. "My friends don’t touch me the way you just did."
"They certainly don’t" I hope they don’t goes unspoken, expressed only through furrowed brows and something akin to jealousy flickering in dark eyes as they roam over Tav’s companions.
Gortash looks at the ground for a moment, almost as if he’s lost in thought. It seems entirely out of character for the Baneite, Tav thinks. Black hair hangs in front of his eyes as he tilts his head downwards A memory sends a sharp sensation through Tav’s mind as it frees itself of its shackles.
The dark strands feel soft between his fingers as he cards through them, gently brushing out small knots. He tucks some of it behind the other man’s ear, the skin warm against his fingers. It’s an intimate gesture between them, one done many times.
Tav clenches his eyes shut as the thought rolls over him without any intention of stopping, until it does. And then he craves to have it back - the thoughts and the memory itself.
"You said you were allies. Why allies? Why did you work together?" Shadowheart asks, and Tav is incredibly grateful for it because he doesn’t think he could speak a single coherent sentence right now.
Gortash looks up at her. Tav wonders if he knows her too. "We understood that if we were to unite, no one could stand in the way of the Dead Three." He looks back at Tav before speaking again. "Only it was you who set your bloody daggers to cause panic in the streets instead of Orin. I did always like you a lot better."
"So I worshipped Bhaal? Not all of his children succumbed to his influence." Tav asks. He"d seen the way Orin had infected Duke Ravenguard with the tadpole, cruel and merciless without any remorse.
It occurs to him that the thought of it doesn’t disturb him as much as it probably should. If anything, he feels jealousy rear its ugly head inside his chest, burning through his veins like acid. That should have been him. That should have been him at Ketheric’s and Gortash’s side, one of the Three. Bhaal, Myrkul and Bane.
Gortash’s answer is not much of a surprise after that. "Worshipped? You are his son. Your sister ruined your hard work. Unlike you, she cannot control herself."
"His son? My sister? It cannot be." Tav doesn’t really believe the words as they cross his tongue It’s more of an act than it is an honest reaction, mostly towards his friends who are looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.
"Have you gone soft? I find that hard to believe," Gortash says calmly, "one"s true nature always rises to the top."
Gale sighs behind him. "Honestly? I believe it."
Tav glares at him - tries to.
"What? It’s not like your lust for blood doesn’t rival the God of Murder"s own, I"m sure. No offense," Gale continues, holding his hands up in defense.
"No one would take offense to a compliment," Gortash chuckles. "Now come. It’s time for you to go home." He reaches his hand out to Tav, uncurling steel-covered fingers until his palm is exposed. The gesture speaks of honesty, there are no signs of deception. By now, Tav is confident he would notice.
Tav doesn’t take it, though it seems like the logical choice. "You claim to know me, yet you think I would follow you blindly despite me not knowing you?" Not anymore.
"Blindly? Please," Gortash says lightly. "But I understand that you need further convincing, I can hardly blame you."
Normally, Tav wouldn’t let himself be convinced. Be convinced sounds an awful lot like being manipulated and that he cannot tolerate. Gortash, however, makes it hard to feel uneasy around him, which should be alarming in itself.
Tav feels confused and lost, and he hates it. "And how would you convince me?"
Gortash is still holding his hand out, unwavering. "Follow me. We won’t go far and we won’t be long, you have my promise."
"I"m not leaving them behind in this mess down here," Tav answers and gestures to his friends. It’s a weak attempt at running from the truth. He doesn’t want to run. The thought of leaving Gortash behind instead makes his stomach churn, though it’s a foolish worry to have - he knows the man would be perfectly fine without him.
Astarion butts in then. "No, go right ahead. We"ll loot the place and hope that brain doesn’t come back." His tone is dripping with sarcasm.
"You needn’t worry about that," Gortash says, "with the two of us holding the Netherstones, it will be perfectly obedient for now."
That’s reassuring, Gale sends through their tadpole-connection.
Tav opens his mind to his friends. I need to know who I was. And this alliance might prove useful, if nothing else.
His tadpole supplies him with three voices of hesitant agreement, and that’s enough for him to follow Gortash.
When he turns his back to his friends, the Urge speaks. Kill them. Make him proud. No one would even notice their guts spread out on the floor, no one but us. A perfectly hidden murder.
Tav fights it just like he has so many times before. The Urge telling him to kill those he holds dear isn’t new - far from that - but it will never fail to send a shiver down his spine.
In that moment, Gortash turns around and smiles at him encouragingly before beckoning him to follow again.
"Beautiful work, as always," Gortash praises as they cross the big room in which Tav and his companions had fought a never-ending horde of zombies commandeered by a Death Shepherd - one that Gortash points at right now. A messy fight, but even then Tav prides himself on delivering beautiful, clean kills. Execution is a form of art and should be appreciated thoroughly.
He is merciless, but he considers himself an artist, still. In order for art to exist, one must leave a part of one’s self behind in it.
As he sees Gortash’s hand point to the corpse, it occurs to him that he could just take the other’s Netherstone right this moment. Could dig it right out of its flashy setting on Gortash’s gauntlet and feel its power as it became his.
But he doesn’t. He wants to wait for the right moment.
He tells himself that’s all it is.
"How did you know that was me?" Tav asks. He needs to find out just how much the other man knows about him. No matter if they would become allies or enemies - all information is vital.
Gortash looks at him with raised eyebrows. "We’ve fought countless battles together. I know your sword like I know my own. It was always a pleasure to see you kill, my Assassin."
"Amnesia, remember?" Tav taps his head. It comes out more frustrated than he means for it to, but that’s because this whole memory loss situation is really starting to get under his skin. He doesn’t like giving up control and detests it even more when it’s forcefully taken from him.
Gortash smiles at him. The corners of his lips curve up slightly, and the lines around his mouth deepen. There’s a small dimple on one side. Tav remembers.
Wine glasses are clinking over the table. They drink to their success, to unity, to them. To the blood they"d spilled, red as the wine swirling in their glasses.
Tav lays his other hand on the table, and Gortash puts his own over it, the same that had killed numerous people earlier, now touching him so gently. When Tav sees the dimple in his smile, he knows it’s real.
He breathes deeply when he untangles the memory.
"This will be a strange question," he starts, and immediately gets Gortash"s attention. "Did we drink wine together sometimes?"
For the first time today, Tav finds the other’s face to be absolutely unreadable. "Almost every night," he responds, speaking quietly. "You had a penchant for sneaking into my office in the dead of night, soaked in blood. Scared my guards quite a few times."
Tav actually chuckles at that. Though it sounds absurd, he can absolutely imagine himself doing such a thing, especially if Gortash had in fact been such good company.
"I remember, I think. One of those times, at least."
"Oh? Mind sharing your newfound memories?" There’s so much curiosity in the other’s tone it’s almost endearing.
"There’s not much to say. We were sitting at a long table in a... fortress, perhaps? And drinking wine. That’s all I remember."
Gortash’s face sinks a bit at the last part. "Sounds about right. I"m glad to hear a part of your memory has returned, then."
"A part?" Tav asks. "Is there more to that evening?"
"Nothing worthwhile," Gortash answers, though the way he quickly averts his gaze betrays his indifference.
Tav squints his eyes at him. "There’s something you’re not telling me."
"If I told you about our entire history, we’d still be here in a tenday or perhaps more. I would rather show you something that might help."
Tav doesn’t pry after that. So far, his memories haven’t come back from him trying to force them. He will go along with this - with whatever Gortash’s plan is - for now, even though he feels stuck in a limbo between being lost in amnesia and overwhelmed with newfound memories.
"What made you remember?" Gortash asks then.
The question catches Tav off guard, and his eyes widen. He does not know how to answer because he sure as hells cannot tell Gortash the truth. Oh, your smile just kickstarted something in my messed-up brain. No, he could not possibly do that. He doesn’t know enough about Gortash to be able to estimate his reaction - at least not with his mind in its current state.
He settles for a simple answer. "I"m not sure, it just came to me."
"Well, if something else comes to you, please do let me know. I will gladly confirm." Gortash’s tone is snarky - he sees right through Tav. But he won’t meddle for now, and Tav can appreciate that in a person, even in a Baneite.
They eventually arrive somewhere that looks like a laboratory. It’s strangely tidy and could almost be considered clean in comparison to the rest of the gory horror that is the Illithid Colony. There’s a thin layer of dust over the apparitions and the messy papers, haphazardly crumpled or thrown in random directions.
The scene is a gruesome one. There is blood and gore splattered all over, drenching scrolls and obscuring the glass of potion bottles and various vials that house concoctions Tav is sure he couldn’t fathom.
A picture-perfect sight. Stunning in its brutality, in the way whoever this belongs to obviously isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.
Tav doesn’t realize he’s smiling in delight until Gortash looks at him. "Here we are. Your laboratory."
When he gestures around and Tav follows his hand, a flood of memories washes over him. It’s strong and makes him hold his breath as he gets lost in it, let’s himself drift away.
He’s sitting at his desk, leg bouncing restlessly and almost anxiously. There are papers in front of him, half of them crumpled and smeared with ink and blood alike. The quill in his hand feels heavy as he brings it down onto a new sheet and writes down his sin. The grave sin of admiring the Chosen of Bane, one his Father wouldn’t easily forgive. He smiles as the ink flows out the tip of the quill.
"Another memory?" Gortash asks.
Tav startles at the voice so close to him. They are standing at his desk now - the very desk he"d just seen. There are still crumpled papers strewn across it and he wonders what he would find were he to open them.
"Yes." The answer is curt and blunt, nipping any further conversation in the bud, or so he hopes.
He’s a fool to even think that Gortash would just let it go for once. The man seems awfully bad at not sticking his nose in other people"s business - or maybe Tav is just the exception.
"Care to share?"
He does very much not care to share. "I really did respect you," Tav speaks finally. "I admired you."
"You did. You did not show respect to many people - always said that most of them were undeserving of it," Gortash chuckles, "not that I ever disagreed, mind you."
"Why did I respect you of all people so much?" The Baneite does have an aura around him that demands respect even without speaking, but with the way he describes Tav"s lack of respect for most, there must be more to it. There always is.

Usually, he would’ve yanked his hand away a long, long time ago. Hells, he would have pushed the man into the chasm behind them for touching him, Netherstone be damned.

"Eavesdropping, hm?" Gortash lifts his other hand then and pulls a chunk of something out of Tav’s hair before grimacing and flicking it away. "You always did look best covered in gore."

He loves us like this. Look at him, he thirsts for us, for our art.

The Urge is insistent, and Tav tries his best to push it away from him. He actually needs to be somewhat focused right now.

It’s almost comical, really. Their blood-splattered ragtag group in front of the Chosen of Bane who either knows Tav very, very well and is just godawful at reading the room or - surprisingly the more plausible answer - is fucking with them all heavily. Maybe this is all part of their big scheme. It probably is.

The absolute absurdity of the situation makes Tav laugh.

"And I"m glad to see that you haven’t lost your strange sense of humor either, though I would appreciate it if you let me in on your joke."

With great effort, Tav pulls himself together. "What- do I know you?"

Gortash chuckles and places the hand that was in Tav’s hair on his waist instead, and that’s just entirely uncalled for. Tav swats it away, he won’t let himself be groped in a damn Mindflayer Colony. Even he has his limits.

Still, Gortash’s hand leaves behind a tingling feeling that spreads through Tav’s body, concentrating around the spot on his wrist where the man still has a hold on him.

At that, Gortash’s cheerful expression morphs into one of utter shock. The Baneite has the gall to look offended, even. As if he hadn’t just put his hands on Tav like he owned him.

"Surely you jest. I had different plans for our reunion." A smirk forces itself back onto his face at the second part.

Why in all hells does Tav feel a coil of heat in his body at that? Why does it feel like bantering with an old friend?

"Well, this is awkward," Astarion helpfully supplies. Shadowheart glares daggers at him which only makes him chuckle and then clear his throat - maybe he’s remembered that this is, in fact, Lord Gortash, and they are after his Netherstone as well. A pretty purple thing glinting in its golden setting on the dark-haired man"s hand.

Every time Tav had thought that he’d finally seen it all on their journey, something had happened that proved him wrong. But this conversation might just take the number one spot on the list.

Gale crosses his arms. "Uh, Tav? Is there a reason you kept the fact that the Chosen of Bane is your... acquaintance from us?" He sounds disgruntled, which Tav really can’t blame him for.

This must look bad. The problem is that it doesn’t feel wrong. At all.

"I don’t know him," Tav mumbles as he looks back into dark eyes. His gaze wanders over the man’s nose, down to his mouth, and stops at an old scar on his chin. He swears he can feel it beneath his tongue, can taste it- "I don’t think."

"It is very evident that you’re not thinking a lot right now," Gale says flatly.

Gortash lets go of his wrist, and that’s when it starts to feel all wrong. Tav craves to feel those talons digging into it again, until they dig up what’s buried deep within his memories. There is something, he just knows.

Tav feels pure frustration. "I lost my memories when I was abducted on a Mindflayer ship," he starts, because he might as well tell his story once more "But I think I was here before that. In a pod, I mean." The memory of the shattered pod they"d found flashes inside his mind.

The man - gods damn Lord Gortash - rubs his chin in thought. "I see. Do you remember anything at all?"

Tav ruminates for what feels like hours, searching through sinister thoughts and the memories he's made since the Nautiloid. There is more to it, he is sure of it, but it eludes him. The more he thinks, the more it slips out of his grasp.

"Nothing. Not since the Nautiloid," he answers, crossing his arms. The defensive stance doesn’t feel right in front of Gortash, doesn’t feel natural at all.

"Could you please just tell me what is going on here?" Tav exclaims then, his impatience getting the better of him. "Are you absolutely certain you know me?"

"Oh, you really haven’t lost your humor." Gortash’s laugh is entirely too loud for the room they’re in, but it’s warm and familiar and so, so irritating. "I know you very well, dearest. We share so much history."

Dearest. The name makes something click into place this time.

"We are- were allies. Friends, one might even say."

Tav’s waist burns with the memory of strong hands wrapping themselves around it and slipping beneath his shirt, gentle fingers and sharp talons caressing him. His breath shortens. "My friends don’t touch me the way you just did."

"They certainly don’t" I hope they don’t goes unspoken, expressed only through furrowed brows and something akin to jealousy flickering in dark eyes as they roam over Tav’s companions.

Gortash looks at the ground for a moment, almost as if he’s lost in thought. It seems entirely out of character for the Baneite, Tav thinks. Black hair hangs in front of his eyes as he tilts his head downwards A memory sends a sharp sensation through Tav’s mind as it frees itself of its shackles.

The dark strands feel soft between his fingers as he cards through them, gently brushing out small knots. He tucks some of it behind the other man’s ear, the skin warm against his fingers. It’s an intimate gesture between them, one done many times.

Tav clenches his eyes shut as the thought rolls over him without any intention of stopping, until it does. And then he craves to have it back - the thoughts and the memory itself.

"You said you were allies. Why allies? Why did you work together?" Shadowheart asks, and Tav is incredibly grateful for it because he doesn’t think he could speak a single coherent sentence right now.

Gortash looks up at her. Tav wonders if he knows her too. "We understood that if we were to unite, no one could stand in the way of the Dead Three." He looks back at Tav before speaking again. "Only it was you who set your bloody daggers to cause panic in the streets instead of Orin. I did always like you a lot better."

"So I worshipped Bhaal? Not all of his children succumbed to his influence." Tav asks. He"d seen the way Orin had infected Duke Ravenguard with the tadpole, cruel and merciless without any remorse.

It occurs to him that the thought of it doesn’t disturb him as much as it probably should. If anything, he feels jealousy rear its ugly head inside his chest, burning through his veins like acid. That should have been him. That should have been him at Ketheric’s and Gortash’s side, one of the Three. Bhaal, Myrkul and Bane.

Gortash’s answer is not much of a surprise after that. "Worshipped? You are his son. Your sister ruined your hard work. Unlike you, she cannot control herself."

"His son? My sister? It cannot be." Tav doesn’t really believe the words as they cross his tongue It’s more of an act than it is an honest reaction, mostly towards his friends who are looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.

"Have you gone soft? I find that hard to believe," Gortash says calmly, "one"s true nature always rises to the top."

Gale sighs behind him. "Honestly? I believe it."

Tav glares at him - tries to.

"What? It’s not like your lust for blood doesn’t rival the God of Murder"s own, I"m sure. No offense," Gale continues, holding his hands up in defense.

"No one would take offense to a compliment," Gortash chuckles. "Now come. It’s time for you to go home." He reaches his hand out to Tav, uncurling steel-covered fingers until his palm is exposed. The gesture speaks of honesty, there are no signs of deception. By now, Tav is confident he would notice.

Tav doesn’t take it, though it seems like the logical choice. "You claim to know me, yet you think I would follow you blindly despite me not knowing you?" Not anymore.

"Blindly? Please," Gortash says lightly. "But I understand that you need further convincing, I can hardly blame you."

Normally, Tav wouldn’t let himself be convinced. Be convinced sounds an awful lot like being manipulated and that he cannot tolerate. Gortash, however, makes it hard to feel uneasy around him, which should be alarming in itself.

Tav feels confused and lost, and he hates it. "And how would you convince me?"

Gortash is still holding his hand out, unwavering. "Follow me. We won’t go far and we won’t be long, you have my promise."

"I"m not leaving them behind in this mess down here," Tav answers and gestures to his friends. It’s a weak attempt at running from the truth. He doesn’t want to run. The thought of leaving Gortash behind instead makes his stomach churn, though it’s a foolish worry to have - he knows the man would be perfectly fine without him.

Astarion butts in then. "No, go right ahead. We"ll loot the place and hope that brain doesn’t come back." His tone is dripping with sarcasm.

"You needn’t worry about that," Gortash says, "with the two of us holding the Netherstones, it will be perfectly obedient for now."

That’s reassuring, Gale sends through their tadpole-connection.

Tav opens his mind to his friends. I need to know who I was. And this alliance might prove useful, if nothing else.

His tadpole supplies him with three voices of hesitant agreement, and that’s enough for him to follow Gortash.

When he turns his back to his friends, the Urge speaks. Kill them. Make him proud. No one would even notice their guts spread out on the floor, no one but us. A perfectly hidden murder.

Tav fights it just like he has so many times before. The Urge telling him to kill those he holds dear isn’t new - far from that - but it will never fail to send a shiver down his spine.

In that moment, Gortash turns around and smiles at him encouragingly before beckoning him to follow again.

"Beautiful work, as always," Gortash praises as they cross the big room in which Tav and his companions had fought a never-ending horde of zombies commandeered by a Death Shepherd - one that Gortash points at right now. A messy fight, but even then Tav prides himself on delivering beautiful, clean kills. Execution is a form of art and should be appreciated thoroughly.

He is merciless, but he considers himself an artist, still. In order for art to exist, one must leave a part of one’s self behind in it.

As he sees Gortash’s hand point to the corpse, it occurs to him that he could just take the other’s Netherstone right this moment. Could dig it right out of its flashy setting on Gortash’s gauntlet and feel its power as it became his.

But he doesn’t. He wants to wait for the right moment.

He tells himself that’s all it is.

"How did you know that was me?" Tav asks. He needs to find out just how much the other man knows about him. No matter if they would become allies or enemies - all information is vital.

Gortash looks at him with raised eyebrows. "We’ve fought countless battles together. I know your sword like I know my own. It was always a pleasure to see you kill, my Assassin."

"Amnesia, remember?" Tav taps his head. It comes out more frustrated than he means for it to, but that’s because this whole memory loss situation is really starting to get under his skin. He doesn’t like giving up control and detests it even more when it’s forcefully taken from him.

Gortash smiles at him. The corners of his lips curve up slightly, and the lines around his mouth deepen. There’s a small dimple on one side. Tav remembers.

Wine glasses are clinking over the table. They drink to their success, to unity, to them. To the blood they"d spilled, red as the wine swirling in their glasses.

Tav lays his other hand on the table, and Gortash puts his own over it, the same that had killed numerous people earlier, now touching him so gently. When Tav sees the dimple in his smile, he knows it’s real.

He breathes deeply when he untangles the memory.

"This will be a strange question," he starts, and immediately gets Gortash"s attention. "Did we drink wine together sometimes?"

For the first time today, Tav finds the other’s face to be absolutely unreadable. "Almost every night," he responds, speaking quietly. "You had a penchant for sneaking into my office in the dead of night, soaked in blood. Scared my guards quite a few times."

Tav actually chuckles at that. Though it sounds absurd, he can absolutely imagine himself doing such a thing, especially if Gortash had in fact been such good company.

"I remember, I think. One of those times, at least."

"Oh? Mind sharing your newfound memories?" There’s so much curiosity in the other’s tone it’s almost endearing.

"There’s not much to say. We were sitting at a long table in a... fortress, perhaps? And drinking wine. That’s all I remember."

Gortash’s face sinks a bit at the last part. "Sounds about right. I"m glad to hear a part of your memory has returned, then."

"A part?" Tav asks. "Is there more to that evening?"

"Nothing worthwhile," Gortash answers, though the way he quickly averts his gaze betrays his indifference.

Tav squints his eyes at him. "There’s something you’re not telling me."

"If I told you about our entire history, we’d still be here in a tenday or perhaps more. I would rather show you something that might help."

Tav doesn’t pry after that. So far, his memories haven’t come back from him trying to force them. He will go along with this - with whatever Gortash’s plan is - for now, even though he feels stuck in a limbo between being lost in amnesia and overwhelmed with newfound memories.

"What made you remember?" Gortash asks then.

The question catches Tav off guard, and his eyes widen. He does not know how to answer because he sure as hells cannot tell Gortash the truth. Oh, your smile just kickstarted something in my messed-up brain. No, he could not possibly do that. He doesn’t know enough about Gortash to be able to estimate his reaction - at least not with his mind in its current state.

He settles for a simple answer. "I"m not sure, it just came to me."

"Well, if something else comes to you, please do let me know. I will gladly confirm." Gortash’s tone is snarky - he sees right through Tav. But he won’t meddle for now, and Tav can appreciate that in a person, even in a Baneite.

They eventually arrive somewhere that looks like a laboratory. It’s strangely tidy and could almost be considered clean in comparison to the rest of the gory horror that is the Illithid Colony. There’s a thin layer of dust over the apparitions and the messy papers, haphazardly crumpled or thrown in random directions.

The scene is a gruesome one. There is blood and gore splattered all over, drenching scrolls and obscuring the glass of potion bottles and various vials that house concoctions Tav is sure he couldn’t fathom.

A picture-perfect sight. Stunning in its brutality, in the way whoever this belongs to obviously isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

Tav doesn’t realize he’s smiling in delight until Gortash looks at him. "Here we are. Your laboratory."

When he gestures around and Tav follows his hand, a flood of memories washes over him. It’s strong and makes him hold his breath as he gets lost in it, let’s himself drift away.

He’s sitting at his desk, leg bouncing restlessly and almost anxiously. There are papers in front of him, half of them crumpled and smeared with ink and blood alike. The quill in his hand feels heavy as he brings it down onto a new sheet and writes down his sin. The grave sin of admiring the Chosen of Bane, one his Father wouldn’t easily forgive. He smiles as the ink flows out the tip of the quill.

"Another memory?" Gortash asks.

Tav startles at the voice so close to him. They are standing at his desk now - the very desk he"d just seen. There are still crumpled papers strewn across it and he wonders what he would find were he to open them.

"Yes." The answer is curt and blunt, nipping any further conversation in the bud, or so he hopes.

He’s a fool to even think that Gortash would just let it go for once. The man seems awfully bad at not sticking his nose in other people"s business - or maybe Tav is just the exception.

"Care to share?"

He does very much not care to share. "I really did respect you," Tav speaks finally. "I admired you."

"You did. You did not show respect to many people - always said that most of them were undeserving of it," Gortash chuckles, "not that I ever disagreed, mind you."

"Why did I respect you of all people so much?" The Baneite does have an aura around him that demands respect even without speaking, but with the way he describes Tav"s lack of respect for most, there must be more to it. There always is.