#heeeeheeheeheehee

[attractthecrows]

i think it would be fun (for me and my schadenfreude boner) if Gortash was around for business when Kressa Bonedaughter was fuckin around with Durge. Maybe he's not in the workshop, and certainly he had no idea that his Durge was here as a plaything; he's here to discuss the new plan with Ketheric, or simply just trying to avoid Orin.

He never liked the place; necromancy isn't in his purview, and Durge hated necromancers anyways. But something about the place is holding him there. Some familiar undertone to the undead gibbering, at the same time compelling and repulsive. Kressa leaves her workshop, not bothering to shut the door all the way, and within, Gortash can see some poor sod laid out on the table. The floor is sticky with blood and bile, the victim's intestines pulled from their body and hung on a rack beside them, still attached at the ends. As he watches, the hands twitch unconsciously, the jaw snapping and gasping for air. Their head flops to one side, still gnashing with all the coordination of the shambling dead, and Gortash freezes. Part of their skull is crushed, with something twitching amongst the exposed grey matter, but he knows the eyes staring in his direction. There is no spark of recognition, no hint of life, but he knows those eyes.

He does not return.

[annapoofle]

I GOT MY SILLY LITTLE PERCY BOOK ON MY SILLY LITTLE BIRTHDAY heeeeheeheeheehee

[everybodystaresatme-blog]

I'm not giggling like a teenager. I'm not, I'm not!