Thinking about a Durge who has rejected Bhaal, and whatever person they used to be, but still secretly longs for their lost memories. A Durge that, despite the answers the man could give them, would never re-ignite that strange passion they were shown they once had for Gortash. A Durge that has, for all purposes to the others in their party, moved on. A Durge that, six months after that day atop the Netherbrain, at a party celebrating their new life, receives a strange letter with an even stranger gadget hidden inside.
The meeting at the inauguration was a strange one. Despite Gortash's very obvious elation at seeing what he'd called his 'dearest friend', the man had no hesitation very proudly detailing the Dark Urge's grand scheme; their grand design for the world to be.
In front of all their friends and 'new' lover, of course.
They were furious, and rightly so. Gortash must have known what he was doing. To isolate them, to bring them back to him. The person who accepted them for all they were, all they are, and all they could be - together.
It wasn't enough to win the Dark Urge back to him, and although they'd tentatively teamed up in the end - he had died. Not by the Urge's hand, but in some ways, his own. The group had left Gortash's body within the Prism, and simply moved on. There were bigger problems, and no one really was sad to see him go. Right?
The Urge remembers a letter found in Moonrise Towers. Gortash liked gadgets, according to Ketheric. Evidence was abundant enough with the Steel Watchers, among other things. The item is strangely shaped, entirely too small, and with a simple touch, comes to life.
It reminds them of the strange picture they had seen at the Iron Throne. Gortash's visage shone through a glass, moving, talking - warning them to leave. Answering them, praising them for listening.
What a strange contraption, they'd thought all those months ago.
And then, now, there he was again. A picture, in their hand. A moving picture. Speaking with his voice, wearing his weary face - so, so weary - but not the same as before.
This had passed already. The voice did not answer them this time. It was simply impossible - the man was dead, but not quite gone in this moment.
He speaks of the inauguration like it had just happened. His joy at seeing his favourite 'assassin' again, which he says with a sad smile and a moment of silence. A heavy sigh follows, rubbing at his eyes - which they can see are so much darker than they last remember.
He is tired.
Gortash speaks of their time together, before Orin - and how Orin torments him day and night now that they had both confirmed the Urge's return. She appears with their face, taunting him some days. Other days she sends assassins that wear the same, and he simply cannot let his guard down anymore. But he knew it was them that day.
They can see the exhaustion that pulls down his features, makes his words heavier. This is not the Archduke speaking to him in this moment - it is a tired, broken down man that has just seen a ghost.
Yet they cling to every word anyway, because even though this is a broken down man who is terrified of the ghost - the man still hopes the ghost will remember him, too.
They don't. But he doesn't know that, not this little picture of him, anyway.
The picture says that if they are seeing this recording, it means he is already dead - and although he had planned to sway them back to his side, he may not have been given the chance, and refuses to allow the opportunity to share what the two of them once had slip away.
He would gift unto them the memories that he could, even beyond death. The bloody ones, the happy ones, the painful ones.
And he talks, he smiles, he even cries.
And so do they.
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I’ve tried and failed to get my thoughts out the door on this a bunch of times, but one thing about Worm is that I feel that it isn’t particularly didactic when it comes to its themes of decisive strongwoman authoritarianism vs ossified-but-marginally-more-accountable institutions, it doesn’t have a specific answer, the utility and glaringly obvious failure modes of both dynamics are on display throughout the book and often right on each other’s heels, Taylor’s decisive actions are frequently obviously the correct moral choice given the options available to her but are downstream of the poor decisions she made to get into a bind where she has to act alone, many of the Protectorate’s policies are obviously sound precepts to maintain from, like, a rule-utilitarianism standpoint but don’t survive contact with reality, the capstone of the book is an act of stunning unaccountability that worked but also wasn’t necessarily the only thing that could have worked.
The book doesn’t, to my mind, provide a clear resolution to this question (because there isn’t one) and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that fandom morality debates down this channel are some of the most genuinely heated and aggressive that I’ve seen. My Big Discourse Nightmare Scenario for Worm getting big has never so much been the representational stuff, because I suspect a lot of that would get sniped in the edit now that people’ve been complaining about it for 10 years. It’s the idea of the book catching the attention of people who feel like stories are obligated to answer these questions (and in a specific way!) instead of just raising them or exploring them.
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