Stvari makes no effort to hid his attention at Oghash and Dhaka's conversation. He blinks twice in surprise at the word uttered after much deliberation. With a brief chortle, he comments, "That's surprisingly similar to the root from which the Dwarven word for power comes." Smirking, he looks (significantly) up at the azure figure. "I know you didn't ask me, but I think it suits you."

Several moments later, the profane monk nods in acknowledgement of Ahkmathi's words. "I would perform the ritual myself, but I'm likelier than you to bugger it all up." He smirks, perhaps at the thought of the sheer reckless destruction that would wreak, before forcing his attention to the matter at hand. "It will not be without pain," Stvari warns, once again smirking that strange smirk. "But," he continues, also much benefit. I will follow your words, and offer the unholy energies in their due time.

He stands beside the guardsman, visibly eager to fulfill the ritual, and murmurs quietly his own divine supplications as Ahkmathi begins. Almost immediately he begins to calmly abuse the bound, hopeless man. With strokes that might be mistaken as loving from far enough away, he simply causes pain after pain, slowly growing more severe as the ritual continues.

He seems perhaps disappointed when the man dies, but moments later Ahkmathi signals him again.

"Yes, bathe anew in the purest agony! Xon Kuthon, make your presence known!" Twisting his spiked chain into his own arm, Stvari thrusts his bloody arm upward, calling down a sudden pulse of dark energies (((2d6)[8] negative energy damage)).

In twisted extasy, the Dwarf watches with uncannily keen and terrifyingly sane eyes as the Elf cries out the final words.