Chapter Text
The morning sun crept into the modest wooden room, painting the floor gold and warming Karlach’s feet as she combed back dark locks of hair out of her face. She pulled her hair back between her two curled horns, into a neat ponytail, and artfully tied a leather cord to keep it all securely in place. It wouldn’t do to have stray strands block her eyes in her line of work - especially not today.
She’d been doing this for years now, so long her body could go through the motions of the morning ritual while her mind wandered. Even so, she started each day with the same excitement. She had a roof over her head, decent pay, and a job she excelled in. She got to work for her favorite - living - person, and see to his interests and well-being in the most concrete way possible: by making sure his head was still connected to his neck at the end of the day. And, sometimes, that others’ heads weren’t.
Five years had passed since the day she crossed paths with the man called Enver Gortash. Karlach had been caught up in a brawl when he happened upon her. The scrawny tiefling kid was doing what she did best in those days - scam, steal and, sometimes, get caught. But if there was something Karlach Cliffgate was really, really good at, it was fighting - and winning. So she did not really mind getting caught. Sometimes, in fact, the girl would go out itching for someone to get on her bad side so she could throw a few punches. Life wasn’t easy during the years she had to live on and off the streets of the Outer City. As a young orphan - and worse still, a tiefling - there were few places one could run to. Luck had never been on her side, it seemed, until that fateful meeting.
So, when an amused laugh cut through the grunts and painful cries of her opponents, it caught her by surprise. She looked up from the fight to see a dark haired man leaning a shoulder on the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a charming smile. One of Karlach’s foes took advantage of her lapse in focus and swept her legs from under her. She recovered faster than he could strike again, though, as Enver Gortash watched on, genuinely entertained. He never made a motion to help her. She didn’t mind. They both knew she could handle herself just fine.
Now, in front of a frameless mirror, stood a tall, visibly strong young tiefling woman. Far from scrawny, Karlach had grown into an imposing figure - broad shoulders, lean but muscular, but more importantly: proud. Her tabard displayed the dark colors of the personal guard of Enver Gortash, and she, among them, was his favorite. It all began on that day so many years ago, in that dirty alley, when an ambitious man with big plans met an ambitious girl with a big heart, and their fates would become forever intertwined.
Done reminiscing, Karlach secured her scabbard and left the small but cozy room she called home in the Silvermoon Inn in the Lower City. The slightly wonky wooden door creaked behind her until it thud itself shut. Two steps at a time, she went down the narrow stairs and soon enough was on her daily journey up the winding cobblestone alleys and stairs into the Upper City, to where her boss had recently relocated.
Karlach was still in awe that her routine led her to traverse the wide streets of Baldur’s Gate’s Upper City. It was not a place she ever expected to see for herself, growing up as she did. Yet, there she was. And there she had been going with a permit for more than a handful of tendays. It was still new, and the looks she received - she was not only a tiefling, but an unusually tall one to boot - never bothered her. Not now, that she had a home, a job and a purpose to fulfill. Gortash needed her, and she was the one he could fully trust. He was the one who rescued her from the hand life had dealt her, and had become so much more to her in the many years she’d been beside him. It still put a smirk on her face when she thought about it - how good life could be. What greatness could the both of them still achieve?
Hopping two white stone steps at a time, Karlach went up to Enver Gortash’s new abode - an impressive estate in a prime location of Baldur’s Gate. An investment, he’d said, which would bring more legitimacy to his enterprise. She could understand. Gortash had come a long way from inroads dealings outside the city, and now his merchant empire had expanded to include weapons development, commercial caravans, transportation and, more recently, investing in ‘new ventures’. Gortash was smart and smooth - certainly the smartest and smoothest man Karlach ever knew. He had a mind for tinkering and building things no one had thought of before, and with Karlach’s loyal help, he managed to always have the upper hand in his endeavors - one way or another.
The fruits of his labor were materializing, and Karlach felt pride swell in her chest knowing she had contributed to it. It was a weird feeling for sure - being so happy at the achievements of another. She couldn’t quite put words to the feeling.
Before the intricately decorated iron gates of her boss’ estate were opened for her, Karlach’s cheeks were slightly hotter than normal. Still, with a spring in her step, she crossed the front garden.
“Early morning, huh?” The tiefling shot to Yunni, who was busy trimming the very intentional thorny bushes that surrounded all the walls of the property. The halfling man just grumbled and nodded at her. Yunni was an incredible spy - and like most of Gortash’s long-term entourage, had been reassigned to a new job as the boss expanded his many businesses. Only those who had proved their loyalty to Gortash were allowed to work in close proximity to him these days. Karlach, being part of his personal guard, had proven herself more times than anyone could count.
At twenty, she had already killed her fair share of people - horrible people, mind you -, and she’d learned it didn’t really bother her. She’d barely noticed the first time it happened. Since her early teens, Karlach had been in so many street fights that ended with a downed man bleeding profusely as she ran off, that it was hard to know if they were alive or dead. Not that she cared to stay and find out. The orphaned tiefling needed to survive and defend herself - she could not afford worrying about morals. And when she did it for Gortash, it felt even more justified. If she had to put someone down now, it was for Enver Gortash’s protection. For the protection of his - their - interests. One could hardly judge her for doing her job.
And Karlach's job, more than anything, meant standing by Gortash's side. As she pushed through the wide double doors to the main entryway, she called, "Hey, Gortash!"
Even though she had only been working at the estate for little over a month, Karlach walked through the entrance hall and past the kitchen area to the left as if she was home. And she was, in a sense.
No reply. She grunted. This place was so bloody big even her voice wouldn’t carry to the second floor where his office was.
“Better shut it, Karl. He’s got a fancy ass guest or something upstairs. Told us to ‘act proper’ or some ridiculous shit.” A human woman, a few years older than Karlach, popped her head out of the open kitchen doors, auburn locks escaping through the cloth tied around her head.
Karlach could not hold back a cackle. “And what the fuck are YOU doing in the kitchen, Tesh?”
Tesh huffed, a big bowl of pale goop in her arms. “Promoted.”
Karlach tried holding back, but soon her near hysterical laughter had the other woman rolling her eyes.
“Yea, yeah. Get it out of your system, you prick.”
Karlach wiped the tears off her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Gortash pulled a good one on you. Now, honestly, how many crossbows have you hidden in the pantry…?” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone, a white toothy grin on her face.
“I didn’t…” Tesh started, but Karlach just tilted her head with a raised eyebrow. That’s the bloody problem with knowing someone for too long. The human let her shoulders drop and relented. “Fine. Two heavy ones in the pantry, two hand ones in the upper cabinets and six explosives in the grain sacks.”
“Gods below, Tesh. Explosives? In the fucking KITCHEN?”
Tesh glared at Karlach. Clearly, her toes had just been stepped on. “You know how to do your job, I know how to do mine. I don’t remember ever questioning how you handle those giant metal slabs of yours.”
Karlach could only raise her two hands in a pacifying gesture. Bel was right. If there was one thing that made them work - and survive - so far, it was trusting each of them knew their stuff. And if there was one thing Tesh knew, it was how to ignite and blow up the shit out of things.
“Aye, aye, ma’am. My bad. I’ll be on my way.”
Tesh accepted the apologies, then peeked left and right before adding in a strangely worried voice, “Just be quiet. Whoever the fancy fucker is, Gortash was almost flipping on his back for him. Must be a big shot from the city. You know the type.”
Karlach’s energy escaped her a bit with a sigh, before she nodded and continued down the corridor - so wide she thought it was offensive it wasn’t a room - and up the dark wooden staircase that curved right to the mezzanine and, finally, Gortash’s office. As she closed the distance to the last decorated double door, her steps got slower and the sounds of her leather boots were softened by the deep burgundy carpet. She knew the type, yes. More and more often, Gortash had been having high society visitors, the type Karlach felt a weird combination of disgust and fascination for. She had no idea how their minds worked, and she watched it like a curious and disturbing show when she had to sit through the encounters.
Her solid knuckles knocked four times on the door, exhaling before emptying her expression as much as she possibly could.
“Ah, Karlach! Come in!” Came a familiar voice from within. He sounded quite chipper this morning, Gortash did.
As she opened the door to step inside, her golden eyes rapidly swiped the room, but it was empty aside from her boss staring at her with a wide grin and slightly open arms. She immediately relaxed her posture, stepped inside and, with no signs of hesitation, sat on the ornate sofa usually offered as a seat to distinguished guests.
“Morning, Boss! Aren’t you in a good mood? Damn, Tesh scared me, saying you had some kind of visitor with an ass made of gold or something.” With a swing of her legs, Karlach’s toned calves were resting over the armrest of the sofa.
“Oh, a most precious morning, for sure, dear Karlach! Not that mornings aren’t precious when I have you around to assist me.” His eyes were dark and deep and warm, but became cold for one second, as did his voice. “Feet.”
Almost like a scolded child, Karlach promptly un-swung her feet from over the sofa and placed them back on the ground. Gortash smiled, knowingly.
Circling his varnished oak desk, Gortash approached his trusted guard, but did not take a seat. Instead, he stopped behind the sofa where she sat and placed his hands, fingers adorned with a number of intricate gold rings, on both of her shoulders. Even through her clothing and light armor, they were clearly muscular. He squeezed slightly. Affectionately. “But today, Karlach. Today we will start something new. Something grand, you and I.”
.
One floor above Enver Gortash’s new office was a spacious room with tall, wide windows lining up the entire entire west wall, each framed by deep ochre curtains held open by golden silk knots. Sat within, with immaculate posture, was a man - a pale elf with angular features. Dressed in a long deep green tunic embroidered in silver thread, the man absentmindedly tapped his long fingers softly on the velvety surface of the sofa. His silvery eyes flicked with a hint of gold, casually scanning the room and its contents. Gortash was a Lord in the making, Astarion knew, but he could not help but feel a tinge of contempt for these self-made types. Money, after all, was not all that made a patriar.
Despite seeming relaxed, Astarion had his elf years tuned to his surroundings. He had been forced to learn to keep track of his surroundings at all times since the incident 200 years before. That, and he was no fool to trust a weapon’s dealer and slaver like Enver Gortash just because the man was now wrapped in fancy clothing. Well, the two of them might have more in common than they’d be willing to admit - but that is precisely why Astarion was so distrustful of his associate. Nevertheless, it might very well be the reason they have crossed paths.
His sensitive hearing told Astarion exactly when his host - and someone else - climbed the stairs and approached the room. By the time the double doors opened, the magistrate was standing up, positioned carefully with his profile to the door in such a way that he looked casual enough but was able to immediately see who was entering the room. Astarion’s hand opposite to the door, hidden from view, slid lower into a slit in his tunic near his belt. His fingertips brushed lightly over the handle of thin, light and exceptionally sharp dagger hidden within. Was he being overly cautious? One could hardly blame him. Enver and himself were both less than honorable men.
”My dear Astarion! What a beautiful morning, isn’t it? I haven’t kept you waiting for long, have I?” With an unsettling familiarity in his voice, Gortash crossed the threshold to the room with a wide smile and knowing dark eyes. His stride was wide and confident. Of course - this was his turf.
The elf did a perfect job of looking slightly surprised by the opening door, while his eyes quickly and effectively scanned the two figures - Gortash with his honeyed poison gestures and a big red shadow whose sharp eyes seemed to immediately scan Astarion, swipe the room, then return to her master. She seemed to gather essential information as effectively as himself. ‘Oh. A tiefling. How quaint.’ Despite the unusual presence, the elf promptly ignored her. “Beautiful indeed. And worry not, Enver. Your butler made sure to offer me this most aromatic tea from Calimshan. A treat, indeed.”
There was an almost imperceptible raise in one of the tieflings eyebrows, but that went ignored by the two men in the room. They exchanged excessively friendly pleasantries that somehow felt as sharp as daggers. Still, Enver and Astarion both took seats across from each other on two facing sofas - a low table with an untouched tea cup in a silver tray separating them.
“How are you readjusting in the city? I hear you spent 30 years away.”
“50. No reason to return earlier.” Pale fingers made flourish in the air. “Baldur’s Gate is here as it has always been. Not much to adjust to, really. I made arrangements for my return when I left.” He checked his nails. This wasn’t even the first sabbatical he had taken, though it had been the longest so far - but 50 years was a decent span of time to let some of the old guard die off.
“Oh, the perks of an elvish lifespan.” Gortash chuckled heartily, but his eyes were steel.
“Very much so.”
“I gather your arrangements have worked seamlessly.”
“Well, yes. Of course. I’m back at work as a high magistrate. Faces changed, but not so much affiliations. I made sure of it.”
“That is good to know.” Enver’s tone shifted suddenly, from amicable and warm to direct and dry. “Things will start moving within the next month. I got word that the first ships have already sailed. The Zhent are none the wiser but they will catch up quickly. Same as the Guild.”
Astarion’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t add anything. The Zhent and the Guild would not be pleased, of course. But Astarion somehow had expected Gortash to have a solution for that up his sleeve.
“Which reminds me… Have you two met?” Turning back to look up at Karlach - standing still as a red pillar by the closed door - then back to smile at the pale elf sat across from him, Gortash asked with a glint of satisfaction in his dark eyes.
That was a question Astarion was not expecting. For a moment he had to look again at the woman who had been accompanying Enver Gortash. He had quickly assessed her as a non imminent threat at the moment they entered - female, tiefling, red, tall -, but really had not paid any mind to her beyond that. One of Gortash’s entourage he probably picked off the gutter like the rest, he’d quickly assumed. By the look of confusion in the woman’s face, it seemed she wasn’t prepared for that interaction either. He turned his gaze back at Gortash. “Pardon?”
“Karlach, my dear, come closer!” Gortash’s voice seemed warm, but it was a command and Karlach knew it.
She only hesitated a moment before approaching. Each step less unsure, until she stood tall to the right side of Gortash by the sofa, her arms crossed slightly behind her, looking ahead - a red marble statue of the perfect guard.
Elves weren’t really tall by nature, but as the tiefling approached them, Astarion had to bend his neck to look up at her face. He had noticed she was tall, but, well. She was really tall, it turned out. He quickly gathered a few more impressions of the woman - cat like eyes, a pretty (maybe handsome?) face, young - he turned his eyes to Gortash with a questioning look.
“Astarion, meet Karlach Cliffgate - my most trusted… employee.” Enver’s eyes glanced up at his bodyguard and a quick flash of warmth - was that pride? - crossed his face. It was gone as soon as it came, and he continued. “My dearest Karlach, meet Astarion Ancunin, high magistrate of Baldur’s Gate.”
There was a long, awkward silence. Karlach opened her mouth as if to say something but seemed to change her mind. Astarion continued looking at Gortash, his brow now furrowing visibly. ‘What on earth is he…?’
“Karlach. Starting tomorrow, you work for him”
“…What?!”
.