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It was strange, being back in the city again.
Karlach had been looking forward to being back in Baldur's Gate so much – her childhood home, the place that raised her – but it just felt hollow. Bittersweet. Sure, it had been ten long, Hellish years, and she was not the same Karlach who had once walked these streets. She got why. It still fucking sucked.
And that treacherous fucker Gortash still walked free. Lived to cause more ruin and pain, lived to pollute the air with his breathing. The bastard deserved an axe in the face, then to be stomped into itty bitty pieces and set on fire and then his ashes dropped in the sewer. He would meet that fate. He would. Just, not yet.
Look, she got why Tav had made that deal, alright? It made sense to go after Orin first, and that task would be harder if they were hunted by those stupid unsettling metal husks every time they stepped onto the streets. Divide and conquer, temporary truce, blah blah blah all that shit. She understood. She still wanted to punch the stupid, smug paladin in his dumb, righteous face for holding her back at the coronation. She also wanted to go out and hunt the Gortash down anyway, truce be damned.
…which was probably why she'd been stuck here in their lodgings, keeping Astarion company, for the last couple of days while the others investigated. Damn it.
Not that she was upset about spending time with Astarion! He was fun, when he wasn't being an arrogant prick – which he had been lately, sneering at everyone and snapping at them for the slightest inconvenience, prickly and standoffish as he had been when they first met. But hey, she understood that too! They both had their shitty pasts to face here. Seemed there was a slimy, sadistic bastard around every other corner in this city – never a dull moment in Baldur's Gate! Ten years had been bad enough for her – she couldn't imagine two hundred. Not that she would live that long.
As if summoned by her musing, the engine throbbed, a pulse of heat and pressure, squeezing her ribcage, tightening her chest. Air caught in her lungs, fire danced in bursts across her skin. She was sure that sweat would be pouring from her in buckets if it didn't instantly vaporize on her searing skin. She kneaded at her chest, where the chunk of metal sat under her breast, as though pressure would fix what Dammon and all his brilliant smithing had been unable to. (Whether he could have fixed her or not, he had given her back the ability to touch, and oh, she would forever owe him for that.)
The frantic, pulsing, exhilarating energy of the engine burned through her veins, making her limbs tremble with the need to move. She leapt up, unable to bear the stillness a moment longer, and started a circuit around their rooms, checking windows, doors, under the beds. No shapeshifter or cultist or other bad guy would get in here, not on her watch! Just – there had to be something more she could do, better than just rotting in here, wearing a hole in the floor. She needed to be out of these rooms, to do something, see something other than the same beds and walls and boards over and over again. She needed to see the sky, see people, remind herself that she was out of the Hells. Only, she couldn't leave Fangs here on his own, not when they'd already encountered the other spawn already, hiding from the daylight in a tavern. But maybe…?
She strolled over to him, oh so casually. He sat primly on his bed, sewing, clever hands stitching neat rows of colour into the sleeve of a shirt. It wasn't clear what the pattern would be at this point, but knowing the other pieces he'd done over their travels, it was sure to be gorgeous. She flopped on the bed next to him, eager to see the work closer, and the bed shuddered with her impact. The steady dart of the needle stilled. His sour look would send a lesser woman screaming, but she just grinned, unrepentant. "Sorry Fangs, don't know my own strength half the time!"
"Well," he drawled, "Do try to be a bit more careful with your strength, darling. Afterall, there is so much stitching in your clothes, and pillows, and bedroll. It would be such a shame for something to happen to it."
"Ha! And give everyone a show? I've got no problem with that! Besides, I've slept in far worse conditions!"
His sigh was world weary, irritation dragged from the very depths of his soul. "Is there something you needed, or did you come over simply to annoy me?"
"Let's go out! It's too nice of a day to spend cooped up inside like this. There's some old friends I'd love to look up, see if they're still kicking around."
She could see the flicker of interest, the longing to be outside, in the sun, even as he smothered it behind a mask of indifference. A pale eyebrow arched questioningly at her. "Oh, but don't you remember? We've been so politely told to be good and stay here for 'our own safety'." His arch tone turned mocking on the last few words, spitting them out with venom. If Tav had been there, Karlach would not have been surprised if he'd dropped dead on the spot.
"Suuuuure," she said, dragging the word out. "I remember. But we could just hop out for a drink and be back before anyone realises. We'll avoid anything Gortash related, and stay in the sun so Caz and his minions can't get to us. It'll be fine! Don't tell me you're not bored of being stuck in here all day." She let her words sit with him for a minute, then grinned happily as he huffed and started packing up his needlework.
"Very well. You have convinced me. Lead the way!"
Outside, the sky was clear and blue and the sun bathed everything in a warm, golden glow. There were people everywhere, going about their business and living their lives, and the sheer mundane, normalcy of it was so wonderful. It was just people being people, something she'd never thought she'd miss, but here it was, and it was beautiful. Sure, there was a giant fuck-off brain coming, various cults in the sewers and murderers and shapeshifters running amok, but that was just Baldur's Gate, and she loved this city, boring topside and stabby underside too.
"What exactly is your plan here, darling?" Astarion questioned, "What delights are we risking our dear leader's disapproval for?"
He could feign boredom all he liked, body loose and casual, examining his nails with an indifferent expression, but she knew him better than that, now. He always reminded her so much of a cat – though she was sure he would bristle at the comparison. But as soon as they had stepped onto the street, he had migrated to the closest patch of sun, and while he appeared aloof and indifferent, his eyes were always watching, taking in every flicker of movement and potential danger. But oh, the way he angled himself, keeping her just behind him, in his blindspot, the fact that he trusted her to have his back – and she always would – was enough to make her wriggle in delight. He'd come so far from the wary, feral thing she had first met, and that hard won trust was so, so precious.
"Well, figured we could start with the couple bars they'd frequent, grab a drink and see if anyone's heard from 'em lately." She shrugged. "I dunno, we'll see from there. Really just needed to get out of there."
"We shall see where that leads us then. A drink and gossip is always a good time, nonetheless. Shall we?"
The first bar, the so delightfully named 'Belching Dwarf', was a dive in the lower city, near the docks. In her day, it had been mostly frequented by sailors and the like as they came into port and waited to leave again, and had been a consistent – if perhaps not accurate – source of tales and rumours from far away. It had been cheap, though the watered down piss they called ale was barely even worth that price, and almost always had new furniture – the result of the many, many fights that broke out. Karlach had never actually started any of those fights, but she definitely had a scar or two from them. It was also, unfortunately, no longer there.
"I do believe this particular charming establishment burnt down some years back," Astarion recalled as they stood before the empty space where the building had once been. Any rubble had long since been cleared, and there was flimsy scaffolding in place where the bones of a new building were going up. "Something to do with terrible barrels that always leaked alcohol, and a stray spark caught all that delightfully flammable wood during a brawl one winter. Or so I heard." He sounded particularly pleased by the fact, and she both did and did not want to know why.
"Eh, it was a shitty dive anyway. Good riddance. On to the next one!"
The next place is still in the lower city, but further from the docks, a plain but cheery place, called 'The Bottomless Cauldron' for the pot of stew that was always bubbling over the fire. It had been fed with whatever meat scraps and vegetables the cook had on hand and, despite the motley mix of ingredients, had always been a good, cheap, filling meal for a hungry, growing kid. This too, was no longer the place Karlach remembered. The building remained, but the cheerful flowers that had grown by the door were wilted and dry, the paint was peeling on the shutters, and the once brightly decorated sign above the door was dull and flaking. Karlach had known the owner – the tallest dwarf she'd ever met, and as quick with a hammer as with a quip – and she knew she would never have let the place fall into such disrepair. It would probably hurt to learn what had happened to that spitfire of a woman, but she had to find out. And at least this place was still standing, however rundown it had become.
Astarion had little comment as they entered, beside a muttered admittance that this had not been a place he ventured much, and certainly not in the last few decades. Inside, the evidence of decline continued – the beloved stew cauldron was gone, the fire was barely going and casting precious little light and warmth into the empty space. The only life was a single patron, slumped over a table in the far corner, snoring, and a sour-faced human man standing behind the bar, watching them with suspicious eyes as they entered. The scowl that seemed permanently etched into his face only deepened as he took them in.
"Such a warm welcome to a delightful little place," Astarion drawled quietly, "Unless that drunkard in the corner is a friend of yours?"
Karlach snorted. "Nah, no-one that I recognise. Let's try the next place."
They turned to leave, but as Astarion reached for the door, a gruff voice called out, "Wait a minute there adventurers!" The question had come from the man behind the bar, who seemed to be trying his best to smile, and appear welcoming. It was…not going well, and he just looked like he'd eaten something foul that was waiting to reappear. "You two seem the competent type, so I have a proposal, if you are interested?" the barkeep continued.
Karlach exchanged a glance with Astarion. "Can't hurt to hear him out?" she offered.
"Counterpoint – he's a miserly looking prick who can barely hide his disgust at our presence. It would be a waste of our time and energy. I say leave him to wallow in his own misfortune and find some other sap to help."
"I offer good coin for the assistance, if that helps?" the man added, when they did not immediately respond.
"Let's just hear what he's asking first, and we can always say no from there?"
"Fine," Astarion agreed with a roll of his eyes. "But if it's something stupid, I will leave. I've put up with enough of helping out every damn sob story from the rest of the tadpole weirdos. I refuse to do it here."
"Fair enough, mate." she said, and turned back to the man.
"Look, you're not the people I would have chosen to ask for help, but I've had no luck elsewhere," the barkeep started, and Karlach poked Astarion with the tadpole, a quick reminder to just hear him out first, before he could make a snarky comment.
"What's the trouble?" she asked, hoping to keep the conversation brief. She could just feel Astarion bristling behind her, ready to bring out the verbal claws. And look, the guy was clearly an asshole. He was far from the first one she'd had to deal with, and it sure wasn't going to be the last. You just didn't waste energy getting all offended over small-minded dicks like him.
"Some damn creature has gotten into my basement, and now I can't get down there! And that's where I store all the barrels and supplies! I have nothing to serve my customers, and my business has died! This place was the life of the town before, now look at it! My best worker went down there, and he never came back. Then I tried hiring some help to go down there and clear it out, a pair of those damn tieflings that have been everywhere recently. Incompetent vagrants I call them! Damn hellspawn, they did nothing! And the Watch will do nothing about it, say they've got 'bigger problems to worry about' right now. So! You two look like you can handle yourselves. Go down into the basement, clear out whatever thing is down there, and you will be well rewarded – when you come back. There is good coin in it for you if you get rid of it."
Karlach could feel Astarion almost vibrating with anger at the man's speech, which had become more and more of a rant as he gathered steam. "Give us a sec," she asked, before grabbing Astarion and pulling him away for a quiet discussion.
Astarion took one look at her and she was not sure what kind of expression was on her face, but he immediately said "Darling, no! Please tell me you are not entertaining the idea of actually doing as he asks. We are not lifting a finger to help this terrible man! I refuse! He can wallow in his own problems!"
"Fangs, please. Sure, the guy's an ass. But he's just gonna get more people killed if he keeps going like this. You heard him – he's already gotten three people killed! He's just going to keep taking advantage of people desperate for money and they'll end up dead!"
"So we let him get us killed instead?!"
"We can handle it – we killed an avatar of a god not too long ago!"
"Barely! And there were more than just the two of us!"
"Just, c'mon. Please." She turned the sad, pleading eyes on him. She knew it was a cheap trick, but fuck, she wasn't going to leave this man to cause more harm if she could help it.
He sighed, irritation clear in every line of his body and threw up his hands. "Ugh. Fine. But I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when this goes poorly. And," he added, pointedly, "if he says one more bigoted thing, I will stab him and take all his gold."
Karlach frowned. "You can't actually stop people being assholes by stabbing them."
"Well, it makes me feel better." he muttered petulantly.
"'Sides, that'd probably bring the Watch down on us, and we're supposed to be keeping out of trouble," she reminded him.
"Only if they find the body!" he retorted and the mulish set to his expression told her she wouldn't be winning that argument. She knew when to pick her battles, so shrugged and headed back to the barkeep.
For better or worse, the man managed to keep any commentary to himself as he informed them where to find the downstairs storeroom and the cellar basement and showed them through to the stair. He gestured for them to go down and as they descended, shut the door behind them. A distinct clunk of a lock turning could be heard in the silence after. Astarion glared at her, and she could see the 'I told you so' in his eyes. She pointed out that neither of them would be stopped by a simple door lock if they needed to get out in a hurry, and he only rolled his eyes and sighed.
They ventured down.
…………………………..
A gaping maw sat before them, a dark mouth filled with jagged wooden teeth and a flimsy, barren ladder for a tongue waiting to swallow them down into its hungry depths.
"Well," remarked Astarion shrilly as he peered at the basement entrance from slightly behind her. "Doesn't that look inviting! What a charming little place this is!"
The cold, empty darkness sent shivers down her spine, and she wanted to back away from the basement and never look at it again. Still, she forced cheer into her voice. "Awww, c'mon! We're on a quest, isn't that fun?"
"Darling, if you think this is fun, I would hate to see your idea of a bad time." Still, he took a few, tentative steps closer and squinted down into the silent hole. Lightning quick, he reared back with a retch and skittered back toward the door. "Gods, it smells foul down there. Ugh. Like– like, death and rot and decay."
Now that he had mentioned it, Karlach could catch a whiff of it too. Astarion definitely has better senses than hers, but even she could smell the sickly scent of rot that wafted from the basement. Any small hope she had for the others previously sent down into the basement died. There wasn't anything living down there anymore.
A couple of unlit torches lined the wall, and she grabbed one and lit it with a quick flare of a vent, then tossed it down the hole. With her darkvision, she should be able to see something down there, but the darkness seemed to eat all light that came near. The orange flame of the torch helped, illuminating the wooden rungs of the ladder as the torch fell, and fell, and finally, clattered to the stone floor of the cellar. The wavering flame cast a glow across grey flagstones. Beyond the small patch of light, dust and debris lay scattered about, small stones and ash falling from the torch. Beyond that was only darkness.
"Don't suppose you can smell any living blood down there with the rest of it?" she asked, but she knew what the answer would be before Astarion even opened his mouth.
Disgust was clear on his face, and his chest was still, only taking in air to speak. "Absolutely not. There is nothing alive down there."
She dug in her pockets, eventually pulling out a couple of crumpled bits of cloth. Offering one to Astarion, he took it, looking confused, even as she pulled her own bit of cloth across her mouth and nose and tied it around her head. "It'll help with the smell," she explained. "Yeah, yeah, I know you don't have to breathe and all, but trust me, it will help."
Astarion tied the cloth into place while Karlach gathered the rest of the torches and bundled them into her belt. Darkvision or not, they'd need all the light they could get down there.
"Soooo, you wanna go down first?" She cackled at the outraged look Astarion levelled at her.
"Yes, let's send the lightly armoured rogue down first, not the big, hardy barbarian. Excellent plan, darling!"
"Just teasing, Fangs," she laughed, clapping him on the shoulder playfully. He stumbled with the force of it, almost overbalancing and stumbling toward the hole. "Whoops, sorry!"
"Just for that, you're definitely going down first." he growled. He stepped to the side, waving grandly towards the ladder. "All yours."
At the top, she shook out her arms, loosening and readying the muscles. She checked her axe, making sure it was loose enough in its holster to draw easily should she need it. With a few deep breaths to flare her engine, and reminding herself that they had faced worse than whatever could be lurking in a dumb, dark cellar, especially with Astarion's sharp eyes and blades at her back, she started her descent down into the dark.
The wooden rungs of the ladder were rough beneath her hands as she descended, step by step by step. The torch had fallen a little way, but surely it hadn't been that far down? But the ladder seemed to go on forever. She took another step, but her foot met hard stone instead of the wooden rung she expected. Looking down, the torchlight and her engine illuminated grey flagstones beneath her. She took a couple of cautious steps off the ladder, scooping up the torch and peering into the darkness. After a moment, she called up to the pale face peering down the ladder, "All good, you can come down!" Astarion nodded and started his own descent.
The air was cold and still. The stench of rot and decay was even stronger down here, and though the cloth mask helped, it could not fully shield her from the permeating smell. It was thick enough to be a presence, a thin, slimy film settling over her. The dark was heavy and silent around them, oppressive, barely held away by the fire of the torch. It was not quite as cold as the Shadowlands had been, but overall it was pretty fucking similar vibe.
Looking around, the cellar was plain and empty. Grey stones and the occasional supporting pillar, and just beyond their flickering circle of light, looming shapes that became stacked barrels as they moved closer. And those were exactly what she would expect to find in the cellar of a tavern, but there was just something off.
"Rather barren for a supposedly thriving business, wouldn't you say?" Astarion remarked quietly. "If this happened as recently as he said, you would think there would be more stored away down here. Something to keep in mind, hmmm?"
It was true. Karlach had earned coin in her younger years moving barrels back and forth, using her muscle to put food on the table. The places she'd worked usually had a lot more in their stores. Some places she'd barely had room to move, let alone swing around casks and barrels and all the other crap you found in a tavern. This place, on the other hand, was nearly abandoned. It didn't add up.
The ever-present stench lightened for a brief, wonderful moment, cleared by a chill breeze that brought with it the scent of ice and stone and…mushrooms? Wait….breeze? "Let's go this way for a sec," she murmured to Astarion, and followed the source of the cool air to…a gaping hole in the stone wall of the cellar. "Huh. Guess that's where it got in, whatever this thing is."
Where there should be a solid stone cellar wall was now a gaping hole, jagged around the edges. Stone bricks and debris littered the floor in front of the hole, as if pushed inside when something rammed into it from the outside. On the other side of the hole was darkness, tinged faintly blue and smelling of wet rock. Stale water dripped past the gap. Carefully, Karlach approached the hole. Her torchlight illuminated a little further, enough to see a rough tunnel leading downward, before dropping off into the dark. Small, blue mushrooms emitted a faint glow from the ceiling. "Looks like something was tunnelling, and met the wall. Then it just kept pushing through. Wonder if that goes far enough down to reach the Underdark?"
"Oh, wonderful! As though we didn't have enough of that abysmal place already, here it is again!" Astarion complained, joining her. "Let's not go further down, hmmm?"
"Sure. Let's find whatever is lurking in here though."
They moved further in, deeper into the oppressing cloud of rot. There was a sound now, faint and barely detectable above the ever-present whir of her engine. Slick, almost meat-like. Wet flesh dragging along stone. She really didn't want to know what the source of the sound and smell was, but they had to find out.
Spotting a couple of torches mounted on the wall ahead, she darted forward to light them from her own. Behind her, she heard Astarion mutter a quiet ignis and another torch caught alight. It was enough light to finally illuminate a little way in front of them, and it finally revealed the creature they had been looking for. By all the Hells though, she wished it hadn't.
The…thing was a wet, shuffling, crawling pile of flesh, as though bodies had been dumped and melted into each other, the parts fusing into a single, horrifying mass of rotting meat. It was constantly in motion, pieces slipping and sliding and shifting, emerging before being subsumed into the mass. The surface was not just flesh but fragments of people – screaming, twisted mouths and multitudes of eyes of all shapes and colours, noses and ears and limbs. Arms reached out from the pile, in pairs and threes and single limbs with hands emerging all along its length like awful, fleshy leaves. Eyes and hands and screaming faces emerged only to sink into the roiling mass moments later. A head, bigger than the other limbs, stuck out towards the top of the pile. It had some semblance of a face, a mish-mash of parts, as if thrown together by something that had only a vague understanding of what a person's face should be. A too wide mouth that opened wide to screech at them, filled with too many rows of too many kinds of teeth. A handful of eyes all over the face, moving independently, all different colours and shapes. Just looking at the…thing was unsettling. And the stench radiating off the creature was even worse here, a physical fog of nauseating rot that seemed to settle onto their skin. Karlach had seen many horrifying sights in Avernus – nothing could ever compare to the lemure pits, torturing souls into fuel for the Blood War – and this creature would have been right at home amongst them. A wave of revulsion shuddered through her, but she steeled herself, and shook it off.
Astarion did not fare as well. There was a choked off whimper from behind her, and she could see out of the corner of her eyes that he had frozen, staring at the creature. For a split second, she considered retreating, tossing Astarion over one shoulder and getting the hell out of there, barricading off this awful pit until they could come back with reinforcements. Bring back Tav and Shadowheart with their divine might to destroy this very clearly undead, monstrous thing. But before the thought could do more than form, the creature stilled, then started moving, an awful quivering, slithering motion toward them and they didn't have a choice anymore. Well, nothing for it now. She drew her axe, felt the heat of her engine build to a raging inferno, and let the battle rage sweep over her.
Her first hit sunk satisfyingly deep into the shifting mass, the flesh sizzling around the blade as heat flowed through the metal. The screaming mouths all over the mound shrieked, an awful, grating, discordant noise. She yanked her axe back to take another swing, but the hands of the creature reached out and grabbed her weapon, holding it tight even as the metal burned them. She yanked back with all her strength and finally tore her weapon free, bringing it back down upon the mass with a roar.
With a speed she didn't think this shambling mess was capable of, it slithered forward, oozing around her feet. It sizzled as it came into contact with her burning skin, but, seemingly heedless of the pain, continued to slither up her legs. Pain faintly filtered through her rage, pinpricks of sensation along her calves as the mass continued to reach upward. Repulsed, she tried to leap backward, but only stumbled, as the malleable mass stayed with her. It was like trying to run through mud, or quicksand. Well, if she couldn't get to a better position…she raised her axe and brought it down onto the main bulk again, and again.
An arrow sped out of the shadows to sink into the fleshy mass of the monster. Fuck yes, Fangs! Karlach landed another blow into the horrifying, many faced mess before it surged forward again, and this time the many grasping hands secured themselves around the handle of her axe, and dragged her down, into the mass of it. More and more of the shifting, almost liquid body of this thing crept up her limbs, covering her hands, then her arms, securing itself around her knees, creeping further and further up her body. She pulled and strained and struggled back with all her burning strength, but the creature only seemed to stretch and flow with her, and for every moment she struggled, it covered more and more of her, bringing that same stinging, acid pain with its touch. It continued to cover her, almost as if it were trying to consume her whole. That thought solidified when the larger, horrifying head reared out of the mass and, with a vicious speed, struck. Restrained as she was, Karlach could only twist her torso away, tuck her head down and brace.
The bite landed, an awful jagged pain as it chomped down hard on her shoulder, rows upon rows of teeth sinking in and tearing as the head shook, a hound shaking the life from its prey. Skin and flesh tore as the head ripped itself free and reared back for another strike. She could feel the sting of teeth left in the wounds.
Another arrow flew from the dark and thudded into the creature, and the many mouths shrieked – this close, the noise was piercing, a spike of sound directly into her ears. But the movements of the creature were slowing, and when she yanked her arms, there was a little more give than before. Mottled patches of darker colour were growing, spreading on the parts that held her as her engine cooked the flesh. "Keep shooting!" She yelled back to Astarion, "It's almost dead!"
Two more arrows in quick succession, and the creature writhed, digging its…mouths, teeth, whatever the thing actually had, into every part of her that it could reach with a discordant, desperate screech. Then it shuddered, the flesh contracting painfully tight for a few long seconds…before all the strength went out of it.
The suction grip on her arms and legs slowly released as the flesh of the monster dripped off her, the strength and structure of the thing collapsing as it congealed into a mass of half-melted body parts and goo on the stone tiles of the basement.
"Are we having fun yet?" a shaky voice came from the shadows, the pale form of Astarion emerging not long after it. "Also – I told you so!"
Karlach found her own voice came out shakier than expected. "Heh, well, nothing gets your blood up like a good scuffle, yeah? So it kinda counts?" She looked back down at the flesh…lump, slowly melting into a foul puddle. The feeling of that mass sliding over her limbs, crawling over her skin, the acid sting of its contact, teeth ripping and tearing…eugh. That was enough to give her the shivers.
Astarion approached her and the creature cautiously, and he reminded her ever so of a cat – skittish, unsure if its prey was dead and ready to jump back at the first movement. Really, she didn't blame him. She was going to get as far away as possible from this thing, as soon as she could. But first…
She extracted herself from the puddle of goop and called to Astarion, "Could use those clever fingers of yours for a sec, mate."
He turned to her, a quip ready on his tongue, only to falter, blanching as he took her in. She felt pretty rough, and she probably looked it too. That was only confirmed by Astarion's exclamation, "Dear gods, darling! You look like you've been chewed up and spat out!"
She chuckled tiredly. "Well, I kinda was!" Gesturing to her injured shoulder, she continued, "Fucker left some teeth in me, and I can't quite reach 'em. Can you get 'em?"
It was not really funny, but it was a little funny how white he looked. Turns out vampires could get paler, who knew! She staggered her way over to a nearby barrel and collapsed onto it, Astarion hovering around her as she went. The weakness in her legs was a mystery until she looked down at them– ah. It was probably the blood loss to blame. Crimson sheeted down her calves from dozens of tiny holes punctured through her pants and into flesh and blood beneath where the many mouths of the thing had latched onto her – smaller versions of the one on her shoulder.
A glass bottle filled with red liquid – a healing potion – was thrust into her hands as Astarion inspected the wound. His fingers were quick and efficient, plucking out the debris from the wound and Karlach barely felt it happen. A quick pat on her back, a murmured "All done dear," and he wandered off to poke around the still dissolving puddle of flesh. She gulped down the potion, letting the tension in her muscles ease away as all the little points of pain healed and faded. The raw burn on her arms and legs lessened, though the echoes of it still lingered. The damage to her clothes and armour on the other hand…well, she'd need to get some new ones.
The puddle of goo on the floor that was once the creature remained, apparently done with its dissolving and shrinking. That didn't seem like a good thing. Was it actually, truly dead? Or just in some kind of resting state, waiting to chew up the next unfortunate soul that wandered down here? It seemed like an undead thing, so it could well have some way to restore itself…yeah, no. She wasn't letting that happen. "Hey, Fangs?" she called, "Don't suppose you have any kinda oil or grease in that hoarding bag of yours?" The indignant squawk she got in answer made her grin.
"How dare!" Astarion huffed. "My bag is not a– a hoard! It is a finely curated collection of useful and valuable items! See if I ever let you have anything again, if that is what you are going to call it!"
"Sorry, my bad! Do you have any grease or oil in that carefully curated collection? Reckon we should light this thing up, make extra sure it's really dead."
"Ooh, a touch of arson? Say less, my dear." From the depths of his bag of holding, he produced two flasks of grease, of the sort one would find in traps. Excellent stuff for setting things on fire as she had found out, unfortunately, at the start of their journey.
Flammables distributed, the pile was set ablaze with a torch. That…may have been a mistake, Karlach realised, as the awful scent of charred, burning flesh was added to the pungent air. Oops. I refuse to breathe that in, Astarion informed her through the tadpole, ducking away from the conflagration to search the remaining space in the cellar. What an unfortunate day to need to breathe.
Astarion's poking around found little more than more debris and empty barrels, and an abandoned bow and quiver. Closer inspection revealed fine carvings on the bow and a locket tucked away in the quiver. There was a sinking pit in her stomach as she opened the locket and found a tiny painting of a sweet-faced, green skinned tiefling woman. Hells, this had probably belonged to one of the tieflings sent in before. From the lack of blood or body, she could make a good guess as to what end they had met at the horrid mouths of that thing. She resolved to find the woman in the picture. At least then they would have some closure, not be left wondering about their loved ones fate.
Finding nothing more of interest, and more than ready to be out of the oppressing dark and overpowering stench of the cellar, they headed back. The trek back up the ladder and then the stairs was long and aching. Even with the potion, Karlach's limbs still burned and the barely healed teethmarks on her shoulder pulled every time she moved it. Still, the battle was done, mystery solved, and she was very much looking forward to returning to the Elfsong and collapsing into her bed. Maybe tomorrow she could go and talk to Alfira – maybe she would know the tiefling in the portrait. Astarion slipped past her to take the lead up, throwing glances of barely concealed worry behind him. She met him with a reassuring grin each time. She may be weary, but they had survived. Unlike the poor worker and pair of tieflings who had been sent down there before them. What an awful fate they had met – ambushed and likely eaten alive by that…thing.
The heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs was still locked. Astarion pounded on the door a few times, yelling out for the barkeep. He hadn't actually given them his name, Karlach realized. Nor had he asked for theirs. What a dick. But, she just wanted to put this all behind her, and maybe bring some closure for the families of the three who had already died down there. She let the wall take some of the weight from her aching limbs, sliding to sit down on the steps.
Minutes passed, accompanied by the occasional shout and thud from Astarion as he continued to try to catch the attention of the barkeep. Eventually he gave up, throwing his hands in the air with a huff and knelt in front of the door, pulling out his lockpicks and poking at the mechanism.
His hands were quick and graceful, investigating the lock with careful movements – the same hands that brought art to life with needle and thread, or pulled debris from wounds with gentle care. What stories hands could tell, Karlach mused. From Astarion's to her own – scarred, rough and calloused, made for strength and stubbornness. For holding on tight to things and not letting go. She shook the idle thoughts from her head.
Astarion dug around for a while, swapping tools and muttering complaints under his breath as the mechanism refused to cooperate. All of a sudden, the lock clicked, and the door swung inwards before Astarion had the chance to move away. The solid slab of wood knocked him back, tumbling down a few steps. Within seconds, he was back on his feet, spitting mad and ready to unleash his ire on the unfortunate soul behind the door.
In the open doorway stood the barkeep, a thunderous expression on his pinched face. "Enough!" he roared, the sound echoing down the passage, bouncing off the walls and magnifying the noise. He glanced over them, disgust souring his expression further. "If you were just going to run at the first sign of trouble, just decline the job in the first place. I don't like incompetent cowards wasting my precious time!"
"Why you– How dare–!" Astarion hissed, and tensed to strike, but Karlach interrupted before he could launch.
"Oi! Dickhead! Monster's dead. We killed it. You're welcome."
The man sneered. "A likely story. What proof do you have? What manner of creature was it?" Before Karlach could come up with an answer – she had no idea what the fuck that thing was, and she sure wasn't planning on bringing any part of it with her – his eyes catch the roll of tools now scattered across the top step from Astarion's tumble and narrow dangerously. "Of course," he muttered to himself, "foulbloods and thieves. I should have known the minute they walked in." There was contempt plain on his face as he directed the next words to them. "I never should have let you in the door. Gods curse you for whatever foul trickery you have wrought here." A rough, stained hand raised and pointed toward the door as he took a step back, spittle flying from his vehemence. "Get out of my tavern. Now! Before I call the watch on you vermin."
Astarion was a tense, trembling presence beside her, hands on the daggers at his belt, ready to unsheathe his claws. She wanted, so badly, to punch the racist bastard in the face. See if he'd call her foulblood when he was missing a few teeth.
But. They couldn't cause trouble. This asshole had threatened to call the Watch, and with them came those walking, unsettling hunks of metal, and could disrupt the fragile peace they had. She would not be the one to break their truce, giant farce or not. But fuck, it stung.
It was far from the first time someone had looked at her – the horns (one broken, more trouble), the tail, the scars, the fire, the giant axe – and made assumptions. Thrown insults. She'd learnt quickly to let it all roll off her. It had been one of the first things you learnt, running amok on the Lower City streets as a kid – never let 'em see you flinch. But she'd been around such good people lately – this weird and chaotic band of people she'd found herself thrown in with – and she'd gotten used to kindness, camaraderie. Respect. It had made her soft. (No – the Hells had hardened her, stripped away any good, kind thing until she had been nothing more than fire and fury. It had been good to be soft again.)
"Alright, alright. We're goin'." She stood, poking Astarion out of his riled up, prickly stance. If he had fur, it would have been all puffed out. She dragged him behind her as she pushed past the barkeep. She may or may not have elbowed the bartender in the chest as she pushed her way past. And if she had – well, she was a big gal, and they were such narrow doorways. Sure, it was petty. But it was all she was gonna get.
The common room was as empty as they had first seen it. The passed out drunk still snored on the table. At least the noise meant he still lived! Karlach was halfway to the door when she realised that Astarion had slipped from her grasp. Spinning, she found he had stalked up the barkeep standing smugly by the bar, and was right up in the man's face. His lithe form was a rigid line of fury. Shit.
They were of a height, but the human still managed to be looking down his nose at Astarion. "Get out of my face," he scowled..
Astarion stood firm. "No. Not until you pay us what you owe. And the first thing you owe us is an apology."
"I owe you nothing, filthy thief. Now get out of my tavern before I call the Watch to have you and that, that hellspawn arrested and tossed in the darkest cell they have."
"Now darling," Astarion purred, and it reminded her ever so much of a hunter, toying with his prey. Almost sweet and charming enough to hide the venom beneath. "You keep making that threat, but that's just hot air, isn't it. Much like all your claims." He raised a pale hand to tick off points as he went. "Firstly, you are a fool if you think you would even make it far enough to raise the alarm. You would not make it three steps. And who else is around to see and help? The dozing drunk in the corner? Pah." He paced a few steps back and forth as he went, and Karlach wondered if this is what he had once been like, when he lived. The confident lawyer, spinning a tale for the jury. The haughty magistrate, delivering judgement to the guilty. "Secondly, you already admitted the Watch would not give you the time of day, when you were so desperately pleading for our help. Don't you remember? 'More important things to worry about'? If you go scuttling to them again, do you think they'll even give you a second glance? Thirdly, you may call me a thief, but you are a swindler, and a terrible one at that. You accused us of both not being down there long enough to do anything, and being down there long enough to cause mischief! Which is it? You can't even keep your own stories straight!" He swung his arms wide with a dramatic gesture to take in the sorry tavern room. "You are also clearly not capable of doing anything successfully, what with the sad state of this place! You have run this tavern into the ground. Your cellar is emptier than a patriars charity and you have not had customers in a long time from the dust growing sentience on the shelves."
Astarion advanced on the man slowly, step by step, following as he sidled away, prey fleeing from the hunter. Astarion was in his element though, all the sly insults and cutting remarks honed razor sharp, digging into every weak point he could see. There was a feral spark in him, a manic glee as he tore the man down, and oh, he was a sight to see. .
"And finally," he went in for the kill. "You are a pathetic, miserable excuse of a man. Throwing out unimaginative insults and half-baked threats to bully your way into some tiny shred of power. You wouldn't last a second in the company of those with real power. You are a gutless worm, grasping for any excuse to blame others for your own failings. Because that is all you will ever be, and you know it. A failure."
The man seemed to gather some remaining strength to reply. Karlach was almost impressed. Almost.
"I think–"
"On the contrary," Astarion drawled, "It is very clear that you do not think, else you would not have tried this con. Honestly, an intellect devourer would pass you by."
"Excuse me?" The man spluttered, a mottled angry flush rising on his sallow cheeks. Karlach noted with glee that he hadn't actually refuted any of Astarion's observations. They really were just empty threats and grandstanding. Casually, she hefted her axe in one hand and let her engine flare a little as she stood behind Astarion and loomed over the man, letting a vicious grin of her own rise.
"Oh, we'll gladly excuse ourselves, just as soon as you give us what we are owed." She hadn't seen when he'd drawn the dagger, but Astarion spun the knife idly around a finger, flipping it over and over. Pulling out all the fancy tricks she'd seen him practice – with varying success – across their journey.
Between the looming, fiery threat of Karlach and the sharp, feral glee of Astarion, the man broke. Empty threats and bluster fell to pieces, and he stammered out an apology.
"Hmm. A pitiful attempt, but I am sure it is the best you are capable of. Now, I do believe you mentioned something about 'good coin' for a reward, my dear? I would be so upset to find out you were lying about that, after all this."
Stumbling over reassurances that no, he really did have the coin he promised, the barkeep carefully edged around them and swiftly retreated behind the bar. With lithe grace, Astarion perched himself on top of the bar, peering over the wooden counter to observe the man as he rummaged through whatever bits and bobs he kept squirreled back there. Soon enough, he re-emerged and threw a bag onto the counter before backing as far away from Astarion as he could get in the enclosed space. "There it is," he spat. "Take it. And then just leave me alone!"
Crimson eyes locked onto the barkeep and froze him where he stood. Slowly, dragging out the movement, Astarion grabbed the bag and hefted it with a hum. He withdrew a handful of coins – a healthy mix of copper and silver with a few gold mixed in – and inspected one of the gold coins closely, even cutting down the centre of the piece to check the metal. "Acceptable." he pronounced, tossing the coins back and pocketing the bag.
He slid off the counter, sparing one last, fang filled, predatory grin for the barkeep. "Pleasure doing business with you. Have a wonderful day."
Karlach refused to look back at the man as they headed for the door. She was more than ready to leave that place behind, horrifying corpse monsters and bigoted assholes alike.
"Lets not tell the others about this little misadventure, yeah?"
Astarion's answering cackle, and the casual way he bumped into her as he strode ahead into the sunny streets filled her heart with warmth, a golden, fizzy joy that bubbled up and made her lighter. "And face the inevitable, disappointed lecture about responsibility and safety from our dear leader? Oh no, darling, this stays between us!" he called back to her.
All kinds of horrors and pains lurked these streets. People were cruel, close minded bastards wherever you went. But oh, she was lucky. She had found the good ones.
~fin~