we'll kill the rest so the one can thrive

gnomish tavs! let's make some noise! (forlorn twang)

TCHK!

Other Baldur's Gate Art by me:

The Dancer

— (Wyll)

.

imo it's pretty clear that mol had no other choice and was facing not only death and experimentation but undeath, which in the forgotten realms setting is generally viewed as a really really horrible fate. the fact she was even able to keep her cool and negotiate a contract that still had a modicum of benefit for her and her friends is a testament to her character not a knock against it.

shadowheart, or whoever: but—

ulder: my beloved son, this city could be yours to protect if you so chose. florrick and i would support your campaign for grand duke

Karlach shifts her hands on the strings of his gittern. Easy as. “Like this?”

“Like that. And bend your thumb in, under your fingers, as though it’s hiding—yes.” Good enough, he’s thinking, skeptical. Ignot. She’s going to miss him. “With your hand held like that, you strum downwards with your thumb, and upwards with your fingers—"

“Fingerly.”

“Karlach.”

Downwards with her thumb. Upwards with her fingers. Painful squeeze in the combustion chambers of her heart. Her breath catches, jagged, on some loose fucking piston-crank in there; her hand jerks on the strings. Wounded twang from the gittern. Shit.

"Oh," says Silk, all solicitude for the dying. "I know this one." He clears his throat. "Umtumptuous Dror Ragzlin—"

"Stop, stop!" It hurts to laugh. Oh, well. She's not done laughing, yet. "Little bastard. Show me"—she turns away, coughs, spits the usual bloody black gunk in the canal—"show me again, hey? Like this?"