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That face is familiar.
There is too much happening to dwell on such a small, inconsequential thought. The Blade of Frontiers is here, she’s connecting with the minds of the people he brought with him, she’s doing her damnedest to clearly explain herself.
After that tense confrontation ends in a truce and with new friends, she’s focused on getting those new friends to help her kill the foolish paladins. Then there’s the tieflings and the druids and goblins and her goddamn engine and so much more bullshit to deal with…
It slips her mind. It’s not that strange anyhow, thoughts elude her all the time. Her companions chuckle anytime she trails off and forgets what they were talking about. So, it’s a thing.
*
Then there’s the party after they manage to defeat the goblins. It’s so wonderful. She’s truly not alone anymore. She has companions, friends. And they did so well. All those poor refugees, safe and happy and drinking and dancing –
Vaein’s face is familiar.
Well, of course it is. It’s the face of her friend. Their fearless, amnesiac leader. She knows him, so it’s familiar.
But no. No, it’s not that. She knows it from somewhere else, or at least it feels like it.
He is sitting by the fire and laughing at something Rolan said. Shadows are shifting across his figure. His smile gradually softens, his head bends downwards, and as Lia stands next to him, a deep shadow covers his eyes. There, that’s it! Oh, but what is it?
It’s exceptionally frustrating, but she has seen so many faces in her chaotic life. Probably hundreds of strangers in Baldur’s Gate, and even more in the Hells. Vaein remembers nothing about himself, but he mentioned the city once or twice. Maybe they shopped in the same places in their past lives.
She wonders if she’s also crossed paths with Shadowheart, Astarion, or Wyll. Complete strangers, walking by and having no idea the young tiefling covered in bruises would be their sister-in-arms a decade later. That’s a beautiful thought.
His face is familiar, and it makes her smile.
*
Weeks pass by. They face many perils together, but they always come out victorious. Of course they do. Their crew is an incredible mix of diverse talents, led by a formidable, vicious soldier. He was most likely some kind of assassin in his past life, but she prefers to think of him as a fellow soldier. It suits his demeanor. Strong presence, commanding voice. Like he’s been a leader his whole life.
Sometimes he stands or tilts his head a certain way and like a flash of lightning, the thought reappears for a brief moment. Oddly, it’s almost a foreboding feeling. An incessant scratching in her mind, accompanied by a pressure in her throat and sternum. He was…
He was shrouded by shadow, barely sparing her a glance.
No. Ridiculous. The shadow cursed lands are messing with her head.
Try as she might, she can’t connect him to any particular place. And then he smiles and the feeling passes. No, she didn’t know him, she would’ve remembered by now. There are many dark alleys in the Lower City, that’s where they passed by each other. Maybe.
*
They’re resting tonight in Moonrise Towers, as insane as it sounds. They’ve set up tightly in a corner of the dorm room, as far from the cultists as possible. She doesn’t look at her friends, too busy shoving food in her mouth and counting all the True Souls she sees, trying to figure out their talents for the battles that will eventually come.
Astarion’s voice redirects her focus back to her companions.
“Aw, you look adorable in those earrings, darling.”
He’s talking to Vaein. Indeed, he’s wearing earrings now. Little gold blades with ruby, glistening droplets dangling from their pointy ends. Her throat tightens at the sight.
“They suit you. Where did you find them?” Shadowheart asks.
In Baldur’s Gate. He must’ve gotten them in Baldur’s Gate. She knows it. She can almost see them in a hazy memory. A jewelry store… Has she ever gone to a jewelry store?
“I had them on me all this time. They were the only thing I had in my pocket back on the nautiloid. I just… Felt like wearing them, finally.”
Of course, she has. She’s gone with Gortash. Those earrings look like something he would buy, with his love for ostentatious gold and red adornments, that smug, pretentious fucker—
“A vestige of your past life?” Gale leans in to peer at the jewelry more closely.
“I guess? Who knows.” Vaein touches his earring gently, a tentative smile adorning his face. His eyes get glassy, as they do when he sees faint echoes of his memories. And yet, he keeps smiling. A good memory?
All the bitterness she feels in the moment is extinguished by this sight. She’s never heard him speak of good memories. It’s only ever ash and blood.
Her thoughts seem unreasonable now. Ever since Florick mentioned Gortash and his apparently high status in the city, he’s been on her mind. Her friend’s earrings reminding her of him is where she crosses the line. Enough.
Vaein finding proof that his life wasn’t just filled with carnage is precious. She’s going to cherish this moment for what it is, not for the baseless connections her brain made.
*
It is a hell of a feeling, suddenly realizing you’ve been delusional and in denial for months. All those times she was doubting her memories, not listening to her intuition... It’s revolting. This whole situation is sickening.
His face was familiar for a reason.
She’s been friends with Gortash’s nearest and dearest.
She remembers Gortash meeting a man hiding his face beneath a hood. She remembers being told to stand a way’s away to give them privacy to discuss their business. She remembers how another time, the man walked out of Gortash’s office even though she hasn’t seen him enter. She called out to him, incredulous. He gave her a side glance and went on his way. She barely got a good look of him, but he was disturbing enough to make an impression on her.
They must’ve kept meeting up after Gortash sold her to Zariel. But that means they have been… Close, for a decade. This cannot be true. Fuck. This cannot be real.
Despite her devastating need to pull her axe out and chop the smug bastard’s head off, she stays rooted in her spot.
She stands there and listens to her fucking friend discuss a fucking alliance with the man that ruined her life. She stands there and learns that her friend is the reason they’re all infected. She does nothing because she still trusts Vaein to do the right thing. He’s their leader. He’s their schemer and strategist.
“You’ll get your revenge in time, please, don’t blow up,” his voice whispers in her head. She complies.
What else can she do? The rest of their companions don’t interfere. They’ve gone through so much together. He deserves her trust. It… It will be okay. Gotta be.
*
They defeated Orin the Red, and now it’s Gortash’s turn. They’re silent and tense on their way to Wyrm’s Rock Fortress.
They’ve got every reason to be nervous. The Steel Watch is still operating, at Vaein’s insistence that it was too risky to deal with the Foundry. It almost made her suspicious, but he rejected Bhaal. He died in the name of good. Also, he’s made compelling arguments, like he always does. Everything he says makes so much sense and it’s infuriating.
But that means Gortash will be ridiculously protected, in a well-fortified location, backed up by admittedly deadly Banites and huge metal monsters. And when they kill him, because they will win anyway – it’ll be time to deal with the Netherbrain.
And then, hopefully after that’s all done and not earlier… Her heart will give up and burn.
Vaein pauses just before opening the door to Gortash’s office, but he doesn’t look to his companions right away. Her stomach turns. This is the worst time to keep her in suspense. She’s itching to get her revenge, her hands are tingling, her ears are ringing so loud she nearly doesn’t realize when Vaein speaks up.
“…it will be fine, dear,” Astarion responds to- to something, she missed it. Vaein nods, and sighs.
“I know. I know. Let me talk to him for a bit. It’ll give us time to clock all the traps. Karlach, will that be alright?”
“Sure, whatever. Let’s go.”
“Karlach…”
“I’ll wait. I trust you.”
“Thank you. Okay, then. This is it.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, there’s plenty left to deal with besides him,” Shadowheart chuckles, and Vaein smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Despite the rage that’s building up inside of her, she also feels a pang of sympathy for her friend. The temple of Bhaal was a harrowing trial. He’s clearly reaching his limit.
She had an idea to build a pillow fort with all of them. She decides she’ll make it happen tonight.
It’s difficult to listen to all of this. It was supposed to be a short talk, but now Vaein is making allusions to this fucked up alliance going further, and she snaps. She yells at Gortash, she tells him what she feels, how she trusted him and respected him, and he keeps being a proud, evil dickhead, and dares to speak of the greater good, and she sees red, she’s burning, the edges of her vision get cloudy and distorted with heat—
“You utter brat. You’re going to burn this whole place down.”
“Good!”
She reaches for her weapon, but Vaein doesn’t. He turns to look her in the eye, he shows his back to the vile bastard, what is he thinking?!
“Karlach.” His voice is stern, and cold. Her vision clears just a bit, and she’s so emotional and bloodthirsty and confused that she just snarls and waits for him to say whatever he wants to say. She promised to wait for his signal, but this is his last chance.
“Karlach. Once, you had a place in our design.”
His arm whips out, flash-quick, and she doesn’t understand. Crimson bursts out of her and covers his face and torso, and it doesn’t stop gushing. Behind Vaein, Gortash pulls out his crossbow and laughs jubilantly. The Banites snap to attention and start surrounding them.
It takes her a second to realize her throat has been cut open.
Someone screams in horror, Shadowheart, she thinks. Her friends. Her friend just...
It happened again.
Too dumbstruck to realize--
No way.
No way he’d hurt me.
Her world rotates and she sees the ceiling. She hears the clang of steel against steel, desperate cries and curses, someone jumps over her. And slowly, it starts to get dark, darker, black. Silence.