“You are a soldier of Avernus,” Lae’zel said at last. “Not a smith. Not a quartermaster.”
“You’re missing something,” Karlach said. baldur 39-s gate 3
“Pulled it out of a drider’s hoard while you were busy decapitating said drider.” Karlach shrugged, but her tail curled with embarrassment. “Fixed the edge. Re-wrapped the grip. The cord is just—well. I figured if you’re going to be killing mind flayers beside me, you might as well have something that doesn’t look like it was fished out of a latrine.” “You are a soldier of Avernus,” Lae’zel said at last
They had lost the ghaik ’s ship, its twisted metal corridors, its brine-soaked horrors. But they had also lost gear. Lae’zel’s backup longsword had shattered against a hook horror’s carapace two nights ago. Since then, she had fought with only her greatsword—a magnificent, cruel thing—but Karlach noticed the imbalance. The way Lae’zel adjusted her stance for a strike that never came. “Pulled it out of a drider’s hoard while
She unwrapped the cloth with the same care she’d use to disarm a trap. Inside lay a longsword—not githyanki make, but sturdy. Elturel steel, by the look of the hilt. The blade was nicked but true. And wrapped around the grip, braided through the leather, was a single crimson cord. Karlach’s cord. From the sash she’d worn the day they escaped the nautiloid.
Karlach sat down across from her, close enough that the heat from her chest made the frost on Lae’zel’s pauldron hiss.