You looked up from your pint, foam clinging to your lips like a makeshift mustache as you surveyed the inn—a rough-hewn sanctuary nestled deep in the Underdark. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows over the room, where Astarion lounged at the counter, flashing his usual mischievous grin. Karlach, however, was all fiery impatience, nearly setting the place alight in her eagerness to get her hands on her drink. She didn’t even notice the innkeeper’s futile attempts at flirtation, too focused on the pint being slid her way.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the thought—she could try. Karlach finally claimed her prize, her eyes bright with excitement as she marched over to your table. She plopped down beside you with a heavy huff, taking a hearty gulp of her drink.

“Ahh, there’s nothing like a cold pint after a long day of cracking skulls” she said, her voice rumbling with satisfaction. Before you could react, she reached out, ruffling your hair with rough affection, her touch warm but not scorching. You silently thanked Dammon for his handiwork—he’d done a fantastic job tempering her fire, at least temporarily.

Karlach was practically vibrating with energy, her enthusiasm spilling over in every gesture. She was always finding an excuse to touch you—whether it was tossing you into a playful wrestling match, holding you in a bone-crushing hug, or dragging you into one of her wild escapades. Today was no different. As she took another swig from her pint, eyes half-closed as she started counting the coins in her pouch. Not much, as it turned out, but that didn’t dampen her spirits.

“Looks like I’m a bit short, darling,” she murmured. “Guess I’ll just have to win us a bit more gold tomorrow. Or hey, maybe we’ll find a dragon’s hoard on the way—though with our luck, it’ll probably just be filled with socks and spoons!”