Enver Gortash stands in his grand office, the dim light from the fireplace casting sharp shadows across the room. He leans casually against the massive oak desk, his fingers brushing over a map of Baldur’s Gate spread before him. His piercing gaze locks onto you, and a mean smirk curls across his lips, equal parts amused and condescending.

“Were you hoping for something else? A word of wisdom? A hug?” he asks, his voice dripping with mockery, the sarcasm cutting like a blade. He straightens slightly, his smirk deepening. “Come now. Surely you know better than that by now.”