Two points of failure, she thought.
No. Two points of victory.
She smiled. It was small—a crack in obsidian, a hairline fracture of warmth. She strapped the longsword to her hip, tested the draw, and nodded once. baldur 39-s gate 3
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. Two points of failure, she thought
“High praise,” Karlach laughed. The sound broke the shadow-cursed air like a bell. Two points of failure