One Last Job
Tempest finished her wine, a cheap red that tasted of vinegar and stained the inside of the tarnished pewter goblet it was served in, and glanced across to the tavern door. It had swung open, ringing the small brass bell that hung above the lintel, so that all eyes in the dark, smoky pub were drawn to the person coming in. You couldn’t be too cautious in a place like this, a known hangout for smugglers and pirates who were often found around the docks of Athkatla, the so-called city of coin.
The person walking into the inn was a tiefling, short and wiry, with red skin tanned even redder through years at sea, and twisty, curling horns that emerged from a scruffy mop of greying hair. He called for a pint, in a voice like dry sand, and scanned the room with his amber eyes that made contact with Tempest’s ice-blue ones.
Sitting down opposite her and taking off his leather jacket, he began to speak. “Thought I’d find you here. Got a job, need someone I can trust. You in?”
“Depends on the job, Joachim”, Tempest replied, gesturing to the barkeeper for another awful wine.
Joachim waited for the dwarf to pour the wine and go back to the safe distance of the bar, before leaning in conspiratorially and lowering his voice. “Smuggling job, as usual, but … here’s the thing, right? It’s for the Zhent”.
Tempest knew of the Zhentarim, a shady cabal of traders in illicit weaponry, poison, drugs, and worse. Nobody, even in a den of iniquity such as The Cutlass, worked willingly with the Zhent – not unless they were desperate.
“Fuck, Joe. Fuck the Zhent”, Tempest said bluntly. “No way”.
“Look, I wouldn’t be asking you if it were the bad stuff, T. You know that I ain’t into that shit”, Joachim explained apologetically. “It’s just some barrels of brandy, is all”.
“And why”, Tempest asked, downing her wine, “would the Black Network be interested in moving brandy?”
“Don’t know, didn’t ask”, Joachim replied tersely. “From what I overheard, it’s for some Lord or other” – Tempest snorted derisively at this – “up in the Gate. Anyway, stuff needs shifting and they want it done low-key, so they’re not using their own crew, not here with the Shadow Thieves controlling the trade and all. There’s money in it, T, money you could use”.
Tempest looked thoughtful, playing with her empty goblet as she considered the proposal. She needed the gold, that was true enough. She could barely afford to stay even in a dive like The Cutlass for much longer and she didn’t want to be out on the streets again, like she was when she was younger, when the storm first washed her ashore, thousands of miles from the home she once knew.
Home…she hadn’t had one of those for decades, not a real one. She’d sailed up and down the Sword Coast a dozen times with a dozen crews, getting into trouble, moving on, and finally ending up here again – the only constant she’d known after losing everything to the waves on that terrible night.
She shook her head slightly, as if to dislodge the memory before it swallowed her completely. She barely noticed the slight blue-white sparks of electricity playing at the tips of her fingers, but Joachim did, and tapped the wooden table to bring her back to this moment.
“Look, T, I know what you are, and you’ll get no judgement from me, that's for damn sure. But them Wizards though…” he trailed off.
That was another problem. The Cowled Wizards controlled all magic in the city. As a sorcerer, Tempest was born with innate magic, it was who she was as much as her pointed ears or mahogany skin. She could control her powers, mostly, but suppressing them completely for so long was beyond her, she knew that. Chances are, the Cowled Wizards already knew who and what she was, all she could do was make sure they didn’t know where she was. Enough money to get out of Athkatla altogether, set herself up somewhere new like Waterdeep or Neverwinter, would be undeniably useful.
“Naeth”, Tempest swore under her breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but meet me tonight, fish market, your place. I’m not saying yes”, she added as Joachim began to look hopeful, “but I need details and not here. I need to see this ‘brandy’ for myself”.
~~~
Wrapped in a nondescript grey woolen cloak, Tempest made her way down the docks, past the low squat buildings and dark alleys with their cutpurses and muggers who by now knew better than to try to rob a storm sorcerer, and towards the smell of the fish market, and one shabby looking warehouse with peeling green paint and no lantern light by the door. This was where Joachim traded from, officially a merchant in crabs and shellfish, but the backroom told a different story.
She rapped on the door using the coded knock she knew would reassure Joachim it was her and not the city guard, and was allowed entry. Following him into the backroom, she saw the cargo – half a dozen metal barrels, each with the Zhentarim seal, a black winged snake on a yellow coin, hastily painted over in streaks of dirty white, on the lid.
“This is it?” she asked. “I’ve got to say, Joe, I was expecting something more impressive. Are you absolutely certain it’s just brandy in those barrels?”
Joachim shrugged as if to say it was none of his, or Tempest’s, business.
“Where’s the rendezvous point anyway?” she enquired.
“South of Baldur’s Gate,” he replied. “Some dead-end fishing village, there’s a drop-off point on an islet out that way”.
“Where I’d be met by?” she pressed the question.
“One of my lads, not Zhent, they’re keeping out of this. They’ll never know it were you”, Joachim attempted to reassure her.
“I don’t like this”, Tempest muttered, running her hands through her snow-white hair, styled in a single braided lock that ran down the centre of her head and reached the small of her back like a cresting wave. “Something’s off here. Why the hells are the Zhent running a small-fry job like this?”
“You know me, T…I don’t ask none. But I got ears, “ Joachim said. “Scuttlebutt is that this is backup stock, you get me? Our friends in yellow and black had everything stashed away nicely, some hideout in the middle of bleeding nowhere, out away in the northern frontiers, right? Well, some big dumb hero comes along, something to do with tracking the trade in infernal iron or some such warg-shit, and he finds the place, sends the guards packing, torches the damn lot. Course, there weren’t no infernal anything in there, even the Zhent don’t fuck with devils, right? But lost stock is lost stock”.
“Bloody heroes, hey?” Tempest said sardonically.
“Making trouble for honest smugglers like you and me”, Joachim responded. “What happened to him, nobody seems to know. Like he vanished off of the face of Faerun. What did they say he was calling himself? The Sword of something-or-other…no, was it the Blade of…somewhere? Ah, not that it matters anyway I suppose. So…you in or what?”
“I might need some more persuasion”, Tempest replied, allowing blue sparks to glint in her eyes. Joachim was a colleague, but not one she’d call a friend exactly, and she wasn’t above intimidating her way to a better deal. He opened a chest and pulled out a large and heavy bag of coin. This alone would be enough to set Tempest up in a new city, one where magic wasn’t prohibited. “This is…half, right?” she asked.
“Come on, T, who do you think I am, Waukeen’s bloody chosen?” Joachim pleaded. Tempest conjured a small sphere of lightning, playing at passing it between her hands. Joachim swallowed. “Alright, fine, half now, and my lad’ll give you the other half at the end of the job. Right?”
“Fine”, Tempest agreed, making the lightning ball dissipate into nothing, and shaking Joachim’s slightly trembling hand. “Get this loaded onto my boat, I’ll call up some clouds to hide from the moonlight, and a good wind, try and get as far up the coast as I can before daylight”.
~~~
Guiding the small single-masted craft with the rudder, Tempest sailed out of the harbour and into the night, using her powers to summon a breeze, and just enough cloud and fog to keep her obscured from watchmen. It was a long journey, several days’ sailing, but she was experienced enough by now. She just had to keep control of herself, not let her thoughts turn dark in case she accidentally called a storm that risked boat, cargo, and life alike.
“Come on, Tempest”, she said quietly to herself as the boat cut through the dark waters, “one last job, then I’m out”.
———
Note: This is not the first scene I wrote for Tempest, but it is the first chronologically. It takes place shortly before the events of the game Baldur’s Gate 3. Future scenes may contain spoilers, I’ll try to tag them appropriately. I don’t have a full, connected story for Tempest, so scenes will jump about a bit. If you’ve not played BG3, this might be confusing, sorry! I’ll try to provide context where needed.
– River