Chapter Text
The first time you met the devil, you nearly jammed your spear through his neck.
In your defense, you were already on high alert. You, Astarion, Karlach, and Shadowheart were sneaking about, trying to scope the goblin camp before actually entering. Astarion, of course, wanted to charge in and kill everyone. Karlach wasn’t against the idea. You and Shadowheart seemed to be the only two with some sense.
“Darling, really,” Astarion whined. “My knees are killing me.”
“Whine less, Astarion,” you quipped. “And do it quieter.” You peered through the bush you crouched behind. Just beyond the cliff, you watched a goblin piss on a rock. They’re drunk.
“Can I shoot them?” Astarion asked.
“Throw a bomb,” Karlach tried to whisper, though her excitement got the best of her.
“I have been wanting to use one…”
“No one is throwing anything,” Shadowheart muttered. She narrowed her eyes. “Are they drunk?”
“I think so,” you nodded. “Better for us.”
“I could go for a pint right about now,” Karlach sighed.
“Let’s go for a drink in Baldur’s Gate, yes?” Astarion grinned wolfishly.
“Slow down, soldier,” Karlach smiled. “Let’s get to know each other first.”
You rolled your eyes at them. You should’ve known better than to bring them both, but neither of them wanted to stay in camp when you and Shadowheart began packing up to head out. Gale was a nonstarter with his current…arcane hunger issue. Wyll was in a mood ever since Mizora made herself known and ruined his life (again), and didn’t want to be bothered. Lae’zel’s only focus was sharpening her blades after one failed to twist correctly in a gnoll’s stomach.
You could’ve brought Scratch. Probably should’ve.
Either way, the scouting proved useful. Tomorrow you’d attempt to infiltrate the camp. For now, though, the sun was beginning to set, and you needed to return to camp in one piece.
“Where are you going?” Astarion groaned, placing his hands on his hips.
“To camp,” you replied. “Come on. We’ll go in tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he scoffed. “Are you really scared of some goblins?”
“Easy, mate,” Karlach laughed, noticing your glare. “They’ll shove you off this cliff.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I’m not letting you get scared away tomorrow!”
“Thank you for your dedication,” you deadpanned. “We’re leaving.”
You barely made it a few steps when you felt and heard the distinct presence of someone…materializing behind you. The force pushing through the air. You froze, as did everyone else from the sounds of it. You heard Karlach’s engine, but no footsteps, no rustling. Astarion probably pulled his weapon, but he always did it silently.
“My, my, what manner of place is this?” The sultry tones filled your ears as you reached for your weapon. “A path to redemption? Or a road to damnation? Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning.”
Slowly, you turned around, pulling out your spear as you did. Your companions stared at the man before you in surprise and confusion. Where did he come from? He was dressed like he came from the city, but clearly, he was no normal wizard. If he was one. Something had to explain his sudden appearance. But you didn’t hear a portal opening.
Before you could ask, “Who the hell are you?” He began speaking again.
“What would suit the occasion? Hm, the words to a lullaby, perhaps?” he pondered. You let him. “The mouse smiled brightly; it outfoxed the cat. Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that.” He laughed good-naturedly. “They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they?”
This time, you did speak. “Who the hell are you?”
The man smirked. “Well met. I am Raphael.” He bowed. “Very much at your service.”
You hated riddles. “Am I talking to the mouse or the cat?” You couldn’t get a read on him and you already hated that, too. You were one second away from starting a fight, despite leaving camp with the exact decision not to pick any fights.
“Neither,” Raphael replied, seeming hurt by your question. “The fox, rather, hiding in a word: a silent observer, about to break the silence.”
“I suggest you leave it alone,” you snapped.
He ignored you, though you saw something spark in his eyes. “What I have to say merits some privacy — as well as some more…let’s call it refinement. This quaint little scene,” he gestured around, “is decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes. Come.”
The air around you swirled, heated, and flashed. One moment your feet were in mud, the next they were on ornate tiles. You were in…a dining room?
Behind you stood a luxurious table filled with an elaborate spread of courses. Chairs evenly spaced, padded and red, expensive.
“There. Middle-of-somewhere,” Raphael said, sounding utterly pleased with himself. A fireplace raged behind him, a portrait hung above him. A portrait of…himself?
“I don’t like this at all,” Karlach muttered.
“Take us back. Now,” you hissed.
“And deny you the honor of my hospitality?” Raphael feigned hurt once again. “This is the House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed — lavishly.” He casted a glance at Astarion. “Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all…it might just be your last.”
The food enticed you — it enticed all of you. Who knew how long it would be before any of you had a proper meal again? If you ever were to have one again?
But you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your gut. You were with Karlach. You didn’t like this. At all.
“Are these theatrics leading somewhere?” You made the decision to sheath your weapon — for now. “Or do you plan to continue wasting my time?”
Raphael laughed, a sound that was growing to irritate you. “Are you not entertained?” He held up his hands, smirking. “Well, far be it from me to disappoint.”
Flames engulfed him and you shielded your face as Raphael assumed his true form. You watched in horror — but not surprise — as his horns grew and he shrugged into his wings, blinking his black eyes with glowing orange irises. You knew it.
“What’s better than a devil you don’t know?” Raphael chuckled, his hand on his waist. “A devil you do.”
“Fuck,” Karlach cursed. “A cambion.”
“Fuck,” you echoed under your breath, taking him in. Who was this Raphael and what did he want with any of you?
“Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. But a savior? That’s for certain.”
You decided to play his game, crossing your arms over your chest. “What makes you think I need saving?”
“Come now,” he teased. “Why play hard to get when you’re in deep over your tadpoled head?”
You tried to steel your face, but you know you failed. Why did everyone know about the damn tadpole in your head yet no one knew how to fix it? You kept your gaze focused on him, locking your jaw, wondering how hard it might be to kill him.
“One skull, two tenets, and no solution in sight,” he listed. “I could fix it all,” he whispered, snapping his fingers, “like that.”
You laughed. You genuinely laughed in the devil’s face. It took him aback, and that alone was enough to satisfy you, but you continued. “You’re mad if you think I’ll make a deal with a devil.”
“And what is madness but a denial of reality?” Raphael lamented, unfazed. “Still, I’ve a feeling you’ll change your mind. Before it’s changed for you…”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, though you knew exactly what he meant. You were running out of time that you didn’t even know if you had or not.
“Try to cure yourself. Shop around. Beg, borrow, and steal—”
“I don’t beg.”
“Don’t you?” Raphael countered with a look.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Exhaust every possibility until none are left,” he went on. “And when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair — that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door.” He paused. “Hope,” he laughed. “Such a tease.”
“I will rip out your mocking tongue and feed it to you.”
“Ah, yes, the tongue,” he mused, once again unperturbed by your lashings. “Yet another piece of pleasurable anatomy you’ll soon have to do without. All those pretty little symptoms — sundering skin, dissolving guts — they haven’t manifested yet, have they? One might say, you’re a paragon of luck. I’ll be there when it runs out.”
You were ready to launch yourself at him, jam your spear through his eye. But he cast you out of his house, plummeting back upward to Faerûn.
You blinked as the sunlight stung your eyes. Glancing up, you saw only a few minutes had passed. Still a waste of your time.
You began walking toward camp without another word, not looking to see if the rest of your party followed.
Once you reached camp, you headed for your tent, as did everyone else — except for the nosy vampire.
“Well,” Astarion said, picking at his nails. “That was…hot.”
“Shut up,” you snapped. “It was annoying and a waste of our damn time.”
“I don’t know…” He watched you carefully with his red eyes. “The two of you seemed…”
You lifted your head, glaring at him. “What? We seemed what, Astarion?”
He smirked, lowering his gaze. “I think you know.”
“I think you’re stupid,” you spat. “He’s a devil, Astarion. All he wanted to do was get in our heads, and he got in yours, clearly.”
“And he got under your skin,” Astarion said slowly, smirking. “Interesting.” You dodged all of Astarion’s advances thus far, despite the vampire being the pinnacle of charm, so clearly he was intrigued when a devil nearly swayed you with a single look.
“Go away,” you hissed. “Go drink another bear or something.”
“Gladly. Goodnight, darling,” he sang over his shoulder, stalking back to his tent.
You pulled your tent flaps down and crawled into the corner, tugging your knees to your chest. You would never show this side of yourself outside of this tent — cowering in a corner, hugging yourself like a child.
It was true: Raphael had gotten under your skin. And not in the way you expected.
You knew his motives. Plant seeds of doubt. Let them rest silently, as you looked for Halsin, went to the crèche, maybe even ventured further. Until you got tired. Tired of traveling, tired of looking, tired of failing. Tired of sharing your brain, tired of wondering if you’d wake up with tentacles, tired of staring down your shortsword in the light of dawn and contemplating just how hard it might be to decapitate yourself.
You wouldn’t let him do this to you. You would find another way — a way that didn’t involve devils and their infuriating poetry. You would keep your soul.
You would get rid of this tadpole. And you would do it without him.
+++
Days passed and your mind didn’t wander to the devil — or at least that’s what you told yourself.
You had more pressing matters: defeating the goblins, saving the Emerald Grove, and convincing Halsin to join you. The Underdark was the new terrain you had to traverse, searching for a way to Moonrise. You saved the Grymforge gnomes with ease, and helped the Myconids find peace. You had better places to be and better things to think about than the devil lurking at your door.
And he was lurking, this much you knew. You could feel him watching.
At first, it unsettled you. But when Raphael refused to show his face, you continued on. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking even slightly on edge.
The hope Raphael mentioned was slowly chipped away, bit by bit. The Zaith’isk nearly killed Lae’zel. And the crèche nearly killed all of you on your way out. It was a desperate situation. And a failed hope.
But there was still Moonrise. There was still Halsin. Although he said he couldn’t cure you, he still knew more about the tadpoles than anyone else. He was all you had.
Well, there was Raphael’s prospect, of course. Whatever it was. But it wasn’t an option.
Why did you have to keep reminding yourself?
One night before venturing to the Shadow-cursed Lands, you found yourself unable to sleep. Camp was quiet; no one else had a similar issue. You kept watch, but you knew nothing would come. This area was truly devoid of any life, aside from some small animals.
You wandered for a moment, admiring the view of the monastery now in ruins. Soon you would have only darkness to view in the Shadow-cursed Lands — and whatever other horrors waited for you there. You doubted it would be anything good.
And that was when you felt him again.
“Raphael,” you said.
“The little mouse has quite the ears on her,” he replied, halting his steps for a moment.
You could hear his smile and it, unfortunately, made you smile in turn. You dropped the expression immediately as if caught, despite your back facing him.
“What do you want?” you asked, peering up at the stars. You loved them, loved picking out the different constellations. It’s something you did nearly every night back in Baldur’s Gate, sitting on the roof of your house.
Raphael came to stand next to you. You saw out of the corner of your eye — he was in his human form.
“Can’t I check on my most esteemed client to see how they’re faring on their perilous journey?”
You scoffed, shaking your head, but keeping your eyes on the stars. “I’m not your client.”
He hummed. “Not just yet.”
“Not ever,” you replied firmly, still refusing to look at him. You couldn’t. You weren’t sure why.
“You’ll change your mind,” he insisted, though quietly. “How are you doing? No tentacles sprouting, I see.”
You ignored him. “Do you know about the stars, Raphael?”
He hesitated. It wasn’t often the devil was at a loss for words, but it also wasn’t often that he came to Faerûn for some mortal. But you weren’t some mortal, were you? He needed you, just as you needed him — though you didn’t accept it yet. You caught him off guard, a feeling he wasn’t used to, but oh, he enjoyed it.
“And what about the stars, little mouse?” he asked, entertaining you.
He saw the corner of your mouth turn just slightly upwards. Only for a moment.
“These stars give me hope,” you said, but you didn’t elaborate on why. “You give me a headache.”
“I’m afraid that might be the tadpole squirming around in your head,” he said. “Or should I say, tadpoles. You’ve grown more illithid since we last spoke.”
“Don’t you have better things to do? Souls to sign away, innocents to manipulate?”
“I’m quite skilled in multitasking, little mouse,” he replied. “And contrary to what you may think, I am not interested in your soul.”
“You’ll never have it,” you replied, ever so certain that was his interest. You looked at him then, your frustration getting the better of you. “So give up. Now.”
Raphael stared at you, testing you. You realized quickly why you hadn’t looked at him before. A nagging thought in your head, an annoying tug in your chest. You found him attractive, and that was the worst news you had ever heard — it beat the tadpole by a century. It was…revolting.
Worse still, it didn’t disgust you enough to look away from him. Or move away when he took one step closer.
“Little mouse,” he whispered, clicking his tongue. “I don’t give up. That’s your kind’s specialty. You give up and give in— I stand back and enjoy the spoils of your failure.”
Your gaze darted from his eyes to his lips, and promptly back to his eyes. Did he understand? The heat rolling off of him, even in his human form, warming you, inviting you in. Did he understand how much you resisted? Was he doing the same? Was that why he wouldn’t take one more step, close the space between your bodies?
“I hear you travel to the Shadow-cursed Lands tomorrow,” he mused, still invading your space just-so. “A dangerous place for a mortal like you.”
“I’ll be fine,” you insisted.
His grin was sudden and sinister. “I’ll be watching.”
In a flash, Raphael disappeared, leaving only the cinders of his flames floating in the air. You looked around, searching for him as if he didn’t return to the Hells.
You lifted your head toward the stars, closing your eyes with a sigh, searching the constellations for an answer. What were you doing?