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To call the mood in the camp “uneasy” would be an understatement. Leaving the House of Hope after accomplishing nothing confused your party members, but at this point, nobody questioned your judgement when you ordered an escape. You were the only one to enter the cambion’s bedroom and no matter how much your friends asked, you refused to reveal what happened. They had their own theories, you were sure, but you had no interest in what they assumed. Dear sweet Astarion was so sure something terrible happened in there, knowing you’d dealt with an incubus, but your words were firm and no further questions were asked.
The night passed with no further affair, but your mind would not rest. It was true that ever since meeting the cambion in Last Light you’d developed something of an… unhealthy obsession with Raphael. So far, the constant unwelcome thoughts of murder and carnage were distraction enough, but after defeating your dark sister and shunning your lord father, your mind was now free to wander wherever it wished. Unfortunately for you, memories of the infernal house were sticky as honey in the confines of your infected skull.
Sleep would not come in the night. Oh, Haarlep was excellent, of course he was, an incubus in service of one such as Raphael can be nothing but, yet your mind refused to let go of the House of Hope itself. The ornate walls, the endless portraits displaying its one dark master, the banquet hall filled with food you could not eat, the eternal debtors wandering endless halls. Even sweet little Hope, still convinced that you were working to free her from her prison.
You loved it, you were obsessed with every bit of that house and its ever-elusive master.
Unbeknownst to your companions, you never had any intention of breaking your contract. It was the home of the devil that made you jump through so many hoops to reach that place between worlds. You wanted him. There was no getting around it; not that you were truly avoiding this fact, you did admit it quite easily when Haarlep pressed. And if you happened to let the wrong name slip from your mouth during your negotiations, he only seemed more amused by it.
You turned to your side in your bedroll. You tried to control your thoughts, your wants. The devil was fun, entertaining. Running into him during your travels came with just the most perfect unpredictability. A cold, clean, calculating evil; such elegant contrast to the violent chaos of your murder-crazed mind. You wanted it. You so desperately craved it.
You turned again, fighting with your illogical mind. You knew that meeting Raphael again before facing the elder brain was unlikely. The contract was signed and, to him, there was no breaking it. Unless you did something truly stupid, he had no reason to show himself. It was frustrating. So, so very frustrating.
You thought back to your meeting at Sharess’ Caress, his pretty lies about bringing order and unity to the nine hells. It was such a blatant and obvious lie that you could barely contain yourself. You tried to imagine what he would truly use the Crown of Karsus for, if you managed to obtain it. For a devil as arrogant and vain as Raphael something big, loud, and drastic was to be expected. His joy upon describing the fall of the sky-cities centuries ago was not false, maybe he hoped to create something of similar scale? Perhaps he wished the same fate upon the nine hells. Something in your heart fluttered when you imagined the destruction to come. Not your preferred style, but your nature as a Bhaalspawn still made you feel a certain way about all that power.
You buried your face in your hands, biting your palm to stifle any whines. Dear gods, you wanted it. You wanted to be a part of his plan so badly it tore at your very being. All that power, the perfect role right there for you to play. It would be delicious, an elegant poem that even he would recite.
Perhaps dying in honorable defiance of your god-father and then getting yanked back to life truly scrambled something in your head.
Silently, doing your best not to wake your sleeping companions, you slipped out of your bedroll and got dressed. The crackling campfire thankfully hid the rustles of your clothes and weapons. You left a note on your folded bedroll to quell your friends’ worries in case you took too long to return, gave the sleeping owlbear a passing pat, and then you were off.
Dashing through the streets of Baldur’s Gate was somehow more disorienting at night than during daytime. Thankfully the streetlights kept you from being physically blinded from the darkness, but without Astarion’s insight as a local, you could not help but feel that the twisting streets themselves were trying to eat you whole. It took far longer than you’d hoped, but eventually, you arrived at the Devil’s Fee.
The shop was closed, as expected for the hour. A quick scramble up a nearby tree and lockpicked window later and you were in. The ritual items were still in the room but moved to a nearby table instead of placed neatly in the ritual circle. Apparently Helsik was not a fan of having an open portal to hell so close to her bedroom. You carefully arranged the items into their original spot and opened the portal a second time that day.
Staring at the portal at your feet, you paused for a moment, just to let yourself think. What you were doing was impulsive in any definition of the word. You had a plan, yes, but it was a flimsy one at best. And if it failed… well, you came here alone for a reason. All you could lose at this point was your life, and you were long past worrying over something as pesky as simple death.
Mind made, you jumped into the portal.
The House of Hope was every bit as grand as you remembered. No new smell of sulfur in the air though, seems like the master of the house was still sorely absent. The same could not be said about the poor imprisoned cleric Hope. She blubbered and cried when she saw you again, terrified for your safety yet so, so grateful that you returned. You calmed her with a few words and empty promises (yes, you will be freeing her. No, you didn’t forget about her, just had to make some preparations) before moving on through the house.
The house was slightly less disorienting than the city streets, but the halls still threw you for a loop. Hope was happy to guide you, still believing that you were there to save her. You rushed straight for the Boudoir, surprising a lounging Haarlep almost as much as you were the first time you saw him. He was still wearing Raphael’s skin, which was somewhat distracting. You headed for the painting to the left of the bed, unlocking the safe that you ignored so eagerly last time around. Haarlep watched from his perch, most unhelpfully questioning your actions.
He hummed that your actions intrigued him, that your presence here was the most excitement he’d received in decades; not much happens in hell, you see. He was flirtatious the way only an incubus could be, carefully steering you toward handing over your mind as well as your body. It was only fair, he said, since he had given you such a good time and been so, so very helpful.
You laughed, pocketing the contents of the safe and planning your next steps. You apologized to the incubus - he would not be getting your soul today, but if it was entertainment he was after, you promised him a very interesting show very soon.
Haarlep seemed satisfied by your response. He lounged back again, comfortably against the cushions. You sounded different, he said, excitement maybe, but there was something else in your voice compared to earlier in the day. You agreed. Yes, it was excitement. You had something planned, and with every step you took toward that goal you only became more eager to see it done.
Blowing the incubus a quick but exaggerated kiss of goodbye, you left the Boudoir and headed to the archive.
The archivist was still in his post, no longer speaking with a debtor but appearing as though he hadn’t moved an inch since you last spoke. He still believed that you were one of Zariel’s Inquisitors, and so let you pass undisturbed. You ignored all the shiny artifacts in the room and headed straight for your contract, encased in a shield of magic.
You studied it, your literal deal with a devil. From behind the confines of its “display case” it looked just like any other piece of parchment. The messy scrawl of your signature stood out against the elegant script describing the terms of your agreement. Truthfully, the contract did not need to be as long as it was, but Raphael was one for the dramatics and had written everything in the form of poetry. You forced yourself to read halfway through before your eyes began skipping lines. Poetry wasn’t your thing, it seems.
No matter. You weren’t here to be clever about loopholes anyway. Bringing out the slip of paper you took from the safe in the Boudoir you carefully read out the code. The shimmering shield spell faded, leaving your contract exposed and ready to be grabbed. You reached forward and plucked the page from its pedestal.
Commotion shook the room immediately. You excitedly turned, hoping that your plan worked but no, it was just the debtors cackling and disappearing into poofs of flame. The archivist threatened and accused you of many vile things before he too disappeared in a swirl of cinder sparks. Well, at least you had someone’s attention. Hope’s apparition tells you the same, begging you to please, please hurry to her prison and smash smash SMASH her chains so you can both escape before the master returns oh please oh please do be careful of the enemies in the halls for she dreads to even imagine what they would do to you.
You calmed her once more, urging her to disappear back to her cell so none would see her with you. It took quite a lot of convincing this time (which truly began to test your resolve when she began crying) but eventually she, too, left you alone. Finally free of the insistent babbling of that little dwarf cleric, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment of peace.
Stretching your arms high over your head and backing away from the door of the archive. You located a nicely cushioned loveseat to the side of the room and threw yourself upon it, lying down lengthwise with your legs crossed and the contract resting neatly upon your stomach. The debtors seemed unwilling to fight you in the archive - a reasonable approach, considering all the priceless artifacts on display here - and you were not in a hurry to go anywhere in the house. Really, you had nothing to lose from taking a small break while you waited for the master of the house to arrive.
It didn’t take long, though longer than you expected (truly, you thought a devil would respond faster when stolen from. You could’ve escaped by now, if you really wanted to). You would’ve greeted the devil at his front door like a polite little intruder, but a part of you giggled at the thought of forcing Raphael to come to you.
Eventually, when the master of the house finally did arrive, it was with the same grandeur and scent of sulfur as before. He stepped through a flaming portal, flanked to the left by a dwarf woman with a striking resemblance to Hope. Raphael’s warlock, perhaps. To his right was the same orthon you defeated ages ago. Guess he did end right back where he started, hah.
Before anyone could say a word, you leaped to your feet and dipped into a dramatic bow. Oh Raphael, you were so very happy to see him! You apologized for breaking into his home, but it was the only way you knew to reach him. The whole process of only ever meeting him when he saw fit was quite inconvenient, you grumbled.
Raphael paused, clearly not expecting your excitement. Oops, you probably should’ve let him talk before speaking. Maybe it took so long for him to arrive because he was composing another monologue when facing you again. Perhaps you should tell him to give the speech regardless? No, that would be awkward.
Lucky for you, Raphael was quick to launch into another speech of his. Ever so eloquent, talking of mortals and their insistent need to meddle. You let him talk, even when he accused you of attempting to break your contract - he clearly loved the sound of his voice, and you needed him in a good mood. His warlock chimed in too. You could see why he chose her, what with how she perfectly supplemented his monologue.
When it was finally your time to speak, you happily revealed your perfectly undamaged contract, pristine as the day it was signed. You were not here to free yourself. You weren’t lying, you really did come all the way here just to meet with him! You see, so much has happened since that day you signed off on his deal. Revelations on yourself, on your past, your being as a Bhaalspawn and all the things you can choose to do in dealing with the Absolute. And, most importantly now, what to do with the Crown of Karsus after.
It was now that you revealed you didn’t believe what he said at Sharess’ Caress for a moment, but that was all right! If he was to use the crown to wreak havoc upon the worlds and take control of the nine hells you were all for it! There was just a little part that you can perhaps play in all that as well.
Raphael cut you off before you could speak further. He asked with no effort of hiding his contempt if you have truly lost your mind, assuming that waltzing into his home would leave you unpunished at the end of all this.
Haha! A laugh forced its way out of you, so loud and sudden that you had to hold your stomach to keep from falling over. Punishment! Oh, that was an excellent thought! Tell me, oh lord Raphael, what punishment did he have in mind for one such as you? One who broke no rules, no contracts, and was merely here with a wonderful little… business offering?
(Dimly, you noticed that your voice was a lot higher than normal. A bit of madness, maybe even a hint of your dear sister Orin? Eh, nothing to worry over.)
Perhaps your sheer unpredictability was enough to pique his curiosity. He allowed you to proceed, with the added caveat that his patience was thin to begin with. Perfect! You wouldn’t have asked for any more. So, you began explaining your plan.
It was really simple once you broke it down. After you bring him the Crown of Karsus - which you never even considered refusing - he will most likely use it for something dastardly evil. Something that horribly vile would most certainly attract the most eager of heroes. Of course, you didn’t think they’d prove an actual threat to him! That would be silly, no mere mortals can possibly stand up against his power. But they would be a nuisance still. Even rats can chew through supply lines, and taking over all nine hells is such a busy task that annoyances like upstart heroes would be quite the hassle, wouldn’t he agree?
He tells you to hurry up and get to the point. Rich, coming from him, but you noted the lack of malice or boredom in his voice. He was interested.
With a flourish of your arms, you stated the true offering you came for: a secret alliance. You would take the role of a hero so valiantly defying his rule, gathering any other wannabe heroes under either your power or your guidance. And then, little by little, you can send these heroes to their deaths. The two of you will work together to create the greatest farce of a resistance, the false promise of a fight against his terrible reign.
Beside Raphael, you notice the orthon Yurgir silently seething. You crack a grin at that. He’s all too familiar with your deceptions sending trusting fools to their deaths. Maybe this plan reminded him of your meeting. You wondered briefly if he would attempt to seek revenge on you, someday.
Raphael considered your proposal in his usual, poetic way. He chastised you for daring to imply that mortals can even be an annoyance to one such as him, but you got the vague feeling that it was only said for show. He then asked what was in it for you.
Adoration! Heroism! The worship and praise and love from crowds believing that you were there to save them. There was nothing else you wanted more. To be wanted, desired, to be seen as better, to have the devotion of others. The love and loyalty offered by your party of adventurers was the best thing you’d ever experienced, and you wanted more of that, so much more.
Raphael laughed and gave you a small applause. You were a far more wicked creature than he thought. Was it all a lie then? The sweet touches and protectiveness you showed toward your party when he met you in the past? All a ruse to gain their affection?
Not all of it. You had to admit. You did enjoy the company of your companions, but at one point, the high of experiencing the results of their love overrode your actual care. So what if you orchestrated events that would bring you closer? They loved you all the same, and that's what you wanted. That was what you were here to get.
Raphael approached you, sauntering with an easy swagger you were willing to bet money that he spent afternoons perfecting. You straightened as he neared, and when he reached out to touch your cheek you didn’t even flinch.
And what if, he asked, one of your current darling companions decided to oppose his rule?
He could have them! You declared with no hesitation and a touch of deranged giddiness. It would have to be orchestrated carefully, of course. To have it happen in a way that was tragic yet unavoidable. The result of some devious plot, a betrayal from one of your convenient enemies, a backstabbing, perhaps. All done to draw eyes away from yourself, who will mourn their tragic loss.
Raphael was satisfied with your response. He nodded and stepped back, dismissing his warlock and orthon. Once they were gone, he held out your contract once more.
Well, a new contract was in order, he declared. Though a tad inconvenient this time. You came with an offering of service to a devil, one that only benefitted you as a happy coincidence. Contracts must be transactional, and so for you to be locked into this deal, there must be something else you wanted.
After all, Raphael drawled, a charming warlock like you can’t possibly have forgotten that nifty little detail.
You snapped your fingers. Yes! In fact, there was something perfect he could provide. You recently discovered that the mystery patron of yours turned out to be your own dark father, Bhaal. Considering how you have most thoroughly lost his favor (and is, quite literally, dead to him), you are no longer a warlock - not that your companions are aware, of course. They just assumed that your death and subsequent resurrection had a somewhat negative effect on your combat capabilities. And now you’re just some regular adventurer not quite adept with the blade and somewhat decent with spells. You dearly missed your powers, and you were quite in need of a new patron.
My, my. You had it all figured out. Raphael sounded almost impressed, which sent a jolt of happiness through your heart. A new warlock pact in exchange for your partnership. And none of your friends would be ever the wiser. It really was quite the plan.
So he accepts the offer? You asked, no attempt in hiding your true eagerness.
In just a moment, he said. Drafting up the contract would take him a while, it all had to be perfect. You expressed utmost gratitude. You wouldn’t expect anything less than perfect from the likes of him, anyway.
Soon, your new contract was ready for you to sign. Not a song, like Yurgir’s, nor an elegant poem like your first contract, but that of a story told in rhyme. It told your story in quite a theatrical fashion. You read through the lines carefully. Even in its dramatic and story-like form, the contract left no wriggle room. No loopholes benefitting either side could be found, and you have become quite the expert in contracts by now.
You told Raphael that you hoped he intended to hide this contract better than the previous one. After all, the effects of the deal rather heavily relied on the secrecy of such a deal even existing.
He urged you not to worry. He had somewhere quite secure in mind. A pen was pushed into your hand and, with no further reason for hesitation, you signed the contract.
And oh, oh that flow of power into your veins. To have been an abandoned warlock for so long and finally regain the favor of a patron, that rush of ecstasy was enough to make you moan in pleasure. You tested the sparks between your fingers. Perfect, exactly as before and oh, so, perfect.
Content with your accomplishments, you readied yourself to leave. Raphael mused that he certainly made the right decision all that time ago to contact you and support your journey. You were proving to be so very entertaining. He was quite eager to see where your actions would lead to next.
You bowed dramatically; you lived to serve. Though… there was the concern about the souls who knew of your presence here today. Yurgir had not a lick of loyalty to Raphael and the warlock, well, you knew enough about warlocks not to trust her so blindly. There was also the concern of Hope, who helped you so willingly, and the shopkeep at Devil’s Fee. You expressed all your concerns to Raphael.
He assured you that he would handle it, and all you needed to do now was scurry back to your little camp and pretend-friends and finish what you set out to do. Everything would be for naught if you failed in your final battle. Get stronger, and fulfill your role.
You laughed and thanked him again. Of course, of course! It was perfect, all so very perfect. Everything was in place exactly where you wanted it to be. And with a goodbye and a wave, you danced out of the room and through the halls, thankfully free of any hostile debtors now. You left the House of Hope, navigated through the city almost dusted with morning twilight, and made it to your camp in record time.
Before reaching the camp, you managed to school your expression and body language to that of empty neutrality. Just a night out to clear your head after a rare failed mission, that was all. Lucky for you there was no need for such pretence. None of your companions awoke during the hours that you were gone. Even the note on your bedroll remained unopened and undisturbed.
You carefully destroyed the note and slipped back into bed. Better catch a blink of sleep before the sun fully rises. There was a full day of activities ahead, and you simply could not wait for all the battles to come.