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The group had just finished meeting with Nettie after saving Arabella from that snake of a woman currently acting as head druid. They had also found notes around the druids’ sanctuary that implied Kahga was working for some outside group in secret, even finding a note with a specific meeting place. Seeing Kahga threaten a child like that angered Mortimer more than they could even put into words. The kid was only trying to survive, like all things in nature, and yet this self-proclaimed druid had treated the girl like a festering tumor, even called her a poison. So the idea that the woman had some dirty secret they could air out thoroughly intrigued her, they had to check that area out.
But first they needed to get a better lay of the land, and ask around to see if anyone else in this grove had information about the missing archdruid, the goblins, or anything else that could be of use. Mortimer spotted a tiefling woman on the hill above them, holding what looked like a lute, and began making their way over. Just as they crossed the archway out of the center sanctuary of the grove, a puff of smoke appeared next to them, along with the smell of sulfur flooding the air. They turned and were met with a man in rich clothes who spoke in an all too calm voice.
“My my, what manner of place is this? A path to redemption, or a road to damnation? Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning.” He continued on like time was of no importance. But Mortimer could only focus on the smell that surrounded him. It was all too familiar from their time in Elturel, and if that meant what they thought, then this man was a major threat. He continued peacocking with some Cormyrian rhyme, a thinly veiled thread about cats and mice.
“Well met, I am Raphael, very much at your service.” He smirked and gave a slight bow as he spoke.
“Pretty words, if you want to threaten me, don’t disguise it.” Mortimer had one hand on their staff and a thorn whip ready to go in the other. Out of their periphery they could see both Astarion and Shadowheart standing ready for a fight. It seemed they weren’t the only one who had a bad feeling about this man.
“Why, I never! You must be paranoid. Yes, it must be the surroundings, decidedly too middle of nowhere for my tastes. Come.” He sneered, and with a flash they all suddenly found themselves in a large, lavish banquet hall. “There, middle of somewhere.”
Mortimer began to panic at the unfamiliar scene. “Take me back. Now.” The whole place reeked of sulfur ash and blood so strongly it made their eyes sting.
“And deny you the honor of my hospitality? This, is the House of Hope, Where-”
“Get to the damn point!” They tried to sound angry rather than frightened, but their fear surely leaked through.
Raphael chuckled, “Fair enough,” and with another puff of infernal smoke his human disguise vanished to reveal deeply red skin, horns, and leathery wings. “Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. But a savior? That’s for certain.”
Mortimer took their staff into both hands, muttering the incantation for shillelagh, they would fight their way out of this place if they had to, or die trying. Either option was preferable to whatever this devil had planned.
“Easy! Easy! I’m here to help, not harm.” The devil held his hands out in front of him. “Consider your predicament. One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight.” He began circling around them, a hawk eyeing its prey. “I could fix it all, like that.” He flourished with a snap at the end of that sentence, and stepped forward, crowding into Mortimer’s space, taunting them.
“You’re fucking mad if you think I’m making a deal with a devil” They lifted the end of their staff against the fiends chest, who just smirked and stepped back like it was part of the game.
“Oh and what is madness but a denial of reality. Still, I think you’ll change your mind before it’s changed for you. Try to cure yourself, shop around. Beg, borrow and steal. Exhaust every possibility until none are left. And when hope is whittled down to the very marrow of despair, that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door.” He squared his shoulders and placed a conniving hand to his chin, “Hope! Hahaha! Such a tease.”
Mortimer took a steadying breath. He wasn’t forcing them to make a deal or die, not yet anyway. Of course, one could argue that the tadpole had done that part for him. “Take me back. Now. After that I never want to see you again.”
“Oh by all means, bite the hand that feeds you, while you still have teeth. 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” He stepped forward again, leaning his head down so they were forced to look him directly in the eye. “I’ll be there when it runs out.”
With another flurry of smoke, they were back in the grove where they had been standing. They looked around frantically, and saw their companions, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Gale, who all looked just as bewildered by the encounter.
Mortimer could feel their heartbeat thundering through them, hear it in their ears. They couldn't breathe, couldn't manage to take in enough air no matter how rapidly they filled their lungs. They could see their companions look at them with concern but couldn't manage to care. They shoved the butt of their staff into the soil beneath them and leaned against it for support. They were back. They weren't in Avernus. The devil was gone. They tried to remind themselves of that.
“From the ground, of the ground, to the ground. From the ground, of the ground, to the ground.” They pressed their forehead against their staff as they recited that one mantra like a lifeline. Faintly they registered a hand on their upper back, gently trying to soothe them. “From the ground, of the ground, to the ground. From the ground, of the ground, to the ground.” They murmured a few more times, before they were finally able to settle. Feeling energy pulse up through their staff, they looked up to see a few small clusters of mushrooms had sprouted from the wood. Alongside them were scattered patches of moss that now covered the rough bark of the dead tree branch they'd shaped into a staff naught but two tendays ago.
“We should make camp, we'll have no luck finding this Halsin if we're exhausted” They turned to discover it was Shadowheart who'd laid a hand on their back.
“Of course, but are you sure you're alright?” She asked gently.
“Forgive me for prodding, but while a visit from a devil would surely make most people uneasy you seem particularly shaken.” Gale spoke up, Mortimer wasn't entirely sure if it was out of concern or curiosity.
They took a deep breath and once again held their staff like a walking stick in order to better support themselves. “I'm a tiefling and I'm from Elturel. I'm very much fed up with devils having more say in my life than me.” They tried to sound stern but they couldn't manage to meet their companions’ eyes and their voice still shook. “Can we go? It's been a long day.” The others nodded and the group made their way back to the clearing they'd agreed on for a campground earlier.
Lae'zel already had a fire set up and it appeared Wyll had found his way there and was in the process of setting up his tent. The rest of them split off and each began putting up their own tentw as the sun started to set. Before long Gale had started cooking dinner and Mortimer had settled on one of the logs by the fire with a cup of wine, occasionally druid-crafting some herbs for Gale's cooking at his request.
Wyll approached and sat down next to Mortimer, holding out his own cup which they filled from the bottle that sat at their feet.
“So I hear we have a devil keeping eyes on us now.”
“Ugh, don't remind me.”
“And you hail from Elturel, it would seem.” Mortimer nodded, taking a long drink from their cup before refilling it. “So then were you with Zevlor’s group before the nautiloid? Or a different group of refugees?”
“Neither. I'd heard of Zevlor but never met him before today. I spent the last couple tendays on my own in the woods outside Elturel. Where I started learning druidry too.” They tried not to lay any mind as the rest of their group, save for Lae'zel, slowly gathered around, apparently curious about their past.
“What of your family? Did you get split up somehow?” It was clear Wyll’s questions were in good faith, trying to comfort or commiserate, but Mortimer couldn't help but bark out a laugh.
“Oh please, my ‘family’ is all comfy at home in their keep. The Descent was their chance to finally be rid of me. No place for a first-horn that could sour the family name.” Wyll looked at them stunned, some of the others traded glances, not quite knowing what to think. Sensing that the questions weren't going to go away, they resigned themselves to explaining. “I was born to house Cihler, a noble human family. My parents were none too pleased when they realized their newest babe had horns. Anyway, I didn't have the luxury of knowing other tieflings in my corner of the city, so when the Descent happened and my kind were forced out, I was just on my own. Until the mind flayers snatched me up that is.”
“Your folks didn't say anything in your defense?” Gale spoke quietly, apparently shocked but their story. He'd mentioned his mother back in Water deep once or twice, and it sounded like they were on good terms. Mortimer could only guess that hearing about their parents’ coldness has surprised him.
“Do you know what ‘Mortimer’ means?”
No one answered them, perhaps afraid to guess correctly.
“Dead sea. Or in my case, dead in the water. My mother made a habit of reminding me that if it weren't for the priest who had witnessed my birth, she would have thrown me into the Chionthar and told the public I was stillborn. Ironically, the presence of a holy man is the only reason this devil-child is still alive.” They lifted a hand to knock on their horns for emphasis.
Everyone was silent for quite a while. While it put their parents' treatment into some perspective, the last thing they wanted right now was to be pitied.
“Well. Now you know. I don't like devils because they've always managed to have more say over my life than me. Now, if you're done grilling me about my past.” They grabbed the bottle of wine at their feet and stood up “I'm going to see if I can drink this brain-worm away.” They lifted the half empty bottle to their mouth and stepped off toward their tent.