#bg3 orphic hammer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scuttlingcrab · 4 months

Text

The Great Hunt

In Search of a Hammer

I recently discovered some rare dialogue where Raphael returns the Orphic Hammer to Tav if they “misplaced it.” Hilarious and perfect. Naturally, I had to write about Raphael finding out about Tav’s incompetence and jumping through hoops to return it to them before the last battle.

Summary: Raphael learns from Korrilla that Tav foolishly sold the Orphic Hammer in an attempt to earn some last minute gold. Raphael hunts down the Hammer before his dreams are destroyed forever.

Notes: This will be in 3 parts! Part 2 is now here: An Absolute Waste of Time. Part 3 is coming soon! 🥰

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via keylana-dragon)

Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat.

The gentle rapping on the door of the Devil’s Den was enough to disturb Raphael, to pull him from his current train of thought. He pursed his lips, letting out a stream of hot air from his scrunched nose like a vexed dragon. There was only one who knocked in such an irritating, irregular rhythm; always with a slight air of caution, as if they were already apologising for the sin they’ve yet to commit. Why must these damned creatures insist on such blatant trepidation in his presence? With all the interruptions as of late, he would’ve preferred at least a shred of authority with their actions.

“What is it this time, Korrilla?” Raphael snapped, slowly closing the diary he had been scribbling in. “You are becoming more irksome than a gaggle of babbling children.”

There was a long pause before the door to his suite creaked open, allowing in the sounds of rushed, heavy footsteps. The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted as Korrilla waited behind Raphael, his skin prickling as he sensed the tides turning.

In all the years of service to Raphael, Korrilla only entered the room in such an undignified manner when there was a problem. The last time she barged into his quarters, disrupting a rendezvous with a client that had been years in the making; she announced that the Crown of Karsus had been stolen from Mephistopheles’ vault.

Raphael interlaced his fingers atop the rosewood desk, squeezing his hands together as he waited for what felt like aeons for Korrilla to give her explanation.

“Speak!” He barked, his words violently cutting through the silence. “You of all creatures should know that time is of the essence.”

Korrilla coughed in surprise at the sudden outburst, nervously clearing her throat as she took a step forward.

“Right, I uh. Well, see… You’re not going to like this…”

“Do not tell me my dear father has finally decided to pay me a visit?”

“Well… no, it’s not that bad, but…” She hesitated, her voice quivering.

Raphael straightened his back, twisting like an owl so he could glare at Korrilla. She winced at the action, as if he had struck her.

“I’m afraid that, um… that little mouse, your favourite client? They’ve sold the Orphic Hammer.”

“They did what?!”

“Needed the coin apparently. I tried to stop them, even went to the s–”

Raphael slowly turned away from Korrilla, loosening his hands. He placed his palms on the desk, digging his nails into the rosewood. The tips of his fingers glowed red as the piece of furniture burst into flames.

––

Mamzell Amira stood behind her counter near the entrance of Sharess’ Caress, leaning against a small bookshelf. She had her arms crossed, squeezing them just enough against her chest to show a healthy amount of cleavage.

Her prized house of pleasure was bustling, the busiest it had been in years, and all thanks to Lord Gortash’s recent coronation. She could just about hear the sound of gold ringing in the pockets of lustful customers as they crammed into her establishment, wanting a taste of what Sharess’ Caress had to offer. Her accounts would indeed be plentiful after that day alone, helping her relieve a few more debts that had been stacking up as of late.

Mamzell’s gaze drifted back to the young half-elf in front of her, who could still not meet her eyes without blushing. She had been stuck in a conversation with him for the last hour, trying to coax him out of that shiny shell of his. The boy had a handsome face and dark eyes that told her a different story, one of a raging beast lurking beneath the surface of that sheepish disposition. He had a lot of potential and she knew the perfect pairing for him…

Out of nowhere the entire building shook frantically, as if the walls trembled in fear. The room became silent as everyone waited for the tremors to end, but they only got worse. Another earthquake? And so soon? But no… deep shouts reverberated through the ceiling, getting louder and louder, causing the windows to shatter and the lights to flicker sporadically. She could just about recognise that voice… No matter, whoever that was, they better leave a generous tip.

“As I was saying, sweetling; my expertly trained courtesans can elicit all sorts of reactions from lucky patrons...”

——

The Devil’s Den was ablaze. The wooden ceiling groaned as it continued to warp from the blistering heat. Thick flames consumed everything as it moved across the suite, making its way towards Korrilla.

Korrilla crawled in the direction of the door, desperately trying to escape the inferno. Raphael stood in the centre of the room, hellfire bursting from his body like an erupting volcano. He shed his mortal skin, sneering viciously at Korrilla.

“Mamzell Amira isn’t going to like this…” Korrilla shouted over the turbulent flames, concealing her mouth from the smoke with the sleeve of her dress.

“I’ll be damned what that wretched woman thinks, you insipid creature! She is bound to me regardless, so let her clean up this mess after I’m finished with you. In fact, I will burn this entire pathetic city to the ground. The Illithids will have nothing to claim but charred bones and ruins by the time they arrive.”

The ceiling fell behind Raphael, bringing a wine rack down with it. A large blast of embers continued to swirl around the Devil as wine bottles met the flames, exploding like fireworks.

“Raphael, we need to get o–”

“Where did they sell it? Tell me at once!”

“B-Beehives' General Goods… in the Lower City.”

Raphael roared, flapping his wings and causing the fire to grow more ferocious, mirroring his temper. Of all the shops Tav could’ve approached, they had stooped so low as to sell it there. To one of the dullest, most idiotic merchants Raphael had encountered in the last century. If that imbecile desperately needed the coin, why didn’t they approach Raphael? Had he not offered them salvation? A way out of their impending fate? He had made it so easy, so effortless for them! All they needed to do was free Orpheus from those damned infernal bindings. He should have made it more of a challenge, maybe then they would’ve stuck to the script.

The Devil lashed his tail, destroying what was left of the blackened desk and tearing up the remaining floorboards in the process. How could he have allowed himself to be so daft, to leave such an important part of his plan to mere mortals? If he failed now, when he was so close to the Crown, to his destiny, he would be known as the laughing stock of the Hells. The bards would make a mockery of him in song for all eternity. Raphael’s worst nightmare.

Around him, the Devil’s Den and his dreams crumbled, turning to ash. No. No! He would not let that happen. There was still time to make amends.

“Gird your loins, Korrilla.” Raphael bellowed.

“Wait, what? You can’t be–”

Raphael snapped his fingers, immediately sending Korrilla away to another plane. Temporarily banished. He didn’t care where he sent her, he just knew that if he had to look at that face for another second, he feared what he might do to her. The dwarf would prove useful in the days ahead and yes, she did meddle in his affairs from time-to-time, but she was a loyal servant. A strong warlock. She could survive anything.

He’d find her later, for another scolding and a proper debrief, once the Hammer was back in the hands of that trying little mouse.

——

Oliver Tefoco prided himself in the Beehive General Goods. Somehow he still managed to keep his little shop afloat, even after the Absolute targeted the city’s main gates, putting the business in jeopardy. Oliver never thought he could run it by himself, not without his beloved wife, Kroyce, at his side. He had sent his wife and children away when the cultists attacked the city. And all for the best, really, who knew if and when they’d strike again. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been truly alone; without the sounds of his wife’s idle chatter or his children’s laughter as they ran up and down those rickety old stairs. It was all too quiet now. Gods, he sure missed Kroyce, constant nagging and all...

The merchant stiffened, immediately rising from his chair behind the counter, as if Kroyce might walk in at any moment. Perhaps he should tidy things up, just in case. It was getting a wee bit dusty in there and besides, there had been no other guests since that dishevelled group of adventurers visited him hours ago. Selling him that strange hammer, he had never seen one quite like it in all his years as a merchant.

He might as well keep himself busy. It’s what Kryoce would do.

Oliver ventured into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a rag and wooden bucket filled with water.

“Right…” Oliver muttered to himself, dabbing the rag in liquid. “Better get going.”

Oliver started his task by cleaning the shelves behind the counter, removing the contents from each level. Bottles of wine, potions, books and more books; he had practically everything. Perhaps too many things, maybe he should sell some bits and bobs at the next market.

As he began clearing away the cobwebs, a strong scent of sulphur abruptly filled the room. The air felt heavy against his thin frame, and he found himself struggling to breathe. He paused, dropping the rag in the bucket. Did he leave the stove on? No, can’t be right. He didn’t remember…

The merchant turned around and was unexpectedly face-to-face with a tall, dark haired man. Oliver let out a high pitched scream, nearly falling over backwards.

The stranger loomed over Oliver, his eyes a peculiar golden colour, resembling the flickering flames of a candle. As Oliver stared back at the man, he noticed his skin sizzled, hissing like an overflowing kettle. How long had that man been standing there? He would have to check on that blasted door chime, that’s the second time this week it decided to stop working.

Oliver licked his lips, trying to swallow but realised his mouth was uncomfortably dry. His tongue stuck to the top of his hard palate. Sweat cascaded down his forehead, making his beard a soggy, droopy mess.

“H-hello, my good sir! How may I help an esteemed guest such as yo–”

“I am looking for a hammer.” The man’s voice was deep, intoxicating.

“A h-hammer, you say? Why, I have plenty. Hammers for building, s-smithing –”

“No, no…” The man slowly raised his finger, shaking it side-to-side. Oliver could’ve sworn he saw a spark fly from those fingertips. “This is no ordinary hammer.”

“I-I only have ordinary goods, sir. P-please if you are not satisfied, might I also offer you some light nibbles, perhaps? Or maybe some potions to cure any–” Oliver started going through the rest of his usual spiel in an attempt to calm his nerves.

“You will listen to me.” The stranger growled in response, taking a step towards Oliver. “Someone came into your shop today, selling you a hammer, did they not?”

Oliver’s mouth hung open in confusion and he scratched his head, staring at the man in front of him. The stranger's face turned into a terrifying scowl as Oliver continued to gape. There was something familiar in his face, the way he talked, moved, those fancy clothes… Where had he heard that voice before? And those eyes…

“Did they not?” The man said again, his tone rising.

“Uh, yes? Hold on…”

The stranger perked up slightly, but his eyes remained stern. He edged closer to Oliver.

“A funny dwarf woman came in here earlier,” Oliver continued, “asking the same type of questions. But I will tell you the same thing I told her. I am not giving away any information. No sir. Those are my rules–”

“Where is the hammer?” The man's voice rumbled through his chest. The room was sweltering and Oliver leaned against the wall for support, feeling woozy. He sniffed the air, smelling something new, something burning. Smoke rose from the feet of the stranger.

“L-listen here, sir.. I mean no trouble, but I don’t do business with thugs. If that woman is going to send her goons after me, well–”

Oliver never considered himself a brave man. He practically avoided conflict his whole life, save for that one time he punched a man in the face, due to a misunderstanding. He often thought about what he’d do if he was ever threatened, he had no idea how to hold a sword and knew just the basic fundamentals of magic. Despite that, he felt pretty confident he could take on that stranger. No matter how weird he smelled, or how the ground caught fire where he stepped. Just an illusion, that’s what Kryoce would say.

The stranger raised his hand, and Oliver put up his fists, preparing to counter whatever attack came his way. The man pressed his thumb and middle finger together and Oliver gasped. Long black nails protruded from his fingertips, reminding Oliver of... claws.

The man snapped his fingers and Oliver suddenly found the world around him very, very big.

——

It was impossible for Raphael to keep calm as he tore through the Beehive General Goods. He had turned the entire residence upside down as he searched for the Hammer, plundering the top floors and basement like some sort of petty thief. He ripped through the walls and floorboards in the off chance the merchant hid the Hammer there.

The Devil knew what merchants were capable of. He had dealt with many in his career, and they were always hiding something, withholding important information if it might make them just an extra bit of coin. There was nothing of value in that so-called shop anyways. Rubbish, the lot of it. And still, no Hammer to be found.

Raphael had been reckless, he would never dare show his cambion form outside of the usual safe houses. It was dangerous to do so in Baldur’s Gate, but he had no other choice. Time was running further away from him the more he dawdled, searching for the Hammer. Raphael would be the least of that merchant’s worries, let alone the entirety of Faerûn, if Tav didn’t have the Hammer soon.

The sound of glass breaking pulled Raphael away from his internal monologue. A large rat darted across the floor, running back and forth in a rapid attempt to find a hole to hide in. Raphael grinned as he knelt down, picking up the creature by its tail. It dangled in his fingers, squirming.

“My dear, dear merchant. Are you ready to give me an answer? Or do you prefer being a slimy little rat? I would say, this look suits you quite well. Although, it would be bad for business, don’t you think?”

Raphael squeezed the rat’s tail tighter and it screeched.

“Good. Now, let’s try this again. Where is the Hammer?”

To be continued…

71 notes · View notes

scuttlingcrab · 3 months

Text

The Great Hunt

An Absolute Waste of Time

Summary: Raphael is MAD. So full of rage and malice he is about to burn down the entire Sword Coast before the Mind Flayers even arrive. What could possibly get the Devil's knickers in such a twist? Tav, oh that cheeky little mouse, sold the Orphic Hammer. And for what? Gold, of all things.

In this second instalment, Raphael tears through Baldur's Gate, from the Circus of the Last days to the Blushing Mermaid, trying to locate it.

He has never stooped so low…

Check out PART 01: In Search of a Hammer here!

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

The Devil stood in an alleyway across from the Beehive General Goods, feasting his eyes on the flames as they devoured that worthless shop whole. The building was destroyed faster than thought, leaving nothing left but a lump of charred scraps. That didn’t stop a throng of mortals from gathering; just like maggots infesting a corpse, they quickly exchanged gossip in a hushed buzz, chewing over theories as to what could’ve possibly caused such a tragedy.

Muffled squeaks came from below Raphael, the noise grating against his ears. He gazed towards the sound, sending a stabbing look at the creature responsible for creating such an annoying racket. A large rat was confined in a jar, frantically clawing its glass prison in an attempt to escape. Raphael’s smile held a touch of mockery as he picked it up, rocking it only just to cause the rat to fall over.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, my dear Oliver.” Raphael whispered, bringing the glass closer to his mouth. He hissed at the rat, briefly showcasing his Devilish fangs before concealing them again. “The next time someone calls upon you, asking for a particular item, it would be in your best interest to show them the utmost respect. That is, if you’ll ever be fortunate enough to walk this earth on two legs again.”

The rat’s beady eyes widened as it recoiled, finding no means of escaping Raphael’s scathing glare. Instead the creature screeched in terror and began running around in circles. Pathetic. Raphael halfheartedly discarded the jar, throwing it over his shoulder as he walked deeper into the alley, further removing himself from the growing chaos in the streets.

As cathartic as it was admiring his work, and torturing that insufferable shop owner, it would get him nowhere. Time waits for no man, or Devil, and Raphael had to act quickly if he was ever going to succeed in his plights to unite the Hells.

Raphael nearly shattered Oliver Tefoco’s soul into a million pieces, threatening to simmer his corpse in a cauldron and make jam of his remains. He would sooner have fed that to a stray dog than let his tongue touch such filth, but Oliver was none the wiser. All this effort just to extract what was needed from that worthless creature. The whereabouts of the Orphic Hammer. He got his answer, eventually. These maddening mortals would be the death of him, they had no ounce of intellect, no common sense, throwing around an item as valuable as the Hammer like it was yesterday’s trash.

The Devil stopped abruptly, resting his hand against his hip. His chest tightened, his breathing growing more erratic as his heart began to convulse. No. His fingers burned, the tips pulsing red, on the verge of erupting into Hellfire at any moment.

Raphael needed to restrain his temper. After all, he was saving it for one person in particular, the very mortal who deserved all his wrath, and all the pain and suffering that would soon come raining down upon them. Tav. The sole fool responsible for these recent inconveniences and his current rampage through Baldur’s Gate. If they hadn’t so gleefully sold the Orphic Hammer for gold, Raphael would be sitting comfortably in his best silks, sampling his most decadent wines, and waiting for the final battle to begin. It’s that same little shit who had somehow lodged themselves straight into his head, becoming his very own parasite. Any other unfortunate mortals who just so happened to get caught in his fiery rage were merely collateral. They could all burn, turn to ash, for all he cared. He wouldn’t stop until he had the Hammer and his Crown.

Snap!

A fiery gateway appeared before him and he stomped through towards his next destination: The Circus of the Last Days.

Popper the Kobold was having the very best day of his entire life. Well, maybe that wasn’t true, he’s had plenty of good days, he could count them all on one hand. Wait, no both hands. He was sure he had more good days than this. To be honest, he couldn’t remember much of what happened yesterday. He was too focused on the juicy prize in front of him as he dragged a fresh corpse through the Circus of the Last Days, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He just couldn’t believe his luck, like earlier, buying that hammer for practically nothing! His very first hammer too! What a deal. It was the biggest, prettiest hammer he had ever seen, the top reminded him of blood, tasty blood, that’s why he liked it so much. And it sparkled like a diamond. He was really looking forward to smashing things with it, lots of different things, but then he found that corpse. Oh, yes. Nothing was better than a fresh body stuffed with loot. He practically skipped all the way back to the Circus as he hauled it, so chuffed with his little ol’ self for making such a swap. Probably his bestest swap ever!

Popper swatted away all the nasty looks from the humans as he pushed through the crowd at the Circus’ entrance. They all stared at him like they knew the dead person he was holding. He even made a few of those smaller, weaker humans cry and run away, but he paid them no mind. Maybe they’ve never seen such a delicious snack before. Maybe they were jealous… that’s right, jealous! He better get straight to business then, the sooner he could pull that body apart, the faster he’d be left alone. It would be no good, absolutely no good, if Lucretious noticed he brought another corpse to the Circus. They’d steal it, just like the others! And experiment on it with their dirty magic. This was his corpse! His! He’d show them!

The Kobold finally reached his tent and threw the corpse in the centre of his living space, quickly scurrying to a large crate stuffed in the back, near the privies. He dug through the crate, packed with all his very favourite toys, pulling out random scissors, broken knives, and even a few odd bits of monster parts, things he definitely forgot were in there… until he finally found it: a large rusted cleaver. It was covered in a thick layer of grime. It had seen lots and lots of bodies, yes it had!

“This is most perfect!” Popper explained, to nobody but himself.

Whack, whack, thump, whack.

He immediately began slicing at the corpse, hacking off limbs in no particular order or with any care, licking his lips as he pulled apart an arm and ripped up a leg. Before long, he got himself into a rhythm, chopping faster as his stomach growled with excitement. Oh, the treatos he would have!

Popper was nearly finished too, until he stopped, unexpectedly distracted. He scrunched his snout, tilting his head up high as he smelled the air around him. He stuck his tongue out, licking the air like it was an icy treat. Something smelled like burning and tasted rotten, like the Hells.

Screaming came from the crowd near the stage as Popper watched a thick coat of smoke rise into the air like a huge balloon.

“Maybe they’s be adding some new magics? Or… they’s really be loving Dribbles’ new replacement?” Popper whispered, nodding to himself. He was ready to start again, but he noticed something else, something weird coming towards him.

A tall man, dressed real fancy like, definitely not in normal people's clothes, pushed through the other humans; not even saying ‘scuse me as he did so. The ground at his feet turned black as he came towards him. Oh, this man was mad. His face was all scrunched up, his mouth curling in all sorts of directions. Maybe he ate something that didn’t agree with him? But the oddest thing of all, this man was staring directly at Popper! Giving him a creepy look, meaner than anything he’d ever seen, even from Lucretius.

“You!” The man shouted, his voice shot through the air like an arrow, making Popper drop his cleaver.

“Y-you come for me? You must be wanting my treatos!”

The man was very tall, casting a long shadow over Popper. The Kobold nearly fell over looking up at him.

“Oooh! You is casting some real fancy magics.” Popper pointed at the ground as flames appeared at the man’s feet, like he was standing in the middle of a campfire. “You is the most perfects human for the stage, sirs, has you—“

“Treato…?” The man began, his face getting more twisted, just like the roots of a tree. Actually, the more Popper stared at the man, the more he realised his eyes were the scariest, most terrifying things he had ever seen. There was definitely fire in those black eyes.

“Uh… yes? Duh! Treatos. I have lots. Is that not why you’s are here? Popper only has the bestest treatos, yes sirs. And magics. If you has any—“

“If I cracked open your skull…” the man continued, “what would I find inside? Hmm? Oh, I know. There would be no brain, that’s for certain. If there was anything, I would imagine it to be the size of a grain of rice. Undetectable to even the most skilled physicians.”

“Yous what? Take your fancy smelly clothes and eat shit, you human bastard! I has the biggest brain and I is…”

Popper had a poor temper. He always got in a lot of trouble for snapping at customers if they said certain things to him. Once or twice, well maybe more than that, he bit someone’s hand clean off. And another time, he nibbled at an elf's toes. All because they said his treatos were mouldy! Nobody makes fun of Popper. Their toes didn’t taste any better. He hasn’t done that for a while though. Lucretious would fire him right out. And he needed this job. But boy, did Popper want to bite this man. Real good.

The man pointed his long fingers at Popper and he noticed the man’s skin was red, just like his, and he had long black fingernails. All of a sudden, Popper wasn’t very hungry anymore.

“You will cease this stupidity at once.” The man’s voice was low, as if a growl. “I have wasted enough time already. So we will cut to the chase. Heed carefully what I say, you flaming imbecile. And you will answer me plainly. Else I will take you far away from here and slowly pick your worthless body apart, scale by scale, until nothing remains.”

Popper gulped, his tail curling between his legs. The only thing he could do was nod back at this man, who really wasn’t much of a man, the more Popper thought about it.

“Good.” The man said, placing his hands on his hips. “Where is my hammer? I know you have it. I spent the last hour torturing a man only for him to cry out your name repeatedly.” There was a long pause as Popper stared up at the man, unsure what to say, confused as to why this man would be torturing anyone, let alone looking for a hammer. “Do I need to spell it out? Perhaps I need to use a simpler language for the likes of you.”

The man leaned down, within inches of Popper’s face.

“Oh… Oh!” Popper raised his finger in the air as he just realised something. “I in fact, once had a hammer. But not for very long, you sees, it just so happens…”

Popper continued to tell the man how he came to find the hammer, the one matching his exact description, which Popper found very funny. What were the odds! But he stopped laughing when the man glared at him again, showing some sharp teeth when he grinned. Which wasn’t very gentlemanly.

At that moment, the Kobold wished he still had that hammer. So this man could go away and he could go back to doing other stuff. Like thinking about what he was going to eat for supper. Actually, the more Popper thought about it… that corpse probably wasn’t worth it. This was turning out to be too much trouble. Maybe it wasn’t his lucky day after all. He even found himself wanting to apologise for all the times he ever wished terrible things on Lucretius.

They weren’t so bad. Or scary.

Not at all.

Raphael despised the Circus of the Last Days. It was a vile place. Absolutely vile, the lot of it. He couldn’t fathom these mortal buffoons parading around and calling themselves enterainters. And the worst part of all? The clowns. They were a mockery of the stage and its true purpose. There was no art in what they claimed to achieve. He hoped a few of them might perish in the day’s ahead. And by no means a quick death either. Something excruciatingly slow and agonising. Like roasting their bodies over a spit of Hellfire, a thousand times over.

These raging thoughts grew bloodier, more gruesome as he moved on, going from one location to the next. He was certain his heart could sink no further, but he was quickly mistaken as his search for the Orphic Hammer proved to be never-ending. Somehow, the damned thing kept evading him, always missing it by mere moments as it was handed on to the next moron who decided to gamble with their fate. Raphael’s anxiety grew worse, wrapping around him like the tendrils of a Mind Flayer; squeezing his limbs, crawling up his neck as he progressively found it harder to breathe, to concentrate.

Of course Raphael had no issues getting what he wanted from Popper. But that itself came at a cost. Raphael had received too much information, practically hearing that creature’s entire life story. No detail was spared. It would forever be ingrained in Raphael’s memory, the monotony, the stupidity, of it all.

In the end, Popper had met a band of mercenaries and traded the Hammer for a corpse. A putrid corpse. Raphael eventually tracked them down, the group lurking about some caves near the Lower City like a bunch of thieves. But did they have the Hammer? Of. Course. Not. It couldn’t have been that easy. They had lost it. Naturally. In the sewers, of all places, abandoning it after they came across some wizard. Or so they said. He was very much looking forward to meeting this ‘supposed’ wizard. Before Raphael left the mercenaries to their business, he viciously snapped his fingers, causing all their precious loot to melt away at their fingertips. The ones who had it on hand screamed in agony as the gold, the necklaces, even some of their armour and swords, merged with their flesh. Served them right.

“Bah!” Raphael screamed, his voice echoing off the slimy sewer walls. When the sound faded, the only thing he could hear was the continuous dripping of water as it leaked from the decaying ceilings above him.

Raphael was lost, wandering the sewer system beneath Baldur’s Gate for what felt like days, years even. His boots were soiled, completely ruined. He was covered in filth up to his knees as he trudged through the cesspool. He would certainly be burning this entire outfit when he was through. No spell or potion would be able to cause these rancid smells to disappear. A shame, really. This was one of his favourite doublets.

As he manoeuvred his way through the snaking, narrow pipes, he made a mental note to revise Tav’s current contract; adding in an additional clause, or perhaps two, for every minute he spent searching for the Hammer, and for the ruination of his wardrobe.

The stench of the sewers progressively worsened as Raphal entered a large chamber, the excrement somehow smelling more bitter. He took a step forward and nearly slipped, holding onto the crate next to him to avoid falling face first in the muck. He looked down, only to discover he was stepping in grease.

“I will wring their sorry, little, pathetic neck!” Raphael cursed, steadying himself as he began to take careful, calculated steps through the rest of the chamber.

“What’s this cousin?” A squeaky voice spoke as a Drow appeared from behind a corner, revealing themselves rather flamboyantly. He was dripping in the same greasy substance that covered the floor, and surrounded by what seemed like an army of grease elementals and mephits.

The Drow pointed at Raphael, “Ah! It is but another Absolutist, come to see what we–”

Raphael took one look at the Drow and rolled his eyes.

Snap!

The entire room instantly turned into an inferno, every creature within the vicinity of the grease was consumed by flames. Their screams lost against the raging fire. Raphael didn’t even know who that Drow was, nor did he care. There was no more time for talking.

He continued through the extensive network of sewage pipes, navigating every underground hallway, tearing apart every room as he dug through boxes and discarded chests, but he found no Hammer.

He eventually stumbled upon a man standing alone in a hallway. The mortal was dressed in plain armour, his face riddled with all sorts of interesting scars. Perhaps at another time he would've loved to pry open that mortal and find out how he got those marks. There was no one else around him, and he simply stared at Raphael, with absolutely no care in the world.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen an Orphic Hammer floating around this cesspit? Hmm?” Raphael said as he approached the man, standing in front of him.

The man held Raphael’s gaze, but he did not respond.

Raphael gritted his teeth, his fists trembling as he raised one hand in the air, preparing his thumb and middle finger for this man’s immediate extermination. The Devil was emotionally exhausted; the weight of it all, his infernal obligations, his hopes, his doomed destiny… it threatened his strength, his resolve. If he sat down, slumping against the grimy walls of the sewer, he would fall into a deep sleep from which he might never awaken. Hammer or not, this charade needed to end, this unfortunate act was going on for far too long. Raphael almost wanted to applaud the entire situation, for whoever was behind the scenes orchestrating his madness. His despair. How many more mortals would he need to obliterate before he found the Hammer? If he found it at all? Flames appeared at his fingertips as he held the pose, his anger building. The mysterious man didn’t even blink.

“Raphael?” Spoke a familiar, low voice. “I never thought I’d see you here.”

He twirled around at the mention of his name, only to find Mol staring at him from the opposite end of the hallway. Her eyes were wide, eyebrows raised as she gaped at him in confusion, holding a small dagger in her hands.

“A most welcoming sight indeed.” Raphael dropped the flames, clapping his hands together with relief as his temper cooled.

Mol grinned, sheathing her dagger.

“That one doesn’t talk, by the way. Which is really annoying, if you ask me.” There was a brief pause as Mol eyed Raphael up and down, “Say, what are you even doing down here? I heard a HUGE explosion and came running out of the Guild. Thought it might’ve been, you know… the end of the world.” Mol spoke the last few words in a hushed whisper.

A tiny sliver of hope fluttered in Raphael’s heart as he looked down at Mol, she could be the one who got Raphael out of this mess. The Tiefling could have the answers, a lead, something! She was resourceful, had her eyes and ears all over the city. There was a reason he had secured a deal with her in the first place. Mol's soul was one thing, but she had potential, promise, he never doubted her for a second.

“As much as I’d love to catch-up with my budding protégé, I must act swiftly. I have no time for pleasantries, I’m afraid. I do have but a small favour to ask of you, however.”

Mol’s eyes lit up like fireflies.

“Anything!”

Raphael leaned towards Mol, his face growing serious.

“My Orphic Hammer is missing. You know the one. I’ve seen you snooping about my archives, flipping audaciously through some restricted documents.”

Mol’s cheeks turned red and her eyebrows raised, only for a moment, but she did not look away from Raphael. She was guilty, yes, but not ashamed. A valiant trait.

“Nothing escapes me, but if it was anyone else and I’d have incinerated them on the spot. Now, please, do you know where it could be? Have you heard anything that might be useful? Time, my dear Mol, as you know, is of the essence.”

“Hmm…” Mol bit her lip, her forehead wrinkling as she thought long and hard.

“No, I’m sorry Raphael.”

Raphael deflated into himself, burying his face in his hands. The disappointment was crippling. His skin caught fire without warning as he began to change into his cambion form. His doubts, those treacherous thoughts of failure, crashed down on him from every direction. He massaged his temples, attempting to keep himself calm, collected, especially in front of Mol.

“But… and you might find this interesting, actually…” Mol continued and Raphael stopped short, mid transformation. Devilish horns peeked out of his mortal head, a tail sprouting from his back, but the rest of his human proportions were otherwise the same. “I’ve heard there’s rumblings of a big trade happening at the Blushing Mermaid, and I mean BIG. You might want to stop by. That’s the only thing I could think of. I wish–”

Raphael quickly cleared his throat, rectifying his appearance as he slid back into his mortal disguise. He straightened his posture, smoothing his doublet and trying not to grimace at the filth that still clung to it.

He placed his hand on Mol’s shoulder, giving it an appreciative squeeze in good measure.

“There is a reason I decided to be your mentor, Mol. I knew you’d never disappoint.”

Raphael giddily clapped his hands and a gateway appeared behind him, leading directly to the Blushing Mermaid’s interior.

“Mol, might I suggest you find a suitable safe house for the time being. These rumblings are only going to get worse. You were right in your thinking earlier, the end is near. It would indeed dampen my spirits to find your soul waiting for me upon my return, or to perhaps learn that you’ve been turned into an Illithid. Prepare yourself, and I will meet you when this business is concluded.”

“Yes, boss!”

Mol gave Raphael an enthusiastic salute, befitting of an experienced general. That gesture alone made him beam with pride.

This mentorship would prove to be a wise investment indeed.

“Could you believe Fenris…?” Lissa muttered, resting her head on the table. It was sticky, everything was bloody sticky at the Blushing Mermaid. This place was a dump, but it was more affordable than the Elfsong. Especially on her wages.

The gnome didn’t care though, all she wanted was for the world to stop spinning. She felt like she would retch up yesterday’s, today’s, and tomorrow’s breakfast at any second. She had too much to drink. Again. She should really stop taking up the bottle, she could only handle one drink with her figure, and she had drunk at least four so far today. It was all Vola's fault, that damned half-elf, she was a bad influence.

“Dragging that… t-thing…” Lissa carried on, suppressing a burp, “What w-waas it again?”

“Huh?” Vola groaned awake, her head lolling side-to-side as she tried to focus on Lissa. “Oh… you mean… t-that… hammer? It was a hammer, right? F-fucking huuuuuuge for a hammer, ha!”

“The hammer!” Lissa screamed, “y-yessss, the hammer.”

Lissa and Vola stared at each other, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, slamming their fists on the table like a pair of monkeys.

“Gods, Fenris dragged that hideous thing through the dirt, c-couldn’t even l-lift it. Fell r-right on his f-fat faace.” Lissa struggled to lift her head, hitting it against the back of the booth they shared. She blinked slowly, barely able to keep her eyelids from falling shut. “Ne-never sseeen such a t-tthing in my life.”

Lissa reached too fast for the half-empty glass in front of her and caused it to topple over, the ale cascading in all directions.

“Oooooops.” Lissa said, still laughing.

“W-whaat a waste!” Vola proclaimed.

Lissa turned towards the bar, raising her hand high in the air. She was about to call for the bartender when she noticed a very tall, and extremely handsome man standing at their booth. Oh he was a charming son of a bitch, with a smooth smile, and dark, pretty eyes. His clothes were a bit dirty though, but Lissa had seen worse.

“Good afternoon, my esteemed drunkards.” The man said, his voice was rich, deep, and dreamy.

“Would you allow me the pleasure of purchasing a drink for you both?”

“Free b-booze?” Lissa asked.

She looked to Vola for confirmation, but the half-elf was fast asleep, her mouth hanging open. Lissa kicked Vola under the table and she shot awake, her arms flailing in all sorts of directions.

“Free b-boooooze.” Lissa whispered, tilting her head toward the man at the head of the booth.

“On me.” The man said with a wink. He smiled broadly, showcasing such white, beautiful teeth.

The man did some sort of magic trick, conjuring sparks by snapping his fingers, or clapping his hands… Whichever it was, he caused two massive glasses of ale to appear on the table.

“W-wooooow.” Lissa and Vola muttered in unison.

The man slid into the booth, edging closer to Lissa. She sniffed the air, smelling all sorts of lovely, new things. Cherries, and a yummy flowery smell. She ignored the sudden stench of the sewers though, convinced it was from the Blushing Mermaid.

Oh she didn’t want this man to ever leave.

“I’m very curious about this hammer you’ve been discussing.” The man said, his eyes locking with Lissa’s. “Please, tell me all about it…”

The Devil watched over a mortal man as he slept soundlessly in a small bed, his protruding belly slowly rising with each staggered breath. His snores rattled the very walls of Flaygo’s Flophouse, but Raphael paid no attention to the irksome noise around him. His eyes were focused on the Orphic Hammer the man clung to in his slumber, holding it tightly like he was but a babe in a crib.

The sun had already begun its descent, a purple glow leaking in from the open window. He could see the entranceway of Sharess’ Caress from his vantage point in the cramped room; the brothel was as busy as ever, despite him setting the Devil’s Den ablaze mere hours ago. Raphael let out a long, exasperated sigh at that thought alone. An entire day gone to waste, when the Hammer was under his nose this entire time. Fate was cruel, the weaves unpredictable, no matter how hard he tried to control them.

Raphael couldn’t pull his eyes away from the Hammer, he dared not to. It could be an illusion for all he knew, vanish the moment he reached for it.

The man turned over in the bed, taking the Orphic Hammer with him as he shifted, groaning in his sleep.

“Oh, I do hope you’re having a pleasant dream.” Raphael whispered, taking a step closer.

Raphael was within inches of the man now, so close he could smell the booze reeking from his breath. As he extended his hand towards the Hammer he paused, beginning to chuckle. It started slowly, but grew more ferocious as every second passed, until he was nearly on his knees, roaring with laughter. Fire spurted from Raphael’s mouth like a forge as he wheezed, unable to control his breath, to contain himself any longer. Tears formed out of the corner of his eyes, flooding down his cheeks. They evaporated as soon as they met his scorching skin. Despite Raphael’s raucousness, the man remained undisturbed.

The Devil had seen it all, tortured just about every miserable soul from the Outer Plane to the Elemental, but he never thought he’d see, let alone experience, anything like this. A lowly creature, clutching on to the future of mortal-kind. A tale worthy of the bards.

Suddenly, the earth shuddered violently, as if waking up from its own slumber. Paintings flew off the walls, bookshelves toppled over, and the room vibrated continuously as the quake worsened. Mortals screamed from the streets below as some of the buildings in Wyrm's Crossing began to topple from the earth’s constant movements.

Raphael swiftly collected himself, shaking away any remaining bouts of laughter. He clapped his hands to rid his outfit of any evidence from the day's plights. When he was satisfied with his appearance, and found no speck of dirt or grime left, he snapped his fingers, and the Hammer flew into his hands. He squeezed its hilt until his knuckles turned white, feeling the weight of the Hammer in his hands.

Showtime.

A reckoning was coming and not the one Tav might’ve expected.

To be continued…

#bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #mol bg3 #popper bg3 #circus of the last days #raphael x reader #orphic hammer #raphael fanfic #baldur's gate 3

32 notes · View notes