#devil wyll needs some wings and a tail

[eggsaladed]

some fancy lads + shart <3

[shimmerbeasts]

TEMPTING – VERY TEMPTING. Such an offer, but this one has slipped through her claws once before, and how others had been punished for such bold and daring actions to try and read between the lines. That was her job, her contracts were ironclad and always tilted the scales into her favor, always. She cannot be cheated, she cannot be tricked, she cannot be robbed of what she is owed and this one, well let’s just say that her interest was there and that was free for the time being, everything else afterwards .. well that was going to become costly and this little mortal was already within serious debt, no point in adding to the collector and having countless fight all over the pieces once it comes time to carve her up. “Is this a bad time darling, do you need another forty winks to get some beauty sleep.” A hand on her chest and a coy smile upon her lips, false flattery and mocking words aplenty, but it is the nature of such dealings.  She already had her claws in many little pets within the land, why on earth would she want for anymore than what she had, but then again.  A deal was a deal and a contract was almost mouth watering to cut out her useless debtors and merely go right to the person causing her so much trouble and offer them, well what everyone wants, the deal of a lifetime.  No tricks, no little back doors, just a simple deal, what she wants, in exchange for what she wants, it was truly so simple. She had the blade, a hero, a legend within the land, but how he fights and denies, time and time again, how this ought to work. “I am here, to see if you wish for more from me, your sample, is it not to your liking, and that is nothing compared to what you can have, if you only ask for it.”

"Ha ha ha", Jinx called out, feigning amusement at the joke, "I cannot contain my laughter. Ha ha ha."

Her mismatched eyes drifted over towards Mizora's large, bat-like wings. Bats had hollow bones. It allowed them to fly. They also were particularly fragile and the leathery skin, too, was something, which ought not be damaged. Jinx idly wondered whether or not Mizora would be robbed of the power of flight if she yanked just hard enough, twisted her bones by a joint and caused it to snap. Or perhaps she should take out her dagger and cut into the leathery skin that way.

The thoughts felt good like dipping your bare feet into the warm waters of a boiling spring. They coaxed a sly smile out of Jinx's lips and her tail flicked from one side to the next. Still, she forced the contemplation down. As much as she wanted to do it - and that desire burned to the point her muscles cramped -, she knew it would jeopardise Wyll's safety and hers. The tiefling could not let that happen.

Hearing Mizora ask her what she wanted, if she wanted more power, the warlock began to pace back and forth like a displacer beast in a cage, large tentacles flicking back and forth. Powder peered after her, the familiar's tail matching her tail's slow curls and flicks. Jinx closed her fingers around her chin as she thought long and hard. Finally, she stopped and looked at Mizora.

"Here is the kicker", Jinx admitted, "I am not really after more power, so I really do not know how to ask for what I want. I am more invested in what's going on in here." She tapped a clawed finger against her temple. "Not the tadpole, mind yah! I am more interested in the whole other stuff. All these images and intrusive thoughts... I do not wanna get rid of them. But I do wanna understand them better. I think in the past, I specifically chose to become a ranger to understand what goes on in my head, but it didn't lead to the result, I wanted. Hunting game in the woods and even hunting people is different than the way people are, well, diabolical. Soooo, do you think you can help me on that front? Or is that out of a devil's skill book?"

@fallesto cont. from here.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 12

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** We all agree that young Raphael slept around a lot in Mephistar, right. Why else would Mephistopheles send an incubus to keep him distracted I mean come on. ***

“Uuuuuungh.” 

When Raphael opened his eyes with a groan, his head was pounding so badly he almost didn’t notice, at first, that the wall of his room no longer had mouths. Or ears. Or eyes. And it was no longer bleeding, come to think of it. Of course it had never really done any of those things, but it had looked very much real the previous night. 

For what was probably the hundredth time, Raphael told himself he’d stop taking that much gughalaki. For the hundredth time, he knew it was a promise to himself he was not going to keep. With a grunt, Raphael tried to stretch his wings, only to find he couldn’t. He blinked again and finally realized that gravity had not, after all, doubled. There was someone’s body on top of him, naked as he was, probably feeling the after effects of gughalaki about as badly.

“Get off me,” Raphael grumbled, pushing himself up and getting the other devil - an harvester devil whose name he really couldn't be bothered to remember - off his back.

He rolled on the mattress with a groan which Raphael entirely ignored: he just unfolded his wings, shook them briefly to uncrumple them, and sat up on the bed. He also chose to ignore the ache in rather unglamorous places beneath his tail as he did so, and looked down. 

Snoring away on the floor, on top of a heap of clothes, was another harvester devil. Raphael couldn’t remember his name either. Or when he’d rolled off the bed, if he’d been invited to his bed at all. Had he fucked him too? He stared for a moment, wondering if he cared to find an answer to any of those questions; the pounding in his head told him he didn’t, and he just stepped past him on his way to the dressing table. 

Raphael splashed some water on his face - he’d need a proper bath, he mused, to get the dried come and stale sweat off himself - and looked into the mirror. Around his neck was a collection of bruises, none of them dark enough to be all that visible on his skin; the bite marks he could see on his shoulder and collarbone had barely bled, too. He scoffed. Someone had made a show of choking him while he was under the influence, apparently, and hadn’t even bothered to make a decent effort.

“Next time you take the liberty to mark me,” he muttered, not knowing or caring which devil was responsible, or if both were, “you may at least act like you mean it.”

The devil on the floor barely twitched, and snored louder. On the bed, the other one finally lifted himself on an elbow, and spoke in a groggy voice. “Up already, lordling?”

“I have souls to bind. You may leave my room at your earliest convenience, as long as your earliest convenience is within the next five minutes,” Raphael replied, just as he noticed with some annoyance that his last jar of gughalaki was now empty. He’d need to pick some up at his first chance; it seemed the only thing that packed enough of a punch anymore. It had been years since Infernal wine had done anything for him.

But it would have to wait. First, he had to head out to the Material Plane to get more contracts; seven years since his arrival in the Hells, it had become rather clear that was the closest he had to a true calling in his existence. And he was good at it - better than most, truth be told; he’d lost count of the souls he’d bound to contract, bound to his lord father.

Not that he got any thanks for it. Mephistopheles cared for nothing but his experiments, for the artifacts in his vault, and Raphael wouldn’t catch his attention if he brought back the soul of the Archmage of Eileanar himself. Sometimes he’d wondered if he should have told him that he could use hellfire on their first meeting, if he’d hold him in more regard if he had. But of course, he now saw that the High Cantor’s warning hadn’t been without merit. It would have given him attention, sure enough, but the wrong kind. 

He knew now that what he’d done that day in the mountains was supposed to be impossible. At worst, Mephistopheles would have dispatched him to the School of Hellfire for Quagrem to study, even if it meant tearing him apart to find answers. At best, he may have decided the ability would make him useful on the battlefield and dispatched him to serve in the Blood War. Nevermind that, in the years since, Raphael had never successfully summoned hellfire. Perhaps he never would; perhaps it was never hellfire and he was mistaken, or perhaps it had been a fluke. 

Of course it was. Everything noteworthy I ever do seems to be just that. Little fluke, they ought to call me.

With a scowl, Raphael looked over the report that had so very conveniently appeared on the enchanted parchment. His eyes scanned it, and paused.

A drought in Tethyr, reducing the populace to despair. Raphael rather enjoyed droughts - few things made mortals desperate enough to enter an Infernal contract than the threat of imminent starvation - but this time, his eyes paused on the place. 

Tethyr. He had not been there since he’d left the Material Plane for the Hells. He’d tried not to think of it, either. But now he did, and there was a pang of something in his stomach that had nothing to do with the previous night’s exertion or drugs. 

Maybe it was a sign, he mused, that his work would take him to Tethyr that day of all days. Twenty years exactly since his birth; it meant nothing there - it certainly meant nothing to Mephistopheles - but it had meant something back-- home -- in Fort Starspire. A day of mourning that the mortals who’d raised him still made an effort to celebrate in his presence. 

It’s a surprise, birthday boy. What kind of surprise would it be if I told you?

This was gathering dust in the crypt. You may as well use it, but it will need new strings first.

The crypt, of course. His-- Lord Starspire would be there, surely, as always, to stand watch next to his late wife’s grave on the anniversary of her death. Perhaps, Raphael thought, he could make a stop there on his way to his targets. 

You’re loved here, promise your Nan you’ll remember that. Come back see us.

By the time he set the parchment down, kicked the still sleeping devil on the floor in the side and snapped for both of them to leave, his mind was made up.

Seven years later, it was time to pay that visit after all.

***

“Hey, Raphael?”

“Wha--”

“Voco arvina!”

“Agh!” 

Raphael threw out his arms, trying to grab onto anything as his boots slipped on the puddle of grease the thrice-damned vampire spawn had cast beneath him, and found nothing. The only thing that spared his back a painful meeting with the rocky and greasy ground was a Mage Hand grasping the front of his blazer, leaving him suspended in mid-air.

“Ah, you didn’t think fast enough,” Astarion was muttering, and Raphael craned his neck to glare at him, choosing to ignore the hyena laugh of the tiefling some paces ahead. He had little enough patience for such antics as it was, but this was turning into an extremely aggravating habit - particularly with Karlach taking such delight in watching him fall for it.

“What precisely are you trying to achieve, spawn?”

A smile. “Just a little fun, and teaching you how to be alert on the side.”

“You’ll find your fun quite spoiled when I decide to turn you into a sheep,” Raphael muttered, shifting his gaze towards his hair. “If anyone could tell the difference.”

A gasp, a hand over his heart. “Love, are you hearing this?” he exclaimed, all faux outrage. “The thanks I get for trying to help!”

A chuckle, and the bhaalspawn gestured for the Mage Hand to bring Raphael closer, away from the grease puddle. “It would be best to try helping with spells that do not spread around flammable materials,” they pointed out, tilting their head towards the rivulets of lava running just a few feet away from where they stood. Not that Raphael was precisely standing, as the soles of his boots were still greased and he slipped the second the Mage Hand set him down. This time, however, the bhaalspawn was close enough to catch him. 

Of course that was when it struck, a sudden jolt of pleasure up his spine, a stirring in his groin, the unmistakable sensation of someone grasping the base of a tail he no longer had--

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

Raphael clenched his teeth, but even so he was unable to hold back a moan, and his knees buckled; had the bhaalspawn not been already holding onto him, he’d have crumbled to the ground. Instead he grasped their arm, and shuddered. 

“What-- oh. Right.”

“... The incubus?” the vampire spawn asked, all amusement gone from his voice. 

Raphael may have wondered about that - unlike him, letting such a chance for mockery pass by - if he’d had half a working mind to wonder about anything. Instead he could only clench his teeth, trying to smother his next moan and only partially succeeding. Whoever Haarlep was with was holding nothing back. It was far from the first time it happened - he doubted there was a single fiend left in the upper floors of Mephistar who had not sampled his body through Haarlep - but there had been fewer instances since he escaped, and usually at night.

“Of course I can’t entirely refuse to use your likeness all of a sudden, you understand,” Haarlep had told him when he’d last seen them in his tent. Their voice had been almost a purr as they curled around him, bare chest to his naked back, lips brushing his ear. “Can’t have a particularly perceptive one think anything’s amiss. But I’ll try to sway them towards other forms, little brat.”

Apparently, this one couldn’t be swayed. “I’ll skin them alive,” Raphael ground out, not quite knowing who he was thinking of - Haarlep, or whoever was with them. He squeezed his eyes shut, face burning, just as Ravengard’s voice called out. 

“Hey, is all good back there?”

Don’t let them see, Raphael wanted to say, but another shudder ran up his spine, and he could form no words. Astarion, on the other hand, could and did. 

“All good! The old man slipped, that’s all. Durge’s taking care of it,” he called out, and walked off to meet the others, so that they wouldn’t come closer. Raphael let out a shuddering breath, sinking against the dragonborn’s chest, faintly wondering when they had knelt down.

“It should pass soon. It usually does for me,” they said, and tightened their grip around his shoulders just a fraction. A phantom grip clenched on Raphael’s throat; it was not enough to choke him but if he felt it so clearly, it was certainly enough to choke Haarlep. 

Raphael shivered. “Well, it doesn’t for me,” he ground out. “What do you do to make it end?”

“Er…”

Ah, of course. Raphael swallowed, choosing not to wonder what, precisely, had just caused that sense of heat in his groin just then.

“Astarion usually helps--”

“Never-- ugh-- mind. I believe I can… guess.”

An awkward clearing of their throat. “Well, sometimes we also talk about something else. To distract me.” A pause, then, “... You once mentioned you know what my old name was.”

Raphael nodded, eyes shut. He tried to focus on the words, on the steady heartbeat against his ear rather than his own thundering one. Their scent reminded him of iron, with the faintest hint of ozone that often stuck to storm sorcerers. “Yes. Have you changed your-- mind, bhaalspawn?”

“No. I don’t think I want that name back. But… would you happen to know who the people who took me in were, before… before the Urge, before the Cult of Bhaal?”

Raphael blinked. It was not a question he’d expected, and not one he could answer. “I fear not,” he said, his voice now a little firmer. The phantom sensation of touch, heat and pleasure-pain lingered - the echo of claws raking down his back; Haarlep would be bleeding, surely - but it was starting to grow fainter, and collecting his thoughts became easier. “I did not learn anything from your early life. I know nothing of those who took you in.”

“Ah.” A pause, a sigh. “Well, it was worth a try.”

“Do you wish to track them down?”

“I don’t think that’s an option. I butchered them all; that much I can recall.”

“... I see.” A pause, a long breath. It was not as shaky as before, the heat beginning to fade. “I suppose it makes sense.”

“Part of me mourns them, but do I even have the right to?”

Somewhere in the back of Raphael’s mind there was something, a darkened crypt and hands on his face, weathered fingertips tracing his features. He shut his eyes tighter to chase the memory away. “That makes no matter,” he said, his own voice distant. “No point in mourning someone who was always meant to die. The first sacrifice on your father’s altar. They had to go for you to join your true family.”

“It was not a family worth joining.”

“Few are, I find. Yet--” a pause, a shuddering hiss. “Yet they stake their claim on us, and we can but obey.”

“I could have chosen to defy Bhaal all along. I did, but too late. If I had done so earlier--”

“You defied him and died. If you had done so earlier, no ancient god would have been there to bring you back to life.” A scoff. “Not everyone has a very convenient seneschal at hand to ensure survival when they run afoul of their father, bhaalspawn.”

A chuckle. “Fair point. But you lived to tell the tale, too.”

Raphael shook his head. “Barely,” he said, bitter as bile. “A mutilated relic of what I was.”

“You should only consider yourself temporarily inconvenienced. As Wyll would say, where there’s a Wyll, there’s a Y.”

“... Don’t make me regret saving his life any more than I do already.”

The bhaalspawn laughed, and Raphael opened his eyes. At last, with the ghost of a shiver, all sensation that was not his own faded. He allowed himself a long breath before pulling away. It took more effort than he was willing to acknowledge.

“I… I believe it’s over.”

“Need help to stand?”

“... If you please.” When the phantom sensations that came with an incubus using one’s body faded, all effects were gone quickly; that at least Raphael could count as a mercy. A quick brush of his clothes and he looked ahead, where the rest of the party had paused. 

They all were giving them their backs except for Astarion, of course, and it was no coincidence: he’d placed himself in such a way they’d turn away to look at him as he spoke, in a rather clear act of misdirection. Whatever he was saying, it had the other three laughing. 

When he and the bhaalspawn joined them, they seemed none the wiser… or at least, the tiefling and the warlock did. The druid’s look of concern lasted a few moments too long for Raphael not to suspect he had guessed something; he may very well be more familiar than the others with the effects of an incubus using one’s likeness, close as he was to the bhaalspawn. Still, he said nothing of it. 

“Are we ready to continue?” he asked instead, and Raphael nodded, looking towards the salt flats ahead. On the left, a massive volcano loomed - Bel’s Forge. The former archduke hated Zariel enough he might happily help them in their mission, but at the same time Raphael was wary of making his continued survival known to any fiend if he could help it; through the MIrror of Mephistar, his father had spies across Avernus… and a simple disguise spell would not fool Lord Bel for long, either. Perhaps he could consider an alliance later, but for now, getting to the sword seemed the best bet.

“Yes. We cross the salt flats to the Styx’s riverbank. Then we follow it to Haruman’s Hill--”

“Ugh,” Karlach muttered, making a face. “That’s a bastard I’d rather not face.”

“... As much as it pains me to agree with you, me neither,” Raphael muttered. “But we need to cross the Styx, and that’s the narrowest point - one where a Dimension Door or a spell to grant flight will suffice to cross with no need for a barge. And crucially, one without standing watchtowers when I last looked.”

A hum, and she crossed her arms. “Yeah, that’s right. Makes sense.” She clearly found admitting as much as pleasant as having her teeth pulled out, but she did not argue. “And with some luck, Haruman won’t be there. It’s not like he’s stuck on the hill all the time.”

“True enough. Besides, we’re unlikely to reach the hill until at least another couple of days’ walk. We should first concern ourselves with getting there.”

Astarion made a face as they resumed their march, looking over at Karlach. “Well, in case we’re unlucky-- who’s Haruman, exactly, and what should we expect?”

“Oh, he’s a nasty piece of shit, first of all. He’s a narzugon - they also call them hell knights - and apparently he used to be a paladin, until he came here with Zariel…”

As they proceeded through the salt flats, keeping several eyes out for possible threats, Raphael found himself making a very conscious effort not to look in the bhaalspawn’s direction, not to think of how pulling away from them had felt far more difficult than it had any right to be. But of course, the more he tried not to think about it, the more he did think abou-- 

“Hey, Raphae--”

“Oh no you don’t !”

Looking back later, maybe he shouldn’t have been that quick to react with a spell - but as the saying went, once bitten, twice shy. For a moment the entire group stopped in their tracks and fell silent, eyes shifting from Astarion to Raphael, and then back to Astarion.

From his part, Astarion was glaring at Raphael. Or trying to.

“Baaaa!” he protested, somehow sounding just as outraged as a sheep as he did with the wherewithal of speech. 

“... Huh.”

“... Heh…”

“Pffffft--”

The tiefling was the first one to crack, her cackle turning to a full-bellied laugh within moments. She had to lean forward, holding her stomach, and the ensuing ‘baaaaaa’ of protest was enough to make the others crack as well, however unwise it was, standing in the open in Avernus and laughing. The bhaalspawn and the druid were trying at least to keep their amusement down to chuckles; the same could not be said of the other two. 

“Hah! Oh gods-- sorry, Astarion, it’s just-- hahahaha! Oh, your hair hasn’t changed at all!”

“Yes, it still looks good! No need to be sheepish!”

“Do you - hah! - do you still have fangs, or…?”

“Baastarion, the world’s first vampire shee-- ow!”

Astarion’s decision to take out Wyll Ravengard at the knees with a well-placed headbutt brought forth more laughter, not least from Ravengard himself. Raphael kept staring at the scene, somewhat baffled, until the bhaalspawn dropped a hand on his shoulder, causing him to recoil.

“You know,” they said, chuckling. “I think he only meant to ask you to play the Song of Rest this time. But perhaps that should wait until he’s back to normal.”

“Ah,” Raphael muttered, and looked back at the sheep. Finally, he smirked. “It seems you didn’t think fast enough, either.” 

The sheep looked back and snorted, loudly. Somehow, even like this, Astarion was able to convey an extremely annoyed ‘fine, you win this time, but watch your back’. With a chuckle, the druid stepped forward and picked him up. “Fear not, I’ll carry you until the effects pass,” he declared, sounding just a touch amused, and carry him he did as the journey resumed. 

Astarion looked back towards Raphael and the bhaalspawn over his shoulder; it was the first time, Raphael mused, he’d ever seen a sheep looking smug. They were only minutes into the walk when, with a chuckle, the bhaalspawn leaned over to Raphael. “I’m ready to bet he’ll get Halsin to keep carrying him even after he’s turned back.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow. “Bet what, if I may enquire?”

“If he doesn’t get Halsin to keep carrying him, I’ll give you a pair of Wondrous Gloves. If he does, you quit calling me ‘bhaalspawn’, and resign yourself to calling me Durge.”

“You drive a hard bargain. I’d say the fact I no longer call you rat is overly generous as is,” Raphael muttered, only for the bhaalspawn to grin, all fangs, and elbow him on the side.

“They’re great gloves for a bard.”

“... Mph. Fine. I suppose I may get used to an idiotic name.”

“I also have a Cap of Curing--”

“No.”

“Good for bards.”

“I know what it is. I will hold onto what dignity I have left by not putting that on my head.”

“Choosing style over practicality, you of all people?”Astarion’s voice rang out, causing both to look up and see him back to his usual self, grinning at them over the druid’s shoulder. “I am positively aghast!”

Raphael stared at him for a few moments, then sighed. “Very well,” he muttered, “ Durge it is.”

A grin. “Much obliged,” they said, and fished into their bag of holding to give him the gloves anyway. “May as well put them to use,” they added, and Raphael took them without a word.

***

“What happened? Are you all right?”

Submerged in hot water to their neck and still wearing Raphael’s likeness, Haarlep cracked their eyes open and turned to see Dalah had slipped in the room, shutting the door behind herself. She looked… rather close to terrified, really. Haarlep blinked again. 

“I’m rather well,” they said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie; they would be well soon, either way, even if that bath did not have the healing properties of the restoration pool back in the House of Hope. They could take quite a lot but even by incubus standards, but the client who’d just left had been… something. Raphael had few friends at court, if any, but none seemed to both loathe and desire him quite as much as Bele, Justiciar of Cania. 

Their little brat must have felt that one quite clearly for sure. “As for what happened-- well. The usual,” Haarlep finally said. “I am not certain you mean to ask for details, though?”

A long breath, and she seemed to calm herself. “I see. When I saw the Justiciar leaving…”

Ah, of course. Haarlep chuckled, making a vague gesture with their hand. “Rest assured, he was here for the only reason anyone visits an incubus. You have no reason for concern. When it comes to important matters, Bele remains none the wiser.”

“... I see. So, he’s-- safe?”

“Well, safe as one can be in Avernus. Still, no threat to him from Cania yet, and he’s in more than competent company. That’s as good as it gets for now, I’d say.” 

A sigh of relief, but when her eyes fell on the marks on Haarlep’s throat, she pressed her lips together. “Can I get you-- something? For that?”

“Ah, there should be a healing potion in the cabinet on your left, if you’d be so kind.” 

Admittedly, the potion did help. Haarlep gulped it down, breathed out, and leaned back against the side of a tub with a sigh.

“That’s much better, thank you,” they muttered, and turned to the human with a grin. “I heard that one of the guards in the vault deserted his post.”

To her credit, her expression remained impassable. “... Yes, I heard so too.”

“Heard, or saw?”

“They will not find him.”

“I didn’t think they would. Raphael’s Ascended form was always volatile, even when it wasn’t running on half a soul. If someone crossed him, they wouldn’t even find the bones. Was it an unprovoked attack, or…?”

“He had raised his flail on me.”

“Oh.” Well well well. Look at that. Haarlep rolled their shoulders and grinned. “He responds to his old name, and intervened to protect you? I could almost believe he knows who you are.”

“He does. He remembers… things. There was this rhyme--”

“Down came the claw.” Haarlep hummed, and splashed some water on their face. Well, Raphael’s face, technically. “Yes, my little br-- Raphael was always fond of that one. Clearly, this half of him is not nearly as mindless as they like to believe they made him. It may play to our advantage, when the time comes.”

“When the time comes for what ?”

“You know I cannot tell--” they began, only for her to cut him off, pale-faced.  

“Please, Haarlep.”

A pause, a sigh. Mortals really were as stubborn as Raphael always claimed. “I cannot tell you a thing. But if you can make a guess, I may tell you if you’re wrong.”

Dalah nodded, slowly. “... Is he to be some sort of sacrifice, in some grand scheme? Did Baalphegor save him so he may die at a more convenient time?”

Haarlep smiled. “Wrong,” they replied, and the relief on her face was impossible to miss. 

“Good,” she whispered, and licked her lips. “She wants him to be whole again.” Haarlep said nothing, and she swallowed. “... I see. And does this mean-- all of this, is it to remove Mephistopheles as archduke of Cania, now that Baalphegor’s control on him has slipped?”

Stubborn and annoyingly perceptive. Haarlep met her gaze, and did not tell her she was wrong because she was, indeed, not wrong. Instead, they sighed. “If you’d been half as clever in life and you are now,” they pointed out, “you wouldn’t be here now.”

A familiar scrunching of her nose, a bitter laugh. “We can but learn,” she muttered. “... I heard you’re leaving for the Material Plane. To collect more bodies.”

“Ah, yes. I did tell a lot of people that, didn’t I? So much gold to spend, may as well make it a holiday of sorts. It should keep me upstairs for a while. In the Material Plane, of course.”

“Of course.” A brief hesitation. “... Will you help keep him safe?”

A chuckle. “I could almost believe you’re worried for him, Mother of No One,” they muttered, then, “I’ll see what I can do. As for you, do try to make sure deserting guards don’t become a pattern in the vaults. Someone might ask questions. We need all of him to be safe.”

Somehow, that made her chuckle. “Now you’re the one who could almost sound worried, incubus. Or am I wrong?” No reply, which of course was a reply in itself. The lopsided smile faded, and suddenly she was laying a hand on Haarlep’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “... Be careful up there. I’d rather see you both come back.”

Haarlep stared for a moment. They were not often taken aback, but they were now. It wasn’t something that generally happened to his kind, being touched willingly by someone who, they could tell, didn’t arbor a single shred of sexual desire towards them. Slowly, they nodded. “You too. I think I’d rather find you both still here when I return.”

“... I’ll see what I can do,” Dalah replied, and let go of them to leave without another word. It suited Haarlep just fine.

They didn’t know what else to say, really.

***

Raphael realized he hadn’t thought of anything he could say only as he paused before the iron doors leading to a family crypt he’d only ever seen from outside, at the foot of the hill Fort Starspire stood upon. Highly unusual, that. He always had his speeches prepared ahead of time.

Would Lord Starspire even recognize him, now? Would he be glad at all to see him, with the scent of sulfur sticking to him no matter how much cologne he put on, a subtle sign of what he truly was even as he wore his human form? Would he have to look up at him, now that he’d grown, or would he refuse to gaze upon him at all?

Did he miss me? Did anyone?

One thing one had to get used to, in the Hells, were the lies. Everyone lied and lied and lied; he wouldn’t have trusted a member of Mephistar’s court if they’d told him there was snow outside. But mortals could lie, too. Pathetically simple lies for the most part, and he could see right through them now… but could he, as a boy? 

Perhaps what affection he’d been shown was a lie as well. Perhaps his departure had not been mourned. Perhaps there had been celebrations, after all, once he was gone and the years-long pantomime was finally brought to a close.

… Perhaps he should just get in the damned crypt and find out.

He knew at once that Lord Starspire was not there yet: the doors were locked, and he cast the spell to open the lock with hardly a thought. It was early in the day; surely he’d be there soon, and he may as well wait for him inside. He pushed the door open, lit all the torches and candles inside with a wave of his hand, and stepped inside.

The air was stale, full of dust, and that alone gave Raphael pause halfway down the steps. It was not right; he knew that Lord Starspire had the crypt aired out and cleaned fortnightly at least, and fresh flowers brought in each time. He could tell now that no one had been there at least for months and he knew, suddenly, instinctively, that Lord Starspire would not descend those steps to visit that day, or any other day.

Lord Rahirek Starspire was already there.

Going down the last few steps and crossing the entrance took instants, yet it felt like hours. The air suddenly felt thick, like he was walking through water. He ignored the alcoves further ahead, the sarcophagi to the sides, to focus on the most recent ones before him. He had never laid eyes on his mother’s grave before, but he’d known that her remains were in a marble sarcophagus; he’d heard of the words inscribed on it, too.

Dalah Starspire, it read, most beloved wife. Until the last star burns out.

And right beside it was another sarcophagus. Newer. Raphael’s eyes shifted to read the inscription in the candlelight, no expression on his face. His skin felt cold, and his mouth was dry as a desert. 

Rahirek Starspire, the inscription read, beneath the sigil of his house. Last of his name.

For a time, Raphael didn’t move. He didn’t so much blink. All he could do was stare, taking in the realization that he was late, he’d come back too late, and Lord Starspire was as out of his reach as his mother had always been. If he’d come earlier-- if he’d found the time, if only--

“... Is someone there?” 

There were steps, slow and cautious, accompanied by the gentle tap of a cane on the floor. Raphael recognized that voice, knew who he’d see before he even turned. 

Nan had already been ancient when he’d left, for a human, and seven years had not changed her all that much. Fewer strands of white hair stuck stubbornly to her skull, and she leaned more heavily on the cane; her eyes had aged the most, now a cloudy milky white. She must be able to see light and shadows at least, because she still made her way towards the grave, and squinted. 

“Who’s here? Fabien, is it--” she trailed off suddenly, as though she’d caught a whiff of sulfur in the air. She stilled before her withered face opened up in a wide, toothless smile. 

“Israfel? My boy, is it you?” she called out, and dropped the cane as well as all the flowers she was carrying. She held out her arms as she took another step, her gait uncertain. Raphael acted on instinct, striding forward and reaching out to steady her. Her gnarled hands found his arms, his shoulders, his face. Her fingertips brushed against it, traced his features, and her unseeing eyes seemed to light up. Her laughter sounded like that of a much younger woman. 

“Oh, look at you! You’ve grown handsome, of course. You were always beautiful, even as a boy. We don’t call good looking men ‘handsome devils’ for nothing, do we now? Oh, you’re here, you’re really here. I can die happy now.”

A thumb brushed against his cheekbone, and Raphael’s vision grew blurry. He blinked, and something dripped on her hand. “Nan…” he choked out, and her smile faded.

“Oh! No, my boy, don’t cry. Don’t cry,” she said, but tears were spilling forth on her face too, across wrinkled, spotty skin. She cupped his cheek again, and he leaned into the touch. “He did not suffer, my sweet boy. He went in his sleep, not long after you left. We found him in his bed in the morning, peaceful as they come, on the last day of winter.”

Raphael wasn’t certain if that helped or made it worse, knowing he died so shortly after he’d been taken to Mephistar and long before he had the ability or permission to travel between planes. He hadn’t come too late: there had never been a chance for them to meet again. 

It’s high time you visit the capital. I’ll take you next spring, he’d told him, but he hadn’t lived to even see that spring. He never would have taken him to Zazesspur, even if Barbas had not come to collect him then. Raphael closed his eyes, and swallowed. “I-- I see. The fort, and the others…?”

A sniffle, a smile. “A distant cousin of his took the seat. A decent man, and he let all those of us who wished to remain stay. Don’t you worry about us. But you, my boy - how are you doing?”

I’m home. It’s the Hells. I spent most of my life thinking myself a devil among mortals, and now I find most devils barely see me as one at all. I am both and neither, forever and never. My sire hardly looks my way. I can trust none and none trust me. I am a bane to mortals and a joke to my father’s court. Part of me is wondering how easy it would be for me to swindle you out of your soul just now, and that part will grow and grow until there is nothing else left. I can hardly wait for the day that happens, and yet I dread it. 

He could have said all that, and spoken the truth. But Raphael was no longer in the habit of speaking the truth. “I’m fine. I’m doing fine.”

A smile. “Oh, I’m so happy to hear that. Come, let this old lady give you a hug.”

She was so small, her back so bent with age, that her head hardly reached his chest. It hadn’t always been so. It was hard to believe that once she’d cradled him, fed him goat milk when no amount of gold could pay a wet nurse to feed a devil’s spawn. She'd let him sit on her knees when he grew a little older and told him stories, as long as he behaved himself.

“Don’t be silly, the boy won’t burn you. He’s perfectly well behaved,” she’d say to those who still would not approach. As though it had always been so, as though he hadn’t been a shrieking terror prone to bursts of temper and flames none but her could tame. 

She had taken a hellspawn none would touch and loved him into something else, into a boy called Israfel who could no longer be. He’d been everything Antilia had warned him against, harmless and toothless. If Raphael was to thrive in Cania, the boy this foolish old mortal had raised had to die - and only now did Raphael realize he hadn’t . He’d been holding onto him, too, onto what he should never be again. And in turn, that boy had been holding him back.

What you want is very human of you, little duke. In time you'll grow out of it, or you won't grow much older.

Raphael breathed out and held her back, a hand reaching up to rest on the back of her head. He fixed his gaze on the flickering flames of a candle.

“I should have come earlier,” he whispered. “To tie loose ends.”

Nan chuckled, cheek pressed against his doublet, the arms that once cradled him still wrapped around his waist. “All that matters is you’re here now,” she said, then, “I’ve missed you dearly, Israfel.”

“He missed you too,” Raphael said, and closed his eyes.

She did not see it coming, and she did not feel it happening. A shudder as electricity coursed through her, and that-- love -- was that. She went limp without a sound, her body so light it seemed to barely weigh anything at all. Raphael knelt to lay her across the floor and, after a last long look at those clouded eyes fixed on the ceiling, he closed her eyelids. He stared at the body for a few long moments, at the phantom of her last smile still curling her lips, and stood. He waited to see if he’d feel something, anything.

And he felt nothing.

Good.

Raphael shed his human form in a burst of flames, and turned to cast one last look across the crypt. He looked at his own shadow over his mother’s grave, at Lord Starspire’s inscription in the flickering light of the candles. He bowed his head, once, in silence.

Then he snapped his fingers, and all light went out.

***

“Wh-- oh, it’s you. I didn’t think it would be your turn to keep watch for at least another hou-- Raphael? What is it? Are you well?”

Sitting at the mouth of the cave they had found refuge in to rest, Durge hadn’t taken their eyes off the horizon for the past hour; but they did now, and the thought of any possible threat from outside was quickly forgotten when they saw Raphael walking - almost staggering - towards them. He was trembling and wide-eyed, face pale, hair disheveled. He paused a few steps away, staring in silence as though he had no idea how they’d come to be there. It was… concerning, to say the least; certainly worse than Haarlep using his form.

Durge stood, and cast a quick glance past him. Their companions were still asleep and unaware; nothing seemed amiss. Whatever was wrong, it had to do with Raphael alone… and it only took them another look to understand. They’d been there, too, several times. 

“Dream or memory?” they asked, quietly, as Astarion would ask them in such cases. Raphael drew in a long breath, and looked back. Even now, he seemed to be looking through them rather than at then.

“Both,” he whispered. 

Durge nodded, and put a hand on his back. “Come sit,” they said. He did sit and, when Durge offered some water, he took it. He handed back the flask with a hand that was only slightly less shaky, eyes shut, leaning against the wall of the cave. Durge put the flask away and sat by him, wondering how to ask, what to ask. In the end, they didn’t have to break the silence.

“... When you killed the people who took you in,” Raphael murmured. “Why did you do it?”

Ah. Durge paused for a moment; part of them would always wish to turn away from the truth, but they'd sworn to never do so again. So they answered as honestly as they could; in the back of their mind they saw the blade, the dripping blood, their adoptive mother’s eyes.

Sweetheart, please. This isn’t you. We can fix this. My little boy, listen to me.

“I could say the Urge came over me. And it did. But when it passed, and I saw them dead, I wanted to see more blood spill. It all seemed so right, like I had found my calling.”

“It was easy, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Easy as breathing.”

A brief silence, a long breath. “And how did it make you feel?”

“Does it matter?”

“Indulge me.”

Durge looked away, at the perpetually red skies of Avernus. Somewhere in the distance, a jet of hot gas sprayed up and something shrieked. “Powerful. Elated. Free. I was exactly--”

“What you were meant to be.”

“... Yes.” Durge tore their eyes from the sky to look down at their hands. “A blight unleashed upon the world. Someone my father could take pride in.” They turned to see that Raphael was squeezing his eyes tighter. They watched him swallow, and draw in another long breath.

“This is laughable,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “It was a worthless mortal with one foot in the grave. It’s been almost two thousand years. She’d be long dead either way.”

It did not take too much guesswork for them to understand what this was about. Durge knew that someone had looked after him, once. Now they knew that same someone had died by his hand… and he’d come looking for the only being at hand who could understand. 

“It’s that how you felt?” Durge asked, quietly. “Free? Powerful?”

“It was how I thought I’d feel. But I felt nothing. I stood over her corpse and I felt nothing .  Just that I’d done what needed doing to be--”

“What you were meant to be.”

Raphael’s features twisted, and he opened his eyes. They glistened, but nothing spilled just yet. A hand was clutching the shirt he had on, over his heart, as though he wished he could tear it out. “It didn’t work. It didn’t work, ” he snapped. “What I strove to destroy is still here, damn it all, it’s all that there is now, everything wrong with me. I can’t stand it. I… I…”

“Raphael.” Durge reached over, and put a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, causing him to recoil and look back. They could tell him many things now - that perhaps it was for the best, that losing the part of them that had come from Bhaal was the best thing that had ever happened to them, that it would get easier… but their situations were not, after all, quite the same. 

Durge did not know what it meant, to live with half a soul while struggling with the full burden of a long-silenced human nature. What they did know was a simple truth: that two halves of the same soul would always cry out for one another. So, in the end, they said, “You only need to hold on a little longer. We know where the other half of your soul is. We’ll head there next.”

A shuddering breath, an attempt at scowling even as he struggled for control. “I was half expecting,” Raphael choked out, “to hear some manner of speech about retribution, and how well-deserved this is.”

This time, Durge couldn’t hold back a snort. “If you wanted a preaching on just punishment, you should have turned to a cleric of Tyr. You’ll hear no such thing from me. I regret what I did in Bhaal's name and those who love me will say I have atoned, but have I? I put an end to what I started, nothing more. True atonement would have meant turning Illithid; yet I let Orpheus bear that burden and never once regretted that. For all the suffering I caused, I strive every day to be happy - I don’t care if I deserve it or not. If there is anyone alive who cannot fault you, it’s me.” You know that. That’s why you turned to me. “... We’ll get the rest of you back. And your mother, if she’s still there.”

“I--” A scoff. “I never said I care to find her. And I fail to see why I should take your word. Any deals with you are not worth the breath--”

“It’s not a deal. It’s a promise.” A squeeze. “Now stop fighting it. It hurts worse if you fight it.”

“I did not-- ask for advice--” Raphael tried to snap, but his voice broke and he did, in the end, stop fighting it. He bowed his head, his back shuddered, and that was that; for all his usual theatrics, his tears were almost completely silent at first. Dignified, one could say - until the first sobs wracked his chest and he turned to press his face against Durge’s shoulder, to muffle them, hands gripping their robe.

Durge hesitated only a moment before they put an arm around him. They said nothing; just kept an eye out for threats and let him weep himself into exhaustion - and, finally, into a slumber.

This time, at least, there were no more dreams.

***

[Back to Chapter 11]

[On to Chapter 13]

[Back to Start]

[mslanna]

First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

Gentle, mushy softness for soppy hearts like mine. Chapter 28 of Be My Guest now up on AO3

Tav wakes and it is morning somewhere. They are buried under devil arm and wing, engulfed in the heavy musk of the night and soft overtones of cherry lingering. Their body hums content with satisfaction and exertion. A few crescent marks pulse on their skin, familiar and comforting. It is almost as if they never left.

Almost.

They are free. There is no contract binding their soul. Free to come and go as they please. Free to stay for however long they long to. Tav snuggles closer to Raphael, infernal heat washing over them.

The devil tightens his grip in return, nuzzling Tav's ear softly. "A penny for your thoughts."

"Cheapsake." Tav turns their head slightly to intercept his mouth. When they pull apart, they run their fingers through his hair. "Does your tight schedule allow for such delays?"

"I am Archdevil of Five Hells," he replies in mock offence. "I make my own schedule. People wait for me, not the other way round."

"Then let's make them wait." Tav pulls him against their comfortably sore body and Raphael follows back into a deep kiss.

Whoever has appointments waits for a long time indeed. Raphael has no hurry and indulges any of Tav's desires. He hums under the care of their hands on his horns. A comfort he missed dearly. When the human finishes, he turns around and places a soft kiss on their forehead.

"Find me when you are ready." His hands trail down their sides as his eyes rake over the thin red lines marking them clearly as his once again. He leaves and Tav notes that a slight swing remains in his tail.

Tav smiles to themself and looks around their retrieved home. They will have to return to Baldur's gate soon and explain their sudden disappearance to Karlach and Wyll. But first, their eyes settle on the huge tub, ready for a sweltering bath abounding with scented salts and luxurious oils.

They barely moved from the bed, when the door opens again, and Raphael strides in, tail dancing in agitation. "You have – visitors. I managed to sit them down in the Feast Hall, but they are unhappy and demand to see you. Now."

Tav's jaw drops. This is way faster than they expected. Any thought of a slothful bath is discarded unhappily. "Tell them I'll be there in five and a half minutes. I need to wash at least. Fuck. I was – doesn't matter. Bath's not going anywhere. Pleas ask them to leave you in once piece because I still need you."

Raphael raises a brow but Tav shoos him away, ready to speed-run a cleaning routine. After washing and brushing their teeth perfunctory, they grab one of their shirts that smells of disuse and dust. When they see the teeth marks on their throat, Tav hesitates for a moment, fingers feathering over the angry red crusts on their skin.

They shake it off. This is who they are and they will not be ashamed. If a devil can give up a soul, they can give up some of their dignity. Tav ends up running through the House of Hope, hair still damp to keep to their time. When they reach the Feast Hall, Tav runs into the disapproving stares of their friends like into a brick wall.

Still, their heart jumps at the sight of Karlach, Wyll and Astarion, lined up like birds on a branch at the table, plates laden with untouched food. Tav grins, and bounces to them, ready to hug them, come what may.

Their excitement smooths over some of the resentment, though Tav feels the glances hitch on the marks on their skin. They slip onto a chair next to their friends and help themself to buns, butter and bacon. "I am sorry for slipping away. I couldn't sleep. I tried, I promise."

"And so you decided to gallivant off to the hells without letting us know?" Hurt is clear in Wyll's words.

"I didn't think I'd stay this long," Tav admits sheepishly. "I just wanted to say thanks and be back by breakfast. I swear."

"That did not go as planned, did it now?" Astarion inquires.

"Heh." Tav blushes. "Not all the way, no. But it went better."

Incredulous stares make them drop the knife, bun still stuck on it. "Firstly, the problem with people hunting me down as part of a bargain with Raphael is dealt with. So I should not find myself in such a – predicament again."

"You worried the hells out of us, soldier," Karlach reaches for Tav's arm and grasps it tightly. "You could have left a note."

"I could and I'm sorry." Tav looks at their plate for a moment. "I'd say 'next time' but there won't be one. Raphael burnt my contract."

Silence falls over the group.

"He did?" Karlach finally asks.

"Yes." Tav looks at their hands. "I didn't even ask for it, he just -" Tav saps their fingers. "Like that."

"I have not heard of a devil forsaking a soul they own before," Wyll raises a suspicious brow. "You are certain it was your contract?"

"You feel it, don't you, when it is yours and then it is gone." They look Wyll in the eye. "You know what I mean, don't you?"

Reluctantly he nods. "I am happy for you."

"So am I, but where does it leave you?" Astarion wants to know.

"Here." Tav shrugs. "I never left because I didn't want to be here. It was the circumstances. And with those changed." Their cheeks burn even hotter. "I like it here. It is – home. And now that I can come and go as I please." They grin and look at Astarion. "I hear we have quite an adventure ahead of us."

"That's it?" Wyll asks. "He burns your contract and you stay?"

"In broad strokes, yes. Of course I still need a way to come and go easily. Can't rely on poor Helsik for that forever. But once I have my own door, this is home base."

"I hope you know what you're doing." Karlach shakes her head. But there is only so much she can do, considering who get her heart repaired and what negligible price she paid for that. "Well, that back door of yours will come in very handy if things get out of control," Astarion smirks. "The Sunburst Solace has been lost for centuries. We will not be without competition once word gets around."

"It will be such fun." Tav beams and picks up their bun again. "Tell me all the new intel you got."

The chance to shift to another topic is accepted eagerly and Tav spends a happy breakfast with their friends planning to retrieve an artefact that hopefully allows Astarion to walk under the sun again. When the three leave through the portal Tav feels light and elated in a way they haven't for a long time. Maybe since before the nautiloid snatched them up. But that is nothing to dwell on now. A long hot bath is waiting.

Tav skips down the stairs back into their suite. They emerge much later, their skin red from hot water and perfumed with bathing salts. Every muscle in their body feels soft and relaxed and the door to Raphael's study stands open. For a moment Tav wonders if he has means to watch every place in his house. The idea paints a mischievous grin over their lips. There are ways to test that. Some day soon.

For now, all they want is to be close to their devil. Raphael beckons them in and shuts the door with a wave of his hands. "I assume your friends left the house placated?"

"As much as possible." Tav leans against his shoulder over the armrest. "Which leaves the question of how I will get in and out on my own. I don't see Helsik approving of me breaking into her place every other day."

"Oh, so you think you will be leaving?" Raphael pulls them onto his lap and warps an arm around Tav to continue working. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Tav snuggles against his chest with a snort. "Just try to keep me taped down. You won't get anything done but me."

Raphael laughs and Tav shakes on his lap, holding on to him. They missed his laughter, to know he can be carefree around them – his true self.

"I see where that may pose a problem to ruling five hells." He tilts Tav back to look at their face and the lines of mirth edged into it. "Delightful as the image is, I there are other things that will occupy my time."

"My thoughts exactly." Tav traces his jaw. "But with an insta-portal or something similar, I can be back home from wherever, whenever. Sleep in my own bed without chancing the diabolists ire each time."

"I am certain a solution will present itself within the day." Raphael puts down his quill. "Where will you go?"

"Uncertain. Astarion has leads on an item that will protect him from the sun. We will find it. Though," Tav smirks, "I worry. It seems unlikely nobody has ever heard of the Sunburst Solace. Such powerful magic. Even if it was lost for a long time."

Raphael rumbles non-committal. "There will be reasons and you will find them."

"Depending on where we are, I may just stay in camp, though. I missed the companionship of that. Being miserable and cold and wet together." Tav closes their eyes and leans their head back against the devil's chest. "You should try it some time."

"In your wildest dreams." He drops a kiss on their hair.

It's beneath Tav to reply to that. For a while the scratching of the quill on parchment is the only sound in the room.

"And what are your plans for now, pray tell?" Raphael asks as he reaches for another parchment, movement slightly encumbered by the human on his lap.

"Now?" Tav murmurs drowsily. "I just want to sit here and listen to the beat of your heart."

Raphael stills, hand frozen in its tight grip around Tav's waist. "For now," he finally says. "But know that later you won't be able to avoid a clandestine dinner."

"I shall arm myself for the ordeal with a book," Tav hums. "And an emergency plan of seduction."

"Is this how you plan to win your arguments?"

"As long as it works." They reach up and pull his head down for a gentle kiss. "Nobody stopping you from adopting the same strategy."

"Hmm." Raphael hums onto the kiss before resting his chin on Tav's head.

Maybe it's not perfect. Evening will come with clandestine dinner and heated words leading to burning desire. Morning will come and they will leave to help their friend. But right here, right now, the world balances on the tip of perfection, wrapped up against Raphael's heart. And that is enough.

[faerunscursed]

The bark of the oak was warm from the sun. Mizora leaned against the tree, the blood from the ritual a stark contrast in its rich red in the juicy green of the grass. Grand Duke Wyll Ravenguard had summoned her to the safety of his garden so that she did not feel like she had to force herself into her lesser human disguise. However, he had also instructed her to wait because he had a surprise. Mizora chuckled low, finding the thought that her puppy could surprise her adorable. However, she chose to indulge Wyll and rested in her spot in the garden. Over her head, a few birds chirped and a squirrel leapt from branch to branch. Mizora stretched her wings, basking in the sun with a pleased hum when Wyll cleared his throat. Turning around, Mizora raised a brow in confusion as her warlock approached her with a parcel on his arm? As he stepped closer, the parcel turned out to be a small, swaddled baby. Mizora's eyes widened in shock and she took a step backward. "I did not know you became a father, pup!" Mizora took a deep breath and stepped closer. It took every ounce of self-control to not mutilate the little thing, especially as Wyll gingerly eased the swaddled baby into her arms. Mizora stared down at the innocent life. The baby was a Tiefling as it had a pair of very thin horns on its head like an antelope and the slither of a tail, pushing against Mizora's fingers. The little girl was corpse blue and blinked up at Mizora with red eyes, one seemingly a bit discoloured compared to the other. The Cambion felt a knot in her throat. Her claws were itching to shred the thing in her arms to pieces, yet at the same time, Mizora was terrified that she might break it. Terrified and strangely intrigued. She had not anticipated Wyll becoming a father. However, the fact that the child was a Tiefling was an even greater surprise. Mizora looked back at Wyll and said: "She looks unlike any Tiefling, I have ever encountered before. How is that possible?"

This hadn't been in the cards initially, not for Wyll, whom believed a devil like him wouldn't be destined to have a child. Yet as time went on, and his reign as Grand Duke continued, he knew he would in time eventually meet his end. That meant that he would have to continue the Ravenguard legacy as well.

This task had not surprisingly been hard. As while he did not have time for a dedicated relationship, he wasn't without options. One of the cultists, whom served as a secret service to him and worshipped Mizora, had offered to be a surrogate. It was an offer he wouldn't refuse. Only with that, the only issue was time, and he had nine months of waiting. Nine months of trying to contain his excitement. And most importantly, nine months of keeping it secret from Mizora.

What he had not expected, however, was for his child to be born a tiefling. In all fairness, he should have, but nonetheless it did not stop him from cherishing her the moment she was born. Just like that, anything else that gave him meaning, aside Mizora, could not compare. Once he held his beloved daughter, Lily, he knew his life would change. He was sure Mizora would feel the same, in some way, too.

"I have been Grand Duke for 80 years, Mizora, and even though I age slowly, I know im not invincible. Eventually I will die, and what would the city be left with?" Wyll smiled fondly at Mizora as he carefully eased Lily into Mizora's arms. Almost immediately Lily seemed attached, as tiny hands wrapped around a finger. "Turns out, Lily is exactly what I needed to bring some spring back into my step."

It took a great deal of trust, to put a child, regardless of origin into the arms of a cambion. But for Wyll, there was no one else he could put such trust in. He had no doubt Mizora, struggled with inner impulses that he, too, felt at times. "One your followers, offered to surrogate. She gave birth a week ago. Though I admit, she looks more like you than she does me." Wyll chuckled, noticing how much more often Lily smiled in Mizora's

What Mizora said rang true, for Lily did not look like any usual tiefling. "Maybe her appearance has something to do with us? Given how intertwined we are." That, of course only made him love her more. He loved the way her barely formed horns were shaped, including the little stubs of not yet formed horns. Her skin was a corpse blue, with a hint of brown, something especially unique. "Funny, this is the first time I've seen her smile their much so far. It's like she is more connected to you than I ever was." Lily's tail even seemed to respond, flicking just slightly as if responding to being in her arms. @shimmerbeasts

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 12 | Words: 4k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Eventful. That was a great description for their lives right now.

After speaking with Jaheira, and then Isobel to receive her blessing, something Shadowheart did not seem pleased about, a feathered freak had come through to kidnap her, but ever the noble heart who couldn't allow the Harpers to perish to the shadow curse, Tar'eon took him on, one on one, while the rest of them slayed the winged minions.

It had been quite eventful, for the first night in the inn. Astarion thought he'd find himself in the company of Tar'eon after all of it, but when the tiefling found out Mol had been taken, he'd abandoned his side to comfort the distraught children, even if some of them were trying to act tough, trying to make a plan to get her back.

Tar'eon vowed he'd return her to them, and when Mirkon would not leave his arms, he resigned himself to putting the children to bed himself, much too big for the tiny beds, but it seemed to make the kids feel much safer to pile on top of him like pups with their mother. Astarion would admit, it was a sweet sight to come upon when he went to look for the man in the morning.

He may say he lacked perfect control over his tail, but it still managed to wrap around the children he couldn't hold in his arms, eyes closed and seemingly fast asleep.

Once Tar'eon finally came out to join the others for breakfast, Astarion noticed his tired gaze despite him drawing out a map of the Shadow Lands he'd borrowed from Jaheira. He hadn't slept much, and Astarion could tell. How much of the night did he spend worrying over Mol's kidnapping?

Tar'eon had gotten wind of a certain Sleeping Beauty over breakfast, and while Halsin insisted they figure out what was wrong with him, Tar'eon was stubborn in going straight to Moonrise and getting the tieflings back. Karlach and Wyll backed him up with no arguement, of course, and so, Halsin was stuck behind with the resting man, to be dealt with later.

"You didn't sleep well." Astarion noted as he dressed in his armour in their shared room that funnily enough, they had not shared the night before. Tar'eon sighed.

"He visited again. That butler of mine." Tar'eon sounded bitter as he struggled to lace his gauntlets. Astarion brushed his hand away with a huff and laced it tight for him, if only to end his nervous fidgeting.

"Well? What did he say?"

"He wants me to kill Isobel."

"The only one holding the Shadow Curse at bay? I may not like the Harpers, but I am not a fan of the idea, personally. For our own sake." Astarion grimaced. Killing her would just bring the curse right to them, and he knew Tar'eon wouldn't dare do that to the Harpers, or to the refugees staying there. Did this butler think the man daft?

"I just...don't understand his motives. Killing Isobel would be the death of us all."

"Perhaps all he wants is death." Astarion mused, fixing the collar of his armour. "Forget it. Can't kill the cleric if we aren't here, now can we? We have a mission to get to."

"You're right. I need to focus on getting Mol, Lia and Cal back. All of them." Tar'eons expression hardened with resolve and Astarion shook his head, grabbing the cloak off his bed. He offered it back to the man, seeing as it was his. Tar'eon took it and Astarion turned his back to grab a couple daggers, stashing them along his body, but keeping his favourite at his hip.

He stood straighter when he felt the heavy blanket of the cloak rest upon his shoulders, Tar'eons nimble fingers tying a sturdy knot to keep it there, looking as his work over Astarion's shoulder.

"It...it was a gift from him. The butler. I hate wearing it. It just - it just reminds me of what I did to Alfira. But it'll keep you safe. For every kill, you gain the power of invisibility, if only for a short period." Tar'eon smoothed his hands over the fabric, The Deathstalker's Mantle, a gift he had tried to refuse. It would have it's uses, he was sure, but he couldn't wear it himself. Couldn't bring himself to.

On Astarion though, objectively, it was quite fetching.

The vampire looked at him, seeming hesitant to accept the gift before he gave a smile, giving it a little swoosh as he stood before a mirror. He couldn't see himself, but the cloak - the cloak was gorgeous. Definitely expensive, and tailored precisely to Tar'eons measurements, if he had to guess.

To think, Tar'eon had a butler, an expensive cloak...Hells, maybe he was a prince, a murderous one at that, and just didn't know it? Astarion had always dreamed of a prince saving him from all his troubles, hadn't he? The irony of stumbling upon a possible one only after he was snatched from Cazador's grasp by another entity...

"Well, as they say. One man's trash, is another man's treasure." Astarion smirked and stepped forward, smoothing his hand over the others chest as he hummed. "I quite like all these gifts you keep giving me. However can I repay you?"

"By having my back, as I have yours." Tar'eon took his hand off his chest, holding it and chasing the chill from his fingers before he dipped his head and pressed a gentle kiss to his pale skin. The tiefling smiled at him, eyes fond as always.

Astarion was too focused on making sure his hand in his didn't shake, or god forbidden, grip back so tight he might break it.

****

"Have I ever told you how much I love your tongue?" Astarion picked up the Moon Lantern with a devilish smile, the bright light illuminating his features. A little pixie banged around inside, pleading to be set free. Tar'eon frowned, looking guilty, but Astarion shook his head.

"We're not letting you out."

"I"LL GUT YOU LIKE A-" Astarion gestured to the pixie for Tar'eon to see.

"Never trust a pixie, or any fey, my dear." He chuckled and kept a tight grip on the lantern as they travelled through the Shadow Lands. It only made sense, considering he only needed one hand for his enchanted dagger, though if needs be, he was happy to toss it to another and pull out his bow.

Seeing as he held the lantern, he led the way, but after a few hours of walking in what he was starting to believe was a circle...Well, they were honestly a bit lost. No, it wasn't his fault for refusing the map twice.

"If I have to follow him for another hour, I'll kill him." Wyll groaned, obviously sick of walking to nowhere.

"Astar, please. Just let me lead."

"You cannot fight and hold the lantern, darling, trust me, we're making head way -" And by the grace of whatever was holy, it seemed they had. Up ahead, he saw buildings, and he smirked. Not a castle, but something. "See?"

"It doesn't look like Moonrise."

"And how do you know what Moonrise looks like, hm?" Astarion challenged.

"It's a castle. This is not a castle, Astar."

"It's a town though, which means the castle is close. Trust me." Astarion waved his concerns off and continued on. Unsurprisingly, they were ambushed by shadow creatures.

It wasn't a hard feat to slash them down, not with Wyll and Lae'zel on the team, as much as he wished for Shadowheart's healing. Unfortunately, she'd woken up with a bloody limp. He should have expected it, after all those little glances, all those secret smiles. Their darling who burned hotter than Avernus and the Shar princess were down bad. With Karlach no longer a workplace injury in the flesh, she must have jumped at the chance.

He did wonder how a limp played into it, but who was he to expose such secrets? Though, they were barely a secret.

"Gods, I miss the sun." Astarion muttered. This place was so gloomy, and cold. He did peak a castle in the distance though, and smirked. See? He had been on the right track! "Tar'eon-"

Before he could inform him, the tiefling took off, curse be damned, and Astarion swore, running after the stupid man, Wyll and Lae'zel behind him.

"Arabella!" He barely kept their leader in the glow on their safety net, but once he saw what, or in this case who, he was running towards, he found himself rolling his eyes. It was always children. He had no self preservation when he saw a child in need. It was that young tiefling girl they'd saved from Kagha's viper.

"Hey! I know you. You're -" Astarion moved for his dagger when two shadow-y creatures burst from the ground, looming over Tar'eon and the girl. He readied himself to strike, but it seemed the child was one step ahead.

"Twist'em up!" With a pale green glow, the tiefling child managed to bind the shadows in place with her vines, looking exhausted from that feat alone.

"It's you - our little idol thief from the druids grove!" There was no doubt about it. Astarion would admit, he was growing a touch fond of the little band of thieves. He'd make an excellent mentor, he'd like to think. He could teach them more than a thing or two about being a rogue.

The tiefling child slumped her shoulders, and Astarion wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, but no, the child was looking at Tar'eon.

"Sorry. Knocks the wind right out of me." Arabella apologised. Wyll stepped forward with a smile.

"You did that with no incantation. That's an impressive feat. That kind of sorcery only comes from deep within." Of course the warlock had an opinion on her magic. Arabella seemed to stand straighter after the praise.

"That druid idol I took? It changed me. I can do all sorts of stuff now, not just the vines." Arabella looked to Tar'eon like she was searching for his praise next. "I think real hard and say some loud words and then it happens. Mostly." Tar'eon rested a hand on her head and ruffled between her horns, crouching down.

"What are you doing out here, Arabella? It's not safe." The girl withdrew into herself, suddenly as scared and frightened as she should be.

"I was looking. For mum and pops. When Zevlor - when he -" Her chin gave a little wobble but she stopped it quickly, as if refusing to cry over the matter. "Well. There was an ambush. Mum yelled 'run!'...So we ran. I could hear 'em running behind me. 'Til I couldn't."

Tar'eons eyes softened, filled with mourning for the girl as they both drew the same conclusion. They were both likely dead.

"Still can't find 'em - but I bet you can. You'll help me, I just know it!" Tar'eon gave a tight smile and nodded.

"I'll find your parents, Arabella. You can count on me." The relief was palpable from the young girl.

"Thanks, mister. I knew you'd help me again." Of course he would. He was a bleeding heart. "The vines won't last forever." Arabella looked towards the shadow creatures with apprehension. "I don't - I don't s'pose I can stay with you? Just 'til you find mum and pops, I won't be any trouble, I swear it!"

Astarion looked at Tar'eon apprehensively. A child? In their camp? That sounded like a dreadful idea. Though, Scratch could always use some more love, he supposed.

Tar'eon smiled.

"My friends are currently at the Last Light Inn. Cerys and the other children are there too. I'm afraid Mol was kidnapped during an attack, but I'm on my way to bring her back, along with the other tieflings." Tar'eon took the girls hand and squeezed. "I'll help you there with a little bit of ancient magic, alright? Speak to the others of my party when you arrive. Though, do not mind Withers. He's a bit scary to look at, but he's harmless, despite his lurking." Tar'eon smiled and took her other hand. He closed his eyes.

"I'm find your parents, Arabella. I'm going to make sure you all make it to Baldur's Gate this time."

"Thank you - Bring mum and pops back there. I'll be waiting." In a flash of purple, the young girl disappeared, likely landing herself outside the Inn as Tar'eon promised.

"Always the bleeding heart, darling." Astarion chuckled.

"He did the right thing. Who knows - maybe if we find Arabella's parents, they'll have a lead towards where the tieflings are being held in Moonrise." Wyll interjected and Astarion rolled his eyes.

"They'll either be dead, or in a prison cell. These Absolute cultists aren't exactly creative, or merciful. He saw the drow woman, and Nere."

"I'd like to hold onto hope that they're still alive regardless, thank you." Wyll frowned, annoyed by Astarion's blase tone.

"Of course you do. You're obsessed with fairy tales, and not the cold, hard truths of this world." Astarion bit out, glaring at the other man.

"Fairy tales can teach us a lot about how hard the world is, but in the end, hope will always prevail." Wyll crossed his arms, matching his gaze. Every thing about him screamed nobility, even in drabs, and Astarion wanted to tear into him. He wanted to sink his nails into his insecurities, his righteous nature, and claw them away until the man was raw and hopeless, just like he was.

"Hope drives men to madness more often than it does to happiness, devil man."

The muscle in Wyll's cheek twitched, looking ready to draw his blade on the vampire, but Tar'eon stood between them, a hand on either ones chest.

"Stop it. You've lived vastly different lives, with separate, incomprehensible struggles. You may believe the world to be bleak, Astarion, but Wyll does not. You may have given up on the notion of hope, but the rest of us haven't. All I ask is that you let it go."

Astarion could feel the back of his neck burning from the scolding, even if Tar'eon tone was more netural than fierce. He huffed and with a whip of his cloak, continued forward. He heard Tar'eon sigh, the others footsteps following him, if only because he held the lantern.

"Thank you. For sticking up for me." Wyll said in a soft voice to Tar'eon, but he could still hear it.

"Don't thank me. I'm just not ready to give up hope yet. It's...all I- we have left."

****

"Well, we've got our solution to my little problem. I say we go ahead." Astarion smirked as he made towards the entrance, but Tar'eon held him back by the elbow. He turned to the man and quirked a brow. "Yes?"

"We have to find Arabella's parents first, Astar. And free the tieflings, remember? Get Mol back."

"They aren't going to be more dead if we take a detour, darling." Astarion waved a hand and narrowed his eyes. "This is a deal that doesn't involve servitude. I'm going to take my chances before he decides to up the stakes."

"And if they're not? We don't know what's inside there, but I doubt it's leaving any time soon. Komira and her husband, Mol, the other tieflings - they can't wait."

"I thought this was important to you. Am I remembering it wrong, dear?" The pet name held no affection.

"Don't use that against me. I promised you we'd find a way to translate your scars. I meant it. But lives are at stake, and this can wait."

"You know I'm not patient."

"Learn some patience then. This will be a good lesson." Tar'eon wasn't giving in, and Astarion gritted his teeth, baring his fangs with a growl and shoving the lantern into the other mans hands.

"Fine. But if they're dead, like I predict they are, you owe me."

"Astarion..."

"Go on. We have corpses to find." Astarion said bitterly and stalked down the hill, forcing Tar'eon to follow. The tiefling sighed, looking weary as Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't take it to heart. He's a prickly creature. You're right to put urgency to this mission. They're your people, and they're relying on you. The best decisions aren't always the easiest."

"He doesn't believe in heroes. I know he doesn't. He's selfish because he see no point in being selfless. He doesn't gain anything from it. No one was ever selfless was his sake. I know he hates it when I tell him no." Tar'eon knew Astarion had flaws. That didn't stop his heart from aching.

He loved him. Deeply. In such a short time span, he'd managed to launch himself into the deep end of this pool of affection he felt for the other man, but he didn't know how to love him without receiving his fangs half of the time. He knew why Astarion was this way. He was afraid, they all were, but his fear was volatile.

He cursed Cazador for breaking down the man who held his heart in pale hands, ready to be devoured between sharp, pointed teeth.

"We can't always get what we want. He'll learn that with time."

"He's never had what he wants, Wyll. He hates when I tell him no, because that's all he's ever heard." Tar'eons brows drew together, pinched into a painful expression as he departed from Wyll's side, head bowed. Wyll stayed a few paces behind, unsure what to say to that. Lae'zels arm brushed his and he looked at her, the githyanki staring ahead at the pair.

"Tar'eon is a warrior, while Astarion is simply a survivor; they bear their burdens differently." She made a sound of irritation, as if she were planning to spit on the ground to get a foul taste out of her mouth. "I do not know what draws them together, but it is...palpable."

"And why're you telling me this?" Wyll quirked a brow, voice low as not to be heard, much like her near whisper.

"Because you follow after our leader like a dog. You are a warrior, like he is. Yet you hold yourself back. That is your failing. You idealise stories, fiction, and expect things to simply fit into place, like words on parchment." Lae'zel's cat like eyes turned onto him, intensely yellow in the darkness of the shadow lands.

"You must take action. Like a warrior." She stood straighter, somehow. Her posture was always perfect, much like his. Instinctive to stand tall. "Before he is tied down by the vampire."

"Astarion and Tar'eon - it won't last." Wyll was sure of that. "Astarion doesn't seem the type for...long term. Tar'eon seems the type to only want that."

"And yet, Tar'eon can convince the nightstalker to do many things that are out of the ordinary for him."

"What do you suggestion then? You seem to be well versed in this after all." Wyll quirked a brow, crossing his arms.

"Woo him." Lae'zel's eyes shone, her slitted pupils widening like she had spotted something she quite liked, gaze intense on the warlock. "Show him you are the better match. In my culture, the Githyanki do so by intimate combat."

"I'm afraid to ask what makes it intimate." Wyll frowned, looking away from her. For a githyanki, she was a beauty, but her ruthless attitude until now had made it hard to converse with her, not to mention her unsettling amount of eye contact. It was quite intimidating. As the journey continued though, he found she had opened up, if only a little, without her knowledge.

"I'd show you, if you weren't after another." Lae'zel hummed. "If things fall through, do feel free to ask for my company. Your scent is...not unpleasant."

Wyll blinked and watched her break stride, staying beside Tar'eon now in silence. He frowned as he picked at the collar of his robe, giving it a small sniff. While he had bathed the night prior, his armour hadn't had the chance to be washed in quite some time. He watched the githyanki and the tiefling, the large man offering her half his apple after breaking it in half.

Had he...been propositioned while being given relationship advice at the same time?

****

"I can't believe you convinced him to just kill himself." Astarion couldn't help the surge of giddiness thinking back to it. He knew he liked Tar'eon for a reason.

"I was avoiding a fight, and the man was insane." Tar'eon shrugged. "They say everyone is their own worst enemy." He picked up the lute and frowned. He doubted it belonged to the man. He'd find use of it. He slung it onto his back and placed his flute in his bag. It wasn't the only instrument he knew how to play, but it was his preferred instrument. It made a sweet sound, in his opinion.

"Well then...lets ransack the place." Astarion smirked as he went about looting anything he could. He wasn't particularly happy about this little side quest they were doing, but he was refusing to let Tar'eon get under his skin. He could act civil. The better person. Let Tar'eon come and grovel to him first.

They traversed through the building, searching for anything good, and stumbled upon what looked to be an infirmary. Wyll's face grew grim as he looked upon the bodies lying in the bed.

"It's Arabella's parents..."

"Fuck." Tar'eon came closer to look, shining the lantern upon them. Wyll was right. Komira and Locke laid together in the bed, well past reviving. His heart broke for little Arabella.

Tar'eon would have to tell her...she'd been so hopeful that he'd be able to help her. He felt like he had failed her, even if it was obvious that her parents had been dead for a while, a couple days at least. How long had Arabella been out there, looking for her parents?

"I told you." Astarion said, arms crossed, shaking his head. He sounded disappointed despite being right. "I told you this mission was pointless."

Tar'eon whipped around and grabbed the collar of his cloak, his tail whipping wildly in his anger.

"Don't. Just- don't."

"Oh please, even that child knew, deep down. She got her hopes up - she got your hopes up. I told you, it's pointless. If you think someone is dead? They likely are." Astarion had given many people over to Cazador, and while he didn't see their demise, he knew. When people were captured by monsters, they didn't simply come back. There was no point in hoping they'll escape their fate, whether you helped them or not. Sometimes death was better than what they'd live through if they were to live.

Tar'eons eyes held nothing but anger, with hurt bleeding into them as he let Astarion go, stepping back.

"Go back to the Inn then. If you don't want to help me, then you can go." Astarion opened his mouth in shock. He'd never been banished from the party before. He was always beside him, throughout the whole journey.

"You- you can't banish me." He laughed, breathless. "You need me."

"Not right now, I don't." Tar'eon gaze steeled. "Go, Astarion. Maybe a bit of time alone will make you realise how much of an asshole you are sometimes."

"I-..." Astarion scoffed. "I've never tried to hide that part of myself from you. It's your own fault if your poor heart is broken over the hard truths of this world." He stepped back and put on a expression that Tar'eon hadn't seen since the first day they met. Cool and calm; superior. Unfeeling.

"I'll see you tonight. Do tell me all the gory details when you find the bodies of those tieflings, unless they are by some miracle, alive." In a flash, he forced his connection to the sigil to bring him back to the Inn, opening his eyes to firelight and the scent of grass, rather then damp, darkness.

Astarion scowled and stormed off to his room, ignoring Shadowheart and Karlach's sounds of surprise at his return as he bounded up the stairs and slammed the door hard enough to rattle through the wall, dust falling into his hair. He snarled and ran a hand through it, running the perfect picture he tried to maintain painstakingly ever morning.

Good riddance. For once, maybe he could relax and read a book instead of being blasted and slashed at. He laid back on his bed, not caring about his armour as he tugged off his boots. He reached for the book sticking out of Tar'eons spare pack and opened it to the first page.

A Beginners Guide To The Infernal Language.

He glowered but read on. It might do him some good to learn more about the language scrawled on his back, if he was to convince Raphael to explain.

He never should have expected help. How foolish. He would help himself, like he always had.

The only person you could trust in this world was yourself.

[tavyliasin]

ATG 14 - Fury? Scorned.

In which an enemy becomes a bedfellow...

Pairing: Mizora/Tav SPICE Rating: 4/5 Content Warnings: Oral sex, light Bondage, rough sex, mild hate-fucking, mild neck grab, light whipping, tail whipping, manipulation, temperature play     

Spoilers Act 3, Wyll's storyline Canon Compliance Canon adjacent with Mizora's offer though some divergence in the scene and what happens after.   Other Notes The names and descriptions of the hells are mostly canon, the feelings when they are used may vary in some ways from the game descriptions but hopefully that is forgivable to just indulge in a little fun with it all. I also headcanon Mizora as feeling cool to the touch in general, both from personality and from her skin being blue to be honest it's just a simple shorthand for "thing is cold colour therefore feels cold".  Click here to read the same chapter on AO3 if you prefer~

Mood/Song Freak Like Me by Halestorm "I'm on the train that's pullin' the sick and twisted Makin' the most of the ride before we get arrested We're all wasted And we're not going home tonight

Covered in black, we lack the social graces Just like an animal, we crawl out of our cages They can't tame us So if you're one of us, get on the bus

If you're a freak like me"

--- --- Full Chapter below the cut! --- ---

Tav paced back and forth across the empty room, floorboards creaking beneath her feet. Was it a mistake? Had she finally made a decision that couldn’t be taken back? She paused. Shaking the thoughts loose from her head, resuming her restless footsteps once more, she turned her mind away from problems and towards solutions. Every devil has a catch, they stick to their laws so you simply have to read between the lines and- “FUCK!” Her own voice surprised her as she cursed the chair that dared to get in the way of where her toes were supposed to be. “Fucking Mizora…” 

“Well, there’s an idea~” That horrible voice that Tav had been trying to avoid crept into her ear.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear?” Tav turned on her heel, staring daggers at the intruder and sorely tempted to throw some too.

“Oh hush now, there’s no need for hostilities. I’m not here about Wyll, let the pup run and play while he still has the time - we shall call that one a mercy. See? I can be nice, if I want to.” Mizora’s smile was unnerving as she spread her hands and wings in a disarming gesture.

“Then why the fuck are you here, devil?” Tav made no attempt to disguise the disdain in her voice. The others had left to fetch supplies and to begin looking for more signs of the prison that held Wyll’s father. She had remained behind - “to plan” she had told them - but in truth she couldn’t bear to look at the conflict in the Warlock’s eyes any longer. Karlach would look after him, along with the others, but she had been the one to push him too far, to make a decision she knew he would see as selfish.

In the moment of silence, Mizora had stepped closer, circling around the rogue with interest, clawed blue fingers reaching out but stopping short of her shoulder. “Truth is, I’ve had my eye on you.” The smile beneath blazing eyes was ever more unnerving as she continued. “You’re a fascinating little thing, and you’ve been on quite the adventures now haven’t you?”

Tav bristled as she felt herself being undressed by the cambion’s gaze, and not the one she might usually prefer to imagine her naked…although… “Reading my diary, are you? That’s considered poor form, I thought you demons liked your rules.”

“Devils.” Mizora corrected her. “Fiends, if you must. But who has need of your precious little words when I can simply watch ?” With one clawed nail, the devil indicated an eye that burned just a touch brighter for a moment.

“Wyll…his eye.”

“Obviously. I must keep track of the pup lest he wander in front of a carriage or into the jaws of a stray dragon. But enough of him - it’s you I’m here to see.” The fiend’s hand reached out again towards Tav’s cheek, and when she didn’t pull away the cool touch caressed her with a gesture somewhere between a lover and the prospective owner of a prized animal examining the quality of the livestock. Tav gritted her teeth and smiled. This was a game she could play, and she couldn’t deny that - at least on a purely physical level - the bitch did have some level of allure. “Tell me then, Mizora, what is it you think you see in me?” “I knew you were curious, pet.” The smirk that accompanied the mocking term of endearment betrayed the hint of fangs behind soft lips. “Don’t you feel it? There’s something missing. You’re hungry for pleasures beyond this plane, something more satisfying than mortal flesh, blood and bone.” “And that something is you?” Her eyebrow raised, pretending to take the bait. “How very observant! Quick little thing, but not quite. I am your key to that door, if you’re brave enough to open it, of course.” Blue wings stretched up for a moment as she withdrew her hand. “Although, if you’d rather I just leave you to your brooding-” 

“I didn’t say to go, yet.” Tav was wondering if being poetic and overly-dramatic was a specific cambion trait, or if it was instead just coincidence that Mizora shared a few things in common with Raphael. She chased off the thought, Raphael usually had the good grace to play fair even when he obscured the rules of the game. “If you really think there’s something I’m missing, why don’t you show me?”

“An excellent choice, pet.” Mizora’s wings spread wide this time, the circle appearing beneath them both - that familiar and horrifying bubbling tar seemingly made of darkness itself. It was simultaneously boiling and freezing, the essence of every level of the hells distilled into an infernal pool at their feet.

The liquid rose, climbing and surrounding them, enveloping the pair in an instant before falling away and leaving them in a space between worlds.

—

Tav wasn’t sure where they were, or what to make of it. Everything seemed coloured with a hue she didn’t recognise, something beyond her comprehension, the echoes of music she had never heard tickling the edge of her senses. She couldn’t tell if it was singing or screaming, but there was something hauntingly beautiful.

“There, you see? Can you smell it?” Mizora breathed deeply, as if inhaling the most delicious scent imaginable.

Tav tentatively followed suit, noting something very familiar.

“Avernus,” Mizora confirmed her suspicions, “home of the river Styx, the sweet aroma of spiced wine and rotting offal. Forget the heavens, pet, this is paradise .”

Tav wasn’t certain she agreed with the sentiments, but as she looked around, trying to make sense of the endless void around her she felt the fiend step in closer behind her.

“ Home .” The cambion’s voice carried a note of pride to it, purpose and belonging stirring a loyalty that no living being would ever hear directed towards themselves. “Take your time, take it all in - let me show you the true wages of your sin.”

Wings drew in around her shoulders as Tav felt the stirring of an undeniable lust in her core. Much as she loathed the woman behind her, the feeling of talons caressing her throat, running along her sides and following the curve of her hips… Even the tip of the cambion’s powder-blue tail teasing at her wrist was enchanting her senses.

“I can offer a taste of any of the hells you wish, you know.” The voice in her ear purred with sweet warmth, eloquently suggesting far more salacious ideas than the words alone would suggest. “The blackened elysium of Dis, Minauros the rotting bog, Phlegethos with its molten seas and soil, the frozen oceans of Stygia...”

Tav shivered as Mizora’s hands continued to travel across her body, cool lips pressing deceptively soft kisses along the line of her neck. Sharp teeth and claws nipped and pricked her exposed skin, gentle for now, but the edge of threat lingering. The decidedly unwise rush of adrenaline only served to increase her curiosity and arousal. Each hell that was named came with a swirl of different coloured flames at the cambion’s fingertips, licking at Tav’s senses not with heat but the very essence that each contained. “The infinite desolation of Malbolge, Maladomini’s long forgotten ruins, the mountains of ice across Cania, and finally Nessus, the seat of infernal power that rules over all of them.” Mizora withdrew her touch, wrapping her arms around Tav instead, hands cupped in front now with the illusion of all 9 fires dancing in her palms. “Take your choice, and I will allow you a taste of the satisfaction you have been denied for so long.” Tav reached up, bringing her hands around Mizora’s, letting her fingers drift through the flames as she considered the proposal. “This is…quite the feast.” “A buffet the likes of which most mortals never even get to witness, let alone sample.” The fiend chuckled, kissing her ear and dropping to a seductive whisper. “Go on then, pet, the decision is yours.” “All of them.” She made her decision easily, enclosing her hands around cool blue fingers. “If I have truly been so starved, then I should taste every single one.” 

“You are such a bold little thing, but very well. If you believe yourself able to handle every agony of countless tortured souls, I will show you a bliss beyond that suffering that your frail mortal mind could never conceive of alone.” It was the work of a simple gesture from the fiend to dissolve the clothes from both of their bodies into nothing. “Can you feel it? The heat of Avernus, the fires that consume countless lost souls that stray from the river.”

Tav closed her eyes as the fiend’s hand snaked across them, Mizora’s other hand dancing along the nerves of her skin with heated flames just on the edge of burning. She could hear - almost sense - the Styx, bare toes just touching the water’s surface and finding it to be neither warm nor cold, yet just as intense as if it were scalding her. Pain linked arms with adrenaline, pulling a hint of lust along for the ride as her senses filled with everything that was Avernus.

Tugging at the very edge of her mind, for just a fraction of a second, she felt the slightest hint of cherry and cinnamon like a far off memory that vanished the moment she tried to catch hold of it.

“You wished to taste everything, so let me reward your avarice.” Mizora’s claws raked a line across Tav’s abdomen next, drawing pinpricks of blood to the surface as their surroundings shifted. “Dis, can you feel the darkness now?” Tav nodded silently. Even without Mizora’s hand over her eyes, she could sense the complete lack of light, something deeper than darkness itself. Her skin prickled with the shadows crawling over her like living beings, the fiend’s fingertips chasing the sensations with a teasingly light tough that rose to cup her chest. “The iced mountains of Cania - fitting, don’t you think?” The chill accompanying her words was painful, freezing Tav’s own peak in an instant before thawing her again with a warmer palm massaging across frost-seared skin. “Phlegethos, the molten soils…” The sudden change in temperature drew a gasp from her lungs, words long since forgotten, listening only to the voice in her ear, feeling only the embrace of the hells and the hellspawn who brought her to each one in turn. Mizora lifted her hand away from Tav’s eyes, leaving the vanishing warmth of her palm and the unspoken command to keep them closed. She also withdrew the rest of her touch, stepping back as the atmosphere shifted once again. “The desolation of Malbolge… Can you feel it, pet? The unbearable longing , the yearning for anything but the emptiness.” The fiend was teasing, using the essence of the hells themselves to make Tav needy, to make her desire whatever it was the devil could offer - and it was beginning to work. She almost moaned when those devious hands returned to her body, taking hold of her hips and sliding around behind to dig vicious claws into soft flesh. “Maladomini’s forgotten ruins - ah but you are no ruin, are you? And you certainly won’t be forgetting this.” Indelicate touch shifted, raking lines into her skin and leaving deeper marks. “The rotting bog of Minauros, like the petulant souls of mortal pets who do not know their place.” The breath whispering on the back of Tav’s neck was growing hotter, just as her own body grew more heated with desire. “Stygia’s frozen ocean…” Wicked fingers found her own ocean, slipping inside with a hint of that same cold as Tav felt the bitterly cold air sting her face with mist whipped up from the waves somewhere beneath her feet. “Though far from frozen here. That’s it, sweet little thing, give yourself over to the infernal~” Honeyed poison coated salacious words, fingers beginning to press inside with well practiced motion. Tav felt her strength waning a little, leaning back against the fiend without a second thought. Her head rested against cool skin that carried a bitter scent - something between soured citrus and the hiss of lightning. “And last but never least,” Mizora’s other hand drifted down the rogue’s stomach, her destination matched to her words, “the seat of infernal power itself. Nessus, the most intense, where all rule is decided and control is held.”

Tav whimpered from the intensity. Held in the arms of the devil, her nerves being mercilessly stimulated as the sensations of all nine hells rushed around her like a monsoon. She clung to her fraying sanity like a liferaft, focusing on every whisper and movement, picking apart everything she could use. It was becoming a battle of wills, with only one knowing that she was in the fight, the other just indulging in idle curiosity tainted by a fiendish ego that had a need to prove that none could compare. It would be easy to lose herself, to let Mizora completely take her over, but that essence of Nessus…the power itself coursed through her consciousness, the hint of ambition that drove her to seize the chance. Holding back the edge of her climax by biting the inside of her cheek, Tav let the taste of blood whet her appetite for that same power, the control, the chance to get the upper hand over a fiend who was hellbent on winning. And that started with a lower hand. While Mizora was focusing on Tav’s body, she slipped her hand behind her, tracing along the path of the cambion’s hip to the top of a warm thigh, finding that the woman was not quite as calm and unaffected as she wanted Tav to believe. 

“Cheeky little pup,” Mizora’s voice was coloured by a tint of lust, as Tav felt the response to her touch. “Are you certain you want to play this game?” 

She leaned her head back further, finding a deeper well of hunger for power, lips reaching Mizora’s ear. “Are you going to let me taste all the hells have to offer, or are you going to hold back?” Tav withdrew her fingers and brought them to her lips, finding the cambion’s taste to be complex, almost burning but with a feeling more of ice than fire. It was…intriguing. 

“If you insist, pet, I will indulge your thirst.” Mizora withdrew the touch that had been working so hard to bring her to an overwhelming climax, hands moving to Tav’s hips, turning her around so they were facing one another.

Tav couldn’t tell if they had begun to float or if the ground beneath them had simply fallen away. They were weightless, drifting, the cambion’s wings closing around her like a trap.

“Is this what you want? To resist the pleasure I could give you?” Mizora sounded on the edge of frustration and curiosity, sharpened claws raking across Tav’s skin - a challenge met. 

“You think me so selfish as to not make this a fair trade?” She pushed her luck as far as she thought safe, lifting her leg to wrap it around pale blue hips, pressing their bodies together as the sensations of the hells continued to lick across her own body with invisible flames. “Or are you afraid you might want me back?” 

“I should have put you on a shorter leash.” The fiend growled, pulling her in closer, tail coiling around her knee with a snake-like grip. “Foolish creature, even as prey you’re barely an ant to the appetite of a wolf.” 

“So it’s my appetite you’re afraid of?” Tav smirked.

“Fear, pet, is not in my vocabulary.” Mizora swiftly pulled Tav’s leg away and threw her with a sharp motion of a tail that was stronger than it seemed. Tav felt the rush of air, adrenaline spiking through her body as she was powerlessly flung through the empty space. She didn’t have long to worry for where she might land, however, as the cambion was swooping through the air with wings back like a diving bird of prey. The wicked grin might as well have been a razor sharp beak, the glint of danger shining on the edge of painted lips. 

Mizora caught Tav easily in mid air, arms curling around her thighs and parting her legs. Likewise, she found a grip on cool blue hips, locking the two of them in a new battle of wits. Although this time, sharp tongues were turned to new purpose…

Tav wasted no time, quickly getting another taste of the cambion while feeling the fiend’s hunger already finding a feast between her own thighs. Mizora was relentless from the start, lavishing her senses with more of the essence of the hells. Heat, cold, and even some trying to drain away the strength from her body…but she pulled back to Nessus, using the same power against the woman who was so desperate to bring her to ruin. Sparks of the Weave flickered at the tip of her tongue as she directed the magic into her “attack”. She brought her hand around to thrust inside, curling to find any further weak points in the only part of the cambion that could truly be described as either soft or warm. Tav kept a brutal pace, not concerned for the comfort of a woman who was just as merciless in sex as in the contracts that bound foolish souls to her whims. Mizora almost paused for a moment, tail curling around to take hold of Tav’s arm. Though instead of pulling her hand back, the cambion seemed to encourage her to press deeper, rougher motions. Just like her… Tav thought to herself, redoubling her efforts, digging the nails of her other hand into the base of the fiend’s tail hard to make her point. She felt the grip on her forearm release, but quickly followed by a swift strike to her upper back from the arrow-tip appendage. There was a pleased chuckle that vibrated through Mizora’s tongue as Tav moaned at the sting of pain. The contrast between the pain and the ecstasy kept the ebb and flow of pleasure’s tides moving through both of them as neither was willing to cede defeat. There was nothing but the sensations, the experience, the overwhelming combination of the essences of all the hells distilled into a battle that was more of pride than of flesh. Neither cambion nor elf knew which one broke first - both biting back the sound of their climax, though unable to hide it completely.

Before she had even a chance to regain her breath, Tav felt Mizora’s tail slide around her waist, pulling the two apart and whipping her around face to face again. Taloned narrow blue fingers gripped her throat with just enough pressure to make the point without crushing. “You play with fire, pet. I like that.” 

“Fire? This is a matchstick to a furnace. Is that all you are, Mizora? A sputtering flame?” Tav pushed her luck, licking the taste of herself from the cambion’s own lips, following with a kiss that shared like for like, ensuring Mizora could swallow her own ‘medicine’. “Hm. Perhaps you are merely a rabid beast who needs taming after all.” Mizora caught Tav’s lip in sharp teeth, drawing hot blood as the elf’s pale wrists were twisted behind her back, quickly bound by a coiling blue tail. She struggled momentarily, but with her arms behind her Tav didn’t have the strength to get free. Not that she was particularly inclined to. 

Mizora’s fingers flickered with a myriad of colours, the flames licking around her whole hand, summoning the essences of the hells once more, tracing along Tav’s body. “That’s right, pet, writhe and whine, for the rest of our time your body is mine.” The part of the rogue that wanted to argue was silenced and overpowered by the lust and intrigue that still burned hot. Blue wings enclosed around her as they continued to float in…she wasn’t sure it even mattered. “That’s it, surrender.” Mizora had no intention of being gentle. Continuing to bind her hands with the strength of her tail alone, three fingers thrust inside Tav without warning.

She whined at the intrusion, unsure if the burn was from the stretch or the hells weaving around wicked fingers. The cambion clearly had experience and was willing to play her every nerve to tease out the little gasps that left her mouth hanging open, eyes closed as the sensations threatened to devour her whole. Even the copper-sweet taste of her own blood trickling from her lip onto her tongue was doing little to reduce the heat building deep within her again with the memory of her lover’s sanguine kiss. Although…there was the shadow of something else, the phantom feel of lips where Mizora’s most certainly were not. The quiet echo of her own laugh in her mind, a sending without the stone. “Interesting game, Little Thief, to steal from one such as her… Say the word and we stop, or nothing and we will give you more.”25 words in her own voice, the simple sending betraying the incubus and their game - somewhere in Avernus they had taken her form, and they weren’t alone. She could even feel the edge of the devil’s greed as she pointedly answered the spell with her silence. Mizora had no idea that Tav was leaning back into pure self indulgence, her mind drifting to other tails that could bind her, other lips that could press against her neck, other hands that could thrust with a merciless pace inside her, another thumb that could circle overstimulated nerves- 

The cry that left her lips was not for the woman driving her over the brink, nor even the games of two fiends in Avernus; it was one born from the decision to just take what she could from the experience. It mattered little if Mizora thought she had won, that her sharp voice rang out with a mocking laugh, whispering the gloating of a false victory. Tav had what she wanted, and then some.

—

It was some time before Mizora was satisfied, and Tav’s legs were barely able to stagger as the cambion brought the ground rushing back up beneath them, the circle of magic bubbling up with the unsettling tar-like liquid that washed over them. While the cambion had ensured her own clothes were returned, Tav was left bare, her outfit appearing instead in a heap next to her bed Mizora deposited her on the ground beside them.

“Really? That is where you were?” Astarion’s voice cut through the silence, though thankfully his was the only presence in the room besides Tav and the gloating devil stood above her. 

“Oh don’t you fret now, I have returned your little toy unharmed. Mostly .” She grinned, sharp teeth bared at the pale elf who continued to pointedly ignore her presence. “Well, I hope it was worth it, darling. Did you enjoy yourself?” He continued only addressing Tav, helping pull a blanket around her shoulders before the cold could bite through to her bones. 

“Trust me, pet, she won’t be forgetting me any time soon~” Mizora crooned, her wings spreading slightly with pride. 

“It was…acceptable.” Tav shrugged, equally ignoring the devil in favour of her lover. “I admit I couldn’t resist trying at least once. She did offer me a taste of the hells, after all.” 

“And that was not something that your other cambion lover would provide?” He raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing at the edge of his expression. “Or the incubus? They seem more than willing to let you experiment, after all.” 

A pleased shiver ran down Tav’s spine. “I don’t doubt that, but what’s life without some variety? You did tell me to sample anything on offer, after all. It would’ve been a waste of a chance.” She finally turned to Mizora. “Although, I can’t see what all the fuss was about, honestly. A fun evening, but I shan’t be pining after your touch for the rest of my mortal days. You can leave.”

“I can WHAT?! ” Mizora snapped, wings rising and flames gathering around her fingers. “Oh, you impudent little-” 

“What in the hells is going on in here?” Wyll’s voice cut across the room like a blade, stopping the cambion before her spell could unleash itself. “Maybe I will leave, I’m sure you’ll have fun explaining to my little pup why you reek of his mistress~” Mizora’s smile returned, cruel and cold, as she turned her back on the two elves now sitting on the edge of the bed. She stalked across the room, clawed fingers tracing along Wyll’s chest as he stood motionless and furious. “Ta ta, pet. Have fun playing with your friends, while you still can.” With a laugh and a swirl of acrid smoke, she was gone. A moment later, Astarion and Tav were laughing so hard they nearly fell to the floor. “You think this is funny? That you were foolish enough to cavort with a devil who would devour your soul faster than you can snap your fingers?” Wyll stormed across the room, eye blazing with anger. “I thought we were at least friends and here you are sleeping with my enemy after convincing me to…to…” 

“Wyll…gods…no it’s not like that. I’m sorry. Astarion, please-” Tav wiped the tears from her eyes struggling to regain her composure as her lover took over the explanation. It took a moment longer for the pale elf to find the words himself, even as Wyll glared down a the pair. “Listen… You should have seen her face. This darling little thing over here looked the bitch in the eye and told her she was forgettable .”

“You… I’m sorry, you said what? ” Wyll’s anger was mixing with pure confusion, the emotions fighting for control over his expression and neither one winning. “She actually thought,” Tav took another few breaths to calm herself. “She truly believed I was going to be some pathetic whining thing desperate for more. I won’t lie, it was unique, but the best part wasn’t anything we did while undressed. It was stripping off her pride and watching her completely lose it.” “She could have killed you!” The anger was winning again, this time with concern rather than rage.

“No, she wouldn’t.” She steadied herself. “Even Mizora has a healthy fear of what we’re up against, she’s not willing to put that at risk. Once it’s over…well, we might have a problem on our hands. But it was still worth it to see that look on her face!” “You are an absolute menace.” Wyll shook his head. “And you shouldn’t encourage this either! Gods, the pair of you…” His frustration, however, was beginning to ease a little. “She really did look more unsettled than I’ve ever seen her before.” 

Tav grinned. “Right? That’s not even the best part, when I-” “Alright, I get it. Spare me the details, please. I don’t need more nightmares.” The warlock seemed at least willing to let it go for now, turning around to leave the pair to their own devices for now. 

“Suit yourself,” Astarion smirked. “Now, about those delicious details…” “At least let me leave the room first!” Wyll complained, quickening his pace to the door. Once it had closed, and the footsteps receded, Tav nudged her lover. “Maybe we should’ve said less, at least while he was here.” “When he realises that you just managed to get right to the heart of his greatest enemy’s weakness, I’m sure he will see the greater good in your heroic sacrifice.” Astarion put his arm around her, reaching down for the book and quill. “Care to fill some more pages, my love?”

---------- ---------- ENDING NOTES ---------- ----------

I am so sorry it has taken me this long to update ATG - I may have been a little distracted by events, one shots, requests, and other series that leapt to my mind from nowhere. I hadn't forgotten, and in all honestly I found this chapter more challenging to write. But it is here, and more will follow again in a few weeks~

I shan't promise a regular schedule, but I do promise that it will continue again. The next chapters will bring Astarion back in as the main romance, and begin to resolve our remaining plotlines to find our way to the ending.

To those who haven't been following my other works, there are a couple of side stories tied to this continuity, and I would love to go back and work in some things like Abdirak who I missed the first time through, and likely some more side stories. The FicFeb works, both the SFW and NSFW ones, contain more of the ATG Tav's backstory and alternate scenarios which I might copy in here at the end as an "extra lore" chapter, and in the series version of ATG as well.

And honestly to those of you who have been on this journey with me since the beginning, I want you to know how very much I appreciate every interaction, every kudos, comment, and piece of encouragement that brings me back to this story not out of duty but out of a very real love and adoration for it~

[ferinehuntress]

At least Mizora didn't seem to hesitate. The devil might have some brains it seems, though that was Karlach passing a bone in a long reach. Though in truth, Karlach would not underestimate any of them, they were intelligent, good with words as they were with fancy gestures; how else did they manage to sweep so many people into deals! The flash of Mizora near true for glistened, the way those eyes as Karlach nearly grabbed her axe out of instinct. She daresay for a moment, Mizora might have been releasing her ascended form right then and there, as her tongue whispered words of infernal and Karlach caught every since word.

A half snarl left her mouth at the horrid smell, brimstone, and the stench of Avernus flying from her very wings. The day that stench left her nose would be the day she died happy. A little snarl of a smirk crossed her lips, at least glad that Mizora knew she would never take a deal. It didn't take long, as Karlach's hoove smashed the skull and the diamond tumbled from the eye socket leaving Mizora what she needed to do. She was gone in an instant as Karlach pocketed the diamond and raced off toward the campsite. They had set up on the cliffside close to the goblin camp, as Karlach climbed the ladder, over the building until she was back given the others.

Lae'zel was tending to security, and Astarion and Gale seemed to be nowhere in sight. Shadowheart had been trying to tend to heal Wyll, but it had tired out the sharran healer who looked to be covered in sweat. Scratch was nestled against Wyll, worried, and growled at the sight of the cambion. "Easy, boy," Karlach spoke to Scratch who looked toward karlach.

"I don't like her, she smells wrong. Very wrong," The dog spoke to Karlach due to her capability to understand animals and she scratched the top of his head. Crouching down, she stood over Wyll, as her tail lashed impatiently, worried for her friend. He smelled like death, and Karlach's nose scrunched up in displeasure before glancing over toward Mizora. Karlach was nearly about to jump up and do the organ harvesting herself but it seemed Mizora was getting her minions to do it for her.

The idea of working with Mizora displeased Karlach, but still, she had to do so. "What do you need from me?" Karlach questioned. She wasn't going to be useless if she could assist. If that meant preparing to open him up, she would make sure to have the right tools and bandages as needed, she find Gale to have a second healer (she would prefer Shadowheart but she had already worn herself out it seems working to keep him stable). It didn't matter, she would do what was needed without argument at the moment.

Karlach was a commander, not a medic. She knew enough first aid as means of survival and handling the battlefield, but with extensive procedures like this, she knew she had to lean on others for it.

Whatever sniding remark Mizora wanted to make, vanished from her lips as soon as Karlach mentioned that Wyll was in mortal peril. From some pesky potion a stinking, little gnome had used no less! Curse that blasted tadpole for weakening her connection to her beloved pupster, otherwise, she would have been able to tell this without needing Karlach to play messenger.

Mizora's calmness disappeared. Any expression of charm or flattery was replaced with narrowed eyes, a strangely elongated snout, a mouth full of far too pointy teeth and a snarled voice speaking something in an infernal tongue under her breath. If Karlach bothered to translate it, it would be something about a cactus and a goblin's sensitive, little rectum. Flames licked along the membranes of her wings, which vigorously beat up and down and for a few seconds, the air stank awfully of rotten eggs.

As swiftly as Mizora had become ugly in her anger, it passed. Glaring down at the skull, the Cambion said: "Whom do you take me for, Karlach? I know you wouldn't depend on a deal if you were the last person on Earth and infertile. And as you just so eloquently put it, I have my own pact with Wyll to worry about. Now, for everything in Avernus, will you swallow that pride of yours, crush that stupid doorstopper and let me save poor puppy's life?!"

As soon as Karlach broke the barrier, Mizora became a puddle of blood, only to reform next to Wyll's bed in camp. Her little warlock was lying on his sleeping bag, fitfully turning in his sleep. His teeth were gritted, his expression tense, and he seemed unable to unclench his fists. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Mizora placed the back of her hand on it. Wyll groaned. He was hot and clammy to the touch.

"Easy, puppy", Mizora whispered with a full smile on her lips, "You are going to be alright. Don't you fret."

Wyll's stone eye glowed strangely and his body entered an almost rigid trance as Mizora used their connection to inhabit Wyll's form for a fraction of a second. When she got out, the Cambion's cheeks had gained a soft tint of rouge and her wings beat back and forth. "Wooohhh, this is a doozy!", she called out.

The poison was rapidly causing several of Wyll's organs to fail. The fever and sweat were a result of the body fighting that shutdown and trying to stall it. Luckily, till now, Wyll's important organs remained unaffected. However, things wouldn't stay that way. Furthermore, the poison contained a lot of iron, which demons were never keen on if it wasn't infernal.

"We are going to have to drain the poison out of his body and replace at least one kidney, his spleen and his tonsils," Mizora spoke matter-of-factly as if this was not a matter of urgency. She snapped her fingers absentmindedly and in a flash of sickly green light, a quasit appeared next to the bed. The slender, green-scaled, spike-covered fiend with its red head and large horns looked around in surprise and confusion. However, upon noticing it was in the presence of a cambion, it grovelled.

Smiling smugly, Mizora turned to Karlach and called: "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to the nearest battlefield and open up a few bodies for us! Those organs have to be harvested fresh if we want to implant them."

[shimmerbeasts]

"What do you know about Raphael?" Astarion asked cautiously. He didn't trust Mizora in the slightest but she was his only source of information. There was also little harm in asking as long as he didn't agree to give anything in exchange. He trusted Raphael far less and saw little appeal in the deal he offered except as a last resort. Astarion would much rather control the power of the tadpole than give it away but if it was that or becoming a Mindflayer, well... He did still have some sense of self-preservation left.

Mizora was already waiting for Astarion and Wyll in the camp. Even though the Cambion did her best to look as unfazed and unbothered as possible, the irregular flicks of her tail spoke a different story: Mizora was fuming! Raphael may have tried to get Astarion to agree to a deal with him, but more so, he had had the gall to teleport everybody accompanying him to the House of Hope, including Wyll.

Wyll was her warlock! As far as Mizora was concerned, Raphael just had the gall to invade her territory by merely forcing Wyll into Avernus and the House of Hope. Sure, her pet's soul was already forfeited and belonged to her, but it did not change the insult, she felt had been done to her.

Thus Mizora had already waited for Astarion and Wyll to return to camp, if only so she could demand answers from her favourite pet. Sure, she had already seen the whole encounter, thanks to the sending stone in the young warlock's eye, but she had to make it clear that Wyll should not even think about trying to take another deal. Certainly not to someone as pompous and self-important as Raphael! Mizora would not even grant him a nibble of Wyll's soul!

Astarion did not disappoint. He came barging towards her with Wyll close in toe. Mizora could not even get a single word out - she did not need to, anyway -, before she was already met with one heavy question. It at least showed that Astarion was harder to make a deal with and even had an inquisitive and clever mind - something, Mizora was already well aware of. As far as she knew, the vampire still had not touched her little welcome gift.

Mizora's wings did the briefest, little flutter, coquettedly masquerading as an expression of surprise. She placed a hand on her chest and let out a quiet, well-trained gasp, completing the image of surprise, shock and maybe even a hint of mild outrage. Neither Astarion, nor Wyll deserved to know just how deeply invested she had gotten into their dilemma and how much offence she had taken to Raphael visiting them.

"Raphael is a Cambion like me", Mizora began, "and one of the most self-absorbed, entitled people, you can probably meet. If he claimed he is a saviour towards either of you two, do not believe him. His so-called generosity never comes without a cost. He is as ruthless and vindictive as a devil comes."

She placed her hands on her chest and with a softer tone, continued: "I know you do not trust me, Astarion, but at the very least, Wyll, my darling, little pupster, can vouch for the fact that as complicated as I can be sometimes, I have given him more leniency than Raphael will ever grant either of you."

She now looked at Wyll, staring at his devil's eye and the horns curling on his head. Mizora smiled generously. "After all, despite you not following my orders and letting Karlach go, I did not drag you down to Avernus and make you a blob of stink flesh. Even though the contract easily would have given me the right to do that."

Mizora cleared her throat, raised a finger and cited: "Clause Z § 13: 'Should the promised soul refuse obeyance or neglect duty, the pact-holder shall cast the promised in Avernus as a lemure.' And yet, here you are, puppy. Still breathing, still walking Faerun's soil, with just a new head decoration." She chuckled, cocking her head aside. "Further more, I have left Karlach be. I have not come after her myself, nor have I reinstated Wyll's task of killing her."

Mizora curled her fingers into a loose fist, and for a few seconds, Wyll swallowed tightly, hand going for his neck as if he was trying to loosen his invisible collar a touch. The Cambion said: "I don't think I have to state how incredibly lenient, I have been. If anything, I am giving Wyll an autonomy few warlocks have the luxury of possessing. It certainly wouldn't be a luxury either of you get if you sign a deal with Raphael.

"He is so incredibly spiteful and temperamental. If he does not work you to the bone, he might just eat your soul if he happens to get a bit peckish. He can call himself your saviour all he wants. At the end of the day, he is a slave trader. Nothing more, nothing less." Mizora gestured a hand in a low circle as if she was inviting Wyll and Astarion to confide in her. "I hope, neither of you considered taking him up on his offer. After all, you have another alternative in me. And Wyll here" Her nails trailed across the scars, surrounding Wyll's eye socket. "knows me better than anyone else."

@runes-menagerie cont. from here.

[faerunscursed]

@shimmerbeasts “You've grown sloppy."

Mizora offered Wyll a hand to pull himself back up after a slap of her tail had been enough to knock him off balance. The Cambion and the warlock had found a small valley a bit away from camp to resume an old tradition from when Wyll had travelled alone. Her little pupster had insisted Mizora did not have to visit his dream and they could just do the practice here.

Now that same warlock sat humiliated on his bum and rubbed his ankle where Mizora had struck him. His rapier lay uselessly in the grass beside him. The Cambion gave a soft chuckle at his moaning, her wings bristling briefly in the chilly air.

"Come on, puppy", Mizora teased, "Quit the whining. We both know you can do better." Her fingers closed around Wyll's wrist and she pulled him to his feet. Patiently waiting for Wyll to regain some sense of dignity and pick up his weapon, Mizora remarked: "I told you to watch out for my tail. Most beasts will use their tails to hit you if they can."

Before joining up with tav and their party, Wyll only had himself and Mizora. Life had been simpler then, as the blade of frontiers all he had to do was kill this and kill that, or time was spent defending those who couldn’t defend themselves, like the grove. Most of the time he was hunting devils, and after long hunts he would be rewarded. However, in between those he and Mizora had nightly training routines in which kept him primed for anything.

This stopped after Karlach was saved and he was swiftly punished for it. The result turned him into a devil with a tail and horns. That didn’t seem to affect how the party felt about him, luckily. Yet everyone’s worst critic was themselves, and he often struggled to accept what he saw I the mirror. More than that he hated how inhumane he felt now. The urges and sadistic tendencies he pushed back now were something he kept well hidden.

Perhaps that why he avoided these spars with Mizora, even if he couldn’t avoid them in dreams. Violence brought out that part of him now. It also equally made him frustrated as he was swept off his feet by her tail. Shit he was definitely out of practice. “Did you really have to use your tail?” Wyll huffed stubbornly as he let her pull him off the ground. "Maybe now that I have one I should have you teach me a trick or two..."

Wyll took a moment to gather his pride again before he reached for his rapier. "And for the record, I'm not sloppy, just out of practice." He reminded her promptly, then took a deep breath, bracing himself to continue their training. "My recent company isn't exactly the sparring type unless they need to be."

He held out his rapier towards her. "Alright, lets try this again."

[shimmerbeasts]

Karlach sat in her tent alone, because of her fiery engine that pulsed against her chest and ached with pain. She clutched at her front, taking a few deep breaths as the pain ripped through her. Being in charge came easily, but she usually would do things with them, tandem teams; but her pain was immense that evening so she had Lae’zel and Astarion go out in one group, and Wyll and Shadowheart for the other; leaving Gale and herself at camp. Gale had taken first watch, which meant she could get some sleep, but it was difficult that night. Memories swept through her thoughts, and the anxiety welled in her chest, making it hard to sleep. Mizora’s appearance didn’t startle her, in fact she had become accustom to it. They had worked together for years in the hells, often working as a two team group; Mizora often took more distance work with her animals while Karlach was in the melee fight up close and personal. They were the elite squad, sometimes having others under them, but Mizora and Karlach had worked together many times over. If anyone knew her well enough; it was her.

“I’m glad I did. He helps me sleep better, though I haven’t been able to hold him.” She had to keep him at a distance, so not to char his threads or destroy him. As much as Karlach didn’t like when Mizora hunted her; Mizora was the only one who actually knew her. She rested her arms against her knees as the bear floated toward her and she hesitated at first, but reached out to catch the bear. Her eyes widen, realizing her touch did singe the object, and she pulled it close against her chest. Karlach knew Mizora’s technique, she had seen it in action many times over. And yet, she still couldn’t deny the need for comfort and she had given it to her so many times. When she had been wounded in battle or punishment, Mizora always tended to her. It was a struggle between knowing Mizora’s tactics but also desperately clinging to the only kind of kindness she had. The bear fluffed up as Karlach squeezed him so tightly and glanced away in shame. “It hurts so much,” Karlach whispered as her claw tapped at the engine. “I thought you would be watching after Wyll?” The question slipped her lips, hesitating between agreeing to have her stay.

"You look worse for wear, Wyrmling."

Mizora's ruby-red eyes rushed across Karlach's chest. The Tiefling - Zariel's pride and grand champion - sat on her bed, breathing heavily. Hot steam shot out of her vents and the inside of her chest crackled, popped and rumbled. It was rough to listen to. Karlach clutched her chest, expression strained. Beads of sweat collected on her body and her eyes were sunken into their caves. She must have been trying to fall asleep with little success. Her anxiety and wrought mind peppered the air.

Mizora's tail flicked and her wings twitched, however, she did her best to ignore the desire to drag out Karlach's bad emotions and devour them. Exploiting someone while they were mentally weak was a thing of ease for a devil, but it certainly did not win you any loyalty. When it came to Karlach, Mizora had worked too hard to destroy the loyalty, she had built, through a mere flight of fancy.

Wyll had been right in assuming that there was history between them. Yet how far that history went, was something her puppy was woefully unprepared for. Despite Karlach and Wyll being nothing but crumbs of dirt in the stream, which was Mizora's life, she valued the partnerships, she had built with them both.

Under Zariel, Mizora and Karlach had been an elite squad, often working together with little to no fellow soldiers under them. They were a well-oiled team; and much like Wyll knew certain things about Mizora, so did Karlach. Though of course, the one who harboured the most knowledge, was always Mizora. She did not make unfavourable partnerships after all.

"Go on", Mizora softly coaxed Karlach, making Clive do a little jiggly dance in her magic with the bending of her fingers, "Touch him. I promise things will be okay." As the Tiefling finally caught the teddy bear and realised she did not singe or burn him, the Cambion chuckled and lowered her hand. "I know how much the fluffball means to you. You are very welcome."

The air was thick with familiarity and knowledge. Karlach hugged Clive tightly and looked away. Mizora half anticipated to be sent away. Zariel's champion was clever and understood Cambions better than most. Yet, somehow Karlach did not seem that keen on sending her away. Even though she did not like that fact.

"I don't have to be in Wyll's presence to keep an eye on him", Mizora answered and knelt down, "Besides, the pet is old enough to watch after himself. And from what I recall, you did not send him out on his own either. That Sharran cleric should know how to keep an eye on him."

Her hand reached for Karlach's engine. As Mizora's palm rested upon the Tiefling's chest, the heat radiating through the flesh made her furrow her brows. "It is way warmer than it should be", Mizora murmured, "I am not an infernal mechanic and that Tiefling hired, did disappear when Elthurel was released by this pesky adventure group. Though I might have a solution to cool the engine down enough for you to catch some shuteye. It is not permanent, and I fear you may not like it."

@feraldames cont. from here.

[shimmerbeasts]

This cluster of misfits had already seen her and Wyll had been forced to reveal his ugly, little secret, so Mizora saw no reason not to drop by. She could still steal Wyll away for the night to make him practice until his knuckles bled and his fingers were scraped raw, but the Cambion had quickly realised that being present in the camp was more fun than just relying on the stone eye in Wyll's empty eye socket.

Most of the time, she did not interfere with the ongoing of the camp. Save for Wyll, whom she had full claim to, she did not provoke anybody. Though Mizora had discovered that startling Scratch was a fun pastime. Leave it to a dog to be startled by her even after the seventh time. Other than that, the Cambion mostly just watched, her wings folded smoothly on her back and her reddish orange eyes prying into everyone's souls as if she wanted to drain them all of their good standing with one another when no one was looking.

Like the last few days, Mizora had stood almost unmoving during most of the day. There was a reason, some churches claimed that the gargoyles on their cathedrals were slumbering devils, watching and lying in wait. Mizora could go for hours without so much as twitching an eyelid. And yet, no matter from what angle of the camp you looked at her, it always felt like she was watching you. Wyll had wearily tiptoed around her as if he had only waited for her to spring to life at the most unexpected moment. He had headed to the crate, in which they stored their food, looking for the wine. Her pupster had started to drink more in the last couple of months.

Fascinating. Mizora's red eyes flashed like a cat's, reflecting a torch as they gazed at Eve, who had approached her from the side. This question came unexpectedly. The Cambion had half-assumed, the little leader of this funny get-together had decided she had overstayed her welcome and was trying to evict her. Not that this was a possibility, anyhow. Even the way this question was spoken, Mizora could not detect malice but curiosity.

How droll.

"Don't sell yourself too short, Eve."

Mizora finally unfurled her wings and properly turned to the young half-elf before her. Rolling her shoulders, the Cambion relished in the push and pull of muscles as she stretched her wings out, mindful to not knock anything over. Wyll's quasit shrieked at the sudden commotion and jumped behind his trunk, tail flicking unruly behind itself.

"I find you all to be quite an interesting, little ragtag bunch", Mizora explained and idly pointed either with her finger or a wing tip in the direction of each companion as she explained: "Gale here is so besotted by his love for the Goddess Mystra, that he was willing to become physically disabled for it. Karlach, poor, wounded hound, is so terrified of closing her eyes at night that she needs to sleep with a teddy bear to make it till dawn."

"Shadowheart has random seizures and mistrusts about half the party, which relies on her medical expertise. Lae'Zel acts like she is the toughest and meanest around when she is the most scared of all of you. Astarion, despite being a several hundred-year-old vampire, has to rely on his flattery and bravado, least of you see the little, wounded boy, he carries on the inside, frightened of nothing but a raised hand."

Her lips flickered into a smile and a few of Avernus' flames flickered around her fingers as her gaze rested on Wyll, who had found his drink for the night, and with a grim expression, was heading back to his tent. Even without the scrying stone, Mizora could practically rip the discomfort from his guts. Her tail rose in a curl, brushing across Eve's thigh like an intrusive touch.

Mizora purred: "My little pet over here is so desperate to stay a storybook hero that when I made him a monster slayer, he fought with his morals every waking hour. Each day, his path seems to become more and more shrouded in shadows, one has to wonder when he will fall into someone's back."

"And finally, there is you", the Cambion finished, "the leader of this little posse. So thirsty for ultimate power, yet so very afraid of mastering anything at the same time. How are you supposed to get anything on your terms if you can't even perform a spell, which does not end in someone randomly being disembowelled?"

Mizora laughed - a pearly and yet icy sound. "You are wondering if you are interesting to me, Eve. Sweetheart, you and your little group are each miserable in their own way. It is positively mouth-watering. So why wouldn't I stick around?"

@shimmerbeasts liked this for a starter

Ever since Mizora had shown up in Camp, Eve had been feeling a bit on edge. Not just because Mizora was a cambion, but because Wyll seemed on edge and Eve didn't want Wyll to feel uncomfortable. So, while she was trying to be a good hostess, it was...harder than she had anticipated. There was so much at stake still, and it felt like Mizora was breathing down their necks.

"Are you actually enjoying yourself?" Eve found herself asking that night. There was no malice in her voice: she was genuinely curious. What fun could it be to actually be stuck here with them? Unless of course she was watching them for some reason she just didn't know yet. "We can't be very interesting."

To a cambion anyway.

[shimmerbeasts]

She could not help a brief, derisive snort escape her mouth as Jaheira expressed non-verbal surprise at the sight of the scars. It seemed the half-elf was familiar with the Blood War. Most people, who studied devils even remotely, knew that. After all, it was one of the main reasons, devils went after souls. Not just to increase their own power, but because they needed cannon fodder.

Still, the fact that Jaheira was surprised at all, was a mild nuisance. Mizora was not like Raphael, who had hidden himself in the House of Hope and sent Yurgir to partake on his behalf. But then why should mortals give a damn about a devil's inner life and thoughts? Most had made up their mind about her kin anyway. They were correct, of course, most of the time, but the resulting haughtiness or disdain, with which you ended up being treated, could be such a tideous bore.

Mizora said, "Believe me, I will not make such a mistake again. The environment was more stacked against me than I had anticipated."

While she did use straightforward honesty to some extent and could even fake genuine honesty and affection, like all devils and fiends, Mizora could lie and scheme, if a situation called for it. In Mizora's case, that usually meant the concealment of information. Whether they were pact- and plan-sensitive or personal things, she did not deem the other person knowing.

Not even Wyll knew everything about her, and in those seven years, her puppy had practically exposed all his inner workings to her. By now, Mizora knew exactly how Wyll ticked, and what motivations and deterrents her pet needed to thrive under her care. After all, each hound was different, and the ones in training always required special attention.

Her tail gingerly unfurled and let go of Jaheira's leg. She leaned forward and gently tapped one of her wings against the high-elf's shoulder. Her expression opened up, softening and her brows curled upwards. Mizora spoke softly and with a slight tremor in her voice as if the horrors of the Mindflayer colony were still fresh in her mind - which to some extent it was.

"I am sorry." Mizora's voice was a gentle rasp, the purr of a cat, lulling you to sleep. "If I had not been trapped in a pod myself, I probably would have been delighted at your misfortune. But now... I am just grateful, you got out in time." She snickered and the sound almost sounded sad. Shaking her head, she pulled her wing back and flicked her tail in Wyll's direction. "It wasn't really a miracle. At least not completely. I had given Wyll the mission to rescue 'Zariel's asset' out of Moonrise Towers. He knew what would happen if he neglected or refused his duty."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sight of the cambion's scars. She had plenty of her own, but the ones etched into Mizora's leg were... daunting. No doubt they were acquired from the Blood War. Still, it was hard to imagine Mizora, with all her schemes and tricks, ever being caught on the front lines of such a brutal conflict. Jaheira had never given much thought to the daily lives of Avernus’s denizens, but now her gaze lingers at the cambion's scars for a while, as she found herself wondering what Mizora had endured. What events had shaped her into adopting her current modus operandi?

Her reverie is cut when Mizora lowers her dress again, covering up her scarred leg, and the druid decides to put her curiosity aside.

Jaheira raised her gaze to meet the cambion's eyes; analyzing and scrutinizing had become second nature to her by now, an instinct honed by years of survival. As Mizora herself said, the life of most Harpers were short, unlike her own, and there was a good reason for that.

The druid was, indeed, expecting deception, or some snarky, disdainful comment. But for her surprise, Mizora seemed to be pretty straightforward. Perhaps a glimpse at a fate far more dreadful than death had left an impression. It certainly left one in Jaheira, when she was captured by a colony all those years ago.

"If it’s any consolation, know that anything that makes us stronger increases our chances against the Elder Brain." She pauses, glancing back at the small party of misfits burdened with the grim fate of mindflayer tadpoles in their skulls. "I was once taken by a mindflayer colony, deep in some gods-forsaken pit of the Underdark."

She looks back at Mizora in a deep aknowledgement. Jaheira knew the fear all too well—the confusion, the despair, the sinking realization that not only your life but your free will and your very concept of self hung by a thread, ready to be severed at any moment. She hardly pities the cambion, but still, it is a fate she wouldn’t wish upon even her worst enemy. Some things were too cruel, even for devils.

"It's a miracle we made it in time."

[shimmerbeasts]

There were some hunts, you could not order without some thought put into them, even if you wanted to. Devils were always in fierce competition with one another - not just with each other in their respective ring, but also with all of Hell. Being Mephistopheles' son, Raphael had influence and reach on his side. Maybe, that was, which had made him brazen enough to dare to tempt Wyll into a pact with him. Mizora was convinced that Raphael had smelled her mark on Wyll and knew his soul was already claimed! Yet he had dared to contest that claim regardless, and he was arrogant enough to believe he could get away with it too!

The audacity behind that whole attempt! Not only had Raphael dared to slander her name, but he had also insulted her status as a warlock patron by thinking he could just take away the bloodhound, she had worked so hard on! This turpitude had to be rectified immediately! And as much as Mizora would have loved to have Wyll kill Raphael right then and there, she knew that the Cambion would prove to be a formidable opponent. Wyll needed the right tools to carve him up like the plump roast he was. He needed the help of those misfits, he hung around with so much.

The only factor, which could soothe Mizora's overwhelming swell of rage was the knowledge that Wyll Ravenguard would have never agreed to this deal in the first place. Her pupster was a loyal dog, thanks to her hand-feeding and raising him. Furthermore, Raphael's pride and arrogance would have always marked his undoing. Being someone who had never been told No meant that Raphael was far too up his own ass to ever consider someone moving against him. Particularly not someone, whom he had constantly mocked and insulted.

Mizora had endured every stone thrown at her! Knowing fully well that as she issued the hunt for Wyll to take out Raphael, it would finally be time to pay the Cambion back for every sneer and boast, for all the times he had slighted her and gotten away with it, thanks to his name. Well, not anymore! He had finally overstepped a line, Mizora would not tolerate. In fact, Wyll killing him would show him just how powerful his deal with her had made her favourite pet!

Raphael's death had been glorious! While Mizora had not been present, though she wished she had, the sending stone had allowed her to feel and witness the moment Wyll's infernal rapier - her rapier - plunged itself deep into Raphael's heart and extinguished the fire in him. Her pleasure rolled off her in hot, molten waves as she solidified out of the viscera and blood, she used to travel around. The Cambion's lips pulled into a winning smile, her wings, catching the flickering flames' shadows in their folds, and her hair a blaze of molten gold and orange, as she stepped towards the monster hunter, his body still sprinkled and soaked with the blood of the slain fiend.

"Well, well", Mizora praised Wyll, "You've turned into quite the bloodhound, haven't you? Puppy's first wrestled down big game. I would have loved to attend this little spectacle in person, but alas..." Her eyes glittered with diabolical glee as she remarked: "And of course, you wanted him dead for weeks. You and I both did, pupster. And my, oh my, you really outdid yourself. And you even brought me a little souvenir. Wyll, you know me far too well."

Her tail swayed from side to side as she sauntered over towards the head on the pike. Raphael's horns had always been ostentatious, Mizora found. Their thickness and curliness made them look more like ram horns. And what was up with his skin? It was so red, stupidly deep and sticky in colour. Even now his face was one of arrogance and rage, even though his tongue bulged out from between his teeth. No matter how prideful Raphael was, even he could not ignore instinctual submission when he was in danger.

Mizora brushed two long, fine and thinly clawed fingers across the stomp of Raphael's neck. They came back, dripping blood. Grinning to herself, Mizora gave a sound of surprise before she opened her mouth tantalisingly slowly and inserted her fingers down to two knuckles into her mouth. Closing her lips around them, Mizora's tongue wrapped around the digits as she slurped them clean off the blood. Moaning pleased to herself, her fingers pulled free with a quiet plop, and as she lowered the saliva-coated hand, the Cambion tilted her head up and swallowed, a self-satisfied grin, full of schadenfreude, plastered all across her face.

"I do look forward to eating that head once I am alone." Mizora turned back towards Wyll and chuckled softly when the young warlock offered her one of the bottles of the expensive wine, he and his playmates had taken from the House of Hope. Taking the bottle, Mizora peeled off the wax seal and raised it in response to his toast. She said: "And to the monster hunter, who slayed him so expertly. Well done, pupster. You've been a very good boy."

@shimmerbeasts [ retrieve ]  your muse requesting or ordering mine to retrieve them something . (Mizora and Wyll)

This had been a hunt Wyll had admittedly been waiting for since Raphael had graced the party with his appearance for the first time. Ever since he had dared to insult the deal that he had with Mizora by offering a new one. 'Break your deal with Mizora, Wyll Raveguard. Break it and I will help you become a far better warlock than she could dream of making you.' Those were the words he had said, and it had made his blood boil with rage. It was't just him either, he knew Mizora had been fuming at the idea, the thought, that someone such as Raphael would try to steal her bloodhound from her. Wyll hadn't even hesitated to inform her of the attempt.

Raphael, of course, held a significantly more amount of reach and power in the nine hells as the son of Mephistopheles. No doubt, had Wyll encountered him first those 7 years ago he might have made a deal. However, that wasn't how things played out and despite his higher ranking, there was one thing that separated him Mizora the most. His pride. Raphael didn't give too shits about him, and he thought himself clever in his attempt to sway the warlock by offering power only he could grant. Wyll had seen right through his attempt, and had openly laughed in his face. Turned down the deal with a simple "fuck you."

It was now fortunate that Mizora had come to him, finally issuing the hunt he'd been craving. The grin that had stretched across his face then had shown how eager he was to take the job, just as eager as he had been to kill Gortash. It was funny, the man whom had tried to steal him would now pay the piper in a big way. No one would even know, even, that Wyll had been sent on this hunt but he knew they would be easy to convince to travel to the house of hope regardless.

The death of Raphael had been the most thrilling battle he had faced in a long time, as he sat at camp now, remembering how his infernal blade had landed the final blow to his heart. No one would see the satisfied smirk on his face, either as his blade sliced through infernal skin with no resistance, as if slicing into a blood cake. Intentionally prepared for him and his blade alone.

The blood of the now dead cambion which had sprayed onto his horns and face, decorated them even now as she stared into the fire before him. Even the jewels Mizora had helped so neatly onto his horns were stained by the now dried blood. Beside him was a spike set up, Raphael's head mounted atop as he took a sip of the expensive wine they had managed to snag from the house of hope before leaving. That's when he felt her coming, he could feel then, how pleased she was before her body even solidified.

"I have to hand it to you, that was the most satisfying hunt you ever sent me on," Wyll said, a soft hum following as his body quickly relaxed in response to her presence. "I've been itching to kill that bastard for days, weeks. Now he will no longer be a problem, and the world is rid of yet another piece of shit."

Admittedly Wyll felt like a different man now. Ever since the night he had rescued and abandoned his father at the same time. Ever since he found himself stripped of his grief and guilt, if only a little. Now he could feel the fires of avernus raging in him with more intensity as he felt more connected to the devil she had helped him realize he was. One that was basking in his victory.

Wyll offered Mizora another bottle and rose his. "A toast, to the death of the bastard Raphael."