Hiiii I come back from the dead (aka physical and mental health reasons) to share the contribution I made to the @silkandsulphur zine!
Anyway, have a sample and check out the zine to discover more amazing works by fellow artists and writers!
Faraway cracks could be heard above the howling of the coldest wind. Tall glaciers and ice floes were stuck in a permanent dance, eternally trapping anybody foolish and ill-prepared enough to step a foot in the Eighth Layer. However, it was the least of one’s worries in Mephistar, the citadel dominating the Layer. Its ruler, Mephistopheles, blessed creator of hellfire, made sure to keep the place pleasant for his court – pleasant and foreboding enough to send a message, courtesy of the red dragon Testaron, bribed to become a prized ornament in the throne room in exchange for the mastery of hellfire, just like his noble master.
There he was, entertaining a court full of petitioners – entertainingbeing used in the most liberal manner, Raphael thought. A pleasant music made the scene almost agreeable to him, especially considering that it was played by no other than Lady Antilia, his ever so charming sister and Mephistopheles’ official bard. The Archdevil had quite a few offspring, but Raphael was the only one who had been officially acknowledged as such, and he certainly enjoyed this very notion, as well as the status it provided: Mephistopheles’ acknowledgement meant the whole court’s acknowledgement – something any Cambion could only dream of, and even petitioners from other Planes found it wiser to keep an even better standing with him if they somehow became aware of his identity. The Archdevil certainly made a show of it in Cania, of his prized and ever so charming son, always keen to do his bidding. What he kept well hidden was that he made sure to keep him there, nicely set under his thumb – with enough ambition to get things done, but not enough room for overstepping greed. Besides, was there anything better than a visible son to conceal a secret daughter from the numerous hidden enemies that would walk the halls of Mephistar?
This is the second fic I wrote for the Raphael fan zine @silkandsulphur! You can find it here. This one has been brewing for a while, as I desperately needed to write a version of Raphael making Mol a deal, and to see just a glimpse of what his mentorship could've been like.
The first piece I wrote is called Flowers for a Devil.
Summary: Have you ever pondered what happened to Mol after she was abducted from the Last Light Inn? In this one-shot, the Devil we know swallows his pride as he ventures deep into the Mind Flayer Colony to rescue Mol, and not because he has a soft heart... he's just looking out for his future assets.
Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.
(Image via keylana-dragon)
The Last Light Inn shuddered as the roof collapsed, windows shattering all across the establishment as a swarm of winged horrors flooded through the openings. They bared their rotten teeth, immediately slashing at anyone within their vicinity. Mortal screams merged with ghoulish screeches as the tiefling refugees scattered like ants, some trying to find a spot to hide while others frantically searched for something to defend themselves with.
Jaheira jumped to her feet, her army of Harpers quickly following suit as they unsheathed their weapons, charging at the intruders with a surprising amount of vigour.
It was safe to say the sudden onslaught of enemies had taken everyone by surprise.
Well, nearly everyone…
The Devil sat amidst the ensuing bedlam, sitting snugly in his favourite seat near the entrance of the Inn. A mischievous smile snaked across his lips as he took in the atmosphere, uncorking an aged bottle of wine. He could’ve easily snapped his fingers to aid the poor mortals, to end their doomed fight faster than it began, but where was the fun in that? The shrieks. The blood. The abject horror. These were Raphael’s cornerstones. He nodded to himself in agreement as he watched a winged horror tear a tiefling apart – the Shadowlands never failed to disappoint.
Raphael proceeded to pour himself a generous amount of wine, swirling it around in his goblet before bringing it to his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaling its delicious aroma. Earthy and sweet, with hints of black cherries and a dash of smokiness to it. Just how he liked it.
The window next to him exploded before he could take a sip as a winged horror darted inside, shards of glass and wooden splinters ricocheting through the air. Raphael sighed, unmoved by the sudden disturbance. He took a moment to brush the broken glass and specks of dirt from his shoulder, noticing fresh tears in his favourite doublet and small lesions on his skin. He twisted his lips into a sharp frown at the sight, snapping his fingers to rid himself of the imperfections.
The winged horror hovered above Raphael and raised its hand, claws extended as it prepared to lash out at the Devil. Raphael looked up lazily, finally taking a sip of wine. His dark brown eyes transformed into a raging inferno, violent flames flickering deep within his retinas as he gave the ghoul a hard stare. His seat glowed red, the wood catching fire as it pulsated, a trail of smoke rising to meet the winged horror. It disregarded Raphael’s silent warning as it edged closer. Raphael snarled, showcasing his own Devilish fangs as he hissed. Get lost. Or else.
Raphael wasn’t in the mood to waste his breath on a creature of that status. If it came to it, he would’ve gladly ripped the ghoul’s head off, turning its skin into putty. It would’ve at least satiated his growing hunger, calmed his spiralling nerves for a brief moment. But Raphael quickly discarded that thought, uninterested in having his doublet ruined for the second time that evening.
The ghoul’s pale eyes widened as it took in Raphael’s threats, jumping back at the unexpected hiss. At realising what he was, who he was . It promptly zipped away, haphazardly flying into the staircase bannister as it made its way up to the second floor.
Raphael shook his head, shedding any remaining evidence of his infernal nature.
This only proved one thing, that Ketheric Thorm had truly lost all manner of sensibility. He was a coward in every sense of the word, too afraid to even collect his daughter from the Last Light Inn. Despite the God of Death himself sitting on the old elf’s shoulders, feeding him with immortality as befitting the Chosen of Myrkul, he had grown weaker, stupider; instead sending those slaves of the Absolute to do his bidding. No wonder he sat on his crumbling throne in Moonrise, rotting away and wasting his true gift as he chased one meaningless quest after another. It was no secret Raphael once took pleasure in Kethric’s misery, feeding off his pain and suffering, but now the fool was just getting under Raphael’s skin, disrupting his grand ambitions. If he had never joined the other Chosen, Raphael would’ve been content leaving Ketheric to wither like a rotting flower.
It didn't matter. Raphael had seen this story before, knew its ending. If only he could skip to the conclusion…
An icy breeze crept in through the window as Raphael watched the chaos continue, his eyes scanning the crowd for Tav and her companions. His grip tightened on the goblet as she flooded his mind, of what she could promise him, if his coercion went according to plan . He had grown tired of reading Korrilla’s field updates about the little mouse, finding her notes monotonous and lacking his usual artistic flair. His mouth salivated at the notion of getting to watch her work in real time, to see if this hero was truly worthy of his attention.
As if on cue, Tav dove out of one of the rooms upstairs, ramming against a bookshelf as she dodged an attack from a winged horror. The bookshelf fell on her, scattering miscellaneous scrolls across the upper landing. Tav eventually managed to free herself, drawing her sword and attempting to slash the ghoul in two. She missed the swipe by a margin, as if she was blindfolded.
In retaliation, the winged horror attacked Tav, marking her across the face with its claws. She screamed, throwing away her sword and summoning a fireball. The spell hit the winged horror, but also caught part of the landing as it exploded upon impact. Within seconds the ghoul disintegrated and the fire spread to the surrounding walls. Tav threw her arms up in panic as she showered the fire in an ice spell, quickly calming the flames.
Tav barely survived a fight against a weakling that should’ve taken her one, maybe two moves at most. Raphael let out a loud sigh, massaging the back of his neck. A lump formed in his throat, the sense of dread growing as it made its way to the pit of his stomach. Of all the creatures, in all the planes, it had to be that woman, that lost cause , who held the future in her hands. His future.
Fate was a cruel mistress indeed.
Two more winged horrors flew towards Tav and she yelped like a puppy, nearly tripping over herself as she ran back into the room she came from.
A strange warmth surged through Raphael’s chest at that sight, washing away all previous anxieties, as a rather boisterous laugh escaped his lips. Raphael seldom laughed in such a manner but it seemed the wine had loosened him up, perhaps too much, and he allowed himself to relax back into his seat. Yes, Tav was an imbecile, but he wouldn’t deny that she was quite an amusing creature.
He let the laughter naturally trail off as he re-directed his focus to one of the other rooms. Raphael immediately caught the eye of Jaheira near the dormitory, struggling to keep a winged horror from ripping her neck apart. She fired a thunderwave at it, but despite the concussive blast, it didn’t stop lunging at her. She glared at Raphael, her brows raising in confusion as she fought off the ghoul. A frown grew on her lips, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth.
Raphael tilted his head, smirking at her in return.
“Get away from me!” A familiar voice screamed near the bar, stealing Raphael’s attention from the Druid.
He leaned out of his chair, searching for the owner of that voice. Mol. Raphael barely had a moment to register it was her before a winged horror snatched her by the waist, taking her in its arms and flying off into the darkness outside the Inn.
Raphael crossed his arms, massassing his chin in contemplation. That cheeky little tiefling, he’d hate to lose that one. A nuisance to some, but to Raphael she was another auspicious opportunity.
A few nights ago, Raphael and Mol played lanceboard together until the wee hours of the morning. Raphael let Mol win, of course, but it was a close call, causing Raphael to change his tactics more than once. No creature had been that close to defeating him in a game since that priest, aeons ago. With more practice, and some clear guidance from Raphael, perhaps one day she’ll beat him fair and square. He saw something familiar in Mol, something that reminded Raphael of his younger self, scraping the barrel to survive.
At that moment, Mol’s contract practically fell into his lap. Although Raphael didn’t draft the document yet, they had a preliminary agreement set in place. He had strategically left the rest up to Mol, leaving her with the decision of whether or not she wanted to make such a risky bet on her future. But as with all decisions Raphael placed in front of his clients, she was free to choose the only option she had left.
Yes, Mol would need saving, that was for certain. The hour was late, but Raphael still had some time to kill before his next appointment. Why not make the most out of it? A little improvisation would do him some good. He was a saviour, after all.
Raphael’s eyes went back to Jaheira, curious to see how she was getting on with her struggles. The Druid was now on the floor, dazed from a strike against the head. The same winged horror loomed above her, within seconds of making the final strike.
“Might as well…” Raphael whispered resignedly, shrugging. He rose from his seat, straightening his posture as he snapped his fingers. A wooden beam instantly fell from the ceiling, crushing the winged horror like an insect, its guts splattering across the wooden floor.
Jaheira instinctively curled up into a ball as the beam destroyed the ghoul, preparing herself for the inevitable. After a moment of stillness, when she was sure the rest of the ceiling wasn’t going to collapse, she peeked through one of her arms, slowly unravelling. She crawled away from the dead monster, staring at the corpse and back at the ceiling in confusion.
She stiffened, as if feeling Raphael’s gaze on her, and slowly turned in his direction. Raphael nodded, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. You’re welcome.
The Druid shook her head, her eyes narrowing, lips snarling as she gave him a scathing look in return for his generous display of chivalry.
Their moment promptly ended when more screams came from the upper landing. Jaheira jumped to her feet, running towards the action without a moment's hesitation.
Raphael hummed an old melody to himself as he turned away from the ongoing action, sparing a final thought for Tav. Good luck, little mouse. They’ll be reunited soon enough.
And with that, the Devil snapped his fingers, whisking himself away to Moonrise Towers in a theatrical display of sparks and embers.
---
Raphael groaned as he trudged through the never-ending corridors of the Mind Flayer Colony, his boots squelching with each step, disappearing into the jelly-like consistency of the flooring. He shivered in disgust, holding his limbs close to his body. That cursed place was a disgrace to all living things, assaulting practically every one of his senses. Raphael picked up all sorts of rancid scents from the hills of rotting corpses and the sour stench of the Elder Brain itself, lurking somewhere even deeper below him. He knew the Absolute cultists were vile creatures, the scum of the earth, but he would’ve preferred any torment to this. He’d even consider having a face-to-face meeting with his beloved father rather than continue subjecting himself to these horrors any longer than necessary.
He followed the bloody hallways, unsure what other disgusting things awaited him as he searched for Mol. He eventually entered a location that resembled a laboratory, strange instruments he had never seen before occupied most of the room. An assortment of body parts and torture weapons were also thrown about the chamber like forgotten toys. Blood trailed down the walls like a waterfall, still wet from their victims. It was a madman's playpen. Raphael hissed, instantly recognising the handiwork from the disorder in front of him. Balthazar, that wretched necromancer. He should’ve known. At least Raphael had the dignity to clean-up after himself when he tortured his clientele. He quickened his steps, barely spending another second in the lab before he moved on, not wanting to risk contaminating himself any further.
Soon the Devil stumbled into a tadpooling centre, identical transformation pods lined the edge of the room, taking up practically all available wall space. Raphael took a step forward, his eyes scanning every pod for a sign of Mol. He felt his breath catch when he recognised the shape of a small silhouette in a pod at the far end of the room. It was roughly the same height as Mol, with two little horns sprouting from the skull…
He clapped his hands, rubbing them together in excitement. Alas!
Raphael darted towards the pod, peering inside it to confirm it wasn’t an illusion. Mol was unconscious within, her body slumped to the side. Her eyepatch was missing, no longer hiding the gaping hole where her eye would’ve been. Mol’s face was puffy, her body bruised and covered in blood, likely tortured before being thrown in there for transformation.
He sighed, tilting his head back in relief.
Raphael raised his hand, preparing to snap his fingers, when a voice sang out from the pod next to Mol.
“That one put up a fight…”
Raphael froze, turning towards the neighbouring pod. His eyes widened, glinting with excitement when he realised who that mysterious voice belonged to.
Mizora was crammed inside the pod. Her wings were folded and tangled, barely giving her any room to breathe within the confines of that Illithid cage. Usually so high and mighty, quick to treat even the mightiest Devil’s like dirt under her heels, she was now reduced to a measly insect in a jar.
Oh, this was going to be delicious .
Raphael stood in front of the pod, tapping on the glass with his index finger. He waved flamboyantly at Mizara, proudly wearing a smug smirk on his face.
“My, oh, my. Look what the cat dragged in. Are we having fun, Mizora?”
“This isn’t how I was expecting to spend my evening, so no .”
Raphael leaned back, crossing his arms thoughtfully.
“Hmm, yes. I can imagine your disappointment. Riding on Zariel’s coattails has taken you far, it seems. Where is your faithful leader now?”
“You will hold your tongue,” Mizora hissed.
“Must be eating you up inside. Poor thing .”
Raphael extended his arms, bringing a hand to his forehead as he began dramatically looking around the room, pretending to search high and low for Zariel’s whereabouts.
“Zariel?! Oh Zariel…?!” Raphael paused, cupping his hand towards his ear as he waited for an answer. “Wherefore art thou…”
“Forever the jester, never the king.” Mizora spoke through gritted teeth, leaning towards the glass.
Raphael bit the tip of his tongue, using all his power not to show any reaction to Mizora’s words. Her comment cut deep, sliding beneath his thick skin, just like Mizora knew it would. He clasped his hands behind his back, hiding the fact that the tips of his fingers glowed red, pulsating, on the brink of casting a rain of Hellfire down on her. That pod was about to become Mizora’s coffin if he didn’t control himself.
“Mock me all you want, Raphael,” Mizora continued, that venomous grin growing larger as she glared at Raphael. “Once Zariel gets word of this, your little escapades are over.”
“Oh I beg to differ.” Raphael laughed, quickly recovering his confidence and stopping Mizora’s smile short. “And shall I tell the Archduchess how one of her most prized servants foolishly let herself get caught in the Shadowlands, of all places? Overwhelmed by… what was it again? Shadows? Shadows, really? My, how the mighty have fallen.”
Raphael laughed uproariously, tears forming on the corner of his eyes. He placed his hand on the pod to catch his breath.
“Oh, I do look forward to seeing you finally cast out of Zariel’s inner circle, forced to beg for her love, her affection, scrounging for scraps like the miserable half- devil you are. You are slacking, my dear, maybe it's your obsession with that Blade of Frontiers, hm? I’m sure there is a list of growing tasks on your plate that you have been shoving aside just for him, no?”
Mizora lashed out at Raphael like a rabid wolf, hitting her face against the glass.
“Tsk. Have you no ounce of decorum, Mizora? Even now? A pity…”
Raphael turned away from Mizora, walking back to Mol’s pod.
“Don’t you DARE! I will make sure Z–”
Raphael snapped his fingers, silencing the cambion. He breathed deeply, basking in the newfound quiet that filled the room.
Back to business.
Raphael wet his lips, considering the tiefling for a moment. If he delayed any longer she’d be at risk of becoming a useless mind flayer, something not even a Devil of his stature could amend. Yes, he’d lose a deal, a soul, but he had enough of those already. What he craved, wanted more than anything was a chance at mentorship. He could barely remember the last time he recruited someone so young, someone bursting from the seams with potential. Mol was the perfect clean slate for Raphael’s endeavours, a mortal who was practically begging to receive Raphael’s guidance. With Mol under his wing, she’d be raised to her full potential by the time she was in her teens. Who knows what she’d achieve in adulthood…
He snapped his fingers, throwing open the door to Mol’s pod. Her body slumped forward, but Raphael was quick to catch her, holding the tiefling in his arms like precious cargo.
Satisfied, Raphael glanced back at Mizora. She was screaming, clawing against the glass of the pod. Ugly tears streamed down Mizora’s face as she continued yelling, her meaningless words lost in the silence. He stared at her, curious as to what she was saying; most likely begging for his help, in between all the infernal curses. He smiled proudly in return, joy filling his heart at how easily he had put Mizora in her place.
“Ta-ta…”
Raphael gave Mizora a final wink before spinning around.
A fiery portal appeared in front of him and he stepped through, leaving Mizora alone in her misery.
---
Nearly two days passed by the time Mol started to show any signs of life. She finally stirred, twisting in her bed, as if stuck in a never-ending nightmare. Her sudden movements pulled Raphael’s attention away from a meddlesome contract he had been drafting. He placed the quill in its holder, rubbing the bridge of his nose, relieved to finally have a moment’s respite from his growing infernal duties.
They were in a cosy guest room, located in his House of Hope and within a comfortable distance from the Chamber of Egress. Raphael seldom entertained guests who merely sought to spend the night, and much to his disappointment, that room was used only on the rare occasion.
Unlike the rest of Raphael’s domain, the guest room was decorated sparingly, with only a single ornate floral painting hanging over the large bed. The artwork showcased a vast field of daffodils, a piece Raphael painted from memory. When he found time slipping from his fingertips and unable to escape to the place it inspired, he stopped in this room, losing himself in the painting and the memories it elicited.
Save for the rosewood desk Raphael occupied in front of the bed, stacked high with various contracts and tomes, there was no other furniture in the room. A small balcony sat opposite the door, showcasing sweeping views of the mountainous landscape of Avernus and the River Styx below.
Raphael had stayed by Mol’s side since bringing her to his home. With Korrilla too busy watching Tav and her companions, Raphael trusted no one else with the task and had no choice but to keep a watchful eye on Mol himself. So, like a good mentor, he naturally brought the work to him, spinning his webs of influence even then.
Mol’s twisting quickly turned to violent thrashing, the sheets tangling around her small frame as she continued writhing, her face contorting in pain. Sweat glazed her forehead as she began muttering to herself frantically, all incomprehensible words. She pleaded to someone, something… Raphael inched forward in his seat, watching her curiously. Was she about to transform? Was he too late? He held his breath and waited.
The tiefling abruptly shot up in the bed, screaming at the top of her lungs. She panted, gasping for air as she looked around the room. There was a pause, the silence feeling like an eternity, as Mol’s breath steadied. She blinked, rubbing her eye, and taking in her new surroundings. Her remaining eye came to rest on Raphael. Her eyebrows attempted to climb up her sweaty forehead at the sight of the cambion, sitting there calmly surrounded by scrolls and documents.
He smiled, nodding reassuringly at her confusion. He soon settled back in his chair once realising his newest protege wasn’t in danger of sprouting tentacles.
“Ooooooh...” Mol said, looking out towards the balcony. It was almost as a confirmation to herself, an understanding of where she was. That she was safe .
The tiefling stretched the rest of her worries away, pushing her limbs out in front of her like a cat.
“So, it seems that you’re in my debt, Mol. How are we to solve this? Hmm?”
Mol opened her mouth to respond and quickly closed it, her brow furrowing in thought and frustration.
“I could've gotten out of there on my own, you know. I had a plan!”
“From my perspective, you were within seconds of becoming a sack of tentacles. Unless that was part of your scheme… you’ve proven to be quite resourceful in times of distress. I will give you that.”
“Hey, I fought off that big smelly fat man before he knocked me out. Smashed a bunch of those weird looking brain thingies too. I don't need anyone to save me!”
“Oh really now?” Raphael sniffed quietly, walking towards the balcony. He rested his hands on the stone railing, admiring the views of Avernus as he pretended to be disinterested in the current conversation.
I don’t need anyone to save me.
Raphael had uttered similar phrases throughout his entire existence. He had grown to rely only on himself, for safety and success. It was the only way to avoid any more disappointment, any more loss from his previous failures. After being cast out of Cania, deemed an embarrassment and unworthy of even his father’s love, he was forced to shape his own path, create his own future. Raphaell had no one to thank but himself. And his father, he supposed. If it wasn’t for Raphael’s hatred towards Mephistopheles, he wouldn’t have ended up so successful in the first place.
“But I guess… I should thank you, Raphael.” Mol shrugged, scratching the side of her head uncomfortably.
She suddenly gasped, feeling around for her eyepatch. She swiftly covered her missing eye with the palm of her hand, hiding it from Raphael.
There was another pause as Raphael waited, hoping he didn’t seem too desperate, too eager to solidify this deal with Mol. He wanted her to be comfortable and willing to give up anything. She needed to make the first move.
“I bet you want to talk about that deal, don’t you?” Mol asked.
Raphael nodded, the smile on his lips growing. Bingo.
“I’m all ears, Mol. A Devil is always ready to discuss business.”
“But… what if I’m not ready?”
At her words, Raphael turned around, snapping his fingers. A raging portal opened back to the Mindflayer Colony, showcasing a man in a pod. He was mid-transformation, his skin disintegrating into a bloody explosion, tentacles sprouting from his mouth.
“I can send you straight back if you wish? You can put your plan to good use, I’d be curious to see how you manage.”
Mol viciously shook her head, shivering.
“Gods, you’re good.”
“Shall I close the portal or…?”
Mol nodded and with another snap, the portal faded.
“I will have you know, Mol, this house was built from nothing,” Raphael dramatically gestured to the walls around him, treating the moment as if he was on stage in front of an audience. “I didn’t come this far by merely playing fair. I only show the reality of what is to come without my aid. I’ve been known to bend a few rules, or two, in my favour. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Maybe you can show me some of those tricks one day.”
“Would you like that?”
Mol nodded again.
Snap!
A blistering contract appeared before Mol, pulsing above the bed.
“Consider it done.”
“And uh, that other thing we talked about?”
“All in the contract.”
Mol hopped to her knees, crawling towards the contract in excitement. She raised her hands, reaching towards the quill but Raphael flicked his wrist, causing the writing instrument to vanish.
“It's never wise to sign without reading the fine print, Mol. Let this be your first lesson under my patronship.”
“Nah, I trust you. Oh, actually wait… can I add one more thing before I sign?”
“I’ll allow it.”
“Can you do something about this ?”
Mol lowered her hand from her eye, pointing towards it.
Raphael walked towards Mol, tenderly placing his hand on her head. She looked away, biting her lip, as her cheeks grew red in embarrassment.
“I’ll give you this one for free. Now read the contract. You never know who, or what , will try to deceive you.”
Raphael patted Mol’s head, sparks flying from his fingertips as her face was briefly covered in them.
“Ow! What the–!”
The sparks dissolved from Mol’s visage, revealing her restored eye. She gasped, jumping up and down on the bed.
“This might be the best thing that has ever happened to me… since… robbing those Druids and getting loads of gold!” Mol looked down at her hands and squealed in joy, observing her nails, looking at each finger, and making fists and other silly gestures with her hands. “Actually, no, I lied… this is way better!”
“Now read.”
Mol sighed, her posture deflating as she sagged into the bed with disappointment. She reached for the contract, bringing it closer to read.
Raphael resumed his position behind his desk, watching as Mol took her sweet time going over the contract. Her face became more serious as she concentrated, squinting her eyes and frowning as she mouthed each word from the text. When she was finished, she glanced up at Raphael, grinning.
Snap!
A quill appeared in her hands. She wasted not even one second as she signed her name on the dotted line.
Raphael clapped his hands and the contract disappeared in a ball of flames. The Devil spared no expense from his usual whimsicality, even for Mol.
“Well, I don’t feel any different…”
“In due time, Mol,” Raphael turned away from her, returning to the work that remained piled high in front of him.
“So… what happens now?”
“Might I suggest you start your work in the sewers if you are to achieve these rather ambitious goals of yours?”
Mol grimaced.
“I was hoping it would be more… instantaneous. I’ve had enough experience working in dirty, grimy places.”
“There is more to be found down there than meets the eye. Power means many things, one of which is connections . If you want to be running the Guild one day, it’s high time you start inserting yourself in their business. Know their rules, study their actions, and in time you will learn how to break them, mould them to your vision.”
Mol’s eyes brightened as she listened to Raphael, her eagerness growing like a volcano on the verge of an eruption until… her stomach grumbled, rather loudly, echoing throughout the room.
Raphael lowered the scroll he had been reading, shooting Mol a cold stare. She returned his look with a sheepish grin.
“I don’t suppose you have any… food down here?”
Another snap, this one strangely angry sounding.
A new table appeared in the middle of the room, filled with a plethora of snacks and luxurious food Mol had no doubt never laid eyes on.
“Gods! What a spread!”
Mol dove towards the table, devouring the food like a rabid dog. He would’ve normally found this behaviour repulsive, nothing ruined his appetite quicker than a mortal who could not control their temptations. But Raphael found comfort watching Mol, holding back a laugh as she tore the meat from a chicken leg. He would teach her proper manners soon enough.
“Say, no offence, but can you send me back when I’m done?” Mol spoke through a full mouth, “I mean, to Baldur’s Gate. I’m not a big fan of Avernus…”
“You better get used to it, Mol.” Raphael responded, dabbing a quill in some ink, “you’ll be seeing the Hells far more often, I guarantee it.”
Here is my first illustration for the zine @silkandsulphur. It's been months since I drew this (it was hard to keep it for myself, haha), and even if I made progress over time, I'm still happy with it 🖤
This is one of two fics I wrote for the Raphael fan zine @silkandsulphur! You can find it here. I hope you guys enjoy, always wanted to write something about a blind flower girl a la the film City Lights.
Summary: Raphael meets a blind flower girl named Vera, convinced claiming her soul will be an easy win. However, the Devil soon finds out this mortal in particular does not fall so easily for his lavish deals.
Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.
(Image via keylana-dragon)
The Devil sat against a large oak tree, resting his head on the trunk as he fought off sleep. He found solace under its canopy, his body draped in shadows, cool in comparison to the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. Raphael’s doublet stuck to his chest from the humidity, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. It was refreshing, tamer than what he experienced in Avernus.
He stared into the vast fields of daffodils before him, a dense blanket of bright yellow spanning for miles in all directions. The flowers disappeared into the horizon, giving the illusion this was the only world that existed. The only world that mattered.
Despite being so close to the chaos of Baldur’s Gate, to the interminable noise of mortals he grew to despise, the world stood still under the tree. Only silence enveloped Raphael. It was his patch of serenity, an escape from the demands of being a Devil.
He yawned, absorbing the sweet scents of vanilla and honey wafting up from the flowers. He rode a wave of nostalgia, the smells guiding him through a sea of fleeting memories. It had been over a decade since Raphael was first introduced to these fields, led astray by a woman who left a lasting impression on him.
Vera.
As unlikely as it seemed to Raphael, each flower, every individual petal, those brief memories of her, were too precious to him.
He leaned back, shutting his eyes. He pushed away his current trepidations about Tav and the mess awaiting him in the Hells. Raphael allowed his muscles to soften with each exhale, helping him to finally relax.
Soon the Devil dozed off, escaping into a memory...
---
Raphael was perched atop his balcony outside the Devil’s Den, overlooking Wyrm's Crossing. He had taken a brief respite from the day’s work, deciding to step outside for some fresh air and perhaps some inspiration. He leaned against the wooden railings, observing the ongoing flood of mortals below him. Creatures of all shapes and sizes moved about their own volition, progressing through the day completely oblivious of their impending dooms.
Something was brewing, something delicious.
The change in the atmosphere was tangible. Raphael’s skin twitched at the scent of blood that lingered in the air, the buzzing of gossip dancing around at the news of another murder. A corpse was discovered near Sharess’ Caress that very morning, the body disposed of just like the others. A real bonafide serial killer they said! But Raphael knew otherwise. The murders stunk of Bhaalists.
Either way, it was all good for business. It meant more panic, more deals, and ultimately more power for the Devil.
Other varied scents drifted up from the muddy streets, distracting Raphael from his thoughts of murder and mayhem. Metallic whiffs of money hungry merchants, warm earthy odours of farm workers… Raphael wrinkled his nose, noticing one aroma that stood out to him amidst the rising sea of mediocrity. Something new. A curious scent, an aura both sweet and rich that came from somewhere beneath him.
Raphael inhaled, following his nose as he proceeded to walk along the length of the upper balcony. He stopped about midway, narrowing his eyes as he searched through the rabble. He immediately found the irregularity, planted firmly against the fast moving current of bodies.
A young woman sat near the entrance of Sharess’ Caress, sitting comfortably on a wooden chair. From that distance, he could just about distinguish her plain features. She had a simple face and dark chestnut hair. Her short sleeved dress hung over her small figure. The woman’s pose was regal, her back so straight she could have been a Queen in disguise.
In front of her was a handmade stall filled to the brim with flowers. From daffodils to bluebells, she had them all. Much to Raphael’s surprise, her little bespoke shop was quite popular. Despite being so close to the murder scene, long queues snaked well into the alley surrounding the pleasure house.
Why was this woman selling flowers so close to death? Mortals typically fled such sights in horror or goggled with grim curiosity. But she carried on as if nothing happened. Could she really be that innocent? That oblivious?
Raphael wet his lips, running his fingers through his hair as he prepared for this impromptu performance. Without a second to spare, he snapped his fingers, teleporting down below. He stood on the opposite side of the brothel’s entrance, hiding behind the corner.
Now that the Devil was closer, he spotted the sharp contrast between the beauty of the flowers and the woman’s appearance. The flowers were vibrant and fresh, as if plucked from the heavens. Yet her body told a different story. Although she wasn’t dishevelled, her hands were covered in dirt and her dress crusted over at the hem.
Raphael gasped, his heart skipping a beat as he noticed the woman’s eyes. They were white, her irises a thick milky blue. She was blind. Her mannerisms weren’t as swift as he thought watching from his balcony, but clunky and slow. She used her hands as a way to guide herself, identifying each flower by delicately petting the tip of the petals.
He glided towards her as if in a trance, placing himself in front of her stall. The noise of the bustling street faded as Raphael focused on the blind woman. His own eyes widened in excitement. The blind made such easy targets, always willing to give up anything for their sight, for a chance to see even the most mundane backdrops.
The crowd parted for only a moment but it was enough time for Raphael to discover the woman was staring directly at him, her cloudy eyes meeting his. The Devil stiffened, a sharp chill running up his spine. He wanted to look away as his cheeks burned unexpectedly, yet he carried on staring, pulled to her by an unseen force. Could she be…? He waited, expecting her to approach him. He readied his defences for a fight of some kind, but she remained positioned behind her stall, her gaze unmoving.
Raphael shook off the uneasiness and took a step closer. The blind woman wrinkled her nose, an act the Devil was used to amongst mortals.
“Are you planning on buying flowers, sir?” The woman asked. She moved her hands to graze the tips of her bouquets, showing them off in her usual manner. “Or will you continue gaping? I can only assume that’s what you’ve been doing.”
Words escaped Rapahel, probably for the first time in his entire existence. He closed his mouth, realising it still hung open in astonishment. He squinted, studying the woman, trying to see if this performance was some sort of ruse. She looked right through Raphael, her face not reacting to his movements.
“Very good.” Raphael cleared his throat, “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Raphael.”
He bowed, out of habit, feeling a tinge of embarrassment start to flood his cheeks again before he shoved the feelings away. He immediately stood back up, straightening his doublet.
“Allow me to purchase a bouquet of your finest arrangements.”
“Of course, sir. For your beloved?”
“Merely for my own enjoyment.”
Raphael flicked his wrist, coins appearing in his hand. He leaned in closer, placing them in the woman’s open palms.
“What a curious smell.” The woman said, cupping her fingers around Raphael’s hand. She held him there for longer than necessary. “Palmarosa, pepper…” She raised her head slightly, inhaling. “Hmm, yes, notes of cherries… and is that a hint of sulphur?” The woman’s face distorted at the word.
Raphael nodded his head in approval, impressed despite himself at the woman’s sense of smell. She released her grip but he left his hand lingering above her, his fingers tingling.
“One might wonder how a woman of such talent remains on the streets of Wyrm's Crossing instead of in a shop of her own. My dear, the city would go mad with a gift like yours.”
“I would hardly call it a gift, sir. Your scent is quite peculiar, however.”
“How so?”
“The sulphur. That’s what I couldn’t place. I personally wouldn’t mix that with the others, but then again, it somehow works. What is your profession?”
“I am an opportunist, through and through.”
Raphael was tempted to touch the woman’s face, curious if she might sense his movements. Perhaps he would test just how far her perception went…
“Is this man bothering you?” A gruff voice came from behind Raphael.
The woman chuckled, her laugh light and airy. Raphael pulled his hand away from her, massaging his palms in contemplation.
“What have you done this time, Baldwin? Is poor Mrs. Fenwick angry at you again ?” A tiny smile grew on her lips, as delicate as the very flowers in front of her.
Raphael turned towards the aggravating voice, smiling politely. Baldwin didn’t return the smile, but glared back at Raphael. The man was short and stocky, with a massive beard that covered more than half of his chunky face.
“Afraid so, Miss Vera, made a mess of things, I did. In real hot water if I don’t get her some of those famous flowers of yours.”
Vera. So that was the creature's name.
Raphael took that as his cue to leave and slinked back into the crowd. As Vera continued her conversation with Baldwin, her nose lifted, her head following Raphael as he moved further away.
---
The next day Raphael returned to Wyrm's Crossing, watching Vera from his balcony. The crippling weight of his never-ending to-do list grew heavier the more time he wasted watching her, yet he kept avoiding his real responsibilities. He spent the rest of yesterday, and all morning, observing how she worked, how she moved; afraid if he looked away, this budding opportunity would vanish forever.
With a snap of his fingers, he was once again in front of Vera’s stall.
Her nose twitched as he made his appearance, her head tilting not in alarm, but in curiosity.
“Back again, sir?”
“For some more flowers… and to perhaps ask you to dinner.”
Vera’s visage remained expressionless.
“Which flowers would you like, sir? I’ve only got roses and daffodils left.”
“Hmm… some daffodils, if you would be so kind.”
The woman nodded, reaching towards the wicker basket on her left. The tips of her fingers delicately brushed the petals, her way of confirming they were indeed the right ones. She scooped up the bouquet with one hand, the other patting the side to ensure the flowers were properly secured. She then extended her arm out to Raphael, offering him the bundle.
“And the dinner?” Raphael inquired, taking the bouquet.
“I have my work cut out for me today, I’m afraid.”
“If I purchased all your flowers, ridding you of the day’s responsibilities, would you at least consider the proposition?”
Vera hesitated.
“‘That would be… most generous, sir, but it is not needed.”
“I insist. And please, call me Raphael.”
Vera sighed, her hands gripping one of the empty baskets in front of her, twisting the handle as she considered Raphael’s proposal.
”If you were to buy the rest of my goods, then I might allow you to walk me home, Raphael. ”
“Then we’ll consider it a deal.”
Raphael clapped his hands, and a pouch of gold fell onto the table with a loud thunk.
“Let me package these up for at—“
”No need, my dear. I’ll have someone collect them on my behalf. Now, let us walk…”
---
Raphael and Vera strode in silence through the dirt laden streets towards Rivington. They walked side-by-side, Vera using a wooden cane to lead the way. Long shadows crept from the crooked buildings, growing larger as the sun made its descent.
As they moved further away from Wyrm's Crossing, the crowds worsened, making it near impossible to navigate without shoving up against strangers. Children cried for their mothers, men lay sleeping on the streets, and families begged for food; pulling on Raphael's garments as he walked past them. These creatures were what Raphael liked to call the lowest of the low; the desperate and needy, his least favourite meals. All the begging and pleading made their souls cheap and sour. He rarely travelled to this side of town unless it was absolutely necessary.
“What do you hope to gain from this?” Vera asked eventually, breaking the stillness as she paused in front of the Open Hand Temple. “No one has been this nice to me without wanting something in return.”
“You wound me to think I would stoop so low, I am not a barbarian but a gentleman. I am here to help.”
“With what, pray tell?”
Vera began walking again, Raphael following suit.
“What if your sight could be restored? Your life begun anew? Filled with so many riches you’d be swimming in gold and luxury?”
“I’d say no.” Vera responded without hesitation.
“No? Just like that?”
“My condition is incurable. Do not give me hope with this talk of fancy, Raphael. I have been crushed by hope in the past, discarded, left to die from its repercussions.”
“I am not here on behalf of hope. I have solutions, answers . I am a purveyor of possibilities. Just give me the word and I can fix your sight and if need be, make you so rich you’d never have to sell flowers again.”
Vera laughed.
“You find this funny?”
“I find it foolish! A bedtime story for children. And how do you suppose you’d fix my sight? Hmm? Magic? Don’t think I haven’t tried that before.”
“I have my own means, tried and true. I can discuss them in more detail, with a proper agreement, if you are–”
“No, thank you.”
Vera came to a halt, stopping in front of a large makeshift shack. It was constructed from mismatched wood and random materials, as if it was put up in haste with whatever seemed convenient at the time. It had small windows and a jagged metal chimney that stuck out the side.
“Many thanks for the walk and the thought provoking conversation.” Vera turned away from Raphael, searching the pockets of her dress for a key.
Raphael’s face contorted as he watched her, out of annoyance at the sudden dismissal and from pity. A key? For that sorry excuse of a house? If anyone coughed, or sneezed, it would’ve caused the very foundation to topple.
“May I have the honour of calling upon you again?” Raphael asked, keeping his voice flat to avoid sounding too desperate. Or too peeved.
“If you choose to stop by my stall again,” Vera said, as she unlocked her door, “that is your business. But I will not turn you away.”
And with that, Vera disappeared inside, slamming the door in Raphael’s face.
Although the door did not hit Raphael, he felt the full force of its impact as the wind slapped his cheeks. The rickey wood only inches from his nose. He immediately retracted his ill thoughts towards the stability of Vera’s home, if it could handle that slam, then it could handle anything .
Raphael scoffed, turning on his heels as he walked away, quickly disappearing into a fiery inferno.
---
Day after day Raphael returned to Vera, buying out her flowers, and asking her to dinner.
The more Vera refused him, the more his obsession grew, turning into an uncontrollable yearning for her submission, to hear only one word from her lips: yes. Raphael wanted her, craved her company. He dreamed of the day he’d finally wipe that smug smirk off her face. Raphael would restore Vera’s sight just to spite her. He would claim her eventually, as he did all mortals who refused him. He just needed time.
However it wasn’t all torture for Raphael. He had gotten to know Vera as he waited, finding unexpected comfort in the banality of their conversations and in the silence they shared. He watched her every move and knew her entire routine. He observed her as she picked flowers ceremoniously in fields so big they swallowed her whole, often joining in. His thoughts calmed when he was around her, allowing himself to escape in the moment, to savour the present, rather than break from the crippling pressures of his growing ambitions.
The days turned to weeks, and soon months passed, until one day, Vera obliged Raphael and agreed to his invitation.
The Devil appeared at sundown, as he had often promised, knocking on Vera’s door with the back of his knuckles.
Vera answered almost immediately. Despite not bothering to change her dress or clean-up from the day’s labour, she was beautiful, glowing in the twilight.
The pair began their walk in the warm summer evening, the streets were quiet save for the random insect chirps and occasional gusts of wind that blew in from the sea. They did not make it far before Raphael stopped Vera, the Devil checking over his shoulder to ensure they were alone.
“Where is this house of yours located?” Vera asked.
“Quite far. Do you trust me?”
“Do you want an honest answer?”
“Yes.”
“I do not.” Vera said.
Raphael smiled broadly, snapping his fingers. A portal materialised in front of them, hot air blasting through it like a raging kiln. Vera scrunched her face, sniffing the air rapidly as the heat brushed up against her.
“Allow me,” Raphael placed his hand on Vera’s forearm and she accepted his lead.
They began to walk through the portal together.
---
The House of Hope was serene, Raphael had forced the debtors to clean every single inch of his domain before banishing them all for the evening. He wanted everything to be perfect, spotless, on the off chance Vera would agree to his deal.
The silence was rife with unasked questions as Raphael led Vera through his halls, her forehead lightly sweating from the stifling heat of Avernus. She held onto his arms, nearly tripping over herself as Raphael led her deeper into his House. Her face grew long as they passed one open window after another.
“Where have you taken me, really?”
“To my House of Hope, in Avernus.”
Vera nodded, mumbling something to herself.
“Are you afraid?” Raphael went on, eager for what her answer would be.
There was another pause as Vera frowned.
“Yes, but not as scared as I thought.”
They reached a spiral staircase at the far end of his House, leading up to his atelier. It was a room only he had access to, a place no living being had ever entered save for the Devil himself. With a flick of the wrist, Raphael teleported them to the top of the stairs. He waved his hand, dismissing a ward and simultaneously opening the ornate doors to his workshop.
The room was an organised mess. Half finished paintings occupied most of the space, statues sat discarded in the corners, and stacks of books were piled high, nearly reaching the ceiling.
As Raphael stepped forward, Vera froze, becoming an anchor.
“You are a Devil.”
Vera’s words were more of a statement, a confirmation to herself, than a question.
“In the flesh.”
Vera pulled Raphael towards her, placing her hands on his face. He jumped at the unexpected action, his heart picking up speed, at the feeling of her hands on his skin so freely.
“Yet you have the face of a normal man.” Vera frowned.
“A guise. Do you wish to know my true form?”
She nodded.
In a rush of sparks and embers, Raphael shed his mortal skin. She backed away from the heat of his transformation, nearly tripping over backwards. Vera’s hands trembled as she gained composure, reaching for his face again. She gasped, moving over his horns, his sharp cheeks, even touching his wings. Her hands intertwined with his as she traced his claws.
Raphael desperately wanted to probe her mind, to peek behind the curtain, but he stopped himself. He would not violate her. Not now. When he was so close.
“So it’s true, you are real.”
There was no fear in her voice, only a hint of wonder. And affection. Raphael melted into her touch, not an inch of his form went unexplored. He swallowed, his mouth becoming drier than the deadliest wastelands. He had never felt such tender, mortal hands, against his infernal flesh.
“And you’d still deny me the honour of helping you?”
“If it is a soul you’re after, Raphael, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. My soul belongs to me.”
“Even when you could have everything?”
“You must understand, some people are content with life’s simplicities.”
“In poverty? And in darkness?”
“I don’t need my eyes to see. I know you are a Devil. But I can also feel you are honourable. Gentle. You have an appreciation for things that are cracked, imperfect. You care so much about your appearance, and yet… you hide the one thing that makes you the most attractive, the most alluring, your true form. The sulphur. Why do you mask it with other scents?”
“Don’t be a fool. It’s unwise for Devils to parade amongst the mortals so blatantly.”
“Why?”
“Were you not afraid of me moments ago?”
Vera paused, considering Raphael’s question.
“I quite prefer this version of you, Raphael. It’s a shame you must hide it.”
Vera looked directly at Raphael like the day they first met. Those milky eyes stared into his very existence, burning a hole through his heart. His foundation crumbled. Yes, the Devil had his ambitions. His longing for the Crown of Karsus, his dreams of conquering the Hells… yet he wanted nothing more than to restore Vera’s sight at that moment. For her to see him truly. All he had to do was snap his fingers…
Raphael’s temperature rose as he bit the side of his cheek, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. His limbs shook as he restrained himself, using all his power to keep from fully ascending. Years ago Raphael would’ve laughed in Vera’s face, denying her everything until he was the only option she had left. He would’ve taken her soul where she stood and ate it for supper… but now, all those inclinations evaporated.
That damned woman had cursed him. And he, worst of all, had allowed it.
“Do you wish to leave?” Raphael asked, preparing to create a portal back to Baldur’s Gate.
“No, I am happy to stay. This is the furthest I think I’ve ever travelled. And you promised a meal.”
Vera smiled, that devious smirk crawling up her lips. Raphael snapped his fingers and a small table and chairs materialised in front of them.
“So I did. You’ll come to find out a Devil always keeps their word.”
---
Raphael had disappeared for nearly a week. He never intended to stay away for so long, but his work finally caught up with him. Their dinner had been interrupted when Korrilla summoned him, rather rudely, to an urgent meeting in Dis. Raphael had ignored his warlock for so long, pushing her away like an unwanted child, that he had forced her hand. Korrilla’s act of insolence would not go unpunished…
His thoughts ended abruptly when he arrived near Vera’s home, teleporting himself into sheer havoc.
A massive crowd surrounded her shack, circling it like rabid wolves. Mortals gawked, some pointing their fingers and laughing at the home like it was some sort of circus attraction. Investigators lined the entranceway, pushing people back who tried to sneak through. The air was heavy, thick with humidity and the smell of rotting meat. Raphael’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he pushed through the throng.
“Shame… another attack…” One woman said.
“Apparently she put up a fight…” A man whispered.
“A Dragonborn… lurking about, but who knows…” Another woman remarked.
Raphael barely made it to the front of the crowd when he stopped, noticing he was standing in a puddle of blood. The liquid sparkled in the morning sun as it seeped through his boots.
“She was barely breathing when they pulled her–” A woman behind Raphael began.
His ears rang at those words, at the possibility of her still being alive, and he instantly spun around, grabbing hold of the woman’s shoulders.
“Where did they take her?”
“Sir-I beg your pardon–”
Raphael shook the woman as she stared dumbfoundedly back at him, squeezing her shoulders tighter as she refused to give an answer. Others in the crowd backed away from Raphael, some even starting to scream.
“Where is she?!”
---
Raphael charged through the hallways of the hospital. Kicking down one door after another until he found Vera. She was in a room no larger than a closet, her body haphazardly thrown onto a metal bed. Her dress was torn to shreds, body barely recognisable, save for those pale eyes, her beautiful eyes, that now stared fixedly at the ceiling. She had been cut open, gutted like a farm animal. They didn’t even have the audacity to cover her body.
Raphael collapsed, a numbness growing in his chest, spreading through his entire body as the realisation of Vera’s death hit him like a tsunami. It was strange, he had never felt anything over a mortal's death, not until Vera. He grabbed the frame of the bed, the metal warping at his fiery touch, as he attempted to lift himself to his feet.
He picked up Vera’s body, his hands trembling as he held her, searching through her very being for any leftover traces of her soul, something he could latch on to, bring back… but she was hollow. Lost to him forever. Without warning, Raphael erupted into flames, turning the entire room into an inferno. The fire grew bigger and angrier, licking its way across the ceiling as it travelled outside the hallway, slowly moving throughout the rest of the hospital.
The Devil paid no attention to the screams or to the damage he caused. It all became part of the same noise. Let the flames consume them all, let the flames destroy everything. He had lost something precious to him, and they would all pay for it in turn. These mortals will suffer for their stupidity, their chaos, their violence!
And Vera…
Raphael howled, the flames around him turning blue in his grief. He should’ve taken her soul when he had the chance and dealt with the repercussions later. She would’ve forgiven him eventually. Then she would’ve been his. Forever. She would’ve been safe.
Raphael brought his arms to his chest in an attempt to hug Vera, to hold her close and never let go, but the only thing that remained were her ashes.
---
Raphael woke up from his nightmare. He screamed into the darkness, gasping for air, choking on the tears that streamed down his cheeks. The full moon lit up the field before him, covering the flowers in an eerie luminescent glow.
Thoughts of Vera stung like fresh wounds. The pain served as a reminder for his failings, his eternal punishment for going against the very nature of his existence, all for one mortal.
Raphael’s chest unexpectedly grew tighter, an uneasy feeling rising like bile in his throat. He shut his eyes, attempting to restrain the intrusive emotions. These damned mortal inclinations never ceased to torment him, a sense of dread creeping through the cracks of his composure like rampant weeds.
All at once a torrent of different thoughts overtook him, flooding his mind as he was snapped back to reality. Tav’s failings with the Hammer, his cursed pursuit of the Crown, tasks that piled up the more he sat there, and worst of all, the echoes of Vera, lingering still… He tried to destroy each thought, but more grew in their place.
Raphael took a deep breath, attempting to reclaim his presence of mind. He coughed, his nostrils filling with the abrasive scent of burning. His eyes shot open and he was met with thick black smoke trailing up from his hands.
The daffodils within his proximity were on fire, the petals curling up around the edges and withering away. His fists dug deeper into the soil, the ground bubbling, threatening to erupt at any moment. He watched as the flames grew, slowly eating the field, destroying its beauty and everything it stood for.
“YOU FOOL!” Raphael screamed. His voice rippled through the burning field, the leaves above him trembling in his rage.
Snap!
The fire reversed itself, the flames crawling back into Raphael’s fingertips as the world around him went back to normal. He let out a pained sigh, his rage extinguishing.
He had been so close to destroying everything.
Again.
They never found Vera’s murderer, but Raphal saw through the facade, he knew who did it. That Bhaalspawn. The same creature who painted the streets red in murderous glee, later claiming the responsibility for Bhaal’s re-birth. That vile Dragonborn haunted Raphael’s dreams, taunting him with Vera’s death as he hid away in the shadows of his subconscious, evading his capture.
In the decade since Vera’s slaughter, Raphael ensured all his schemes led to the path of revenge one way or another. When he caught wind of the Dark Gods’ plot to steal the Crown of Karsus, he knew then it was his destiny. Once the Crown was his, he would unite the Hells and eradicate every single Bhaalist from the face of the earth. He would make that coward Bhaal suffer as he did. Then he would find Vera’s soul. Somehow.
Raphael’s thoughts quickly flickered to Tav and their pending negotiations. The Crown for a Hammer. To the last few scenes left to play out before his grand finale.
this is my piece for the Silk and Sulphur Raphael and Haarlep zine! it's been fun and amazing and everybody who contributed did an amazing job so please take a look and enjoy!!
our layout artist was hard at work to finish the zine. Currently we are doing last reviews and we are so hyped for you all to see what our contributors have created!
We will release the pdf for free very soon, so look out for our next update!
Here's a wee snippet of one of the pieces I'm writing for the @silkandsulphur Zine. Will tease something from my second piece soon.
The Devil sat against a large oak tree, resting his head on the trunk as he fought off sleep. He found solace under its canopy, his body draped in shadows, cool in comparison to the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. Raphael’s doublet stuck to his chest from the humidity, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. It was refreshing, tamer than what he experienced in Avernus.
He stared into the vast fields of daffodils before him, a dense blanket of bright yellow spanning for miles in all directions. The flowers disappeared into the horizon, giving the illusion this was the only world that existed. The only world that mattered.
Despite being so close to the chaos of Baldur’s Gate, to the interminable noise of mortals he grew to despise, the world stood still under the tree. Only silence enveloped Raphael. It was his patch of serenity, an escape from the demands of being a Devil.
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