Mother
(A bit of a character study of Raphael. A lot of mommy issues, and a look at his relationship with his father's consort, Baalphegor.)
Baalphegor was not the mother of Mephistopheles’s cambion brats. But she had known many of them. Some had seen her as a threat, some had seen her as a potential ally, she was not a mother to any of them. But she liked this little pup.
Raphael was bold for such a puny thing. Once he had survived to an age where he could talk, everyone in Cania quickly learned, he could not stop. Every situation he foolishly backed into, he tried to talk his way out of. And while child-like charm was hardly useful against hellbeasts, he did have a gift for convincing any that would crush him like an ant that his father actually cared about him. That was usually enough.
In spite of his age, or lack thereof, he did excell at magic, unsurprising really considering who the child’s sire was. Even at an age before he could read, Raphael could teleport, not exactly perfectly but he could do it. Teleporting seemed to be his preferred method of transportation as he got better at it. He was always appearing and disappearing without warning, something everyone in the palace had gotten used to.
So, as Baalphegor relaxed in her chambers, a book in her hand as she lounged on her settee, she barely even looked up when young Raphael appeared on her floor in a flash of cinders. She could hear him panting, breathless, he must have been running before he teleported himself to her.
“My, my, little prince,” she said, “what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Raphael picked himself up off the floor and brushed his hands across his clothes. He was still so young, she wouldn't even consider him an adolescent yet, merely a child. His horns were small and a second set was just beginning to grow in. He stretched out his little wings that had gotten ruffled with his fall.
“Gelugons are mean,” the child said, there was a huffing pretentiousness in his voice.
“No arguments.” Baalphegor turned the page of her book. “How exactly did you manage to upset one, pup?”
He huffed. “I'm not a pup.”
Baalphegor put down her book and looked at Raphael. It could not be said that most fiends cared for “cute” things but there was something very endearing to her about this child wrinkling his nose in disgust just like his father did.
“And yet, your fur is all ruffled like one. Sit. Let me fix your hair.”
Raphael’s nostrils flared as he gave another huff, but, like a good boy he came and sat on the settee. Baalphegor ran her fingers through his hair, catching her long nails on a number of tangles.
“So, what did you do to that gelugon?”
“I did nothing wrong,” he declared but Baalphegor highly doubted his assessment. “I am a son of Mephistopheles. It had no authority to bar me from going anywhere!”
She could still remember a time when Raphael couldn't pronounce his father's name. And she had been the one to coach him into doing it correctly, lest he insult his father to his face and incur his wrath.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled. “Did someone go snooping where he did not belong?”
Raphael stiffened, his tail flicked back and forth. Still too young to lie with complete confidence. His hand moved to his left pocket. He had something in there, didn't he?
“I'm a prince. There is nowhere I don't belong.”
He knew he had done something he wasn't allowed to. And he most certainly had taken something that wasn't his. Baalphegor smiled, one hand glided through his hair while the other summoned whatever he had in his pocket directly to her. A small crystal ball appeared in her empty hand.
Raphael quickly turned around feeling the item gone from his pocket.
She examined the sphere. It was dark as Abyss with reflections of scenes playing in it. A scrying tool. Her little prince seemed to be interested in spying on something.
“Oh dear,” Baalphegor said, “what would your father say if he knew his son was stealing from him?”
“I'm not stealing!” He twitched as he said it, though, not even believing this defense himself. “It's mine by birthright.”
“Mmhm, I'm sure your father will listen to that.”
Raphael reached for it, only for Baalphegor to make it disappear.
“Give it back!” Raphael huffed and his little wings flapped at her.
She smiled, a giggle escaping her lips. “Now, now, pup, that isn't how a devil would do things, is it? There is an exchange to be made. Or does your mother's blood dominate you?”
She knew that would stir him. The first insult that was always thrown at him was his half-human ancestry.
The little prince’s brow furrowed and he wrinkled his nose. “I am a son of Mephistopheles! I have nothing in common with sorry mortals!”
“Now, now, pup, we both know that isn’t true. And besides, for all its disadvantages, your mother gave you a great gift upon her death.”
He raised an eyebrow, quizzically, but said nothing.
“Her blood.” Baalphegor began to pet his hair again. “With your half-mortal blood, you were gifted a strong connection to the material plane. You can go where other devils cannot.”
He relaxed at her touch, his tail curling gently against her leg.
“The material plane is a trove of things we, devils, desire. And you, pup, can go and take it for yourself. You can slip between the planes.”
“I can?”
“Of course. If you're any good at magic, that is.”
His tail flicked. “Of course I am!”
Baalphegor gripped his shoulders. “Then why don't you prove it? I will give you back the crystal ball when you bring me a treasure from the Prime.”
Raphael was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “...what do you want from there?”
“Oh, pup,” she sighed, “never give your client a chance at getting more than they asked for. If you had taken my deal before, you could have brought me anything. Now, I get to name my price.”
“That's not fair.”
“Devils do not play fair.” She tapped a finger against his nose. “Well, since you need to learn a lesson…” she trailed off, considering what would teach her little prince best. “...bring me an item that belonged to your mother.”
His tail stiffened and a look of confusion blossomed on his face. “My…mother?”
“Do your ears not hear, pup? Yes. Your mother. She was from the material plane, some trinket of hers must remain there.”
“But…” he paused, breaking eye contact as he tried to word what he wanted to say. “But I don't know who she is.”
“Oh? Well, my apologies, pup. I had a thought a child of the Cold Lord would be smart enough and skilled enough to discover that information on his own. My mistake.”
She watched to see the anger build up in him. Little Raphael may have only been a child but his pride was vast as his ambition. She could see a rage building in his eyes, a fire to fuel him.
“I'll do it!” he snapped. “Lady Baalphegor, I swear to bring you the greatest trinket of my mother's I can find!”
She smiled. Her little prince would grow up to be great, she would make sure of it. Baalphegor snapped her fingers and summoned a parchment. The infernal ink glowed red, the terms of their little agreement laid out plain for the child to read.
“Just sign here, Raphael.”
—
The years had not changed her little prince. Not in the slightest. From childhood into his teenage years, his skills had progressed. He was exceptional at magic, and had developed a flair for song contracts (much to the annoyance of any who contracted with him.) His silver tongue had gotten out of more trouble than it had gotten him into. His fire never calmed, his ambition never dimmed.
Raphael was no longer constrained by Cania, he had become powerful enough that he needn't remain if he did not want to. The material plane was his playground. Raphael had even given himself a human form, to make it easier for him to do whatever he wished there. He galavanted across kingdoms. He performed music and poems in taverns across Faerun, though he had tried to hide it, he could not hide from Baalphegor’s scrying.
And all the while he had yet to deliver on his vow to her.
It wasn't as if she never saw him working on it. Many times she had caught wind of him being in places in Mephistar he shouldn't be looking for information on his mother. But, considering how smart the little prince was, it was surprising how long this was taking him. Now, it could not be said he had a particular need for the crystal ball she had taken from him anymore, he was more powerful than it was. But a devil must hold true to its word. So, she had faith Raphael would deliver.
Baalphegor was adjusting her appearance, gazing into her reflection in the mirror, when a second figure appeared. She did not hesitate or startle. Baalphegor knew who would intrude on her personal time uninvited. It was Raphael who had teleported behind her.
“Well, pup, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
He bristled at the nickname but let it go. She had called him “pup” his entire life, he no longer fought it like he had when he was young.
“Lady Baalphegor,” he said. Raphael carried himself professionally even though she knew it was a front. “I have come to fulfill our contract.”
A smile parted her lips and she stood to meet her little prince face to face. He was no longer so little, no longer did he sit by her side and allow her to play with his hair. He thought himself a man, a mature devil with immense power. She didn't have the heart to tell him he was still hardly more than an ant compared to those who ran in the same circles as him.
“So you have. Well, what have you brought me?”
Raphael did not smile back at her, his lips pursed tight like the grumpy little boy he was. He held out his closed fist and into her waiting hand, he dropped a single golden hairpin.
One look at it and Baalphegor could tell he had succeeded. The thing practically oozed magic, every perfect twinkle in the light was a miniature dancing lights spell attached to it. The pin itself was in the shape of a magic sigil, and it was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive.
Baalphegor secured the pin within her own hair. “Congratulations, Raphael.”
His expression was still dark. “...she was Netherese.”
So he had uncovered it. Baalphegor gave a small chuckle. “Sit down, pup. Tell me what you learned.”
She took a seat on her settee and, despite the bad mood he was clearly in, Raphael joined her.
“She was human. From Netheril.”
Baalphegor waited, letting him speak at his own pace. His gaze was worlds away, his eyes dreamy. She could tell he wanted to speak, wanted to regale her with the tale. But he was holding back.
“I saw the cities in the skies.The arcanists. The enclaves…” There was a reverence in his voice. He almost sounded proud. Proud of his mother's home. Proud of his mortal side.
That tone itself was more than enough to prove he was still a child. Still naïve.
“Would you have liked to live there?” Baalphegor asked. She kept her inflection gentle and welcoming, like she was luring a mortal into a trap. Perhaps she was. Perhaps that's all Raphael really was at his core. In which case, he would be better off purged.
The little prince gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrow. He seemed to have noticed the trap. But he, curiously, did not speak up right away. And Raphael always spoke whether he had something worth saying or not. It was clear, he was genuinely contemplating.
“...No,” he said after a worrying silence. His tail may no longer have flicked involuntarily but it was just as obvious that he was lying.
Still, Baalphegor waited for him to explain why, to affirm that Cania was superior in every way to those sky rocks, that Baator was the only realm that mattered. But he didn't. He didn't prove he understood the lesson, just told her what she wanted to hear. Baalphegor sighed. If her pup was to stand a chance he needed this lesson drilled into his skull.
“Do you think you could have had a life there?” Her voice was restrained, she wasn't yelling, she wasn't crying, but displeasure rang through her words.
“...what?”
“I asked you a question, Raphael. Do you think you could have had a life there?”
“...I—” he began but he did not meet her eyes. A liar.
“Look at me, pup.”
Raphael took a breath and looked into her eyes. He looked so human. His orange eyes were sparkling with the foolish human notion of hope.
“...There was a wealth of things to learn there.” His voice was weak, small, just like him. “I was there for only a day and I saw things I never knew possible.”
Baalphegor smiled, her tone staying calm even as she contemplated punishments for him. “There is much more to learn here, little prince. All the souls in that empire aren't worth one book from our Archduke's library.” She chuckled. “Yet I know you and your ilk.”
Raphael quirked an eyebrow at that line.
“You're a creative, a dreamer, a sensitive sort. You've been living in fairy tales since you were old enough to read them.” She turned her gaze from him. “Perhaps you're right.”
“Lady Baalphegor?”
She put up a beautiful false smile. “I mean it. If you think you belong there, who am I to argue it? I'm not your mother. How could I be? I am a pure devil; you don't resemble me in the slightest.”
He bristled.
Baalphegor pressed ahead. “Your sensitive nature could have flourished in the prime. You'd never be studied in magic, no. Why would you need to be? You'd be nothing. But you could play your music, just like you do now when no one's watching you.”
She looked back at him and watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat.
“You could sing your tales of greatness that would be worthless outside of your empire, your city, your filthy taproom. But you'd have admirers of course. There are always types who fetishize monsters.
“And be assured, Raphael, you would be a monster. Your devil wings, such a lovely feature your father gave you, they would be nothing but a lead weight around your ankle. I suppose you could always say a prayer in the dead of night to those gods mortals seem to love worshipping that some hero would come and slice them, rend them from your back. Then you'd look like a common tiefling. And no one would be able to tell the difference.”
“No.” Raphael’s voice was stern, commanding, devilish. “You will not speak to a son of Mephistopheles in that way.”
She smiled. “A son of Mephistopheles and who, exactly?”
Raphael did not flinch, did not falter and she knew her lesson had reached him. “A son of Mephistopheles and a mortal broodmare whose only contribution to any realm was dying to birth someone far greater than she could ever be.”
Baalphegor pushed a stray hair behind his ear and leaned in to gently kiss his forehead. “That's right, pup. Never forget. You are superior to them in every way. Bearing you was the only good thing your mother ever did. Would you like to know what our lord did with her soul?”
His eyes did not sparkle. There was no place for hope in them. But they burned. They burned with his ambition, an insatiable fire.
“It doesn't matter.”
“Correct.” Baalphegor stood up and gestured to the hairpin she wore. “Pretty as she might have been, this is just as pretty. And it is worth more. I think you could sell it for 10 soul coins. Ten times what its owner was worth.”
Raphael stood. “Thank you, Lady Baalphegor. But I'd only give you 3 for it.”
“A hard bargainer.” She smiled. Her little prince would be great. She just knew it. “Alright.” She removed the hairpin, her lesson finally taught. “Shall we call it a deal?”
Raphael snapped his fingers and summoned an infernal scroll. “Just sign here.”
