Dinner with the Devil

We stood armed, armored, and ready in the dim recesses of the Zhentarim hideout, surrounded by crates of dubious origin and legalities, when a gruff voice rang out.

"These are for you, courtesy of the boss," one of the thugs said as he approached, flanked by two others rolling up three barrels of smokepowder.

I raised an eyebrow. "Bit generous for the Zhentarim, isn’t it?"

He gave a shrug, clearly just the delivery man. "Any drow you kill out there won't come looking for us in the Underdark. Think of it as mutual interests."

I glanced over at Zarys. She leaned against a support beam, watching me with a small, knowing smile and a playful wave.

Karlach smirked, taking care not to get too close to the highly explosive barrels. "Well, ain't that a bangin' parting gift."

Shadowheart chuckled under her breath. "Who knew rogues could be so thoughtful"

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes, casting a long glance between me and the departing thugs. "Your way with words is unsettling. But... it does have it's uses."

Lae'zel gathered the barrels with ease, hefting them into her own pack without so much as a grunt. Githyanki strength, honed through years of battle and training, also have it's uses.

The Zhentarim saw us out without issue. As we stepped away, I turned back and gave Zarys a wink and a sly smile. She caught it immediately, her lips curling into a knowing smirk, clearly amused by the parting gesture.

We retraced our steps, exiting the shed through the trapdoor and emerging into the fading sunlight outside the inn. The road stretched out before us, and the distant hills shimmered with late afternoon heat. We'd make it back to camp before nightfall, barring any further complications.

The mountains were quiet, save for the distant trill of birdsong and the soft crunch of boots on dry gravel. The trail cut a winding path through the rocky outcrops, hugging cliffs and tracing the edges of sharp descents. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long golden fingers across the worn stones and brushing the sky with amber hues.

We hiked in relative silence, the tension from our previous battles slowly unraveling into a measured calm. Every now and then, Karlach would hum a cheerful tune, her new bow slung across her back, while Shadowheart occasionally glanced at her newly-acquired dagger with a contemplation. Lae'zel, as always, remained vigilant, her eyes scanning every bush and bend for signs of danger.

"There You are!"

The male voice had manifested right behind us. We all turned sharply, hands on weapons.

Standing in the middle of the road, arms casually spread, was a human in elegant clothes and a smug expression:

Raphael.

"Apologies for the abrupt entrance," he said, his voice soothing and rich. "But I have something to discuss in a more comfortable setting."

Before I could tell him to stuff it, the world shimmered. The scent of the road vanished, replaced by roasted meat and expensive perfume.

We were seated at a grand table, laden with food and drink. Candelabras flickered overhead. Marble columns stretched high, and red drapes fluttered despite the stillness. The House of Hope. We were in Avernus.

Karlach's eyes darted around in instant alarm, "What in the hells. Take us back you slimy bastard!"

"What a line-up," Shadowheart muttered, eyeing a decanter of deep red wine with mild suspicion.

Lae’zel rose halfway out of her seat, readying herself for a fight.

"Please," Raphael purred, gesturing at the table. "Eat, drink. Enjoy yourselves. It would be rude not to indulge."

I leaned back and started to fill my plate with savory cuts of meat. "Get to the point, devil."

Raphael blinked, clearly expecting more resistance. "Ahh how perceptive, I had hoped for more dramatic reveal. No matter." Infernal energy danced in Raphael's eyes before his form began to change—his limbs elongated, wings of leathery crimson burst from his back, horns spiraled upward like carved obsidian, and the air grew thick with the acrid stench of brimstone. In moments, the charismatic noble was gone—replaced by the towering majesty of Raphael’s true devil form.

"You’re all carrying a dangerous burden, one that eats at your minds. I offer a solution: I can remove your tadpoles. Permanently and safely."

I waved a fork at him, mouth full of tender roasted duck. "No thanks."

He froze for a beat. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." I said as I took a sip from my goblet.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. He turned to the others. "And what about you, fierce Karlach? Surely you of all people understand what damnation looks like."

Karlach leaned back, arms crossed. "Yeah, I do. Which is why I don’t trust a single word you say. Besides, I like our situation."

"Delightful," Raphael said through a tight smile. He looked to Shadowheart.

She set down her wine glass with deliberate calm, "Not interested."

His frustration began to show. He turned to Lae’zel. "Surely you crave freedom from this infection. I offer liberation."

Lae’zel scowled back. "The cure is within reach and our current treatment is adequate. You're wasting our time."

Raphael’s smile faltered. "You should all be **** to rid yourselves of these parasites. So why... why aren’t you? What exactly have you done?"

"You’re very curious," Shadowheart noted.

"Almost nervous," Karlach added.

"Are devils supposed to sweat like this?" mocked Lae'zel.

I took a slow bite of my apple, hiding my amusement behind the crunch. "You heard the girls."

Raphael scanned each of us, growing increasingly agitated. "You’re hiding something. Something powerful. You—"

"You got your answers, devil," I said, cutting him off. "Now send us back."

His eyes darted between us again, searching for cracks in our resolve. Finding none.

He raised a hand, lips curling with annoyance. With a poof of brimstone and disappointment, we were back on the trail, birds chirping, sun still lazily dipping westward.

"Well, that was easy," Karlach said, cracking her neck and brushing off her shoulders. "I hate that place."

I grinned. "We got out easy. No worries."

"Still," she added with a grumble, "devils give me the creeps. Let's stick to goblins, yeah?"

Shadowheart held up a bottle of wine, no doubt the rarest from the table, with a sly grin. "At least it wasn’t a total waste of time."

We laughed, and continued down the road toward camp, leaving Raphaels hellish deals behind.