'Well met! I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep,' the figure of wizard enshrouded with violet and blue light waves at you. 'And if you see this manifestation, that means I have prematurely perished.'

'WHAT?!' you jump closer to the hologram, not quite registering the information yet. 'What happened? Gale, I- How did, what happened to you?' you try to turn your head towards the camp to call your teammates, but your breath hitches inside your throat, tightened by a sudden wave of grief.

'I am unfortunately unable to provide the details about the perish of Gale of Waterdeep, as I am a carefully crafted spell that have not witnessed the situation,' the hologram responds. 'I recall fetching the crown from the muddy floor of Chionthar. The task was surprisingly straightforward, even given my newly acquired tentacled form,' he says. 'I recall standing on the riverside, the icy chill of Netherese metal in my hands, and then... Nothing.'

There is a moment of silence before the projection speaks again.
'The good news is, I am here to assist in cushioning of heavy feelings that might emerge at the sight of me. Of course, I am not the great wizard Gale himself, but I can deliver his written words. His last letter. I was entrusted to deliver it to the one who cared most for me in life.'

The image of your friend waves his hand and soon a hard case containing a letter materializes. He hands it over to you. You accept it and grit your teeth to not burst into tears.

'Is there anything else I could assist with before I blink out of existence?' the projection asks.

You tilt your head and feel the tears making it's way down your cheek. You take a step forward and try to embrace the projection within your arms, but the magic surrounds your limbs, dodging you like something unwelcome. Cold tingling sensation dances on your skin before you pull away to look at the image of Gale.

'How fortunate I was to know someone like you,' the projection says and then disappears in a silent explosion of light.
You make your way to a dry, fallen tree log and sit on it, allowing your tears to fall freely.

You aren't yet ready to open the letter, so instead you breathe deeply, trying to calm yourself. There is a sound coming from the other side of the log and you tilt your head to look at a fluffy, winged cat.

'Tara?' you ask weakly. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'Oh, yes. I'm certain it is. And you must be Tav? The one who helped Gale save Baldur's Gate?' you nod and the cat continues. 'Oh... How much would I give to snuggle up in his lap once again.'

You put your elbows on your knees and lean forward, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. 'Yea.'

'Maybe you would like to come meet Gale's mother one day? It would delight her to speak to someone who knew him for how he truly was.'

'I'd love to,' you sob quietly. You look at the cat, staring at you with wide pupils accustomed to seeing in the night. 'May I scratch you?'

Tara sits down and wiggles the tip of her tail with interest.
'I suppose Gale would be pleased to know we've made friends, wouldn't he?' she approaches you and you scratch her on the side of the neck, your fingers sinking inside soft fur.

As you pet the cat of your fallen friend, you open the case containing a letter and read it. Gale asks you to live your life to full extend, not allowing the grief to poison your heart. There is no explanation as to what happened after the defeat of the Netherbrain.

You sigh and spend some time with Tara, before standing up to your feet and joining your companions at the table. At some point, you look for Raphael, who skulks somewhere outside of the ring of light cast by nearby standing torches. You turn your attention elsewhere, glancing up at a rock in the very center of the camp with an unknown bard playing on top of it. The man is surrounded by spiritual instruments and plays a very nice, soothing tune.

A grasp around your wrist stops you from admiring the song. You turn your head to meet intense, red eyes.

'What's wrong?' you ask.

'You tell me, what's wrong,' Astarion sneers and you can tell that his previous light-heartedness was merely a façade. 'What is the devil doing here?'

'I don't know. He teleported where I was. I think he can locate me because of the curse.'

'That is not what I mean,' he says from behind his gritted teeth. You free your hand from his grasp and look at him intensely. Lae'Zel appears in your field of vision and you look at her briefly from above Astarion's shoulder. 'How did you bring him back? After we killed him, risking our lives and most importantly why have you done it?'

A few dozen meters away, Raphael watches the vampire spawn invade your private space; taking in the pale man's tightened fists, a clear sight of contrary emotions. It's a very interesting development - Raphael saw how the vampire tried to shove away his feelings and drown them with medium-quality wine, but it appears that the efforts were futile. The cambion knows that the sight of him was like a blow to Astarion's gut, though he certainly is surprised to see that it's vampire's bitterness, and not Karlach's, taking the lead.

'I did what I thought was the right thing to do,' you respond simply. 'Throughout our journey I was always doing that, wasn't I? Following my gut?'

'Helping the weak and poor beggars, yes,' Astarion leans backwards a bit and nods to the left and right as if agreeing with his audience. 'But the devil?'

You notice that there is something else lurking within his eyes. The man is hurt and... jealous. Suddenly, you connect the dots. Lae'Zel looks at the vampire spawn coolly, evaluating him from behind his back.
'It was never my intention to kill Raphael. It was unnecessary violence, which in the end was the right way, because not only we got the Hammer, but also freed Hope from his clutches.'

'Yes? And what did I get for risking my life for you?' Astarion asks, furrowing his brows. 'I am forced to live a life in shadows, perhaps to never see the sunlight again, all because you decided that performing the ritual was morally incorrect. But somehow bringing back the devil is something I should applaud?'

'I never asked for your applause, Astarion. And just so you know, I tried to negotiate a cure for yours and Karlach's condition with Raphael before we ventured to his house!' you raise your voice, but deep inside you understand his perspective. 'Ritual would have corrupted you. You wouldn't be the same anymore.'

'You have no idea who could I be,' his voice is quiet, but intense. 'What was Cazador's ritual compared to a scale of Raphael's doings, hm? Do you think he will step away from his evil, wrong doing path,' he gesticulates mockingly. 'Just because you saved him? No!'

You raise your head, feeling your blood simmering within your veins. Before you respond, Lae'Zel steps between the two of you, forcing some space, peeling you away from each other.
'Enough!' she snaps. 'No post remains empty for long. If Raphael didn't return, his reign of the nearby area would be ensured to someone else. Out of all possible devils, he might be the least threatening. He is no worse that the Reigning Serpent, or Mephistopheles whose own experiments threaten to melt his ice throne.'

'Thank you,' you say to her but she frowns at you.

'I didn't state I'm approving of such decision. But I am capable of seeing your reasoning.'

'That's all I can ever ask for,' you bow your head to her.

Lae'Zel takes a step backwards and looks somewhere in the general direction of Raphael. 'The only thing I fail to grasp is how you were able to get him back. He was slaughtered in his own domain, he should be rotting under the toxic Avernus sky long time ago.'

'That is something I want to discuss,' Jaheira's voice comes from the other side of the table and all three heads turn towards her. 'Do you remember our moment of departure from his house in Avernus?' she inquires and you nod. 'We should step to the side,' she suggests and all of you move towards a small stream cutting the ground leading to a restored chapel lit with green candlelight. 'I managed to find out a few things about Raphael's visitor, the one from the guest book.'

You remember the surprise and shock on Jaheira's face when her curiosity lead her to the book standing near the entrance to the foyer of House of Hope. At the time, she didn't elaborate on anything specific, other than expressing a feeling of uneasiness; but now her gaze is serious, so you make sure to perk up your ears and remember everything that will soon be revealed.

'The Blackcloak person?' you ask.

'Halaster?' Lae'Zel raises her eyebrows and looks at Jaheira who nods.

'I had a feeling you might know.'

'Of course!' the githyanki says. 'A true warrior is as proficient with their knowledge as with their blade.'

'But can you explain for the non-true warriors?' Astarion sighs, annoyed.

'Halaster Blackcloak is a madman of a wizard, who is rumored to be older than one of Gale's acquittances, Elminster,' Jaheira says. 'And the secret to his long life is his ability to clone himself.'

Your eyes widen and you glance towards Raphael, then towards Halsin, Wyll and Karlach, gathered around the nice tent you've seen before, going through some letters. You look back at Jaheira.

'And his name in the guestbook suggest that...'

'He must have succeeded in cloning someone else. Raphael,' Lae'Zel finishes solemnly.

Astarion looks across your group, his gaze suddenly distant, with a mischievous glint.
'You are already immortal,' you remind him and his red eyes go back to focus.

'But vanquishable,' he smirks and makes a motion as if he was about to head over to Raphael.

'It should stay a secret. It's not yet certain how crucial this information is. Don't get your thirst for power get the hold of you, Astarion,' Jaheira warns, stopping him in his tracks. Lea'Zel's astral projection scolds him with a look.

Astarion scoffs but returns to his previous position, tracing a thumb across his fingers, contemplating. After a moment of silence, you comment:
'It seems that Raphael was, and most likely still is, very serious about his conquest in Hells.'

'So we know how he survived, but what happened later?' Lae'Zel wonders.

'I used the Orb of Infernal Envisioning and it turned out that Mephistopheles was torturing him. Then, from another source I found out about his constant raping,' you explain quietly. Astarion briefly glances your way at those words.

'Ah,' she rolls her eyes. 'How painfully predictable.'

You frown and look deep in her lizard-like eyes. 'What do you mean?'

'Do you, humans, get no education?' she asks harshly. 'Lord of Cania is known for devouring his children.'

'What?' you ask, shocked.

'I've heard of at least two cases of him making a meal out of his offspring,' she adds.

'A weird option on menu, even for my liking,' Astarion joins in.

You fold your arms and stroke your chin, unconsciously mimicking Raphael. The vampire spawn notices, but he says nothing, allowing only for a meaningful smirk to form on his lips. Your mind wonders for a moment, as you consider something that the cambion mentioned days ago.
'I have seen it before' - he said, when you asked him about the curse.

Jaheira addressing you directly pulls you back from your thoughts.
'That's all I was able to gather. If your curse has been inflicted by Mephistopheles, then I'm afraid you might need to cooperate with Raphael to increase your chances of removing it,' she states plainly and adds with a small smirk. 'You two seem to be getting along, somehow.'

'Far from it,' you counter, shaking your head to the sides.

'Well, you are not jumping to each other's throats. That's somewhat of a start.'

'I guess,' you scratch your cheek, feeling the course texture of dried tears beneath your fingertips. The sensation brings you back to Gale's letter and you inform the team about his demise.

Sometime later, your small group disperses and you enter the tent that caused so much commotion within the rest of your companions. Inside, you find a small, decorative chest - a container for letters to the saviours of Baldur's Gate. You engage in a conversation with Shadowheart and Karlach and disappear inside the tent.

Ever-watching Raphael sneers, his brows darkening the intense eyes, as his slim fingers outline the curve of his jaw. The pieces of the grand lanceboard are set in motion and he is ready to respond, no matter the movements of his opponent. He sensed the shift in the mood within Astarion a few moments ago and acknowledged his willingness to speak to him.

'Interesting,' he thinks to himself, predicting what the topic of the conversation could be. It involved Jaheira, which means...

His train of thoughts gets interrupted as the divine being, Withers, soundlessly glides towards him across the grass. The devil turns his head to look at him cautiously. Withers. The Archivist. The former god of death, Jergal.

Wither's pale irises contrasting with the dark sciera look deep into his eyes, as if trying to see everything unseen that hides behind them.
'Thou no longer walketh alone. Thy path connects thee and can be set to accommodate two.'

Raphael considers his words, weighting them like a careful alchemist measures his ingredients. He remains quiet for an unnaturally long moment before speaking again.
'She is not to walk it as my equal.'

'No?' His dried lips curve just a tiny bit and a shadow of a smile shrouds his face. 'Yet alive she remains.'

'Have you changed your professions, Jergal?' Raphael sneers, his brows angling. 'Perhaps to a path of divination?'

'Saying such words doth lie well within my domain,' Withers' pale eyes travel up Raphael's face before glancing at the top of his head. He looks him back in the eye. 'Thou was a catalyst. The initial piece setting the dominos of the events into motion,' Withers looks towards the tent which you exit a second later and approach the table, engaging in a conversation with your companions. 'Thou have been granted another chance. Use it well.'

He steps away towards his restored chapel, leaving Raphael with irritation and confusion clawing the inside of his chest. The man observes the camp from outside of your field of vision and waits for the perfect moment to approach. It baffles him, how much effort went into setting up this place. There are many lit torches, casting a warm glow at the camp filled with barrels with wine and tables covered by trays of food. The rocks are decorated with festive banners and chains, as well as pots full of flowers. All of that accompanying the bard, whom Raphael recognized as a minor diety of song, Milil. The musician changes the tune and the cambion peels his gaze away from the dancing spiritual instruments. The air fills with sensual and soothing music; a tale of two lovers dancing beneath the moonlight. Raphael smirks and checks out his nails, before shifting his body weight onto left leg and approaching you like a cat.

The moment he steps into the light, Karlach gives Raphael a warning look, but says nothing. Shadowheart, who is talking with you, points her chin towards Raphael and you turn around to face him, cutting the conversation short. He smiles and bows gracefully in front of you.

'May I have this dance?' He asks, extending his right arm towards you.

You take a step forward, but don't accept his hand. 'Raphael, I think it's highly improper,' you remind gently. 'It feels very wrong considering what happened between us,' you add in a quiet tone.

Raphael takes another slice of the space separating the two of you and lowers his voice sweetly.
'My dear,' he looks at you with half-lidded eyes and you can feel your heart skip a beat or two. 'Whatever's wrong is right with me. Come and indulge me.'

You gently place your left hand on his right arm, making him smirk. He leads you closer to the source of the music, but outside of the hearing range of your allies. You look down at his feet, trying to find your own, comfortable place on the improvised dancefloor. Your right hand settles on his broad shoulder and his ventures down to your waist. The fabric of your shirt – a borrowed shirt from his House of Hope, to be more precise – is thin enough to let his searing palm lick at your skin. You gasp, feeling the difference between his body heat and the cool, but pleasant air of the spring night.

He waits a few moments, no doubt measuring the rhythm of the song and leads you perfectly, making the two of you join the melody with the dance. His eyes are intense, never really leaving yours and you find yourself looking back at your feet again.

'Oh, come now,' he says with a note of condescending. 'Have you got no manners?'

You meet his gaze. 'Didn't you say a moment ago that what's wrong is right with you?'

He chuckles at your little jab and spins you once, pulling your arm behind his back to decrease the distance between the two of you. You involuntarily place a hand on his chest and look away, intoxicated by his proximity. Suddenly, you become aware of the pleasant texture of his palm, holding your hand in his. It's so big, he could wrap your whole fist, you realize, as he returns his palm back to your waist. The notes take a more intense turn and in a surprising wave of courage, you push him on the chest, sending him back a few steps. He makes you follow.

'Getting too comfortable, it seems,' he warns, but his eyes are melting a hole right through you.

As the string bass plays its last sharp note, he slides his leg, knocking you down from the ground. Your eyes widen in a mixture of shock and fear, but his hold on you is firm, allowing him to tilt your body towards the grass. The music pauses.

'Asshole,' you remark, filling the silence. The instruments resume, so he pulls you up and leads you again. If the two of you were dueling, you would be currently on the defense.

The flame from the torches sways in his eyes, igniting the amber irises, bringing forth the dangerously captivating red hue. Your gaze slides across his sun-kissed cheek darkened with the facial hair lurking just beneath the surface. He's beautiful, you have always known that, but rarely you have a chance to admire him from up close. The smell of cherries, musk and your own scent of jasmine, lingers in the air between the two of you, ensnaring your senses.

He spins you one more time but you slide away from his grasp and circle around him, tracing your fingertips across his muscular arm and across his broad shoulders. You stare at his neat, wavy tips of dark hair and as your hand quickly glides across the back of his neck, you extend your thumb hoping to brush his strands. He turns his head away from your hand, as if sensing your intention and shortens the distance between the two of you. His hands land on your waist and he half-turns your body, positioning you against him. You are surprised at how intense, yet respectful the dance is. Neither of you cross each other's boundaries, because neither of you want to admit that they are gone. Your bodies are in sync, pushing and pulling like two magnets changing their poles.

'What did Astarion want with me?' He asks, abusing the charm of his voice to his advantage.

'What makes you think he wanted anything in first place?'

He spins you to face him, so you push his chest and tighten your grasp on his shoulder, sending him back again.

'Do not attempt another forgery. You've already made a mockery of yourself,' he covers your hand pressing his chest, but you grasp his fingers and raise his palm, inviting him for a spin. You smile, but the attempt is unsuccessful. He raises his arm and presses his elbow to yours and begins to circle around you. You mirror his steps, unable to look away from his face. The moonlight dances in his slick-back hair.

'It's a secret amongst friends,' you explain with a glint in your eye. 'Not meant for your ears.'

'You wound me!' He gasps. 'Who will be there, if not me, watching you draw your final breath? Who will accompany you in your last journeys through better or worse? Maybe even hold your hand in a gesture of friendship, if you ask nicely,' his eyes glint with malice.

'You only speak of friendship when it yields you some benefit.'

'Isn't it how all friendships are?' he asks, raising his eyebrows, the previously evil gaze dissolving into innocence. His chest tightens with excitement; he is a leader both in the grand lanceboard and during the dance.

'Not necessarily,' you look away, considering your words for a few seconds.

'No?' His tone has an edge and suddenly your whole body reacts, letting you know you've crept into dangerous waters. You suppress a sudden shudder of your shoulders. 'All it took for Astarion to wipe the guilt in your face was the sight of me.'

You frown and tense your jaw once before speaking.
'He has all the rights to be disappointed. I can't imagine myself living outside of the daylight, possibly for the rest of my life.'

'Would you still make the same choice knowing how much he suffers?' the venom seeps from his tongue.

'I made the right decision. And I know that Astarion knows it, too. I remember how he thanked me for saving him from corruption. He just needs more time. So, yes. I would do the same.'

He interlaces his fingers with yours and you reconnect again; the rhythm of the song guiding your dance to the side. The sweet invite of cherries is suddenly soured by the harsh note of sulphur.

'What about Karlach? Wyll? Shadowheart?' he lists and you feel your heart race, because of stress and hidden feelings - both of which he's the center of. He pulls you closer and lets go of your hand, settling it on the side of your face. His fingers dive into your hair, while the thumb traces the invisible paths of the previously shed tears. 'What about... Gale?'

You tighten your jaw, fighting with your own anger. You are aware of his technique, of his strategy to push your buttons. But you will not yield. If Raphael hasn't fully understood that already, it's time to show it to him more deliberately.

The music stops, fading away into the darkness of the night, blending into the static sound of crickets. You inhale with an intention to provide a counterargument, but an unexpected wave of emotions flashes through his face. It's so fast you could miss it if you were to blink. He lets go of your hands slowly, gracefully, holding onto his carefully crafted mask.

'Thank you, my dear,' he bows deeply and all you can see for a moment is the top of his head and not the thin line of his lips being pressed together.

'You good?' you inquire.

Raphael straightens up and his response is a mere, condemning glance, before he walks away towards the shoreline. You squint your eyes and follow him silently.

'Raphael?'

His eyes lit up with anger. It seems that the more time you spend with him, the more flawless his façade has to become. Otherwise, your keen eyes are quick to pick up on all the inconsistencies.
'Go back to your companions, you intrusive ro-' A grunt cuts him off and his posture wavers, loosing it's beaming gracefulness.

You stand behind him, evaluating his state with a cold look. He clearly doesn't want his vulnerability to show, whatever its source may be.
'Why will he not teleport away? Surely he hasn't wasted his last bits of magic to teleport here, has he?' you think to yourself.

'Is it the curse?' you ask in a neutral tone.

He brings his hand to his mouth and bites onto it, muffling a sound. He hisses a moment later. You don't want to cross the fine line of his patience, so you stay a few meters behind him.

'No,' he responds quietly.

You frown and open your mouth, but then you realize.
'Haarlep?'

When his eyes meet yours, you can swear you ought to turn to stone. Beneath the obvious pain and discomfort, lies something else. A note of fear. Fear or showing ones vulnerability. Fear of you using it to your advantage.

You turn on your heel to walk back to the camp, but he launches forward and grabs you on your arm, transferring some of his pain onto you with a bruising grip.

'Don't you dare,' he growls from behind his gritted teeth.

You look at him calmly, not reacting to his grasp in any particular way. You peel off his fingers and look at him seriously, but with a hint of gentleness.
'To go get you a painkiller?'

He raises his eyebrows just a tiny bit.

'I'll be back shortly,' you assure and break into a trot towards your backpack. You flip through the layers of baggage before finding the right vial and returning to the devil, who in the meantime sat on a fallen tree near the river. 'Here.'

He accepts the bottle, not really meeting your eye. You sit around a meter and a half away from him. You grant him more personal space, turning around, your back facing the direction his eyes gaze upon. For a few moments, he says nothing, so you shift as if trying to stand up.

'Stay,' he orders.

You glance at his profile and comment.
'I will ignore your tone, just this once.'

Your voices die out, replaced by the rustle of flowing water. A sudden wave of wind hits the two of you, carrying all of his scents to your nostrils; the cherries, the musk and the sulphur.