#korrilla

In all the years of service to Raphael, Korrilla only entered the room in such an undignified manner when there was a problem. The last time she barged into his quarters, disrupting a rendezvous with a client that had been years in the making; she announced that the Crown of Karsus had been stolen from Mephistopheles’ vault. 

Raphael interlaced his fingers atop the rosewood desk, squeezing his hands together as he waited for what felt like aeons for Korrilla to give her explanation. 

“Speak!” He barked, his words violently cutting through the silence. “You of all creatures should know that time is of the essence.” 

Korrilla coughed in surprise at the sudden outburst, nervously clearing her throat as she took a step forward. 

“Right, I uh. Well, see… You’re not going to like this…”

“Do not tell me my dear father has finally decided to pay me a visit?”

“Well… no, it’s not that bad, but…” She hesitated, her voice quivering. 

Raphael straightened his back, twisting like an owl so he could glare at Korrilla. She winced at the action, as if he had struck her.

“I’m afraid that, um… that little mouse, your favourite client? They’ve sold the Orphic Hammer.”

“They did what?!” 

“Needed the coin apparently. I tried to stop them, even went to the s–”

Raphael slowly turned away from Korrilla, loosening his hands. He placed his palms on the desk, digging his nails into the rosewood. The tips of his fingers glowed red as the piece of furniture burst into flames.

––

Mamzell Amira stood behind her counter near the entrance of Sharess’ Caress, leaning against a small bookshelf. She had her arms crossed, squeezing them just enough against her chest to show a healthy amount of cleavage. 

Her prized house of pleasure was bustling, the busiest it had been in years, and all thanks to Lord Gortash’s recent coronation. She could just about hear the sound of gold ringing in the pockets of lustful customers as they crammed into her establishment, wanting a taste of what Sharess’ Caress had to offer. Her accounts would indeed be plentiful after that day alone, helping her relieve a few more debts that had been stacking up as of late. 

Mamzell’s gaze drifted back to the young half-elf in front of her, who could still not meet her eyes without blushing. She had been stuck in a conversation with him for the last hour, trying to coax him out of that shiny shell of his. The boy had a handsome face and dark eyes that told her a different story, one of a raging beast lurking beneath the surface of that sheepish disposition. He had a lot of potential and she knew the perfect pairing for him…

Out of nowhere the entire building shook frantically, as if the walls trembled in fear. The room became silent as everyone waited for the tremors to end, but they only got worse. Another earthquake? And so soon? But no… deep shouts reverberated through the ceiling, getting louder and louder, causing the windows to shatter and the lights to flicker sporadically. She could just about recognise that voice… No matter, whoever that was, they better leave a generous tip. 

“As I was saying, sweetling; my expertly trained courtesans can elicit all sorts of reactions from lucky patrons...” 

—— 

The Devil’s Den was ablaze. The wooden ceiling groaned as it continued to warp from the blistering heat. Thick flames consumed everything as it moved across the suite, making its way towards Korrilla.

Korrilla crawled in the direction of the door, desperately trying to escape the inferno. Raphael stood in the centre of the room, hellfire bursting from his body like an erupting volcano. He shed his mortal skin, sneering viciously at Korrilla. 

“Mamzell Amira isn’t going to like this…” Korrilla shouted over the turbulent flames, concealing her mouth from the smoke with the sleeve of her dress.

“I’ll be damned what that wretched woman thinks, you insipid creature! She is bound to me regardless, so let her clean up this mess after I’m finished with you. In fact, I will burn this entire pathetic city to the ground. The Illithids will have nothing to claim but charred bones and ruins by the time they arrive.”

The ceiling fell behind Raphael, bringing a wine rack down with it. A large blast of embers continued to swirl around the Devil as wine bottles met the flames, exploding like fireworks. 

“Raphael, we need to get o–”

“Where did they sell it? Tell me at once!” 

“B-Beehives' General Goods… in the Lower City.”

Raphael roared, flapping his wings and causing the fire to grow more ferocious, mirroring his temper. Of all the shops Tav could’ve approached, they had stooped so low as to sell it there. To one of the dullest, most idiotic merchants Raphael had encountered in the last century. If that imbecile desperately needed the coin, why didn’t they approach Raphael? Had he not offered them salvation? A way out of their impending fate? He had made it so easy, so effortless for them! All they needed to do was free Orpheus from those damned infernal bindings. He should have made it more of a challenge, maybe then they would’ve stuck to the script. 

The Devil lashed his tail, destroying what was left of the blackened desk and tearing up the remaining floorboards in the process. How could he have allowed himself to be so daft, to leave such an important part of his plan to mere mortals? If he failed now, when he was so close to the Crown, to his destiny, he would be known as the laughing stock of the Hells. The bards would make a mockery of him in song for all eternity. Raphael’s worst nightmare. 

Around him, the Devil’s Den and his dreams crumbled, turning to ash. No. No! He would not let that happen. There was still time to make amends. 

“Gird your loins, Korrilla.” Raphael bellowed.

“Wait, what? You can’t be–”

Raphael snapped his fingers, immediately sending Korrilla away to another plane. Temporarily banished. He didn’t care where he sent her, he just knew that if he had to look at that face for another second, he feared what he might do to her. The dwarf would prove useful in the days ahead and yes, she did meddle in his affairs from time-to-time, but she was a loyal servant. A strong warlock. She could survive anything. 

He’d find her later, for another scolding and a proper debrief, once the Hammer was back in the hands of that trying little mouse.

—— 

Oliver Tefoco prided himself in the Beehive General Goods. Somehow he still managed to keep his little shop afloat, even after the Absolute targeted the city’s main gates, putting the business in jeopardy. Oliver never thought he could run it by himself, not without his beloved wife, Kroyce, at his side. He had sent his wife and children away when the cultists attacked the city. And all for the best, really, who knew if and when they’d strike again. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been truly alone; without the sounds of his wife’s idle chatter or his children’s laughter as they ran up and down those rickety old stairs. It was all too quiet now. Gods, he sure missed Kroyce, constant nagging and all... 

The merchant stiffened, immediately rising from his chair behind the counter, as if Kroyce might walk in at any moment. Perhaps he should tidy things up, just in case. It was getting a wee bit dusty in there and besides, there had been no other guests since that dishevelled group of adventurers visited him hours ago. Selling him that strange hammer, he had never seen one quite like it in all his years as a merchant.

He might as well keep himself busy. It’s what Kryoce would do.

Oliver ventured into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a rag and wooden bucket filled with water.

“Right…” Oliver muttered to himself, dabbing the rag in liquid. “Better get going.”

Oliver started his task by cleaning the shelves behind the counter, removing the contents from each level. Bottles of wine, potions, books and more books; he had practically everything. Perhaps too many things, maybe he should sell some bits and bobs at the next market. 

As he began clearing away the cobwebs, a strong scent of sulphur abruptly filled the room. The air felt heavy against his thin frame, and he found himself struggling to breathe. He paused, dropping the rag in the bucket. Did he leave the stove on? No, can’t be right. He didn’t remember… 

The merchant turned around and was unexpectedly face-to-face with a tall, dark haired man. Oliver let out a high pitched scream, nearly falling over backwards. 

The stranger loomed over Oliver, his eyes a peculiar golden colour, resembling the flickering flames of a candle. As Oliver stared back at the man, he noticed his skin sizzled, hissing like an overflowing kettle. How long had that man been standing there? He would have to check on that blasted door chime, that’s the second time this week it decided to stop working.

Oliver licked his lips, trying to swallow but realised his mouth was uncomfortably dry. His tongue stuck to the top of his hard palate. Sweat cascaded down his forehead, making his beard a soggy, droopy mess.

“H-hello, my good sir! How may I help an esteemed guest such as yo–”

“I am looking for a hammer.” The man’s voice was deep, intoxicating. 

“A h-hammer, you say? Why, I have plenty. Hammers for building, s-smithing –” 

“No, no…” The man slowly raised his finger, shaking it side-to-side. Oliver could’ve sworn he saw a spark fly from those fingertips. “This is no ordinary hammer.” 

“I-I only have ordinary goods, sir. P-please if you are not satisfied, might I also offer you some light nibbles, perhaps? Or maybe some potions to cure any–” Oliver started going through the rest of his usual spiel in an attempt to calm his nerves.

“You will listen to me.” The stranger growled in response, taking a step towards Oliver. “Someone came into your shop today, selling you a hammer, did they not?”

Oliver’s mouth hung open in confusion and he scratched his head, staring at the man in front of him. The stranger's face turned into a terrifying scowl as Oliver continued to gape. There was something familiar in his face, the way he talked, moved, those fancy clothes… Where had he heard that voice before? And those eyes…

“Did they not?” The man said again, his tone rising.

“Uh, yes? Hold on…” 

The stranger perked up slightly, but his eyes remained stern. He edged closer to Oliver.

“A funny dwarf woman came in here earlier,” Oliver continued, “asking the same type of questions. But I will tell you the same thing I told her. I am not giving away any information. No sir. Those are my rules–”

“Where is the hammer?” The man's voice rumbled through his chest. The room was sweltering and Oliver leaned against the wall for support, feeling woozy. He sniffed the air, smelling something new, something burning. Smoke rose from the feet of the stranger. 

“L-listen here, sir.. I mean no trouble, but I don’t do business with thugs. If that woman is going to send her goons after me, well–”

Oliver never considered himself a brave man. He practically avoided conflict his whole life, save for that one time he punched a man in the face, due to a misunderstanding. He often thought about what he’d do if he was ever threatened, he had no idea how to hold a sword and knew just the basic fundamentals of magic. Despite that, he felt pretty confident he could take on that stranger. No matter how weird he smelled, or how the ground caught fire where he stepped. Just an illusion, that’s what Kryoce would say. 

The stranger raised his hand, and Oliver put up his fists, preparing to counter whatever attack came his way. The man pressed his thumb and middle finger together and Oliver gasped. Long black nails protruded from his fingertips, reminding Oliver of... claws.

The man snapped his fingers and Oliver suddenly found the world around him very, very big. 

—— 

It was impossible for Raphael to keep calm as he tore through the Beehive General Goods. He had turned the entire residence upside down as he searched for the Hammer, plundering the top floors and basement like some sort of petty thief. He ripped through the walls and floorboards in the off chance the merchant hid the Hammer there. 

The Devil knew what merchants were capable of. He had dealt with many in his career, and they were always hiding something, withholding important information if it might make them just an extra bit of coin. There was nothing of value in that so-called shop anyways. Rubbish, the lot of it. And still, no Hammer to be found.

Raphael had been reckless, he would never dare show his cambion form outside of the usual safe houses. It was dangerous to do so in Baldur’s Gate, but he had no other choice. Time was running further away from him the more he dawdled, searching for the Hammer. Raphael would be the least of that merchant’s worries, let alone the entirety of Faerûn, if Tav didn’t have the Hammer soon. 

The sound of glass breaking pulled Raphael away from his internal monologue. A large rat darted across the floor, running back and forth in a rapid attempt to find a hole to hide in. Raphael grinned as he knelt down, picking up the creature by its tail. It dangled in his fingers, squirming. 

“My dear, dear merchant. Are you ready to give me an answer? Or do you prefer being a slimy little rat? I would say, this look suits you quite well. Although, it would be bad for business, don’t you think?” 

Raphael squeezed the rat’s tail tighter and it screeched. 

“Good. Now, let’s try this again. Where is the Hammer?”