The battle with Gortash had taken its toll on Astarion, leaving him battered and wounded. As they return to the safety of the Dragon Cove, Delphie supports the weakened vampire spawn as they make their way to the mystical garden hidden within the cove.

With gentle hands, the wood elf helps Astarion remove his armor, revealing the extent of his injuries - deep lacerations crisscross his skin, and angry burns mar his flesh. Despite his stoic facade, he winces in pain with each movement.

Once they reach the secluded spring nestled within the garden, Delphie continues to assist Astarion, guiding him into the soothing waters. The icy chill of the spring bites into their skin, causing Delphie's teeth to chatter uncontrollably.

The ranger summons her own inner strength, channeling her magical abilities to warm the frigid water. With a flick of her wrist, a burst of flames erupts before her, dancing across the surface of the spring and dispersing the bitter cold. The water gradually warms, providing relief to their weary bodies as they relax into its embrace.

Delphie, her delicate features etched with determination, gently places her hands over the severe burn on the vampire spawn's chest. As her scales and hands begin to emit a soft golden glow, she mutters the incantation of a healing spell. With each whispered word, the magic takes hold, weaving its way into Astarion's damaged flesh. Underneath her touch, the burn quickly begins to knit together, new tissue and skin forming before their eyes. The pale elf's tense muscles relax, and he lets out a sigh of relief, the pain diminishing with each passing moment.

With a gentle touch, the ranger moves to the deep gash near his abdomen. The vampire spawn watches intently as the tissues and skin repair themselves once more, the magic working its wonders to mend his wounded body.

"I'm sorry, I can't do more than that," Delphie says in a tone tinged with defeat, her voice carrying the weight of her limitations. Despite her best efforts, the wounds prove too deep, too stubborn to fully heal in her hands.

Astarion tenderly tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle and comforting. "It's alright, my love," he murmurs, his crimson eyes filled with appreciation as he gazes at the wood elf before him. "I appreciate what you were able to do—certainly more than I could have done myself."

Delphie's lips curl into a warm smile. As they chuckle at his words, a sense of lightness fills the air, momentarily lifting the weight of their burdens.

"This is why I tell you to go to Shadowheart," she singsongs playfully, her tone laced with affection as she teasingly nudges the vampire spawn. Meanwhile, the pale elf reaches for a rag, gently wiping away the traces of ash and blood from her face. The ranger leans into his touch, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "I wish we could stay like this forever sometimes."

"Me too, darling."


Eventually, the two elves return to the gathering of their companions around the crackling fire. The aroma of stew fills the air, emanating from the pot that Gale has expertly prepared. As they settle in, each member of the group reaches for a bowl of the hearty meal, finding a place on the sturdy wooden logs encircling the fire's warmth.

"What's next?" Astarion inquires, his gaze mostly directed toward Delphie. The attention shifts to her, everyone awaiting her response with anticipation.

"Well, for one thing: I trust the Emperor just about as far as I can throw him," the wood elf declares, her tone carrying a hint of skepticism.

"Technically speaking, you would be saying you trust him fairly well since he's in the artefact," the vampire spawn interjects with a teasing smile, his eyes dancing mischievously. "I think you could at least throw him halfway across camp." The ranger nudges him playfully, a soft chuckle escaping her lips before her expression turns serious once more.

"We should consider the Kith'rak's proposal and free Orpheus," Lae'zel asserts from across the flames, her voice cutting through the crackle of the fire as she sets her bowl down beside her.

Delphie, her features drawn with concern, lets out a small sigh. "In order to free Orpheus though, we need the Orphic Hammer, and I'm not taking on Raphael's deal. It's too dangerous."

The weight of the devil's deal hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over their gathering. Raphael's offer is simple yet perilous - to relinquish the Crown of Karsus once the Netherbrain is defeated, in exchange for the Orphic Hammer. The implications of such a bargain are profound, and the risks involved are not lost on any of them.

"Gods, I can't believe I'm about to propose this: What if we break in, grab the Hammer, and leave?" Astarion suggests, his voice laced with a hint of incredulity as he lays out his not-so-brilliant plan. Across the fire, Gale rubs the bridge of his nose in exasperation at his audacious words, a sigh escaping his lips.

"I know it won't be simple, but I agree with Delphie. I don't trust a powerful relic like that with a devil," the vampire spawn continues, his expression grave as he voices his concerns.

"Exactly, that's why it'll be handed over to me," Gale adds confidently, his eyes glinting with determination as his posture straightens.

But before the conversation can progress any further, Karlach interjects, her tone firm as she raises a pointed objection. "Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, soldier. We never agreed to that," she remarks, her hands gesturing to emphasize her point.

"Agreed, we should give it to Rolan to keep locked away within Sorcerous Sundries," Wyll suggests, his voice calm yet resolute as he offers an alternative solution to safeguarding the powerful relic.

"You can always keep it with us," Kaneru chimes in, his voice a calm undercurrent amidst the rising tension.

"Forget about giving it to other people. It is best we destroy it," Jaheria counters, her words carrying a sense of urgency born from the weight of her convictions.

Delphie, exhaustion evident in the weariness etched into her features, finally reaches her breaking point. "Enough!" Her voice cuts through the cavern, commanding attention as the conversation falls silent, the only sound the soft chirping of crickets echoing in the stillness. "We'll stick with Astarion's plan. As for what we do with the crown...we'll get there when we get there. For now, let's just focus on getting the Orphic Hammer."

The party members nod in silent agreement, a collective sense of determination settling over them as they steel themselves for the challenges ahead. "We'll start looking for a way to enter the Hells tomorrow," the wood elf declares, her voice steady despite the weariness that clings to her every word.

"We should start at Devil's Fee," the red tiefling suggests, her voice carrying a note of grim determination. "Sounds like the sorta place you'd find weird fucking ritual shit that can do that."

"Alright, we'll start there, then," the ranger responds, her tone decisive as she rises from her spot on the log. With purposeful strides, she moves to collect everyone's empty dishes, the clatter echoing softly in the cavern as she tosses them into a nearby bucket. "Get some rest."

The party members exchange nods of acknowledgment, their weariness evident as they prepare to settle in for the night.

Astarion rises from his seat by the fire, his gaze following Delphie as she gathers the bucket of dishes and heads back toward the spring. With a sense of concern lingering in his features, he trails after her, the soft sound of their footsteps echoing in the cavern.

As the wood elf fills the bucket with water and begins to wash the dishes, the vampire spawn watches her with a furrowed brow, sensing the weight of her thoughts hanging heavy in the air. "Darling, is everything alright?"

Pausing in her task, Delphie sets down the dish she's scrubbing and meets his crimson gaze, her expression troubled yet determined. "Yeah, I think so."

A small sigh escapes the pale elf's lips as he pushes himself off the wall, closing the distance between them. Kneeling beside the ranger, he reaches out a hand to gently touch her arm.

As the wood elf pauses once more, dropping the sponge into the bucket, her frustration and insecurity bubble to the surface. "I just-" she begins, her voice faltering as she struggles to articulate the tumultuous emotions swirling within her. "More times than not, everyone looks to me for answers, but half the time, I don't even know what I'm doing, I just-"

"Act like you do," Astarion finishes, his voice soft yet resolute as he pulls his knee up to his chest, his gaze locked with hers. "Trust me, I know the feeling, my dear." With a tender gesture, he places his hands on her arms, drawing her close until their foreheads meet. "Listen, I want you to understand something. People, they... they look up to you. Not because you always have everything figured out, but because you have this uncanny knack for doing what's right, even when it's frustrating as all hells," he adds with a lopsided smile, his eyes twinkling with affection.

Delphie returns his smile as she presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "You're getting soft on me."

"That's your doing, darling."

The two elves share a moment of quiet camaraderie, their laughter mingling with the soft chirping of the small dragons around them. With a shared understanding and a renewed sense of resolve, they gather up the dishwashing equipment and make their way back to camp for the night.


At initial sight, the Devil's Fee presents itself as a fortified mansion, its imposing gates guarded by stone gargoyles perched atop the sturdy limestone columns that flank the entrance. As the group ascends the stone steps and pushes open the towering wooden doors, the true nature of the Devil's Fee reveals itself - it is not merely a mansion, but rather a museum of curious and enigmatic treasures awaiting discovery within its walls.

The party splits into groups of four again, much to Delphie's dismay. Karlach and Wyll each made valid arguments: traversing to Avernus as a group of eight would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention. Plus, someone still needs to keep an eye on Ravengard. So, it was decided the rogue, the cleric, and the barbarian would join Delphie on this journey into the Hells.

As the four adventures stride through the wooden doors, they're met with dark chevron floors and grandiose red throws, almost reminiscent of Cazador's palace...yet it gives off a different aura of unease. Two large skulls decorate the half walls beside the short staircase. Astarion approaches one that seems to be an overgrown bird head, noting that it's a genuine death devil skull.

As they explore further within the museum-like shop, their eyes wander over the towering bookcases and myriad displays, each adorned with an assortment of curious trinkets and relics from the Hells. Amidst the eclectic array, Delphie's keen gaze catches a glint of something intriguing nestled within a nearby display case. She steps closer, her curiosity piqued by the unusual sight.

With a careful examination, the wood elf discovers a collection of peculiar diamonds, their hue as dark as the abyss itself. Drawn by her discovery, Karlach joins her side, her knowledge unlocking the mystery surrounding these enigmatic gems. She reveals them to be infernal gems hailing from the treacherous depths of Minauros.

The last relic they're drawn to is something Delphie can recognize a mile away. Genuine devil horns. There were always random body parts scattered around the Temple of Bhaal and Allatou's most prized possession was the horns she had ripped off a war devil's head. Why was a cultist of Bhaal meddling with devils? Delphie doesn't know and she doesn't want to know. That's all behind her now.

As she pivots, the wood elf finds herself facing a sprawling wooden reception counter, seemingly fashioned to resemble a bar in its design. Adorned with a clutter of candles, a quill, and the lingering scent of incense, the counter is crowned by a large golden plaque bearing the sinister visage of a devil's head. Behind it stands a stout gold dwarf, her shoulder-length curls cascading around her face, as she extends a greeting, enticing them with promises of "hellish curios."

Stepping forward with his trademark charm, Astarion flashes a coy smile. "Although those sound tempting, I'm afraid we are looking to acquire a different type of service."

Helsik, the stout dwarf, rests her hands on her hips and tilts her head inquisitively. "And just what sort of service might that be?"

The playful smirk on the pale elf's lips fades, replaced by a more solemn expression. "We're interested in the hells themselves - a place called the House of Hope in particular."

A small scoff escapes the dwarf's lips as she sizes up Astarion and his companions. "You stand before Mammon's Picklock. Latchkeeper of the Nine Hells. My business is not information, not hellish curios, not really. I break people into the Hells. That's my thing."

Delphie, who had been lingering just behind Astarion, steps forward to stand beside him. "Can you break us into the Hells? The House of Hope?"

Helsik chuckles, a low rumble echoing through the air. "What a fascinating proposition. Ludicrous, of course, but fascinating nevertheless. Very well. If you wish to die in Avernus, that's your business. Mine is charging you for it." With a subtle shift of her weight, she adopts a knowing smirk. "Of course, such a task will require quite the substantial donation to Lord Mammon's coffers. Twenty thousand gold to be precise."

If the wood elf was drinking anything at the moment, she would spit it out at the price. If they had twenty thousand gold, they would've probably gotten rid of their tadpole problem long before now. Her emerald eyes grow huge as she turns to Astarion, silently imploring him for a solution. Fortunately, the rogue is known for his quick wit and resourcefulness.

"Perhaps," he interjects smoothly, "we could entice you with an alternative offer. Something of value, perhaps a new addition to your collection of hellish curious?"

As Astarion presents his counteroffer, the Emperor's voice intrudes upon Delphie's thoughts, urging her vehemently to reconsider the perilous journey into the Hells. Yet, she steadfastly ignores his pleas, silently praying for his voice to soon subside.

The dwarf humors Astarion with a raised eyebrow. "You put me in a difficult position, mortal. You are almost certain to fail. Almost. And so, there is a chance you might succeed." She pauses briefly before clicking her tongue in contemplation. "Fine. I'd like to be able to carry all of my precious stock without the need of a team of oxen. There are Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength within the House of Hope. Free passage, and you fetch them for me. Deal?"

Astarion glances over to Delphie, seeking her opinion. Understanding the intent of his gaze, she nods with a look of determination. The pale elf accepts the deal and Helsik lies down the rules: they never spoke, they will perform the ritual themselves, and they were never here. After they all nod in understanding, Helsik hands them a key to the room upstairs, a bag of components, and a grimoire detailing how to perform the ritual.

After being dismissed by Helsik, they ascend the winding spiral staircase and unlock the door to the designated room. Upon entry, they find themselves in a spacious chamber, with a wooden side table and a towering bookcase adorning one side near the entrance. Dominating the center of the room is a cluttered table, surrounded by six chairs that bear the faint imprints of recent occupants. As they venture further into the space, they notice it is divided into two distinct sections by an elegant archway.

Crossing into the second area, they are assailed by the nauseating stench of putrefying blood. At the heart of this macabre scene stands a makeshift altar, its surface adorned with a ram skull, flickering candles, and a tome resting upon a stand. Directly before the altar lies the blood circle mentioned by Helsik, its crimson lines etched into the floor with unsettling precision.

"I must admit," Astarion quips with a wry smile, pinching his nose to fend off the noxious odor, "whoever's blood this belonged to must have truly vexed the gods."

Delphie, unperturbed by the grisly scene, sets down her pack and passes the grimoire to Astarion. Taking charge, she carefully navigates around the blood circle, ensuring not to disturb its intricate markings, while clutching the components in hand. Shadowheart and Karlach observe with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as Delphie begins her preparations.

"Guide me through the process," she requests, her voice steady despite the unsettling surroundings.

Astarion gingerly flips through the pages of the grimoire, a hint of regret crossing his features as he removes his hand from his nose. "Place that which has no eyes but used to see at the western point of the circle."

The wood elf standing before him extracts the skull from the pouch and carefully positions it on the point closest to the altar.

"Two spaces lie opposite that point. 'Pon the left - place what is cut but cannot bleed. To the right - that which smells but cannot sniff."

Delphie pivots, retrieving the diamond from the pouch and situating it on the left, while the incense finds its place on the right.

"Beside the dead remains - the aspect of the Avariced Lord sits clockwise so."

The coin of Mammon is placed on the point next to the skull.

"Then the circle's centre shall receive the internal marvel of infernal marble."

As Delphie gently places the infernal marble at the circle's center, she retreats to Astarion's side, anticipation coursing through her veins, awaiting the impending manifestation.

"Maybe we placed something in the wrong-" Before she can finish her sentence, the ritualistic circle bursts into flames, embers aligning the trail of blood like a fiery constellation. In the heart of the conflagration, the gateway to the House of Hope materializes before their astonished eyes.

With unyielding resolve, Karlach wastes no time, leaping headfirst into the portal. The half-elf casts a reassuring glance toward their leader before disappearing after her. Delphie hesitates for a moment, her mind assailed once more by the Emperor's fervent pleas, urging her to reconsider. Yet, with steely determination shining in her eyes, she reaches out for Astarion's hand.

They gaze into each other's eyes for a moment, sharing a silent look of reassurance. They are going to rid themselves of their parasites and they are going to do it together. On the count of three, they jump in together, bracing themselves for the next chapter of their journey.