C/W: This is centered around the scene with Haarlep...sooooooooo creepy pervy incubus stuff
Hope is an enigma wrapped in the chains of despair within the House of Hope, a place that should embody her namesake but instead symbolizes her torment. Despite the relentless onslaught of psychological and physical agony inflicted upon her by the sinister hand of Raphael, Hope clings to the flickering ember of optimism within her heart. Her resilience in the face of such malevolence is both admirable and perplexing, a testament to the indomitable spirit that refuses to be extinguished, no matter the odds.
As the party ventures into the depths of the hells, Hope emerges as a beacon of warning and a glimmer of potential salvation. Her frenzied speech, punctuated by rapid repetition and boisterous volume, betrays the fractured state of her mind, yet beneath the madness lies a kernel of lucidity that seeks refuge in companionship and the promise of freedom. Delphie extends a hand of assistance, offering to liberate Hope from her chains with the great power of the Orphic Hammer.
In their brief interaction, Hope becomes a font of crucial information, revealing the location of the artifact that could shatter the shackles binding her to her tormentors. However, as her captors return, Hope vanishes into thin air, leaving behind a parting message of encouragement and a wish for the party's success.
"Well, she sounds simply deranged...I like her!" Astarion exclaims with a soft chuckle.
A playful smile makes its way to Delphie's lips. "Of course, you do, dretri," she sighs with an eye roll.
As they enter the dimly lit corridors of the archive room, the air thick with the scent of ancient parchment and musty tomes, Astarion's charm oozes with every confident step. His sly wink at Delphie speaks volumes, a silent promise of mischief to come.
Astarion approaches a red, scruffy-looking tiefling known as the Archivist. With an air of authority tempered by curiosity, the Archivist raises a single eyebrow as he surveys the unexpected guests before him.
"Guests?" he muses, his voice a mixture of suspicion and intrigue. "Are you clients of the master or visitors from elsewhere in the hells? I do not believe you were invited. One moment - I shall consult the visitors' schedule."
With a flicker of concentration, the Archivist closes his eyes, his mind delving into the depths of the schedules stored within. Astarion watches with keen interest as the tiefling's eyelids flutter, as if flipping through the pages of a mental ledger.
"Most irregular," the Archivist murmurs, his brows furrowing in consternation. "The schedule is all but clear. And yet you are here."
Delphie's mind races, recalling the tidbit of information Hope had shared earlier. The Archivist fears Zariel's High Inquisitor, a fact that pulses with significance in the current moment. With a silent exchange of understanding glances, Delphie knows precisely where Astarion's cunning plan is leading.
"I'll have you know I require no schedule. I come and go as I please. My name is Verillius Receptor. I am Zariel's High Inquisitor," the declaration rings out like thunder in the hallowed halls of the archive room.
Delphie feels her heart quicken its pace, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins at the vampire spawn's impersonation. She clamps down on her lip, fighting back a surge of laughter that threatens to bubble forth at the absurdity of the situation.
The Archivist, caught in the grip of fear and awe, visibly pales at the sound of the grand title. His eyes widen in horror, his demeanor shifting from suspicion to abject submission in an instant.
"A thousand apologies, oh majestic magistrate of the infernal court! Your mortal guise is so vile, I found it perfectly convincing," the Archivist practically wails, his voice trembling with deference and a touch of desperation. Delphie can't help but exchange an amused glance with Astarion, their eyes dancing with shared mirth amidst the gravity of the moment.
"I would prostrate myself before you and kiss your calluses, but my spine is ruptured in a thousand places," the Archivist laments.
As the tension eases slightly, Delphie stifles a chuckle, her gaze flickering between the two men in front of her.
With a bow that borders on obsequiousness, the Archivist acquiesces to Astarion's command, eager to please him. With practiced efficiency, he leads the party on a tour of the archive room's newest acquisitions, each item more tantalizing and enigmatic than the last.
Their first stop is a display of gauntlets, gleaming with malevolent intent. The Archivist gestures towards them with a reverent flourish, his voice trembling slightly as he describes their purpose. These are the very gauntlets that Helsik seeks to obtain—a coveted artifact rumored to grant its wearer the strength to rend flesh and bone with ease. A shiver runs down Delphie's spine as she imagines the power contained within those ominous metal gloves.
Next, the Archivist directs their attention to a delicate amulet, its heart-shaped pendant pulsating softly with an otherworldly glow. Astarion's eyes light up with mischief as he casts a suggestive glance towards Delphie, a playful smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The Archivist, unaware of the subtle exchange, explains the properties of the amulet with an air of scholarly detachment. According to ancient lore, he elucidates, the amulet has the peculiar ability to incite a surge of vitality within its wearer, causing not only the heart but also other, more intimate parts of the body to swell with newfound vigor. Delphie's cheeks flush with embarrassment at the Archivist's unwitting description, even as Astarion's mischievous grin widens.
As the party finally approaches the Hammer, a palpable aura of reverence envelops the artifact, its presence commanding attention even amidst the myriad wonders of the infernal archive. The Archivist, his voice hushed with deference, gestures towards the Hammer with a mixture of awe and pride.
"An exquisite and most unique artifact," the Archivist intones, his voice carrying a note of solemnity. "Crafted with materials hewn from the depths of the Hells by Raphael's merregon labor force."
Astarion's interest is piqued at the mention of the Hammer, his gaze lingering on the imposing weapon. With a casual air that belies the gravity of the situation, he voices his request to the Archivist. "I would like to further inspect the Hammer, if you don't mind."
The Archivist's response is measured, his expression betraying a hint of apprehension as he prepares to deliver unwelcome news. "High Inquisitor," he begins, his voice tinged with deference, "as part of the special collection, that item is guarded by a masterword that even I do not know. I suggest you wait until Raphael returns, and you can discuss the matter with him. You are welcome to relax in the boudoir until then."
A flicker of disbelief crosses Astarion's features at the Archivist's words, his brow furrowing in confusion at the unexpected turn of events. "I'm sorry, did you just say boudoir?"
As they step into the eerie confines of the boudoir, a chill settles over Delphie, casting a shadow over her senses. The air hangs heavy with a palpable sense of foreboding, every whisper and rustle echoing like a warning in the dimly lit chamber. Her heart quickens its pace, a primal instinct urging caution as they navigate the unfamiliar surroundings.
In the center of the room, a small pool of water glimmers with an ethereal light, its surface rippling with an otherworldly energy that seems to pulse with a life of its own. Delphie's gaze lingers on the pool, a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of her consciousness as she struggles to comprehend its enigmatic allure. It exudes a faint aura of revitalization, drawing her gaze like a moth to a flame, even as her instincts scream to stay away.
Her hand seeks out Astarion's, fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of solidarity as they follow behind Karlach and Shadowheart. The touch of his hand sends a ripple of warmth through her, grounding her amidst the unsettling atmosphere of the boudoir. With each step they take, Delphie's senses remain on high alert, every nerve tingling with a heightened awareness of the potential dangers lurking in the shadows.
"This feels like a trap," Delphie whispers, her voice barely more than a breath of air as she voices her apprehension. Her ears twitch with nervous energy, straining to catch any hint of danger lurking in the darkness.
Astarion's response comes swift and reassuring, his grip on her hand tightening with a comforting strength. "Maybe," he concedes, his voice a soothing balm against the jagged edges of her fear, "but if this is where Raphael indulges in pleasure, I have no doubt there will be any clues in here."
As they navigate the eerie confines of the boudoir, their senses heightened by the palpable tension that hangs heavy in the air, Delphie and Astarion find themselves abruptly jolted from their cautious reverie as they collide with Karlach. Her abrupt halt sends shockwaves of confusion rippling through their ranks, leaving them momentarily disoriented as they struggle to regain their footing.
"What the fuck have I stumbled into?" Karlach's voice cuts through the silence like a knife.
Startled by her outburst, Delphie and Astarion exchange puzzled glances before following Karlach's gaze to see what has captured her attention. What they see defies all expectation, leaving them momentarily speechless in the face of such surreal absurdity.
There, sprawled upon an extravagant bed with all the grace and allure of a fallen angel, lies a devil dressed in lingerie. The figure reclines seductively amidst a cascade of silk sheets. And yet, as Delphie and Astarion gaze upon the devil's visage, a spark of recognition ignites within their minds, sending shockwaves of realization coursing through their veins.
The devil bears an uncanny resemblance to Raphael, the enigmatic figure whose name has loomed large over their quest from the very beginning. From the curve of their lips to the arch of their brow, every detail of their appearance seems to mirror that of the elusive devil.
As Delphie's fists clench and her jaw tightens with a mixture of anger and frustration, Astarion moves to offer his support. He places one comforting hand on her shoulder and the other on her arm, his touch a silent reminder of his unwavering presence by her side.
"Darling, that's not him," Astarion murmurs, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos of the moment.
Delphie's gaze flickers to the vampire spawn beside her, her eyes searching his for a glimpse of understanding amidst the tangled threads of deception that weave through the fabric of their reality. In Astarion's steady gaze, she finds a mirror of her own determination, a shared resolve to see through the illusions that seek to obscure the truth.
With renewed determination, Delphie flashes her gaze to the Raphael imposter, her glare a searing blaze that pierces through the facade of deceit. Her fists unclench, her jaw relaxes, and she stands tall, a beacon of defiance amidst the swirling mists of uncertainty.
"He's an incubus," Astarion's voice cuts through the silence like a blade. In that moment, the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place.
As the incubus subtly shifts their body, the dim light of the boudoir casts eerie shadows that seem to writhe and twist with every movement. Delphie's stomach churns uneasily at the sight, a primal instinct urging her to recoil from the unnatural spectacle before her.
The bile rises in her throat like a bitter tide as the incubus flaunts their seductive form, their eyes gleaming with a malicious light that sends a shiver of revulsion down Delphie's spine. Despite her best efforts to maintain her composure, a surge of anger bubbles to the surface, fueling the fire of her defiance as she meets the incubus's gaze with a steely resolve.
"If you're not Raphael, who are you?" Delphie demands.
The incubus's response is a derisive scoff, their lips curling into a wicked smirk as they sidestep Delphie's question with practiced ease. "You will have a far crueler master than Raphael soon," the incubus taunts, their words hanging in the air like a dark omen. Delphie's fists clench at her sides, her resolve hardening with each passing moment as she braces herself against the looming threat that hangs heavy in the air.
But even in the face of danger, Delphie refuses to yield, her defiance burning bright within her heart.
"What inspired you to pay him a visit?" the incubus continues, their tone dripping with smug amusement as they seek to unravel the tangled threads of Delphie's resolve.
The wood elf crosses her arms, her chin lifting in a gesture of defiance as she meets the incubus's gaze. "Like I'd tell you," she retorts.
With a theatrical flourish, the incubus sits up and flails their hand about excitedly, their demeanor a twisted parody of innocence that sets Delphie's teeth on edge.
"This is very naughty. Whatever are we to do?" they purr, their voice a honeyed lure that seeks to ensnare Delphie in their web of deceit.
But the draconic sorcerer refuses to be swayed by their deceitful charms. With a defiant snarl, she bares her teeth at the incubus, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination that brooks no argument.
The incubus, undeterred by Delphie's display of defiance, continues undaunted, their gaze alight with a sinister gleam. "Why don't we play a game?" they suggest, their voice dripping with malice. "You win, I give you everything you desire. But you'll enjoy yourself more if you lose."
Delphie's fists clench at her sides, her resolve hardening with each passing moment as she braces herself against the incubus's insidious offer. But before she can respond, Astarion intervenes.
Grabbing Delphie's hand in his own, the vampire spawn bends down to her pointed ear. "Darling, don't give in to him," he murmurs, his breath brushing against her earlobe with a cold intensity that cuts through the heat of the moment. "This isn't a game you'll win."
As Delphie locks eyes with Astarion, she finds herself ensnared in the depths of his ruby orbs, each flicker of light reflecting the turmoil of emotions that churn within her. His whispered plea resonates in the silence between them, a desperate plea for trust that sends a pang of uncertainty coursing through Delphie's veins.
"Trust me," he whispers, his voice tugging at the frayed edges of Delphie's resolve.
Drawing a shaky breath, the wood elf tears her gaze away from Astarion's pleading eyes and directs her attention towards the incubus, their sinister presence looming large before her like a specter of temptation.
"What's the game?" she demands, her voice firm despite the tremor of uncertainty that lingers beneath the surface.
The incubus's response comes swift and cryptic.
"It's a surprise!" they exclaim, their voice laced with a wicked delight as they gesture theatrically with a flourish of their hand. A devilish smile spreads across their already mischievous face, their eyes glittering with anticipation as they revel in the chaos they have wrought. "Now, off with your clothes."
Delphie's heart skips a beat at the incubus's ominous words, a sense of dread settling over her like a suffocating cloak. She feels Astarion's grip tighten on her hand.
"W-what?" Delphie stammers, her voice trembling with disbelief at the incubus's brazen command.
"Off. With your clothes," the incubus repeats, their tone firm and commanding as they stare down at Delphie with a predatory gleam in their eyes.
A chill settles over Delphie as she grapples with the weight of the incubus's demand.
The decision she faces bears down upon her, threatening to suffocate her beneath the weight of its enormity. On one hand, she could choose to turn away from the looming specter of trauma that lurks within the incubus's grasp, to shield herself from the horrors that lie in wait. But on the other hand, she knows that doing so would mean forsaking the answers they seek and potentially failing their mission. Failing Hope, who has been trapped here enduring torture for gods know how long.
Delphie's heart aches at the concern etched upon her companions' faces, their eyes reflecting the tumult of emotions raging within their hearts. With a heavy sigh, she knows that what she is about to do will not only test her own courage but will also challenge the bonds of trust and loyalty that bind them together as a team.
"Please turn away, guys," Delphie murmurs softly, her voice barely more than a whisper as she implores her companions to avert their gaze from the impending ordeal.
Astarion's warning cuts through the air like a knife, his voice laced with a desperate urgency born of genuine concern. "Darling, what are you doing? This isn't safe. You can't trust him."
Delphie's jaw tightens at his words, her resolve hardening as she meets his gaze with unwavering determination. She knows the risks involved, knows the dangers that lurk within the shadowy depths of the incubus's twisted game. But she also knows that they have come too far to turn back now, that the answers they seek lie tantalizingly within reach.
"There has to be another way, Delphnye," Shadowheart interjects, her voice filled with genuine concern for her well-being. "We're not going to stand here while you get-" Her words falter as she catches the defiant look in Delphie's eyes.
"Soldier, I'll tear this whole fucking room apart before I let that disgusting fuck get his hands on you," Karlach declares sternly. The flames that dance around her form burn slightly darker, reflecting the intensity of her resolve to protect her comrades at any cost.
As Delphie stands amidst her companions, their unwavering support a beacon of strength amidst the encroaching darkness, she feels a surge of gratitude well within her heart. Their presence, their unwavering loyalty, fills her with a sense of warmth and reassurance, reminding her that she is not alone in this moment of uncertainty.
But even as she draws strength from their steadfast companionship, she knows that she cannot allow herself to be swayed by sentimentality. The task before her is a daunting one and she knows that she must do whatever is necessary to see it through to its conclusion.
"Please, don't make this any harder than it has to be," the wood elf implores. "I have no choice."
Astarion's hands gently cup her cheeks. His eyes plead with her, a silent supplication for understanding, for anything that might spare her from the pain that lies ahead.
"Darling, I'm begging you," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "Please, don't do this."
Delphie gives him a sad smile. "I'll be okay," she murmurs. A tear slips from her eye, trailing a glistening path down her cheek as she places one trembling hand atop Astarion's.
"Just, please turn away," she pleads, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own heartbeat. "I don't want you to watch."
As Karlach and Shadowheart begin to argue with Delphie once more, their voices rising in a futile attempt to dissuade her from her course of action, Delphie meets their protests with glassy death glares that pierce through the air like shards of ice. Her eyes blaze with a fierce determination that brooks no argument, a silent warning to her companions that their pleas fall upon deaf ears.
With a heavy sigh, Karlach and Shadowheart reluctantly acquiesce to Delphie's silent command, their expressions a mixture of resignation and concern. They turn their backs to her, knowing that there is nothing they can say or do to change her mind, and silently await the inevitable outcome of her decision.
But Astarion cannot tear his gaze away from Delphie, his eyes locked on her form as she shakily begins to strip off every piece of clothing on her body. His undead heart aches with a profound sense of sorrow and helplessness as he watches her, his mind reeling with disbelief at the sight unfolding before him.
With each article of clothing that falls to the ground, Delphie's vulnerability is laid bare for all to see, her attempts to cover herself with her arms and legs a futile gesture in the face of the incubus's leering gaze. Astarion feels a surge of anger and frustration welling up within him, a primal urge to protect and shield Delphie from the horrors that threaten to consume her.
"Good, little thief. Good," the incubus taunts, their voice dripping with seductive menace. The sound of their words twists the party's stomachs with a sickening sense of revulsion.
As Astarion watches Delphie's plight unfold before him, a single question echoes through his mind like a haunting refrain: Why is she doing this?
"You'll be crying out my name soon, you'd better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael's personal incubus, glamoured and transfigured to look like him," the incubus declares with a flourish of their arms, their voice dripping with sinister glee. "I am a perfect copy. He only ever wants to sleep with himself. What's better than a devil you know, eh?"
As Haarlep casually inquires about her preference in gender, Delphie feels a wave of nausea wash over her, the reality of her predicament crashing down upon her with brutal force. Was she truly about to surrender her body to an incubus in exchange for information? The thought sends a shiver of revulsion coursing through her veins, her mind recoiling from the enormity of the choice she faces.
Unable to find the words to respond, Delphie stares blankly at Haarlep, her mind racing with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The incubus's laughter rings in her ears like a mocking chorus, taunting her with her own powerlessness in the face of their twisted games.
Panic grips Delphie's heart with icy fingers, her whole body frozen in place as she struggles to find a way out of the nightmare unfolding before her. Desperate thoughts race through her mind like a tempest, each one more frantic than the last as she searches for a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. She begins to feel her sense of self slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers.
As Haarlep's laughter fills the chamber, a cold fury ignites within Astarion's undead heart, his patience worn thin by the incubus's cruel taunts and twisted games. With a steely resolve, he steps forward, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.
"I've had enough of this shit," Astarion declares, his tone laced with a potent mixture of anger and determination. "We're done with your twisted games."
With swift determination, Astarion pulls Delphie protectively behind him, shielding her from the incubus's malevolent gaze. In one fluid motion, he retrieves her clothes and hands them to her, his hands steady despite the turmoil raging within him.
Behind him, the vampire spawn hears the sound of Shadowheart's quiet reassurance as she helps Delphie put her clothes back on, her presence a comforting presence amidst the chaos that surrounds them. As he unsheathes a dagger, preparing himself for the confrontation that lies ahead, he feels a surge of solidarity as Karlach steps up beside him, her axe at the ready.
"She needs you, Fangs," Karlach says with a determined look, her eyes ablaze with righteous fury. "We got this bastard."
Astarion nods in silent agreement, his resolve hardened by the unwavering support of his companions. With Delphie safely by his side, he guides her to the other side of the room.
As they retreat to a safer distance, Delphie's mind clears from the haze of panic and fear that had clouded her judgment moments before. With a sense of urgency driving her, she turns to Astarion.
"Wait, Astarion, we can't kill Haarlep," she insists. "They might know something."
She attempts to maneuver around him, but the vampire spawn's grip tightens on her arms, his expression resolute as he holds her firmly in place.
"It wasn't safe," Astarion counters, his voice firm with conviction.
Frustration bubbles up within Delphie as she struggles against his hold. "Nothing we do is safe, Astarion!" she retorts, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Let me go!"
But the vampire spawn remains steadfast, his grip unyielding as he holds her in place.
"You froze, Delphie," he reminds her, his voice soft yet firm with an undercurrent of concern.
"I don't care," the ranger whimpers, her resolve faltering as tears well in her eyes. "We need the Hammer. I guarantee they know something. Just let me give them what they want."
Delphie's pleas hang in the air like a desperate echo, her voice trembling with uncertainty as she struggles to articulate the turmoil raging within her heart. But before she can utter another word, Astarion's stern intervention cuts through the tumult of emotions, his voice firm with resolve.
"But it's not what you want."
The weight of his words settles over Delphie like a heavy shroud, silencing her protests with a sense of finality that leaves her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty. For a moment, she searches for the right words, the right arguments to counter his steadfast resolve, but finds herself coming up empty-handed in the face of his unwavering determination.
"You've already been forced onto another numerous times, just like I have," Astarion continues, his voice softened by the weight of shared experience. "Haarlep won't be added to that number."
The truth of his words lands like a blow to Delphie's already battered spirit, a stark reminder of the scars they both bear.
"But-" she begins, her voice faltering as she searches for a way to express the conflicting emotions swirling within her.
"Delphie, please," Astarion implores, his tone gentle yet firm as he reaches out to her with an outstretched hand.
Defeated, Delphie hangs her head in resignation, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her unspoken burdens. With a heavy sigh, she surrenders herself to Astarion's embrace, seeking solace in the odd warmth of his cold arms.
As the chaos subsides and the boudoir falls into a heavy silence, Delphie's heart still races with the remnants of adrenaline, her senses heightened and her mind reeling from the intensity of the confrontation that had just transpired. She glances around the room, her eyes scanning the scene before her as if searching for some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.
To her relief, she finds Shadowheart and Karlach standing before her, their expressions stoic yet unharmed, a testament to their skill and prowess in battle. They show no signs of the struggle that had just taken place, their composure unwavering in the face of danger.
With a heavy sigh of relief, Delphie allows herself to relax slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she takes in the sight of her companions unscathed and unharmed...with no answers...