The lower floor of Sharess’ Caress is as busy as always, but the usual hum of voices and clinking glasses is muffled beyond the plush red carpets of the Devil’s Den. The ornate bed creaks softly as Raphael leans over you in his human form. His touch is languid, fingers brushing your hair away from your temple as he casts a spell to banish the Emperor from your head, if only temporarily. “There,” purrs Raphael. “A bit of reprieve.”

You had come to him after settling some sort of ridiculous guild infighting in Baldur’s Gate, seeking to lick your wounds in his presence. It was foolish to be attached to a mortal, but Raphael had long become fond of you, in his own way. “I do hope you’re not expecting sympathy after participating in something so foolish,” he says, chiding you a bit before gently rapping his knuckles against your forehead. “You have greater things to worry about, after all, little mouse.” Even so, it filled him with an inflated sense of satisfaction to have you come to him than another.