The House of Hope is much as it would be remembered. Raphael sits at his table across from the doors that are thrown open. Its contents do not overflow with goods as they had before. Finely dressed in gilded linens that sparkle in firelight. A single plate of grapes and cheese sits near the host, as well as a fresh contract and quill. He balances a chalice lazily in his hand as he regards the Dark Urge's display of anger with lidded amusement.

A careful watch on where he and his party had gone? Probably a very good instinct on his part. He now knows exactly who Enver Gortash and the Dark Urge had used to get to Cania before, and that can be addressed after all this is over and done with.

There were other ways he might have gone about it, because he could feel threads of discord in these walls very shortly after he arrived at the fortress to await them. Already he was thinking of little loopholes. Ways to squeeze in a little extra punishment that the little shit had rightly earned in his absence.

But really, hadn't he expected as much? Nubaldin never did figure out how a child Enver Gortash had gotten away before, and Raphael had "forgotten" to relieve the human of his gauntlets before putting him away for safe keeping. Just to see if things got interesting. Get some of that residual fire out before he completely crumbled.

Even creatures of high order could do with a spectacle every now and again. Just a shame that whatever was and likely still is transpiring in his dungeons he hadn't been present for. But the Dark Urge had actually arrived a little faster than expected; it left little time for additional errands.

"Never one to disappoint, clearly. Come to save your city at last?"